"Does that bother you?"
"Mildly."
"But the devil likes liars."
"Only good ones, dear Karras, only good ones," it chuckled. "Moreover, who said I'm the devil?"
"Didn't you?"
"Oh, I might have. I might. I'm not well. You believed me?"
"Of course."
"My apologies."
"Are you saying that you aren't the devil?"
"Just a poor struggling demon. A devil. A subtle distinction, but one not entirely lost upon Our Father who is in Hell. Incidentally, you won't retention my slip of the tongue to him, Kartas, now will you? Eh? When you see him?"
"See him? Is he here?" asked the priest.
"In the pig? Not at all. Just a poor little family of wandering souls, my friend. Yon don't blame us for being here, do you? After all, we have no place to go. No home."
"And how long are you planning to stay?"
The head jerked up from the pillow, contorted is rage as it roared, "Until the piglet dies!" And then as suddenly, Regan settled back into a thick-lipped, drooling grin. "Incidentally, what an excellent day for an exorcism, Karras."
The books! She must have read that in the book!
The sardonic eyes were staring piercingly. "Do begin it soon. Very soon."
Inconsistent. Something off here. "You would like that?"
"Intensely."
"But wouldn't that drive you out of Regan?"
The demon put its head back, cackling maniacally, then broke off. "It would bring us together."
'You and Regan?"
"You and us, my good friend," croaked the demon. "You and us." And from deep in that throat, muffled laughter.
Karras stared. At the back of his neck, he felt hands. Icy cold. Lightly touching. And then gone.
Caused by fear, he concluded. Fear.
Fear of what?
"Yes, you'll join our little family, Karras. You see, the trouble with signs in the sky, my dear morsel, is that once having seen them, one has no excuse. Have you noticed how few miracles one hears about lately? Not our fault, Karras.Don't blame us. We try!"
Karras jerked around his head at a loud, sudden banging. A bureau drawer had popped open, sliding out its entire length. He felt a quick-rising thrill as he watched it abruptly bang shut.
There it is! And then as suddenly, the emotion dropped away like a rotted chunk of bark from a tree: Psychokinesis. Karras heard chuckling. He glanced back to Regan.
"How pleasant to chat with you, Karras," said the demon, grinning. "I feel free. Like a wanton.
I spread my great wings. In fact, even my telling you this will serve only to increase your damnation, my doctor, my dear and inglorious physician."
"You did that? You made the dresser drawer move just now?"
The demon wasn't listening. It had glanced toward the door, toward the sound of someone rapidly approaching down the hall, and now its features turned to those of the other personality.
"Damned butchering bastard!" it shrieked in the hoarse, British-accented voice. "Cunting Hun!"
Through the door came Karl, moving swiftly with the tape recorder, setting it down by the bed, eyes averted, and then quickly retreating from the room.
"Out, Himmler! Out of my sight! Go and visit your club-footed daughter! Bring her sauerkraut!
Sauerkraut and heroin, Thorndike! She will love it! She will---"
Gone. Karl was gone. And now abruptly the thing within Regan was cordial, watching Karras as the priest quickly set up the tape recorder; looked for an outlet; plugged it in; threaded tape.
"Oh, yes, hullo hullo hullo. What's up?" it said happily. "Are we going to record something, Padre? How fun! Oh, I do love to playact, you know! Oh, immensely!"
"I'm Damien Karras," said the priest as he worked. "And who are you?"
"Are you asking for my credits now, ducks? Damned cheeky of you, wouldn't you say?" It giggled. "I was Puck in the junior class play." It glanced around. "Where's a drink, incidentally? I'm parched."
