The Devil's Labyrinth

CHAPTER 40

FATHER LAUGHLIN SLOWED as he neared the door to Jeffrey Holmes’s tiny room buried deep in the subbasement beneath the old brownstone that had been absorbed by the school nearly a century earlier and now served as its rectory. As he stood alone in the murky depths of the labyrinth beneath the school, what had seemed like an excellent idea in the aftermath of his conversation with the boy’s poor grandmother now seemed more like the act of an old fool. Still, if he could recreate what Father Sebastian had achieved with Sofia Capelli a few days ago, and Melody Hunt this very afternoon — and he believed in his heart that he could — what a wonderful thing it would be.

He would bring Jeffrey Holmes back into God’s light.

Despite Sebastian Sloane’s certainty that the boy was beyond redemption, Laughlin’s faith told him that God would not abandon Jeffrey any more than he had Sofia or Melody.

He would not abandon any child.

Laughlin reached to draw the bolt on the door of Jeffrey’s cell, but before his pale, soft fingers touched the cold metal, he hesitated. He could still go back upstairs to his rooms, enjoy a cup of hot tea, put his aching legs up on a stool and listen to some Puccini. No one would blame him for leaving the boy solely in the hands of Sebastian Sloane, who was an expert in the ancient rites, far better educated than Laughlin himself.

But if he could manage to save the boy in spite of Sebastian’s certainty that he was lost, then he could retire — even die in peace — knowing without the shadow of a doubt that he had done God’s work.

God would not let Jeffrey Holmes down, and He would watch over the recitation of the litany as Laughlin remembered it.

Ernest Laughlin looked at the low dark ceiling and whispered a barely audible prayer: “God provide me sufficient faith.” Then he crossed himself, kissed his fingertips, and with those same fingertips threw open the bolt on the heavy metal door.

An ice-cold wave of pure evil carrying the fetid stench of rot poured forth from the darkened cell, withering Laughlin’s resolve.

Then, in the faint light of the open doorway, he saw Jeffrey’s naked body, cowering in the corner.

The boy’s pale, veined skin was stretched taut over his protruding ribs, his hair was matted with filth, and his eyes streamed with yellowish pus.

Laughlin’s first instinct was to go to the child, hold him, comfort him. Yet the aura of evil surrounding the child held him back, and instead of kneeling next to the starved and fragile body, the old priest concentrated only on the evil that was consuming Jeffrey from within.

Laughlin gripped the crucifix that hung from his belt and began the litany he’d heard Sebastian Sloane recite only a few hours ago, repeating the words as closely as he remembered them, holding the beatific smile of Melody Hunt clearly in his mind. Even now, the girl lay quietly in the infirmary, in the same bed occupied by Sofia Capelli earlier in the week, both of them completely cleansed of all evil, and at peace.

He must do the same for this poor, wretched creature.

But while the words seemed clear in his mind, they didn’t sound right as they left his lips. Where Sebastian’s robust and vibrant voice had been filled with the authority of his faith, Laughlin’s sounded thin and reedy even to himself.

Even the pronunciation of the Latin words sounded wrong, weakened by his own age and infirmity.

He knew now that he should not have come.

Yet the young boy’s body began to writhe, and Sebastian had assured him that such movement was certain evidence that the evil residing in the boy was responding. Encouraged slightly, Father Laughlin raised up his crucifix and intoned the passages of the liturgy as best he could remember.

He deepened his voice and filled his lungs as if to command the evil’s obedience by sheer volume.

Jeffrey Holmes’s limbs began to spasm and anguished moans escaped his lips.

“Thank you, Father,” Ernest Laughlin whispered, then raised his voice even further, feeling the power of the Lord welling up inside him to cast out the demon that inhabited the poor boy’s body.

“Most cunning serpent,” Laughlin found the phrases he’d been trying to remember. They weren’t in Sebastian’s Latin, but he remembered them from his college texts. “You shall no more dare to deceive the human race, persecute the Church, torment God’s elect and sift them as wheat. The Most High God commands you, He with whom, in your great insolence, you still claim to be equal!”

As he bellowed the last words, he saw the wasted muscles of the boy’s back and arms bunch as he struggled to a sitting position.

“Begone, Satan, inventor and master of all deceit, enemy of man’s salvation.” Laughlin fumbled in his pocket for the vial of holy water he had brought with him.

“Father?” The boy’s voice was so faint, Father Laughlin wasn’t certain he had heard anything at all.

“Father?” It was the tiny voice of a small child.

“Yes, my son?” Laughlin stepped into the cell, closer to Jeffrey, to better minister to the boy. He leaned down and reached out to touch him. “I’m here to help you.”

“You!” the evil roared, its foul breath knocking Father Laughlin back. “You help me? Never!”

Laughlin stumbled backward, struggling to maintain his balance, then felt the solid wall behind him and regained his footing.

The boy stood up. Though his body was frail, his face reflected the twisted countenance of Satan himself. “You will never defeat me!” Jeffrey stretched out his filthy hands and moved slowly, one step at a time, toward the old priest.

Laughlin, frozen with a terror such as he’d never felt before, could only stare at the snarling, drooling creature that approached him.

Jeffrey spat, and a hot, viscous gob landed on the priest’s lips and began to sizzle.

Laughlin cried out as he wiped the stinking mucus from his face. Finally jarred from his paralysis, he bolted for the door, finding it only an instant before the creature would have been on him. He slammed the door shut and threw the bolt, just as Jeffrey’s poor body slammed against it. A furious howl erupted from the being trapped beyond the door, and it smashed Jeffrey Holmes’s body against it over and over again, the unearthly voice reverberating through the walls of the tunnels and into the very bones of the buildings above them.

Laughlin hobbled away from the cell as quickly as he could, and when he was far enough to be certain he was safe, he leaned against the wall and tried to catch his breath.

He dampened his handkerchief with the holy water that was supposed to have washed the evil from Jeffrey Holmes’s body and soul, and used it instead to wipe the spot where the devil’s sputum still burned his lips.

When his heart had finally slowed its pounding and he trusted himself to walk, he crossed himself, and hurried back toward his rooms, listening to the unearthly howls that might fade from the walls of the school, but which would follow him all the way to his grave.

† † †

In the infirmary, Melody Hunt’s eyes snapped open. She listened to the howling for a moment, and then, as if soothed by a lullaby, closed her eyes and fell back into an easy sleep.

† † †

In her room in the dormitory, Sofia Capelli sat listening to the wailing of a kindred spirit. As its volume rose, it awakened in her a hunger so desperate that it clawed at her insides. She curled up on her bed and held a pillow to her stomach. The time would come when they could be together.

Not yet, but soon.

† † †

Deep in the bowels of the underground, the being inhabiting Jeffrey Holmes fell to the stones in rage and frustration at the weakness of its host. Forcing Jeffrey to his feet, it hurled him against the wall, forcing the boy to smash his own head against the stones, but keeping him conscious. Totally conscious.

The boy must suffer — suffer as the evil itself was suffering.

Using the boy’s own long, broken fingernails, the evil began gouging at Jeffrey’s face, thrilling at the agony the boy was feeling. As its power and rage built, the thing went after Jeffrey’s throat, tearing at the pulsing artery in his neck, ripping and slashing at his skin and muscles and tendons until finally the torn and jagged nails found what they sought and tore into the pulsing artery that pumped blood into the boy’s brain.

Blood gushed from the ruined artery, spewing onto the stone floor.

One final rattling laugh bubbled from Jeffrey Holmes’s throat as his life drained away, spreading across the floor of the dark cell.

The evil sucked in the last of Jeffrey Holmes’s strength, then retreated like a maggot into a chrysalis, waiting for its next host to come….