For We Are Many

And he asked him, What is thy name?

And he answered saying, 

My name is Legion: for we are many.

Mark 5:9

She had told me her aunt was crazy.  She told me a lot of things.  We shared an office that had barely enough room for our desks without us sitting at them, and she let out a constant stream of consciousness that would leave Kerouac screaming at her to get to the point.  Her aunt was mentally ill, but as fucked up as it was to call her crazy, Lilly didn’t have the vocabulary to think of another word for it.  It was especially shocking that she talked so much with so few words in her repertoire.  I knew far too much about her.  I knew she was a diabetic who ate ice cream and candy all day and that her dad had to have his foot cut off because he was a diabetic, too.  I knew she thought that wouldn’t happen to her, because she didn’t drink like her dad.  She loved Jesus too much for drinking. I knew about her boyfriend.  I knew that she considered herself a celibate who had taken a purity vow until her boyfriend was released from prison.  

She had told me her aunt was crazy.  Then one day, she came in and told me that her aunt, “you know…the aunt that’s crazy” had a demon.  Usually, she only had a fraction of my attention, basically enough to know she was talking.  I always acted busy when she was in the room so I didn’t have to engage, but this announcement got my attention.  I stopped typing and slowly turned my chair around.  

“Your aunt, who you told me was ‘crazy’…is possessed by a demon.”  I had hoped that restating her comment would help her see the absurdity in her words.

“Yeah!” she said, sounding excited about it.  Obviously, she didn’t read my sarcasm.

“And how has this demon manifested itself?”

She stared blankly.

I drew a deep breath, letting it out in an audible sigh of frustration.

“What makes you think she has a demon?”

“Oh! She keeps seeing a creepy face behind her when she looks in the mirror and when she looks back, he disappears!  And she’s been hearing voices in her house!  They called a priest to give her an exorcism tonight, but I told them to let my church come over first.  We know how to do spiritual warfare.”

“Spiritual warfare.  And how does that work?”

“We go around the house to every room and yell, ‘In the name of Jesus Christ I command you to leave!  You have no authority here!’”

“Who has authority in the house?”

“Jesus.”

“And he couldn’t keep the demon out in the first place?”

Another blank stare.  Pearls before swine.  She continued as if I’d never asked the question.

“We have to open the windows and doors so the demon can leave.”

By this point, I didn’t want to bother asking why disembodied spirits had to leave through doors and windows.

“Does she live with anyone else?”

“Yeah…my uncle,” she said, rolling her eyes.  I really didn’t know enough about her aunt for the statement to require that level of sarcasm, or maybe she had told me that and I wasn’t listening.  

“Can he hear the voices?”

“No! I told you!  My aunt has the demon, not the house!”  

I thought about asking her why they needed to yell at the house, but I did not want to give her the idea of screaming the demon out of her aunt.

I consigned myself to the fact that I wouldn’t get through to her.  Silently nodding my head, I turned my chair around to continue my monotonous data entry, hoping I could go back to ignoring her.  Without looking behind me, I knew she wasn’t moving and felt her eyes burning holes in the back of my head, but I refused to continue the conversation unprompted.  Her head was going to explode and I knew it, but her raging tantrums were the only thing I hated more than the menial shit I had to do at work, so I was hoping if I didn’t make eye contact she might go away.  She broke first.

“You’re being so disrespectful.” 

 I paused to speak diplomatically.

“You’re welcome to believe whatever you want. I didn’t start this conversation.  You brought up your aunt and that you believe she’s possessed.  I just have a different opinion on this subject.”

“No!  I’m sick and tired of people thinking it’s okay to mock Christians!  We are so oppressed!”

I rolled my eyes and paused for a second, trying to decide whether to respond or walk out and find something else to do.  

“Nobody is oppressing you, or mocking you, I just think you should get your aunt some medical help instead of trying to exercise a demon.”

“Fine! But don’t mock something you haven’t seen.  Come with us tonight.”

“To your aunt’s house?”

“Yes!  You will see the power of God work miracles in the life of my aunt!”

I had nothing better to do and I had never seen this kind of thing, so I thought it would be interesting.  

“Okay.”

She looked taken aback.

“Okay.”

“If your aunt doesn’t get better after tonight, are you going to try to get her some professional help?”

“We won’t need to.  When you see my aunt get better tonight, will you come to church with me this Sunday?”

“Sure,” I said, knowing my ass wouldn’t take up space in a pew any time soon.

I followed her to her aunt’s house and saw a crowd of people on the lawn and heard voices from inside the house, through a screen door.  One voice cried in agony and the other two were in a heated argument about who was allowed to be there.  I followed Lilly inside and found a Catholic priest in a black cassock and a purple stole.  He had an air of sophistication and spoke with his chest puffed out and head held high enough to look down his nose and through his half-moon spectacles at the man who was in his face like he was ready for a prison fight.  The other man was shouting, glowering at the older man with the words “Jesus Saves” tattooed over his right and left eyes, respectively, where brows should have been.  His fingers, with the word grace tattooed across the knuckles, were pointed in the priest’s face.  He had just finished yelling when we walked in and the priest took a breath before responding.

“The Catholic church is the world’s oldest and most respected christian organization, deriving its authority from Christ himself through Saint Peter.  The holy water in this vial was blessed by His Holiness while I was on a pilgrimage to the Vatican.  What authority do you think you and your followers have in the face of the Adversary himself?”

“We have the authority of the fucking believers!  Simple as that!  Jesus has washed us clean!  We are one in Christ and this demon has no authority when we are gathered together!  That’s our authority, motherfucker!”

The priest, taken aback by the language of his fellow holy man, paused and took a breath.

“And…your methods?”

He recited to the priest the same boisterous cluster fuck Lilly had told me about earlier that day.

The priest considered it for a few moments. Looking out of a large bay window at the front of the house at the crowd of bikers, recovering addicts, and ex-convicts fresh out of prison, he decided on a compromise.

“Well, it seems to me that, in your…opinion, you need not be in the presence of the afflicted while performing your rites.  Perhaps you’ll allow me to be with her in the bedroom while you take care of the rest of this home.”

The pastor frowned and nodded. He turned to his congregation and spread his arms wide.

“We’re going to compromise with Father Samael.  It’s the Christian thing to do!  Let’s show him the love of God!”

There was an uproar of cheers and whoops from the crowd in front and everyone filed in, joining hands in prayer.  A woman in the forming circle was looking for a hand to hold and put out her hand when she saw me in a corner alone.  I smiled and held up my hand, shaking my head.  She didn’t seem too bothered by this and turned to the person closest to her.  

From his bag, the priest was retrieving crucifixes, vials of water, and whatever else he could use to chase away the legions of demons, crossing himself like a crusader preparing for battle.  I looked back to the prayer circle and saw the pastor in the middle, eyes closed and hands raised.  He was pacing around the corral of bodies and yelling as if God was actually in the sky and needed him to speak up.  

“God!  You are so good!  We thank you for this opportunity to show your power and love to one of your children!  Grant us the power to cast the demon out of this woman!  Let the blood of Christ run through us! Amen!”

“Amen!” yelled the crowd, like a high school football team in Alabama.

They dropped each other’s hands and began to meander around the living room.  They repeated a series of different commands, all at different times, while opening windows and doors.

“By the power of God, I commend you to leave this place!”

“Christ commands you to leave this house.”

“You have no authority here, Satan!”

“By the blood of Christ, you are not welcome!”

“The legions of Satan shall not prevail!.”

There didn’t seem to be any real standard for their incantations and the crowd began to disperse throughout the house and into bedrooms, bathrooms, and the kitchen.  

I started meandering with everyone else.  I walked into a kitchen, through a hallway and saw a small, quiet man who I had barely noticed earlier in a corner of the living room when the pastor and the priest were arguing.  He noticed me and the fact that I was not yelling with the rest of them.  When we made eye contact, I walked up and introduced myself as a friend of Lilly’s.  He said he was her uncle.  

“What do you think of all this?”  I asked, getting a puzzled look in return.  I got the feeling that he was more puzzled that someone asked his opinion than he was confused by the question. 

“Me and my wife were raised catholic, mostly go on Easter and Christmas.”  He looked around at the crowd and the ever-louder din of voices starting to yell and scream at the demons like they were a flock of  pigeons they were trying to stop from shitting on their cars.  “I just want her to get better.  She’s had such a hard time.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”  I thought about that for a minute, and although I wanted to mind my own business, I ventured to ask the question on my mind all day.  “If it’s none of my business, just tell me, but has your wife seen a doctor?”

He seemed pleased by my concern and told me that she had been to the doctor yesterday.  He had prescribed an antipsychotic, which she just started taking today.  

“Then why are you allowing all this?”  He smiled a little.  “Just covering my bases.  I called the priest, and Lilly wanted her church to try.  I figured, ‘what harm can it do?’”

It felt like any disagreement was futile as this was already happening, so I smiled uncomfortably and nodded my head.  The awkward silence was broken by a crash in a back room and he excused himself.  

I continued walking through the house and noticed that everyone was getting increasingly worked up.  A heavy-set woman nearby was screaming and flailing her arms, her face was dripping sweat and turning a crimson red.  A roided-up, bald man in the same room punched a hole in the wall and pushed his face into it screaming “get out of here!”

I didn’t like the vibe in the room and kept wandering.  There was a woman glowering into a mirror in the bathroom, which I assumed is the one where the aunt saw the demon’s face.  It was like she was trying to taunt the spectre into showing itself.  Just past that bathroom was a room in the back corner, the door ajar, quieter than all the other rooms.  I heard rhythmic, sing-song chanting in latin.  I didn’t know if the priest wanted anyone in there with him, but I opened the door a little bit and peeked.  There was a woman laying on the bed, drops of water on the blanket and gleaming on her face.  She looked up at the priest, with hope and affection in her eyes.  She was pale and scared, but had faith that this man could make it all go away.  As she stared into the man’s eyes, there was a pain that seemed to register on her face.  It apparently got worse over the next few moments.  The priest looked as if he had seen this a million times and told her the demon was starting to writhe and was preparing to leave her body.  As he did, she looked toward the door and saw me.  

“Who is that?  Is he one of them?”

Anger flashed across the priest’s face and he charged at me.

“Get out!” Father Samael screamed and slammed the door.

I walked back down the hall and looked in the rooms where people were starting to get out of hand.  People were beating their fists on the walls, trying to coax the devil out like a trapped rat.

“The demons could be in the furniture!”  The pastor bellowed and he looked at Lilly for permission.

“Whatever it takes, Pastor Lucas!”  Lilly exclaimed, and tipped over a dresser.  Someone else opened a desk’s drawers and started throwing papers, staplers, pens, and paper clips everywhere.  A bookshelf was thrown to the floor and a pile of books was heaved out the window.  I made my way toward the front door and found the living room in a more chaotic state than the bedroom.  The TV was being smashed in and a man was on top of a couch with a knife, thrashing holes in it to release the evil spirits within.  The broken television was thrown through a window to open up more space for the spirits to leave.  I was just making my way toward the door when Pastor Lucas’ voice came from the back corner of the house.  

“It’s working!”

There was a stampede of people out of the living room and toward the bedroom.  I wanted to leave, but my curiosity got the better of me and I went back to the bedroom where everyone had crowded in.  The sound in the house had not subsided one bit, but  was becoming deafening as I made my way through the hall, hesitantly.  As I got to the door, the scene before me chilled my spine and cemented me to the spot, though I willed my body to run as fast as it could out into the night and to the safety of my home.  Everyone was screaming, flailing, hissing at the demon that dared to disturb the sanctity of this dwelling place.  Drool was spilling from the lips of the people there, their teeth bared, some rent their clothes and clawed bleeding wounds into their bare chests.  Above the crowd, the priest had raised his golden cross and his latin could be faintly heard over the pandemonium.  Whether they meant to cast out the devil or worship him was unclear to me, and a suspicion creeped into my mind that the priest was hexing the poor woman on the bed rather than blessing her.  

The woman on the bed.  

I looked around for her husband and saw him standing sheepishly in the crowd.  On his face, a look of worry for his wife and fear of the pressing throng.  I felt a sudden need to know the state of this stranger on the bed, and in the chaos, felt no need to stand on ceremony.  I charged into the room, elbowing, pushing, feeling a heat like flames licking my skin from the pulsating bodies all around me.  

I got to the edge of the bed and was frozen in horror where I stood. The afflicted woman writhed, and seized, and screamed like she sat in an electric chair.  Her wrists lashed to the sides of the headboard and her feet tied together, were bleeding as they fought against their restraints.  Her mouth foamed, spraying to the ceiling and onto the heaving mass of people around her, nobody caring when they were hit by it.  All I could do was stare, knowing the scene before me would never leave my mind.  What was I to do?  Nobody touched her, yet her body seemed to be purging something unseen.  

Then her writhing slowed, she gasped for breath, and lay calmly, the demonic orgasm having passed.  Her body twitched once more…then again…then tensed as if to prepare for another tremor, but instead relaxed, her head turning and resting blank eyes on me.  The room fell silent and everyone smiled around at each other.  The priest looked down at the woman like a father who had just comforted his child.  But, those eyes had me transfixed.  They looked at me, not with relief from her affliction, not with a plea for help, but with judgement for a sin already committed which could not be washed away.  

A cheer erupted from the crowd which startled me from my daze.  People were hugging and laughing and raising their hands toward the sky.  The pastor bellowed, “Let us pray!” and a bedlam, almost as loud as the casting out, rose in thanks to their god.  Not believing my eyes, I walked slowly, cautiously over to the woman.  On my way there, I kicked something under the bed by accident.  I got down on my knees and, looking underneath, saw a brownish-orange bottle nobody had noticed.  I reached out to it, pulled the bottle into the light, and looked at the label.  The distribution date told me that the pills were picked up that day, and the number of pills that were meant to be in the empty bottle was thirty.  I got up off the floor and rushed to the woman’s side, pressing two fingers to her neck just under her jaw.  

“NO PULSE.”  I shouted, but the sound was drowned out even to my ears.  I looked at the priest and he looked back quizzically.  I ran to his side and yelled in his ear.  “NO PULSE!”  

The priest nodded his head solemnly and approached the woman, in no hurry.  He then put up two fingers and crossed her, more latin. Last rites, a monotone requiem.

“No!  She needs help!”

I ran and grabbed the uncle by the shirt and shoved the pill bottle into his bewildered face.

“I left them on the nightstand!” he screamed, and with that, he crumpled to the floor, softly weeping and repeating, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

I went back to the lifeless woman on the bed and tried to untie her to get her on the floor and start compressions, but whoever tied her up seems to have had some experience at sea. 

I made eye contact and pointed at a face in the crowd.

“You! Call 911!”

But the euphoria in their eyes told me they would not respond.

I saw Lilly.

“Call 911!”

But Lilly had the same look in her eyes.

“She’s not breathing, call 911!”

“Why? She’s safe now!”

The priest was next to me now singing latin only he understood.  I grabbed his stole.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

I yelled and screamed for help and tried to call 911 myself, but the sea of voices, speaking latin, praising God, and weeping on the floor drowned me out.

“HELP!”

“Thank you Lord!”

“911!”

“…indulgeat tibi Dominus quidquid…”

“WHO TIED THESE FUCKING KNOTS?”

“Our god, is an awesome god!”

“YOU’RE KILLING HER!”

But they kept going.

Defeated, I pushed back past the crowd, out the front door and called 911 again.

The police, firemen, and ambulance came.  The cops were confused by the whole thing.  The uncle didn’t press any charges for destruction of property, but considering his wife’s death, he was told not to leave town.  

I got to work late the next day.  When I came in, everyone was speaking in hushed tones.  A coworker came up to me solemnly.  

“Lilly came by earlier this morning, but couldn’t stay.  Her aunt passed away last night and she is helping her uncle with the arrangements.”

She gave me a card and an envelope.

“We all signed a card for her.  If you could just sign it and leave it on her desk, we’d really appreciate it.  I put a gift card in it, if you’d like to contribute about ten dollars.”

I nodded silently and went to my office, closed the door, and stood there for a moment.  I opened the card, not really wanting to sign it.  Everyone had written a short message.

You and your uncle are in our prayers!

May the Lord comfort you and your family at this difficult time.

Be at peace, your aunt is with God.

Thank God his suffering is over.

I closed the card, sealed it in the envelope and left it on her desk, without my signature.  I went back to mine and sat down to find a handwritten note on pink stationary with a cross in the corner.

5722 Carpentero Ave.

9:00 am

My Dear Friend and Brother in Christ,

You left last night before I could give you the address to my church.  

Thank you for coming and witnessing the love of God.

My aunt is free now, thank you Jesus!  I hope you can

See now that miracles really do happen in Christ.  See you on Sunday!

Lilly