The worst thing about being in a hospital is the lack of privacy. I could take the prodding, the testing and even the touching. But I hated that I could not have a moment alone to process my thoughts.
The constant check-ups lasted for three days. I did not see Sister Agatha for the period. The only thing she said to me after our encounter was that she was going back to her church for a vigil at her convent.
During that period, I was stuck in a cycle of questioning my sanity as I tried to smile politely at the doctors and answer their questions. I knew they were just doing their jobs, so I could only cooperate and hope to be let out sooner rather than later.
I also maintained a good demeanour to hide the true thoughts behind my façade: the fact that I could be mad. While Sister Agatha was very real and I had been missing for longer than could be accounted for, I could not claim that what I thought I experienced was real.
I could not let the doctors know.
As I said, I grew up religiously, and I knew what happened to people who did not conform to the norms. Ending up in a psychiatric facility was probably the best outcome if madness was suspected.
The worst-case scenario was that they would be accused of being possessed by demons.
Unlike what movies suggest, exorcisms are not simply prayers by a man in a cloak who holds a cross and sprinkles holy water. It does not involve a demon manifesting on the face of the possessed and turning crosses upside down.
It involves real people who are pushed beyond their mental capacity. It involves touching and even hitting someone who does not consent because they cannot, or so the believers would have others believe.
After all, the person speaking, saying 'stop' and 'leave me alone' is not the human being but the malicious demon who is rejecting the power of prayer. Therefore, people must not listen to the demon; they must persevere in order to cast the vile spirit out.
As the exorcism continues, the possessed will get tired of crying and pleading and begin to shout, thrash around, and scream in a tired and hoarse voice. But again, it can only be the demon making its presence known.
The exorcism must continue.
And then finally, the possessed will lose their willpower to fight anymore. After all, one can only shout for so long for help in those conditions before they realise that the resistance is futile. They have no voice.
Only the demon does…
That surrender, that tiredness, that loss of consciousness…
That is where the magic is. It is the deliverance.
So, no.
I was not interested in being considered mad, especially in a hospital linked to a temple, especially one involving Sister Agatha. While she had been kind to me during my insane dream or reality, she was a part of it.
I did not want to end up in any of those scenarios.
I did not want to be put under psychiatric evaluation, and I did not want to end up in a probably worse sequel of Exorcism. Was I overthinking the entire scenario? Yes. As you might already know, I tend to do that.
But it was better to be safe than sorry.
I also rejected the doctor's offer to help me get in touch with my family so they could come check up on me. It was not because I do not love my family, but I felt that it would be a selfish action on my part to accept the offer.
They would drop everything and drive to check on me, insisting on taking care of me. They would fuss over me and insist on staying with me or taking me back to one of their houses until they deemed me healthy.
It was also highly likely that they would deem me incapable of taking care of myself.
The last part was my self-preservation. I love being loved by family, but they tended to be a little too much when I got in trouble. Due to my rather chaotic mind, I was often a source of concern for them.
I could not go back to a life of being coddled and checked up on every day again.
I did, however, call my boss and explain the situation. He explained that he was aware through the insurance company. I realised that Sister Agatha must have brought my identity documents when she got me to the hospital.
I was in the clear, and my boss told me to take as much time as I needed.
After three days had passed, I could still not escape a psychologist. The lead doctor said it was protocol for someone in my condition. They needed to make sure that the dehydration and starvation were not a product of self-harm.
I cooperated.
Graciously, I admitted I had been under a lot of pressure at work and must have collapsed due to insomnia. I went into detail about the pressure of working long hours and meeting deadlines. I felt guilty because my boss has always been a sweetheart.
Still, I got the all clear after getting a pamphlet and a lecture about self-care.
When I finished my discharge paperwork, someone I had not seen for a while made a grand comeback. Sister Agatha… She looked a little frail, but I assumed it was because she had been on a long vigil.
I was not happy to see her.
For some reason, I did not feel the fervour for discovering the truth anymore. The psychologist had perhaps gotten through to me when she said that I needed to focus on my internal world because the world will keep moving without me.
Still, I could not ignore her.
"How are you feeling?" Sister Agatha asked with a kind but strained smile.
"I am alright. Nothing a shower and an unhealthy amount of fast food will not fix," I replied. "What about you?"
"I am well too. I just came to bid you farewell," Sister Agatha seemed to hesitate before she continued. "Your car is back in your parking spot at the apartment. I trust that it was fixed properly."
The familiar little tendrils of curiosity could not help growing in my mind. I wanted to resist the curiosity that led me to so many dark spaces before. However, I could not truly give up asking one question.
After a moment of silence, I sighed and spoke up.
"Sister Agatha, was it real or just a fever dream I had from delirium?"
It was an odd question since Sister Agatha would not know what I was talking about if it was a dream. I did not know what kind of answer I wanted. I did not know if I wanted the assurance that I was not mad.
Or if I hoped I was…
"It does not matter, does it?" Sister Agatha replied with a weak smile.
I froze for a moment before I smiled.
"You are right," I replied. "Be well, Sister Agatha."
With that, I walked to the ride I ordered.
Sister Agatha was right.
It did not matter.
It was none of my business.