Eve of Redemption (2 page)

‘’W-Who’s there?’’ Caleb stuttered. A cold breeze rustled the leaves on the forest floor, carrying with it a musky animal scent. Not just animal—something more. Smoke? Caleb felt himself slipping into panic. The fear that clawed its way through him refused to be denied.

Caleb.

The word carried on the breeze—and like the breeze, it was little more than a whisper.

Caleb.

Caleb fought his way to his knees, muscles stiff from cold and fear. His head pivoted in all directions. Around him the darkness had grown so complete he could not have seen his hand before his face if he had tried. His loss of vision put his other senses on full alert, amplifying the silence, the cold, the smell—stronger, closer. A horrible thought erupted in his mind. He tried to force it away, to make it change to something else— anything else—but it had taken up residence like a squatter refusing to be chased off.

He was being stalked.

Caleb, what do you desire?

The question came from all around him.

Tell me, Caleb.

What did he desire? To be warm? To be home in bed, none of this having happened? Yeah, that was what he really wanted—home and cozy in bed.

It’s not that easy, Caleb. You murdered a girl.

Caleb cursed as he tried to keep his body from shivering itself to pieces. Of course it wasn’t that easy. It never was.

I did not say impossible.

His mind was playing tricks on him. He wanted to laugh, but his face had grown numb, and that animal scent was even stronger than before. Even if the voice was in his head, something else was out here with him.

Warm,
Caleb thought.
I want to be warm.
The moment the thought crossed his mind, the breeze died off, and the night grew still. The air around him still felt freezing, but the lack of wind seemed to raise the temperature a degree or two.
What caused it to stop?
His fear rose to a whole new level. His eyes strained to pierce the blackness that held him in its cold embrace. Still on his knees, Caleb turned himself in a full circle, the toes of his boots thumping the ground behind him.

Caleb’s eyes ceased their desperate darting and locked onto something in the shadows. It was so dim as to be barely noticeable, but he recognized it as a light. He stared, his mind too numb to think, as the light grew larger, closer, until he felt the blessed warmth that radiated from it. The source of the light remained invisible, but the heat it offered was enough for Caleb to burst into tears of joy. Never before in his life had he been so grateful for something as simple as light and warmth.

You like that, do you?

‘’Yes,’’ he whispered.

It is nothing. I can do more. So much more.

‘’Who…who are you?’’ Caleb’s shivering had lessened considerably. The light stopped ten feet or so from where he knelt, hovering a few feet off the ground just above his eye level. He wanted it to come even closer, to bring some of that glorious heat nearer.

I am your savior.

Caleb considered this. ‘’My…savior? Like Jesus? They call him a savior in church, but I don’t pay much attention.’’ He knew he was rambling. His jaw ached from the tremors that had taken control of it. But, he was able to talk, so things were getting better. At least he hoped they were.

No, not Jesus. Something better. Much better. Your churches teach things they cannot possibly understand. I can lead you to the truth.

Truth?
Caleb thought.
Whatever.
‘’I’ll follow you anywhere, as long as it’s warm.’’

The light did grow warmer. Warmer, brighter, and bigger. It swelled until he stared up into it. Deep within the gloriously warm light, a shape took form—man-like, but larger, more majestic. Caleb could not tear his eyes away. It was the most beautiful being he could ever have imagined. He realized the acrid animal scent had grown much stronger, but the beauty that stood before him erased all else from his mind. For the first time he could remember, Caleb felt he belonged, that this incredible being actually cared about him.

‘’I love you.’’ Caleb had not been aware of this thought until the words spilled from his mouth.

Follow me.

‘’Anywhere,’’ Caleb whispered. ‘’Anywhere.’’

The being, his savior, began drifting away into the trees. Caleb scrambled to his numb feet and stumbled after it, chasing this spectral entity that he knew he could not live without. Once, he tripped over something and fell, his chin crashing to the frozen ground, but he barely registered the damage to his body, so great was his need to follow his savior. The specter finally stopped. Caleb watched, mesmerized, as the air before it shimmered like ripples in a pond. The savior reached out and pushed his hand into the waves, and the air around it parted like an exit from reality. Caleb felt a hot breeze spill out of the hole and wash over him. The air smelled of burning flesh, along with a putrid odor that spoke of death. Something else radiated from that hole as well, something that caused him to hold his ground.

Power.

He could feel it. A power like nothing he could have imagined. Caleb wanted that power, craved it.

You feel it, yes?

‘’Yes.’’

You want it. Need it.

‘’Yes.’’

Follow me.

‘’Who are you?’’

You may call me Agibus, and I will show you such wonders as your human mind could never imagine.

Caleb smiled. That sounded good. Something in the back of his mind told him this was not right, but he ignored it. For the first time in his life, he had found his place. ‘’I can imagine quite a bit.’’

I know your heart, Caleb. I know your dreams…your fantasies. You can have whatever you want. Follow me.

Caleb stepped closer to the opening, drawn by its alluring promises. He heard what he thought at first to be a hissing sound, but as he drew nearer, the hissing became the whispers of what must have been many voices. The whispers were harsh, filled with malice, but they didn’t worry him. His savior would protect him.

‘’Lead on, Agibus. Show me your wonders,’’ Caleb said as he followed his savior to whatever fate awaited him.

JULY 4, 1999

THE INDEPENDENCE DAY parade had been over for less than an hour. Most of the town of Pressfield was still hanging out on the town square when Sean Burke murdered his family. Pressfield was not a large town, even by the standards of rural Missouri, and the annual parade and the games that followed it were the biggest events in town all year. That the Fourth of July fell on a Sunday this year was a bonus—the farmers and laborers that comprised a good portion of the population were already dressed in their Sunday best, a rare event that would make for great pictures in the next day’s newspaper. They would not remain dressed this way the whole day, of course. Now that the parade was over, most of them would rush home to change into more casual attire before coming back to watch the kids chase the greased pig while the adults ate barbecue. Sean and his family, however, did not return. Nor did the parade pictures make the front page of Monday’s paper.

Normally, Sean would have been milling about with the town citizens, many of whom he considered to be his flock. Though he was only one of four pastors in town, Pressfield was nothing if not godly, he felt the entire population to be his responsibility. Not that the other pastors were negligent. Sean would never criticize a fellow man of God, but
he
truly loved everyone he came into contact with. His round face bore a constant smile as genuine as the invitation to his home for dinner that was offered to all he came in contact with. “One day we shall dine in heaven with God himself,” he often said.

He had resisted the voices for months. At first he had simply denied they were there, as would any sane man. He rationalized that stress from his responsibilities had left him tired and imagining things. After a week, he began to wonder. The voices told him things that he would never think himself. Horrible things. Nasty things. The more they talked, the harder he tried to shut them out, but they refused to leave. Day and night they spewed their filth. He finally came to the conclusion that they were demonic. Nothing else could be this vile. He prayed without ceasing, as the Holy Book taught, knowing that his loving Father would protect him from the forces of evil that tried to turn him from his sacred path. But God was silent. On the short drive home, the voices returned, this time crying for blood. Sean’s head felt ready to explode as he pulled up to the curb and rushed his wife and kids into the house. He could tell they were scared by his behavior, but he found himself unable to care. His breath came in ragged gasps as he closed and locked the front door.

“Sean, what is it? What’s wrong?” his wife Carrie’s fearful voice questioned him as he hurried to pull the ground-floor blinds closed.

Sean wanted to fight the voices, to order them out of his head, but he was so tired of fighting. They were driving him mad, and he knew he would do anything to shut them up. And not just them. He found himself searching for anything to get that nagging wife to shut her trap.

Distorted shadows filled his memory after that. A muffled sound of crying brought Sean back to awareness. He found himself on his knees, unaware of what had happened or how long he had been there. In his hands he held Johnny’s baseball bat, a maple wood Louisville Slugger that he and Carrie had bought their son last month for his ninth birthday. The bat was covered in something he could not make out at first, but the voices told him what it was.

Blood.

Sean turned his head to where his wife’s body lay on the linoleum kitchen floor. She faced away from him, the bloody dent in the back of her head clearly visible. Protruding from beneath her, as though growing out of her back, was a small foot covered in a tiny black dress shoe. Sean gulped, knowing Carrie had died trying to protect her little girl, knowing just as well that she had been unsuccessful. From somewhere within, Sean felt a deep regret that managed to push itself through the voices and darkness that all but consumed him. He was glad he did not remember killing his wife and daughter. He hoped they had died painlessly. A sob welled up in his throat.

A sudden movement from the corner of his eye startled him. Without thought, he whipped the Slugger around and struck something solid, yet giving. The cry that followed told him he had injured whoever had been so unfortunate as to be on the receiving end.

Home run!

Sean pulled himself to his feet and turned toward the agonized screams that filled the small kitchen. Johnny lay a few feet from him, writhing in pain and clutching his hip, which was bent at an odd angle. He stepped toward the boy, raising the bat, ignoring the pleading eyes that gazed up at him.

No, not this one.

Sean stopped, head cocked as he listened to the voices.

Not this one. This one is ours.

Pounding on the front door jerked Sean’s attention to the living room. Voices shouted, not inside his head but outside the house. More pounding, and then a crash. Sean stomped out of the kitchen in time to see local cop Les Ryan storm through the broken front door. Les had his gun drawn, though the frightened look on the young cop’s face belied any confidence the weapon might have provided. His eyes darted to Sean, questioning at first.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

Sean was not aware of the words tumbling from his lips as he tightened his grip on the bat.

Kill. Kill. Kill.

The voices howled their murderous command. Sean felt a primal growl well up in him. He raised the bat above his head and charged.

Kill. Kill. Kill!

He felt a surge of power that screamed for release, saw the hammer of the gun move, the flash from the barrel…