Chapter Text
Alva would not consider himself a person of charity, he did what he should do, that's all. He did not think twice as he dropped the only piece of money left onto the hat of a beggar by the roadside. It was a damp, melancholic late afternoon and the sun was making its way slowly across the sky, a pitifully grey sky due to the sudden rain that had just ceased. He was walking as if in haste, a bit shy from the people's gaze, indeed, for the strange and unexpected sight that he proclaimed on their usual commute, and he did not look to see where he had been throwing this money into, but his instinct told him that it should land where it needed to.
"Dear Satan! What did you give me?"
An exclamation stopped him in his track. Alva turned and saw the beggar - under the neon of the light box who looked no older than 30 - fumbling the piece of money in his hand. There was a clear mark of redness on the fingers which resembled a burn, too fresh to be a long time wound. The innocent, helpless paper dropped to the ground, while the man was whining over his injured fingers.
His gaze and Alva's met, which startled the latter from both the hatred and resentment. The man's emerald eyes widened, and he exclaimed in disbelief.
"A priest!"
Being self-conscious, Alva looked over his black soutane and the purple stole and the thick book of prayers and a small sack carrying all the sacramentals dangling on his left side, but he realised he had been too unreasonable by the man's bewilderment that he forgot his profession, which he had carried on dutifully for the last five years.
"What's the matter…"
"So your flock still exists, after all. I thought the people would not endure you any longer, your scheme is working out quite well."
"What do you want?" Alva returned the man's remark in an equally harsh and bitter tone, ready to defense his ground. His eyes suddenly dashed to the supposedly burnt fingers of the man and realised they had healed completely, without any traces of scar.
The man pointed to the money laying a feet from his hat, asked. "What did you spice your money with? Priestly money." He laughed as if he was saying a joke. "You priests are so kind to poison beggars now. Can't wait to get rid of those miserable."
It was Alva's turn to say in disbelief. "Why, you're a demon."
And he was about to bring out the ampulla of blessed water when the demon, with a weary expression, told him to stop and said remorsefully.
"I do nothing to you yet, don't set out against me so soon. But if you stand for what is right and just take that damned piece of money and buy me something instead… without…" He pointed a finger to Alva's sack. "…without any trick of yours. I promise I'll be good, okay?"
It was once-in-lifetime to see a demon willingly submit to a priest, out of hunger, and Alva had thought that the only food they needed was human sins. He came to pick up the damp paper, wiped it twice on his cassock to rinse off the water, and went looking for a food stall. The demon in his ragged clothes followed him respectfully at a distance. Alva had to look back several times to see that he was still there, and could not help wonder at the obedience of this pitiful creature.
The bread seller stared at him in awe - a priest in full clerical clothes including a stole, who went to buy a big, full and hot sandwich. His face only slackened after seeing the beggar strutted to his stall and received the sandwich, who immediately munched on it with fervor. All the while Alva was standing nearby, his arms crossed, the demon returned his gaze from time to time, even throwing an almost innocent smile at him. But the amusement was actually for him, Alva thought, it was like the last meal prisoner on death row might have. It was the demon who spoke first after swallowing the last bit of his sandwich.
"Were you returning from an exorcism?"
"I'm about to go to my second." Alva said.
The demon did not appear frightened or anything, he held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Herman."
Alva did not return the shake, he was flipping through his mind what demon had that name, or even if he had encountered it before. Herman seemed to read his mind.
"Don't fret over yourself, it's not my true name, but of the body in which I'm residing."
"You…"
"Quiet, my Reverend. I mean no harm, I told you. This earthly body is a nuisance, actually. I can't live without food anymore but I've got no possession, besides I have to use the restroom from time to time. How inconvenient it is, why humans can derive ways of living with this is a miracle in and of itself."
Alva let the demon finished his lengthy lament, he finally asked. "What do you want?"
"Are you trying to strike a deal?"
"No…"
He interrupted, again. "Fortunately I can't make a deal. I'm just a lowly demon, not the lord Satan, you know. Or any one higher up… down. But…" Herman made an act of straightening his lapels. "I'm here to make a deal, unfortunately to you. I mean, an oral deal between us. As I've said I can't construct out of thin air a working deal with your signs of blood or what-have-you."
Alva felt his vision shimmering before his eyes, the pause in which he tried to adjust his gaze made the demon think he was musing over the prospect, so he said quickly.
"It actually plays to your advantage, Reverend. No need to doubt me, of all my evilness I'm quite the one to keep his words."
"You're talking too loud."
"I'm sorry but I've earned a habit of talking too much from watching the people going down the street every day since the day I've been taken to the road. Mind you, I only came here by accident, without any will. And I'm honestly tired of everything, of remaining here in this worldly vessel or of returning to that hellish place to do nothing at all. Do you think boredom is evil? No? Because it makes people conscious of their being? But for me it is, or maybe I hate it because it is good, which is… evil to those like me."
Herman was rather lost in his wailing and did not notice the priest who was obviously in deep agony just before his eyes. As it happens, Herman was even looking somewhere else, and he could continue for hours if not for a kind old lady who came over to ask after the priest. She handed the ill man to the increasingly confused demon to "take him home", wherever that home was. Herman did not want to touch the sack of sacramentals so he courteously stood aside and only supported Alva by the shoulder, slowly and carefully leading him down the street. On the way he mumbled.
"I wouldn't have guess my ferryman would be such a sickly one."
On the other hand Alva seemed to disgust him with all his might that he refused the arm offered to him. When the headache and the violent heartbeat died down, he sat at the front steps of a house to gather up his mind, before asking the demon again.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Oh, to be frank, because I don't think you would hold out for another hour, I want you to exorcise me."
"What?" Alva looked up in confusion. "Like a suicide?"
"Like a murder." Herman politely corrected. "Don't worry you won't break any commandment since it is your task to get rid of things like me, right? As I've said I've been having enough…"
"Enough, enough." Alva waved his hand and stood up with difficulty, he opened the book of prayers in his hand. "If you have had the will then it will be easy."
But he spurted out a gush of blood at the first word and made the demon fluster over him again. "Evil Jove! What had happened to you?"
The priest was too weak to push the demon aside when he came to put a hand on his heart. Alva murmured something between "foul" and "blasphemous" that Herman could not hear, however he did sense something strange. He finally helped the priest sit on the front steps again, gathered the book which stung his hand unkindly to return to its owner, before he said.
"My Reverend, I think you're possessed."
"Don't be stupid, I'm very clear-headed and is obviously self-conscious enough to talk to you now."
"What have you done in the day? Losing it at a bar, a strip club or-"
Herman was bending over the priest, near enough for the thick book to land with a thump on his head. He respectfully stood one-foot aside, and asked solemnly.
"How was your section of exorcism today, my Reverend?"
Alva was struggling to tie the book to the bookstrap slinging over his shoulder, his brows furrowed in thinking over something, finally he said. "One of the most gruesome, I should say."
"And you haven't completely demolished the evil presence, my Reverend?"
"I'm afraid not, but there are cases like these, when the demon just chooses another host to mess up with."
"Then he may choose you." Herman said with such an earnest tone that made Alva consider the matter seriously in his mind. But he laughed it off.
"Don't be silly, he couldn't. I'm…"
"You may be impenetrable, my Reverend, but he left enough traces for a lowly demon like me to sense his presence in you. Maybe a good exorcism by one of your friends will help, letting it go for long will only harm your health. Besides, haven't you seen what happened when you tried to recite a prayer? Your body is rejecting you."
"Considering that you are right…" Alva tried to stand up and almost landed face first onto the street if not for the demon to hold him, who immediately drew out his arms in horror upon touching the stole.
"Sorry." For the first time Alva felt embarrassed at his weakness, he went through the heap of woods under the window of a house nearby for one that was most comfortable given his height, and turned to the demon one last time. "In that case I won't be able to carry out your request, go find another."
Then he walked away without looking back to see a devastated demon looking after him, his face carried an expression that can most closely be described as heartbreak and woe. It was not without reason that Hell rejected him, he was a demon with too much unneeded sentiments for even the lowest rank, and then he could not blend in the worldly world of the people, either. He was inexperienced, that is, although he had tried his best the last month to live as one of them, had successfully failed and had been going streets to streets for several days, depending on the kindness of the neighbourhood he went by. He had not thought a bit about suicide, until the sudden pain from the "priestly" money woke him in his somnambulism, and Herman had wanted to die, to return to nothingness, to the silence that engulfed him in his sleep for a while and better for ever. He did not dream of heaven because it was a costly thing for a demon, but he only wanted that state of nothingness before everything was born, before God laid his hand on the curtains to draw it aside to let in the light.
And he thought the priestly flight was the most loneliest people too, ones who had willingly placed themselves outside society for their presumed greater good, for a salvation. He did not realise how much humane he had become in seeking a salvation under such a hand - just like a laity, even more than a laity - he had become almost like a devout.
He wanted to run to Alva's side when he collapsed at the church gate, but had to return half way at the sight of only more priests to run from the inside, who helped the ill man safely back into the cloister of holiness.