RAPHANIÈ OPENED THE BRIEFCASE with the solemnity of someone about to unleash something that could never be contained. The metallic click of the locks echoed through the stone walls, and, one by one, he removed the sacred objects, placing them with precision on the worn table beside the prisoner. The air felt heavier, almost solid, charged with electricity and fear.
— What are you going to do to me, Father? — she asked, her voice wavering between desperation and mockery.
Raphaniè did not respond, his eyes fixed on the instruments — the iron crucifix, the vial of holy water, the silver aspergillum, the purple stole carefully folded.
— Get me out of here, please! — she begged.
The voice echoing was no longer that of an ordinary woman.
Everything she says is a lie... — Raphaniè repeated to himself.She is a servant of the father of lies...
He knew, more than any other man in that country, what the servants of the devil were capable of. He knew how evil could disguise itself beneath beautiful faces and gentle voices.
— I did nothing wrong — she whimpered, trying to break the armor of the exorcist's faith.
Raphaniè moved slowly, with the calm of someone preparing an ancient ritual.
— In this very place — he said, in a ceremonial tone — a woman prophesied the coming of Our Lord Jesus Christ to Emperor Augustus. He then built the Ara Coeli, the altar of heaven. This ground is sacred.
— Get me out of here! — she screamed with a roar that reverberated through the hall.
The priest put on the white surplice over his black habit and then placed the purple stole over the prisoner's shoulder. She writhed violently, her screams blending with the rustling of the fabric. He traced the sign of the cross over her head.
— You damned priest! Leave me alone! — her voice now had a deep, almost masculine timbre, as if echoing from within a cave.
Raphaniè kept his gaze steady.
— You are the one in the wrong place — he murmured. — Exorcízo-te, immundíssime spíritus, omnis incúrsio adversárii, omne phantásma, omnis légio, in nómine Dómini nostri Jesu Christi.
He prayed as her guttural growls intensified, turning into animalistic grunts. Raphaniè raised the silver aspergillum as if wielding an invisible sword and, with the glass vial in the other hand, positioned himself two meters from the creature.
What stood before him was no longer a woman. Her face, once swollen from blows, now twisted grotesquely. Bones protruded beneath translucent skin, veins formed patterns that resembled ancient runes, and her eyes bulged from their sockets, incandescent. Her hands, transformed into rigid claws, trembled, and her arched body leaned forward like an animal ready to strike.
— Face me like a man, you piece of shit! — the entity shouted, spitting saliva.
Raphaniè took a deep breath.
— To defeat you, my weapons are different.
He lifted the aspergillum above his head and, in a firm motion, cast a jet of holy water upon her. The drops crackled against her skin like tiny embers — but nothing happened.
— You brought me here for a bath? — she mocked, curling a devilish smile.
The priest continued, unfazed.
— If you want to take my clothes off, it will be more fun.
Raphaniè realized the trick too late: the water had soaked her white dress, revealing beneath the wet fabric the woman's provocative silhouette. He looked away, but not quickly enough to prevent a flicker of desire from striking him — and he hated himself for it.
— Looks like someone liked it... — she whispered, in a lustful tone. — If you want to suck them, I'll let you.
The priest closed his eyes and resumed the prayer, louder now:
— Exorcízo-te, immundíssime spíritus, omnis incúrsio adversárii, omne phantásma, omnis légio, in nómine Dómini nostri Jesu Christi!
The possessed woman's voice changed again.
— Please... don't hurt me... — she said, mimicking the fragile voice of a child.
Raphaniè felt a chill run down his spine but maintained control.
— What do you want? — he asked, sprinkling more holy water.
— I want you to suck me like all men always have, I'm all wet, just look! — the demonic voice replied, pushing her thighs outward, revealing she wore nothing underneath.
— That's what you want, isn't it? — she taunted, slowly and obscenely running her tongue across her lips. — You miss this every day, Father. You can admit it.
He averted his gaze, fixing it on the image of the archangel Michael above the doorway — the celestial warrior crushing the dragon with his sword.
He inhaled deeply and continued the prayer, each word spoken like a blow:
— Adjúro ergo te, draco nequíssime, in nómine Agni immáculati, qui ambulávit super áspidem et basilíscum, qui conculcávit leónem et dracónem, ut discédas ab hoc hómine.
He moistened his right thumb with consecrated oil and approached. The woman writhed, laughing and crying at the same time. Raphaniè traced the sign of the cross on her forehead.
— I know your secret, Raphaniè Marin — she said, with a slow smile, as if savoring his name. — That's why you work alone, isn't it? Because you're afraid they'll discover the truth about your past.
The priest hesitated for a second — just one — but it was enough for the demon to smell his fear.
She let out a deep, guttural laugh:
— It must not be easy waking up at night to the sound of that child crying... — she whispered. — The very one that was sacrificed to me.
The crucifix slipped slightly from the priest's hands, for the true exorcism was only just beginning.