I took a big swig of sacramental wine, and practically choked on its harsh flavor. I had never drank before, but I think it would be okay. I had no idea how old I was at this point, but I figured after all the time I spent in the dark and all the bodies I had jumped through I was probably in my early twenties. If we were going based purely on memories in my head, I was probably closer to fifty. The body I was in right now, currently, was twenty-seven. If I averaged all those numbers together I believe I was past the drinking age, so this definitely wasn't the wrong thing to do, right? All things considered taking a few slurps of wine seemed an appropriate course of action.

"Shit!"

I spilled all over my big white robes. That's gonna be a bitch and a half to wash out. I took another sip, and needed something to take the flavor out of my mouth, so I started eating the communion wafers.

"Father Marcus, what in heaven's name are you doing?"

I was so busy I didn't hear Deacon Fitzgerald walk into my office.

"Nothing, I'm just preparing for my sermon."

"You're consuming the body and blood of Christ!"

"Now, that's not true. These haven't been blessed yet. Right now it's just wine and crackers."

"Oh, I suppose you're right, but do you really think you should be drinking before your sermon?"

Absolutely.

I had never in my life given a speech to a group of people before, and now I was not only going to be speaking in front of a whole church, but I was going to be preaching!

When I first got home in Father Marcus' body, and I saw he was a priest, I considered bailing. Quitting my job, moving away, doing anything, but then I realized that being an adult is hard. Getting a new job, or a new place to live, takes time and doesn't always work out. I could be one mistake away from being homeless if I didn't go to my job and pay my bills on time.

Then there was the prospect of Carl. I wasn't sure I believed in the whole "being hunted" thing, but if Carl was out there looking for me then I figured the best thing I could possibly do was blend in. Afterall, Carl had no idea that I was Marcus until I spelled it out for him. If I wanted to stay safe, I had to blend into my new life and remain hidden. A prospect that seemed more difficult than ever.

I walked over to my desk and sat down, and started looking over my notes.

"Are you okay, Father Marcus? You seem nervous? More nervous than usual I mean." Deacon Fitzgerald asked.

"Why do you think I'm having a few drinks? A bit of advice, Deacon, never give a sermon without taking a shot first. Heck, take two. It'll loosen you up and the word of the Lord will flow more freely."

"I guess I can see the appeal."

It wasn't just getting up and giving a sermon that was filling me with anxiety. Public speaking was obviously intimidating, especially under these circumstances, but it was the topic of the sermon that had me filled with dread.

Demons.

For the better part of two months now, every Sunday at 11:00, Father Marcus had preached to his congregation about the dangers of demons. According to him, all the problems in their lives were the products of demons from Hell infiltrating the hearts and minds of the masses. Politicians not passing laws you like? Corrupted by a demon. Didn't get the promotion at work? Definitely a demon. Your children are spending too much time on their phones? Call an exorcist, you've got a demon.

Father Marcus had spoken intimately with family members, married couples, and even troubled youths about the problems they were facing, and his response was always the same.

"Repent! You've let a demon in and you need to drive them out."

After months of preaching like that, the congregation was starting to believe him. They were seeing demons everywhere they went.

The truth of the matter was that Father Marcus was lazy and probably a bit insane. He discovered early on that keeping people interested in being "good" was a losing battle, and that it was easier to control people who were afraid. Demons became his solution, his go-to answer to every person who was having a crisis of faith. How can you doubt the Lord? Are you consorting with demons?

"Father Marcus, I think they're ready for you to deliver the sermon now."

"Great, I'll be right out."

Now I had a terrible choice to make. I could go out there and rile these poor people up, and tell them that demons are hiding around every corner.

Or!

I could go out there and tell the truth.

One of those options would keep me safe and hidden, but would be objectively evil. The other option might help a lot of people move past their dogma, but could potentially expose me. I really was at a loss as to what to do.

I walked into the center of the church, pews surrounding me in every direction, and at least a hundred people watching patiently. I stood silently for a couple of moments, scared out of my wits, and then I started preaching.

"There's something very important that I'd like to talk to you all about today." I spoke too quietly at first, and had to repeat myself. "Something very important—"

"Demons!" A man from the furthest back pew shouted at me, and was met with numerous replies of "Amen!" and "Hallelujah!" Maybe they sensed that something was off with me. From my memories, I could tell that Father Marcus was a fiery speaker, and I was being much more timid than that.

"Demons! Right, that's exactly what I wanted to talk about." I clapped my hands together, thrust my hands towards the audience. "They don't exist."

The congregation was completely silent, heads turning back and forth, looking to their neighbor's for answers.

"You mean they have the power to turn invisible?" The man in the back shouted out again.

"Do you always interrupt like this? Do you wanna get up here and preach?" The man slumped down in his pew and shut up.

"What I am trying to tell you," I said, "is that I have deceived you. If anybody here is a demon, then surely it is me."

That got a pretty big gasp. Good, because it was the truth. I tried to think about where I was gonna take this sermon, but all I could think about was my Mom and how she just wanted everybody to be nice to each other.

"I know that a lot of you are afraid. The world's changing faster than ever, and half of you don't know which way is up anymore. You don't know how your faith fits into the ever changing landscape of reality. Let me make it very clear for you. There is only one thing in this life that you need to be concerned with: kindness. If you think your kids are spending too much time on their phones, then talk to them about it. Or maybe go for a bike ride with them or take them to see a baseball game. Be nice to them and help them grow and change into the people you want to see. That's the only way to make the world a better place. You think God cares about Demons? If God is real, and he's watching you, then the only thing he gives a shit about is how you treat other people."

The congregation was all murmuring amongst themselves now. They had not come to church to get a lecture, they had come here to hear about how the Devil was taking over the world using his army of demons.

"Well how come I get so angry?" A voice cried from the pews.

"Because you've got anger issues. Go to anger management classes or hire a therapist."

"Why do I get jealous of my pregnant sister?" A woman shouted from the front row.

"Everybody gets jealous. You know a good place to get over that? Therapy."

"You said therapy was a place where the devil would turn you away from God!" The man in the back pew decided to shout again for the third and hopefully final time.

"You can pretend these problems are out of your hands, but they're not. God gave you the power to handle your own issues. Don't blame them on demons. You might as well blame them on the boogeyman. For the final time: Demons do not exist!" No sooner had the words left my mouth then all the lights in the church flickered and then shut off. The congregation audibly gasped and started whispering about how angry the demons were that I had denied their existence.

For a second, I thought maybe they were right. Was Father Marcus right to fear Demons? Did he know something I didn't? I searched his memories and found my answer.

"That was a coincidence. Now would be a good time to tell you I'm behind on the electric bill. I spent all your donations on a brand new BMW."

"I speak for everybody here," the man in the back pew spoke up again, "when I say that you've been possessed by a demon! Come on everybody, let's get out of here before the demons take us over as well!"

"Go right ahead, Mass is over for the day anyway!"

The congregation started boo-ing me as they walked away, but that was okay. I think I made a few good points there, and if anything this church should probably have been shut down ages ago.

Deacon Fitzgerald approached me and said, "What a sermon, Father, I mean, really!"

I couldn't tell if he was being really sarcastic or not.

"I couldn't handle bullshitting them anymore, you're welcome to leave with them if you want."

"Leave? Why would I do that? That was the best sermon I'd ever heard!"

"I doubt there was much competition," I said, "now if you don't mind, I think I'll go drink some more wine."

"Wait," Deacon Fitzgerald said, "aren't you going to go hear confessions?"

"Aren't I going to? Oh, right." The Deacon was right. Every Sunday after mass Father Marcus sat in the confession booth and listened to his follower's sins. I thought about skipping it since pretty much my entire congregation had walked out on me, but I had hoped that there might be a few like Fizgerald in the audience who found the sermon refreshing in comparison to all the talk of demons.

I sat in the confession booth for approximately fifteen minutes without anybody coming in. I was about ready to bail when I heard the doors open, and saw a silhouette sit down on the other side of the screen that separated us.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned." The voice sounded rough and scratchy, but familiar.

"What are your sins, son, confess and all will be forgiven."

"I confess that I'm here for you, Father, that I've been looking for you."

Shit. You have got to be kidding me. Carl had found me again. He sounded older, and worse for wear, but I recognized him, even through the black screen.

"Found me again, have you?"

What was it that Laura recommended? Running? That seemed like the best option at the moment, but as I braced myself to burst out through the confessional doors I heard metal press against the screen.

"Don't even think about running, you'll just make this messy."

Damn, I was trapped. At this rate all I could do was stall.

"Aren't you going to confess? I bet you've got a lot on your mind."

"There is something I'd like to get off my chest," Carl said, taking a deep breath, "I hate what you've done to me."

Okay, that was fricking rude. Coming into my church, pulling a gun on me, and saying that?

"You hate me? Buddy, you're the one who murdered me!"

"You're not blameless yourself. What happens to the people you take over? Where do they go?"

"Hell if I know."

"In a way, you could say that you're a worse murderer than I am. I've only killed you, Vince, but you've killed at least four people."

Holy shit. I had never thought about it like that. Every time I came back I always thought of it as me living, not them dying.

"You're one to talk, you're holding a gun to me right now."

"That's the other thing I wanted to talk about. How come I know where you are?"

"What do you mean?"

"I can't explain it, but even with this screen between us I can tell you're sitting on the other side. When I was outside the church just now I could practically smell you, like I was drawn to you. I knew you'd be here. Why is that?"

"Oh, the splinter."

"The what?"

"Splinter."

"If you don't start making sense I will splatter your brains all over the inside of this confessional."

"You killed me too many times you idiot, and I think a piece of me got stuck in you. Shouldn't have been such a murdering lunatic."

"It hurts, Vince, like there's a pain in my soul I can't snuff out. When I close my eyes I can still see you dancing in front of the tv."

"That blows, but it could be worse, you could be dead. Like I was. Many times over now."

"I'm being serious, Vince. I need to make it stop and I've made up my mind. I am going to kill you as many times as it takes to stop the pain. I am begging this time, please don't come back."

A muffled bang rattled my ear drums, and a small hole was in the screen, but the bullet had zipped right past me. I thought about staying quiet, playing dead, but I knew I wasn't walking out of here alive. I didn't want to give Carl the satisfaction.

"You missed, you dumb piece of shit!"

His second shot found its mark, right between my eyes, and I was transported to the Dark Place. I didn't waste a second, and leapt into the nearest blue flame I could find.

"Excuse me, this isn't the coffee I ordered."

I was staring at a man in a business suit, and when I looked down I was wearing a green apron.

"Did you hear me," the man in the suit asked, "you messed up my order."

There was no time to examine the body I was in, there was no time for anything. I grabbed the coffee the man was waving in my face and I chucked it against the wall.

"Hey! What the hell!"

"I quit!" I yelled in his face, and started walking out the door. I had to get a move on, there was no telling how quickly Carl would find me again. If he wanted to play a game of cat and mouse, fine, but I sure as hell wasn't going to make it easy for him. I didn't care how many times he tried to kill me, I would come back every time even more obnoxious than before.

"You hear me, Fat Ass," I yelled to the sky, "do your worst!"

I started walking, not knowing where I was going. I needed distance. Maybe I would go to a big city. Somewhere there were lots of people to jump into. I couldn't kill Carl, but I could make his life hell in other ways. I could torment him, I could taunt him, and hopefully each time I died that pain in his soul would get worse. He picked the wrong guy to fuck around with. I decided then and there that I was going to come out on top of this battle of life and death. That I wasn't going to lose.