The Accidental Exorcist (6 page)

It would take a good deal of time and
therapy for Cheryl to heal from the trauma. But Abby knew
everything would work out.

She had faith.

FROM THE DESK OF JOSHUA
GRAHAM

Dear Reader,

I’d like to take this opportunity
to thank you for reading THE ACCIDENTAL EXORCIST.  It means so
much to me.

Did you know that
you
 
as the
reader are the
 
reason we writers write?  Sure, we write to make a
living, but most of all we write to entertain
and
 
take you
places you might not otherwise go in “real” life.

As
writers,
 
we
owe such a great deal of our success to you, for it there were no
readers, there would be no way for a writer’s career to
succeed.  Yes, I am stating the fairly obvious, but what you
may not know is that you hold the power to turn your favorite
authors into bestsellers.  That’s right,
you.

How, you may ask?

It’s a simple thing you do all the
time without even thinking about it.  It’s called “word of
mouth.” 

If you have enjoyed any of my
work, please recommend my books and stories to your friends. 
One day, you can say with pride that you helped me become a
bestselling writer!  Wouldn’t that be fantastic?

Here are some other ways you
can
 
support
 
your
 
favorite authors:

1. Send a note with your
feedback!  You can reach me at:
 
www.facebook.com/j0shuaGraham

2. Leave a glowing review
wherever you can
.

3.
 
Keep reading!  The
more
 
of
 
an
author’s work
 
you read, the more it encourages him/her to continue
writing.

Thanks, and I look forward to
“seeing” you in my next story or book.

Best wishes,

Joshua Graham

PS: Be sure to check out my
debut novel BEYOND JUSTICE,
 
available
at
 
all major
online retailers. Please enjoy the sample chapter immediately
following this letter.

EXCERPT from the #1 bestselling
Legal Thriller and winner of the 2011 International Book
Awards

BEYOND JUSTICE, by Joshua
Graham

PART I

The descent into Hell is not
always vertical.

—
Bishop Frank Morgan

Chapter One

The question most people ask when they first
meet me is: How does an attorney from a reputable law firm in La
Jolla end up on death row? When they hear my story, it becomes
clear that the greater question is not how, but why.

I have found it difficult at times to forgive
myself for what happened. But a significant part of the answer
involves forgiveness, something I never truly understood until I
could see in hindsight.

Orpheus went through hell and back to rescue
his wife Euridice from death in the underworld. Through his music,
he moved the hearts of Hades and Persephone and they agreed to
allow Euridice to return with him to Earth on one condition: He
must walk before her and not look back until they reached the upper
world. On seeing the Sun, Orpheus turned to share his delight with
Euridice, and she disappeared. He had broken his promise and she
was gone forever. This failure and guilt was a hell far worse than
the original.

My own personal hell began one night almost
four years ago. Like images carved into flesh, the memories of that
night would forever be etched into my mind. The work day had been
tense enough—my position at the firm was in jeopardy because of the
inexplicable appearance of lewd internet images in my folder on the
main file server.

Later that night, as I
scrambled to get out the door on time for a critical meeting with a
high profile client, my son Aaron began throwing a screaming fit.
Hell hath no fury like a boy who has lost his Thomas Train toy. In
my own frenzied state, I lost my temper with him. Amazing how much
guilt a four-year-old can pile on you with puppy-dog eyes while
clinging to his mother's legs. His sister Bethie, in all her
seventh grade sagacity, proclaimed that I had issues,
then marched up to her room, slammed the door and
took out her frustration with me by tearing though a Paganini
Caprice on her violin. All this apocalypse just minutes before
leaving for my meeting, which was to be held over a posh dinner at
George's At The Cove, which I would consequently have no stomach
for.

I couldn't wait to get home. The clock's amber
LED read 11:28 when I pulled my Lexus into the cul-de-sac. Pale
beams from a pregnant moon cut through the palm trees that lined
our street. The October breeze rushed into the open window and
through my hair, a cool comfort after a miserable
evening.

If I was lucky, Jenn would be up and at the
computer, working on her latest novel. She'd shooed me out the door
lest I ran late for the meeting, before I could make any more of a
domestic mess for her to clean up.

The garage door came down. I walked over to
the security system control box and found it unarmed. On more than
one occasion, I had asked Jenn to arm it whenever I was out. She
agreed, but complained that the instructions were too complicated.
It came with a pretty lame manual, I had to admit.

The system beeped as I entered the house,
greeted by the sweet scent of Lilac—her favorite candles for those
special occasions. So much more than I deserved, but that was my
Jenn. Never judging, never condemning, she understood how much
stress I'd been under and always prescribed the best remedy for
such situations.

From the foot of the stairs I saw dimmed light
leaking out of the bedroom. It wasn't even date night, but I had a
pretty good idea what she was thinking. So before going up, I
stopped by the kitchen, filled a pair of glasses with Merlot and
set out a little box of chocolates on a breakfast tray—my secret
weapon.

As I climbed the stairs I
smiled. The closer I got, the more I could smell the fragrant
candles. From the crack in the door classical music flowed
out:
Pie Jesu
from Faure's
Requiem.
Must've been writing a love scene. She always
used my classical CDs to set her in the right
mood.

A beam of amber light reached through the
crack in the doorway into the hallway. The alarm system beeped. She
must have shut a window. It had just started to rain and Jenn hated
when the curtains got wet.

Kathleen Battle's angelic voice
soared.

Pie Jesu
Domine
,
Dona eis requiem
,
Requiem sempiternam.

Jenn didn't know a word of Latin. She just
liked the pretty tunes.

I nudged the door open with my
foot.

"Honey?" Caught a glimpse of a silky leg on
the bed. Oh, yes. I pushed the door open.

Shock ignited every nerve ending in my body
like napalm. The tray fell from my hands. Crashed to the ground.
Glasses shattered and the red wine bled darkly onto the
carpet.

Jenn lay partially naked,
face-down, the sheets around her soaked crimson.
 
Stab wounds scored her entire body.
Blood. Blood everywhere!

"Jenn!"

I ran to her, turned her over.

She gasped, trying to speak. Coughed. Red
spittle dripped from the corner of her mouth. "The
kids..."

I took her into my arms. But her eyes begged
me to go check on them.

"You hang on, honey. With all you've got, hang
on!" I reached for my cell phone but it fell out of my belt clip
and bounced under the bed.

On my knees now, I groped wildly until I found
the cell phone. Dialed 9-1-1. Barely remembered what I said, but
they were sending someone right away.

Jenn groaned. Her breaths grew shorter and
shorter.

"Bethie... Aaron."

Her eyes rolled back.

"I'm going. Hang on, baby. Please! You gotta
hang on!" I started for the door. Felt her hand squeeze mine twice:
Love-you.

No.

Tears streamed down my face. As I began to
pull away, she gripped my hand urgently. For that split second, I
knew. This was the end. I stumbled back to her. Gathered her
ragdoll body in to my arms.

"Jenn, oh God, Jenn. Please don't!"

"Whatever it takes," she said. Again, she
squeezed my hand twice. "Mercy, not...sacrifice.” One last gasp.
She sighed and then fell limp in my arms, her eyes still
open.

Holding her tight to my chest, I let out an
anguished cry.

All time stopped. Who would
do this? Why? Her blood stained my shirt. Her dying words resonated
in my mind. Then I remembered.
The
kids
. I bolted up and ran straight to
Bethie's room.

Bethie's door was ajar. If my horror hadn't
been complete, it was now. I found her exactly like Jenn—face down,
blood and gashes covering her body.

Though I tried to cry out, nothing escaped the
vice-grip on my throat. When I turned her over, I felt her arm.
Still warm, but only slightly. Her eyes were shut, her face wet
with blood.

"Bethie! Oh, sweetie, no!" I whispered, as I
wrapped the blanket around her.

I kissed her head. Held her hand. Rocked her
back and forth. "Come on, baby girl. Help's on its way, you hold
on," I said, voice and hands trembling. She lay there unconscious
but breathing.

Aaron.

Gently, I lay Bethie back down then got up and
flew across the hall. To Aaron's door. His night light was still on
and I saw his outline in the bed.

Oh God, please.

I flipped the switch.

Nothing.

I dashed over to the lamp on his nightstand,
nearly slipping on one of his Thomas Train toys on the carpet.
Broken glass crackled under my shoes.

I switched on the lamp on his nightstand. When
I looked down to his bed, my legs nearly gave out. Aaron was still
under his covers, but blood drenched his pillow. His aluminum
baseball bat lay on the floor, dented and bloodied.

Dropping to my knees, I called his name. Over
and over, I called, but he didn't stir. This can't be happening.
It's got to be a nightmare. I put my face down into Aaron's blue
Thomas Train blanket and gently rested my ear on his
chest.

I felt movement under the blanket. Breathing.
But slowly—irregular and shallow.

Don't move his body. Dammit, where are the
paramedics?

I heard something from Bethie's room and
dashed out the door. Stopping in the middle of the hallway, I
clutched the handrail over the stairs. Thought I heard Aaron crying
now. Or maybe it was the wind.

My eyes darted from one side of the hallway to
the other. Which room?

Faure's Requiem continued to
play, now the
In
Paradisum
 movement.

Aeternam habeas
requiem.

Something out in front of the house caught my
attention. The police, the paramedics! Propelled by adrenaline, I
crashed through the front door and ran out into the middle my lawn
which was slick with rain. I slipped and fell on my
side.

Nobody. Where were they!

Like a madman, I began screaming at the top of
my lungs. My words echoed emptily into the night.

"Help! Somebody, please!"

A dog started barking.

"Please, ANYBODY! HELP!"

Lights flickered on in the surrounding
houses.

Eyes peeked through miniblinds.

No one came out.

I don't know if I was
intelligible at this point. I was just
screaming,
collapsed onto the
ground, on my hands and knees getting drenched in the oily
rain.

Just as the crimson beacons of an ambulance
flashed around the corner, I buried my face into the grass. All
sound, light, and consciousness imploded into my mind as if it were
a black hole.

Chapter Two

It's never been clear to me when my neighbor,
Pastor Dave Pendelton scraped me off the lawn and brought me back
into my house. Outside, neighbors all gawking through the blinds in
their windows, not one of them had come out.