The Evil We Keep

III. THE ROAD

The address Father McKinnon sent is a good hour's drive from the city. I can already feel the unease settling into my bones as I pull out of the parking lot and into the main road. The city's streetlights flicker behind me in the rearview mirror, swallowed by the darkness as I head deeper into the countryside.

The road ahead is long and empty, a straight stretch of cracked asphalt disappearing into the black of night. The only company I have is the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of wind against the car's windows.

I glance down at my phone, the screen dim but still lit with McKinnon's newest message: *"Meet me at the old church near the crossroads, I'll be waiting."*

**Yeah right! Come meet the priest, alone, in the abandoned church. What the fuck could go wrong?** I think, rolling my eyes.

I tighten my grip on the wheel, my knuckles turning white. **Focus, Maya.**

I can't afford to be distracted, not after the dream. The memory of it clings to me like a stain—those eyes, that voice whispering, "You are mine." I shake my head, trying to clear it. **Just another job. Keep it together.**

I follow the narrow road, the headlights barely cutting through the thickening mist. The farther I go, the less the world feels like something I belong to. The city is a distant memory, swallowed by the endless fields and skeletal trees looming like crooked fingers in the night. I grip the wheel tighter, my eyes darting to the shadows that cling to the roadside. There's a chill seeping into the car, colder than it should be.

A shiver runs down my spine, and I flick on the heater. **Damn cold out here.**

I reach for the flask tucked into my inside pocket, on the right, feeling its reassuring weight. A quick swig, just enough to take the edge off. The burn travels down to my core, and I exhale, a cloud of breath fogging the windshield.

After what feels like an eternity, the GPS beeps, announcing my arrival at the designated meeting point. I see it—the church McKinnon mentioned. It's a small, decrepit thing, crouched at the crossroads like it's trying to hide from the world. Its roof sags under the weight of years, and the paint peels away like dead skin. A single, dim lantern flickers by the door, casting erratic shadows across the gravel lot, as a single, crooked cross leans against its roof. **Charming.**

I pull in beside a familiar old sedan and kill the engine. Silence rushes in like a flood, and I let out a slow breath, my nerves on edge. I step out, the gravel crunching under my boots. I spot Father McKinnon standing under the faint light, his coat drawn tight against the cold. I grab my flask from the console, take a quick swig, and feel the burn settle in my chest. **Let's get this over with and get the fuck out of this hole.**

"Maya," he greets, his voice carrying a hint of relief, maybe a touch of concern. He looks worn out, like he hasn't slept for a couple days, his face is a mixture of concern and something else—something that looks a lot like doubt. "Glad you made it."

I shrug, sliding my hands into my pockets. "You called. I came. Wouldn't say that 'glad' covers it though. You didn't find any better rendezvous point than the ruins of a long-lost faith? " My voice comes out sharper than I intended, but I'm too tired to care.

He lets it slide. "I wanted to speak with you before we go in," he says, glancing toward the dark road that leads up to the Fosters' house. "The father—Mr. Foster—is...particular. He's not fond of strangers, especially not ones like you."

"Ones like me?" I scoff, arching an eyebrow. "You mean ones who don't buy into his holy bullshit?"

McKinnon sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Maya, please. I'm asking you to keep an open mind. This family is hurting. They believe their daughter is in danger."

"They always do," I mutter, my gaze drifting to the old chapel behind him. Its broken windows gape like empty eyes, staring into nothing. "What's the deal with these people?"

McKinnon frowns, his face pulling into that familiar look of paternal disappointment. "They're good folks, Maya. Just... scared. Their daughter's been showing signs—violent outbursts, speaking in tongues."

I snort. "And what do you think?"

He hesitates, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I believe there's something here that needs our help," he says carefully. "You know I follow a strict process. I have called upon a psychiatrist and a physician. We put the girl, Emily, through every test imaginable. Something's not right. She is in a catatonic state for most of the time, but when her parents are near, she automatically wakes up, and what she knows...what she can do...let's just say it's disturbing. I am not going to sugarcoat it. Her body is showing all the physical marks of a demonic possession. But something is off. The entity doesn't show any sign of animosity toward Emily or anyone else apart from the parents, for whom it reserves the usual profanities we are accustomed to. But it is very cunning in its insults, clever, almost witty. The exorcisms haven't worked. I've tried everything in my power, but... it's beyond me. That's why I called you."

I roll my eyes. "Right. Because when the holy water doesn't cut it, call the neighborhood witch." I mean it as a jab, but McKinnon just sighs.

"You know it's not like that," he says quietly. "You see things I can't. Feel things I don't."

I let his words hang in the cold air for a moment, weighing them. It's not the first time he's reached out for my help, but it's the first time I've heard that edge of uncertainty in his voice. I nod slowly. "Fine. Just keep your rosary in your pocket."

McKinnon doesn't bother arguing. Instead, he looks past me, his gaze distant, like he's already at the house. "I'm not sure what we're going to find up there," he admits. "But I do know it won't be easy.

I study him for a second, the way his hand hovers near the rosary tucked into his belt, like he's not sure if he's holding onto faith or fear. "Well, if it was easy, you wouldn't have called me," I say, offering a grim smile.

A hint of a smile tugs at his lips, but it's fleeting. "We should go. They're waiting for us."

I nod and follow him to the cars. "Better if you get there first then," I say, sliding back into my seat. "Wouldn't want to scare the sheep."

"We'll go together," he says, his tone careful, like he's gauging my mood. "But I need you to understand, they're very devout. Strict. The father, especially. Mr. Foster is... rigid in his beliefs."

"Rigid?" I arch an eyebrow. "As in 'burn the witch' kind of rigid?"

McKinnon shifts uncomfortably. "Not quite. But he won't be happy to see you. Best we keep the introductions... brief."

I chuckle, but there's no humor in it. "Yeah, I've got a real knack for winning people over."

The wind picks up, a low, mournful whistle through the trees, and I feel a chill settle in my bones. I glance back at the church, its silhouette dark against the moonlit sky. "This place gives me the creeps," I mutter, almost to myself.

McKinnon nods. "It's not much further. They live up the road, just past the bend. I thought it best if we arrived at the same time, to give out a team impression."

I nod, though the thought of riding in a Disney-like parade The Exorcist edition with him doesn't exactly thrill me. But I know he's right. Better to show up as a united front. "Fine. Lead the way."

As we head back to our cars, I catch a glimpse of his hand resting like a fist against his lower back—clutching a rosary. **Protecting our ass with the Lord I see!** I don't know if it's for comfort or show, but it doesn't matter. **We're both grasping at straws tonight.**

I see the corners of his mouth tighten through the window as he starts his car and pulls out onto the dirt road.

I slide back into my car and start the engine, the headlights cutting through the darkness as I follow McKinnon up the narrow road. The trees grow denser on either side, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching out, trying to claw their way inside. I keep my eyes on the road ahead, but I can't shake the feeling that something is watching from the shadows. My mind is already running through what's ahead. **Another holy house on a hill. Another desperate family. Another mess to clean up.**