For Tomas, the night was a series of dreams and images, the feeling of the heat coming from inside, the demon burning and the flames licking the walls of the room. He was only barely aware of the moments when he was moving about the room, of Marcus talking to him. At one point he thought he heard a woman scream in fright, but it was all lost in the heat. Until there was something blessedly cool covering his eyes and soothing words flowed next to his ear. There was a hand grasping the back of his neck, pushing away the ache, letting him relax into the softness of the pillow and be swept away into things long past...

-o-o-o-o-

The air was warm on his face as the six-year-old Tomas trudged next to his abuela through the dry and dusty streets of Mexico City. He had arrived to his new home only a week ago and he still wasn't used to the heat, the smells or the people. Even the language sounded strange to his young ears... he knew Spanish from his mom and the occasional visit from abuela, but his dad made sure that they all spoke English at home. That was until he left them, but Tomas didn't like to think about that anymore. In the last few months his family had fallen apart and Tomas was starting to feel more and more guilty. Maybe it was him who caused it? After all, his mom sent him away too.

"Do not worry, Mijo," his abuela spoke, squeezing his hand in her palm and giving him a huge smile. "Father Miguel will help us." Her English was broken and Tomas knew she was using it only to cheer him up, to make him feel better. Which meant that maybe there was a reason to worry. Still, she seemed confident and Tomas wanted to believe her.

"If he fixes me, can I go back home, Abuela?" he asked sheepishly, slipping back into the Spanish he often heard from his mom then bit his lip when he saw the look of sadness cross his abuela's face. She stopped and pulled him to the side of the walkway, squatting down so they were face to face. She put her hands on his face and smiled.

"Oh mijo, you don't need to be fixed. You are my sweet chico." She hugged him and put a wet kiss on his forehead, laughing when he grimaced and rubbed it off.

"But can I go home? I promise, I will be good. I won't get sick anymore," he begged, and she sighed, ruffling his hair.

"I thought you liked staying with me, mijo?"

"I do..." Tomas hedged. He didn't want to hurt her feelings. He knew how easy it was lately to make his mom cry and he didn't have any wish to upset his abuela that way. "I just... miss 'Liv." Then he sniffled, because it was true. He missed his big sister something fierce, especially at night. They used to stay awake and talk. Olivia used to turn on her flashlight and make shadow animals from her hands. Tomas missed her and his mother, the hugs she gave him, the cookies she made. The way she smiled at him and the look of love in her eyes. But that was all before the incident... before he became sick and scared them all.

"I know you miss them. But... Olivia will come visit soon," she assured him. "And I am so happy to have you here with me. I felt so lonely in that big house, it's nice to have someone with me again," she said and Tomas' lips twitched in a smile.

"Your house isn't big," he opposed and Abuela winked at him.

"Not now that you're there to keep me company. You wouldn't leave an old woman alone, would you, mijo?" she looked at him and Tomas could see hope in her eyes. That's when he realized that she truly wanted him there and that she was afraid of staying alone. Tomas could relate to that. He was scared of staying alone as well. So, he squared up his shoulders and gave a very serious nod.

"I won't leave you," he said, in his six-year-old heart as sure of his words as he could be. He didn't want anyone else to feel abandoned and alone, not if he could help it. "I'll stay with you, for ever and ever," Tomas promised and beamed as his abuela enveloped him in a tight hug.

"I knew I could count on you," she whispered into his ear and ruffled his thick hair. Then she stood up, showed her hand and wiggled her fingers enticingly. Tomas grabbed her hand and together they headed towards the church.

Tomas had been to churches before... they had one in Chicago, just a five-minute walk from their home and, while they didn't attend every mass, oftentimes Tomas and Olivia found themselves woken up on a Sunday morning to be paraded into the church. Despite having to dress up and be awake earlier than he preferred, Tomas actually liked the church. He was always in awe of the hugeness of the building, he liked singing along with the choir and, even though the droning voice of their old priest almost put him to sleep, he spent the time looking at the colorful glass panes and imagining stories about the people in them. Tomas liked the church, especially during the summer, because when their air-conditioning broke and the summer heat wave hit Chicago, the church was the only place that felt cool. On summers, Tomas and Olivia sometime slipped into the last pews, playing hide and seek and enjoying the cool air, until the old priest noticed them and ushered them out with a smile on his face.

The church where his abuela was taking him now was different. It seemed much smaller than the one in Chicago... at least it looked small from the outside, pressed between other buildings. But when Tomas entered, he was almost overwhelmed by the feeling of peace... and the cool air was like balsam on his too hot skin. Abuela dipped her fingers in the holy water by the door, knelt down and crossed herself and nudged Tomas to do the same. Tomas did so, not even noticing his abuela's eyes were watching him like a hawk. He was too busy looking around, taking in the rich decoration. There were colorful statues, large candles and paintings everywhere... beautiful chandeliers hung from the high roof and at the end there was a huge altar and a cross with Jesus. Tomas stepped further in, mouth hanging open in awe and jumped when somewhere above him the organ started to play. His abuela snickered.

"That's old Jerome... he's practicing for Sunday mass. Come, mijo. We need to find Padre Miguel."

Tomas nodded and closed his mouth, following his abuela deeper into the building. They paused by the confessionals. There was a sound of muttering, though Tomas couldn't make out any words. Abuela led him back to the pews and they sat down, praying and waiting.

A few minutes later, a young woman walked out of the confessional, followed by Padre Miguel. Tomas was surprised to see the priest was so young. He didn't look older than Tomas' own dad and, while Tomas thought his dad was old, the priest they had in Chicago was ancient when compared to Padre Miguel. Tomas' abuela quickly stood from the pew and headed towards the father, telling Tomas to stay where he was, that she would return soon.

Tomas nodded and watched as his abuela caught up with Padre Miguel. They started talking in quick Spanish and, even though Tomas tried to listen, their tones were hushed and he didn't dare go any closer. Biting his bottom lip, Tomas' legs dangled from the seat, not long enough to reach. He sighed and leaned over, resting his head on the pew in front of him, enjoying the feeling of the cool wood on his skin. His abuela was taking forever and when he threw a covert glance towards her, Tomas could see she was gesticulating and trying to prove some point. Padre Miguel looked a bit lost and tried to jump in and interrupt her, but gave up. Tomas smirked. When his abuela wanted something, she was going to get it, no matter what. Even if it was from the servant of God himself. Padre Miguel must've sensed his look, because he turned a bit and their eyes met.

Tomas blinked then blushed, embarrassed that he was caught spying. He fidgeted nervously and that brought a smile on the priest's face. Tomas smiled back in relief. It looked like Padre Miguel wasn't so bad. Their priest in Chicago would've surely frowned at him and told him he should be showing more respect in the sanctuary of God. Father Miguel instead raised his hand and gave Tomas a small wave. It served a double purpose.

Tomas instantly relaxed and his abuela stopped talking and turned to look back at him. Which made him fidget again. Father Miguel at least seemed to come to some decision, because he turned back towards his abuela and gave her a nod. She smiled too.

A few minutes later, Tomas was trudging next to his abuela, behind father Miguel. He seemed like a nice man when he came to Tomas sitting in the pew. Father Miguel reached out to offer a handshake and Tomas gave him his strongest one. His dad always taught him to give a strong handshake when dealing with strangers.

"That's a nice strong grip you have, young man," the priest spoke with a slightly different accent than what Tomas was used to. Maybe he wasn't from the City but Tomas was too polite to ask. He still understood most of the words being spoken, just needed to focus a bit more.

"Gracias, padre," Tomas returned with a shy smile.

"I heard you will be a new member of our parish. I'd like to welcome you here and maybe have a little talk, so we get to know each other. What do you say, Tomas?"

Tomas worried at his bottom lip and looked towards his abuela. He understood the words, but suddenly they made him nervous. Would this man think him bad too after he found out why he was sent away? Would he believe Tomas that it wasn't his fault? Tomas felt his breathing quicken in panic. What if the father told abuelita that Tomas was bad? Would she send him away too? Suddenly the church around him felt stuffy, the air too thick and Tomas swallowed then licked his dry lips.

Abuela and the father shared a look and she quickly stepped in, putting a calming arm around his shoulders.

"It's alright, mijo. Padre Miguel just wants to talk. Nothing bad will happen."

The father seemed to understand the sudden fear and squatted down so he was on eye level with Tomas, who blinked up at him with wide eyes.

"Only talk, Tomas. I have cookies and a glass of cold water, if you'd like," he spoke slowly and clearly and Tomas looked up at abuela in question. When she just smiled, he gave a careful nod.

"I'm thirsty," he admitted sheepishly. The cookies sounded enticing as well, though his stomach gave a warning churn. Tomas followed the adults into a small room that served as father Miguel's office. The father pulled two chairs in front of his desk and pointed at them. Tomas hopped up on one of the chairs and looked around. The office seemed painfully plain when compared to the flashy decoration of the church. There was a cross on the wall and pictures of several saints Tomas didn't know. A library full of books with strange writings on them and a desk and chairs. Nothing else to distract his attention. Well, except for the plate of cookies. The father saw Tomas' eyes watching the plate, as well as him licking his lips, and with a smile he brought the plate to him and offered.

Tomas fidgeted on the seat and reluctantly took one cookie, but he didn't bite into it.

"Can I... can I have some water?" he asked then cleared his throat. Suddenly he felt parched.

"Of course. Water... how could I forget?" Father Miguel smiled. "Excuse me for a moment, I'll just fetch a glass of fresh water," he said and left the room. As he passed by abuela, they exchanged a look and she nodded. Tomas shrugged it off and nibbled at the cookie, his legs dangling in the air.

"You alright, mijo? You seem a bit flushed," his abuela said and brushed the hair out of his eyes, then sighed. "We should give you a haircut, before you ruin your sight," she admonished and Tomas shook his head in protest. He liked having longer hair... it was all curly and when he was really bored he could at least play with it.

"I like my hair," he grumbled, ignoring the look of exasperation as he managed to get cookie crumbs all over his pants.

"Yes, but it's summer, too hot for such long hair," Abuela said, while trying to discreetly get rid of the crumbs. Tomas just frowned and pointed at her own head.

"You have long hair too. We can shave them together?" he asked and there was a small impish smirk on his face. Abuela opened her mouth to tell him off, when father Miguel returned with a plate, bringing the glass of water and two cups of coffee.

"Here it is, young man. Water for you, and some coffee for us old people," he smiled and handed the glass to Tomas, who eagerly grabbed it. Without a second thought, he drank the whole glass in few big gulps. He felt such relief that he smiled and leaned back in the chair.

"Gracias, father," he said after a second when he noted both adults were watching him like hawks. He swallowed and a bit uncertainly handed the now empty glass to the father.

"Abuela?" he frowned, seeing the strange look on her face. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Of course not, mijo," she said and smiled. The tension in the room somehow lessened and father Miguel sat in his chair. He also had a smile on his face, though there was a calculating look in his eyes. Tomas scratched at his hand, getting nervous.

"How are you feeling, Tomas?" the father spoke and Tomas looked at him carefully. "I heard you weren't feeling well before. I hope it's better now?"

"Y-yes, padre. I'm okay. I'm not sick anymore," Tomas said quickly, squaring his shoulders somehow defiantly.

"I'm glad to hear it," the priest said kindly and Tomas marginally relaxed. "Do you remember what happened back in Chicago?"

The tension was back and Tomas looked at his abuela with pleading eyes.

"It's alright, mijo. Just tell Padre Miguel what you remember." She nodded at him and took his hand in hers, squeezing it in support. Tomas gnawed at his bottom lip, then after a moment of thinking, shrugged.

"I was playing with Liv in the living room," Tomas started, recounting the game and the small argument they were having, but then he stopped. "I... I fell asleep, I think," he said with a shrug and leaned against his abuela's arm. "Then I woke up in a 'spital." He added in a whisper.

"Do you remember anything from when you were asleep? How... how did it feel?" the priest asked, obviously trying to keep his questions easy for the six year old while also trying to figure out what happened.

Tomas thought back to the incident and his face scrunched up in a grimace. He remembered something... several violent images, flashing in front of his eyes, the fear gripping his insides and the certainty that he was going to die, even though death was still a strange concept to grasp. There was the sound of screaming that wasn't his own but that made his skin crawl, smoke billowing in the air and the all encompassing feeling of terror. Amidst all the chaos though there was also something else. A calming voice speaking in a foreign language, over and over again, pushing those awful images into the back of Tomas' mind. And Tomas latched onto that voice like a lifeline and listened to its lilt until the images vanished and the world started making sense again.

Now he blinked open his eyes, not even realizing he had them squeezed shut and found himself being enveloped in his abuela's hug. He was shaking and she was rocking him slightly, whispering soothing words. The priest was squatting in front of them, a frown marring his own face.

Tomas sniffled then tried to extricate himself from the hug, feeling suddenly embarrassed by all the attention he was getting.

"M' fine," he muttered stubbornly. Abuela gave him another squeeze and let him slide out of her lap. The priest grabbed him by the waist and hoisted him up on his desk, then sit down on Tomas' chair. Now they were face to face.

"Tomas, can you tell me what just happened?" father Miguel asked softly, laying one hand on Tomas' shoulder.

Tomas shrugged.

"Tomasito, por favor," his abuela asked and Tomas looked at his dangling legs then sighed.

"I r'member some bad dreams. Lots of bad dreams. I heard a lady screaming, but it wasn't mum or Liv. I swear it wasn't them." He looked up at that, his eyes wide and serious and father Miguel nodded.

"That's okay, Tomas. What were those dreams about?"

But Tomas didn't want to remember that and he shook his head stubbornly.

"I can't. I don't wanna think about them." He glared at the priest, not caring what happened next, if he was going to be punished for his disobedience or not. He was not thinking about those dreams, ever again.

The priest sighed, but didn't seem to be angry. Instead he squeezed Tomas' shoulder gently.

"That's okay, Tomas. I understand. Was there anything else? Besides the dreams and... the screaming?"

Tomas wanted to say no, to keep the voice in his mind a secret, but he knew it would be a sin to lie to a priest and he would end up in hell. If the dreams he had were any indication of what hell was, he really didn't want to risk it.

"There was a voice... a man. He... he spoke funny. But nice," Tomas added quickly, seeing the look of worry in the adults eyes. "He... he spoke nice. His words sent the bad images away."

At that the priest and abuela looked at each other, a bit confused.

"What was he saying to you, Tomas?"

"I don't know," Tomas admitted. "I think... I think he was praying. Then... then I woke up and that's all that happened I swear!" Tomas said frantically, willing the adults to believe him, to know he didn't do anything wrong.

"It is alright, Tomas, I believe you," the priest said and gave Tomas a reassuring smile. Tomas took in a deep breath and looked at his abuela. He was hoping this whole conversation would be over soon. The cookie he ate was sitting in his stomach hard as rock and he was still thirsty, but knew it would be rude to send the priest for more water. So, he licked his lips again and fidgeted on the desk.

"I can see you're getting bored, Tomas," the priest spoke easily, startling Tomas. "I have just a few more questions then I heard you and your abuela were headed for some ice cream."

Tomas blinked, because that was news to him and he straightened up, trying to look less bored. Ice cream in this heat was a treat he wasn't about to pass up. Both the priest and his abuela seemed amused by the change in his demeanor, but he ignored it. Adults were weird sometimes. He looked at father Miguel, waiting for the question and the mood sobered a little.

"Do you remember having those dreams since you woke up, Tomas?"

"The bad ones?" Tomas frowned then shrugged. "I dunno," he muttered and received a warning look from his abuela. He was supposed to tell the truth, that's what her eyes were saying.

"I have bad dreams... sometimes," Tomas admitted, then hedged. "But I never remember when I wake up." Which was a blessing in his opinion. It was enough he was waking up covered in cold sweat and with his heart beating wildly in his chest and a feeling that someone was playing soccer inside his skull. He didn't want to remember the images he saw.

"Do you sometimes wake up in strange places?"

Another shrug, but this time Tomas didn't answer, despite his abuela's glare. With a sigh, she supplied the answer.

"Sometimes he gets out of bed and walks around the room," she said and the priest turned to her.

"Is he speaking out loud?"

"No, sometimes muttering. I never understand him. Is that bad, father Miguel?" There was the worry again and Tomas bit at his lip and fidgeted. He was looking towards the door and his body became tense, ready to take flight. The priest sensed it and ruffled his hair.

"No, it is of no consequence. Kids his age tend to sleep walk. He will grow out of it, like everyone else," he added with a smile, then turned his focus back to Tomas. The mirth was suddenly gone and Tomas felt he couldn't look away from the priest, even though he desperately wanted to. He felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Indicere te spiritus daemonicus!" father Miguel said and Tomas frowned, trying to figure out if it was some other dialect of Spanish he was supposed to know.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't understand?" he piped up. The priest inclined his head and said several other sentences, but none of them made a lick of sense to Tomas. They sounded strange and foreign, even though some of the words sparked a memory of the voice inside his head, the man that helped push back the dark images. But he wasn't about to speak about it, not now when father Miguel spoke those same words. He didn't know what they meant, but they didn't feel safe... not now.

"Abuela?" Tomas asked and reached out, suddenly wishing to be in the arms of his grandmother. Father Miguel fell silent and abuela stood, picking Tomas off the table and sitting back down, with Tomas now sitting in her lap and glaring at father Miguel.

"I'm sorry for scaring you, Tomas," he said sincerely and Tomas shrugged in reply.

"I'm not scared," he opposed, but didn't try to get out of his abuela's hug. The priest smiled.

"Of course not. Silly me, thinking a few strange words can scare you."

Tomas nodded in agreement and received a small slap on his thigh.

"Don't be cheeky with padre Miguel," abuela warned him, but there was no heat behind her words and Tomas wondered just what had happened.

"Sorry, padre," he muttered, a bit put out but unwilling to end up on his abuela's bad side. The priest chuckled and walked to the other side of his desk, ruffling through papers until he found a small book underneath. He listed through the pages, read a passage then nodded to himself.

"I know you're getting bored and can't wait to get some of that promised ice cream," he walked towards Tomas and his abuela, the small book in his hands. "I very much appreciate your patience, Tomas. I'm asking that you bear with me for a little while longer. Is it okay with you?"

There was really no good way to tell the priest that he wanted to leave, definitely not while sitting in his abuela's lap, so Tomas just nodded.

"Thank you. I'd just like to say a prayer, if you will. It is for protection and it might help stop your bad dreams. Would you like that, Tomas?"

This time Tomas' nod was more than sincere. If a prayer could stop the bad dreams, he would be happy to pray all day. Well, maybe not all day, but he could handle sitting in the soft lap of his abuela, instead of kneeling in the pews.

"Yes, please," he whispered and father Miguel gave him a grateful nod, then opened his book and started to speak.

"Father, I come into Your presence and in the name of your Son Jesus Christ, I claim the authority that You have given us as believer, that we shall tread upon serpents and scorpions and upon the full force of the enemy." Father Miguel's voice was strong and suddenly too loud in the small office, but Tomas didn't mind. He listened to the words and felt calmness envelope him. Word by word, the tension was leaving his body, along with the oppressing heat. And as father Miguel continued with more verses, somewhere in the distance, Tomas could hear another whisper, a familiar lilt of a voice, even more calming. He closed his eyes, leaned back into the embrace of his abuela and let both voices push out the darkness that was hiding in the small crevices of his mind, lurking and hissing.

"Father, I prepare myself for this spiritual warfare, I put on the helmet of salvation, the breastplate of righteousness, I put the belt of truth around my waist and wear the shoes of the Gospel of Peace. I now raise the shield of faith in my arm and I wield the sword of the Spirit in my right arm which is Your WORD!" Father Miguel boomed but Tomas was now hearing only the other voice. It belonged to a man, a man hidden in the shadows, slowly stepping out. Tomas couldn't see his face, but the man had a white shirt and a black vest. He wore the collar of a priest and in his hands there was a rusty crucifix and a bible and he was wielding them both as weapons.

Tomas felt the scratching inside his mind subside... the darkness become lighter and he could see that the priest, his savior had a stubble on his face and shining blue eyes. He was bringing light and in Tomas' six-year-old mind he looked like an angel.

The angel came up close to him, so close that Tomas couldn't see anything but the light, hear the words being spoken in a smoky voice, filled with so much strength and emotion that Tomas felt like weeping. There was a warm hand put on the back of his neck and Tomas let out a sob, leaning into the touch like it was bringing salvation.

And maybe it was. As the words continued to flow, Tomas felt the pressure inside his head grow, as if small tendrils of darkness were being pulled from their hiding places, like worms from an apple. It was a nasty feeling, a crawling pain heading to the nape of his head, just where the palm was.

"In the Name of Jesus of Nazareth, I bind and command all the powers and forces of evil to depart right now away from us, our homes, and our lands. And I thank You Lord Jesus, our rock, our stronghold and our refuge, for You are a faithful and compassionate God. AMEN!" With that last word, Tomas gasped as there was a fierce pain and then nothing, just peace and weariness, as someone's finger ran a cross over his forehead.

He blinked open his eyes and found he was face to face with father Miguel. The man with the blue eyes was gone and his face was slowly fading from Tomas' memory. There was a sudden feeling of loss, but that was chased away by a whisper of promise... 'just for now, hermano'.

Tomas sniffled and rubbed at his eyes, feeling sleepy but strangely light, as if he could walk on clouds. He smiled at the priest a bit loopily.

"How are you feeling, Tomas?" Father Miguel asked and Tomas noticed the hand that was still resting at the back of his neck.

"Better," he replied, feeling it was the truth.

"That's good." Father Miguel stepped back and Tomas was suddenly enveloped in a strong hug. He turned to look at his abuela and was dismayed to see tears running down her face. He frowned and reached up to rub them away.

"What's wrong?" he asked, but abuela just shook her head and planted a big kiss on his face.

"Nothing is wrong, mijo. Everything is good."

Tomas wanted to argue that people didn't cry when things were good, but his abuela was smiling now and while father Miguel had a bit of a strange look on his face, as if he was deep in thought, he wasn't frowning either. What was most important was that the pressure in Tomas' head was gone and he felt like he could breathe again.

After his abuela profusely thanked father Miguel and promised to be back for the Sunday mass, they bid farewell to the priest and headed for the promised ice cream. Tomas was on the verge of starting to skip happily next to his abuela, but something nagged at his mind. A thought he wanted to erase.

"Abuela?" he asked almost sheepishly, as they were waiting in the queue of the ice cream store.

"Yes, Mijo?" she smiled, thinking he was about to tell her which ice cream he wanted.

"Is there still something wrong with me?"

The smile didn't vanish from her face, though it changed into something different, something much more reverent. She knelt down and put a hand on his cheek.

"No, Tomas. There is nothing wrong with you. Not now, not ever."

While that answer should've made him happy, it didn't make much sense.

"But... what about those dreams? What about that voice?"

"God spoke to you, Mijo. He spoke through you!" she said fiercely and Tomas inclined his head. He heard only one voice and it was that of the angel. Somehow, he doubted God would be speaking to him with an accent.

"What... what did he say?" he asked, but his abuela seemed to ignore that question.

"You will do big things, Tomasito. You just have to follow in His footsteps and pray!" she said, proud and beaming and Tomas swallowed then put on a brave smile. He didn't understand what she was saying. He didn't feel like he could do big things, not now. But he nodded and hugged his abuela and swore he would do anything to make her proud.