Exorcist Road Read Free Page B

a grateful look and took a post behind her daughter. I could tell Liz was fighting back tears, but she began to rub her daughter’s slender shoulders anyway, perhaps for something to do.
    Ron placed his drink on the speckled countertop and said, “Carolyn, it’s time for you to go to bed.”
    Liz’s face stiffened, but she didn’t stop massaging her daughter’s shoulders.
    “Do I have to?” Carolyn asked without looking up.
    “Now,” Ron said, eyeing me again.
    Liz said, “She’s scared, honey.”
    Ron had lifted his drink halfway to his mouth, but at his wife’s remark he froze and stared at her. Liz didn’t seem as intimidated by her husband as I was.
    Ron was about to say something to her—whatever it was going to be was clearly not affectionate—but at that moment Danny moved up next to Carolyn and said, “Hey, kiddo, let’s head to the basement, okay?”
    She looked up at him with large eyes. “It’s dark down there.”
    “Then we’ll light that place up like Wrigley Field,” he said, grinning.
    He grasped her under the armpits and scooped her easily out of the chair. She was nine and probably about average size for her age, but Danny lifted her as though she were a newborn. I also noted how she allowed Danny to handle her, the two of them obviously having reached a level of comfort few children accord people who are not their parents. My respect for Danny rose another notch.
    Once he’d carried her out of the kitchen, Liz said to me, “Father Crowder, did Danny tell you what happened?”
    I folded my hands before me. “He gave me the general idea.”
    “What do you make of it?”
    “Mrs. Hartman, I don’t think I should speculate about Casey’s condition until I see him. And certainly not before Father Sutherland examines him.”
    Ron said, “But he told you what Casey did.”
    “He told me some of it, yes. Enough to know the child needs attention.”
    He chuckled mirthlessly and glanced from Liz to me. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Again,” I said, in a mental frenzy to capture the tone and words I thought Father Sutherland would use, “it would be irresponsible for me to speculate. I haven’t seen the child yet. While we can’t rule out anything, we must first investigate all the likely causes. Some sort of seizure, maybe. A previously undetected psychological condition.”
    “Psychological condition,” Ron repeated.
    “It’s one of many possibilities,” I said.
    Ron leaned forward and raised an index finger toward the second story.
    “He threw me across the fucking room.”
    Liz frowned. “Please be nice, Ron.”
    “Mr. Hartman, I’m not discounting anything. I’m merely saying we should reserve judgment until examining your son. One of the greatest mistakes a priest can make is to attribute a medical or psychological issue to the supernatural. For centuries people have suffered unduly—have even died—because their conditions were misdiagnosed. It’s entirely possible the only thing your son needs is the proper medication.”
    “Medication?” Ron arched an eyebrow at me and began to pace. “With all due respect, Father,” he said and paused for what I was certain was dramatic effect, “you’re what, twenty-five? Twenty-six?”
    I told him my age.
    He nodded as if he’d expected that. “You’re still very green, Father. In fact—and I’m not trying to be unkind here—but it’s sort of hard for me to address you as Father.”
    I waited, not bothering to comment or return his condescending grin.
    “When you get my age,” he went on, “and have seen a bit more of the world, you begin to understand people better. Their ways, their idiosyncrasies. You know?”
    Again, I didn’t bother to answer. I was sure this was part of a canned speech he gave to his interns and underlings at the Mercantile, and thus he didn’t expect or desire any questions. Ron was probably used to eager nods and bright eyes, but I’d be damned if I was going to