Categories > Original > Drama > Separation
July 16, 1965
It wasn’t how he would have chosen to spend a Saturday, but Ray wasn’t sure how else to convince them he was super and not evil. His parents, family, and most of the church were convinced his visions were a result of an unclean spirit. So here he was surrounded by three pastors, five elders, all ten deacons, one assistant pastor, and his father for the Partridge in the Pear Tree.
Ray wasn’t sure which he was more nervous about: his father or the church council. Or maybe the assistant youth pastor, the guy had been giving him odd looks ever since they’d come in the door. Obediently, he sat down and waited quietly while the pastor poured a few drops of extra-virgin olive oil onto his hair and all the men gathered found space on his shoulders and head to lay at least one hand on him while they prayed. It would have been flattering if they hadn’t been asking forgiveness and mercy for a lot of stuff he wasn’t guilty of and freedom from an evil spirit he didn’t have. Silently, Ray offered his own prayer of chagrined forgiveness for the whole affair. He could almost hear God’s sympathetic snicker in response.
At last they all stepped back and looked at him expectantly. Ray realized he was supposed to say something, to perhaps exclaim, “Glory be, I’m healed!” Except he wasn’t healed, just rather embarrassed.
“Er…I don’t think anything happened…” he answered. The gathered church leaders muttered and shook their heads over a matter apparently much more serious than they’d thought. Ray inwardly cringed and gave thanks that his family was Protestant and this was the twentieth century and that burning at the stake was frowned upon by modern society. He hoped things would not get that desperate.
“What else can we do?” his father asked gravely. Ray wished they wouldn’t be so melodramatic about it.
“Call upon the Name of the Lord,” Pastor Sims answered with equal gravity. Oh great, just great. Ray braced himself, hoping the Name of the Lord wouldn’t hurt. He didn’t think it would. Facing him, Pastor Sims seized him by both shoulders and bellowed into his face:
“COME OUT FOUL DEMON!”
Ray cringed but only from the volume of the voice assaulting his eardrums. Everyone waited a moment, their caught breath hanging in the still air. Ray dared to open his eyes again and punctured the anticipation.
“Um…nothing happened.”
A sigh from those gathered.
“Lord, forgive my unbelief…” his father muttered, a hand over his face. It was not a lack of belief that was the problem, at least not in God. Ray could have used a few more people who believed him.
“Let me try?”
Everyone turned to look at the assistant pastor, too busy forming elipsises to respond as he crossed the floor and faced Ray.
He wasn’t much older than Ray, though he towered over him. His smile was probably supposed to be kind, but fell short of the mark, the effect spoiled by a vague smugness. Whatever this kid had in mind, he felt sure he could do it. Suddenly he reached and clenched his fingers in the flesh over Ray’s heart.
“COME OUT!” he bellowed, his voice echoing ten times louder than the Pastor’s, the very air seeming to reverberate at the magnified sound. Ray gasped as claws seemed to dig into his flesh, piercing his heart and anchoring themselves into his soul. The assistant pastor began to pull and Ray began to gag, his lungs suddenly robbed of oxygen. A burning sensation began all over his body, building until he felt sure he would burst into flames. The horrible pulling on his psyche continued, the assistant pastor still trying to wrench away something that was not there. Didn’t he realize he had grabbed the wrong thing? If he didn’t stop Ray would soon be short one soul. And he needed that, darnit. Souls were fairly important things to have as a human being, but the assistant pastor had his fingers tangled in more than that and was pulling hard on the invisible webs of Ray’s very being. This was not good. He had to get free and he had to do it in the next thirty seconds. But the pain was so great, the heat so intense, his body was twitching and shuddering as if in the midst of a seizure. More out of luck than willpower, he managed to jerk one leg up where it connected soundly with the assistant pastor’s crotch.
It wasn’t the best aim, but it did the trick. Releasing his grip, he fell to his knees, hands pressed over himself. The force of the kick toppled Ray’s chair to the floor and he fell heavily to one side as it hit the hard carpet. Gasping hard he turned on his stomach, sucking in air like one who had only narrowly escaped an impressive drowning. His mind was reeling with the recent sensations, pain still burning in his arms and legs, his heart shivering in its now loosened nest inside his chest. Everything was shaking from his limbs to the office floor. Nothing seemed to want to hold still. Without warning, a wave of nausea, violent and heavy, engulfed him and he retched on the floor before he could even consider trying to hold it back. Not half-digest food, not mucus, not bile, but blood, liquid and red gushed from his mouth onto the floor, staining the carpet. Once, twice, three times he heaved, bringing up more of the deep-red stuff. Somewhere in the back of his mind a small, quiet voice reminded him that this could not possibly be healthy. Nobody else seemed to be terribly concerned about this, however.
“What’s the matter with him?” one of the Elders asked.
“Is he having a seizure?”
“It’s the demon fighting with him!”
Everyone seemed to agree on this latest suggestion. Ray cringed and vomited again, coughing slightly on the fluid still caught in his throat. Oh this could not possibly be good.
“Let me, I didn’t get to finish.” It was the assistant pastor and he was coming toward him. Instinct and adrenaline kicking into overdrive, Ray hauled himself to his feet and shakily stood.
“Keep him away from me!”
“Ray…” his father began.
“I just wanna help…” the assistant pastor finished.
“Like hell!” Ray squeaked, completely forgetting he was in a church, his voice cracking to a screechy falsetto. “You nearly ripped my ‘effing SOUL out!!!”
The assistant pastor gawked, confused. Ray didn’t wait for him to come up with an answer. Turning, he staggered out the door and down the hall as fast as his still wobbly legs would take him. They didn’t take him far. Less than sixty paces down the narrow corridor he stumbled to a halt and doubled-over, arms pressed against his torso. A stabbing pain had begun low in his chest and his stomach was threatening to revolt again. Unable to hold it back, more blood spilled from his mouth, ruining another patch of carpeting. He watched with a sort of detached interest as the dark red stain turned black and slowly spread, engulfing everything around it.
It wasn’t how he would have chosen to spend a Saturday, but Ray wasn’t sure how else to convince them he was super and not evil. His parents, family, and most of the church were convinced his visions were a result of an unclean spirit. So here he was surrounded by three pastors, five elders, all ten deacons, one assistant pastor, and his father for the Partridge in the Pear Tree.
Ray wasn’t sure which he was more nervous about: his father or the church council. Or maybe the assistant youth pastor, the guy had been giving him odd looks ever since they’d come in the door. Obediently, he sat down and waited quietly while the pastor poured a few drops of extra-virgin olive oil onto his hair and all the men gathered found space on his shoulders and head to lay at least one hand on him while they prayed. It would have been flattering if they hadn’t been asking forgiveness and mercy for a lot of stuff he wasn’t guilty of and freedom from an evil spirit he didn’t have. Silently, Ray offered his own prayer of chagrined forgiveness for the whole affair. He could almost hear God’s sympathetic snicker in response.
At last they all stepped back and looked at him expectantly. Ray realized he was supposed to say something, to perhaps exclaim, “Glory be, I’m healed!” Except he wasn’t healed, just rather embarrassed.
“Er…I don’t think anything happened…” he answered. The gathered church leaders muttered and shook their heads over a matter apparently much more serious than they’d thought. Ray inwardly cringed and gave thanks that his family was Protestant and this was the twentieth century and that burning at the stake was frowned upon by modern society. He hoped things would not get that desperate.
“What else can we do?” his father asked gravely. Ray wished they wouldn’t be so melodramatic about it.
“Call upon the Name of the Lord,” Pastor Sims answered with equal gravity. Oh great, just great. Ray braced himself, hoping the Name of the Lord wouldn’t hurt. He didn’t think it would. Facing him, Pastor Sims seized him by both shoulders and bellowed into his face:
“COME OUT FOUL DEMON!”
Ray cringed but only from the volume of the voice assaulting his eardrums. Everyone waited a moment, their caught breath hanging in the still air. Ray dared to open his eyes again and punctured the anticipation.
“Um…nothing happened.”
A sigh from those gathered.
“Lord, forgive my unbelief…” his father muttered, a hand over his face. It was not a lack of belief that was the problem, at least not in God. Ray could have used a few more people who believed him.
“Let me try?”
Everyone turned to look at the assistant pastor, too busy forming elipsises to respond as he crossed the floor and faced Ray.
He wasn’t much older than Ray, though he towered over him. His smile was probably supposed to be kind, but fell short of the mark, the effect spoiled by a vague smugness. Whatever this kid had in mind, he felt sure he could do it. Suddenly he reached and clenched his fingers in the flesh over Ray’s heart.
“COME OUT!” he bellowed, his voice echoing ten times louder than the Pastor’s, the very air seeming to reverberate at the magnified sound. Ray gasped as claws seemed to dig into his flesh, piercing his heart and anchoring themselves into his soul. The assistant pastor began to pull and Ray began to gag, his lungs suddenly robbed of oxygen. A burning sensation began all over his body, building until he felt sure he would burst into flames. The horrible pulling on his psyche continued, the assistant pastor still trying to wrench away something that was not there. Didn’t he realize he had grabbed the wrong thing? If he didn’t stop Ray would soon be short one soul. And he needed that, darnit. Souls were fairly important things to have as a human being, but the assistant pastor had his fingers tangled in more than that and was pulling hard on the invisible webs of Ray’s very being. This was not good. He had to get free and he had to do it in the next thirty seconds. But the pain was so great, the heat so intense, his body was twitching and shuddering as if in the midst of a seizure. More out of luck than willpower, he managed to jerk one leg up where it connected soundly with the assistant pastor’s crotch.
It wasn’t the best aim, but it did the trick. Releasing his grip, he fell to his knees, hands pressed over himself. The force of the kick toppled Ray’s chair to the floor and he fell heavily to one side as it hit the hard carpet. Gasping hard he turned on his stomach, sucking in air like one who had only narrowly escaped an impressive drowning. His mind was reeling with the recent sensations, pain still burning in his arms and legs, his heart shivering in its now loosened nest inside his chest. Everything was shaking from his limbs to the office floor. Nothing seemed to want to hold still. Without warning, a wave of nausea, violent and heavy, engulfed him and he retched on the floor before he could even consider trying to hold it back. Not half-digest food, not mucus, not bile, but blood, liquid and red gushed from his mouth onto the floor, staining the carpet. Once, twice, three times he heaved, bringing up more of the deep-red stuff. Somewhere in the back of his mind a small, quiet voice reminded him that this could not possibly be healthy. Nobody else seemed to be terribly concerned about this, however.
“What’s the matter with him?” one of the Elders asked.
“Is he having a seizure?”
“It’s the demon fighting with him!”
Everyone seemed to agree on this latest suggestion. Ray cringed and vomited again, coughing slightly on the fluid still caught in his throat. Oh this could not possibly be good.
“Let me, I didn’t get to finish.” It was the assistant pastor and he was coming toward him. Instinct and adrenaline kicking into overdrive, Ray hauled himself to his feet and shakily stood.
“Keep him away from me!”
“Ray…” his father began.
“I just wanna help…” the assistant pastor finished.
“Like hell!” Ray squeaked, completely forgetting he was in a church, his voice cracking to a screechy falsetto. “You nearly ripped my ‘effing SOUL out!!!”
The assistant pastor gawked, confused. Ray didn’t wait for him to come up with an answer. Turning, he staggered out the door and down the hall as fast as his still wobbly legs would take him. They didn’t take him far. Less than sixty paces down the narrow corridor he stumbled to a halt and doubled-over, arms pressed against his torso. A stabbing pain had begun low in his chest and his stomach was threatening to revolt again. Unable to hold it back, more blood spilled from his mouth, ruining another patch of carpeting. He watched with a sort of detached interest as the dark red stain turned black and slowly spread, engulfing everything around it.
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