'Thank you, Sharon.'
'Father Merrin's in the study,' she told him.
Karras moved quickly to the study, tapped lightly and cursorily at the door and then entered with the box. 'Sorry, Father,' he was saying, 'I had a little---'
Karras stopped short. Merrin, in trousers and T-shirt, kneeled in prayer beside the rented bed, his forehead bent low to his tight-clasped hands. Karras stood rooted for a moment, as if he had casually rounded a corner and suddenly encountered his boyhood self with an altar boy's cassock draped over an arm, hurrying by without a glance of recognition.
Karras shifted his eyes to the open laundry box, to speckles of rain on starch. Then slowly, with his gaze still averted, he moved to the sofa and soundlessly laid out the contents of the box. When he finished, he took off the raincoat and draped it carefully over a chair. As he glanced back toward Merrin, he saw the priest blessing himself and he hastily looked away, reaching down for the larger of the white cotton surplices. He began to put it on over his cassock. He heard Merrin rising, and then, 'Thank you, Damien.' Karras turned to face him, tugging down the surplice while Merrin came over in front of the sofa, his eyes brushing tenderly over its contents.
Karras reached for a sweater. 'I thought you might wear this under your cassock, Father,' he told Merrin as he handed it over. 'The room gets cold at times'
Merrin touched the sweater lightly with his hands. ''That was thoughtful of you, Damien.'
Karras picket up Merrin's cassock from the sofa, and watched him pull the sweater down over his head, and only now, and very suddenly, while watching this homely, prosaic action, did Karras feel the staggering impact of the man; of the moment; of a stillness in the house, crushing down on him, choking off breath.
He came back to awareness with the feeling of the cassock being tugged from his hands. Merrin. He was slipping it on. 'You're familiar with the rules concerning exorcism, Damien?'
'Yes, I am,' answered Karras.
Merrin began buttoning up the cassock. 'Especially important is the warning to avoid conversations with the demon....'
'The demon.' He'd said it so matter-of-factly, thought Karras. It jarred him.
'We may ask what is relevant,' said Merrin as he buttoned the collar of the cassock. 'But anything beyond that is dangerous. Extremely.' He lifted the surplice from Karras' hands and began to slip it over the cassock. 'Especially, do not listen to anything he says. The demon is a liar. He will lie to confuse us; but he will also mix lies with the truth to attack us. The attack is psychological, Damien. And powerful. Do not listen. Remember that. Do not listen.'
As Karras handed him the stole, the exorcist added, 'Is there anything at all you would like to ask now, Damien?'
Karras shook his head. 'No. But I think it might be helpful if I gave you some background on the different personalities that Regan has manifested. So far, there seem to be three.'
'There is only one,' said Merrin softly, slipping the stole around his shoulders. For a moment, he gripped it and stood unmoving as a haunted expression came into his eyes. Then he reached for the copies of the Roman Ritual and gave one to Karras. 'We will skip the Litany of the Saints. You have the holy water?'
Karras slipped the slender, cork-tipped vial from his pocket. Merrin took it, then nodded serenely toward the door. 'If you will lead, please, Damien.'
Upstairs, by the door to Regan's bedroom, Sharon and Chris stood tense and waiting. They were bundled in heavy sweaters and jackets. At the sound of a door coming open, they turned and looked below and saw Karras and Merrin come down the hall to the stairs in solemn procession. Tall: how tall they were, thought Chris; and Karras: the dark of that rock-chipped face above the innocent, altar-boy white of the surplice. Watching them steadily ascending the staircase, Chris felt deeply and strangely moved. Here comes my big brother to beat your brains in, creeps! It was a feeling, she thought, much like that. She could feel her heart begin to beat faster.
At the door of the room, the Jesuits stopped. Karras frowned at the sweater and jacket Chris wore. 'You're coming in?'
'Well, I really thought I should.'
'Please don't,' he urged her. 'Don't. You'd be making a great mistake.'
Chris turned questioningly to Merrin.
'Father Karras knows best,' said the exorcist quietly.
Chris looked to Karras again. Dropped her head. 'Okay,' she said, despondently. She leaned against the wall. 'I'll 'wait out here.'
'What is your daughter's middle name?' asked Merrin.
'Teresa.'
'What a lovely name,' said Merrin warmly. He held her gaze for a moment, reassuring. Then he looked at the door, and again Chris felt it: that tension; that thickening of coiled darkness. Inside. In the bedroom. Beyond that door. Karras felt it too, she noticed, and Sharon.
Merrin nodded. 'All right,' he said softly.
Karras opened the door, and almost reeled back from the blast of stench and icy cold. In a corner of the room, Karl sat huddled in a chair. He was dressed in a faded olive green hunting jacket and turned expectantly to Karras. The Jesuit quickly flicked his glance to the demon in the bed. Its gleaming eyes stared beyond him to the hall. They were fixed on Merrin.
Karras moved forward to the foot of the bed while Merrin walked slowly, tall and erect, to the side. There he stopped and looked down into hate.
A smothering stillness hung over the room. Then Regan licked a wolfish, blackened tongue across her cracked and swollen lips. It sounded like a hand smoothing crumpled parchment. 'Well, proud scum!' croaked the demon. 'At last! At last you've come!'
