The Demonists

  The security guard stood and left them alone, and Dr. Cho pulled a chair up alongside Theodora’s bed. To see her like this, as if her very life force was being drained away, was truly something terrible. He reached beneath her blanket and took her hand in his, hoping to will some of his own inner strength into her. There was no natural reason why she was in this condition, which left only the most disturbing of alternatives.

  Again, he went back to that night when he’d first met her. He had gone home shaken by her strange words. The unusual events that had been plaguing him began to intensify, so much so that the constant, unexplained disruptions were even beginning to affect his work. He’d been unable to stop thinking of what Theodora had said about a brother, unable to rest, and finally he worked up the courage to ask his elderly mother about it. He’d been certain that she would scoff at the concept, but to his surprise she hesitated.

  Cho squeezed Theodora’s hand. “Can you hear me, Theo?” he asked. “It’s Franklin.”

  She continued to sleep, showing no signs that she could hear him, but that didn’t stop him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry for not being able to help you, like you helped me.”

  Cho’s mother had finally explained that when she had first found out that she was pregnant, the doctors had believed that she was having twins, but a follow-up visit several weeks later showed evidence of only one child. The doctors had said that the second child was a victim of a phenomenon called vanishing twin syndrome, where one of the two children in utero is miscarried and then absorbed by the other, healthier child. She had always believed the doctors had just been wrong.

  He remembered thinking over and over again, She was right, Theodora Knight was right. “I was at the end of my rope, and you helped me,” he said to the unconscious woman. “You gave me my life back . . . and helped my brother to finally rest.”

  Cho had contacted Theodora Knight almost immediately after learning about his twin, practically begging for her help. He had been beyond desperate by then, and she couldn’t have been more gracious. Together they explored his life before the strange activity had begun. Cho had shared that he had a benign cyst on his lower back that had been discovered just before the poltergeist activity began. He had been planning to have it removed, but those plans had taken a backseat to the chaos his life had become.

  Theodora had felt that it was all connected, and had encouraged Cho to proceed with the surgery. Cho hadn’t understood, but by then he had learned not to question Theodora’s advice. He’d had the cyst removed and was stunned by the pathology results. The sac had contained embryonic residue of his twin.

  Theodora had explained that those remains needed to be acknowledged for what they were, and interred with some level of respect. Cho had done as she directed, and the unusual phenomena affecting him had stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

  Theodora had basically saved his life by showing him the existence of another reality, and now she needed him, his expertise, and he would do anything that he could to save her.

  He continued to hold her hand, carefully studying her face for any signs of improvement. And his vigilance was rewarded, as she sud denly began to stir.

  “Theo?” he called, standing and leaning over her. “Theo, it’s Franklin. Can you hear me?”

  Her eyes opened and she looked at him vaguely.

  “Hey there,” he said, gently smoothing the hair away from her face. “How are you feeling?”

  Her eyes closed slowly, and then opened again, wide, as the expression on her face grew rigid.

  “Is there anything I can do?” he asked her. “Anything to make you more comfortable?”

  Her mouth started to move, and he leaned closer to her, placing his ear near to her mouth. “What is it, Theo?” he asked her. “What can I do for you?”

  And then he heard the words, soft yet clear and forceful. “Kill me,” she said simply.

  Cho pulled back, shocked by her words, then even more surprised as he watched her expression change from one of desperation to absolute savagery.

  As she sprang up from the bed with an animalistic growl and attacked him.

  The ride from the airport to the institute seemed to take forever. John had called ahead, telling Franklin that he was on the way and that he needed to speak with him about his wife’s condition and her treatment.

  Cho had mentioned that some items had been delivered to the institute for him, and he questioned if those might have something to do with the conversation they were going to have.

  John had noticed a strange coldness in his friend’s tone as they spoke, and wondered if the strain of caring for Theo was becoming too much for him.

  The cab finally pulled up in front of the building and John was out of the car before it had come to a complete stop. Quickly paying the fare, he retrieved his luggage from the trunk and made his way up the stairs to the main building.

  John strode into the lobby, telling the receptionist that Dr. Cho was expecting him, and was allowed to continue down to his office.

  He’d intended to bring Franklin a nice bottle of wine, a lovely old bottle of Chardonnay perhaps, but with all that had happened he never got the chance. With an apology on his lips, he rapped a knuckle upon the wooden door, before stepping into the office.

  “I had every intention of bringing you a lovely bottle of something, but . . .”

  It was dark in the office, the blinds pulled down, the curtains closed. Franklin sat in a pocket of shadow, his back turned away. “Franklin?” John questioned, already sensing that something was off. “Why are you sitting in the dark like that?”

  John looked for the switch on the wall.

  “Don’t turn on the lights,” Franklin warned, turning slightly in his desk chair. “Not yet.”

  John didn’t understand. He set his bags down and moved closer to the desk.

  “I need to . . . I need to explain some things to you first.”

  “Franklin, what’s going on? Is Theo—”

  “Your wife,” he began, freezing John in place. “I paid her a visit last night . . . to check on her.”

  “Franklin, what happened?” John asked, sensing a near-electrical tension growing in the atmosphere of the office. He reached out for the Tiffany lamp on the corner of the desk and pulled the short chain below the green shade.

  The light came on, illuminating the surface of the desk, as well as person sitting behind it. Dr. Cho recoiled.

  And as much as he didn’t want to, John gasped at what he saw. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Cho said with a pained chuckle. “I’d hoped that most of the swelling would have gone down by now, but . . .” Dr. Cho looked as though he’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer, his face battered and bruised, eyes swollen nearly shut.

  The way he moved, John could tell that it wasn’t only his face that had been hurt.

  “Theodora,” John said, feeling his anger begin to surge. “She . . . she did this to you?”

  Cho leaned back, slumping in the chair.

  “I don’t think she did, John,” he said through swollen lips. “Just before . . . just before the attack, she . . .”

  One eye was open more than the other, the bloodshot orb focusing upon him.

  “She begged me to kill her, John,” Dr. Cho said.

  John couldn’t stand it anymore, a rush of anger propelling him out the door and down the hall toward the secure ward where his wife was supposedly recovering.

  “John, please,” he heard Cho call out from behind him. “Stay in your office, Franklin,” John said over his shoulder. “This is between my wife and me.”

  He tried to get control of his emotions as he walked, but it was like holding on to fire, and the more he was burned, the angrier he became.

  Slamming through the door to the secure unit, he marched directly toward his wife’s room. He stopped before the door to her room, peering through the tiny window as he finally reined in the rage. Theodora was sitting up in bed, as
if waiting for his arrival. “Hello, dear,” she said, and smiled sweetly as John entered the room. “What is it? You seem upset.”

  John stood at the foot of the bed, fixing her in his furious gaze. There was part of him that wanted to go to her, to take her lovingly into his arms, but he knew that what he was seeing was a lie, that something else was wearing the face of his love.

  Something that had to be stopped, before it hurt anybody else. “What is it John?” it asked him, doing the best imitation of his wife’s lovely voice. “You’re scaring me.”

  It was starting to crawl down to the end of the bed toward him, the restraints mysteriously undone.

  “Please, John . . . what’s happened?”

  He needed to be fast, to immobilize the body before it could attack. “In the name and power of the Lord Jesus Christ, I command all supernatural action from any entity in this room to cease. The Lord Jesus Christ commands you.”

  It was as if his wife had been struck, her body flipping violently backward to the head of the bed.

  He continued without pause.

  “We bind you by the power of the Blood of Jesus Christ, only begotten of God.”

  The thing wearing his wife’s body thrashed upon the bed, as if held down by some enormous, invisible hand.

  “What are you doing, John!” it screamed. “You’re hurting me . . . please, John!”

  He could feel its power working on him, attempting to instill doubt in him, trying to quell his words long enough for the entity— entities—inhabiting his wife’s body to attempt to gain the upper hand. “I bind you to this form, foul creatures,” John roared, refusing to listen. “I hold you in this place so you might be extracted—excised from this form of flesh so that it might eventually be cleansed of your foulness!”

  His wife . . . no, the things inside her . . . began to scream and thrash. “You’re hurting me, John! What are you doing?”

  He had no idea how long these words would last. They were old words, strong words, but he did not think that they would be enough.

  Something far older would likely be necessary.

  “You bastard!” the entities shrieked, finally exposing themselves.

  He could hear the multiple voices, all vying to be heard. “You miserable son of a bitch!”

  He needed something new, yet ancient. Words that had not been uttered for a very long time.

  “Help me!” the demons screamed, using the voice of his wife again.

  “Somebody help me, please!”

  She was thrashing violently on the bed, crying out in pain, although physical hands had not been laid upon her.

  “You will stay as you are told, foul things,” John commanded.

  “You will stay until you are removed, one by one, plucked from this poor prison of flesh and blood. Her soul eventually cleansed of your—” The door to the room came open, a security team, their guns drawn, rushing into the room.

  “Sir, step away from the bed,” one of the men ordered, his eyes darting nervously from John to Theodora writhing upon the bed. “Thank God,” one of the demons screamed in its most pathetic of voices. “Thank God you’re here . . . please, help me!”

  “Please, you don’t understand,” John began, moving toward the men. They pointed their weapons at him. He needed to make them understand before . . . “This is my wife and I—”

  “He’s hurting me!” she screamed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Oh God, you have to help me.”

  “It’s all right, miss,” the man said. One of the other security officers moved toward the bed.

  “Don’t go near her!” John shouted, but it was too late. Just as the officer reached the side of the bed and placed a comforting hand on her arm, the demons struck.

  They just couldn’t resist.

  She moved in a flash, shucking off the binding ritual to strike. The poor bastard didn’t know what hit him as his arm was wrenched savagely to one side, the sound of the bones breaking nearly deafening in the room, followed by his pathetic wails of pain.

  And demons began to laugh.

  John began to move toward the injured man but stopped when he realized that the other guards were aiming their weapons directly at him, looking as though they would have no problem firing. “Get him away from her,” John said, pointing to the man who had dropped to his knees and was leaning against the mattress, moaning. The guard started to move, but he was too slow. Theo lunged across the mattress, grabbing the crying, moaning man by the head. He began to scream all the louder.

  “Release him!” John cried out authoritatively, and the demons wearing the woman’s body froze.

  “And why should we listen to you, John?” they asked. “Why shouldn’t we rip this poor soul’s head from his body and toss it against the wall?”

  “Because I compel you,” he said. “Because the power of the Lord God compels you!”

  The demons screamed out, their voices so loud in the tiny room that the remaining security staff covered their ears.

  “No!” The demons shook his wife’s head. “Not this time . . . this time we are ready.”

  “Then attack me,” John commanded. “Come at me.” He spread his arms. “Where is your strength now, hellions? Where is your power?” The woman scowled, releasing her moaning captive, tossing him away with such force that he struck the wall across from her and remained still.

  “You’re pressing your luck, John,” one particular demon said, its voice a throaty growl. “It seems as though you want to hurt her. . . . Is that true, John? Do you really want to hurt your lovely wife?”

  “I love my wife with all my heart and soul,” he said, stepping toward the bed.

  The demons wearing her body began to crawl backward, away from him.

  “Which is what gives me the faith and power to bind you here,” he said, remembering the words he’d already spoken, letting them replay within his mind as he locked eyes with the possessed woman. The demons bent to his will, dropping down to the rumpled sheets and torn mattress.

  “We’re going to hurt her, John,” the demon said. “We’re going to hurt her so fucking bad.”

  He looked over to see the security team huddled around their fallen member, staring at the scene unfolding on the bed. “Get out of here,” he commanded them.

  They didn’t seem to know how to react, staring at each other. The sound of the door opening distracted them all.

  John looked to see Franklin Cho. His condition appeared even worse in the light of the hospital room, and John felt his anger toward the things that hurt him ignite even further.

  “Go,” Cho said to his team. “Go on, get out.”

  The security guards didn’t have to be told again, helping their man with the broken arm to stand.

  “Have Dr. Kurothers look at him,” he said as they passed, practically dragging the man behind them.

  Cho watched as they disappeared down the corridor. He then turned to look at John through his swollen lids, stepping away from the door and letting it slam behind him.

  “Was that necessary, Franklin?” John asked, annoyed. “They could have been killed . . . or worse.”

  “I thought,” Cho began, his gaze going to Theodora on the bed. “I thought you might hurt her.”

  The demons laughed uproariously. “All alone again, John?” the demon voices said in unison. “Just us, against you?”

  He was ready to do what was needed, to face the monsters alone if he had to.

  But perhaps that wouldn’t the case.

  “Franklin, that delivery you mentioned earlier. Would you get it for me?”

  Without a word, Cho left the room, only to return moments later with a silver transport case, grunting with the weight of it as he set it down on the floor at John’s feet.

  The demon struggled to raise itself from the bed, to look, to see what had been brought into the room.

  “Is what’s inside this case going to help cure Theodora?” Cho asked. “I hope so,” John said.

&n
bsp; “I want to help,” Cho said, looking toward the bed and the woman who now crouched there, growling like something wild. Something inhuman.

  John squatted down, undoing the latches on the case. “Let’s get started.”

  The rite went on for hours.

  Page after page of ancient text that had not been utilized for more than a millennia.

  It was all new to him, but John Fogg needed to be strong, needed to read those powerful words aloud with utter conviction, spurred on by absolute faith.

  And still the evil fought him.

  The demons were deeply entrenched in his wife, clinging to her soul with all their might even though the ancient ritual hurt them, like hungry ticks to the flesh of an animal, feeding not on her blood but on the goodness of her soul. It made him sick to see what they were doing to her.

  And the horrors that were still likely to come.

  John was exhausted, but he did not let on, for he knew that they were watching through her eyes. He showed them his strength, moving from one part of the ancient rite to the next without hesitation.

  He remembered an old priest who had taught him many years ago, how he had used boxing as a metaphor to the rite of exorcism. “Get ’em on the ropes,” the old man had said, reminding John more of an old-time trainer than a man of God. “Never let ’em recover.” And that was what John was doing, moving from one difficult level to the next even harder. The Demonists were brutal in their war on the demonic, their rites of exorcism like an intricately woven rug, each powerful thread connecting to the next to form the entities’ eventual demise.

  But so far the demons had proven themselves to be far stronger than John would ever have imagined.

  Blood streamed from his wife’s nose as she lay on the rumpled, torn, and stained bedcovers. She wanted him to look at her—they wanted him to look at her, but John remained strong, pausing only an instant to drop one scroll and unroll the next.

  “Can I check on her?” Dr. Cho asked, coming up alongside him. “You just did,” John said rather cruelly, unfurling the document, letting his eyes familiarize themselves with the language before beginning anew.