“Why are you doing this to me?” Gretchen asked. “I want to go home. Please, my parents will do anything. Abby, why are you doing this?”
“. . . Give us this day our daily bread, and deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever. Ay-men.”
He repeated the prayer a second time, and then a third. It was so cold, Abby was shivering. She watched Gretchen, waiting for her to smoke, or scream, or vomit, or something. But Gretchen just kept talking.
“Are you mad at me, Abby?” she asked. “Is that why you’re doing this? I know I’ve been weird lately, and I’m so, so sorry. There’s a lot going on at home. Things are . . . really bad. I think my parents are getting divorced and you’ve seen how my mom treats me. But that’s no excuse. I’ve been a bad friend. I’ve been shitty to you and Glee and Margaret. I just got so angry at them, and I probably overreacted, but you know how it is, right? I’m sorry. I screwed up, and I’m not good to you, and I know that. I’m really sorry. But you have to let me out. Look at this, it’s not right. You know it’s not right.”
Brother Lemon braced his legs and squared off against the bed, as if he was getting ready for a fistfight.
“I command you, unclean spirit!” he boomed. “Along with all your minions now attacking this servant of God, by the mysteries of the incarnation, passion, resurrection, and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, reveal to me your name. Tell me your name!”
Gretchen kept talking to Abby.
“This is crazy,” she said. “You can’t keep me tied up like this.”
“I command you, unclean spirit,” Brother Lemon repeated. “Along with all your minions now attacking this servant of God, by the mysteries of the incarnation, passion, resurrection, and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, that you reveal to me your name. Tell me your name!”
“Please, Abby,” Gretchen said. “Let’s get out of here. I won’t tell anyone what happened. I promise.”
“I command you, unclean spirit,” Brother Lemon started for a third time, even louder. “Reveal to me your name!”
Gretchen turned her head on the bare mattress to look at him.
“Gretchen Lang,” she said. “That’s my name, okay? You could have asked Abby.”
“That’s not your real name,” Brother Lemon said. “Once more, by the power of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, I command you to tell me your name!”
“I just told you my name!” Gretchen said.
“Your true name, demon!” Brother Lemon said.
There was a long pause. Gretchen started to laugh.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just realized what you think you’re doing. The two of you standing there like it’s The Exorcist, asking me my name over and over. You think I’m possessed. Oh my God! Abby, this is bizarre.”
She kept giggling, eyes closed, rolling her head from side to side, grinning.
“Demon,” Brother Lemon said. “I command you to tell me your name!”
“Andras,” Abby said quietly.
“What?” Brother Lemon looked at her, startled.
“Andras,” Abby said, embarrassed. “His name is Andras. You said so before.”
There was a long silence. The air pressure dropped and the walls and ceiling in the beach house gave off a crack.
“Ander Ass?” Gretchen asked from the bed, still giggling. “Is he in Menudo?”
“Come here,” Brother Lemon said, grabbing Abby and leading her out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
They stood in the darkness and Abby could feel anger vibrating off Brother Lemon’s body. Then he lit his face with a squeeze flashlight he had on his keychain.
“What did I tell you?” he asked. “What is the one thing I told you not to do?”
“She’s laughing at us,” Abby said.
“I said ‘Do not talk to the demon.’ I said, ‘Do not engage with the demon.’ And what’s the first thing you do? We haven’t even been there an hour.”
“It’s taking a long time,” Abby said.
“Longer than I anticipated,” Brother Lemon admitted. “But it is vitally important that I show this demon who’s king of the ring. It has to understand that I’m top dog. By forcing it to reveal its name, I bend it to my will. This is called harnessing the demon and it’s very, very important. Now if I let you back in there, do you promise not to talk?”
Abby nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Brother Lemon said, and then he softened. “I’m only trying to protect your immortal soul.”
He let the flashlight go out and together they reentered the room. Gretchen was watching the door.
“Is your exorcism still okay?” she asked. “I don’t want to mess up your hot date.”
Brother Lemon took up his position at the foot of the bed, and Abby stayed by the door.
“I command you once more,” he began. “I command you, unclean spirit . . .”
“I command yew onthce more, I co-co-command you un-un-uncwean spiwit,” Gretchen repeated, doing Porky Pig.
“Whoever you are, along with all your minions now attacking this servant of God,” Brother Lemon continued.
“Who-who-uh-whoever yew are, awong wit all yer minyunth now athwacking thwis serwant of Gawd,” Gretchen Porky Pigged.
It threw Brother Lemon off his script.
“By the, uh, the mysteries of the passion, and uh, the passion and the resurrection of Jesus Savior,” he stumbled.
“Enh, what’s up, Doc?” Gretchen said, doing a perfect Bugs Bunny.
Brother Lemon’s face got tight, his jaw clenched, his joints got stiff. Then he pulled a prayer sheet from his Bible and read from it, using a finger to keep his place. This time Gretchen repeated him, but just a second behind. The time after that, she spoke in an English accent. She threw him off the time after that, and the time after that, and the time after that.
The exorcist prayed for so long and so hard that he blew out his voice. Abby’s kneecaps creaked. Her feet were swollen. She leaned her back against the doorframe, then shifted from one foot to the other, stretched, touched her toes, cracked her knees. Her shoulders ached. From time to time, Brother Lemon would shoot her an annoyed look, but mostly he concentrated on reading from his paper, again and again and again.
Finally, Brother Lemon stormed out of the room. Abby turned to follow.
“Wait!” Gretchen hissed. Her throat sounded sore.
Abby turned around. Gretchen was looking at her.
“I’m scared,” Gretchen said. “I’m really, really scared. This guy is crazy, and I’ve been here for a long time. Tell him I’m not possessed.”
Abby looked down at her watch. It was past two in the morning. By now Gretchen’s parents would be home. They’d have seen Max in the shower, they’d have realized their daughter was missing. The police would be looking for them.
“Come on, this is crazy,” Gretchen whispered. “You have to know this is crazy. This is how people get killed.”
Abby looked through the doorway into the dark living room but didn’t see Brother Lemon.
“Are you scared of him?” Gretchen asked. “Is he making you do this?”
Abby turned back to Gretchen.
“I’m scared of you,” she said.
She got out before Gretchen could say anything else and found Brother Lemon in the kitchen, slamming through the cabinets.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“What’s happening,” he said, his voice constricted, “is that we need a provocation to draw out the demon. Things are escalating, Abby. We are at DEFCON 3.”
He picked up a dark blue canister of Morton’s iodized salt and gave it a shake. It was almost full.
“What does that mean?” Abby asked.
“It means,” he said, setting the salt on the counter, “that I need you to join hands and pray with me over this salt. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name . . .”
They said the Lord’s Prayer over the salt three times and then went back to the bedroom. Gretchen was squirming on the bed.
“I’ve never done anything to hurt you,” she said. “Please, please, please, think about—”
Brother Lemon filled his hand with salt.
“In the name of Jesus, I remove you,” he proclaimed. “Spirit of discord and disharmony, I send you to the cross.”