rage raced through him, hot and uncontrolled, overwhelming reason. He stalked through the house, seeking Michelle.
The door to her bedroom was closed. He tried the knob. Locked. Sam forced the door open. Michelle lay on the bed, naked, her legs spread wide, fingers busy within the dark mass of pubic hair at her apex.
The stench in the closed room was vile.
Michelle's breasts, full and heavy, were marked with bruises. Her knees were scratched. She had not washed herself, and the room stank with the scent of the unfaithful, the betrayer, the Godless.
The medallion hung about her neck, between her breasts, her nipples swollen with passion. Michelle's breath was quick, in her anticipated self-induced climax.
She opened her eyes; eyes dark with fury. 'Get out of my room!' she hissed at him. 'GET OUT!' she screamed.
Sam's temper boiled to the surface. All the rage and disgust and frustration rose up, yelling to be freed. 'You Godless whore!' he shouted at her, grabbing her by one ankle, jerking her from the bed. She yelped as her bare butt hit the floor.
Michelle spat profanities at him, the filth spewing from her mouth. Sam slapped her, his big hand hard on her face, back-handing her twice. He tore the medallion from her neck, breaking the heavy chain, and threw it across the dimly-lit bedroom. The medallion bounced off a wall. His wife squalled at him, face ugly with rage and hate.
'Goddamn you!' she kicked at him with bare feet.
Sam dodged the kick and dragged her, by the heels, across the room into the bathroom. She howled and fought him. Shoving her into the shower stall, he turned the water on full force, adjusting the water temperature, then tossed a bar of soap onto the floor of the stall.
'I really don't want to touch you,' he said. 'But if I have to, I'll scrub the stink off you.'
She laughed at him, her lips pulled back in a snarling grimace. Sitting on the floor of the stall, the water pasting her black hair to her skull, Michelle lewdly spread her legs wide, exposing herself to him.
Her fingers hooked inside her labia, she opened herself. 'Wouldn't you like to fuck me, Sam? Come on, honey—I'll give you some pussy.'
Sam hit her with his fist. He hit her a short, hard, chopping right, his big fist catching her on the side of the jaw. Her head snapped back, banging against the side of the stall. She slumped forward onto the wet floor, unconscious.
Sam washed her, soaping her again and again until her body was red from the abrading of the washcloth. He washed her long hair until it squeaked. She groaned, shook her head, and tried to bite him. He popped her again with his fist and she was still.
Sam dragged her out of the stall, dried her, and carried her to his bedroom, dumping her on the sheets. With rope from the storeroom, Sam bound her, tying her hands to the headboard, her feet to the base of the frame. He tossed a blanket over her nakedness. She lay glaring up at him, eyes wild with fury.
'Bastard!' she hissed. 'You'll die for this.'
'One of us will,' he promised her, stripping off his wet clothing.
Her eyes lingered at his groin. 'Fuck me, Sam!' she begged him. 'I need it!'
He looked at her in disgust, then turned his back to her. He walked into the bathroom, drying himself, changing clothes. Her screaming followed him through the house as he dialed the rectory for Father Dubois.
Quickly, he told the priest what he'd done. 'I need your help, Michael. Can you come over here?'
'Five minutes, Sam.'
He met the priest on the front porch, watching as Dubois blessed the house with prayer and Holy Water.
'Will this work, Michael?'
'If it doesn't,' the old priest said grimly, 'it will kill her.'
'Isn't she already dead?' Sam's voice was harsh.
'Yes, son, she is, in a manner of speaking. Come on, this is not going to be pleasant.'
The men followed the sounds of screaming, cursing, snarling.
'You picked a good day for this,' Dubois glanced at his watch. 'We have about three and a half hours 'til midnight. I think it best we do it by then.'
In the bedroom, Michelle snarled at the sight of them, her eyes rolling back in her head, only the white showing at the sight of the Bible in Dubois's hand. She spat at him, the spittle catching him on the cheek. He wiped it away with a handkerchief, careful not to let any of the spit touch his lips.
'What do we do, Michael?'
The priest knelt by the bed. 'Pray, Sam—let me do the rest. Pray harder than you've ever prayed in your life. We've got to fill this room with the power of God.'
And the men prayed.
Michelle howled like an animal on the bed, fighting her bonds until her ankles and wrists were raw and bleeding. She cursed their prayers, screamed as the Holy Water touched her flesh. She yelled filth and profanity, working as hard against the exorcism as they worked toward saving her soul.
Dogs barked in the streets of Whitfield; the crow, the owl, the night hawk hooted and cawed and screeched their outrage; and a summer storm sprang up in the dark skies, sending flashes of lightning licking across the heavens, thunder rolling in waves.
And the men prayed and worked.
Michelle strained against her bonds, blasphemy from her tongue opposing the supplications from the men of God.
An owl bashed itself to blood and broken feathers against the house, the Doberman from across the street ran around the parsonage, frantically seeking entrance into the house, its blood-lust high, the only thought in its brain: KILL. And in the homes of the possessed in Whitfield, eyes turned in the direction of the parsonage, mouths snarled, and tongues uttered chants learned in the pits of Hell.
'NNNOOO!' Michelle screamed, lunging against the bonds that held her. Her body arched upward in pain.
The minutes passed into hours as the power of God fought the mind-possessing tyranny of the devil. Michelle seemed to grow no weaker as the sweat gathered on her body, darkening the sheets.
Sam placed his hand on her forehead. 'Speak of God's love, Michelle. Ask Him for help. Ask him! He will help.'
She snarled and attempted to bite Sam. 'Fuck God!' she hissed. 'Fuck Jesus! Praise the Prince of Darkness. Hail the Lord of Flies!'
She pulled back her lips and the men watched in horror as her teeth yellowed, enlarging, becoming fanged. Her eyes narrowed to slanted slits, yellow shining from the crooked apertures.
Father Dubois drenched her with Holy Water, and she squalled in pain, the metamorphosis reversing as she transformed back into Michelle.
'I thought so,' the priest muttered. He rose from his kneeling, a look of hate on his usually serene face. 'It's no use. She's one of Them. Very old.'
Sam had backed against a wall, seemingly frozen there. Not so much from fear, although that was certainly a part of it, but more from shock at what he had lived with for years.
Dubois glanced at his watch. 'Five minutes,' he muttered. 'Only five more minutes and
He walked out of the room, returning with a broom. He handed the broom to Sam. 'Break it, Sam. I need a stake.' Sam hesitated. 'BREAK IT!' Dubois shouted, slapping Sam across the mouth.
Sam came out of his shock with a lurch. He snapped the broom handle, leaving one end jag-gedly pointed. 'Sorry, Michael,' he apologized. 'It just got to me.'
'Watch me, son,' the priest ordered. 'For when I'm gone, it's going to be up to you to do this—and you will have to do it many, many times. Be strong.'
And Sam watched in horror as the priest whirled, raised the stake with both hands, and brought it down, the jagged point driving into Michelle's chest.
Blood spewed from her mouth, both men ducking to avoid the gushing crimson.
