This date commemorates a seventh-century victory where a Christian emperor regained relics of the cross Jesus died on from a Persian ruler who had stolen them. To ready ourselves, Joe and I both purified our bodies and spirits with our usual, pre-exorcism black fast. On the day of the exorcism, we visited our respective churches, confessed our sins, and received Holy Communion, so we’d be in a state of grace. The exorcism began on a Friday morning. Phil, Antonio, and Scott volunteered to assist, while Rose sat in the back of Our Lady of the Rosary Chapel and supported us with her prayers. I spent the first fifteen minutes of the ritual puking my guts out. I had knelt in front of Michael to check his leg restraints, and when I did, I got a whiff of an incredibly foul odor, one of the signs of possession listed in the Roman Ritual. I won’t be melodramatic and say it was worse than rotting flesh—a stench I’ve had the misfortune to encounter more than once on the Job—but it was close.
