Author's note: It's ironic how preachy people can get when they're telling you why you're preachy.
10
No, I had not ninja raped anyone, as he told me, with all the humor of a cancer ward, that he wouldn't have allowed it to happen even if I had tried. I didn't have the chance to question him further on that thought, as he swiftly charged Father Brown with my protection ("She is not to leave this church, not even a toe, until I return, I'm certain you can understand,") and left with all the gusto of a man on a mission. The hardened, narrowed look to his eyes and the set, clench of his jaw left me stunned.
Oh my. That man was handsome. And terrifying.
"What is he doing?" I asked as John gently led me by the hand to the living quarters hidden in the back of the chapel, the doorway tucked away behind the altar.
"I imagine he is seeing to those that cursed you," said John.
I blinked at him stupidly. "So this is for real. I was cursed, like, voodoo magic cursed."
"I don't know about voodoo, but…" the warmth on his face wavered in the face of consternation. "It wasn't pretty, Mai. If I…if I had had any less sense, I would have done evreything in my power to have taken you to the hospital instead."
That made me pause at the stairs, but another soft tug got me moving.
"You're like ice, Mai. We need to get you to the shower."
I didn't argue with that. I couldn't remember the last time I had been this cold. Though, why I wasn't shivering, I didn't know. I was tired, yes, exhausted, really. If John hadn't kept pulling me forward, I might have remained on that church bench until sleep had taken me.
But soon I found myself in a simple, clean tiled bathroom, with a single bathroom stall in the corner, a tiny closet-like, tiled shower, cut off from the rest by a simple green plastic curtain, and a sink.
"We have some second-hand clothes that are being donated to charity in the morning," he said, as he showed me how to work the shower's ancient knobs. "I'll find something that will fit you. Leave your ruined clothes in this bag and I'll burn them."
Burn them?
Only then did I look down at myself.
Congealed, black gunk and blood covered the front of my shirt and pants, splattered around me as though I had walked through flaying noodles of gore.
And then I realized the funny taste in my mouth hadn't been dry mouth from a long sleep, but the coppery tang of blood as well.
My knees gave out from beneath me.
I didn't really know why. My brain wouldn't provide an answer. Nor would my leaden, dead limbs who demanded I stay put.
I could feel more than see the spike in Father Brown's concern, maybe even panic, as he heaved me back to my feet and asked to look for wounds. At my nod, he cautiously peeled off my jacket, revealing my scarred, Frankenstein arms. Tossing my jacket to the side, he wetted up a paper towel from the dispenser to wipe away blood, before carefully lifting my shirt to examine my stomach. At the threatening tremble of my legs, he eased me back down to the floor and set to rolling up my pant legs and taking off my shows.
"Scratches, mostly," he murmured, his thumb tracing the shiny pink bumps of my scars. His fingers lifted my face, pulling down my eyelid to examine my eyes. He pinched my wrist, counting my heartbeats.
"I hurt," I heard, shocked when I heard it from my own mouth, only to find it was true.
"Bruised," he said, more to himself than me. "Yes, Mai, if you could get into the shower and clean off. I can take a closer look when you get out, but right now you're so cold you can hardly feel anything." Before rising, he brushed a thumb on one of my scars one more time. Something like pain crinkled his nose and pinched his eyebrows together. "Spirits caused this…didn't they?"
I looked at my arm and nodded.
"I'm sorry," I said.
He just gave me a sad smile and helped me into the shower.
"Oh, and a towel," he said. "I'll get one as well. And here's the bag."
With that, he closed the curtain, leaving me half sprayed by hot water and clothed.
For an immeasurable amount of time, I stood there and watched red and chucks of mystery substance stream off my pants and feet to the drain. The hands that eventually moved to unbutton my pants were purple and numb and made getting my pants off a lot like using sticks to get them off. I soon managed to get naked and under the spray, however, and soon the whole floor of the shower had turned red, streaming with the little chunks that proved to be remains of my post-Medium-training dinner. So blood and vomit.
The porous metal mouth of the drain ate it all.
A white bar of soap was in the corner on a little green plate. I rubbed it up and down vigorously, overtaken by a sudden urge to scrub until even the very memory of my sticky clothes and cold couldn't reach me. My fingers popped from the effort, and my nails scoured a few times as I grew careless. The scratches John had mentioned crisscrossed my belly, hardly deep, but vibrant red against my pale skin. It was almost as if I had tried to claw something out myself, but had been stopped before I could get past my shirt.
You don't want to know.
Father Brown returned with a cautious call of my name, which I returned so he wouldn't think I'd fainted in the shower. He put the towel and clothes in front of the curtain and told me he'd check in on me every few minutes to make sure I was okay.
When the door clicked shut, I forced my stiff fingers to free the soap and kneeled on the floor. There, I leaned my forehead against the wall.
Then, I stopped thinking. The patter of hot water on my head and back filled the empty space of my head.
Later, I found Father Brown sitting in a chair outside the bathroom, reading out of a book. He stood up to take my hand again, something I found oddly reassuring. I got the distinct impression these friendly touches were for my sake, to ground me from something I had yet to identify.
"I set up a cot," he said. "And there's some soup. Do you feel like eating?"
I didn't know. I honestly didn't, and I told him so.
"Something sweet and light, then, perhaps."
He bundled me up on the cot, which was a lot more comfier than I remembered, in the corner of the spare room we had used when we had come to investigate his church. An old computer had been set up in the corner, with an old glass tube monitor, along with several cardboard boxes.
John left and returned with a sweet, honeyed chamomile tea. Only then did he return to the subject of my physical well-being, which I was able to confirm was only a very sore stomach, general aches all over, and the scratches on my stomach.
"Well, I'm sure the professor acted quickly," he said with a soft smile.
I swallowed my tea and bit my lip.
"Will…will he be okay?" The first quiver of anxiety reached through the numb void. "They…they won't curse him too, will they?"
"From what I understand of curses, they require time. I doubt whoever it is could do the same as you to him at the drop of a hat."
I scratched the plain little mug. "I wonder if he even knows who they are…"
"Do you?"
I frowned. "I don't even know how curses are done." I remembered the cold, garish masks of Takigawa and Chance in the weird dream and shook myself. "The only thing remotely mystical that has happened to me over the last month are those stupid medium practices."
John leaned back on the chair he had pulled over from the computer desk. He folded his hands over his knee. "You mentioned those on Sunday. Could you give me details?"
I didn't have to say very much about them before his young, round face cut into a very uncharacteristic frown. One that almost looked…angry, except for the fact I didn't know whether the kindly priest could do anger.
"Mai…" he hesitated, long enough for me to decide that, yes, he was angry, and instinctually shrink back. "I know because you are a medium you have more experience with being influenced by spirits than most, but people aren't just…possessions don't happen at the drop of a hat. Simple whistling couldn't tear away the natural wall between spirit and mortal, it's your body. Sin injures that wall and allows it in, but…" he hesitated. "You're…you're not involved with immoral practices, are you? I won't judge. I am a priest."
I flinched. "No! I haven't even drunk alcohol before or—I mean—I've never even had a boyfriend until now, and we only kissed…" I went rigid, Takigawa's hands scraping over me coming to mind, but I had been possessed at the medium practices before that.
Even so, my eyes started to burn.
"I…is kissing bad?" I hesitated, thinking about the heart-stopping guilt beneath the garish faces of Chance and Takigawa. "Is not loving someone back?"
Father Brown looked alarmed. "No! No, of course not, no. I wasn't implying anything, Mai. And I don't sense anything amiss in you. It—it simply seemed prudent to at least ask." He sighed. "Forgive me. The point is, sin is the natural remover of that defense between you and the influences that would wish you harm. The fact that these…medium teachers of yours could bypass that obstacle without conscience consent on your part is troubling. I don't know much about how mediums and the like work, but that's how I understand possessions, namely demonic."
Pulled my legs to my chest and tucked my hands into the oversized yellow sweatshirt he had found me. "So that's what happened? I got possessed by a demon? Those…those exist?"
John's warm hand brushed my still-damp hair.
"Hush," he breathed. "There is no need to dwell on that. You are completely safe now. And the professor…well, not only is he quite famous in his capabilities concerning these, but, in my, ahem, professional opinion, I think he likes you."
That made me smile, even if only a little. He returned it, that soft look returning to his eyes that always made me feel precious. It reminded me strongly of Gene as he held me at the end.
"You're a good man," I said as I realized it, down to my core.
"Thank you."
"No, really. It's like I feel it in my gut, and my guts shouting it at my heart." I pointed to my chest. "You're…you mean every good thing you do."
His smile faltered, though the soft look in his eyes didn't. He seemed to consider what I said, then nodded.
"I wouldn't say I do it perfectly, but…I do try."
Taking his hand from my head, where it had been gently patting it, he stood to fetch his book and returned to his chair.
"Try to get some sleep," he said. "If you want. I'll be standing watch."
"Thanks," though I didn't know exactly what it was he was standing watch for, my exhaustion wouldn't be ignored for much longer.
I at least managed to finish my tea before tucking away beneath a slightly ragged, patchwork quilt and passing out cold.
