The Possessed (The Paranormalist Book 5) by William Massa

Author:William Massa [Massa, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Critical Mass Publishing
Published: 2021-06-07T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

The hanged body of the exorcist spun clockwise, then counterclockwise, performing a final grotesque pirouette before coming to a juddering standstill.

The haunting sound of the bell stopped.

I scanned the scene, piecing together what must have happened. Someone had wrapped the bell line around the exorcist’s neck and tossed him down the circular wooden staircase that wound its way up toward the iron bell high above us. I didn’t know if the fall had snapped his neck or if he’d gasped his last breaths while the ringing bell drowned out his death rattle.

“We can’t leave him like this,” Sister Nora said, snapping me out of my grim musings.

I wished I had my athame so I could cut down the exorcist and restore some dignity to Father Andara in death.

My flashlight illuminated the dead man’s contorted, purplish features once more. I had fought side by side with this man, helping him save several lost souls. It pained me to see the legendary warrior of the light come to such a tragic end.

I looked up at Nora and saw that she was fighting back tears. Andara had saved her soul five years earlier. She owed this man. And now he was gone. She didn’t know yet that he’d called her here to serve as bait, nor that he’d been the one who attacked me.

Nora’s panicked voice thrust me out of my thoughts. “Oh my God, there’s another body!”

My attention turned toward the nave of the church and made out a form splayed atop the altar, dimly illuminated by the flickering votive candles.

Jaw tight, I walked down the nave with Nora. Candles guttered around us as we approached the altar, our footsteps echoing eerily on the stone floor.

My face fell as I drew closer and my gaze fastened on Liza Hawthorn. Her limbs spilled over the sides of the altar like a carelessly discarded doll. Making matters worse, my father’s sacrificial blade was sticking from her gore-covered chest. Someone had drawn strange glyphs and occult symbols all over the altar.

Andara, what have you done? I thought.

My mind flashed back to my earlier exchange with the exorcist. While I was unconscious, Andara had taken my athame and sacrificed Liza, convinced he could finally send the foul creature inside her back to Hell.

That theory explained Liza’s death, but what about Andara? Had the exorcist come to his senses following the murder? Had guilt driven him to commit suicide? Or perhaps the murder-suicide was part of an occult ritual?

My mind was hurting from the possibilities. The bottom line was that we were all in trouble. The snake tattoo on my shoulder was pulsing with pain, a clear indicator that black magic was in the air—as if I needed any more of a hint.

We had to alert the others, inform the monks of the crime. Before we could leave this accursed place, though, there was one last thing I had to do.

My fingers reached out for the handle of my father’s sacrificial blade. I was disturbing a murder scene, but I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

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