I woke around 3am, and had to close the shutters to my windows, it seems that the locals are a little ‘nocturnal’.  That left me baking like a loaf as I had to sacrifice my breeze for silence. Either way it meant that I didn’t sleep well last night.

I met Father Vestor (who I shall now refer to as Father V) for a spot of breakfast in the square and planned the day’s activity. The allocation of roles always reminds me of the old ‘Good Cop’ and ‘Bad Cop’ routines from 50’s gangster movies. I suppose we’re not far off the mark.

I called ahead to check on Maria. She had a good night’s sleep, and remained sedated. Neither of the Nun’s had any cause for concern, and Gringo had even cooked them dinner. I know what I do isn’t everyone’s idea of a fun job, and that I must have a screw loose somewhere to be able to walk in to a room willing to take on Hell, but I always tip my hat to the support staff.  I couldn’t stay twenty-four seven. Granted, they work in shifts, but from the beginning to the very end, they never leave the building. That takes a lot more guts than I could ever muster. I don’t think it’s a question of faith just preservation of one’s sanity.

We rolled up on the house at around 1030am, had a debrief (Gringo made a mean cup of ‘Rocket Fuel’) and we were good to go.

When we walked into Maria’s room this morning I already sensed it.  There had been a real shift in the atmosphere since yesterday evening. Even though the Sister’s had no concerns about the night’s activity, I could smell the energy.  I guess its years’ worth of exposure. Paramedics and Cops report they can smell death, and that smell sticks to them way beyond the discovery of a corpse – the same can be said for the possessed.  It’s not a smell per se, just a thickness in the air; I use the analogy of smell as it suffocates the nostrils. I can’t really describe it any other way.

There was no physical difference in her appearance, she hadn’t even moved from the position we had left her in. I wondered what I would see in her eyes this morning when we woke her. I guess I was a little apprehensive after yesterday.  That had knocked me for six a little, and I was worried that if whatever was inside her caught on then I would be putting everyone at risk.

At around midday, the Sister’s administered the adrenaline, and she woke.

I watched her, as her eyes searched around the room lazily, trying to fix on something recognisable, still drugged by the enforced sleep. When she focused I was quietly relieved to see that she was still present.  Years of fieldwork should have quelled my anxiety, as I know better than most that a Demon will never present itself so early in the proceedings. It wasn’t the Demon I was afraid of, they’re a dime a dozen. Me, however, sometimes I can be my own worst enemy.

Father V kicked the proceedings off immediately, delivering blessings to all of us in the room. Gringo is not allowed in during the ceremony, banished to the kitchen downstairs. We can call him as and when, but he cannot step over the threshold. For his own safety we won’t let him.

Father V blessed Maria last, anointing her with the sign of the cross on her forehead with Holy Water.  Sometimes, I half expect the possessed’s skin to boil and blister as the water sizzles away like acid. I always laugh at Hollywood’s portrayal of the rite. I think I actually want that to happen one-day so we can cut to the chase and stop with all the pomp and ceremony.  It certainly would make this job a lot easier if they gave themselves up so easily.

I shan’t bore you with the next few hours, as you are already very familiar with the due process, but not a lot happened. There was no supernatural activity, no temperature fluctuations, nothing.  This Demon is good, so good even by 5pm I started to wonder whether the Church was the appropriate agency for Maria, and that maybe her Doctor should have pushed more for a place in rehab.

It was at 6.58pm precisely (I know because I was responsible for the contemporaneous logs) that we had a minor breakthrough. Father V had just finished delivering Psalm 53 and went to anoint Maria when she involuntarily pulled against the cuffs restraining her wrists to the bed. It was a sudden movement, so violent that the leather straps cut into her. It wasn’t repeated, and was over as quickly as it had begun. Father V ordered that that was enough for today, and the Sister’s promptly sedated her ready for day three.

We ate in the kitchen this evening. I think Gringo was happy as he had his chance to shine.  His culinary skills are sharp, a perfect complement to his hospitality.  Myself, Father V and both Sister’s deliberated on what we had just witnessed, and all were in agreement that we could record the incident as a legitimate paranormal response to the invocation of Christ.

I got back to my room shortly after 9pm, and after last night’s antics, and today’s arduous wait I am exhausted. It’s taken every last drop of energy to even write this journal.

My personal reflections for the day – well, despite initial concerns over my feelings for Maria, I think I held it together quite well. I didn’t have an active role and happily allowed Father V to take the lead as discussed over breakfast. It hurt me to see her lash out the way she did because it wasn’t her. I remained resolute despite an over-whelming urge to grab her and hold her. She’ll be left with the bruised, cut wrists and the physical pain when she next wakes, completely oblivious to how ‘it’ reacted to our goading.

It’s not just Maria, I feel for all the subjects I have worked with. Our cure puts their bodies under extreme pressure.  They may have no recollection of what had happened, but can be sometimes left with permanent disabilities. As I write, my mind wanders around the globe adding up all the casualties of this ancient war, the broken limbs, the disfigurements, the sheer physical pain caused by those unfortunate to be considered collateral damage.

If Demons were tangible, the gloves would be off, and I would be the first in line to kick their ass. Maybe that’ll go some way to dealing with the guilt I sometimes feel?