Chapter 2, Divine Intervention

The first thing Ben did the next morning was pray. He'd been too conflicted the night before—he'd just treated an ecstatic Sock and a worryingly and uncharacteristically even more ecstatic Sam to a couple rounds at the Brick with his ill-gotten money, and it didn't feel right to be talking to God with that on his conscience. Plus he hadn't prayed or been to church in, well, a while. But in the night he'd dreamt of burning plastic flamingoes and Sam commanding an army of demonic garden gnomes, the horns of a ram growing from his skull. After that the situation seemed clearer.

"Hi, Jesus," Ben said, kneeling next to his bed with his hands folded. "Listen, I know we haven't been on speaking terms in a while, and I want you to know that's not because I don't have faith in you, 'cause if anything these past few months have totally convinced me of your existence." He squirmed a little, trying to think of how to phrase this next part. "But it's just seemed so unfair lately, like your love and protection weren't as equally-distributed as Grandma always said they were. My friend Sam never did anything wrong before now, except for being kind of directionless and that one time he lied to a police officer… but that was because we were going to be late for the Revenge of the Sith premiere and he felt bad about it later."

Ben took a deep breath. "But you've totally turned your back on one of your own, because of some stupid loophole the Devil must have found. How can anyone sell someone else's soul? You should have protected him from that. And he's been doing okay on his own, but now something's gone even more wrong and he really needs your love and guidance." Ben raised his eyes heavenward. "I'm only sayin' it because I have faith it's in your power to save Sam. I don't want him to burn in Hell, and I especially don't want him to deserve to burn in Hell."

Ben tried to think if there was anything else he forgot to add.

"Oh yeah, and please don't smite Sock for taking your name in vain all of the time. Amen."

In the kitchen while the coffee was brewing, Ben tried to fix the TV. When Sam had inadvertently—or advertently, Ben wasn't 100 certain—muted it the other morning he must have smashed an incredibly complicated set of buttons on the remote, because Ben couldn't figure out how to turn the sound back on. He did figure out how to turn the subtitles on, so that was almost as good, even though the closed captioning was a little wonky sometimes. And Sock wouldn't like having to read to know what was going on, but Sock had a weird talent for this kind of thing. He'd probably smash all the buttons on the remote again and it would be fixed.

That's when Ben noticed that something was missing.

Sock wandered into the room, wearing pants this time but with his shirt unbuttoned, which was weirdly almost worse.

"Sock," said Ben. "Have you seen the couch cushions?"

"Bllhh?" Sock grunted, fumbling with the coffee pot.

"Where are the couch cushions."

Sock paused. "Oh! Oh, I know this one, Benji." He opened the cabinet to get a coffee mug. "Try on the couch." He chose the mug that said "#1 Mom" on it, which he'd covertly stolen from his mother, declaring that she no longer deserved it. "Which is the couch cushion's natural habitat," he clarified.

Ben frowned. "They're not on the couch."

"Yeah, sorry about that," said Sam from the front door. He was barefoot and wearing his pajamas. "I didn't want to get my mattress gross. Also I think it's too big to fit in the elevator."

Sock made a confused, unintelligible noise. Sam stole his coffee.

"Where…" Ben started, had to stop to collect himself, and then continued. "Where are they?"

"On the roof," Sam said casually.

In the span of silence that reigned supreme for the next thirty seconds, Sam walked away with Sock's coffee and poured himself a bowl of cereal. Ben realized he also had the newspaper with him, which was nice but also meant Sam had wandered somewhere far enough from their condo to buy a newspaper, barefoot and in his Captain America pajama pants. Or he had stolen it from one of their neighbors who got the newspaper delivered, which seemed more likely now that Ben thought about it.

"You put our couch cushions on the roof?" Sock blurted.

Ben covered his eyes with his hands. "Are they still up there?"

"Yef," said Sam through a mouthful of fruit loops.

"Well, could you go get them, and bring them back?" Ben said impatiently.

Sam nodded. "I'll go get them when I'm done eating."

"How could you not come get me if you were going to camp out on the roof?" Sock cried.

"You need to go get them now, Sam," Ben said, "We have to be at the Bench in, like, twenty minutes and you're not even dressed yet, and I don't care what you did to Ted yesterday, he's going to have to actually leave his office sometime today and he's gonna bust our asses if we're late again."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to work today, don't worry about it."

"You're not what?" Sock said.

"Yeah," Sam said, "It's cool, watch." He sorted through the pile of junk on the end of the kitchen counter and pulled out his cell phone. Ben and Sock watched blankly while he flicked through his contacts, then put the phone up to his ear. Sam raised a finger for silence, even though they weren't talking, or even breathing loudly.

"Hey, Ted," Sam said into the phone. Sock startled. "Are you okay?" Sam said, to Ted, apparently. "Yeah, I noticed that… I'm fine, I guess. But I think I need today for myself, you know? Yeah. Yeah, I was thinking I might go to their offices, try to find those people." Sam laughed at something. Sock looked nauseous. "I'm just worried, you know? I have rent to pay and everyth—really? Isn't that against company policy?"

Even across the room, Ben could see the glint in Sam's eye at this. It was unhealthy looking.

"Yeah, I guess so. This is really understanding of you, though. Uh-huh. Yeah, thanks. Okay, take care of yourself, Ted. Bye."

Sam flipped his phone shut and smiled widely at them.

"'Take care of yourself, Ted'?" Sock mimicked. "What the hell, man! What happened to change! You promised me change!"

Sam gestured impatiently with his phone. "Are you kidding? Ted just told me he's going to put me on the clock for an eight-hour shift today, and I don't even have to show up."

"But not change that matters to me, you dick!" Sock shouted. "This is even worse! I don't want to be stuck at the Bench alone!"

"Hey!" said Ben.

"Sorry, Benji," Sock said. "It's just, you know, you sometimes get work done."

"I do not," Ben said, offended.

Sam sighed. "I'm working on it, okay? But I'm easing Ted into this. Later when I've got some really good blackmail on him, we'll all be totally set. But I can't rush this."

"You sound like you're fucking him," Sock spat.

"No," Sam laughed, "But he thinks I think he wants me to."

"You traitor," Sock said. "You're sucking up to the enemy! I liked you better when Ted scared you a little bit and you were too lazy to plan anything without me goading you on!"

Ben crossed the room and leaned towards Sam over the counter. "Sam," he said, "If you had a soul still, what would it be telling you to do?"

At first Sam just looked confused, as if he had forgotten he no longer had a soul… and then a strange look passed over his face. He gasped, staring at the counter in realization. Ben leaned closer. Sock's look of betrayal disappeared.

"Oh my god," Sam said. He stared out the window. Then he looked back at the two of them.

"Today is the perfect day to play skeeball," he whispered.

Sock groaned in defeat. Ben hung his head.

God had better work fast.

--

Skeeball, as it turned out, was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Or what the doctor should have ordered, if any doctor had been privy to the uncontrollable rollercoaster that was Sam's recent impulse problem. Since losing his soul Sam was having a hard time anticipating himself; wants were indistinguishable from needs and minor annoyance and burning rage garnered pretty much the same reaction. That was how he had ended up on the roof the night before, sprawled out under the stars on the couch cushions and humming vaguely to himself until two o'clock in the morning. It wasn't exactly like what fear had felt like before, just more of a vague itch under his skin that had made him worry the walls of his bedroom were about to crush him. Sam had thought about warning Ben and Sock to leave the apartment before it folded in on itself and killed them all, but it had been past midnight by the time he'd moved to the roof, and he hadn't wanted to wake them up over something that was probably only him finally going completely insane.

It had been totally awesome to come back to the apartment the next morning and discover them still alive and unsquished. Having to find new friends would have been a real pain in the ass.

But now Sam had totally found his center again, and that center was the two-hundred point hole in skeeball, and Sam was going to nail that motherfucker with all ten balls if it was the last thing he did.

"Excuse me, but I believe it is my turn," one of the kids said.

"Timmy--" Sam started.

"Tammy," she scowled.

"—Whatever, listen, they clearly haven't taught you about hierarchies in school yet, but I am at the top of this one, and you need to shut your face before I take you to the security booth and leave you there with that scary, asthmatic security guard."

They all pouted. There were, like, twelve of them. Sam wished they'd wander off and get abducted by perverts or killed on rides, or whatever it was kids were supposed to do at theme parks.

"Now somebody give me another token," Sam said. They glared at him balefully. "C'mon, people, let's go!" he said, clapping his hands. "When one of you bastards can spell hierarchy, maybe I'll let you have a turn."

This was so taxing. Sam was almost tempted to buy his own friggin' tokens, but that would mean leaving his spot in front of the only functioning skeeball ramp, and then he'd never be able to relax.

"You're supposed to be our chaperone," said one of the ones in the back. "So chaperone!"

"You were supposed to be an abortion, creepy ten-year-old," Sam sneered, "So abort, and leave me the hell alone!"

"We're sixth-graders," Timmy said snottily. "We're all at least eleven."

"Well, mazel-tov, bitch!" Sam replied. "I guess you're adults now, you don't need me to help you have fun. Go steal things from the gift-shop."

They stormed out of the arcade into the sunlight. Sam sighed. It would have been better if they'd stuck around and just been quiet; being a chaperone was technically his cover. The park wasn't open to the public for another half-hour, and he'd snuck in without paying admission by pretending to be a student teacher.

Whatever, Sam couldn't find it in himself to worry with skeeball so close to his fingertips. He went to the token machine and pulled his wallet out, then groaned. For the love of fuck. The thing only exchanged quarters, and Sam only had two tens and a lot of fucking pennies.

Sam thought about just breaking the machine and taking all the tokens he would ever need, but he'd get kicked out even faster that way. He peered outside. He couldn't ask anyone here for change with his charges wandering around on their own. Sam pulled at his hair in frustration; it felt like he was dying.

Sam's eyes narrowed. Two people were leaning on the other side of the park's fence, near the locker room. They didn't look like employees on a smoke break. Sam glanced around and then jogged over, trying to look inconspicuous and like he was totally not not-supposed-to-be-there.

"Hey, do either of you have change for a ten?" he asked through the fence, looping his fingers in the chain-link. The skinny one looked up and smiled.

"Nah, brah, it's still beginning of business hours. You looking to score a little something to make those pussy rides not totally boring? Me and Silent Bob," he said, nodding to his friend, "We can hook your ass up."

"You're drug dealers?" Sam sad flatly, raising his eyebrow. "Outside of Fun Forest?"

Silent Bob shrugged, seeming embarrassed. The other one bristled. "Hey, fuck you, yuppie bitch. This place is dead now, but in a few hours there'll be mad bored hipsters here, just begging for some of this fine Jamaican we're sellin'."

"You guys aren't from around here, are you?" Sam said calmly.

"Fuck no," said the blonde guy. "We're on our way to Portland. We wouldn't be caught dead in this hell-hole!"

Sam raised one eyebrow. "You have no idea. Lemme see a dime-bag."

The guy flashed it under his coat, all secretive-like. Sam scoffed. "You're kidding, right? This is Seattle. We've had legalized medical marijuana since I was a kid. Give me twice that for ten bucks and I'll consider it." They both looked at him, aghast. "Seriously," Sam said, "Nobody trusts street sellers here unless there's a 'fest in town, you idiots. You're not going to sell any of that to anyone else."

He looked around at the theme park. "Especially not here." He pulled a ten out.

The blonde guy scowled and snatched it. Sam grabbed onto his coat sleeve hard to make sure he didn't run off, and the big guy did something like growling, but without making any noise. "Chill, brah," the blonde one said. "Take your fuckin' weed. Don't know who you're gonna smoke it with, though. This place is dead. C'mon, Silent Bob, let's find another place to do business."

They tottered off towards Mercer. Sam rolled his eyes and tucked both baggies into his pocket. Then he looked around him.

Those kids had to be around here somewhere.

--

Sam had found them hiding on the other side of the pavilion, which was perfect, and once he'd apologized and given them some lame spiel about how he realized that eleven totally was too old to have fun at some dumpy play-park with only three good rides, well, it wasn't so much like taking candy from babies as giving candy to babies, which was probably even easier than the first thing. And then he did kinda-sorta also take candy from babies, if you replaced "candy" here with "forty dollars worth of tokens."

Sam was an awesome business man. He couldn't remember why he'd always hated selling stuff at the Bench before.

And skeeball was totally the greatest thing ever invented by man. The only thing even remotely close to better was chili-cheese dogs, which Sam could finally go buy now that the park was fully open and there were other people here over five-feet tall. And also one of those huge, gross slushy things. Nothing about this day has had any down-side, Sam thought deliriously. That's never happened to me before.

Naturally, this was when he tripped over the vessel.

"Crap," Sam said earnestly. He stared down at the box. There was a black portfolio resting on top. Sam looked around.

"Hello?" he said. "Hellooooooo-oooo." A couple of people glanced at him from their picnic table. "Come out, come out, wherever you are, you bronzer-hording freak!"

One of the security guards was staring at him, and it looked like the family at the picnic table was considering moving elsewhere, but no Devil in sight. Huh.

Sam picked up the box and carried it around the back of the pavilion, passing his toked-out kids on the way. He dropped the vessel box on the ground and opened the portfolio. "Helloooooo," he tried again, "where are you?"

He could hear confused druggie laughter coming from the direction of his kids, but other than that, nothing. "You're not mad at me, are you?" Sam said into thin air. "Because if anyone should be mad right now, I think it's me, and, ironically, considering I no longer have a soul, I am feeling pretty forgiving about this whole thing."

Silence.

"You're a dick, and I hate you," Sam said with finality, and settled down on the ground to read the new escaped soul's profile.

--

Sock and Ben were breaking down cardboard boxes for the dumpster when Sam finally found them, which meant one person held the box up and the other person punched through the bottom. The punching person was usually Sock, because he had the natural advantage of having hands "like Christmas hams with an adamantium skeleton inside." The person holding the box was usually Sam, because Ben was smart enough to know that one out of every ten punches was going to go far enough through the box to hit the other person in the gut.

"Well, look who decided to show up at work," Sock sneered, "The traitor." Then he punched through a box so hard Ben fell over, fortunately onto a pile of un-punched boxes.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Don't even start. I just spent ten minutes literally holding Ted's hand, isn't that punishment enough?"

"No, it is not enough!" Sock said. "It makes it worse. Do you know who he blames for all of that awesome, amazing stuff you did yesterday? Me. Me, Sam! And don't get me wrong, I would love to be able to take credit for the sheer genius of The Glitter Incident," he paused to inhale here, "but NOT IF IT MEANS SPENDING FOUR HOURS CLEANING THAT GLITTER UP," he bellowed, and threw the cardboard box at Sam.

Sam blinked.

"LOOK AT ME!" Sock shrieked. "I'm covered in it!"

"It's true," Ben said bleakly.

"But Sock," Sam said, laughing a little, "You used to do that all the time in fifth period art class, remember? And then you would say, 'Look at me, I'm Tinkerbell!' and run around shoving people down stairs and telling them to think happy thoughts."

"This is different," Sock said coldly.

"I'm sorry?" Sam said, because he seemed to recall that working before, in the increasingly hazy, distant-seeming past where he'd had a soul. "But listen, I have an awesome reason for you to stop being weird and angry right now," he said impatiently, waving the portfolio. "Look what I've got."

"You've got unnecessarily-classy office supplies, that's supposed to fix things how?" Sock sneered.

"It's the escaped soul, dumbass," said Ben, getting up. "Did you talk to The Devil, Sam? Did he say anything about your soul?"

Sam grimaced. "No, I think he's mad at me, or else I'm boring to him now that his stupid jokes probably wouldn't bother me anymore. He didn't show up."

"Sam," Ben said, "I really think you should try to get in touch with The Devil and discuss this with him."

"Sure, Ben," Sam sighed, "I'll just shine the Bat Signal into the night sky and he'll come running. Either he shows up or he doesn't," he shrugged, "I don't really have any power over that."

"Did you ever wonder what happened if they needed Batman during the day?" Sock said idly, distracted. "You'd think all of the criminals in Gotham would just decide to commit crimes during their lunch break, and problem solved. Bats is too busy macking on hot chicks and stuff to care."

"I don't think it would have made any difference," Sam replied. "He's Batman, he'd just find you the next night and kick your ass anyway."

"Did I say I was talking to you, traitor?" Sock said, and then snatched the soul's portfolio away from him. "Gimme that, you'll hurt yourself if we let you do this stuff on your own… oh my god, awesome."

"I told you," said Sam smugly. "You won't believe what the vessel is. This is going to be awesome, like being in The Exorcist, but we don't get thrown down a flight of stairs and die at the end." He paused. "Probably."

"Who's the soul?" Ben asked, leaning over Sock's shoulder.

"A priest!" Sock cried. "A Catholic priest! Oh man, I have always wanted to send a priest to Hell."

"Oh no," Ben moaned. "I can't believe this. I'm gonna be trapped in limbo for centuries when I die."

"He's not a real priest, Ben," Sam said, "He was a con artist. He lied about being a priest so he could perform 'exorcisms,'" Sam made air quotes, looking more amused than anything, "On his victims. And as funny as that kind of is? You're totally gonna earn brownie points with the big guy for helping me put his caboose on the tracks to Hell."

"Plus, he's hiding at a convent," Sock said. "He's surrounded by nuns. Haven't you ever seen Sound of Music, Benji? Nuns can be totally hot under those wacky robe things, and," he gestured to his crotch, "they love packages."

"Tied up with string," Ben countered flatly.

"Those nuns are married to God now, Sock," Sam said, smiling. "If you get too frisky with 'em he might smite you with lightning."

"Like you even care," Sock sneered.

"Chill, Sock," said Ben. "It's not like he can help it. Getting angry at him for being a dick right now would be like getting angry at someone with Tourette's for cursing or… or autistic kids for not looking you in the eye. He's disabled."

Sam looked confused. "I don't feel disabled."

"Of course you don't," Ben said tiredly. "But you are, and because we're your friends we're going to help you get through this, but you have to trust us, okay?"

Sam tilted his head. "Okay, but if you screw me over, I'll slaughter both of you in your sleep."

Sock and Ben stared.

Sam stared back.

"Uh," squeaked Sock.

"I'm kidding!" Sam said with a big smile, spreading his arms and laughing.

"Ohhh, haha, ha, ha," Sock laughed nervously. "Ha! Good one."

Ben scrunched his whole face up and muttered something under his breath about Jesus, then squared his shoulders and looked at Sam. "Alright, our shift's over in an hour—we can go scope out the convent then."

"No, no," Sam said, "We can go now, Ted's not going to notice, trust me."

"Why?" Sock asked making a pained face as he took off his apron. "You didn't leave him in a post-coital state, did you? If you went that far we're going to have to fire-cleanse Ted's office, and disinfect you somehow."

"Sock, just because I don't have a soul doesn't mean I don't have standards," Sam said, then waved them back over when they turned towards the front of the store. "No, come on, we're exiting out the side-door, I parked one street over."

"Why?" said Ben.

"You'll see."

And they did see, a few minutes later as the Prius drove past the Work Bench parking lot.

"I've set them free!" Sam said proudly, letting go of the steering wheel long enough to do jazz hands.

"Okay, I take back everything I said about you being a traitor," Sock said, although it was hard to hear him over all the honking and confused yelling. "Clearly even without a moral compass, your heart is still pure and capable of infinite beauty."

In the parking lot, confused customers attempted to navigate the gridlocked network of loose shopping carts, herding them hesitantly with the noses of their SUVs and mini-vans. A few people were outside ineffectually trying to rein them in, but mostly they just seemed to be making it worse. A particularly insistent soccer mom finally pushed her way out of the exit, plowing four or five shopping carts in front of her. They rolled across the street and into a ditch.

"That's it!" cackled Sam. "Rise up! Rise up against your human oppressors, my soulless brethren!"

"The revolution is upon us!" shouted Sock.

Ben sank lower in the backseat and covered his face with both hands.

--

"This," groaned Sock, "is the least sexy thing ever."

"Like I said," Sam replied. "Married to God. And I'm pretty sure God's gay? So they're more like a harem of beards. Not a lot of motivation to maintain yourself, I guess. Also living a life of purity doesn't exactly reel in the young crowd, case in point."

"Sam, this is me speaking preemptively for your missing soul," Ben said. "Whatever we do, we absolutely cannot allow these women to get hurt in the process. They're Dominican Sisters, you seriously don't find anyone more devoted to helping people than that."

"They don't look Dominican to me," Sock said, squinting at the Sisters through the windshield.

"Not that kind of Dominican, Sock," Ben replied. "Are we sure this is where he's hiding? Normally the profile isn't that specific."

"I'm pretty sure," said Sam. "Escaped souls normally aren't smart enough to wander too far from home, and this was his last place of residence before he got…" he checked the file. "Yeesh. Before a contingent of actual exorcists from Rome abducted him off the street and crucified him upside down."

"Eeuhaahg," said Sock.

"There's pictures," Sam said helpfully.

Sock looked queasy. "Naw, I'm good. I want to go get burritos after we're done here, and, uhhh…"

"I actually kind of want steak right now," Sam said, still peering intently at the photographs. Ben made an unhappy noise and changed the subject.

"And you don't think the Sisters would think it was weird that some mysterious priest disappeared abruptly and then came back, with no explanation as to where he'd been?"

"There are plenty of explanations for where he's been," Sam said easily. "None of them would be true, but these women devote their lives to the unquestioning worship of someone they've never even met. Pulling one over on them is going to be cake."

"You're not going to 'pull one over on them,' Sam," said Ben. "Because if you still had a soul, you'd know that was wrong."

"Oh, and how do you propose I remove the threat of some crazy murderous imposter from their midst, if I can't even lie to them?" Sam asked sharply. "Excuse me, girls, I just have to eradicate your friend off the face of the Earth, mission from Hell, I'm sure you know all about that." He scoffed. "Then there's crying and screaming, and word gets back to the Vatican, and then suddenly I'm being pulled off the street and nailed to a cross. No thanks."

"They wouldn't try to exorcise you," Sock said, "you're not evil."

Sam thought about that.

"You're not," Ben insisted forcefully. "An escaped soul is one that's totally corrupted. Your soul is uncorrupted, it's just you who's… kind of wandering around without it, acting like a jerk."

"I'm sorry, those last two sentences were so incredibly boring that already I don't even remember what you said. Are you guys going to infiltrate this church with me or what?"

"I dunno," Sock said, "These are scary Catholic School nuns. I think I just saw one of them try to hit that kid with a ruler. I don't wanna get hit with a ruler, Sam, it would hurt my feelings. And also just hurt."

"We're not letting Sam into the school right now anyway," said Ben. "No offense, Sam, I just don't think you should be around children right now."

"Mmmyeah," said Sam indifferently. "I don't think he spent much time in the school, anyway. He was just there so the Sisters would have someone to confess their sins to, since if you have a uterus you can't stand in for Jesus, and Jesus is the one who's in charge of that stuff." He shook his head. "If he's here, he's most likely hiding in the church."

"Can he even go in the church, now that he's an escaped soul from Hell?" Ben said doubtfully.

"Can you even go in the Church, since you have no soul and you work for Hell?" Sock said. "Without, like, melting or catching fire, or turning into a bat and flying away?"

"I promise that if I turn into a bat," Sam said, "I won't fly away. I'll follow you around, and terrify anyone who tries to talk to you." Sam gasped. "Turning into a bat would be awesome. I hope I do turn into a bat."

"I don't think that actually happens. Probably you just are scorched by God's fury," Ben informed him.

"God is a moron with bad taste in architecture," Sam said as he opened his door. "I guess we're going to find out what happens, because I'm going in."

"At least promise me you two won't blaspheme in front of nuns while we're here," said Ben.

"I am not promising anything except that I'm not going to get kicked out of this place on purpose," Sam said.

"That's good enough," Ben sighed.

"Because I want a chance to give one of those big naked Jesus statues the finger now that I've finally stopped feeling guilty about how lousy his dad treated him," Sam finished. "What a sanctimonious piece of shit."

"Shhhh," Ben said, trying to steer Sam away from a large group of elderly nuns.

The Sisters' church itself was a pretty impressive affair, all stained-glass windows and detailed stone carvings of saints bleeding piously. Sam had never particularly had an opinion about churches before, but now for some reason that mysterious itch under his skin was back. He scratched his arm compulsively as they entered through the arched doors, but didn't catch fire or break out into boils. Not where he could see, anyway, he guessed.

"Remember," Ben muttered from behind his right shoulder, "we're just here on reconnaissance. We see if we can spot the soul, then we get out. We'll go home and figure out how to lure him somewhere safe for the capture."

"These seats look super uncomfortable," Sock noticed, hovering on Sam's left. "I am so glad my mom was a big hippie, because my ass would not be this round and luscious after a childhood spent here."

"Oh my god," Sam whispered, perking up. "The only way to lure this soul out into the open is for one of us to pretend to be possessed, and ask him to perform an exorcism. This is going to be the best thing ever. I would make a kickass demonic possession case."

"Do demons actually possess people?" Ben asked. "They seem kind of busy doing their own thing."

"He doesn't want actual cases of possession, Ben," Sam said as they reached the end of the pews. "He knows they actually exist now, and a real demon would probably report his ass. He just needs a really obviously bogus opportunity to torture someone to death. And you know what that means." Sam added excitedly. "I finally have a practical use for learning how to throw up on command."

"That was the best field trip ever," Sock agreed.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" a woman asked. Sam turned around. It was a tiny nun, old and frail looking. Sam felt an inexplicable urge to wring her neck, but ignored it because that would be really, really hard to explain.

"Yeah, hi," he said, brushing imaginary hair out of his eyes. She smiled sweetly and he stepped forward and took her tiny hands in his. "We're looking for someone who helped me a long time ago, whose help I think I might need again."

"Wait but on the Lord, and he shall strengthen your heart, my dear," she said, smiling serenely. Sam wondered if they lobotomized people before accepting them into this kind of thing.

"Someone a little closer to home than the Lord, actually," Sam said, still smiling. "We're looking for a Father Earnest Tallman?" She chuckled. Jackpot.

"No one is closer to your heart than the Lord, but Father Earnest would make a pretty good second-best. You're in luck," she said, "he just returned from sabbatical this morning."

"That's great," Sam said, the itch coming back full force and making him fantasize about turning over the table full of candles in front of the altar. "Do you know how I can get in touch with him?"

"He should be here now," she said, peering behind Sam to the other side of the church. "He'll be taking confession from five to seven this evening; we had one of the younger priests stand in while he was gone, but I know we're all relieved he's back."

"Really," Sam said. It was just five o'clock now.

"Sam," said Ben nervously, "we should go."

"I think," Sam said slowly, "that I would really find comfort in confessing my sins right now."

Ben was too busy choking a little bit to disagree.

"Would it be alright if I…?" Sam began, gesturing to the tiny booth hidden in the shadowy recesses of the church's far right.

"Oh my," the Sister said. "I'm sure it would be. I know it always makes me feel better."

Sam held the rosary Perdition had sent as this Soul's vessel in his hand and idly stroked the tiny crucifix with his thumb. "I think I'm feeling better already," he smiled.

Sock was making vague distressed-sounding noises and Ben sounded like he was trying to object as gently as possible, but Sam's focus was already zeroing in on the kill and everything else sounded like it was coming through water, so he happily ignored it and slipped into the confessional.

"Father Earnest?" Sam asked.

The fake priest's head jerked a little bit behind the screen. He'd probably been expecting a little old lady. Sam tried not to smile too widely, because it looked like the wussy "screen" between them didn't actually hide much, and Sam didn't want to spoil the surprise.

"Yes, my son," the faux-Father said hesitantly.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," Sam said, reciting what he could remember from television, but the words tasted unexpectedly strange on his tongue. He realized he couldn't actually distinguish what had been a sin over the past two days and what wasn't. The word didn't sound real.

"How long has it been since your last confession?" Earnest prompted.

"A while," Sam said. He'd been in a church maybe, like, twice before, but the Soul still wasn't looking at him and Sam was afraid the jig would be up once he did. He wondered what the difference between the two of them was, really. "How long since your last confession?" he asked.

Sam could see the Soul's eyes shifting warily, or maybe just uncomfortably. "I have just come back from a three-month Sabbatical with God, clearing my conscience. So I guess you could say that was a very long confession."

"I bet," Sam agreed, putting his fingers on the screen's edge. It moved to the side easily. The Soul finally looked at him. "Did you confess your sins to the Demons in charge of your Eternal Punishment, Earnest?" Sam asked, and yanked the Soul's head through the window by his collar.

"Holy Mary Mother of God!" the Soul shouted. Even without his soul, Sam still instinctively knew how to use the vessel once the time was at hand, and, he guessed, that was the only thing the Devil really would need of him. Sam began strangling the Soul with the Rosary.

"Pray for us sinners!" the Soul gasped.

"Shut up," Sam snarled.

"Now and--," the Rosary was beginning to glow, the Soul's skin where it made contact seeming to sink into it, "—at the time of--," and the soul was choking too hard to get the words out, "—at the time of our death!"

And then he was gone, no one in the Confessional except Sam and his vessel, the crucifix hot to the touch now and swinging back and forth like a pendulum in Sam's grasp.

The door of the Confessional slammed open. Someone opened the priest's door as well. Sam realized suddenly that the Soul had probably made an awful lot of noise on the way out for something that was supposed to be all quiet and respectful. There were a lot more nuns now than there were before.

"Where has Father Earnest gone?" one of them cried.

"Uh," Sam said, and then, "OH MY GOD." He grabbed the Sister standing in front of him by the shoulders. "He ascended in a beam of golden light! IT'S THE FREAKIN' RAPTURE!"

They stared at him.

"Wait," Sam said, pausing as if confused, and then stared at them all, aghast, hands on his head. "If it's the Rapture, why are you all still here?!"

Pandemonium broke out.