Out of fear they had brought the girl to an old Catholic Church. They thought that if they brought her to the countryside and away from the excitement of the city where the possession had taken place, the demon inside her would be less active in its attacks against its host. They had called me several weeks after the first symptoms of possession had occurred. They all were horrible decisions.
            I stared out the rain-streaked car window and sighed. Lightning flashed across the night sky. What perfect surroundings, I thought. An old church and a dark and stormy night. Perfect setting for an exorcism.
            “We’ve arrived, Ms. Drake.” The driver announced from the front seat of the Rolls Royce. I smoothed my hand over the tan leather seats one last time before I retrieved my umbrella from the floorboard, grasped the silver door handle, and pushed my way out of the car and into the rainstorm.
            I opened my umbrella immediately, but the chauffer was one step ahead of me. My umbrella collided with his. The man was young, about thirty, but not as young as me. He smiled, and I knew he thought I was attractive. I sighed, disgusted, and tromped past him.
            The gravel that made up the church parking lot crunched softly under my black platform heels. If I was going to meet rich people, I was at least going to present myself as a sophisticated exorcist. Not that I had a problem with the wealthy, but I thought the private chauffer and the Rolls Royce were a little excessive. I could’ve driven myself.
            I reached the entrance to the old church and had to suppress an onslaught of laughter that threatened to push its way through my lips. It was a traditional one-room church. It was white with a black roof and two red doors that led inside. On either side of the red doors, as well as a line on both sides of the building, were enormous stained glass windows with biblical scenes bleeding in vibrant colors down the rain-stained panes. I guess I should’ve recognized some of the scenes depicted. I had been raised in a Christian home, but those memories were repressed, because of several encounters with “Christian” people. All of the stories in the Bible had taken on a human definition while I was growing up. Most of them were ruined for me. They were no longer holy. And seeing the scenes streaked with water made the images all run together anyway, smeared by the cleansing tears from Heaven. The man-made windows no longer held any meaning.
            I grasped the heavy, black iron handle on the door on the right side and pulled. The gigantic red door swung open and I was immediately doused by several shafts of yellow light. Candle light. I stepped into the church and pulled the door shut behind me, laboring against the wind to haul the enormous door into place..
            Once the door was shut, I whirled around. The family was standing near the altar that appeared to be on fire at first glance because of all the candles. The only sounds in the church were the pelting of rain on the roof and the occasional rumble of thunder.
            The spectators in the church included a priest, the father of the girl, and the mother. The parents were dressed all in black as if their daughter had died. I was about to scrutinize them for their attire when I peered down at what I was wearing: black mini trench coat, black scarf, black heels, black hose, black pencil skirt, black v-neck sweater, and lastly, a black crucifix.
            At first, I didn’t’ see the girl in the room. But when I took a deep breath, I felt her, and its presence, in the room. She was behind the altar. I couldn’t see her, but I could feel what was inside her.
            I started down the aisle at a brisk pace, unbuttoning my coat as I went. When I got to the last button I was only half way down the aisle. I threw my coat and scarf on a nearby pew without pausing. My walk was one of determination. This girl was in trouble. Big trouble. Dangerous trouble. Evil trouble.
            The priest said something I couldn’t hear and stepped in my path. I shoved past him. When I hit the altar I almost fell over. The demon inside this child was powerful, which was odd. Usually the more powerful demons don’t prey on little girls playing with witchcraft, but with people who have a smidge of fight in them because they like a challenge. Demons love to fight. Like humans, they are competitive. They love a good game and especially a victory.
            I stepped around the altar and grimaced. The sight of the girl, even though it would be terrifying to someone with no experience with the supernatural, wasn’t what disturbed me. It was the pulses of energy coming off of her. Already my hands started to glow, but before I could kneel down to the girl, the parents started chattering at me.
            “Ms. Drake?! I’m talking to you! How bad is it? Can you help her? Answer me, please!” the father yelled.
            The mother was blubbering all over her husband’s shoulder. I didn’t have time for this.
            The priest had crossed his arms and was glaring at me. Apparently he wasn’t used to feeling superfluous.
            “I’m sorry. I really must get to work here.” I said politely, but there was a harsh edge of impatience in my voice. Once again, I had failed at playing nice.
            I started to turn around before I could make myself seem even more hostile, but the father grabbed my shoulder. I looked at his hand and then my eyes flickered to his face, beaded with sweat.
            “So you can help her?” He pleaded anxiously.
            I plucked his hand off of my shoulder lightly. It fell to his side, limp.
            Yes, I can help her, but I need to start immediately, and I need absolute silence. No interruptions,” I said quietly.
            I knew if I started speaking in a normal tone I would end up yelling at these people. When normal distress becomes hysteria is about the time I turn impatient.
            I turned and knelt beside the girl. Her body immediately reacted to my presence. At first it just scooted away, but then it started convulsing and thrashing. I could feel the buzz in my hands. I glanced down. They were glowing with a brilliant white light. I remembered the first time I saw that light.
            I was just a girl, no older than the girl who was lying before me. I thought there was a monster in my closet. It was dark in my room, it was storming outside, and eerie shadows kept floating around my room and entering my closet. At the time, I didn’t know that my sister had placed her Ouija board in there so my parents wouldn’t find it and that the shadows were attracted to it. The shadows were angry spirits, or lesser demons, that my sister had conjured.
            At first, I tried huddling under my covers and trying to fall asleep, but my mind wouldn’t shut off, my body wouldn’t relax. I kept feeling a tingling in my hands, centered in my palms. I had my eyes squeezed tight shut, but that didn’t shut out the bright white light. When I first saw it through my eyelids, I thought someone had turned on a flashlight and was shining it right in my eyes. I opened up my eyes, and that’s when I realized my own hands were producing the blinding light. Initially, I was frightened, but then my instincts took over. After staring at my hands in wonder for a couple of seconds, I decided to throw off my blankets and thrust my hands toward my closet. The light filled the room, exposing black, velvety shadows. When the light hit them, they stopped moving and then they scattered. They were afraid of me. When all the shadows were gone, my hands stopped glowing. I was so young. I thought that my hands were like a nightlight that scared the monsters away. Now that I’m older I know that they are shining the light of God, begifted to me for some unknown reason and for some undiscovered purpose.
            The priest leaned over the altar. His prying woke me from my flashback.
            What do you think?” he asked nonchalantly, as if he had performed exorcisms everyday of his life since he had become a priest.
            “I think I need quiet,” I informed him with a forced smile. .
            He huffed and stepped around the altar so he could see what I was doing more clearly. I tried my best to ignore him. The energy in my palms was dull. I was too unfocused. I had lost the light. I sighed, frustrated.
            The girl writhed when I shuffled closer on my knees. The energy pulsing from the girl’s body was frighteningly powerful, but it helped conjure the energy. The white light spread in wide beams from my palms as I lowered my hands to the girl’s temples. The light immediately entered her skin, sending white veins of energy spider webbing across her face. Her eyes shot open. I felt her body start to lift.
            “Oh God, give me strength. Enter this girl’s mind and clear it,” I whispered hoarsely. The body started to lift higher. Levitation is common when a powerful demon does not want to leave its host. I squeezed my hands tighter to the girl’s temples. I had to address it. Praying was not going to scare this one out. I had to summon the power of God Himself. I had to address the demon.
            I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and squeezed even tighter on the girl’s temples.
            “Demon.” The word rumbled from my chest in a deep, resonating voice that was not my own. The sound of thunder echoed so loud that it seemed like the church itself had been struck by lightning. All the candles littering the altar went out. The only light left in the room was emanating from the palms of my hands.
            I am not afraid of you,” I declared in a threateningly strong voice. “Leave this child’s body or face the wrath of God.” My own voice scared me. It was not my own. It seemed to echo forever through the rafters of the church. The deep undertones were unnervingly masculine and commanding.
            The girl’s body, now a foot in the air, fell back to the ground. Immediately, a cacophony of harsh whispers erupted into the air around me. A thousand voices rustled in the darkened corners of the room.
            An image remained in the air where the girl had been floating. To everyone else in the room who had never encountered him, they would just think that he was a black shadow, a shapeless figure. I knew better. The image he left was faint, but still recognizable. It was that of a soldier riding a griffin. This demon’s name was Murmur. He was a Goetic demon whose name literally meant “sound” or “noise” in Latin. I should have recognized the hum of strange voices that emanated from the shadow immediately.
            “Demon.” Once again my voice was deep and powerful. I raised my glowing hands and thrust them into the black cloud. A screech erupted from the apparition as it shuddered into itself and broke apart. Pain split up my arms. The white light grew dull.
            I shoved my hands deeper into the black mist. My determination built and built as precious seconds passed. And finally, my power answered my strength. The light leapt forth from my hands, soaking the entire room, bleaching in a light so bright that it made everything disappear in a sudden explosion of brilliant blindness. The shadow separated from itself with an earsplitting shriek. Pieces of the shadow scattered, some leaving the church completely through the stained-glass windows. As the bits of black were fleeing through the panes, it seemed like they were just melding with the thick black lines in the glassy images.
            I fell forward. My hands hit the girl’s stomach and she cried out, startled by the impact. She was weeping softly. I was suddenly aware of the chaos around me. The mother was screaming. The father was sobbing. The priest was muttering what sounded like curses.
            That was the only problem with my power. When I was focused, I blocked out everything else around me. I couldn’t hear anything from the human world. I couldn’t see anything but what the demon wanted me to see. I was lost to the supernatural focus I had developed. Too often after I was done with an exorcism I came back to reality hearing screams, sobs, and furious yells. All reactions were caused by the stress of seeing a loved one being delivered from evil.
            I reached for the girl’s hand and she took it eagerly.
            “Thank you,” she whispered. I pulled her to her feet.
            As soon as they saw their daughter stand, both of the parents gasped and rushed to embrace her.
            “Oh, Rebecca! You’re okay!” The mother squealed as she hugged her daughter, rather violently, in my opinion. The girl’s hand was torn from my grasp. Another happy ending.
            I distinctly remembered the candles in the church being put out, but as I mentally prepared myself to exit the scene, I noticed that the church was once again lit up like it was on fire.
            I shuffled past the family’s embrace and made my way down the aisle. I reached my coat after a few long strides and pulled it on over my shoulders. My reputation got me a paycheck before I performed the exorcism, so I could make a quick getaway without interacting with the emotional family members. I started to button up my coat when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I sighed and turned toward the hand. The appendage belonged to the priest. His old, wrinkled face wore a horrified grimace.
            Abomination,” he hissed angrily, but the shaking in his voice betrayed him. He was terrified. I shrugged off his hand and continued buttoning my coat. .
            What are you, Angela Drake? Are you a demon yourself?” His hoarse tone held a hint of accusation, but for the most part, he was pissing his pants. I turned on him.
            "I just saved that girl’s life. That’s a hell of a lot more than what you can take credit for. Now if you don’t mind, Father, I’ll be on my way so I can deliver more suffering children.” I flipped my scarf over my shoulder. It narrowly missed smacking the priest in the face. Too bad.
            I guess the whip of my scarf was the last straw. He flinched so violently that he fell to the floor, shivering uncontrollably. Without another word, I turned away from the priest and strutted down the main aisle. Upon reaching the red double doors, I grasped both black handles and shoved them open. A gust of wind caught the doors and blew them from my grasp. I left my umbrella where I had thrown it by the entrance and stalked out into the rain. I let the doors blow about in the wind.
            The chauffer sprang from the front seat of the Rolls and opened the back door for me. I sighed and slid into the car. The chauffer hurried into the driver’s seat and then turned the car back on. He let it sit and idle so the heater had time to warm up.
            “That was fast,” he commented, and I thought he was talking about the heater warming up, but then I realized that he was referring to the exorcism.
            “It always is,” I mumbled, and the chauffer glanced in the rearview mirror, a confused look on his face. He probably expected me to elaborate, but I just looked out the window. That’s when I saw the small figure running toward the car.
            “Oh great,” I muttered. “Roll down my window.” Behind it was the little girl, shivering in the rain, her sandy, curly hair dripping with rainwater.
            “I saw you,” she whispered. “I saw you in my head. And you were an angel. My head was filled with darkness and you were the only light. The light was coming from your hands and your wings.” She closed her eyes, remembering. She looked so peaceful standing in the rain, raindrops streaming down her closed eyelids, her damp locks sagging. I looked away from her small face for a moment, forcing back tears.
            “Stay away from those books kid, okay?” I instructed softly.
            The girl nodded, and I hit the back of the chauffeur’s seat, motioning him to roll up the window and drive away. The window seemed to roll up slower than it had rolled down. The little girl stepped away from the car as it drove away. I couldn’t resist looking out the back glass and seeing the girl standing there in her white night gown. She looked like an angel tonight, not me.