The fall of Father Deakin 

Early next morning Father Bryan Farrelly was working on his Sunday sermon at St Aloysius of the Innocents. The words were pouring out of him as an otherworldly inspiration found him. He pauses to rest awhile, putting down his pen and stares out the window into the courtyard.

This was his fourth year at this congregation, and his first posting straight out of seminary school. He was young, good-looking, and softly spoken – a combination that often made him the target of school-girl crushes and unsolicited female attention. He preferred being up in the pulpit rather than taking confessional and having to listen to the sordid fantasies of bored housewives or the vengeful thoughts of their working-class husbands.

It struck him that most of his time in the confessional box was spent just doling out Hail Mary's for impure thoughts, and by doing so he felt he was just perpetuating the problem. There were no real tangible consequences of thoughts, and he would often feel weighed down by so many secrets. Deeds and actions, to him, felt like real sins that required proper spiritual counselling and absolution – but he rarely came across those. Father Deakin, his mentor, had told him that Jesus said in Matthew 5 that we can sin in our hearts, minds, and attitudes. Pride and arrogance begin in the mind and it is our thoughts that shape our actions. He picked up his pen and began writing again, off on a new tangent.

He was interrupted by young Benjamin Yates. The boy had come tearing around the corner, his choir-boy's white smock askew and his face as pale as marble.

"Father Farrelly – you need to c-come quickly! Now!"

"Whatever is the matter Benji, you need to slow down."

"It's Father Deakin!" He took in some ragged breaths.

"Has there been an accident?" The boy shook his head. "Is he sick?"

"Yes – No – sort of!"

"Well, what is it?" Farrelly grew impatient.

"Just come! Please!" The boy grabbed the sleeve of his vestment and pulled Farrelly along. They rounded the corner of the chapel down the yard to where Father Deakin's rooms were.

Father Francis Deakin had been the parish priest at St Aloysius now for the past twenty years. He was a stern man, some would say a mysterious man, and he had a gift - a gift for vanquishing evil. Father Deakin was an exorcist, one of the few in California sanctioned by the Vatican.

Farrelly knocked on the door and called out. When there was no answer, he pushed on the heavy wooden door, it creaked and complained swinging open on old hinges. The shutters were all closed, and the place was a pig sty. Excrement had been smeared on the walls. Food lay rotting on the table, maggot infested. The stench was overwhelming. "Well, where is he?" asked Farrelly. Benji pointed to a hulking shape over by the fireplace, Farrelly tries to squint through the gloom. The form begins to rock, emitting a tuneless humming broken every now and then by a monologue of low whispers. A trade-mark shock of white hair identified the figure as Father Deakin. Farrelly ventured closer, "Francis?"

Startled, Father Deakin scurried across the floor an all fours to take refuge under the table. He was completely naked and covered in filth. Farrelly put his sleeve up to his nose, "Benji, open up the windows, let's get some light and fresh air in here!" Benji obeyed quickly.

When the light fell upon his face, Father Deakin hissed shielding his eyes. Then his whole demeanour changed, and he began crying. "Don't look at me, please don't look at me. I'm unclean." He buried his face in his hands. His white, doughy shoulders jiggled from the force of his sobs.

"He's lost his marbles!" Benji wailed.

"Now you listen to me!" Farrelly gripped the boy by the arms, and shook him, perhaps a little too roughly. "Father Deakin is a man of God, he has fallen ill, that's all. Now go and get Mother Catherine. Now!" Benji bolted.

A while later, Farrelly is kneeling by Father Deakin's bedside praying fervently.

"Bryan.." said Father Deakin weakly. Farrelly continued to pray. "Bryan!" Francis Deakin seemed completely lucid now. Farrelly stopped his prayers and looked up.

"Try not to speak, Francis."

"Listen to me. I need to tell you something important". Father Deakin coughed and wheezed. "I can always hear him you know, pecking away at me, inside my head".

"Who?"

"Who do you think? Lucifer, the dark prince. That last battle I had with his minions at the Morcombe girl's house nearly cost me everything. He is getting stronger; I can feel it. I will not succumb to madness, nor allow him to use me as a vessel. I need to end my life in order to save my soul – do you understand?"

"Francis, you don't know what you're saying."

"I can't do it anymore Bryan, it's over, I'm done. I am so...tired."

"Just like that?" Farrelly realised his voice had gone up a few octaves.

"It is not a decision I take lightly, but one for my own spiritual safety and the safety of others. It's done anyway," Father Deakin glanced towards the bedside at a wooden tumbler, and Farrelly immediately understood. It was then that he became aware of the discolouration around Father Deakin's lips, a result of the poison.

"Why? Francis, you are the staunchest man I know. Nothing can shake your faith. The congregation will not understand."

"Mother Catherine understands, she was the one who prepared the draught for me."

"How am I meant to explain this to the Vatican."

"You will find the words, I trust you." Father Deakin leaned over with his last remaining strength, and gripped Farrelly's hand. "Bryan, you must continue my work."

"I am not ready, I can't!"

"You are stronger than you know."

Father Deakin's face turns purple and bubbles appear on his lips. "Lord, why have you forsaken us!" Farrelly screams at the ceiling as he blinks back tears.

A strong gust of wind blows the shutters open and as Farrelly gets up to close them, he knocks a candle over and the bed clothes catch alight. Father Deakin's body becomes engulfed in flames before Farrelly can put them out. Quite overcome, he sits on the floor pressed against the wall to watch on in horror as the inferno rages. The unnatural fire incinerates the remains to a charred husk, and then just as quickly, it disperses. Miraculously, nothing else in the room has caught alight. Farrelly reaches out to take Father Deakin's rosary from the blackened fingers which snap off and crumble at the slightest touch. He gazes at the rosary laying across his open palm and marvels at how the smooth, ebony beads are completely unblemished by the fire. Farrelly presses the silver cross to his lips as the tears roll down his cheeks.

....this is the end of Episode 2.  Stay tuned for Episode 3 "Bewitched"