Do not close your eyes had become my mantra for the next four days. In the name of everything I conjured myself to stay awake, afraid to forget Asmodeus’s orders like I’d somehow done before. Those awful four days. 96 hours. In those 96 hours I scraped on sleep no more than 5. I often caught myself dozing off, while helping Ann-Mary make communion bread in the kitchen, while sweeping the floors, or during divine offices where I only pretended to pray, or even in my own room when I could actually sleep like all the rest. But I could not allow myself such a luxury. Not until the four fucking days have been passed. Minutes felts like hours, and hours like days; I counted them all with great distress. It was excruciating. But at least I remembered everything and – you best believe – did all that I was ordered to do. 

     I soaked the apple in red wine at Monday’s daybreak. The fruit marinated in a silver tureen (I had taken the dish from the kitchen) in my room on the concrete installation, which seem to make more sense the more I used it. I poured salt into gaps of all doorsteps and left mine unsalted. I felt like a total psychopath doing it, but hey, I did it. And I fasted through constant acid reflux and dizziness, hating every second of it. When sisters asked me why I wasn’t eating and I’d blame it on my lack of appetite, it made me furious because in reality I wanted to scream – feed me! How ironic. In those hangry moments I especially understood the fiend's rage, and wondered if the entity was proving a point. I constantly found myself talking to myself, pretending I spoke to Asmodeus: I got it. Please, let me drink. I got it. Please, let me eat. I got it. Please let me sleep. All my thoughts were occupied by the primary needs. Even my creaky, old bed suddenly seemed soft and comfortable. Even the bland monastic meals looked like some rare delicacies. I realized then that the outside weeds topped with cheap oil and salt weren’t that bad after all. Just give me something! 

     I remember how on the first day of my fast I went out of my cell past midnight and tiptoed towards the refectory, for at night the hunger would get so unbearable that I was ready to commit a crime to lick crumbs off a dirty table. As I was making my way through the cloister, I saw Sister Elizabeth at the end of the hallway. I was surprised to see her, especially at this hour, especially considering she was bed-bound by flue. I wanted to walk up to her but knew she wouldn’t speak anyway. Grand silence and all. I assumed she needed food, drink, or to urinate. I watched her disappear behind the corner and, forgetting about my own need, I trailed back to my room. On the following night, when I secretly went out again, I saw a familiar scene. Only now it was sister Sarah who wandered the premises. And again, the presence of a nun had made me turn back, although it was hard to say no to the leftovers stacked in the kitchen refrigerator. And God only knew how hard it was to say no when Val actually shoved meaty contraband discreetly into my hands. On Wednesday evening, right after the grand silence had begun, Valeria quietly slithered into my room. 

“Look what mama got you,” she whispered joyfully, shoving a small box into my hands. The warmth of the package and the smell of fried-and-oily had me shaking and salivating like a dog. 

“I appreciate it girl, but I’m not up for it at the moment,” I told her, afraid I’d lose it. 

“You don’t even know what it is! Ronan got it for us. Take a look!” I knew exactly what was inside. Fried chicken. Not only was I salivating like a dog but developed a nose of one. Come on, three days with no food… 

“Whatever it is, I’m good.” I gave her back her contraband. 

Val looked at me flummoxed. “Who are you? What did you do to my friend?”

That made me nervous. Did she suspect something fishy? I tried laughing it off. “Are you calling me a fat ass?” 

“Well, now more like a mummy. You need to eat, sis. You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” I uttered dryly. “Maybe next time. But I’m just really not hungry right now.”

“Eat something, fuck!” She wouldn’t budge. 

“I did!”

“When?”

“Today.”

“You’re fucking lying.”

“I swear. I had the breakfast rolls.”

“When? I didn’t see you eat shit during breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner.”

“It’s because I ate them during work.”

“Why, you don’t eat with us anymore?”

I had to think quick. “I–binged.”

She regarded me a long moment. “You binged…Are you stressed or somethin’?” 

I wanted to tell her everything then, but refrained. “No, they just looked so good…straight out of the oven–and you know me and my cravings.” Come on, buy it. Buy it! 

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re not bullshitting me?” 

I exhaled. “I’m not, I promise.” 

Valeria seemed to give in at last, finally turning her penetrating gaze away. “Hm. Did you get a heater or somethin’?”

“No, why?”

“Really? The temperature is lovely. I wish my room was this warm. What’d you do to make it like this?” 

Opened the gates of hell. 

“Nothing,” I shrugged. “It’s been like this for a while.”

“Damn…Lucky you. I’m freezing my ass all night long. I seriously need a heater.”

“I thought your boy was getting you one?”

“He better. His family’s coming tomorrow for the mass, so I’ll grab him by the ballz. Anyway boo–enjoy the warmth, you lucky bitch. Peace.” She slithered out, taking the box with her. She took the food but the smell stayed and lingered. All. Night. Long. It made me nauseous, then it made me dream of fried chicken and how I gorged down pounds and pounds of it. Then in cold sweat, disgusted and afraid, I’d jerk myself to consciousness and feel nauseous again. 

 

†††

 

     Thursday. Never had a Thursday felt more appealing. So far I had had neither a crumb of food nor a drop of water, yet my head was the clearest, focus the sharpest, heart was beating steadily, and my body felt more energetic. Oh, and my hunger actually went away. Go figure! I didn’t eat breakfast, of course, but for the first time I didn’t suffer not having it, for I actually didn’t crave it. And of course I followed the instructions, that is, did not pray but only opened my mouth without intention. 

     At noon sister Rosalyn along with the archbishop, William Dene, arrived at the monastery. Their appearance turned the nuns into hyperactive bunnies. How good it is to see you, sister Rosalyn, they’d say. It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace. The women did everything to please the man in the lavish pallium, ogling him like he were one of Jesus’ twelve disciples. They followed him around and showed him the premises, offered him the finest of the monastery's guest chambers and a hearty meal to go along. Prattled on about how so very honored and thankful they were to have him visit their lands. And I stayed behind, watched it all from the distance, observing the man with awe. His presence was so strong that I felt like a minority, inferior unworthy of breathing the same air as him. No wonder. I was a fraud and he was real. He carried an aura of an important figure, a high figure, a man with a master key, a person of great power. When he gave me a quick look, I only winced and smiled like an imbecile, eyes lost and round as coins. He’d choose death over bowing to you, Asmodeus, I thought.

     When the primate had retired to the abbess’s office, probably to discuss the latest disastrous events, the nuns turned their attention to Rosalyn Jackson. How have you been? Did the campaign go as planned? Will you do another one soon? How long will you stay? How long will His Grace stay? Have you seen this? One nun shoved a newspaper in sister Rosalyn’s face. She answered all of their questions. Then she found me. 

“It is so nice to see you,” I told her. It was the truth. 

“Likewise, dear. How do you do?” 

“Managing just fine,” I replied, fingers twitching, feet tapping. I was nervous. 

“I heard of what had happened here,” she said, her voice tranquil as it always had been, not even the atomic war would disturb it. “I am so sorry you had to go through this.”

“It’s…It was God’s will.” More like a whim of a moron. I felt disgusted with myself, and so, so guilty that I was afraid to look the nun in the face.

“Well, God willing, this was the last time the monastery suffered such calamities––”

“God willing.” I bobbed my head vigorously. 

Silence.

“Genevieve.” 

Reluctantly I looked up and into sister Rosalyn’s searching green eyes. I knew she could feel something wasn’t right about the way my body twitched, or was forming assumptions as those  keen greens of hers ran over my emaciated appearance. I swallowed.

“Is everything all right with you, darling? You know you can tell me anything.”

I smiled as sincerely as my acting skills allowed me to. “Nothing to worry about, sister. I promise.” 

 

†††

 

     Mass took place at 7 o’clock in the evening, exactly eight hours after the archbishop’s arrival. By the way, he declined the repose and food and went straight to sprinkling water through the entire building using his shiny set of aspergillum and aspersorium while chanting prayers I had never heard of before. The reason for the immediate blessing was the holiday – the Feast of the Immaculate Conception, which the church was to celebrate with over two hundred people. No way would His Grace allow for some evil spirit – if there was one – to roam about the place on such a sacred occasion. So the rite of exorcism was performed dutifully by the serious-looking William Dene, and by 3:30 p.m. he claimed the monastery to be cleared of all wickedness. The nuns rejoiced, what was not to say about me. I only grew more concerned imagining the shuddering laughter and my levitating body. Could an energy so strong even be repelled by sprinkling liquids? It better. 

 

     Watch for a golden chalice and an open door, I repeated as I worked on sorting hosts into bowls for later blessings. Watch for a golden chalice. And an open door. Why not just say the truth? I wondered. No. I can’t. I really wanted to. Besides, at some point, after the four days of no demonic visits, no glowing eyes and no earsplitting laughter, I had begun to question if the demon was even real. I know, I know. I was reaching for logical straws. Exhaustion. Hallucinations. Madness. But when the preparations for the mass were finished and I, for the first time in those four days, went to wash myself (I hardly took off my habit for how cold I felt) before the Holy Communion, I concluded – it was fucking real. Thankfully I was the only one in the room, so no one could see the horrific strangulation marks all around the base of my neck. No wonder it felt tender. With mounting alarm I stared at myself in the mirror, trembling fingers tracing purple bruises. There was just no way I could have done this myself, to myself. My eyes watered. Not without difficulty I had managed to disregard my injuries, for now, in a haste cleaned my body, wrapped it in warm clothing, put on my habit, and went about my day, that is, watched for a golden chalice and an open door, whatever that meant…until I saw it all fall into place. 

     When the mass had reached the Liturgy of the Eucharist, sisters Kathy, Lorraine and Carmel passed the baskets onto the congregation to collect monetary offerings. Those then had to be brought to the altar together with a cruet of spring water, a goblet with grape wine and a bowl with unconsecrated wafers, which I had sorted earlier. Sister Dominique was in charge of the liquids, and I stepped out to prepare the breads. As I made my way out of the chapel to the convent and to the refectory, the time slowed down, not in a literal way but in a sense were I knew exactly what would happen next, what consequences would the following actions produce, how objects would collide before they even neared to one another. Walking inside through the cloister, I noticed a young man stroll by, he turned his head right and left; He seemed lost. He halted precisely at the foot of an open door, looked down at his untied shoelaces, frowned and kneeled to fix them. And I saw Dominique walking out of that same doorway carrying a tray on which balanced a golden chalice. That is where the time slowed, and I just watched it like a scene from a movie, which I’d seen a thousand times. With her attention only on the glistening cup, Dominique had failed to see what was beneath her, and the kneeling fellow was too focused on his clean church shoes to see what was above. He rose abruptly and bumped into the nun. The wine spilled on to his white shirt and quickly soaked the fabric with the deep red stain, revealing the tight muscles beneath. I kept watching. The color of Dominique’s face matched the color which had saturated the man’s tunic. I’m so sorry! She pleaded, I did not see you! The guy next to her only shook his head no. It is not your fault. I was in your way. It’s all good. He tried to be amiable, but poor Dominique wouldn’t look at him, not without blushing. After all, she was only 27 years old, the temptation was still raw and she clearly struggled to hold it back. I felt for her. 

“Do you by chance have a place where I can wash this?” 

“Yes. We do,” I interfered before Dominique would suffer a stroke. “I will take care of this, sister. You can go and refill the cup. And would you mind taking the bowls as well? The offertory is about to begin.”

The nun was so glad to see me, her eyes turned glossy. “Yes, sister. Will–will do. Thank you.” And turning to the lad next to her without actually looking into his powder-blue eyes, she mumbled, “F-forgive me. I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s no big deal, really.” When he offered her a friendly smile, she sprinted off, face sheepishly red. 

“This way, please.” I gestured to the hall which stretched all the way down towards the dormitory. 

“Great, appreciate it.” 

Nothing to be grateful for, I thought.

     My legs carried me without my participations, as if there was someone they followed. It was intuitive I’d say, and I just went along with it because I truly didn’t know what the hell I was doing. We walked all the way to my cell, and I let him enter. What happened next I do not quite remember. I know that he thanked me, not one bit surprised, and went inside like he was expecting to end up in my room. And I locked the door behind him. Then on heavier legs I retired back to the chapel to finish the mass. And rubbing my sore neck all the while all I could think was, poor Ronan. 

 

     William Dene sent the parishioners home to ‘in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.’ Hundreds of joyful faces and overflowing baskets spoke for themselves – the mass was a success. And although the event had ended at 9:30 p.m., the guests still mingled in the chapel until the clock hit 11. When the people had finally left, we stayed behind and tidied up the space for the next day’s worshipping. The cleaning process had taken us another 30 minutes during which I noticed Valeria’s gloomy face and angry side-to-side thrusts as she swept the flower petals off the floor. Approaching her frightened me, but I still did. 

“What’s wrong?” 

She glared at me, then at the broom she was squeezing. “I haven’t seen Ronan yet,” she said. “He promised he’d come during mass and––I waited for him in my room like a dumb ass but he never showed up.” 

My scalp prickled. 

“Maybe something came up?” I suggested.

“Like what? The guy doesn’t do shit all day besides playing video games and snoring in the pool on his ridiculous inflatable duck.”

“You’ve been to his house?”

“Um, yeah?” She gave me a ‘duh’ look when it was far from duh. “Like, a bunch of times?” Duh look. 

Valeria’s recklessness astonished. Although…who was I to be astonished when I, a nun, even to some pathetic degree, summoned the devil. In the fucking monastery. 

“Well, why don’t you call him?” 

This was the last thing I wanted her to do, not wanting her, or anyone for that matter, to somehow find out where Ronan really was. Also, heaven only knows how much I wanted to tell her the truth. Yet the words, should you speak of me to a soul, the suffering is inevitable, surely turned me into a liar, even to the only true friend I had who never ever lied to me. 

“I did. He’s not answering.” Her lips pursed exasperatedly. “It’s not like him. He always answers my calls.” 

I forced a heavy sigh in hopes to appear distressed. 

“Have you not seen him at all?” She asked.

“I–” I paused. What if Dominique said something? I thought, but then I pictured her red physiognomy and thought, why would she? And lied, “Haven’t.” 

“I don’t get it,” Valeria kept shaking her head, the broom creaking beneath her. “It’s not like him at all…” Then she stared at me hard. “Where the hell is he?” Her demanding eyes made me very nervous. 

“I’ve no clue, Val,” I shrugged. Keep cool. Keep cool. 

She frowned. “With all the crazy shit going in Montreal…no. He wouldn’t go there…he’s not stupid…” she muttered to herself. “Maybe something did happen…”        

“It’s possible,” I prompted. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious though and he’ll respond soon.”

“I fucking hope so,” Valeria barked at the flower vase she was moving. “He promised me a heater.” 

We parted in the dormitory’s wing, Val – right, and I – deeper down the hallway and left. Once I had reached my door, I was so afraid to open it my hands trembled. By then it was nearly midnight, with the lights long off and grand silence long on. The monastery was in-and-out veiled in darkness and quiet. Through it all I could distinctly hear my heavy breathing and feel my turbulent heartbeat. I was bracing for something terrible. I did not want to get inside, my legs wouldn’t budge. I had to force them. I unlocked the door and stepped into another kind of darkness, thicker, blacker, quieter. The air reeked of wickedness, which the archbishop had had supposedly banished. I couldn’t see anything when I had entered, not even my own hands in front of my eyes. I couldn’t hear a sound, so I wasn’t sure if anyone was even in my room. I could only feel the constant warmth. When I moved deeper in, I heard the door creak and lock itself behind me. Then I felt a presence. And a kiss on the shoulder. I shuddered. 

“Who’s there?” I quavered. 

“Take a guess,” responded a familiar voice. 

“Ronan?” 

“Warm.” 

I swallowed before pronouncing the name I loathed more than anything. “Asmodeus.”

“Hot.” 

In the next few moment, candles, fifty or so of them, as if they were alive, began to crackle to life, revealing Val’s boyfriend, in his unbuttoned stained shirt, stretched out on the concrete bench with a tureen by his side. His wolfish smile and bottomless black eyes turned my stomach upside down. My head began to spin at the sight of him. Not again. 

“Indeed, Genevieve Griffith, you are damn good at following orders.” 

“I have no choice. I am your servant.” 

“Precisely. You are one privileged bitch.” 

I wanted to respond with a reciprocal remark but reminded myself of who I was really speaking to and bit my tongue. This isn’t Ronan, I told myself. His body was just a wrapper for the darkness that only spat insults. He was possessed, and it was hard for me to process. It was hard to take in the man in front of me who appeared perfectly human yet contradicted it simultaneously. His eyes sharp on a candle, hand hovering statically above the flame. Hovering and burning. It looked agonizing, but he didn’t even flinch. I flinched instead, when he looked at me.

“Liking what you see?” He–it smirked.

“How did you do it?”

“Do what exactly?” 

“How did you know how to––” I paused, frowned. 

“How to get this imbecile in here? I am very resourceful, you see. And, of course, not without your help, sugar.” He blew me a kiss. 

“But the chalice? The open door? The timing? How were you able to predict all that?”

“What is soothsaying to an all-knowing god? Nothing but a child’s play. Besides, I’m good with math,” he replied. “Unlike an idiot like you who cannot put two and two together.” 

If only you were Ronan I’d––but I swallowed that too. Poor Ronan. I wished it was him and not the monster in the bloody-looking tunic who sat staring at me mischievously with its black empty eyes and a sinister grimace. 

“What will you do now?” I croaked. 

His next response rang with pleasure, “Now I will fuck you senseless, virgin.”

Bile surged up my throat. “No.” I exhaled all the air in my lungs. I was mortified. “You cannot touch me. You cannot do this to me.” 

“Can’t I? Oh, right. The old fart expelled me––” a nonchalant glance at Ronan’s shiny wrist watch, “––twelve hours ago.” His grin widened. “Too bad I’m still here.”

I heard myself utter, why? My heart cried. 

Just for a moment Ronan looked grave when he replied, “Sinners don’t drive out sinners.” And the grin returned. “So your hierarch can shove his aspergillum up his holy ass.”

“The bishop is not a sinner,” I said.

Asmodeus bursted out laughing. Thankfully it was tolerable for it sounded human, albeit terrifying nevertheless. 

“I have encountered quite a number of nuns, and you are by far the dumbest. All humans are sinners, since the day of their birth. Since the dawn of mankind. Since you chose this.” Ronan’s burned hand dove into the tureen and pulled out the apple that had been marinating in it the whole time. “This.” He stretched the swollen crimson fruit out for me to see, wine and the sticky juice dripping down his fingers. “Over your creator. You had one job to do and  still fucked it up big time. Well, I sure do not mind repeating history, especially with an Eve.” 

What he was saying and doing deeply upset me. I looked down, unable to bare his awful demonstration. 

“What’s the matter, nun? Truth hurts your senses?” 

I felt him rise. My scalp tightened.

“No. Please.” I held his demonic gaze as he drew near. My heart sank. With quivering lips I began to mouth the Lord’s Prayer. A finger was pressed against them.

“Shhhhh…spare me this bullshit.” His other fingers slid to my neck to a small smirk. “Look around, dear. You have only me to beg.”

“I beg you, don’t do this,” I shook, imagining his gruesome words put to action any second now. My body swelled with fever. “Don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? What for? You have obeyed me. Placed my will before own hunger and thirst. You must be rewarded, not hurt.”

“B-b-but you said–you said you’d–” 

“Poor little mouse,” he cut me off, looking rather amused with my trembling. His eyes moved quickly studying my face, as if to keep up to the fear flashing all over it. “Refraining has surely weakened your spirit. You must nourish at last. Here.” He brought the ugly-looking fruit to my mouth. “Sate yourself.” 

Pungent smell stuffed my nostrils. “I–don’t want it,” I murmured carefully. 

“Oh but you do,” Ronan murmured back. “There is nothing you want more. It is in your fucking nature, to want it.” His black eyes took the color of the apple he was offering me. I gawked into their hypnotic garnet glow, falling deeper into their depths. “Just one bite,” his murmuring dropped to a hissing whisper. I suddenly felt hungry, and thirsty. 

“If only…just…one…” 

I was losing my soul, do you see? And I comprehended it with perfect clarity. That harrowing feeling, which to this day I recall in sharp horror, I would never wish for anyone to experience. However, a still scarier thing was the ease with which I was trading my soul for a bite of the disgusting fruit. How could I sell my infinite soul for hunger? For thirst? For the insatiable feelings that can only ever be satisfied for so long? I did not bother to ask myself those questions. Didn’t have a care in the world. I only opened my mouth acceptingly and gawped at the laughing bloody eyes of Asmodeus as my teeth sank greedily into the swollen juicy flesh. And let me tell you, this was the fruit made in heaven, so obscenely delicious and flavorful it was. The sweetest honey could not compare to the sweetness that rushed down my throat. The richest wine could not match the one that intoxicated me. It was magical. It blew my mind, and my mind sunk into abyss of pure euphoria. I felt the room with candles sway before my eyes. Or it was I who swayed. Either way, I loved it. I fucking loved it. 

“My flesh is your flesh. I am yours, you are mine.” I heard him say. It sounded like an oath. I reacted. Found him in a blurry kaleidoscope of dancing lights and shadows. With eyelids low and heavy, I watched the man that towered over me. Disheveled brown hair, handsome face, unbuttoned shirt and hard muscles underneath it. He looked like a dream, and I wanted a bite of him like he was the apple. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to feel the rush of the sweetness again. The intoxication. I felt my veil slide down my head, not by my hand. And then my wimple. How does he know how to take it off? Ah, yes. He had known quite a number of nuns before me. I felt my curls graze my neck. I heard the sound of threads popping, my habit was being ripped apart. Then whatever was underneath it. Then I felt naked, beyond skin. And wet in a place I thought would never be wet. 

“Say my name.” I felt him breathe into my ear before he kissed it. 

“Asmodeus.” I moaned, just like he wanted.