Page 18 of Exorcise Me
“So it seems.” Father Finnegan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “The Wellington girl is doing well, by the way. The doctors diagnosed her with epilepsy. She’s on medication now.”
Relief washed through me. “That’s good news.”
“Is it?” His eyes held mine. “And if the seizures were merely a symptom of possession? If the demon has simply gone dormant to avoid detection?”
“Or maybe she just has epilepsy,” I countered, more sharply than I intended. “Maybe not everything unexplained is supernatural. Maybe sometimes people just get sick.”
Father Finnegan’s eyebrows rose at my tone. “This isn’t like you, Noah. You’ve never questioned the reality of demonic influence before.”
“Maybe I should have.” The words came out before I could stop them. “Maybe we’re too quick to see demons everywhere we look.”
“And maybe,” he said carefully, “you’re now too quick to dismiss their presence because one has clouded your judgment.”
I stiffened. “What does that mean?”
He sighed heavily, suddenly looking every one of his sixty-plus years. “Who is Lucien, Noah?”
My heart raced, but I kept my expression neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Father Finnegan’s voice hardened. “Not after all these years. Not after everything I’ve taught you.” He gestured around the apartment. “I can feel it, you know. The lingering presence. This place has been touched by something inhuman.”
Touched is one way of putting it,I thought inappropriately, heat rising to my face as memories of exactly how my apartment had been “touched” by Lucien flooded my mind.
Father Finnegan mistook my flush for shame. “So it’s true,” he said quietly. “You’ve allowed a demon into your life.”
I stood abruptly, pacing to the window and back. “It’s not what you think.”
“Then explain it to me.” His tone softened slightly. “Help me understand what’s happened to you.”
I looked at him—really looked at him—and saw genuine concern beneath the disapproval. This man had guided me through years of doubt and questioning, had patiently answered my endless “but why” questions when other teachers had dismissed them. He deserved honesty.
Or at least, as much honesty as I could safely offer.
“I’ve been… researching,” I said carefully. “Looking deeper into demonology. The original texts, not just the seminary interpretations.”
“I can see that.” He nodded toward the stack of books I’d moved. “Those aren’t seminary-approved texts.”
“No, they’re not. And that’s the problem.” I sat back down, leaning toward him earnestly. “Everything we’re taught presents a simplified version. Demons are evil, angels are good, humans are in between. But what if it’s more complex? What if demons, like humans, exist on a spectrum of morality?”
Father Finnegan’s expression grew troubled. “This is dangerous thinking, Noah.”
“Is it dangerous to seek truth?” I challenged. “Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do as people of faith? Seek truth, even when it’s uncomfortable?”
“Not all truths are meant for human understanding,” he countered. “Some mysteries belong to God alone.”
“That’s a convenient way to shut down questioning,” I said before I could stop myself.
His eyes widened at my boldness. “You’ve changed,” he said finally. “And not for the better.”
The words stung more than I expected. “Or maybe I’ve grown. Maybe I’m finally thinking for myself instead of just accepting what I’m told.”
“By whom?” Father Finnegan asked pointedly. “Whose voice are you really listening to, Noah? Your own? Or something more insidious?”
The question hit uncomfortably close to home. How much of my recent questioning was genuinely mine, and how much had been influenced by Lucien’s presence? But even as the doubt formed, I knew the answer. These questions had always been within me. Lucien had simply given me permission to voice them.
“I need to find my own way,” I said quietly. “My own understanding.”
Father Finnegan was silent for a long moment, studying me with the careful scrutiny he usually reserved for potentially possessed objects. Finally, he stood.
