Two days after the archbishop had raped me, Valeria was arrested. RCMP stormed inside the monastery while we were having dinner and handcuffed her just as she was about to bite into her bread roll.
One police officer said that apparently Valeria had told her deceased boyfriend all about her grim past, including the murder of her father, Robert Fallon, when she had spent a night at his house, and apparently somebody from the Murrays' household had overheard it.
Local authorities were contacted by Ronan's family when the killing of a nineteen-year-old Gabrielle Tremblay (a girl who attended Ronan's university) had appeared in the news. Apparently, the officer said, the Murrays had drawn a connection between Mr. Fallon's killer and the Montreal predator. How Mrs. Regina Murray apparently pointed out, "Well, if she's got guts to kill her own father, she sure can kill strangers."
What preposterous connection! I wanted to yell the name of Edgar Serre but saw that it would only stir the pot in the wrong direction. Those huge skeptics that fed on iron facts would not believe me if I told them how I knew what I knew.
A Q&A seance with a demon? Yeah, right. I was useless, unable to help neither Edgar Serre's victims nor Valeria. I could only plead for them to have mercy on her, but the men in uniform were adamant and mute as walls, dutifully executing their chief's orders. All Valeria could manage was to squeeze my hand and murmur, "In the closet," before they tore us apart and pulled her away.
Her sad smile shattered my heart, devastated me to the point of explosion. "This isn't fair!" I shouted, chasing after the officers that shoved her into their van. "She was ๐ณ๐ข๐ฑ๐ฆ๐ฅ! She was ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ณ๐ต๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฏ for God's sake! ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ was the victim!" Sister Rosalyn had to pull me away so I wouldn't fight them all for Val's freedom. I wailed in her arms, listening to the sound of the departing tires taking away my best friend. I cried rivers that whole day, and night.
On the next day came the news of archbishop's sudden passing. Heart attack, I heard the nuns lament. I should have not been so surprised by then, but I was. Shocked and in disbelief. Disappointed, actually.
"I did not pray to save myself," I spat at the white December sky, glaring into its unreachable heights with my swollen eyes, "I prayed to save ๐ฉ๐ช๐ฎ. And this is how you saveโฆstrike right at the heart."
The archbishop was to be buried next to the late primates in a monetary chapel in Ottawa, so sister Rosalyn escorted his body to the capital while the abbess stayed at the monastery and dealt with the aftermath of Valeria's arrest.
And I wrote a letter to my family, the first one in nearly 3 years, saying how I miss them all, how I craved mom's vegan food and dad's diluted lemonade. How I wanted to see Lucas's soccer games, and how I wished I could go to a Sunday mass with granny and grandpa, asking them to keep me in their prayers.
My letter was preposterous, and my wishes โ even more so, butโฆDark times change perspectives, you see, make you long for the things you once hated. Make bad things seemโฆ.not so bad. Besides, humans by their nature are social creatures, and when alone they need to feel as though they aren't, that they are remembered and connected to a group. Any support would do; any interaction, no matter in what form and in what quantities. A few encouraging words are better than nothing, anything to fill the gaping painful emptiness inside.
So it was not so much love as it was loneliness and fear that had made me reach out to them, to mom and dad, to my crazy granny and to my lethargic grandpa, to Lucas the asshole. No matter how psychotic or cruel, but they were the only family I had ever known. And I needed family. I sent a letter with no hesitation, yearning for connection.
My birthday came a week later. It was December 25th, an exceptionally bleak, cold, sunless, joyless day. I remember feeling no excitement. If anything, I felt ancient and unimportant, like old furniture, dusty and forgotten. It was not like this with Valeria.
She always made it fun and special, always remembered what day it was when even my family didn't. While my family would not send me a simple birthday card, Valeria would get me food contrabands, books and magazines, cakes, perfumes and other little useless girly trinkets.
She'd sing embarrassing happy birthday songs. We'd play games. We'd talk. We'd laugh. She made me happy. And now? Just one thought of her absence crushed my soul. It's like she was dead too.
The gaping hole in my chest expended, and by the time the evening came, it was the size of the black hole.
That whole day I felt like a bug. No. Something much smaller. A speckle of dust floating aimlessly in the air. Women walked past me as if I were invisible, all preoccupied by the upcoming Nativity of the Lord, running back and forth, getting ready for the Sacred Mass, praying like they'd never prayed before.
And how many masses did we have to go through before that final one! There was the Midnight Mass, and then the Dawn Mass. And now the last Christmas Day mass was nearingโฆand I was hurt. Alone. No Valeria. No joy.
๐๐ฉ๐บ? I lamented. ๐๐ฉ๐บ ๐ธ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ญ๐ฅ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐จ๐ฆ๐ต ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ถ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ด ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ค๐ฆ๐ด๐ด๐ข๐ณ๐บ ๐ข๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ต๐ช๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ญ๐ช๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ด?
After all, I was conditioned to be lower than grass, quieter than water. Invisible. My birthdays were no exception, always the afterthought of a Christmas table. Never balloons, gifts, or gatherings in my name but in Christ's alone. Only once I was able to steal the show, on my fourteen's birthday when I had announced I was to become a nun.
I still remember that evening, remember squeezing my limbs into a ruffled potato sack of a "Christmas dress", which made me look like a lunatic in a paper gown, and still remember the laughing hysteria in Peter's and other kids' eyes when they saw me in it, and how they sucked their lips in to not let their hysteria burst out.
I remember colorful attires, twinkling garlands, our huge steaming table, daddy's toasts, discussions of Lucas's bright future and my futureโmarriage.
And I remember sister Rosalyn's poise, her stunning entrance, the deep winter smell clinging to her Benedictine robe, her eyes, gleaming like the green lights on our Christmas tree, and her voice that pointed the spotlight beam to me.
I wasn't sure if that memory was bitter or sweet. I didn't like the way it felt regardless and shook it off.
At 9:45 p.m. the Christmas Mass was done with and the parishioners took off to their homes to end the night in the company of their loved ones. I thought about my folks. ๐๐ต'๐ด ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ข ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐ฌ ๐ด๐ช๐ฏ๐ค๐ฆ ๐'๐ท๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ณ๐ช๐ต๐ต๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฎ, I thought. ๐๐ถ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ญ๐บ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ๐บ'๐ฅ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ด๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฅ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฎ๐ฆ.
Our mailbox, however, told me otherwise: No letters to my name, not for Christmas wishes, not for my birthday. It was an indescribable feeling.
My dejection grew when I went to the kitchen and pulled out a cake, the ugly thing I had baked earlier hoping somebody would notice and ask me about its occasion. No one did. So I cut a tiny piece and brought it with me to my cell where I stuck a candle in, lit it up and just stared at it forever.
๐๐ฉ๐ฐ ๐ฅ๐ฐ ๐ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ท๐ฆ? I thought. ๐๐ฐ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ. ๐๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ. That cruelly distant God took away everything. My family's minds โ corrupted. My childhood and the love I had never received โ stolen. My future โ bleak. My current life โ pretense. The only person who made me happy โ in a fucking prison.
Even my birthday was not mine but his! Maybe that's why I had no desire to blow out the candle. So I sat alone in darkness with only that birthday candle burning sorrowfully, my heart filling slowly with wrath that eventually overflowed into my every vein, raced through me like blood, and wrath I became.
"You've won, Asmodeus. Now I am useless junk even to God." I murmured at the steady flame. "I hate you. With all my heart I hate you."
The candle burned wistfully.
I watched it hard. 30 seconds turning to 1 minute. 1 minute to 2. Then to 3.
Candle crackled softly.
My face contorted in pain. "But if now I call for you and you comeโฆ"
Silence.
I tried swallowing the humiliating words that just could not be swallowed. "I swear on your fucking stars I'll be the most loyal dog in your possession."
Can you blame me for wanting company? For needing affection? For escaping loneliness? For being only human? People turn to booze. To drugs. To meds. To food. To promiscuity. To violence. ๐๐บ poison was Asmodeus.
I made my wish and with clear intent blew out the candle. And I swear, that same instant two brilliant eyes appeared. It happened so fast I had to let it sink in.
"Asmodeusโฆ" I breathed his name like air. "You're ๐ข๐ค๐ต๐ถ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ๐บ here."
"๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐."
It growled softly.
It is amazing how even demons appear angelic if they make you feel special. So did those eyes that illuminated me like morning stars. I was scared of them no more, I found. Did not shudder at the sight of their blazing glow. On the contrary, actually. When I saw them, ridiculous tears streamed down my cheeks, for those were tears of my broken joy.
"Asmodeus," I sniveled. "Thank youโฆthank you. So much." ๐ ๐ฆ๐ดโฆ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ค๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ๐ด๐ฆ. ๐ ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฌ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ธ ๐'๐ฅ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ข๐ฏ๐ฌ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ข๐ญ๐ญ ๐ข๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐จ.
"๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ข๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐, ๐ถ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐."
I stared with my glossy eyes into darkness, into his. "I-I thoughtโgenerosity was not your forte?"
"๐ธ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ก๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐ข ๐๐๐ข๐๐ ๐๐๐. ๐ฝ๐๐ , ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐. ๐ป๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ข๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐."
The voice murmured.
I should have not been forced to be a believer, so that I could become a believer sooner. And for being so late to know God, I should have repented for my stubborn atheism, for not understanding the essence of faith. But I still repented, didn't I? Late as I was?
I did.
I prayed to God to stop me, to protect me from me. To make me understand him. I prayed to God to heal me, to be with me, to fill me with his fatherly love. I sincerely believed and hoped that my pleas would be heard and answered.
And they were.
Only by the wrong god, not the ๐๐ฆ๐ฆ๐๐๐ฎ๐ฅ๐๐ญ๐ and ๐๐จ๐จ๐ but the ๐๐๐ซ๐ค and ๐๐ข๐ฅ๐. Not by the god whom men glorified and loved but whom they loathed and dreaded. That was the wrong god. ๐๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐จ ๐จ๐ฐ๐ฅ. But it was he who kept his word and came. And in return I kept my promise.
What happened next? Wellโฆone ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ญ of a ride.