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Vivian orders the demon to come out.
Again, Max shakes his head. "I feel confused," he says.
"Who am I talking to? Who's in there?"
"Me," Max says. "And I'm 4 years old."
"What do you want to tell me?"
"I'm 4. I see my dad kissing a woman. She's not my mother."
"All right — right now I'm your father. You talk to me like I'm your father. Why were you spying on me?"
"I wasn't. I just saw it and I felt bad."
"You felt bad? Why, it was none of your business."
"Because it hurt me and my mother."
"I don't care. I don't love you."
"I was wrong, and it hurt us."
Vivian nods. "I'm proud of you, son. I shouldn't have done that and I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"
"Yes."
"Thank you. I love you, son."
"I love you, too."
"Can I hug you?"
"Yes."
Vivian holds him for less than a minute, but it seems longer. Max keeps his eyes closed all the way through it.
"That was good work, but there's still something in there," Vivian says when the two finally break. "I'm going to go over your history more, and I'll call you. When you're ready, we can work some more. Just know that this can take a long time, but if you keep working with me, we'll get it out."
"I'm just tired," Max says. "I want to go to sleep."
"That's good. It means we're getting something done. You're going to have the best night's rest tonight you've had in a long time."
It's been 90 minutes since Max parked in front of the house. Vivian walks him to the door. He tells Max that he's meant to be a preacher someday.
Vivian watches Max walk to his car. Once he's satisfied that Max is safe, he goes back to the living room and starts thinking about what to eat for dinner.
A few weeks later, Vivian hasn't heard back from Max. His other former case, Katrina, is doing much better, though.
She has her daughter, Cheyenne, back from the foster family. The first week of April, they moved into an apartment for renters who qualify for low-income housing. Katrina works part time as a secretary, and so far she hasn't had a recurrence of the problems that led her to Vivian. She says she can remember only bits and pieces of what it was like.
"I remember punching myself in the eye, I remember biting myself, but the rest isn't very clear," she says. "Nobody drives in front of my house anymore."
Every morning she starts the day with a series of curse-breaking routines Vivian taught her. Then she takes her daughter to school and goes to her own job. They lead a quiet life.
"I do still take the bipolar meds," she says. The Division of Social Services takes blood samples to make sure she stays on them. "I really don't need them anymore. The problems I had, Brother Vivian solved. Who Jesus makes free is free indeed."
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