The Possessed (The Paranormalist Book 5) Page 4

  I put my steel briefcase down on the bed, feeling silly for being armed at this peaceful retreat. Feeling grimy and sticky after the long drive through the desert, I took a quick shower. As expected, the water pressure was nonexistent out here but the trickling stream still did the trick, and I felt awake and refreshed as I toweled myself dry.

  All I needed now was the cup of coffee I'd skipped earlier this morning—the sacrifices one makes to avoid a bathroom break in the desert.

  Tragically, the monks only served instant coffee. The monastery ran off solar power, and they apparently weren’t keen on wasting their wattage on fancy electric coffee makers when they could just boil water instead. They advised folks who were snobs about their beans to bring their own, but I’d never had the patience for pour-over coffee. Instant sounded fantastic to my caffeine-starved mind.

  As I slipped into a comfortable pair of slacks and a lightweight shirt, I caught sight of the Ouroboros tattoo on my shoulder. A little souvenir from my father. The dragon-like snake devouring its tail was the mark of his cult.

  I'd tried to laser off the tattoo many times, but the evil stain my father had marked me with when I was only thirteen always reappeared. The demonic snake felt like a direct affront to this spiritual sanctuary. Just like my weapons, the tattoo didn't belong in this place of worship and silent contemplation.

  Abbot Norman apparently believed that he’d invited pure evil into this desert refuge. Taking in the mark on my shoulder, I wondered if he might be right.

  Chapter Five

  Once refreshed, I killed some time by further exploring the monastery. I was well aware of the rules: don't talk to the monks, keep your voice low when conversing with other guests, and stay clear of the brothers’ living quarters.

  As I navigated the grounds, I caught glimpses of the cowled, specter-like figures who called this refuge their home. They came from all over the world and represented all races. I watched as these stoic men of the cloth went about their daily chores as the desert sun beat down on their black robes. Some worked in the garden, harvesting vegetables for the evening meal, while others maintained the grounds or worked in a wood shop, most likely carving new items to sell to visiting guests like myself.

  I checked my watch. Another hour remained before the communal dinner in the refectory, so I decided to take a walk outside. Here too the rules were quite simple: stick to the area south of the church, toward the guesthouse and beyond. Longer hikes required permission from the guest master. Walks on the mesas were never to be taken alone, as the terrain was quite hazardous. I was just trying to stretch my legs after all that traveling—and to get a better sense of the place. I had no plans to challenge any rules on my first day here.

  Within minutes of beginning my exploration of the monastery, I spotted the woman who'd been on my mind ever since I landed in Santa Fe. At first, I didn't even recognize her—which wasn't all that surprising, as her edgy rock ‘n’ roll style had given way to a nun's habit. But as I drew closer and our eyes met, I knew this nun was Nora Hill.

  Even though her veil covered her hair, she looked as striking—and as haunted—as she had the last time we'd spoken.

  Despite her new vocation, it seemed her devotion to God hadn't kept her demons at bay. The dark rings under her eyes told their own tale. Here was a woman still tormented by her past. Her face registered my presence, but she didn't seem surprised to see a guy she dated five years earlier hanging out in the middle of the New Mexico desert.

  "Hi Nora," I said, not sure how to begin.

  Nora’s eyes found me and she flashed a thin smile. ”Welcome to New Mexico. You've built quite a reputation for yourself over the last few years, Simon. Or should I call you the Paranormalist?"

  "Don't even go there," I said. "Unless you want me to call you Sister Nora."

  Nora’s smile deepened and, for a moment, she was the woman I'd been smitten with half a decade before.

  "I was hoping I might run into you before things get started, so we could talk."

  I shot her a puzzled look. “Talk about what?”

  By way of explanation, she pointed at her nun's habit. “This must be a bit of a shock.”

  "Not what I expected, but I respect your choice,” I said. “You don't seem all that surprised to see me. Did Andara tell you I was coming?"

  She shook her head. "I was the one who suggested that he should invite you to the retreat."

  This revelation threw me for a loop. I studied Nora, trying to figure out what angle she was playing. There was a playful twinkle in her eyes; it reminded me all too much of those intense three months we'd spent together.

  "So this was your idea?"

  "Pretty much."

  Nora's grin deepened. She was enjoying my confusion. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist a chance to save a few more lost souls."

  "You don't look lost to me," I said. "I didn't know you joined a convent."

  "Maybe now you understand why I had to break things off with you, Simon."

  I cocked an eyebrow. "How long have you been a nun?"

  The smile vanished from her features. "I made my decision while we were still together. I saw it as the only way to both keep my sanity and save my soul. At least that's what I believed at the time."

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Figured you might try to talk me out of it. And perhaps I was worried you might succeed."

  I didn't know what to make of all these revelations. My brain was suffering from a bit of information overload. "If you put the past behind you, Nora, why are you here now?"

  She met my gaze, anxiety flickering over her face as she held up her hands. Deep scars ran along her wrists, and I flinched. She hadn’t had those when we were together. Her vows had clearly not been enough to entirely shield her from the darkness of her past. Nora was here for the same reason as all the others—she too had failed to conquer her demons.

  "The past can catch up with you even in a convent," Nora said in a sober voice. "I think I made a mistake five years ago, Simon."

  The words hung there for a beat. Was Nora talking about ending our relationship, or becoming a nun?

  "I thought that faith and prayer could keep the demons at bay," she continued, taking a step closer. "But Simon, you had the right idea all along. You don't lock yourself in your convent, hide behind your faith, and pretend the real world doesn't exist. You face the demons of your past head-on. And you're stronger for it."

  Rooted to the spot, I held Nora's intense gaze. The same magnetic pull I’d always felt toward this woman was still there, still powerful. Almost—but not quite—irresistible.

  "I'm sorry for hurting you, Simon. I was afraid of your past. I feared you would drown in your darkness and drag me down with you."

  I considered this. It had never been a choice for me. There was only one way to atone for my father's sins. To prove to the world that I wasn't afraid of the horrors Mason Kane had tried to unleash upon the Earth.

  “That never would have happened,” I said. “All I wanted was to help people. To help you.”

  Nora's eyes narrowed with determination as she gave a sharp nod. "I'm done hiding, Simon. I'm ready to fight back. And I wanted you by my side. I never should have left you in the first place."

  There was no bitterness to her words, but unless I was imagining it, there was a hint of heat beneath her stark declaration. I was still trying to figure out how to respond when the church bell rang out.

  Clang—clang—clang.

  The peal of the bell filled the hot desert air, breaking the moment between us. The time had come for evening Mass, followed by dinner. Monks were flooding from their living quarters and streaming toward the clanging church tower like ghosts returning to their graves. The specters made me flash back to that night in the temple when I first laid eyes on my father's flock. Religious devotion in all its forms triggered something deep inside me. Something dark and suspicious.

  My pulse speeded up as the vibrations of the ri
nging bell quivered in my head. There was an ominous quality to the sound, almost as if it wasn't announcing evening Mass but heralding a coming darkness.

  “We should go inside,” I said to Nora, not meeting her eyes.

  Chapter Six

  Sharing a dining area with sixty robed monks, all of them eating in complete silence, was a surreal way to enjoy a meal. The food was healthy, simple, and bland, comprised of ground turkey, vegetables, bread, and water. The cook must’ve run out of salt and never even heard of spices. According to Andara, the monks only consumed beef on special occasions, and our arrival at the monastery didn’t qualify.

  I sat at a separate table from the monks, with some of Andara’s other guests. Sister Nora, Courtney Star, and her bodyguard with the big personality had all joined me for dinner. NYPD Homicide Detective Andy Tomkins, who’d arrived at the monastery about an hour after I did, was the new face at the table. The middle-aged Asian cop with the wiry frame looked worn and tired from his long journey. He would fidget with a pack of cigarettes, only to realize that smoking wasn’t allowed in the monastery’s dining hall.

  The man was out of his element. I could relate.

  Father Andara was absent, busy making final preparations for the next day. I wondered what those preparations entailed, but the exorcist had insisted on taking care of them without my assistance.

  “You’ll get your chance to do your part, Simon,” had been Andara’s response when I’d offered him my help for a second time, before dinner.

  Considering the palpable tension at our table, the exorcist had made the right move in skipping dinner. I hoped that Andara would break the ice tomorrow when the rest of the group arrived. With no wine to loosen our tongues and nothing in common except the horrors we’d all endured, we followed the example of the monks and ate in silence.

  After dinner there were more prayers, which I skipped. The pre-dinner Mass had already stirred up too many memories I’d rather leave buried. It was hard for me to separate my father’s robed fanatics from these men who'd abandoned any semblance of regular life in the real world for this existence of self-imposed isolation.

  I tried not to be judgmental but, on some level, I couldn’t help myself. We’re all shaped by our past. There was a narrow difference between being a devout follower and a fanatic in my mind, and I struggled to figure out where to draw the line between the two.

  That said, I knew the morning prayers at the monastery were a big deal, and Andara wanted us all to attend them. At four o’clock in the morning.

  I set my alarm and called it a night early. I was physically drained after my long trip by air and road, yet sleep eluded me. Perhaps it was the unfamiliar room, the hard mattress, or the rough texture of the sheets. The tense silence outside my window didn’t help matters either. I was far away from the reassuring heartbeat of my home city. Back in Malibu, either the sporadic sounds of traffic or the steady crashing of the Pacific Ocean’s waves would lull me to sleep. Out here, I couldn’t stop thinking about Nora—now Sister Nora.

  “I should have never left you, Simon.”

  I struggled to reconcile the traumatized, leather-clad artist I’d dated five years ago with the serious nun who was attending the retreat. Then I felt guilty for thinking about her this much. Vesper wouldn’t be thrilled to know I was holed up in the desert with my ex. Even if said ex was now a nun.

  Who knows how long I stayed up staring at the dark ceiling. All I remember is opening my eyes and blinking as brilliant sunlight greeted my return to consciousness. A glance at my watch told me that I’d missed the Vigils by four hours. Must have turned off my alarm and gone straight back to sleep.

  Shit, Father Andara wouldn’t be thrilled about this. Based on the itinerary the exorcist had presented to me the other day, I had less than thirty minutes if I didn’t want to miss our meet-and-greet.

  I gave myself an internal push, jumped out of bed, and took a quick shower. Once dressed, my gaze turned to the double holster containing my knife and pistol, splayed atop the metallic travel case. I reached for my weapons… and hesitated. The exorcist might frown upon me showing up to our first group session armed. This wasn’t some monster hunt, at least not in the traditional sense. I was about to battle demons of a very different nature. An ability to listen would be more valuable than silver bullets.

  But old habits are hard to break, so I donned the holster and was on my way.

  I arrived in the meeting room two minutes before we were to begin our first session. Candles burned in sconces in the circular, windowless chamber and illuminated a wall-sized mural of Christ and his apostles attending The Last Supper. Soft chanting from hidden speakers filled the meeting space. A laptop sat on a small stand in the back of the room next to a digital projector, suggesting that Andara was planning on using visual aids in these meetings.

  Embarrassingly enough, I was the last one to show my face. I swapped glances with the assembled group, including the folks who must’ve arrived while I was catching up on my beauty sleep. Everyone in Andara’s file was accounted for. Most of them appeared to be in a world of their own, their eyes distant and focus turned inward.

  Only two of them even acknowledged my presence. Nora Hall flashed me a brief smile, while newcomer Sergeant Robert Maddox studied me with suspicion. I was an unknown variable to the SEAL, and I’d seen the look on his face enough times to know exactly what it meant. Maddox knew who I was—or, more accurately, who my father was. Most likely, my colorful past was on everyone’s radar. I still trend under the “Son of the Demon” headline on most internet search engines. Sucks to be me sometimes.

  As I looked around the room, my gaze lingered on Liza Hawthorn, who once upon a time had been the poster child for demonic possession. Liza looked even more worn out in person than in Father’s Andara’s report—she was thirty-five going on fifty. As I took in her aged features, I struggled to imagine her as that sixteen-year-old possessed girl who’d been immortalized by the media. To the world, Liza would always be a teenager to the end of her days, but to me it looked like the poor woman was searching for peace at the bottom of a bottle.

  Andara had set up eight chairs in a circle, the last open seat reserved for yours truly. A palpable sense of nervous anticipation hung over the room as I joined the circle. No one knew what to expect from this unusual meeting, including myself. No one had ever considered bringing the survivors of demonic possession together in one place so they could share their traumatic experiences. Some folks clearly weren’t looking forward to reliving their ordeal, making me doubt the point of this strange exercise and the role I was supposed to play here.

  The exorcist rose to his feet and regarded us all, eyes flashing with steadfast resolve. Flickering candles cast red shadows that bathed Andara’s intense features, imbuing him with an otherworldly quality.

  “Welcome. I’m so glad you all could make it. I know all too well how far some of you had to travel to be here today. You have busy lives, yet you took the time to join me and the others here at the Monastery of the Savior in the Desert.”

  Andara paused for a beat as he made eye contact with everyone in the circle. He carried himself with the authority of a spiritual drill instructor. This was a man used to putting the forces of Hell in line. I unconsciously sat up a little straighter.

  “I know all of you. Some of you I haven’t seen in years or even decades. Sadly, I met each one of you during your darkest hour—a moment no person should ever have to go through. You all dwelled within the abyss and lived in its terrifying darkness. Yet you’re not victims. The abbot here at the monastery has referred to you as ‘the afflicted.’ Nothing could be further from the truth. I call you survivors. You all faced the beast and walked away with your souls intact.”

  Andara’s passion touched almost everyone, but there was one exception. Maddox chuckled and shook his head.

  “Nice speech, padre, but why are we all here if we’re such hot shit?”

  The soldier radiated hostility,
the skin on his face stretched tight, imbued with a sickly pallor.

  A frown furrowed Andara’s brows.

  “Sergeant, you know better than anyone in this room that wars, even the ones you win, can leave scars. Everyone gathered here today wants to fix what’s broken in their lives. I believe that also includes you.”

  Maddox held the exorcist’s gaze, eyes sparkling dangerously. The man had some issues with authority. He looked away after a moment, conceding the victory.

  Andara’s features softened somewhat as his eyes cast about the room.

  “You all faced humanity’s greatest adversary and survived. Such a hard-won victory exacts a high price on both the body and the mind. Every one of you has suffered in the years following your exorcisms. But the past holds no power over your future any longer. Today we’ll defeat the horrors that continue to torment you all.”

  The group eyed Father Andara with a heartbreaking mixture of skepticism and hope. No matter how much attitude these folks displayed to the world, they all just wanted a chance to move on with their lives. To be normal again. Even the hostile veteran.

  “Some of you might have believed you were alone in this battle. Look around you, and you’ll see that’s not the case. Far from it. Together you can make the nightmares go away.”

  Detective Tomkins spoke up, his expression oozing with skepticism. “I want to believe you, Father Andara, but each one of us is a wreck. Maybe there are some battles you can’t win, some experiences you can’t put behind you.”

  I shot the homicide detective a look, touched on some level by the undercurrent of hopeless despair in his voice.

  “We’ll see about that,” Father Andara said firmly, unswayed by Tomkins’ negativity. “Now, before we continue, I think an introduction is in order. Please say hello to Simon Kane, better known as the Paranormalist. Like all of us, he’s experienced demonic evil on a personal level.”