Free Demonized by Naomi Clark Page A

bile rose in my throat. Shit. I’d been so close ... I really wanted to hurt the kid, still did. I could almost smell his skin crisping in the boiling oil and...
    I vomited over the counter, spewing nothing but whiskey and stomach lining. The kid hooted with laughter and I reacted without thinking, swinging wildly at him. I connected with his fat nose and sent him sprawling to the floor. The Voice roared with laughter.
    “Shit,” I said, staring down at the kid, who stared back at me like he was waiting for the deathblow. I wiped my mouth and my hands trembled. A hasty retreat was in order.
    Swallowing hard, I nudged Mutt out the door. “C’mon, boy, time to go to church.”
    I left the café with a torrent of abuse from the kid and the Voice howling in my head. Not my finest hour by a long shot .
    * * * *
    I arrived at the Overture Church sticky, hungry, and in a sour mood. Mutt trudged at my heels, looking forlorn and sulky. The image of shoving the café kid’s head into the fryer replayed endlessly in my mind as the Voice delighted in reminding me just how close I’d come to doing it.
    Shuddering, I pushed open the door to the church, empty and silent inside, just like yesterday, with a sort of heavy tranquility in the air. Mutt wagged his tail as the air conditioning breezed over us, and I felt some of my bad mood lift as well. The Voice retreated a little too, maybe cowed by God’s presence or something, I don’t know . I just knew it was a relief to have the image of the café kid’s boiled head out of my mind.
    “Mr. Banning?” Father Crane walked down the aisle toward me with a Bible in hand. He peered at Mutt over his glasses. “Would your dog like some water?”
    “Yeah, thanks.” I sat down on one of the chairs and Mutt settled at my feet, licking my boots half-heartedly. Crane disappeared through a side door and emerged a few seconds later with a bowl of water for Mutt and a glass for me.
    “How are you feeling today?” he asked me as he set the water down for Mutt. The dog lapped noisily from the bowl, splashing water up my jeans.
    “Pretty shitty,” I admitted and then wondered if swearing in church would count against me in the exorcism. “It’s getting worse. The Voice is...” I made crazy-person hand gestures by my head. “Getting worse. Everything’s getting worse.” I chugged my water. “So if we can hurry up and purge me, I’d be really grateful.”
    “Well.” Crane sat down next to me and flicked through the Bible idly. “I consulted with my district superintendent, who was somewhat dubious initially, but agreed that an exorcism might help put your mind at rest, and that we had a responsibility to do that.”
    “Okay.” So the district superintendent doesn’t believe me either. Okay, that doesn’t matter. As long as they do the ceremony, it doesn’t matter .
    “ You don’t think belief matters?” the Voice mocked. “ You don’t think it matters if the priest thinks you’re an unhinged lunatic?”
    I ignored the Voice and concentrated on Crane instead. “So what do we do?” I asked.
    “I did some reading around,” Crane explained, “and decided to go back to my roots.” He beamed at me when I stared blankly at him. “The Pentecostal deliverance ceremony,” he elaborated. “Pentecostalism teaches that a true Christian believer cannot be possessed, and focuses on delivering non-believers, which I think suits us better here.”
    “Okay,” I said again, none the wiser. “So, what? Do I need to pray or ask for forgiveness or anything?”
    “We’re going to start with simple Bible recitation.” Crane rose, beckoning for me to follow. He led me to the altar and gestured for me to kneel. “You should understand that this is not technically an exorcism,” he warned me. “A deliverance ceremony is part of ongoing counseling, as opposed to the one-off ritual of exorcism.”
    I frowned up at him. The wooden floorboards felt cold and hard on the knees, and I