EIGHTEEN
It was sometime later when a reluctant Hauser finally relented and had agreed to grant the English priest a few moments of his precious time. Thanks in no small part to the opening of a second bottle of his favourite local wine and of course the insistence of his housekeeper/conscience and voice of reason, Gabriela.
Ross was sitting on Hauser’s balcony now, waiting for the German to make an entrance. He looked down into the village square which had long since been cleared and the last of the celebrants, young and old, had wandered off into the night and home.
The priest checked his laptop again like a junior partner waiting to make a power-point presentation to the chairman of the board. He tapped the keyboards touch pad once again to stop the computer go into hibernation mode as it had threatened to do ever since he had turned the machine on, some thirty odd minutes ago now.
He cursed having not thought to bring a mains adaptor with the two pin configuration favoured by Mexico but checking the battery life he was relieved to see it was still pretty much full, indicating a good couple of hours of power left. Surely that would be enough if Hauser didn’t keep him waiting too much longer.
Raised voices speaking heatedly in Spanish drew Ross’s attention over to the large double patio doors that led out on to the balcony. Although there were a set of delicate lace curtains drawn across it, he could see two silhouettes beyond engaged in fierce debate. About him Ross had no doubt and wondered if perhaps Hauser had changed his mind and was refusing to see him after all, even if only for a few minutes.
Ross shook his head wearily. It was too late and he was far too tired for this. He was feeling more than a little drowsy after such a long and eventful day as it was. Let alone after the eleven hour flight, three hour taxi ride not to mention having the bejeezus scared out of him by a bunch of kids and a monstrous, misshapen piñata.
He let out a long sign of despondency and rubbed his tired eyes with the heels of his hands. “What the fucking hell am I doing here?”
“I thought priests weren’t supposed to curse?” A voice said from behind him.
“You kidding?” Ross said not looking, the voice was clearly German. “I learnt all my best swear words in the seminary. We used to have competitions.”
“I bet you did,” Hauser replied. “Still, you should be glad Gabriela doesn’t speak a word of English, even the dirty ones.”
“Crap!” Ross turned to see Hauser standing in the doorway with Gabriela. “Sorry,” he said to the woman flustered, then remembered she didn’t (thankfully) understand.
The woman simply smiled at him then fixed Hauser with a look of such venom Ross was doubly glad she didn’t understand. “Sé amable, Hauser,” she said then to Ross with a nod. “Padre.”
“Sí, Sí,” Hauser said to her as she moved back through the doors and shut them leaving the two foreigners alone.
Hauser sat down at the table across from the priest. He poured himself a glass of wine from the bottle in front of him and even though there was a second glass he just placed the bottle back down an took a sip.
“Thank you for meeting me,” Ross said to get the conversation started.
The German shrugged and took another sip before indicating after Gabriela with a nod of the head. “Believe me, I didn’t have much choice.” Hauser said and eyed the priest from under his hat. “Still,” he relented after a moment’s contemplation. “You have come a long way.”
Ross nodded. “Tell me about it,” he said wearily. He gestured down into the square. “That was quite a show,” he said.
“Yeah, it’s fast becoming an annual tradition here,” he said. “But the children love it.”
“Strange story. Is it some sort of local ancient myth?”
Hauser took another sip of wine. “Local, not so ancient,” he replied and looked off into the darkness beyond the light of the balcony and to some distant memory.
Ross studied the older man trying to get a handle on him. Close up, he looked much more haggard than his body language at a distance early had indicated. Then he had the air of a much younger man about him, his gait, and the way he held himself. But his physical appearance added ten years to him.
Hauser smiled slightly obviously sensing his scrutiny. “So, let’s have it. Why have you travelled over five thousand miles to see someone who I’m sure you know doesn’t give a shit about the Vatican’s latest woes? Whatever they are these days.”
“Yeah, Father Mendez said you might feel like that.”
“So, it was old José that sent you. How is that Spanish bastard? Still holed up in that tomb of a Vatican library?”
“Truth is I’ve no idea. I’ve never actually met the man.”
Hauser seemed surprised at this. “You’re not one of his God squad?”
Odd term, Ross thought. “No,” he replied. “Whatever that is.” This won a frustratingly knowing smile from the German. Was this some joke between Hauser and Mendez? One which Ross wasn’t privy to, but perhaps a part of?
‘What do you get if you send a priest half way around the world?’ Type of thing. Ross didn’t much like the thought of being a punchline in this routine of internet demons and remote Mexican villages.
As he sat there looking at the smug German, Ross could once again feel the events of the last few days catching up with him. All of a sudden he became aware of the absurdity of it all. Maybe it was some cosmic joke or something after all. Ross suddenly felt a flash of anger.
He had spent the last few minutes rehearsing in his head just how to approach the subject of demon time with the German. As if he was truly beginning to think any of this was real. Demons? He felt like he had let himself be railroaded this whole time.
What was he doing here? He fumed inwardly. Certainly the show demon time was real enough, and yes it had caused a lot of pain and distress to four of his fellow priests over its short lifetime. But surely, surely it was all smoke and mirrors.
He thought of the puppet and how, albeit briefly, he had believed such a thing could exist. It was easy to be drawn into it all, especially if you add a potent mix of suggestion and good old fashion TV special effects to the equation.
Oh, to hell with it, Ross told himself and fixed the German with a look which he secretly hoped had an edge of mockery to it.
“I’m here,” he finally said. “Because Father Mendez said that you caught a demon once.” He was impressed he managed to keep a straight face.
The German didn’t so much as flinch. “More than once,” he replied not missing a beat. It was said without the least bit or irony or humour which took Ross aback a little.
Okay, if that’s how we are playing it, Ross thought. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Have you ever heard of a man called Michael Davis?”
Hauser shrugged. “Not that I remember,” he replied. “Why?”
“Rumour has it that you sold him a demon a while back.”
A flash of recognition bloomed in Hauser’s grey eyes. “Christ, yes. Back in England!” He shook his head remembering. “It was shameful really. The poor bastard was so scared out of his mind I could have sold him anything I wanted to. Yes, it was one of my last encounters.”
“For real?”
“Sure, the thing was there to reap all kinds of shit on his sorry body and soul. I had a tip he was a target, so all I had to do was keep an eye on him and wait for it to strike. Mind you as it was I was nearly too late. Still, I stopped it and sold him the thing plus the means of keeping it bound. Easy money. Don’t know why I never thought of doing it earlier, I could have made a fortune over the years.” He laughed at his own foolishness.
“Why would you do that?” Ross asked.
“Why not? He practically begged me to once he’d changed his trousers! The poor fool had no idea the thing would only last a few hours at most. God knows what he thought he could do with the thing. It properly turned to dust before he could figure out where he was going to put it.”
“What if it didn’t?” Ross asked him.
Hauser dismissed this with a wave of the hand. “It is possible to preserve the body, if you’re quick. But that one? No, I bet it turned to shit within a day.” He said refilling his glass and still not offering any to Ross.
“It’s still alive, according to Father Mendez, and Michael Davis of course.”
Hauser stopped all of a sudden with the glass half way to his lips. “What?”
“The thing, the creature, it’s still alive, that’s why I’m here.”
“Bullshit,” Hauser carefully put the glass, un-drunk back onto the table. “That’s not possible,”
Ross thought he caught a hint of fear now in the old man’s voice. “It’s all over the internet,” he said.
Yes a flash of fear crossed his eyes. “No, something like that withers and dies,” Hauser insisted. “They’re not meant to last more than a few hours afterwards. Whether they are successful, or like this one, if they are stopped before they can complete the task for which they were created. They are only really created for one specific job, that’s their whole reason for existence.”
“I don’t think this one got the memo,” Ross told him. He took the laptop and opened up the media player.
“No,” Hauser shook his head with a frown and looking troubled he picked up his wine and downed it in one with all the ease of a seasoned drinker. “Can’t be,” he said to the empty grass.
“Let me show you,” Ross selected a preloaded video file. “Ever heard of demon time?”
“Demon what?” Hauser watched as Ross readied the laptop, his eyes narrowed with anticipation.
“Demon time, it’s an internet reality show and its getting more popular by the day. A priest volunteers to go into a house which has a ‘so called’ real demon in it. Their task is to try to exorcize the thing before it can half kill them or drive them to insanity and out of the house, whichever comes first. The producer is Michael Davis. And its star is your demon.”
The old man drummed his fingers nervously against his glass and for a moment Ross thought it might shatter. “Not my demon,” he said without looking at the priest. “It was meant for that sleaze ball, Davis. All I did was trap it.”
“Why didn’t you just destroy the thing when you had the chance?” Ross asked him.
“A shit load of cash,” the German replied.
“So Davis did pay you for the creature, after you saved him?”
Hauser shrugged. “Who am I to refuse a fool’s money?” He replied. “Come to think of it, I should have charged the bastard for catching it in the first place. Y’know like Ghostbusters?” Hauser shook his head and smiled to himself.
“People have nearly died.” Ross told him.
“People die every damn day, that’s what they do.” He put the wine glass back down on the table. “Besides, if what you say is true, they have all volunteered?”
“That is true, strictly speaking,” The priest relented.
“And they were all men of God?” He ran his gaze over Father Ross, coming to rest on where his collar once was. “Men like you?”
“Yes,” he replied shifting in his seat somewhat. It sounded more of an accusation than observation.
“Then they would have died in a state of grace.” Hauser said plainly. “I’m sure they said their Hail Mary’s before marching into battle.
“You have to see, this whole thing is an abomination.” Ross said deliberately leaving off saying ‘if it’s true’.
“And like all abominations, it makes great reality TV. I prefer the one where they torture celebrities in the jungle. Have you seen that one? Make them eat bugs and shit? Very popular I believe.”
Ross ignored him and hit play. Hauser eyes were drawn to the gaudy opening title sequence which was a rapid fire edit of the previous shows, which never gave the demon more than a few frames of screen time. Ross watched Hauser’s red rimmed eyes widen and he physically winced as the final shot, a tantalizingly just out of focus freeze frame of Mister Minx itself.
“Look familiar?” Ross let the programme play and angled the screen close to Hauser who subconsciously sat back in his seat a little as if fearful the thing would jump right out and attack him.
“This is so wrong,” Hauser whispered as he watched the highlights of the last episode. And for the first time since Ross had met the man, the bravado drained from him as quickly as he had just drained the wine from his glass.