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  Sutherland addressed Liz with that same soothing tact. “I understand Officers Hartman and Bittner restrained young Casey.”

  In a small, thin voice, Liz said, “He’s handcuffed to his bedposts.”

  Sutherland’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Both hands?”

  Liz nodded then raised her arms, demonstrating. She looked to me like she was signaling a touchdown. “Danny bound his legs too so he wouldn’t hurt himself.”

  “I see,” Sutherland said.

  Danny Hartman reentered, his hat in his hands. He nodded at Sutherland and murmured to Liz with a small grin. “She’s okay. She’s watching Tangled.”

  Liz touched Danny’s arm. “Thank you.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t do anything. She just needed to blow off steam, so I let her talk a little bit.”

  “It’s nice to be listened to,” Liz said with a sour look in Ron’s direction.

  Ron didn’t seem to notice.

  Jack Bittner’s booming voice broke in, “Are we waiting for something?”

  Danny glanced at me. “I think we’re ready. Do you two need anything else?”

  I nodded deferentially at Sutherland, who glanced at Ron Hartman. “If you don’t mind, I think we should have a word of prayer.”

  Ron shrugged like he couldn’t care less what we did. Father Sutherland bowed his head. Closing my eyes, I heard Sutherland begin, “Dear Lord, we pray you help us take refuge in the truth, for it is the antithesis of evil and Satan’s greatest bane. We pray you endow us with the resilience to face whatever awaits us with pure hearts and open minds. We pray you shield us with the truth, so that whatever afflicts young Casey be removed from his mind and body. We pray most of all that you guide us through the darkness, through the forest of lies and deceit that Satan uses to ensnare his victims. In your name, Amen.”

  Swallowing, I looked up and saw that the rest of the group looked unchanged:

  Jack Bittner hostile.

  Liz desperate and teetering on the edge of uncontrollable tears.

  Ron embarrassed and dubious, the look of a man plainly inconvenienced by some vexing development beyond his control.

  Danny as solemn and aggrieved by all of this as any caring family member would be.

  Father Sutherland placid and benign.

  Everyone was the same.

  Except for me. I had changed during the prayer. Far from comforting me and imbuing me with steely resolve, Sutherland’s words had injected a black stream of dread into my being. I realized that this was not a dream, nor was it some performance to which I would be a disinterested observer. Far from spectating from a safe distance, I was to be involved, perhaps in some central and fundamental way.

  Father Sutherland said, “Then let us help this young man.” Moving toward me, he reached into a side pocket of his robe and came out with a second Bible.

  I opened my mouth to tell him I’d brought my own, but he anticipated my protest. “This one,” he said, patting the aged brown cover, “is a combination of the King James version and several others. You’ll notice that parts of it are handwritten to coincide with the version I now hold.”

  I’m afraid I showed my apprehension. I did not like to think of any Bible as having been tampered with.

  He favored me with his knowing smile. “I understand your misgivings, Jason, but let us not forget that the Bible itself is an amalgam of an incredibly diverse group of sources spanning many centuries.”

  Somewhat reassured, I accepted the book he proffered.

  Sutherland turned to Liz. “Please show us the way, Mrs. Hartman.”

  Liz nodded and moved through the doorway.

  Feeling like an unprepared understudy who’d just been thrust into a leading role and was now withering in the torrid heat of the stage lights, I followed the others out of the kitchen, up the stairs, down the second-story hallway, and toward whatever awaited us in Casey Hartman’s room.

  Chapter Three

  We entered the bedroom in silence.

  When Liz and Ron and the two officers moved aside to allow us passage, I got my first look at Casey Hartman.

  My first impression was that he looked like a sleeping child.

  Father Sutherland and I stepped closer, and then, with a slight bow, Sutherland extended an arm, making it clear I was to take a position at the boy’s bedside.

  “What do you notice?” Sutherland asked me.

  I studied the boy. He had his mother’s delicate features but his father’s shaggy, black hair. There were no blankets or sheets covering him. I wondered fleetingly if they’d been torn or even bloodied in the tussle. I studied Casey’s body. The bare feet. The long, spidery legs. The red boxer briefs and white T-shirt. The arms were long and willowy. I took a step closer and noticed blood on the boy’s knuckles. I realized I was having trouble breathing, a fetid warmth having pervaded the bedroom.

  I looked at Liz. “Is this room normally so hot?”

  She shook her head.

  “It was like this earlier,” Danny said. “I don’t know if it has something to do with what’s happening or not.”

  I didn’t either. In all my studies, the temperature changes that accompanied demonic possession resulted in frigid temperatures, not tropical ones. I realized I’d begun to sweat.

  “Father Crowder?” Sutherland said beside me.

  I cleared my throat. “His knuckles are bruised, abraded. That seems to dovetail with the account we’ve been given by Officers Hartman and Bittner, though I expected the injuries to be more severe.”

  Bittner mumbled something, but I went on. “Casey appears to be sleeping, though his expression is troubled. His respiration seems labored too.” I frowned. “One of his eyes is puffy. And his bottom lip is busted open.”

  I glanced at Bittner, who rolled his eyes in irritation. “You weren’t here, Crowder. It was all I could do to stop the kid from killing us.”

  Sutherland took out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. “Do you mind if I have a look at the child, Father Crowder?”

  I receded from my place at the child’s bedside, secretly relieved to have some distance between us. Because the sight of the unmoving child on the bed so disturbed me, I took a moment to study the young man’s bedroom. Tan walls, ivory trim. Two large windows with light-blocking curtains. A red baseball-bat bag leaned in the corner; three aluminum handles jutted out. There were posters of sports cars flanking the bed. A cloth reproduction of the Beatles’ Abbey Road album cover over the ivory headboard. I decided the boy had good taste in music.

  There was what appeared to be an autographed picture of LeBron James hanging on the wall between Casey’s bedroom windows. Ron noticed me studying it and grunted. “Season tickets to the Bulls, and the kid roots for LeBron. You believe that?”

  Father Sutherland moved closer and placed his thumb and forefinger on either side of the boy’s wrist. “His pulse is slow but regular. Whatever caused him to behave the way he did earlier seems dormant now.”

  I thought this a terribly obvious statement but kept the opinion to myself.

  “Aren’t you going to do any tests?” Ron asked.

  Without looking up, Sutherland said, “Of course we are. But I wonder if you and your wife should remain in the room…should things go unexpectedly.”

  Ron folded his arms. “I’m not going anywhere.” He nodded at Bittner. “Not with this gorilla in here. You ask me, he was twice as rough as he needed to be with Casey.”

  Before Bittner could contradict this, Danny said, “It’s okay, Ronnie. I’ll make sure Casey’s looked after.”

  Ron gave his little brother a dead look. “Forgive me for not being reassured. You don’t exactly have the best track record.”

  Danny looked stung.

  Ron eyed his brother without pity. “You know, I’d have expected more from you, Danny. After we open our house to you, let you stay with us.”

  “Stop it, Ron,” Liz said.

  “Am I lying?” Ron demanded. “Guy says he n
eeds some time to dry out—”

  “You don’t need to bring that up in front of—”

  “Why not, Lizzie?” Ron asked, nodding at Danny, who appeared to be studying the floor. “He brings Bittner here, makes the whole situation escalate… I think everybody’s got a right to hear why Danny’s judgment might be a little clouded.”

  “I haven’t had a drink in a month,” Danny said.

  “You don’t have to explain yourself,” Liz said. She glowered at her husband. “Can we focus on Casey?”

  Ron grunted but didn’t say anything more.

  Liz turned to me, her eyes pleading. “Should we stay, Father Crowder?”

  With Liz so close to me, my mouth went dry. Mustering as much composure as I could, I said, “Perhaps you should join your daughter, Mrs. Hartman. She needs you now as much as Casey does.”

  Liz didn’t look totally convinced, but after a couple seconds she nodded and moved slowly out of the room.

  Bittner waited for Liz to go, then closed the door and said, “Good. Now we can drop the bullshit and find out what all this kid knows.”

  Sutherland looked disapproving, but it was to Danny he addressed his question. “What’s he talking about?”

  Danny colored, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but where he was. “I was hoping he’d tell you on the way over, Father Sutherland. Jack here has this wild theory about Casey being the Sweet Sixteen Killer.”

  A thunderstruck silence seized the room. The only sound at all was the raspy susurrus of the boy’s breathing.

  Ron was the first to speak. “What the hell did you just say?”

  Bittner’s lip curled in a snarl. “You heard him.”

  Ron wheeled on Bittner. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

  “You called us here,” Bittner said. “You invited us in. The only reason this little bastard’s not in jail is because he’s Danny’s nephew.”

  Ron stared up at Bittner in disbelief. “What did you just call my son?”

  Danny moved toward them. “Why don’t we all calm down until Father Sutherland takes a look at—”

  “Why the hell didn’t you say something?” Ron barked at his little brother. “How can you let him into this house knowing what he thinks about my boy? He’s your goddamned nephew. Don’t you care about Casey at all?”

  “Of course I do,” Danny said in a hoarse voice.

  “Then tell this stupid ape to—”

  But before Ron could finish, Jack Bittner had him by the throat. Danny looked as shocked as I was, but he grasped Bittner’s arm in an attempt to intercede. Faster than I would have thought possible, Bittner shoved Danny aside and slammed Ron one-armed against the wall. The picture of LeBron shattered on the floor.

  “Officer Bittner!” Sutherland called, moving toward the pair.

  I could see the striations of Bittner’s forearm as he squeezed Ron’s throat. Both Ron’s hands were grappling with Bittner’s flexing wrist, but he was having no luck at all breaking Bittner’s iron grip or apparently drawing a breath. Ron squirmed, his face a livid red, his eyes huge with fright.

  “You wanna see how strong this ape is?” Bittner growled into Ron’s flabbergasted face. “I’ll show you strong. If you’d been a better father, monitored your freak of a son a little bit, there might be six other sets of parents whose daughters were still alive.”

  As surprised as I’d been by Bittner’s flare of violence, I was even more taken aback by the way his voice cracked when he spoke of the dead girls. Danny and Sutherland had reached the struggling pair, Danny shouting something to Jack about letting Ron go. My trance breaking, I joined them, and after a momentary struggle, Jack did let Ron go. The wheezing stockbroker tumbled to the floor, the ass of his gray sweatpants landing on the broken glass. Ron emitted a high-pitched yelp and pawed at his rear end. I thought to myself that Ron might have some difficulty explaining the stitches he’d likely have to receive in the morning, but then Bittner began raving, and the thought was swept away.

  “I’m arresting this little shit,” Bittner declared. “I should’ve done it earlier.”

  “Casey’s not going anywhere,” Danny said. “Let’s just see what these guys can do before we go throwing fourteen-year-old kids in jail.”

  “I heard him, Danny. He was using the girls’ names, talkin’ like they deserved it. He knew stuff no kid his age should know.”

  “But he only started acting like this tonight,” Danny persisted. “The murders have been going on for months.”

  “Then you tell me, Danny. You’re so clever, you tell me how he knows so much.”

  Sutherland was on his knees helping Ron recover. I stayed where I was, watching with some awe how composedly Danny spoke to his enraged partner. “It’s been everywhere, Jack. On the Internet, the TV…they even discussed it the other day in his Current Events class.”

  Bittner scowled. “And how the hell you know a thing like that?”

  Danny shrugged. “Kid’s gotta have someone to talk to beside his mother.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Ron asked.

  “You know what it means.”

  Bittner nodded and favored Danny with an unpleasant grin. “See, that’s the problem. You care about the kid too much to see the obvious. I’ve never met a person yet that believes someone he loves could be capable of killing.”

  “Casey is not a killer.”

  “Then how does he know so much?”

  Ron glared at Bittner incredulously. “He’s fourteen, for Chrissake!”

  “Like that means anything,” Bittner said. “I’ve seen younger ones than that kill people for the fun of it.”

  A scowl on his face, Sutherland asked Bittner, “The burden of proof is on you. On what do you base your theory?”

  “Joy Smith.”

  Sutherland’s scowl deepened. “What about her?”

  “They go to the same school.” Bittner nodded at the boy on the bed. “Little Casey here had a crush on her. He told Danny about it. Even wrote her love notes.”

  We looked at Danny, who sighed miserably. “Casey was saying all sorts of things earlier on, talking about Joy in particular. I could see what Jack was thinking right away, so I told him what I knew—that Casey and Joy were classmates—you know, thinking that would explain things for Jack.” He regarded Bittner balefully. “Obviously, I made a mistake.”

  “Goddamn right you did,” Bittner agreed. “This little son of a bitch had a thing for Joy and finally took it out on her the only way he could. Then he got a taste for violence. Started killing other girls for the pleasure of it.”

  “That’s your proof?” Ron said. “That Casey had a crush on one of the victims?”

  Bittner took a step toward Ron, who looked instantly alarmed. “That’s not all Casey said. You woulda heard the rest, but you were nursing that bump on the head he gave you.”

  Ron muttered something and moved away, but Bittner was not to be put off. He tailed Ron, a vicious edge to his words. “That’s right, Ronnie. The kid manhandled you like you were a toy. He beat the shit out of his mom, even smacked his kid sister around. Why don’t you tell us more about what an angel he is?”

  “Officer Bittner,” I said, surprised by the authoritative sound of my voice, “what is it that Casey said that makes you so certain he’s the killer?”

  “I said,” came a deep, ghastly voice from behind us, “that the sound of Joy’s pussy ripping open made me come in my pants.”

  We all turned and stared.

  “Oh Jesus,” Ron said in a hollow voice.

  Casey Hartman was gazing up at us, a look of unmitigated evil contorting his face.

  Part Two

  Breaking Point

  Chapter Four

  Father Sutherland would not confirm it for another hour or so, but at that moment, when I beheld the depthless evil carved in that formerly innocent countenance, I knew beyond a doubt that Casey Hartman was possessed.

  His eyebrows were hideously arched, the fo
rehead above them deeply wrinkled. The eyes had gone a blazing scarlet hue, the skin a pallid white. But it was the leer stretching his lips that did it, the soulless, mocking grin that erased all semblance of humanity from that horrid face.

  In a voice nothing like a child’s, the thing on the bed said, “Mary Ellen Alspaugh howled like a mongrel when I took a hacksaw to her tits.”

  “You fucking monster,” Bittner said and made straight for Casey.

  “Stop it,” Danny hissed, somehow managing to lunge between Bittner and Casey before Bittner could tear the boy’s limbs off.

  Though I knew I would do little good against the behemoth struggling to attack the boy, I joined Danny in holding him back. We succeeded for only a few seconds. First, Bittner cast me aside as though I were a yipping puppy. I hit the floor and heard a peculiar squelching sound. A downward glance showed me I’d landed where Casey Hartman had savaged his fists on the wood floor earlier that evening; there was a sticky patina of blood all around where I lay. Scrambling to my feet and slipping several times, I caught a peripheral glance of Danny and Bittner, who were still grappling. But Bittner was too big, too inexorable. He pivoted and heaved Danny toward Ron, who I noted with disdain hadn’t lifted a finger to protect his son from the berserk cop. Bittner stalked toward Casey’s bedside and encountered the boy’s last line of defense:

  Father Sutherland.

  Far from seeming intimidated by the approaching hulk, Sutherland merely remained where he’d been, perhaps daring Bittner to physically assault a member of the clergy. For a moment it seemed Bittner would do just that. He advanced to within a foot of Sutherland, his broad jaw looming toward the older man like the prow of some haunted barge.

  But Sutherland’s gambit seemed to work. Bittner neither laid hands on the priest nor made a grab for Casey.

  “Get out of my way, Father,” Bittner said in a dangerously low voice.

  “You brought me here tonight, Officer Bittner. I’ve sworn to uphold certain beliefs, just as you and Officer Hartman have. I need to examine this child, and I cannot have you threatening him while I do so.”