Piercing the Darkness (22 page)

Sally tried to wriggle out of the corner in which she was trapped, kicking and clawing the straw and dust. The woman’s knee came down on her chest and held her there. The rope fell across her neck again. Sally kicked the woman with one free leg.

WUMP!
Just that fast, like a rag doll, the woman crashed against the opposite wall of the shed, her head and limbs slapping against the boards, as if a giant had grabbed her and thrown her there. Sally had hardly made contact with her kick and felt some amazement, but at least the woman was off her. She scrambled out of the corner, her eyes on her assailant. The assassin slid down the wall to her feet and stumbled forward, her eyes blank and wandering, her jaw hanging.

OOF!!
Something struck the woman with such force, it lifted her off her feet. She flopped into the straw, her arms limp and flailing, her head crooked, her body lifeless, the rope still in her hand.

I didn’t take any time to look. I just got out of there, still trying to breathe, totally occupied with just staying alive. I remember getting through the gate and then falling to the ground and retching. I can’t blame Betty and the kids for running away. Maybe it was a good thing they did.

Sally leaned back from her writing and absentmindedly tapped the pen on the notebook, just thinking. It was a pretty bizarre way to open a letter. Maybe if she just kept writing, she would seem more credible
as her story progressed. Well, all she could do was try.

What can I say, Tom? How can I qualify myself as a reliable witness? If you were to ask me who I am, I would have to reply that I don’t know. For years I have asked myself the same question and now I wonder if, in the writing of these letters, I might be reaching out for an answer.

You see, Tom, I want to help you. In my own way, and drawing from my own experience, I can relate to your situation and I know how you must feel. As one lost entity without source and without destination in a universe that is ultimately meaningless, I can’t tell you where my concept of “wrong” ever came from. Call it sentiment, call it “the way I was raised,” figure I’m just taking a desperate stab at meaning through antiquated morality, I still feel it—what is happening to you is wrong, and I’m sorry for your pain.

She looked up at the big clock above the depot door. Her bus was scheduled to leave in half an hour. Soon the public address would be squawking out the announcement.

If you would indulge me, I would like to at least act as if something matters. I would like to do one “right” thing. I might be concocting my own concept of “good deeds” in an effort to run from despair, to convince myself that life isn’t futile after all, but I have nothing to lose. If despair is the final truth we all face, then let me hide from it, just this once. If hope is a mere fiction of our own making, then let me live in a fantasy. Who knows? Maybe there will be some meaning in it somewhere, some purpose, some reward.

At any rate, I’m going to retrace some old steps and find some things out, for your sake and for mine. I hope to share some useful information with you before long—information sufficient to get you out of trouble and, most of all, bring your children back to you.

Please keep this letter, even if it sounds strange to you, even if you don’t believe it. I’ll write again soon.

I remain sincerely yours,

Sally signed her full name, “Sally Beth Roe,” carefully took the pages from the spiral notebook, and folded them. She had a box of envelopes in her travel bag. While in Bacon’s Corner, she’d looked up Tom Harris’s home address and written it in the front of her notebook. She now copied that address onto the envelope and stuffed the letter inside. She didn’t seal it yet, but rose from the bench and walked over to the small depot cafeteria to get some dimes. If she hurried, she could get this letter mailed before she left for the next town.

Chimon and Scion walked beside her, wings unfurled, swords drawn. For now, the demons were hiding.

Chimon looked down at the letter in Sally’s hand. “‘The word of her testimony,’” he said.

“That’s one,” said Scion.

Terga, Prince of Bacon’s Corner, was glad for some good news, and was ready to share a rare smile with Ango, the little Prince of the Bacon’s Corner Elementary School.

“Chased them away, eh?” said Terga, strutting up and down the school’s tar roof with Ango at his side.

Ango was ecstatic with this great honor. To think that all his underlings were now seeing him in the company of the Prince of Bacon’s Corner! Before this, Terga had never even known his name.

Ango was rising to the occasion and giving his report like a real commander-in-the-field. “It was a brazen onslaught, my Ba-al. An incredibly large heavenly warrior challenged me on the roof, and another challenged my guards at the front door. Two warriors were caught inside, but were immediately chased away.”

“But you overcame them all?”

“Not without a deadly struggle. I am most proud of my warriors, who showed themselves brave, fierce, and daring!”

“And I am proud of you, Ango, for proving to me that Bacon’s Corner is still secure for our operations.”

“Thank you, Ba-al.”

“With my commendations to you and your warriors, I leave you now . . .”

Terga stopped in midsentence. Both demons heard a familiar
sound, and began searching the eastern horizon. From somewhere beyond the treetops, a low, droning rumble reached their ears, growing steadily louder, closer.

“Now who could that be?” Ango wondered.

The deceivers and guards in and around the school heard the sound as well and paused in their duties, buzzing and flitting out into the school yard for a look, or popping up through the roof for a better view.

Terga’s wings billowed and lifted him from the roof. He drew his sword as he peered toward the east. Then he tensed just a little and called down to Ango and his troops, “They are ours!”

“But who?”

Terga looked grim, and shook his head in dismay. “I believe it is Destroyer, with fresh forces from the Strongman.”

That word brought a mutter of fear from all the ranks below.

Then the visitors appeared, still a mile away, approaching like a low-flying squadron of bombers. There were at least a hundred, flying in an arrowhead formation and coming closer, closer, closer. Now the red glow of their swords appeared against the dark shadowy blurs of their wings.

Terga set down on the roof again. “Ango, prepare your forces to greet some honored guests!”

“Forces!” Ango yelled. They fluttered up out of the school and school yard. He ordered them to assemble in orderly ranks on the front lawn. They formed the ranks immediately, a motley, sleazy crew of some three hundred—tiny spirits of anger, hatred, rebellion; huge, lumbering giants of violence, vandalism, destruction; clever deceivers with their wily ways and shifty eyes. They looked sharp, all lined up in neat rows, the tallest in the back, the shortest in the front, and every demon’s sword held across his chest.

Destroyer’s squadron came over the town, casting a spiritual shadow upon the entire length of Front Street and putting a chill in the air that the humans down there could feel. The shadow passed over the fire station and then the row of homes along the Strawberry Loop, and dogs all over the neighborhood began to howl.

Terga, Ango, and all the assembly of demons could now see the squadron’s leader well in front, at the tip of the arrowhead. They could see the yellow glint of his eyes and the red glimmer of his sword. They
all bowed low.

Destroyer and a terrifying battalion of the Strongman’s handpicked best descended on the school like a cloud of monster locusts, their wings producing a roar that could be felt and stirring up such a wind that some of the smaller demons on the front lawn blew over and rolled like leaves across the grass.

Destroyer alighted on the roof of the school with twelve hideous captains surrounding him. The rest of the battalion took positions all around the perimeter of the school grounds. The wings settled, the roar subsided. Now Terga and Ango found themselves in the presence of a spirit so evil that neither of them could look up for stark fear.

Destroyer took a moment to look all around. He gazed with narrow, fiery eyes at the troops gathered on the lawn. He wasn’t impressed. He walked slowly toward the two bowing princes of this place, his toes settling into the tar, his talons gripping tightly with each step. He stood in front of them, his captains standing on either side like tree trunks.

“So, Terga,” he asked in a voice as cold as ice, “it seems you have reason to be giddy?”

Terga straightened, said, “I have, my Ba-al,” and then bowed again.

With numbing fear, Terga suddenly felt the hot edge of the Ba-al’s blade under his chin. He followed the blade’s prompting and raised his head.

“Who is this beside you?”

“This is Ango, the prince of this school, a brave leader.”

The burning sword raised Ango’s chin. “You are prince of this place?”

Ango tried to speak in a strong voice, but couldn’t keep it from quivering. “Yes, my Ba-al.”

Destroyer leaned close to Ango’s face. “I have received word that you had a confrontation here with the Host of Heaven.”

Ango smiled faintly. “It was my duty and joy to please such as you, and drive the heavenly warriors away.”

“How many heavenly warriors?”

“Four, my Ba-al. One assailed me on the roof, one attacked our guards at the front, and two launched an attack from inside. We chased them all away immediately.”

Destroyer pondered that for just a moment. He had no immediate
compliments for Ango’s actions. “What else happened that day?”

Ango wasn’t at all prepared for the question. “What else?”

“Did you have any unexpected human visitors to the school?”

Destroyer was staring, waiting for an answer, and now Ango could feel a stare from Terga. But he couldn’t come up with an answer. “I . . . I know of none.”

“Can you give me any good reason why four—only four—of the enemy’s hosts would suddenly appear here, only to allow themselves to be chased away by spirits as petty and weak as you?”

Ango shuddered. This conversation was taking a bad turn. “They . . . they came to spy on us, to invade the school . . .”

“That is your explanation?”

“That is . . . Yes, that is what I know.”

Destroyer sheathed his sword, and everyone breathed a little easier. “Go back to your duties, Ango the Terrible, you and your warriors. Do your worst with these little children. Terga, I’ll have a word with you.”

Terga followed Destroyer to the other end of the roof, while Ango dismissed his demons to return to their duties. When Destroyer came to a stop, satisfied with the place, the twelve captains surrounded him and Terga like a castle wall.

Terga was worried.

Destroyer glared down at him—angry, but calculatingly controlled. “She was here.”

Terga, of course, did not want to believe it. “How do you know, my Ba-al?”

“Where did she go from the motel in Claytonville?”

“I . . .”

“Did your petty pranksters follow her? Did they have her under their careful watch at all times?”

Terga felt he would melt right through the roof. “The . . . the Host of Heaven . . . We were confounded . . . They got in our way . . . We couldn’t see her anymore . . .”

“You lost track of her! She eluded you!”

Terga knew full well that Destroyer’s own ravagers were following the woman too, but now did not seem an appropriate time to remind him. “Uh . . . yes. But . . . she wouldn’t come back
here
, to the place of greatest danger—”

“Danger?” Destroyer’s voice was as sharp as his blade. “What danger, when you and such as this Ango are responsible for it?”

“But why would she come here?”

Terga didn’t even see Destroyer’s huge hand before it struck him, dashing him to the roof. Terga made no move of retaliation; he never had any intention to do so, and besides, twelve huge swords were only inches from his throat. All he could do was look up at the furious face of Destroyer as the wicked spirit unloaded his venom.

“You fool!” Destroyer shouted. “Why wouldn’t she come here? This is where our Plan began, or don’t you recall all our years of development, our infiltration of this place? You were here, you were a part of it. Did you think we carried it all out with no object in mind?”

“I’m sorry, my Ba-al.”

Destroyer’s foot caught Terga under the ribs and kicked him several feet in the air. Terga’s body struck the immovable chest of one of the captains and then tumbled down to the roof again.

“You’re sorry . . .” muttered Destroyer mockingly. “You let her elude you in Claytonville, you let her sneak into this school under your very nose, you let her escape again, to disappear until she pops up again to do more damage, to uncover more of our Plan, we know not where, and all you have to say is, ‘I’m sorry’!”

Terga wanted to say he was sorry again, but knew that would not be accepted. Now he had no words left to say.

“Go!” said Destroyer. “Take care of your little town. Leave Sally Roe to me.”

One of the captains, built like a bull, took Terga by one wing and flung him into the sky. Terga tumbled and fluttered skyward until he could recover control of his wings, then shot away in shame.

Destroyer watched until Terga was gone, then spoke in low tones to the twelve demons with him. “The Strongman does have all his players in place and a strong network ready to be used, but we have seen ourselves how vulnerable the Plan can be, especially when the Host of Heaven are interested in our enterprise, and most certainly interested in Sally Roe. They are trying to set up a hedge around her, screen her from our eyes, accompany her. They have a plan too.”