Unclean Spirit by Julieana Toth

Javier's turn to speak.
                  "Mr. Forsythe, the best way for you to recall what truly happened is to re-experience the totality of that night, feelings and all. Besides, I find what you're telling me very interesting.
                  "What did you mean by 'driven'?"
                  "It was as though something was compelling me to reveal the writing on the bottom of the pulpit and I felt as though my singular purpose in life was to achieve that goal." A shiver passed through Paul's body.
                  "What? What is it, Mr. Forsythe?" queried a concerned Dr. Gomez.
                  "I know how crazy this sounds but I felt almost separated from myself."
                  "I don't understand what you mean."
                  "Well, it wasn't like a near-death-experience; I wasn't floating above my body and I didn't enter a tunnel or see a bright light. The sense of separation was internal, not external. It was as though the physical space that was normally occupied by my soul, my essence, whatever you want to call it, had been commandeered by another presence. In short, I felt like I was being forced out of myself."
                  Warning bells were going off in Javier's mind. Had Paul Forsythe experienced some type of psychotic break just prior to his injury? Had the head trauma been the result of a generalized seizure, a seizure that had been preceded by an aura of bizarre sensations? What, exactly, was going on with this man? Javier opened his mouth to speak but what he was going to say was preempted.
                  "Dr. Gomez, I can imagine what you're thinking just about now and I can't say that I blame you. Let me assure you, however, that I am not a lunatic."
                  Maybe, maybe not, thought Javier.
                  "Mr. Forsythe, why don't you just tell me the rest of what you remember?"
                  Paul was no fool, he could tell that the physician had doubts about his sanity, his recollections, or both. Well, what the hell? he thought. Too late to stop now.
                  "I became conscious of a change in the basement's atmosphere; the air felt heavy and laden with an offensive odor that made me acutely aware of each breath I took. I became so nauseous that I felt like I was going to pass out, but I kept on sanding and sanding and sanding..."
                  Javier watched as Paul's eyes lost focus and his left hand mimicked sanding motions. He was fearful that the man was going to have a seizure.
                  "Mr. Forsythe!"
                  Paul snapped out of it.
                  "What?!"
                  "Where were you just now?" Javier asked.
                  "What do you mean?"
                  "Your speech became repetitive, your eyes lost focus, your left hand was moving back and forth."
                  Paul looked, and felt, frightened.
                  "Dr. Gomez, I didn't fall down the stairs; I was pushed!"             

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
     
     
                  "Someone pushed you down the stairs?"
                  "Not someone, Dr. Gomez, something."
                  Oh, brother, thought Javier, like daughter, like father!              
                  "Mr. Forsythe, I don't..."
                  "Please, just hear me out before you form any conclusions about my mental status. Okay?"
                  Javier supposed that was the least he could do.
                  "Go ahead."
                  "I was so shaky that I dropped my hand sander, it was at that point that I lost the urge to continue working. It was as though whatever had been coercing me to finish the job I had started had suddenly vanished. All I