The Last Harvest

I look up at the wall, trying to piece together the information, but it’s empty. All of the documents have been removed and there’s a fresh coat of paint. I start looking around the room in a panic when I notice a small suitcase by the door.

“You’re leaving?” I ask, feeling short of breath. “You can’t leave. Not now. I know I said some terrible things. I didn’t believe you and I’m so sorry, but please don’t leave. I need you to fix this. I need you to save her. I’ll do anything you ask.”

“I’m sorry I involved you in this,” she says, shaking her head. “It was reckless on my part. You don’t bear the mark. It’s not you.”

“But Lee doesn’t have it either.”

“Not anymore.” She gives me a pointed stare and I understand everything. The mark was erased in that explosion, covered up by scar tissue and pain. It was him all along.

“I know you feel bad for your friends, but there’s no way you could’ve stopped this. You must believe me. The Devil is more powerful than you can ever imagine and he’s growing more powerful by the second. That’s why I’m going to All Saints tonight to prepare for the exorcism.”

“But you’ll be back, right?”

She reaches out, brushing her hand against my cheek. “There’s something I need to show you.” She pulls the photo album out, turning to the articles about Mexico City. TWO MISSIONARIES AND FIVE CHILDREN FOUND DEAD AFTER BRUTAL ATTACK AT THE CHURCH OF GRACE. “Do you remember me telling you about the last case in 1999?”

I nod, wondering where she’s going with this.

She turns to the autopsy photos. “The missionaries … they were my parents.” She brushes her fingers over the photographs. “They were demonologists. They performed exorcisms. This was their last case.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, remembering the photo from her nightstand. I can’t believe I didn’t put it together.

“The Church took me in, allowed me to continue their work. My parents gave their lives to save the sixth child,” she says as she takes her hair out of the tight knot and pulls it over to the side to reveal some kind of scar.

“The sixth child was me,” she says. Taking my hand, she places it against the brand. I’d know that symbol anywhere. “So, I could never leave this behind, even if I wanted to. Avenging my parents’ death, defeating the Devil, is my life’s work.”

It feels strange touching her this way, almost too intimate. I pull my hand away.

“So there’s hope for Ali.” I clear my throat. “You can save her.”

She lets out a gentle sigh, twisting her hair back into the knot. “You’re too good, Clay.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I think the Devil underestimated your resolve, but together, we can finish this.”

“How?”

“The exorcism. I’ll return on Saturday to assist the priests that evening at the breeding barn.”

“Shouldn’t they do it somewhere holy? A place of God?” I ask.

“We need to hit the Devil where he lives.”

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” I say. “I’m sorry I yelled at you like that. I had no right and I’m—”

“I’m sorry I gave you reason to doubt. This has been hard for me, too.”

I can’t even imagine how this might be affecting her. It’s probably like déjà vu with Mexico City. Losing her parents like that.

“What can I do to help?”

“There’s still time. You can watch over Ali, protect her.”

“But how can I protect her when I can’t even be around her without…”

“Without what?” she presses.

“When I’m around her … I feel like I can’t control myself,” I say, dragging my fingers through my hair. “And it’s only getting worse.”

“Then stop trying.”

“What?” My muscles tense. “How can you say that after everything I’ve told you?”

“She’s still Ali. The girl that you love. She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her. Something catastrophic is going on here. I will do my absolute best to save her, but we have no idea how this will end … how much time we have left on God’s good earth. Or if she’ll even make it out of the exorcism. You saw what happened to my parents. It’s a natural human instinct to want to be close to the ones we love. God won’t judge you for that.”

“I can’t.” I shake my head.

“Then promise me something,” she says, her tone determined and serious. “As soon as Ali’s free of this … clean … don’t waste another moment. If I bring her back to you, tell her you love her, that you can’t live without her. Give yourself to her before it’s too late.”

“I promise,” I say, feeling a blush creep up my neck at the thought.

I don’t know what to do here … give her a hug, a peck on the cheek. Instead, I reach out and squeeze her hand.

“Godspeed,” I say.

She looks up at me with a surprised smile. “Yes, exactly. Godspeed.”

I’m opening the door to leave when she says, “Oh, and Clay? About the game. Win. I don’t want to come back to find they’ve sent a lynch mob after you.”

*

WHEN I go back for my truck, the Preservation Society is dark and the cars are gone. I turn on my phone to find a text from Ali.

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