Piercing the Darkness (60 page)

Gossip, Slander, and Spite thought that was funny, and shrieked with laughter. What wouldn’t these people believe?

AT THE SCHOOL,
Mrs. Fields and Mark had just broken up their third fight, and now eight kids—six who were fighting and two who were urging them on—were staying inside for noon recess, cleaning the blackboards, dusting the furniture, and sweeping the floor. It had been a trying day.

Mrs. Fields plopped into her chair and heaved a deep sigh. “Pastor, what’s happening around here?”

Mark wanted to say they were under spiritual attack, but he steered clear of that out of concern for Mrs. Fields. She was a sensitive woman, and it would have been distressing for her to learn what he’d found on the front steps that morning.

He finally just asked her to pray with him, and that is how they spent their noon hour—in between peacekeeping missions on the play-field.

DREAMING, DREAMING . . . LITTLE
baby girl . . . Rachel . . . pink and fat, laughing . . .

“Come on, sweetie, time for your bath.”

Water running in the tub, just the right temperature.

Let her play in the running water. “See that? Isn’t that fun? Time to get all clean.”

Jonas. He’s calling.

Not now. I’m giving Rachel a bath!

Pulling, pulling, yanking me from my body . . . No, not now . . .

Sudden blackness, floating, no feeling, no sounds, no pain, nothing but sweet love, bliss, oneness . . . A long, long tunnel, a bright light at the end, getting closer, closer, almost there, I’ve got to get back! What’s happening to Rachel?

SLAP!
A hand across her face!

“Come on, lady, snap out of it! Get up!”

Water everywhere, all over the floor. I’m sitting in it, I’m soaked. Who’s this guy?

“Can you hear me? Get up!”

He’s a cop! What’s wrong?

“Aw, she’s stoned, man, bombed to oblivion!”

Where’s Rachel? “Where’s my baby?”

The tub, filled to the brim, running over, water everywhere, cops, medics, the landlady, everything a blur.

A piercing, stabbing horror slowly rising. The unthinkable invading her mind. “Oh no! I’ve killed my baby!”

“Ma’am, I need to advise you of your rights. You have the right to remain silent . . .”

Up off the floor, held in strong arms, her hands bound behind her. “Where’s my baby?”

“Get her out of here.”

“Where’s my baby?”

“Your baby is dead, Sally. Come on.”

The quickest image, only appearing for a second: a tiny bundle on the kitchen table, medics all around, covered in a white cloth . . . one little pink hand showing.

“Oh no! Rachel! I’ve killed my baby! Jonas!”

Pain from handcuffs, her arms twisting, soaking wet, shoved out the door.

“Rachel!!”

“Come on, Sally, let’s go!”

AAWW! SALLY JOLTED
awake in the darkened bedroom, almost falling off the bed. Her four tormenting companions were all over her.

Forever, forever
, said Despair,
you will be condemned forever. You are what you are, you can never change it.

Insanity piped in with renewed vigor,
It’s all in your poor twisted mind, you know. You’re a very sick lady!

Death always follows you
, said Death.
Everything you touch, everything you love, will only die.

And they’ll get you for this!
said Fear.
All the spirits you’ve ever crossed are waiting to get you!

Sally rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. “O God, help me!”

He can’t help you . . . you’ve offended Him, He’ll never hear you . . . we have you now . . .

Sally looked toward the window. The daylight was still visible around the edges of the drawn curtain. She checked the clock beside the bed. Four
P.M.
She flopped onto her back and tried to calm down, steady her heart, slow her breathing.

She told herself,
Easy now, girl, it was all a dream, a nightmare. Calm down.

Her heart was still pounding and her face was slick with sweat.
Some nap this turned out to be; I feel worse.

She tried to sort it all out. Yes, the dream was like a videotape; that’s the way it happened. She hadn’t had that clear a memory of it in years.
O God, what did I do, what did I do? How could I let this happen to me, to my daughter?

Jonas, my wonderful counselor and friend, my infinitely wise spirit-guide!

The thought of that spirit made her sick.

I trusted him! I gave him my life, my thoughts, my spirit, my mind, and now . . . now I find out how evil he was. Or is.

Evil. Well, there’s another absolute. Jonas is one incredibly evil spirit, and no one’s going to convince me otherwise.

What had she just been reading? She rolled slowly off the bed,
planted her feet on the floor, and went to the window. She pulled back the curtain and had to squint in the daylight that flooded the room. There, on the table under the window, was Sara’s Bible, still opened to the Gospel of Mark. She’d just started reading it before she got sleepy and lay down. There was something it had said, and at the time she only gave it a passing thought.

She sat at the table and looked that passage over again. Here it was, in
chapter 1
: “Just then a man in their synagogue who was possessed by an evil spirit cried out, ‘What do you want with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are—the Holy One of God!’

“‘Be quiet!’ said Jesus sternly. ‘Come out of him!’ The evil spirit shook the man violently and came out of him with a shriek. The people were all so amazed that they asked each other, ‘What is this? A new teaching—and with authority! He even gives orders to evil spirits and they obey him.’ . . .

“That evening after sunset the people brought to Jesus all the sick and demon-possessed. The whole town gathered at the door, and Jesus healed many who had various diseases. He also drove out many demons, but he would not let the demons speak because they knew who he was.”

Demons. They’re demons.
Sally believed it. She’d never given this Bible much credence since her Sunday school days, but right now, sitting in that room, having awakened from as clear a lesson as she could ask for, she believed what this Book said about these spirit entities. The whole thing was a sham, a deception, a spiritual con game. These things were as evil as evil could be.

Where’s that notebook? I’ve got to write to Tom.

Tom, you know this already, and that’s why you’re in all this trouble, but let me assure you as one who has been on the other side, you are correct. Amber Brandon has contacted a spirit-guide, and now that thing is controlling her life, her thoughts, her behavior. I had Jonas, now Amber has Amethyst, and if I haven’t said it clearly enough before, let me say it clearly now, because now I know it clearly: these spirits are evil; they are out to destroy us. Just look at what Jonas did to me. I don’t blame him entirely; I
asked him into my life, I gave him my mind and body. But I found out too late what his real agenda was.

And what about Amber? I suppose for her it was all fun and games to begin with. Now I’m almost sure she’s into something she would rather be out of, but can’t escape it. To be honest, I’m not sure that I have escaped it.

But if the Gospel of Mark is correct, and this Jesus of yours can order these spirits around and rescue people from their power, then I hope you have enough faith in your Savior to get His help.

And, Tom, while you’re at it, please put in a good word for me.

DESTROYER’S SPIRITS WERE
laughing themselves silly as they fluttered out of the courthouse.

The judge rose, everyone in the courtroom rose, and then she went out, leaving the ACFA attorneys feeling pretty cocky while Wayne and Tom could only stand there with their mouths open.

Corrigan was so upset he could hardly keep his voice down as he muttered to Tom, “We are absolutely going to appeal this one. I’ve never seen a more obvious, ludicrous breach of justice or denial of due process in my career!”

Tom didn’t know whether to have hope, or put up a fight, or give it up, or go home and die, or what. “Okay. If you think that will work.”

“I don’t know if it will work or not, the way these courts are getting so stacked, but we might have better luck with a different judge. Ultimately, it has no bearing on the decision to appeal. I’d be as remiss as the judge if I didn’t appeal her decision. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Just outside the courtroom, Wendell Ames was basking in the floodlights and catering to the microphones as he delivered a prepared statement to the press. “We are certainly gratified that a person of the stature of Judge Fletcher acknowledges that children of tender years still need protection from admitted child abusers, even in a court of law . . .”

“That’s all,” said Corrigan. With a sudden, uncharacteristic anger, he forced his way right into the circle of reporters. “Gentlemen and ladies, I will have a statement for you as soon as Mr. Ames has completed his statement.”

He got their attention right away. They were hungry. They flooded him with questions, many of them quite loaded.

He brushed all the questions aside and said what he wanted to say. “First of all, to correct Mr. Ames, this case centers on constitutionally guaranteed freedom of religion and not on child abuse. No admissions of any kind have been made, and try to get that right when you run your stories. If spanking is child abuse, then let’s put half the country in jail right now!