CHAPTER FOUR
Jake opened his eyes.
He was lying under covers on his side on a soft bed, and his head was on top of a soft pillow. He was facing a window where the curtains were drawn and a soft light filtered through the material to lightly illuminate the room around him. He could see that it was evening outside the window. He felt no other presences in the room, so he sat up and looked around.
To his left, there was a nightstand with a digital clock radio on it. The red numerals glowed brightly, showing 11:31P.M. There was a watch beside the clock that he’d never seen before. He reflexively looked at his left arm and saw that it was bare. That’s when his memories came back to him. Sitting in the bar in Purgatory, seeing Ben kill him, making the deal with Moroni. He shook his head. It must have been a nightmare, he thought.
Glancing around the room, he noticed that it was average size, about fifteen feet by twenty feet, and had two dressers, a closet with louvered doors, and a doorway about eight feet from the bed that was open. It looked like there was a dark room or hallway on the other side of it.
Shifting his weight in the bed, Jake lifted the covers and swung his leg out, placing his feet on the floor. He stood and walked slowly and quietly to the door, the thick carpeting cushioning his steps. He noticed he was wearing a T-shirt and boxers.
When Jake reached the door, he stopped.
He felt strange.
Not the kind of strange he experienced while drunk or hung over—he’d had enough of those times to know exactly what they felt like.
Nor did it feel like any of the pre or post-combat feelings he’d had over the years in his military service.
No, this was a physical feeling. Something was wrong with his balance. His sense of self in space felt weird.
Jake put that aside for a moment and listened to his surroundings. There were no sounds except for the swishes of air coming from the vent on the ceiling near the doorway. That told him that he was probably not in the city—no traffic noises.
He took a few deep breaths and silenced his mind, letting go of all his thoughts and memories, all of his worries.
After three or four breaths, he knew instinctively that the house was empty. He’d had this ability since childhood. He didn’t know how his ‘gift’ as his mother had called it, worked or why most others didn’t have it or didn’t have it as prominently as he did, he was just glad he had it. It had saved his life many times in the past.
Jake moved into the darkened hallway and carefully made his way through the house, checking things out anyway. It was better to be safe than sorry, as his first combat instructor had taught him all those many years ago.
As he moved through the house, he saw that it was small, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room, and a kitchen. From the furnishings and décor, Jake could tell that a man lived here alone and that he was probably single or divorced and the wife had taken all of the ‘good’ stuff; the things that would have made the home more comfortable and warm. The other bedroom had been turned into a study or office. There were a few hundred books in there, on wooden shelves covering three of the walls. Jake looked through some of them and surmised that most of the books were unread, just sitting on the shelves to give the appearance that the owner was well read.
When he was finished searching the house, he walked into the main bathroom. His bladder was full. As he was moving toward the toilet, he passed the mirror that covered a three foot by five foot section of the wall behind the sink. He glanced over at it for a moment to check the reflection and stopped in his tracks.
The man standing there was not Jake.
His heart lurched and he automatically moved into a defensive position before his brain kicked in and told him it was a reflection he was staring at.
Jake tore his gaze away from the mirror for a moment, until he located the light switch. He flipped the switch to the on position, waited for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the light, then stared at the reflection.
The man in the mirror was younger than Jake, maybe in his early-to-mid thirties, with short blonde hair that receding. His face was square with a dimpled chin and probably a day’s worth of light coloured stubble on it. The eyes were light brown and there were light circles underneath. Lifting his t-shirt, Jake saw that there was some belly fat. He guessed that he was twenty to twenty-five pounds overweight. Jake reached up and ran his fingers through his hair and saw the reflection copy his move. He moved around for a minute or two until he got used to the idea that he was actually in a different body, and that his earlier conversation with Moroni in Purgatory had not been a dream.
After a few minutes of staring, Jake remembered why he had come into the bathroom in the first place. He went to the toilet and urinated, flushed, then rinsed his hands. He then splashed some water on his face and dried it, using a towel that was hanging from the rack beside the sink.
After he was finished, he stood there, wondering what he was going to do next.
As soon as the thought entered his mind, he felt a sudden strong desire to walk toward the front of the house. He was out of the bathroom and halfway down the hallway before he even realized he was moving.
He stopped and turned around, headed back to the bathroom, where he searched the closet and dresser. He found some comfortable clothes; a pair of jeans, a dark sweater, and an old pair of Nike high top basketball shoes. He searched the rest of the house, looking for weapons. The only thing he could find were a wooden baseball bat and a few good sized kitchen knives. He put one of the knives in his waistband. He found a small bottle of bleach and a bottle of window cleaner that had ammonia in it under the sink with some other cleaning supplies. He grabbed an athletic bag from the bedroom closet and placed everything in it, grabbed a glass of water and ate a few bananas that were sitting on the counter in the kitchen, then he went to the front door, shouldering the bag as he moved.
He picked up a set of keys that were lying on a glass dish on a small table by the door then walked out, closing and locking the door behind him.
As he closed the door, Jake looked around.
He was in a residential neighbourhood that was softly lit by the moon and starlight. There were trees lining the street, including one in the small yard in front of him. All of the houses he could see were modest, middle-class type homes, similar in size or slightly larger than the one he’d just come out of. There were a few cars parked in the street facing the direction of travel. The other vehicles he saw were parked in driveways situated on sides of the houses.
Jake looked at the left side of ‘his’ house and saw a dark coloured BMW sitting there. He pointed the key fob at the car and pushed the alarm deactivation button. The car beeped twice and the lights flashed. Jake walked over to it, opened the driver’s side door, slid the bag of weapons into it, then sat in the driver’s seat, closing the door. He put the key in the ignition and started the car, and took a few deep breaths and relaxed his mind, waiting for the feeling of which way to go came back to him.
Almost immediately, he felt the compulsion return, pulling him towards the right. He put the car in reverse, backed up onto the street and drove slowly in the direction from which he was being pulled.
After about five minutes of driving, he’d left the neighbourhood and had entered a small town, He drove around for another few minutes before spotting a small Catholic church. There was a large marquee that showed the name of the church was St. Matthews, and listed the times for Mass. He pulled into the parking lot and stopped the car near the front door to the building. He shut off the car, got out and walked to the door, hoping it was unlocked like most of the other churches in small towns he’d visited before.
It was.
Jake opened the door and walked inside. As he entered, he saw that he was in a small reception area. On his left, there was a table with religious pamphlets and booklets on it. Behind the table was a black bulletin board inside a glass case, that listed the Mass times, announcements and the attending priest’s name.
To his right, Jake saw a hallway that he assumed led to the administrative offices and maybe some classrooms.
In front of him was a set of closed wooden doors. Both were covered with ornate symbols and pictures. The door on the left showed Christ as a baby in Mary’s arms and on the right, His crucifixion.
Jake pulled the door on the right open and walked into the cathedral area. The inside looked a lot larger than the outside. Looking up, he saw that the roof was arched, and at least fifty feet high. The cathedral was shaped like a cross. There were paintings depicting the various saints and the life of Christ on the far walls and a pair of stained glass windows on the left and right sides of the cross. The North Transept and South Transept, he remembered he remembered from his many years of Catholic school as a child. He was standing at the west front and facing the worship area, or Nave and Transepts, and the pulpit. There was enough room to seat nearly five-hundred worshippers here.
Jake looked to his right and saw a small brass bowl attached to the wall. He reached out and dipped his first two fingers into the Holy water, then made the sign of the cross over himself, the lessons of his youth making the actions automatic.
After crossing himself, Jake walked down the long central aisle. He saw the three confessional booths on his left as he passed them, he paused for a moment, then moved on toward the pulpit.
When he got to the end of the Nave, he moved to the right, ignoring the pulpit and choir areas. He walked about thirty feet to a small recess that held a table full of candles, each encased in small red glass jars with a cross on the front. The smell of melted wax and incense filled the area and brought memories rushing to Jake’s mind.
He shook them off and lit a candle, then kneeled down on a padded bench and prayed.
After a few minutes, Jake heard a quiet noise to his left, back near the pulpit. He looked that way and saw a man he assumed was a priest. The man was wearing a pair of black slacks, a black collarless long-sleeved shirt, and black shoes. The button at his neck was open and the white plastic piece that Catholic priests wore was hanging from a button on one side. Looking closer, Jake saw that he was average height, thin, about one hundred and sixty pounds, and had short, dark hair parted on the left side and combed to the right. He looked to be about thirty to thirty-five years old.
Jake crossed himself, stood and walked toward the man, who was adjusting a stack of notes on the pulpit. As Jake moved toward him, the priest turned and smiled, highlighting the many laugh lines on his face.
“Hello, Stephen,” the priest said as he reached out to shake hands. “It’s good to see you, my son.” He had what sounded to Jake like a light Irish accent.
Jake grasped the priest’s hand and returned the handshake. He paused for a moment before replying, thinking he’s better be cautious since the priest seemed to know this man whose body Jake was inhabiting. As he released the priest’s hand, Jake noticed he was wearing peculiar ring.
“Hello, Father McLanahan,” Jake said, remembering the name on the bulletin board. “It’s so good to see you, too. How are you this evening.”
“Oh, I’m fine. Thank you, although I’m having a hectic time putting the sermon together for Sunday’s Mass.” He gestured towards the notes.
“I’m also having trouble setting up a projector for a power point presentation I’m giving tomorrow evening. You work with computers don’t you?”
Jake nodded. He’d run a few power point presentations while working as a financial consultant, and several dozen times when he’d briefed his superiors in the military prior to and after many missions.
“Good, maybe you could help me,” McLanahan said. He walked down the Nave to the entrance, pausing for a moment at the confessionals and looked at Jake.
“Before we go, is there anything you need to confess, Stephen?”
Jake paused for a moment, thinking about what the priest would think if Jake explained what was going on. He shook his head. “No, Father, I’m fine for now. Let’s go see if we can fix your machine.” He opened the door and motioned for Father McLanahan to lead the way.
The two men made their way down the hall to a small conference room, where the priest showed Jake the equipment. The two men made small talk while Jake worked. Jake was cautious in his replies, not wanting the priest to figure out he was not who he appeared to be. After a few minutes, Jake figured out what the problem was and fixed it. He stood up and gave the remote to McLanahan, showing him what the problem had been and how to fix it if it occurred again. After the priest was done manipulating the images and text on the screen, he turned everything off and turned to Jake.
“Now that you have fixed one of my problems, Stephen, is there anything I can do to fix yours’?” He gave a small grin that once again highlighted the laugh lines on his face, but Jake saw an intensity and compassion in the man’s eyes that told him that the priest was really concerned for him. He was obviously good at his job and astute, although it probably did not take much to tell that Jake had a problem; he was I the church after midnight, lighting a candle and praying. Jake felt that the priest might have noticed something different about his actions or mannerisms. He was about to brush the question off and leave when a thought occurred to him.
“Father,” he asked. “What can you tell me about Purgatory.”
McLanahan had a momentary look of surprise on his face, then recovered.
He clasped his hands together in front of his chest and leaned back against the wall. Jake noticed the strange ring again. It was on the priest’s right middle finger. It had a small green stone, maybe an emerald, set in gold with strange symbols surrounding it and some kind of symbol underneath it. Jake couldn’t make out what was behind the stone, but the symbols surrounding it were slightly familiar. He had the brief thought that maybe they were some type of symbolic language, like Hebrew or maybe Aramaic. Jake had travelled all over the world and had spoken half a dozen languages, and it seemed likely to him that these symbols were of a language. He glanced back up at McLanahan’s face as the priest started to reply to Jake’s question.
“Purgatory,” he said. “That’s a deep subject, Stephen. Were you looking for something in particular or just general information?”
Jake took a moment to think and ran his fingers of his left hand through his hair, a habit he’d had since childhood.
“My first question is, what would cause a person to go to Purgatory and how long do they have to stay there?”
“Okay, you’re starting me off on the easy ones, right?” McLanahan smiled easily, deepening the many laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. Jake felt an instinctive liking for this priest. He was probably well thought of by his congregation, he thought as the man continued.
“The church teaches that all who die in God’s grace and friendship, but are still imperfectly purified are assured of their eternal Salvation. However, after death they undergo purification, so as to achieve the holiness necessary to enter the joy of Heaven. The church gives the name Purgatory to this final purification of the elect, which is entirely different from the punishment of those of the damned. It is in Purgatory that the last vestiges of love of self are transferred into love of God.”
“Purgatory is a testimony to God’s Mercy and Justice,” McLanahan continued. “Because he is infinitely merciful, as well as infinitely just, Purgatory is a necessity. If God was more merciful than just, He would be imperfect. He is perfectly merciful, but that mercy can be perfect only if it is balanced by His justice. If we who are so imperfect must demand such simple justice, as God had ingrained it into us, how can we expect that He should do less? Purgatory is the perfect reflection of both His justice and His mercy. Without Purgatory to show His mercy, the slightest sin would by necessity condemn us to Hell.” He paused for a moment to see if the information was getting through to Jake. Jake nodded his head and asked another question.
“Ok, Father, you’re saying it’s basically a holding area for those who are saved to wait while being purified, right?”
“That’s right, Stephen.”
“Ok, what about those who are saved, but their balance is such that it would send them to Hell. Is there some way for them to gain back, or tip the scales to the point where they’ll not be spending eternity in Hell?”
McLanahan looked at Jake strangely for a moment before replying.
“Stephen, there’s no going to Hell from Purgatory; there’s only Heaven as the next step. Where did you get that idea?”
Jake thought fast. “Well, Father, I was reading a book about the different beliefs of cultures around the world about the afterlife. One of the beliefs is that once a person reaches Purgatory, they’re judged, and depending on what their balance is, this decides where the person spends eternity.”
“No, Stephen, that’s not right. Paul said in Corinthians that at the Day of Judgement, each man’s work will be tried. This trial happens after death.
What happens if the man’s work fails the test? He will be the loser, and yet he himself will be saved, though only as men are saved by passing through fire. Now, this loss, this penalty, cannot refer to consignment of Hell, since no one is saved there; and Heaven cannot be meant, since there is no suffering (fire) there. So basically, once you’re saved, you’re always saved, which means you’ll go to Heaven, but once you’re saved, you must also seek to love God and not yourself. I think it’s always wise to be wary of anything you read these days. Stephen, because Satan is always trying to influence us into believing his lies. The only place to find the truth is the Holy Bible.” He stopped talking for a moment and smiled again.
“Well,” he continued, “I turned my explanation into a sermon. But that doesn’t mean that you can skip out of Mass on Sunday, Stephen!!!!” He chuckled for a moment, then, asked Jake what other questions he had.
Jake paused for a few moments, stunned by the information the priest had given him and the implications of it all. Somehow, he’d been lied to and he didn’t know how to take it, or what to do about it. If the man, Moroni, in Purgatory, or whatever else it might be, had lied, then why Jake here in this body getting ready to go search for and kill a demon? What possible reason could there have been to deceive him like that? He was thinking about what his next move might be when his thoughts were interrupted by Father McLanahan’s hand on Jake’s shoulder.
“Stephen, I can tell you’re anguished. What’s going on?” The priest’s face was full of concern.
Jake almost told the priest everything, but stopped at the last moment.
“Oh, nothing major, Father, I was just thinking about a friend who died recently and I don’t think he was saved. I was thinking he might have gone to Purgatory and was given a chance to go to Heaven.” Jake sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He looked down at the floor for a moment, remembering all of his friends and colleagues who’d passed away; the men he’d lost during the last raid in Afghanistan stood out to him. He shook his head and forcibly pushed the memory away.
“I can see you’re deeply affected by your friend’s loss,” McLanahan said sympathetically. “But you should remember that you,” he emphasized this with a finger touching Jake’s chest, “are still alive. Your friend is gone. If he was not saved, then he gave up the opportunity to go to Heaven. Did you ever talk to him about God and how the belief in Jesus could save him?”
Jake was startled for a moment, then nodded his head.
“Well, you tied to offer him eternal life and he rejected it. There’s nothing else you could have done. The only thing you should mourn is his choice not to accept eternal life when it was offered. Does that help any?”
Jake shrugged a little, “I guess, Father, but it’s still hard.” He took a breath, and another thought came to him.
“Father, could you tell me something else?”
“Sure, Stephen, if I can,” McLanahan looked helpful.
“Well, Father, uh….do you know anything about how to kill demons?”
The priest was startled again. His eyes widened and he drew in a sharp breath. Then his eyes tightened. “Stephen, why would you ask me something like that?”
Jake was startled by the priest’s sharp tone and the sudden look of intensity in his eyes.
“I-I’m writing a book, Father,” Jake stuttered in reply as he thought quickly. “The hero is chasing demons that have been released from Hell, and I need a quick, efficient way for him to send them back.” Jake stopped, the lie. He sent a quick prayer to God, asking for forgiveness, then looked at the priest and saw belief written in his face, but there was still a glint of scepticism in the man’s eyes.
“Stephen,” McLanahan said. “I’m assuming that you’re not talking about exorcisms, right?”
Jake nodded.
“Okay,” McLanahan said. He crossed his arms over his chest and reached up to rub his chin while he thought. Jake noticed the strange ring again.
“Okay,” he said again. “I don’t know a lot about killing physical demons, only what I’ve read over the years. Most of what I know is anecdotal information.” He looked at Jake. “The book is fiction, right?”
Jake nodded again, “Yes.”
McLanahan nodded, too. “Well, you can add this if you want, as far as I know, the best way to kill physical demons is to use a consecrated weapon; a weapon that is made specifically for that purpose. The crafter is someone who practices for years, then purifies himself by fasting, praying and so forth, then performs a ritual then fills himself with the Holy Spirit, and to summon two angels to watch over him while he works, lest Lucifer attempts to slip in and destroy the Sanctification. When the weapon is completed, the crafter dies. Part of his spirit is entwined with the weapon and the rest of his spirit is immediately taken to Heaven so that he cannot be corrupted, which would befoul the weapon.” He paused to take a breath and Jake asked a question.
“That seems kind of extreme, doesn’t it?”
“Well, yes, Stephen,” McLanahan replied. “But, you should consider that it was written in the 12th or 11th Century, and also, consider that was to fight an actual physical creature from Hell, a creature that would have extreme strength and maybe some other abilities that could overwhelm almost anyone who is unprepared.”
“Okay,” Jake said. “Is there any other way to kill one? I mean, what about dipping a weapon in Holy Water, or having a priest bless a weapon?”
“I don’t know that that would work, Stephen, but, it is a fiction you are writing, I guess you could put something like that, or make up something exotic.” He looked at Jake and Jake saw the scepticism in his eyes again.
“Yeah…I guess I could, Father. It’s good to have some bit of factual information to base it on though. Is there anything else you can remember?”
The priest shook his head. “No, no, Stephen, that’s all I can remember.”
“Alright, Father, I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.” Jake glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting pretty late. I’d better go.” He reached out his hand. McLanahan reached out and clasped Jake’s hand. Jake felt the cool strip of the unusual ring touch his palm. “I’m glad to have helped, Stephen. Don’t forget to come to Mass on Sunday.” He held Jake’s hand for a few seconds, then let go. Jake nodded and told the priest he would be there, then turned and walked out of the conference room, and down the hall, when he reached the lobby area, he turned and entered the West front. He reached into his waistband and pulled out the large kitchen knife. He dipped it into the large Holy water bowl, making sure the whole blade was submerged, then said a quick prayer and lifted it out. He put it back in his waistband, then filled a plastic water bottle with the Holy water, turned and exited the church. When he got back into the car, he sat there for a moment and breathed deeply, while letting his thoughts go quiet until he felt a pulling in his mind. He opened his eyes and turned the key, put the car in gear and exited the parking lot in the direction of the pull. He didn’t notice the car that followed him a few moments later.