THE ACCIDENTAL EXORCIST

THE ACCIDENTAL EXORCIST Part 1

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THE ACCIDENTAL EXORCIST 

Joshua Graham

I HAD TO DO IT. They were my babies. Killing them was the only way to save them.

Throughout her career as a forensic psychiatrist for the state of California, Abigail Lee had heard  such words more times than she cared for. Usually, they came from suspects going for a NGRI (not guilty by reason of insanity) but were, in fact, groping for a Hail Mary. 

On the rare occasion, she'd find the suspect criminally insane. Unless it was so painfully obvious that San Diego District Attorney Thomas Walden would suddenly find Abby's services unnecessary. Such were the breaks-she'd still get paid at her standard rate of three hundred dollars per hour. But would NOT be asked to testify in court. 

Before her, in the tightly monitored visitation room in Salton Sea Women's Penitentiary, sat Cheryl Morgan. The Cheryl Morgan who had killed all three of her children by suffocating them with Mylar bags. Her trial was set for next month, but it didn't seem like she would survive it. 

"Cheryl, you need to talk with me. If there's any chance you might be found-" 

"Guilty! I did it. I killed them. How else should I be found?" From beneath the mussed strands of auburn hair, Cheryl's eyes-dark as ink-burned with hatred. Had she been properly groomed and dressed, you could have mistaken her for a Hollywood starlet, not the psychotic housewife and mother of three-who in cold blood murdered her own kids. 

"This isn't helping you." 

Cheryl's entire demeanor morphed suddenly, like one of those CGI special effects when a person transforms into a werewolf, or a zombie. A menacing smile faded into view, baring cruel canines. Her eyebrows sharpened, her gaze jagged. "And you're here...to help?" 

As though on the spindly legs of a tarantula, a chill crawled up Abby's spine. She'd seen just about every variety of psychotic over the past seven years, but something about Cheryl Morgan made her particularly uneasy. Post-partum psychosis-even with those resulting in infant fatalities never looked quite like this. 

"Cheryl..." 

"You have no idea what you're stepping into, my dear." Her feral eyes gazed straight into Abby's and for a moment arrested her breathing. A sense of dread coursed through her blood like Freon. 

Abby pushed back slightly on her chair, as if the extra inch of distance could protect her. "I'm only interested in knowing the truth." 

A snort, mixed with what sounded like a growl. Cheryl's voice deepened into a hollow, bottomless chasm of damnation. It was when she began to laugh maniacally that Abby knew something was different about her. Something that transcended schizophrenia and psychopathy. Cheryl smiled. But despite her chains it only made Abby more anxious. "Just what do you know of truth, sweetie?" 

"Something's not right. I know there's more beneath-" 

"More, yes. Legions more." 

At that very moment, Abby feared for her life. She envisioned Cheryl breaking her own chains with her bare hands and leaping onto her, and tearing her limbs from her body as a boy might pluck the legs off of a beetle. She stood abruptly.