CHAPTER 34: CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

The exorcist’s authority had been challenged. His eyes, which had been performing a grand show of spiritual torment, now narrowed with a flicker of genuine, worldly anger. He was the master of this room, the conductor of its fear, and this woman’s quiet defiance was an intolerable interruption.

"Guards!" he called, his voice a sharp, commanding bark. "This demon spawn is resisting the will of the heavens! Make her kneel!"

The two household guards who had been standing grimly by the door moved forward. They were large, simple men, their faces etched with a mixture of fear and duty. They did not want to touch the Grand Duchess, but an order given in the presence of the Dowager was absolute.

Beatrice, seeing them advance on Marissa, took a half-step forward. "Sir, perhaps..."

"It is all for the young master’s sake, Your Grace," the exorcist cut her off smoothly, his voice once again taking on its holy, authoritative tone. "Her pride must be broken for the child to be free. Be patient with me."

Beatrice flinched as if struck. The mention of Ryan’s safety was a key that turned the lock on her objections. She nodded weakly, her hand trembling as she clutched her amulet. She was the Dowager Duchess, the most powerful woman in the house, yet in the face of this spiritual crisis, she felt utterly helpless.

The guards reached Marissa. One took her left arm, the other her right. She did not struggle physically, knowing it was useless, but she held herself with a rigid, unbreakable dignity as they forced her to her knees on the cold, hard floor.

With his subject now properly humbled, the exorcist resumed his dramatic performance. He began another, louder chant, his voice rising and falling in a hypnotic rhythm. He spun in a slow circle, shaking his brass bell, its frantic ringing filling the silent, terrified room. He stopped before Marissa, his body convulsing as if seized by an invisible force. He let out another choked, feigned retch, and a fresh spray of blood arced from his mouth.

This time, he did not let it fall to the floor. He threw it, a deliberate, disgusting act of desecration, directly onto Marissa’s face.

The warm, coppery-smelling liquid spattered across her cheek and forehead. It trickled down her skin, a vile mockery of tears. She did not cry out. She did not flinch. She simply knelt there, her head held high, and glared at him. The look in her eyes was not one of a defeated woman; it was one of cold, murderous anger which seems to say " I will kill you."

"This woman must not stay in this house any longer!" the exorcist boomed, pointing a trembling, blood-stained finger at her. "Her evil is a magnet for disaster! If she remains, the Thompson family will suffer divine punishment! Misfortune upon misfortune will be afflicted upon all of you and there won’t be a way out!"

The pronouncement, so final and terrible, was the last straw for Beatrice. "Let her go," she commanded the guards, her voice a strained whisper. They released Marissa’s arms instantly and retreated to the doorway.

Marissa remained on her knees for a moment longer, a silent, powerful indictment of the injustice she had just suffered. Then, with a slow, deliberate grace, she looked at Beatrice. She did not bother with a handkerchief. She simply used the back of her own hand to wipe the disgusting mixture of blood and spittle from her face.

"Grandmother," she said, her voice quiet but ringing with a strength that captured the attention of everyone in the room.

"Since the day I married into the Thompson family, I have never once violated a family duty or broken a single family rule." She looked from Beatrice to the other family members , Carlos and Ashlyn, who had gathered in the doorway, drawn by the commotion. "Yet, in my own home, I face such harassment, such humiliation." Her gaze, sharp as a shard of ice, finally settled on Beatrice. "Will you truly believe these baseless accusations over the word of your own granddaughter-in-law?"

Beatrice faltered. The sight of Marissa, so poised and logical even after being so horribly mistreated, warred with the exorcist’s terrifying pronouncements. She was torn between her deep-seated superstition and her growing respect for this strong, unshakeable young woman.

Seeing the Dowager’s hesitation, Lorena acted. She fell to her knees beside Beatrice, her hands clutching at the hem of the old woman’s silk robe. "Dowager, please!" she sobbed, her voice thick with a desperate, convincing grief. "Please, look at Ryan! He is so small, so weak! I know Her Grace feels wronged, but would you dare risk the life of the young master? Would you risk the fate of the entire household on the chance that this holy man is wrong?"

It was a masterful, cruel stroke, reframing Marissa’s plea for justice as a selfish act that endangered the child.

Just then, the chamber door was pushed open with such force that it slammed against the wall. Derek strode in, his face a thundercloud of controlled rage.

"What utter nonsense is this?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the thick, cloying atmosphere of fear and superstition.

He took in the scene at a glance: the exorcist, the weeping Lorena, his terrified grandmother, Ryan lying still and pale in the bed, and Marissa, standing alone, her face stained with blood, her expression one of wounded, furious pride.

Without a word to anyone else, he walked directly to where Marissa stood. He shrugged off his heavy, formal coat and, in a gesture of profound, public protection, wrapped it around her shoulders. The coat was warm, smelling of leather and the cool night air, a solid, comforting weight against her trembling body. He then took a clean, white handkerchief from his pocket and, with a touch that was surprisingly gentle, began to wipe the last traces of blood from her face.

When he was done, he offered her his hand and helped her rise from her knees, restoring the dignity that had been so violently stripped from her. She looked at him, her eyes wide with a surprise she couldn’t conceal, before quickly averting her gaze, her focus returning to the still form of the boy in the bed.

Derek turned, his eyes like chips of flint as he glared at the exorcist, then at his grandmother. "Grandmother," he said, his voice low but vibrating with anger. "All of this is baseless superstition. How can you allow them to turn this household into a cheap, theatrical sideshow?"

Lorena, seeing the tide turning against her, immediately began to cry again, her words a new, subtle poison. "Your Grace, at first, I thought it was just that I was ignorant and had somehow angered the Grand Duchess," she wailed, twisting the truth of the previous day’s events. "But Ryan... Ryan is still just a child! Please, Your Grace, have mercy on him and spare him from this... this evil influence!"

Marissa spun around, her eyes blazing. "What you are saying, Lorena, sounds very much like you are accusing me of intentionally harming Ryan."

"No! I’m sorry, Your Grace, I apologize!" Lorena cried, immediately playing the victim. "I know my mistake. I spoke out of turn. I am just a foolish woman, terrified for the child I have raised. Please, please, spare my child. Please Your Grace, I beg of you!"

Marissa stared at her, her fists clenching at her sides. It was like fighting a ghost made of smoke. "Then what do you propose I do, Lorena?" she asked, her voice dangerously calm. "To prove my innocence and save this child you claim I am harming?"

All eyes turned to Beatrice. She was trapped. Her fear for Ryan was real, but Derek’s anger was a force to be reckoned with. She needed a solution, a compromise that would appease the spirits without further angering her formidable grandson. After a long, agonizing silence, she made her decision.

"Marissa," she said, her voice heavy with a weary authority. "Though Ryan is not your biological son, he calls you ’Mother’. You have shown him affection and so has he." She took a deep breath. "Will you... will you hold a prayer vigil for him? At the old family temple, on the outskirts of the city. To appease the ancestors and to pray for his safety."

She looked away, unable to meet Marissa’s eyes. "And to... to show the ancestors your pure heart."

That will take weeks for her to get there couple with endless prayers and offering numerous incense to a god or ancestor that she wasn’t sure if they live. Depending on what Lorena’s plan is, her stay might be months or even years kneeling and praying. She might never return to the Thompson’s family and her plans for a better future will be ruin before it even began.

In all, it was not an execution. It was a polite, but clear, banishment.