The Accidental Exorcist (3 page)

“
Apparent
chaos.” He sat back down and pushed aside the
pile of papers in the center of his desk, like Moses parting the
red sea. “Now, let’s get to the point, shall we? What is at the
heart of your question?”

“
I wouldn’t have come to
you if….” Forming the words in her mind, Abby’s cheeks and ears
began to warm. By now, she’d ostracized herself among her peers.
Had the professor joined in the chorus of ridicule, she would have
abandoned this pursuit with her tail between her legs. “Oh, it’s so
far-fetched!”

Koehler folded his hand together and
leaned forward. His bushy grey eyebrows arched up and his eyes
brightened with anticipation. “Out with it, already. I haven’t got
all day.”

“
Did you look at the case
studies I emailed you?”

“
Yes. Intriguing
analysis.” Then his face became awash with concern. He lowered his
voice and peered over the rims of his gold wireframe glasses. “You
didn’t share your thoughts with your peers, did you?”

All at once, Abby was the young
doctoral student, sinking into her chair under the scrutiny of her
professor. “Yes. A few.”

“
With whom, might I
ask?”

“
Madden, Svetlanova,
Thom—”

“
Ach
! You didn’t!”

Innocently, Abby nodded.

“
I hope they are not in
any position of influence or power in your current
career.”

“
No, sir.”

“
Your personal
life?”

“
Thankfully,
not.”

“
Gut! Sehr
Gut
! However, you have most likely lost
their respect.”

She lowered her gaze in concession.
Then, to Koehler, she looked with hope. “But not yours,
Professor?”

“
Nein
.” A paternal smile/frown. “Now,
sans
fear and self-consciousness.
Tell me what you are thinking.”

With a deep breath, she sat up tall
and went over each of her case studies, their commonalities and
references to exorcism. Koehler never said a word, just shut his
eyes, listening, nodding, hemming and hawing.

“
So, what I want to know
is, could it be that there is some possibility of paranormal
involvement?” Abby swallowed hard, almost regretting the
question.

Koehler opened his eyes, gazed
straight into hers. “Traditionally, matters of science and religion
do not mingle well.”

This was it. He had heard her out,
indulged her because of his patience. But now, he would make his
pronouncement and Abby would lose the confidence of the last person
who seemed to respect her professionally.

“
Let me ask you something,
my dear Abigail.”

“
Yes?”

“
How much faith have you
in science—all its theories, laws and concepts?”

“
Well, I—”

“
Ah-ah! Wait! Before you
answer rashly, consider the question carefully. I asked how
much
faith
do you
have in science. Faith. Because whether you are the Pope, or
Nietzsche, it all comes down to
faith.”

“
I don’t understand. What
about you? ”

Judging by the surprised
smile on his face, the professor must have been pleasantly
surprised by the challenge. “I thought you would have known by now.
I am—”

Somewhere, the phone rang,
muffled no doubt by piles of papers, periodicals or God only knew
what, under which it must be buried. He grumbled in German and held
up a finger. “A moment, please.”

Digging through his piles
of ordered chaos, the professor threw loose sheets into the air,
kicked aside a mountain of textbooks and finally blurted out,
“Ach!”

The phone’s ring, and
old-fashioned physical bell, grew instantly louder when he exhumed
the handset, its curly black wire pulling taut.
“
Guten tag
.” He
continued to speak in German in hushed tones, but said little
besides, “
Jah, Jah
, and
nein.
”

Finally, he returned. “My
daughter Helga in Leipzig. Her son is in what you Americans call
the terrible two’s. She usually does all the talking, and then
figures it out for herself.”

“
I see.” He probably
wished Abby would do the same. “So, professor. Are you a man of
faith?”

He stood, one hand holding
the lapel of his brown tweed blazer and puffed out his chest. “But
of course.”

“
Lutheran,
Catholic?”

“
I’m a devout
atheist.”

“
Devout?”

“
Oh
jah.
I daresay I have as much faith in my beliefs as the most
rabid zealot, and the most learned theologian. Perhaps
more.”

“
But, you’re an
atheist.”

“
It’s
all a choice, if one is to be perfectly honest. Because we cannot
know anything with absolute certainty. We can only believe. So we
must choose judiciously. I choose to believe there is no God, no
heaven, no Hell.” He wagged his eyes mischievously.
“
Und
I
damned well better be right, eh?”

“
I never thought of it
that way.”

He came over and sat on
the far end of the couch opposite of Abby, then spoke into the open
space between them. “Faith is not what you
profess
to believe. Rather, it is
that which you believe enough to live by, and act upon. That said,
far be it from me to influence you one way or another. I have great
respect for people of all faiths, and fully concede that in the
final analysis, I could be wrong.”

“
A bold statement for
someone as self-assured as you.”

“
I’m
only being honest with myself. Nevertheless, whatever faith I
chose, I must live with conviction and refuse to doubt. That is,
after all, the essence of it,
nein
? So, what do you
believe?”

Abby thought about it
quietly for a while. She believed in science, but she was not
entirely ready to abandon her childhood beliefs, even though they
had been irrelevant to her until recently. “I’m just not sure if
science necessarily excludes things of a spiritual nature. There’s
not enough definitive proof for one to discount the other. But if
I, like my colleagues, dismiss the very notion of demons and
exorcisms without fully examining them, am I anything more than a
flat-earther?”

Koehler stood up. The
leather coach squeaked dully. He extended his hand, which she took,
stood and shook—a gesture which meant the session was over. “Doctor
Lee, I believe you have found your answer.”

The peculiarities of Cheryl Morgan’s
case and the others in the N.O.S. files soon became an all
encompassing pursuit for information, now that Abby felt free to
investigate. But she had driven herself so hard, that when she saw
her doctor for her annual check-up, he ordered her to take her
first vacation in over five years.

“
To put it bluntly,” he
had said, “Take a week off or you’ll kill yourself.” Today was the
first day of her vacation and dammit, she was going to enjoy
it.

Or die trying.

Do nothing, go nowhere, study nothing,
just relax and enjoy the view of the beach from her deck—something
she never took enough time to do (such a shame.) Now, as seagulls
sang their plaintive songs, while the tall verdant fronds of Queen
Palms swayed in the cool afternoon breeze, she sat back, bathed in
the sun, shut her eyes and told herself it was more than okay to
enjoy some “me” time.

There was nothing more liberating than
sipping Oolong Tea in her patio chair, bare feet up on the teakwood
bistro table, reading the New York Times on her shiny new Barnes
& Noble Nook, and for all intents and purposes, disconnected
from work.

Nothing could remove her from this
much needed serenity.

Except her iPhone buzzing like an
angry hornet in her robe pocket.

“
Oh, come on.”

The caller ID read:
BLOCKED.

As it continued to buzz, she thought
about answering it. But that would defeat the purpose of her
vacation at home, wouldn’t it? She pressed the ignore button and
relegated it to voicemail. “There. All better.” If it was
important, they’d leave a message—which she would consider
returning after she checked it.

A few seconds later, the new voicemail
alert chimed.

No. I’ll check you
later.

Tonight.

Maybe.

In the headlines: President Obama
passes legislation for yet another stimulus package, 7.2 Earthquake
rocks Tijuana, and finally...concert reviews. Twelve year old
prodigy pianist, Austin Lee debuts with New York Philharmonic. Her
favorite nephew from Philadelphia, in the New York Times! Eagerly,
Abby scrolled to see if the critics loved him or…

The iPhone buzzed again.

Again: BLOCKED

Annoyed, she sent it to voicemail
again. This time she wondered if it might really be important. With
her thumb on the “slide to unlock” button, she almost relented and
checked the voice mail.

But this was the first day of her
vacation. Start answering calls now and she might as well go into
the office.

Back to the review.

AUSTIN LEE amazes audiences
with

Brahms Piano Concerto No. 2 in
Bb.

Nice headline. She scrolled down to
the first paragraph:

When the dark-haired boy first sat
down at the bench before the 9 foot Steinway concert grand in Avery
Fischer Hall last night, it seemed the entire audience held their
collective breath. Could this child of twelve pull off such a
mature work as Brahms’ Second Piano Concerto?

The Philharmonic began the concerto
with its regal French Horn solo, and right away Mr. Lee, as student
of Leon Fleisher at the Curtis Institute of Music in Philadelphia,
joined in duet with majestic, rising arpeggios, ushering in the
fiery opening, which decades ago, his teacher made so famous in his
recording with the Cleveland Orchestra under the baton of George
Szell.

Despite Mr. Lee’s slight frame, he
feet barely reaching the pedals—

Once again, the phone
buzzed.

For a moment, Abby felt tempted to
launch it out over the patio into the Pacific, committing it to the
depths. But when she thought of the five or six hundred dollars it
would take to replace it, she refrained.

The caller ID was blocked
again.

“
All right, all right,”
she muttered and took the call. “Hello?”

“
Doctor Lee?”

“
Yes, who is
this?”

“
I’m sorry to call so many
times, but you haven’t been answering.”

“
That’s because I’m on
vacation. Now, who is this?”

“
I’m Father Thomas McGhee
of St. Ignatius Church in Del Mar.”

“
McGhee?” The name sounded
familiar.

His voice, though deep and otherwise
strong, became panicked. “Look, I wouldn’t have troubled you, but
something’s happened and she’s been asking for you.”

“
Wait, slow down.” Abby
stood, pulled the belt of her white terrycloth robe tighter around
her waist and pressed her finger in her open ear so as to hear him
over the rude cawing of a crow on the rails of a patio two
apartments over. “What’s happened and who’s asking for
me?”

“
He killed himself. We
came back here and just found him…Dear Lord, I can’t believe this
is happening again!”

“
Father McGhee, would you
please calm down? What are you talking about!”

“
I’ve already called 911,
but she’s beside herself, locked herself in a room.”

By his tone of voice, she knew he must
be in his mid to late sixties, too old and too frantic for a prank
call. “All right, just take a few deep breaths, okay? Now try and
answer my questions, I’ll ask them slowly.”

He took the breath. “Okay.”

“
Now, first: Who just
killed himself?”

“
Teddy! Oh my…it’s just
awful. We found him hanging from the second floor balustrade out in
the backyard.”

“
Teddy who?”

“
Teddy Morgan, I just
can’t believe he’d—”

“
Wait, Teddy—?”

“
Cheryl Morgan’s husband!”
It felt as though someone had poured a pitcher of ice water down
her back. In the background, Cheryl began shrieking
hysterically:
No, no, no! Oh God, please,
no!

“
Doctor Lee, could you
please come on down here right now? I’m afraid she’s going to hurt
herself.”

When Abby arrived at the house in Del
Mar, she noticed a black and white police car and a red ambulance
parked outside on the narrow single lane street. The squad cars
beacon was still flashing blue and red.