IN CARMA'S HEAD, SHE COULD hear the conversation she had with Father Jessup in the same church when Burny was baby.

     "Carma, exorcism is out of the question.

     "But, Father, hellfire burned this baby."

     "Your baby needs a doctor, not an exorcist."

     "You have to help me. I'm your choir pianist."

     "I'm sorry."

     Carma's eyes bulged, struggling to shake the stifling head rush that had overcome her. She burped. It echoed in the church, making it sound more like croaking. More like a cry for help.

     It was early afternoon and St. Raphael the Healer church was empty, save for the sleeping sexton (yes, the same narcoleptic guy, only eight years younger) on the back pew.

     Carma and Burny were walking down the center aisle like an intoxicated smoking bride and a limping eleven-year-old ring-bearer, in an eerie dreamlike wedding march.

     A sudden surge of disquiet, a vague vision of the dread of the past stopped Carma.

     Burny, wondering, glanced up to his mother.

     Carma, mouth twitching as she drew her breath, slapped her own cheek to pull herself from the lull. And the weird march to the altar continued.

     As they reached the altar, Nona entered the church. Sensing her presence, Burny looked back and opened his mouth to say "Nona," but Nona beat him to it with a "keep quiet" gesture. She sat on the back pew beside the sexton.

     Carma threw herself in a prostrate position before the altar and babbled a prayer aloud. "Why do you torment me so much? God, you know I've been religious so far. But why did you let a demon hound me? It's not fair. I do not deserve this."

     Burny was just standing beside his mother's stretched out body on the floor.

     He fidgeted with his deformed, rigid burned fingers now covered with red and raised hypertrophic scars.

     Nona covered her mouth, trying hard not to burst out laughing.

     (Dude, this is a lot better than reality TV.)

     "Drive the demon out of this boy," Carma prayed. "The demon burns his body but I know I'm its real target. It's shattering my faith."

     At the transept door, Father Jessup, younger and not yet blind, entered the church. He stopped, observed the woman and the boy.

     Burny turned and traded glances with the priest. There was an unexplainable connection between them.

     Nona's eyes widened, held her breath like watching a cliffhanger. "Uh-oh, Mrs. Madden is so busted," she whispered to the sleeping sexton.

     Father Jessup started for the altar.

     Carma prayed louder. "But nobody believes me. Even priests. What's the world coming to? Where are you in all this? Show me your mysterious ways before it's too late and I reject my humanity. Will you wait until I despair of you? "God, are you even listening?

     "He always does," Father Jessup said. "Even if you don't scream at the top of your lungs."

     Carma staggered to her feet, her face streaked with sweat and tears. She found the priest standing before her.

     "Oh, it's you...Carma Madden, right? Our former pianist. You brought me your burned child years ago."

     Carma shot him a vile look.

     (You pious bastard.)

     Putting a lid on her temper, she pointed at Burny as if she'd like to knock the boy on the head. Her hand whipped so close to her son's face he had to pull back.

     "The demon inside this boy is still destroying his body and my life with hellfire," Carma said.     "And guess what? He killed his father. Thanks to your complacence."

     Father Jessup took a deep breath, reached down and gripped Burny's disfigured left hand, feeling its lead pipe rigidity. The touch overwhelmed his being like warm healing water pouring forth from within the boy, causing his hand to quiver. He gasped in amazement.

     "So it happened again," Father Jessup said.

     Ashamed of his affliction, Burny tried to draw his hand back; but Father Jessup didn't let go, probed the boy's sorrowful eyes, and smiled.

     Burny was frozen as he stared at the priest's kind and understanding face; then he gave him a hint of a smile.

     "So how about that exorcism now, Father, huh?" Carma said.

     "As I told you before, your son showed none of the signs that the Church might consider before declaring a person victim of possession."

     "Don't you think they're outdated, Father? I did my research, you know. One sign is speaking in languages unknown to him. Hellooo, who's not exposed to foreign cable channels nowadays? Kids are growing up multi-lingual without trying."

     Father Jessup nodded, scratched his nose, brows knitted in forbearance as Carma continued with her tirade.

     "Next are the so-called paranormal phenomena," Carma said. You mean all psychic guys on TV, you know, the gifted ones with telepathic stuff or, or yes, ESP, have demons in them? How about those with psychokinetic skills that can move objects without touching them? Google it, Father. Do they need a priest, too?"

     Father Jessup feigned coughing.

     "Anybody can learn to develop those powers on YouTube. And you can even download a free app for that. The rules of the battle with evil have changed but the Church doesn't get a fix on it."

     Father Jessup paused, a haunted expression marching across his face. His next words sounded like a canned answer in a steady, unemotional voice.

     "The Church is just careful not to get buried in the tons of superstitious garbage heaped on her," Father Jessup said.

     Carma's face contorted in a sudden explosion of anger. "Superstitious garbage? You wouldn't call it possession if it hits you right in the face, would you? Tell me, Father...how long have you been working for the Devil? 'Cause you're doing a heck of a job giving him a low profile so he can work under the radar.

     Another feigned coughing.

     "So now Satan doesn't have to send his demons to deceive mankind anymore. The priests can take care of that."

     Father Jessup kept calm and composed, but a fret of bitterness rode his forced smile.

     It pulled his mind back weeks earlier at the Bishop's office...

     The office's dim lighting painted the word gloom in so many ways. The Bishop was sitting behind his huge desk, hands clasped together as if he wanted to crack them, reluctant about what he would say.

     Father Jessup was standing a few paces away, like a convict about to get a death sentence.

     "I can't give the permission for an exorcism," the Bishop said.

     "But my sister has all the signs set forth by the Church, your Eminence," Father Jessup said.

     "Father Jessup, our investigators are not convinced it is genuine."

     "The demon left her when the investigators came and possessed her again as soon as they stepped out of the house."

     The Bishop crossed his arms. "The panel's conclusion is that your sister needs special medical attention."

     "Your Eminence, my sister is a doctor. Her husband sits in the board of a top hospital. And there's nothing anybody can do about her condition."

     "I'm sorry."

     Father Jessup looked at his feet in resignation.

     "It's time to live with my fate then." Carma's voice brought Father Jessup back to the church.

     The last-left hope for an exorcism leaving her, Carma turned to the altar, made the sign of the cross, gave the priest a dismissive wave, and yanked Burny toward the main door.

     Passing by Nona's pew, Burny glanced at her. What now?

     Nona nodded. Talk later.

     Father Jessup watched them, his eyes sad and knowing.

     Burny remembered something, looked back. "Father is your sister like me?"

     Father Jessup gasped, eyes widening. He stepped back.

     (Can he read my mind?)

     Carma snorted, threw her son a look of contemptuous annoyance and shoved him forward. Burny skipped to the door.