CATCH THE DEVIL

SO THIS WAS THE ANTICHRIST.

    The bringer of death and agony, thief of hope, agent of the end of the world and all its precious humanity.

    He looked like a typical ten-year-old boy. Slim, tall for his age, with wavy dark hair and a shy smile. There was no shimmer of brimstone in his brown eyes, only suspicion and uncertainty. No snarl of fangs, only soft lips and a strong chin. No claws at the end of his fingers, only a haphazard pedicure and a strong handshake.

    Eddie Mercy couldn’t begin to fathom what dizzying whirl of fate had brought this poor boy to stand before his atheist bodyguard. But the priest had a lot to do with it.

    On that day when they had first met—and Eddie Mercy’s life had begun to go downhill fast—he hadn’t expected a priest to walk through his office door. When the religious man had made his appointment, he had given his name as Gregory Brennan. He had said he was the agent for a “star” and that he needed to talk to Eddie about putting a guard on his client for a few weeks. Eddie was used to such requests, especially from the Hollywood elite, so he had cleared his schedule and welcomed the fraud in.

    The priest had dressed for the part: nice suit, flashy tie, hair neat and clean, and not a Bible in sight. But once he was ushered into Eddie’s big office and sat in the plush leather chair across from Eddie’s big desk, it didn’t take long for the priest to come clean.

    “I have a confession to make,” he said, smiling at his little joke. “Which is strange, since most people make their confessions to me.”

    Eddie didn’t get it. He tilted his head and waited. He’d learned long ago from his days on the police force: best way to get someone to talk is to keep your own mouth shut.

    “My name isn’t Gregory Brennan,” said the priest. He adjusted his thick glasses a little on his fat spider-webbed nose and managed an uncomfortable smile. “I’m sorry for the deception, but I didn’t want anyone to know that I was coming here today. Any record of who I am and our meeting together could prove dangerous to my ward.”   

    Okay, Eddie thought. Odd beginning, but not the oddest I’ve encountered. Maybe a little paranoid, but let’s hear him out.

    “And so what’s your real name, sir?” Eddie asked.

    “Father Jeremy McKinty. I’m with the Archdiocese of Los Angeles, but I work more directly with the Vatican.”

    “Okay,” Eddie said, and waited. He felt something here, like they were dancing on the edge of crazy, so he needed to hear more. “And how can I help you today, Father?”

    The priest nodded, perhaps happy that Eddie hadn’t thrown him out over his deception, and he cleared his throat and began his story.

    “I would like to hire you to protect a young boy, my ward. His life is in danger. His very soul is in danger.”

    “And who is threatening him?”

    A change came over the priest: a red splash across his face, a shake to his voice. “A radical religious organization, Mr. Mercy. Satanists. Damned souls who want to steal this boy and will do anything and hurt anyone to take him.”

    Eddie folded his hands on his desk. His jaw clenched, his gut telling him where this conversation was going, but he had to ask anyway. “And why do they want to take this boy, Father McKinty?” 

    The priest sat forward and gripped the edge of Eddie’s desk. “Because they want to complete a religious rite that would clear the way for the Antichrist to enter this poor boy’s body and consume his soul.”