Heretics book 3 - The Apocryphile Press

52 :: JOHN R. MABRY
returned to normal. Wiping sweat from her forehead, she
turned and faced the friars. “I was afraid this would happen.
I don’t care how nasty this demon is, if you try this again,
you murder him.”
The friars swallowed and looked at each other, angered by
the abrupt exorcisus interruptus, but Richard knew in his
heart she was right. They would have expelled the demon, all
right, but at the expense of the old man’s life. It would have
been a shallow victory indeed.
Just then the door at the far side of the room smashed
open. A tall, handsome man of about Terry’s age burst
through, his mouth open in disbelief. “What the fuck is
going on here? And who the hell are you?” He was dressed
in a dark blue suit, sans jacket. His sleeves were linkless and
flapped around, his forearms wet as if he had just been washing.
Rings adorned his hands ostentatiously, a large red stone
in particular flashed on his right hand.
Nurse Stahl looked around at the disaster area the room
had so quickly become, and her horror showed on her face,
plain for anyone to read. “Oh, Mr. Dane, I’m so sorry. I had
no idea this would happen—”
His rage was evident, but instead of mounting a defense,
Richard froze. There was something about the angry young
man’s face—something disconcertingly familiar. Then his
blood ran cold. He knew him—had known him, he realized
with a shock, in the biblical sense. It had been at the Jizz
Factory, the gay bathhouse in west Berkeley, only last month.
He hadn’t known Dane’s name then, or that he was one of
the richest men in the Bay Area, but he remembered every
detail of the man’s ass.
“Mr. Dane, these are priests,” Nurse Stahl said quickly,
before Dane did anything to hurt the friars. “They’re here to
help your father.”
Silence hung in the air as Richard was momentarily paralyzed.