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matrixrefugeeFinally got this damn thing typed up... Hopefully I'll have the last chapter up by the end of the weekend; that's gonna have some "DVD Extras" in it, as it were.
+J.M.J.+
The Smoke of Satan in Your House
by "Matrix Refugee"
Rating: R (Violence, including violence against a cleric, general freakishness)
Warnings: None other than what's been mentioned above
EDITED TO ADD (Thanks for pointing that out,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cerulianphoenix)!:
Chapters: Prologue: The Scent of Evil,
Chapter One: Contractors and Commissions
Chapter Two: Under the Floorboards,
Chapter Three: Creeping Around the Basement
Chapter Four: Nipping out for Supplies
Chapter Five: Eviction Notice
Author's Note: This was a tough but *fun* chapter to write. The hardest part was choreographing the fight scene, but I had a blast with it; one thing I love the most about "Constantine" is that it's one of the extremely rare movies that shows spiritual warfare as just *that*: warfare, complete with casualities and demon ass-kicking. I can't stand Christian writers who fall into the sunshine-and-roses school, makes me wanna beat them upside the head with copies of Milton's "Paradise Lost" and Dante's "Inferno" and spank them with prints of Hieronymus Bosch's "The Temptation of Saint Anthony" and Pieter Breughel the Elder's "The Fall of the Rebel Angels". And any bad attitudes of any of the clerical characters is a reflection of their failings, not the author's attitude towards the clergy in general: I've met some okay priests and some good ones and some downright obNOXious ones. Father Manning (and/or his real-world counterpart/model) is just one of the obnoxious ones.
Disclaimer: I don't own "Constantine", its characters, concepts and other indicia, which are the property of Francis Lawrence, Village Roadshow, Warner Brothers, Dc Comics/Vertigo, et al. And I certainly don't own any of the demons.
Chapter Six: Cleaning House
The choir showed up at eight to start practising, waking Constantine from a sound sleep. He felt tempted to bang on the wall and tell them to keep it down to a dull roar, but that would only give away his hiding place. Besides, the cough drained him of any resolve to object.
Taking Father Prewitt's offer, he went to the rectory, connected to the church by a short passageway between the buildings, and cleaned up, taking a shower and shaving. On his way back to the church, he nearly bumped into a short, thick-set priest who grumbled at him, but made no other objection to his presence. He had a feeling this was the cantankerous Father Manning Natalie had mentioned a few times in their conversation.
He nipped out to a coffee shop and came back as the members of the parish had started to gather in the yard, talking among themselves, sharing fond memories, as they made their way inside. From the look of things, it was going to be a full house. He overheard a few old-timers saying among themselves that if this many people came to church every Sunday, it wouldn't be closing. He had a funny feeling some of those old-timers hadn't always been the most reliable about going to Sunday Mass... Nice going, he thought. Dodging your own guilt and pointing the finger at someone else for commiting the same sin. Not that he'd ever been the most faithful about going to Mass, either, but at least he admitted it, instead of shutting his eyes to it and shifting the blame.
Once he managed to get inside, he couldn't find an empty seat that wasn't already occupied by a group of old ladies of either gender, or a young family with two small children and in several cases, another one on the way from the look of the wife's waist. He ended up standing in the back, behind a pillar, in a group of latecomers.
Father Prewitt seemed to have arranged for the parish to go out on a bang instead of the whimper Mallegant and his cronies expected: The organist literally pulled out all the stops. It sounded like they had two choirs up there: a regular mixed choir singing the hymns and an unaccompanied all male choir singing Gregorian chant. They'd even brought in a trumpet player to perform some classical fanfare during the processional. Half the parish seemed to be in the procession: the Knights of Columbus, in their 17th century black cocked-hats and red and gold short capes and sashes, silver swords at their sides, led the procession, followed by some women's sodality wearing red and white sashes over their Sunday best; about a dozen male altar servers in short white tunics over long black cassocks followed, with the two priests bringing up the rear. Father Manning, wearing less-splendid vestmants than his colleague, had a look on his face like he was just along for the ride. If attitudes like that were typical among the older priests in this diocese, no wonder it was fucked all to hell and heading there fast in a handbasket with holes in it.
The Mass itself was a Solemn High Mass: Father Prewitt sprinkled both the sanctuary and the congregation with holy water before offering the Mass proper. Some of the holy water must have dripped onto the weak spot in the time-space fabric: Constantine could hear the demonic chatter rise and yowl at one point when the priest stepped across the threshold of the sanctuary.
After the Mass, after a final, eulogy-like speech from Father Prewitt and a few terse remarks from Father Manning, the congregation gathered in the parish hall for a farewell party. Constantine stayed on the fringes of the crowd, only half-listening to the memories people tried to share with him.
He finally spotted Natalie talking in a corner with a skinny kid with dishwater-blond hair. For once she was a welcome sight. Constantine elbowed his way through the crowd to join her.
Natalie looked up, smiling at him wanly. "Oh, Mr. Constantine: I hoped you'd be down here."
He shrugged. "Couldn't pass up a free meal," he said. He glanced toward the hall door. "Mind if we step out? I need a smoke."
"Not all," Natalie said. "The noise level is starting to fray my nerves." Then almost as an afterthought, she nodded to her companion and said, "This fellow with me is Luke Thompson; he comes here once in a while, for Mass."
"So you're Father Crowley's friend?" Luke said, offering his hand to Constantine.
Constantine kept his hands in his pockets. "More like a business associate."
"Oh, so you're an exorcist? Wow."
"Yeah, I'm more of a freelancer, we'll say," Constantine said, checking the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket. At that moment he coughed. Great timing, he thought.
Luke eyed the pack of cigarettes Constantine shuffled out of sight. "Those things can kill you."
"Lots of things can," Constantine replied, heading out with Natalie at his heels.
Once they were outside in the sunshine, Natalie stepped in front of him as he lit up.
"So... is everything ready?" she asked.
"It's all in place," Constantine replied. "All that's left is the waiting."
"Just so you know, we're starting a sit-in, vigil, hey-this-is-God's-house-and-we-won't-let-you-in demonstration here tonight, after Tenebrae, in case you want to join us," she offered.
"I'll be there: I ain't goin' nowhere."
She was silent for a moment. "So how do you plan to pull this off?"
"I heard from Crowley that Mallegant might show up as early as tonight to take away the altar stone. When he gets here, he and his houseguests will have to deal with me, first."
"You're going to do a deliverance?"
"That's part of it. Other part is takin' out his business associate."
Natalie looked around nervously, her hand rising in that odd gesture. "You think he'll be here tonight?"
"Of course: he's been hanging around, peekin' in the windows, every night I've been here."
"Ugh. I don't like the sound of that. Scary."
"The bastard can't do anything unless Mallegant removes the Eucharist and the altar stone," Constantine said.
"I see..." Natalie said, her hand relaxing as she lowered it to her side.
"Just promise me one thing: Don't try to get involved," Constantine said. "You see anything nasty, you smell anything worse than what you'd ordinarily pick up, you get the hell out of there. You listening?"
She nodded. "I'm listening."
"Good," he said. "Last thing I need is for you to get hurt or killed or worse, and for me to have another dead body or another assault connected to my name. And don't think I'm saying this out of the kindness of my heart."
"You're not a very nice man," she said.
"I never pretended to be nice," Constantine said, flicking the spent stub of his cigarette into a melting snowbank and heading back into the church to rest up for the night.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Tenebrae, the portion of the Liturgy of the Hours reserved for the intentions of the dead, couldn't have been a more fitting final ceremony for the parish. After the last recitation of the De Profundis, Psalm 129, the priest -- thankfully Father Prewitt -- extinguished the last candles still burning in the darkened church, except for the sanctuary lamp and one candle burning on a free-standing metal candle stand at the foot of the sanctuary. A few of the women in the congregation -- much less numerous than the turn-out for that morning's Mass -- sobbed like mourners at an Irish funeral, barely visible in the gloom.
Maybe it was the somber tone of the ceremony in progress, but to Constantine's tightened awareness, as he watched from his place in the very back pew, the case containing the Shotgun under his heels, that aura under the floorboards seemed to have gotten stronger. He'd kept an eye on the windows, but so far, Mefistofel hadn't put in an appearance. Yet.
At length, the electric lights came back on. A few stragglers and families left, but the majority of the congregation -- the ones without small children -- remained, many with bedrolls and pillows with them. Some set about making themselves at home, others started praying the rosary out loud. While they were occupied with their prayers, Constantine assembled the Shotgun, keeping his awareness honed for any approaching targets. He glance up to see Natalie coming up the aisle toward him, carrying something wrapped in a towel. She approached him, almost shyly.
"I know you told me not to get involved, but I thought you might need this," she said, handing the bundle to Constantine.
"What is it?" he asked, not taking it.
"It's something I wanted to have on hand if any demons showed up: I wanted to dump it out right on Mr. Mefis's head, maybe from the parapet of the choirloft, if he showed up here," she said.
Constantine unwrapped the towel, uncovering a glass wine bottle half full of water. Holy water, he realised, sensing the aura of its blessing.
"What's this supposed to be, a Holy Molotov Cocktail?" he asked, cracking a smirk in spite of himself, as he took it in one hand.
"We had the bottle in the recycling bin: we couldn't get the deposit back on it. So I thought it would be good to carry holy water in. But then I realized it might be useful in another way," she said.
"It'll do," he said, taking the bottle from her and sliding it into his pocket. He glanced at the crowd near the front of the church, then turned back to her. "You better go back there with them."
"I'd rather stay with you," she said.
"No, go to them: it's where you belong. If you see anything strange or you sense anything nasty, you get out of here and get as many people to come with you as you can. You hear me?" he said.
"Yes, I hear you," she said, with resignation.
At that point, Luke approached, clearly looking for Natalie. "Hey, what are you doing back here?" he said.
"Keeping vigil, my style," Constantine replied. He chambered a round on the Shotgun.
Luke took a step back from him, holding up his hands disarmingly. "Whoa-hoa: what is that thing?"
"It's a shotgun, can't you tell?" Constantine said.
"Yeah, but what are you doing with it?"
"I'm gonna shoot some demon's ass off, if it crosses my path," Constantine replied.
Something rustled in the vesitibule and the front door sighed open, then shut with a bang, loud enough to attract the attention of the assembled parishoners.
A short, stocky, bespectacled man in a long black cassock entered, taking off a black fedora and uncovering a small red skullcap perched in the middle of his thinning dishwater-blond hair. In his other hand, he carried a small black wooden case with a handle on the lid. No less than Mallegant himself. The reek rising from his being nearly made Constantine cough, but he managed to hold back. No one could fault the bishop for doing at least some of his own dirty work with his own two hands. The bishop proceeded straight up the aisle. Father Prewitt approached him, meeting him halfway down the main aisle.
"What's going on here, Prewitt?" Mallegant demanded.
"We're having a vigil in God's house, is there anything wrong in that?" the priest replied.
"You know we're closing this church," Mallegant said.
"You're closing it: these people are keeping it open," Prewitt said, standing his ground.
"Then tell them to leave. I'm only here to follow through with the orders in the decree."
"I can't tell them to do that. Neither can you."
"Then I'll have you defrocked for insubordination." Something in Mallegant's voice didn't sound quite right, as if it had subtly deepened or darkened in tone, without making it unrecognizable as his own.
"On what grounds? If you did that, I'd feel it neccessary to petition the Vatican."
"Enough! Get out of my path and order them out of here!" Mallegant -- or the demons speaking through him -- snapped.
The congregation had gotten restless. "We'll stay as long as this place is standing." -- "This is God's house, not yours, Mallegant." -- "Our ancestors built this place, and now you want to pull it down?" -- "What's enough, Mallegant?" A ten-year old kid piped up, "You're not a very nice bishop!", before his father shushed him.
"This is no place for you anyway; go back to your homes," Mallegant ordered, in his normal voice, stepping past Prewitt and addressing the people.
"Sir, this IS their home!" Prewitt said, trying to step in front of Mallegant. His superior turned on him and pushed him to the floor, sending the priest sliding across the tiles. The people gasped.
"In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, leave us alone!" Natalie yelled. Luke covered her mouth with his hand; she tried to push him off, but he managed to pin her arms.
"Who's hiding back there?" Mallegant demanded in his normal voice. Then in the less than human tone, "Is that you, Constantine?"
So much for the element of surprise, Constantine thought, glancing up at the windows. All they needed now was for the demonic power behind Mallegant's decisions to show up. He rose and stepped out into the aisle, keeping the Shotgun down.
"Yeah, it's me, but don't let that mess with your plans, Mallegant," Constantine said.
Prewitt had gotten up, rubbing the back of his head. "You heard his Eminence, folks," he said, beckoning to his flock. "Follow me."
The crowd reluctantly rose and headed for the front door. As Prewitt passed Constantine, he put a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "You'd better know what you're doing," he said, with concern.
"Trust me on this," Constantine said.
As the last stragglers left the church, something large landed on the outer sill of the rose window and started scratching at the stone frame. Mallegant approached the altar, seeming to hesitate as he reached the foot of the sanctuary; then something shook him from within and he stepped through the open brass gates. A hellish stink, worse than the usual faint whiff, started to rise from the hotspot. Mallegant stepped up to the altar and set his wooden satchel on top of it, lifting the lid of the satchel. He unlocked the tabernacle and removed the ciborium containing the Eucharist, which he set in the satchel, then he approached the sanctuary lamp and lifting the preforrated brass cover, blew it out. He returned to the altar and started to remove the stone, a flat piece of marble inlaid with three crystal and brass reliquaries containing chips from the bones of three saints.
Above, the shadow at the window spread its wings, taking flight. Its aura did not withdraw --
Crack-SMASSHHHH
The window shattered, the frame falling in and crashing to the floor in a heap of rubble. Mefistofel dropped in through the window, wings folded close to his back like a diving hawk. He spread them, breaking his dive, as he landed behind Mallegant. The bishop turned to the demon, trembling a little, then catching himself, that inward force pulling him up in a more confident posture.
"I gave you what you needed, now give me what I came for," Mefistofel said, holding out one hand to Mallegant.
Before the bishop could reply, Constantine took aim and fired, putting two shots under the demon's left wing. Mefistofel howled and whirled round.
"You would interfere with my business and keep me from what's mine, wouldn't you, boy?" Mefistofel snarled, his face contorted with pain. "With blessed bullets."
"This heap wasn't yours in the first place," Constantine retorted.
Mefistofel snarled, lunging at Constantine, jaws wide open displaying an amount of fangs no mere human could have fit in his mouth. Constantine started to aim at those jaws, but he spotted movement near the floor. The tip of Mefistofel's tail darted toward his ankle, but before it could make contact, he pulled Natalie's bottle of holy water from his pocket and hurled it at the demon's tail. The bottle hit, shattering on contact, the force and the holy water's blessing enough to sever the tail. A flow of black blood poured from the wound, spattering the floor. Mefistofel reached out, trying to grab Constantine by the arm, but his would-be prey struck him in the groin with the butt of the Shotgun, knocking him over backwards, and onto the floor.
Constantine knelt over the demon's neck, pinning him to the tiles over the hotspot, pressing the muzzle of the Shotgun to the demon's forehead. He had to work fast: the tiles under him had started to curl up from the growing heat below. With his right hand, he made the Sign of the Cross over the demon, three times, while his left index finger rested on the trigger of the Shotgun:
"I cast you out, unclean spirit! Begone, then, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Give place to the Holy Spirit by this sign of the holy cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with the Father and the Holy Spirit, God, forever and ever."
"And what do you think you are doing with me?" Mefistofel snarled up at Constantine.
"Sending you back to hell, you bastard," Constantine replied.
"Leave that man alone!" Mallegant's normal voice called. Constantine looked up into Mallegant's face; the bishop stood over them both, the altar stone in his hand. The possessed man was doubtlessly blinded. Constantine could see Mefistofel's demonic form, but Mallegant, his eyes clouded by the presences within him, could see only the demon's human shell.
Mefistofel started to gather himself for a final attack, his one sound wing flaring across the tiles. Constantine fired; the top blew off the demon's skull as he crumpled to the tiles, his shell already starting to crumble into dust.
Mallegant grabbed at Constantine's sleeve, swinging the altar stone at his head. Constantine ducked, dropping the Shotgun. He grabbed both of Mallegant's wrists, squeezing them.
Mallegant lost his grip on the stone. Before it hit the floor, Constantine let go of Mallegant with one hand and caught the stone. Mallegant tried to grab at it. "That's mine!" the voice that barely sounded like his hissed.
"The hell, it ain't," Constantine said. He bashed Mallegant under the jaw with the stone, knocking his attacker out cold.
Mallegant sagged against him, pulling him toward the floor. Constantine let him drop the rest of the way to the sanctuary floor, then knelt over him, straddling the possessed man's body. The demons were less likely to use an unconscious host to attack him, which should make the deliverance easier. Hopefully.
"Holy Lord, almighty Father, everlasting God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who once and for all consigned that fallen and apostate tyrant to the flames of hell, who sent your only-begotten Son into the world to crush that roaring lion; hasten to our call for help and snatch from ruination and from the clutches of the noonday devil this human being made in your image and likeness," Constantine commanded, in Latin. "Strike terror, Lord, into the beast now laying waste your vineyard. Fill your servants with courage to fight manfully against that reprobate dragon, lest he despise those who put their trust in you, and say with Pharaoh of old: 'I know not God, nor will I set Israel free.' Let your mighty hand cast him out of your servant, Benjamin Mallegant, so he may no longer hold captive this person whom it pleased you to make in your image, and to redeem through your Son; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, forever and ever. Amen."
Mallegant's body tensed under him. The shapes of hideous faces seemed to press against the wall of the bishop's chest. Constantine pressed down on them, forcing them back.
"Depart, then, impious one, depart, accursed one, depart with all your deceits, for God has willed that man should be His temple. Why do you still linger here? Give honor to God the Father almighty, before whom every knee must bow. Give place to the Lord Jesus Christ, who shed His most precious blood for man. Give place to the Holy Spirit.... Begone, now! Begone, seducer! Your place is in solitude; your abode is in the nest of serpents; get down and crawl with them."
He felt the demons loosening their grip within their captive. Mallegant's body convulsed and his mouth dropped open. A dark cloud, like a swarm of black flies flew out of his mouth, heading straight for the cracks in the tiles over the hotspot, where they vanished.
Constantine picked up the altar stone and replaced it in the depression for it in the altar table. He reached into his coat pocket, taking out a linen handkerchief and picked up the ciborium, placing it back inside the tabernacle and shutting the door. He looked back down to the foot of the sanctuary.
The floor tiles lay flat but the scratch marks, where Mefistofel had clawed the floor remained. The demonic presence had lessened, no longer as strong as it had been.
He stepped down from the altar plinth, approaching the spot where Mallegant lay. The bishop's eyes fluttered open.
"Oof... ow..." Mallegant groaned, rubbing his jaw and wincing. "What... what happened?"
"Take it easy there, you just had seven demons pulled out of you," Constantine said, approaching and kneeling over him.
"Hey there, what's going on in here?" an official-sounding but slightly nasally voice called. Constantine looked up: Two uniformed police officers approached, following two plain-clothes detectives.
Constantine stood up, facing the police. "Officers, this ain't what it looks like," he said, holding his hands open by his sides, showing he was unarmed.
"We got a witness who says you just disturbed this otherwise peaceful house by bashin' Bishop Mallegant under the jaw," one of the detectives said, holding up a pair of handcuffs.
"Gentlemen, please, he probably just knocked some sense into me," Mallegant argued, pulling himself to his feet.
The other detective put a hand on Mallegant's shoulder and gently helped him to sit down on the sanctuary steps. "You take it easy there, Your Eminence; we've got an ambulence on the way."
"Shit," Constantine muttered as the first detective yanked his arms behind his back and slapped the cuffs onto his wrists before strong-arming him outside.
In the dooryard of the church, a line of police officers held back the crowd of parishoners and by-standers, the former trying to get back inside, the latter trying to see what was going on. Over the rustle of voices from asking questions among themselves and the policemen's calm orders to "please step back, there's nothing to see here", Constantine heard a woman yelling at someone. As the detective pushed him into the back of a waiting patrol car, Constantine traced the yelling to Natalie, at the edge of the crowd, yattering at a completely cowed Luke, who was trying to keep his cellphone out of her reach.
The kid had made the call, dammit.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
To Be Continued...
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Literary Easter Eggs:
The kid who piped up -- I had to have a kid put in his two cents, to honor the kids and parents of Our Lady of the Presentation School, who got shut out of their own graduation when the diocesan goons decided to try and prevent any demonstrations when they closed the school three days ahead of schedule. Instead, they wound up with a media circus complete with families camping out in the school playground, angry kids, and the SPCA aiming charges at the bishop for endangering the classroom pets trapped in the building.
"Sir, this IS their home!" -- A deliberate riff on the Karl Malden character's line "Boys, this IS my parish!" in On the Waterfront
Quotes from the Rite of Exorcism -- Taken from the 1968 translation of the Ritualis, which I found via http://www.ewtn.com . Unfortunately, I couldn't find it in the original Latin though I wanted to.
+J.M.J.+
The Smoke of Satan in Your House
by "Matrix Refugee"
Rating: R (Violence, including violence against a cleric, general freakishness)
Warnings: None other than what's been mentioned above
EDITED TO ADD (Thanks for pointing that out,
cerulianphoenix)!: Chapters: Prologue: The Scent of Evil,
Chapter One: Contractors and Commissions
Chapter Two: Under the Floorboards,
Chapter Three: Creeping Around the Basement
Chapter Four: Nipping out for Supplies
Chapter Five: Eviction Notice
Author's Note: This was a tough but *fun* chapter to write. The hardest part was choreographing the fight scene, but I had a blast with it; one thing I love the most about "Constantine" is that it's one of the extremely rare movies that shows spiritual warfare as just *that*: warfare, complete with casualities and demon ass-kicking. I can't stand Christian writers who fall into the sunshine-and-roses school, makes me wanna beat them upside the head with copies of Milton's "Paradise Lost" and Dante's "Inferno" and spank them with prints of Hieronymus Bosch's "The Temptation of Saint Anthony" and Pieter Breughel the Elder's "The Fall of the Rebel Angels". And any bad attitudes of any of the clerical characters is a reflection of their failings, not the author's attitude towards the clergy in general: I've met some okay priests and some good ones and some downright obNOXious ones. Father Manning (and/or his real-world counterpart/model) is just one of the obnoxious ones.
Disclaimer: I don't own "Constantine", its characters, concepts and other indicia, which are the property of Francis Lawrence, Village Roadshow, Warner Brothers, Dc Comics/Vertigo, et al. And I certainly don't own any of the demons.
The choir showed up at eight to start practising, waking Constantine from a sound sleep. He felt tempted to bang on the wall and tell them to keep it down to a dull roar, but that would only give away his hiding place. Besides, the cough drained him of any resolve to object.
Taking Father Prewitt's offer, he went to the rectory, connected to the church by a short passageway between the buildings, and cleaned up, taking a shower and shaving. On his way back to the church, he nearly bumped into a short, thick-set priest who grumbled at him, but made no other objection to his presence. He had a feeling this was the cantankerous Father Manning Natalie had mentioned a few times in their conversation.
He nipped out to a coffee shop and came back as the members of the parish had started to gather in the yard, talking among themselves, sharing fond memories, as they made their way inside. From the look of things, it was going to be a full house. He overheard a few old-timers saying among themselves that if this many people came to church every Sunday, it wouldn't be closing. He had a funny feeling some of those old-timers hadn't always been the most reliable about going to Sunday Mass... Nice going, he thought. Dodging your own guilt and pointing the finger at someone else for commiting the same sin. Not that he'd ever been the most faithful about going to Mass, either, but at least he admitted it, instead of shutting his eyes to it and shifting the blame.
Once he managed to get inside, he couldn't find an empty seat that wasn't already occupied by a group of old ladies of either gender, or a young family with two small children and in several cases, another one on the way from the look of the wife's waist. He ended up standing in the back, behind a pillar, in a group of latecomers.
Father Prewitt seemed to have arranged for the parish to go out on a bang instead of the whimper Mallegant and his cronies expected: The organist literally pulled out all the stops. It sounded like they had two choirs up there: a regular mixed choir singing the hymns and an unaccompanied all male choir singing Gregorian chant. They'd even brought in a trumpet player to perform some classical fanfare during the processional. Half the parish seemed to be in the procession: the Knights of Columbus, in their 17th century black cocked-hats and red and gold short capes and sashes, silver swords at their sides, led the procession, followed by some women's sodality wearing red and white sashes over their Sunday best; about a dozen male altar servers in short white tunics over long black cassocks followed, with the two priests bringing up the rear. Father Manning, wearing less-splendid vestmants than his colleague, had a look on his face like he was just along for the ride. If attitudes like that were typical among the older priests in this diocese, no wonder it was fucked all to hell and heading there fast in a handbasket with holes in it.
The Mass itself was a Solemn High Mass: Father Prewitt sprinkled both the sanctuary and the congregation with holy water before offering the Mass proper. Some of the holy water must have dripped onto the weak spot in the time-space fabric: Constantine could hear the demonic chatter rise and yowl at one point when the priest stepped across the threshold of the sanctuary.
After the Mass, after a final, eulogy-like speech from Father Prewitt and a few terse remarks from Father Manning, the congregation gathered in the parish hall for a farewell party. Constantine stayed on the fringes of the crowd, only half-listening to the memories people tried to share with him.
He finally spotted Natalie talking in a corner with a skinny kid with dishwater-blond hair. For once she was a welcome sight. Constantine elbowed his way through the crowd to join her.
Natalie looked up, smiling at him wanly. "Oh, Mr. Constantine: I hoped you'd be down here."
He shrugged. "Couldn't pass up a free meal," he said. He glanced toward the hall door. "Mind if we step out? I need a smoke."
"Not all," Natalie said. "The noise level is starting to fray my nerves." Then almost as an afterthought, she nodded to her companion and said, "This fellow with me is Luke Thompson; he comes here once in a while, for Mass."
"So you're Father Crowley's friend?" Luke said, offering his hand to Constantine.
Constantine kept his hands in his pockets. "More like a business associate."
"Oh, so you're an exorcist? Wow."
"Yeah, I'm more of a freelancer, we'll say," Constantine said, checking the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket. At that moment he coughed. Great timing, he thought.
Luke eyed the pack of cigarettes Constantine shuffled out of sight. "Those things can kill you."
"Lots of things can," Constantine replied, heading out with Natalie at his heels.
Once they were outside in the sunshine, Natalie stepped in front of him as he lit up.
"So... is everything ready?" she asked.
"It's all in place," Constantine replied. "All that's left is the waiting."
"Just so you know, we're starting a sit-in, vigil, hey-this-is-God's-house-and-we-won't-let-you-in demonstration here tonight, after Tenebrae, in case you want to join us," she offered.
"I'll be there: I ain't goin' nowhere."
She was silent for a moment. "So how do you plan to pull this off?"
"I heard from Crowley that Mallegant might show up as early as tonight to take away the altar stone. When he gets here, he and his houseguests will have to deal with me, first."
"You're going to do a deliverance?"
"That's part of it. Other part is takin' out his business associate."
Natalie looked around nervously, her hand rising in that odd gesture. "You think he'll be here tonight?"
"Of course: he's been hanging around, peekin' in the windows, every night I've been here."
"Ugh. I don't like the sound of that. Scary."
"The bastard can't do anything unless Mallegant removes the Eucharist and the altar stone," Constantine said.
"I see..." Natalie said, her hand relaxing as she lowered it to her side.
"Just promise me one thing: Don't try to get involved," Constantine said. "You see anything nasty, you smell anything worse than what you'd ordinarily pick up, you get the hell out of there. You listening?"
She nodded. "I'm listening."
"Good," he said. "Last thing I need is for you to get hurt or killed or worse, and for me to have another dead body or another assault connected to my name. And don't think I'm saying this out of the kindness of my heart."
"You're not a very nice man," she said.
"I never pretended to be nice," Constantine said, flicking the spent stub of his cigarette into a melting snowbank and heading back into the church to rest up for the night.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Tenebrae, the portion of the Liturgy of the Hours reserved for the intentions of the dead, couldn't have been a more fitting final ceremony for the parish. After the last recitation of the De Profundis, Psalm 129, the priest -- thankfully Father Prewitt -- extinguished the last candles still burning in the darkened church, except for the sanctuary lamp and one candle burning on a free-standing metal candle stand at the foot of the sanctuary. A few of the women in the congregation -- much less numerous than the turn-out for that morning's Mass -- sobbed like mourners at an Irish funeral, barely visible in the gloom.
Maybe it was the somber tone of the ceremony in progress, but to Constantine's tightened awareness, as he watched from his place in the very back pew, the case containing the Shotgun under his heels, that aura under the floorboards seemed to have gotten stronger. He'd kept an eye on the windows, but so far, Mefistofel hadn't put in an appearance. Yet.
At length, the electric lights came back on. A few stragglers and families left, but the majority of the congregation -- the ones without small children -- remained, many with bedrolls and pillows with them. Some set about making themselves at home, others started praying the rosary out loud. While they were occupied with their prayers, Constantine assembled the Shotgun, keeping his awareness honed for any approaching targets. He glance up to see Natalie coming up the aisle toward him, carrying something wrapped in a towel. She approached him, almost shyly.
"I know you told me not to get involved, but I thought you might need this," she said, handing the bundle to Constantine.
"What is it?" he asked, not taking it.
"It's something I wanted to have on hand if any demons showed up: I wanted to dump it out right on Mr. Mefis's head, maybe from the parapet of the choirloft, if he showed up here," she said.
Constantine unwrapped the towel, uncovering a glass wine bottle half full of water. Holy water, he realised, sensing the aura of its blessing.
"What's this supposed to be, a Holy Molotov Cocktail?" he asked, cracking a smirk in spite of himself, as he took it in one hand.
"We had the bottle in the recycling bin: we couldn't get the deposit back on it. So I thought it would be good to carry holy water in. But then I realized it might be useful in another way," she said.
"It'll do," he said, taking the bottle from her and sliding it into his pocket. He glanced at the crowd near the front of the church, then turned back to her. "You better go back there with them."
"I'd rather stay with you," she said.
"No, go to them: it's where you belong. If you see anything strange or you sense anything nasty, you get out of here and get as many people to come with you as you can. You hear me?" he said.
"Yes, I hear you," she said, with resignation.
At that point, Luke approached, clearly looking for Natalie. "Hey, what are you doing back here?" he said.
"Keeping vigil, my style," Constantine replied. He chambered a round on the Shotgun.
Luke took a step back from him, holding up his hands disarmingly. "Whoa-hoa: what is that thing?"
"It's a shotgun, can't you tell?" Constantine said.
"Yeah, but what are you doing with it?"
"I'm gonna shoot some demon's ass off, if it crosses my path," Constantine replied.
Something rustled in the vesitibule and the front door sighed open, then shut with a bang, loud enough to attract the attention of the assembled parishoners.
A short, stocky, bespectacled man in a long black cassock entered, taking off a black fedora and uncovering a small red skullcap perched in the middle of his thinning dishwater-blond hair. In his other hand, he carried a small black wooden case with a handle on the lid. No less than Mallegant himself. The reek rising from his being nearly made Constantine cough, but he managed to hold back. No one could fault the bishop for doing at least some of his own dirty work with his own two hands. The bishop proceeded straight up the aisle. Father Prewitt approached him, meeting him halfway down the main aisle.
"What's going on here, Prewitt?" Mallegant demanded.
"We're having a vigil in God's house, is there anything wrong in that?" the priest replied.
"You know we're closing this church," Mallegant said.
"You're closing it: these people are keeping it open," Prewitt said, standing his ground.
"Then tell them to leave. I'm only here to follow through with the orders in the decree."
"I can't tell them to do that. Neither can you."
"Then I'll have you defrocked for insubordination." Something in Mallegant's voice didn't sound quite right, as if it had subtly deepened or darkened in tone, without making it unrecognizable as his own.
"On what grounds? If you did that, I'd feel it neccessary to petition the Vatican."
"Enough! Get out of my path and order them out of here!" Mallegant -- or the demons speaking through him -- snapped.
The congregation had gotten restless. "We'll stay as long as this place is standing." -- "This is God's house, not yours, Mallegant." -- "Our ancestors built this place, and now you want to pull it down?" -- "What's enough, Mallegant?" A ten-year old kid piped up, "You're not a very nice bishop!", before his father shushed him.
"This is no place for you anyway; go back to your homes," Mallegant ordered, in his normal voice, stepping past Prewitt and addressing the people.
"Sir, this IS their home!" Prewitt said, trying to step in front of Mallegant. His superior turned on him and pushed him to the floor, sending the priest sliding across the tiles. The people gasped.
"In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, leave us alone!" Natalie yelled. Luke covered her mouth with his hand; she tried to push him off, but he managed to pin her arms.
"Who's hiding back there?" Mallegant demanded in his normal voice. Then in the less than human tone, "Is that you, Constantine?"
So much for the element of surprise, Constantine thought, glancing up at the windows. All they needed now was for the demonic power behind Mallegant's decisions to show up. He rose and stepped out into the aisle, keeping the Shotgun down.
"Yeah, it's me, but don't let that mess with your plans, Mallegant," Constantine said.
Prewitt had gotten up, rubbing the back of his head. "You heard his Eminence, folks," he said, beckoning to his flock. "Follow me."
The crowd reluctantly rose and headed for the front door. As Prewitt passed Constantine, he put a hand on the taller man's shoulder. "You'd better know what you're doing," he said, with concern.
"Trust me on this," Constantine said.
As the last stragglers left the church, something large landed on the outer sill of the rose window and started scratching at the stone frame. Mallegant approached the altar, seeming to hesitate as he reached the foot of the sanctuary; then something shook him from within and he stepped through the open brass gates. A hellish stink, worse than the usual faint whiff, started to rise from the hotspot. Mallegant stepped up to the altar and set his wooden satchel on top of it, lifting the lid of the satchel. He unlocked the tabernacle and removed the ciborium containing the Eucharist, which he set in the satchel, then he approached the sanctuary lamp and lifting the preforrated brass cover, blew it out. He returned to the altar and started to remove the stone, a flat piece of marble inlaid with three crystal and brass reliquaries containing chips from the bones of three saints.
Above, the shadow at the window spread its wings, taking flight. Its aura did not withdraw --
Crack-SMASSHHHH
The window shattered, the frame falling in and crashing to the floor in a heap of rubble. Mefistofel dropped in through the window, wings folded close to his back like a diving hawk. He spread them, breaking his dive, as he landed behind Mallegant. The bishop turned to the demon, trembling a little, then catching himself, that inward force pulling him up in a more confident posture.
"I gave you what you needed, now give me what I came for," Mefistofel said, holding out one hand to Mallegant.
Before the bishop could reply, Constantine took aim and fired, putting two shots under the demon's left wing. Mefistofel howled and whirled round.
"You would interfere with my business and keep me from what's mine, wouldn't you, boy?" Mefistofel snarled, his face contorted with pain. "With blessed bullets."
"This heap wasn't yours in the first place," Constantine retorted.
Mefistofel snarled, lunging at Constantine, jaws wide open displaying an amount of fangs no mere human could have fit in his mouth. Constantine started to aim at those jaws, but he spotted movement near the floor. The tip of Mefistofel's tail darted toward his ankle, but before it could make contact, he pulled Natalie's bottle of holy water from his pocket and hurled it at the demon's tail. The bottle hit, shattering on contact, the force and the holy water's blessing enough to sever the tail. A flow of black blood poured from the wound, spattering the floor. Mefistofel reached out, trying to grab Constantine by the arm, but his would-be prey struck him in the groin with the butt of the Shotgun, knocking him over backwards, and onto the floor.
Constantine knelt over the demon's neck, pinning him to the tiles over the hotspot, pressing the muzzle of the Shotgun to the demon's forehead. He had to work fast: the tiles under him had started to curl up from the growing heat below. With his right hand, he made the Sign of the Cross over the demon, three times, while his left index finger rested on the trigger of the Shotgun:
"I cast you out, unclean spirit! Begone, then, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Give place to the Holy Spirit by this sign of the holy cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with the Father and the Holy Spirit, God, forever and ever."
"And what do you think you are doing with me?" Mefistofel snarled up at Constantine.
"Sending you back to hell, you bastard," Constantine replied.
"Leave that man alone!" Mallegant's normal voice called. Constantine looked up into Mallegant's face; the bishop stood over them both, the altar stone in his hand. The possessed man was doubtlessly blinded. Constantine could see Mefistofel's demonic form, but Mallegant, his eyes clouded by the presences within him, could see only the demon's human shell.
Mefistofel started to gather himself for a final attack, his one sound wing flaring across the tiles. Constantine fired; the top blew off the demon's skull as he crumpled to the tiles, his shell already starting to crumble into dust.
Mallegant grabbed at Constantine's sleeve, swinging the altar stone at his head. Constantine ducked, dropping the Shotgun. He grabbed both of Mallegant's wrists, squeezing them.
Mallegant lost his grip on the stone. Before it hit the floor, Constantine let go of Mallegant with one hand and caught the stone. Mallegant tried to grab at it. "That's mine!" the voice that barely sounded like his hissed.
"The hell, it ain't," Constantine said. He bashed Mallegant under the jaw with the stone, knocking his attacker out cold.
Mallegant sagged against him, pulling him toward the floor. Constantine let him drop the rest of the way to the sanctuary floor, then knelt over him, straddling the possessed man's body. The demons were less likely to use an unconscious host to attack him, which should make the deliverance easier. Hopefully.
"Holy Lord, almighty Father, everlasting God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who once and for all consigned that fallen and apostate tyrant to the flames of hell, who sent your only-begotten Son into the world to crush that roaring lion; hasten to our call for help and snatch from ruination and from the clutches of the noonday devil this human being made in your image and likeness," Constantine commanded, in Latin. "Strike terror, Lord, into the beast now laying waste your vineyard. Fill your servants with courage to fight manfully against that reprobate dragon, lest he despise those who put their trust in you, and say with Pharaoh of old: 'I know not God, nor will I set Israel free.' Let your mighty hand cast him out of your servant, Benjamin Mallegant, so he may no longer hold captive this person whom it pleased you to make in your image, and to redeem through your Son; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, forever and ever. Amen."
Mallegant's body tensed under him. The shapes of hideous faces seemed to press against the wall of the bishop's chest. Constantine pressed down on them, forcing them back.
"Depart, then, impious one, depart, accursed one, depart with all your deceits, for God has willed that man should be His temple. Why do you still linger here? Give honor to God the Father almighty, before whom every knee must bow. Give place to the Lord Jesus Christ, who shed His most precious blood for man. Give place to the Holy Spirit.... Begone, now! Begone, seducer! Your place is in solitude; your abode is in the nest of serpents; get down and crawl with them."
He felt the demons loosening their grip within their captive. Mallegant's body convulsed and his mouth dropped open. A dark cloud, like a swarm of black flies flew out of his mouth, heading straight for the cracks in the tiles over the hotspot, where they vanished.
Constantine picked up the altar stone and replaced it in the depression for it in the altar table. He reached into his coat pocket, taking out a linen handkerchief and picked up the ciborium, placing it back inside the tabernacle and shutting the door. He looked back down to the foot of the sanctuary.
The floor tiles lay flat but the scratch marks, where Mefistofel had clawed the floor remained. The demonic presence had lessened, no longer as strong as it had been.
He stepped down from the altar plinth, approaching the spot where Mallegant lay. The bishop's eyes fluttered open.
"Oof... ow..." Mallegant groaned, rubbing his jaw and wincing. "What... what happened?"
"Take it easy there, you just had seven demons pulled out of you," Constantine said, approaching and kneeling over him.
"Hey there, what's going on in here?" an official-sounding but slightly nasally voice called. Constantine looked up: Two uniformed police officers approached, following two plain-clothes detectives.
Constantine stood up, facing the police. "Officers, this ain't what it looks like," he said, holding his hands open by his sides, showing he was unarmed.
"We got a witness who says you just disturbed this otherwise peaceful house by bashin' Bishop Mallegant under the jaw," one of the detectives said, holding up a pair of handcuffs.
"Gentlemen, please, he probably just knocked some sense into me," Mallegant argued, pulling himself to his feet.
The other detective put a hand on Mallegant's shoulder and gently helped him to sit down on the sanctuary steps. "You take it easy there, Your Eminence; we've got an ambulence on the way."
"Shit," Constantine muttered as the first detective yanked his arms behind his back and slapped the cuffs onto his wrists before strong-arming him outside.
In the dooryard of the church, a line of police officers held back the crowd of parishoners and by-standers, the former trying to get back inside, the latter trying to see what was going on. Over the rustle of voices from asking questions among themselves and the policemen's calm orders to "please step back, there's nothing to see here", Constantine heard a woman yelling at someone. As the detective pushed him into the back of a waiting patrol car, Constantine traced the yelling to Natalie, at the edge of the crowd, yattering at a completely cowed Luke, who was trying to keep his cellphone out of her reach.
The kid had made the call, dammit.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
To Be Continued...
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Literary Easter Eggs:
The kid who piped up -- I had to have a kid put in his two cents, to honor the kids and parents of Our Lady of the Presentation School, who got shut out of their own graduation when the diocesan goons decided to try and prevent any demonstrations when they closed the school three days ahead of schedule. Instead, they wound up with a media circus complete with families camping out in the school playground, angry kids, and the SPCA aiming charges at the bishop for endangering the classroom pets trapped in the building.
"Sir, this IS their home!" -- A deliberate riff on the Karl Malden character's line "Boys, this IS my parish!" in On the Waterfront
Quotes from the Rite of Exorcism -- Taken from the 1968 translation of the Ritualis, which I found via http://www.ewtn.com . Unfortunately, I couldn't find it in the original Latin though I wanted to.
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no subject
Date: 2005-08-13 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-13 04:16 am (UTC)Title: "The Smoke of Satan in Your House"
Rating: R in later chapters (Demon slash, violence)
Summary: When a crooked bishop threatens to close a historic church in his floundering diocease, the Church's least faithful son may be the only one to prevent a worse calamity. In Progress
Chapters: Prologue: The Scent of Evil, (http://www.livejournal.com/users/matrixrefugee/81853.html)
Chapter One: Contractors and Commissions (http://www.livejournal.com/users/matrixrefugee/81948.html)
Chapter Two: Under the Floorboards, (http://www.livejournal.com/users/matrixrefugee/85542.html)
Chapter Three: Creeping Around the Basement (http://www.livejournal.com/users/matrixrefugee/89752.html)
Chapter Four: Nipping out for Supplies (http://www.livejournal.com/users/matrixrefugee/117277.html)
Chapter Five: Eviction Notice (http://www.livejournal.com/users/matrixrefugee/120252.html)
no subject
Date: 2005-08-13 03:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-13 05:28 pm (UTC)I'll have to read some more later, you have me hooked on the plot now.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-13 06:41 pm (UTC)Great fight scene. I also liked the end of the fight, where Constantine was arrested for assaulting a bishop. ^_^ Tying into comic canon?
no subject
Date: 2005-08-14 03:44 am (UTC)