Piercing the Darkness

by Frank E. Peretti

  CHAPTER 32

  THE SPIRITS WERE aloft and rampant, goaded on by goat’s blood and blasphemy, by rage and conspiracy, by Destroyer’s reckless indignation and thirst for immediate victory over the subtle Captain of the Host and his prize, the elusive Sally Beth Roe.

  Infested by lying demons, the Warings (Ed and Judy) and the Jessups (Andrea and Wes) were meeting for lunch at the Warings’ home to prayerfully discuss the latest news hot off the prayer chain: June Walroth had just heard that Tom regularly beat his daughter Ruth, and always dressed her in long sleeves so no one would notice; someone else—they didn’t know who, but the person had to be reliable—was concerned because Pastor Mark and Cathy were having some marital problems, most likely because Mark had been unfaithful years ago; the Christian school was actually in terrible debt because Tom and Mrs. Fields were pilfering some of the money.

  Andrea was aghast. “Are you sure about that? I can’t believe Mrs. Fields would do such a thing.”

  “Well,” said Judy, “do you know how little money she makes teaching at that school? It would be a real temptation, let’s face it.”

  “But who told you about this?”

  Ed was reluctant to reveal their source. “It’s . . . Well, let me just say that it’s someone close to the church board, someone I’ve really come to respect, all right? But this is all in strict confidence!”

  Wes was immediately angry. “So why hasn’t the board told the rest of the church?”

  “The party I spoke to is concerned about the same thing. She’s in a real fix: she doesn’t want to violate the confidence of the board, but at the same time she’s hurt because so much of this is being kept secret.”

  Judy piped in, “I think we need to have a congregational meeting, that’s what I think!”

  Andrea concurred. “And get this stuff out in the open once and for all!”

  Ed nodded. “Well, I’ve talked to Ted and June Walroth, and they’re ready for one.”

  Wes just shook his head and even laughed to vent his nerves. “This is all going to come out in that trial, you know. Somehow those ACFA guys are going to dig this up, and they’re going to sue the ever-loving buns off our church!”

  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 brough
t 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!

  “Secondly, seeing as the attorneys for the plaintiff continually insist on trying this case in the press, let me just throw this into the mill for your consideration: a) Everything we’ve heard in this case has been filtered through Amber’s mother and the attorney-appointed child psychologist, Dr. Mandanhi, and we insist we have the right to confront our accuser, who is Amber, and just get to the truth. b) We do not intend to be harsh toward Amber or abuse her in any way. We will accept reasonable restrictions, and we will work with the judge and with the plaintiff’s attorneys accordingly.

  “Now, as to this ruling of Judge Fletcher: it is clearly erroneous and absolutely contrary to the law, and we have no choice but to appeal to the Court of Appeals without delay. Now try not to edit that too much.”

  With that, and with more questions still being hollered at them, Corrigan and Tom hurried down the hall to the elevators.

  BACK IN BACON’S Corner, little Amber Brandon was giddy and laughing when she got off the school bus, and had been so disruptive on the bus that the driver was only minutes from writing her a discipline slip to give to her mother. But Amber’s stop came first, and so the driver was satisfied with just getting Amber and her playmates off the bus.

  Her playmates were used to seeing Amber acting like a pony, and some had even played the pretend game with her. But today Amethyst was not a fun pony to play with. She pushed her friends, she teased them, she stole their books and threw them about, she jumped, pranced, somersaulted, and mocked them.

  All Amber’s friends went home angry at her, vowing never to play with her again.

  But Amethyst just kept laughing and prancing, and she didn’t care a bit.

  IT WAS DEFINITELY time to get all the team together. That evening, Mark and Cathy opened up the church and the core group gathered—the Howards, Ben and Bev Cole, Marshall and Kate Hogan, Tom Harris, and Wayne Corrigan—along with the elders, Don Heely, Vic Savan, Jack and Doug Parmenter, and their wives. Push had come to shove. God was moving in their hearts and they could all feel the threat from outside; it was time to do some serious business with the Lord.

  They sat in a close circle on the pews and some pulled-up chairs at the front of the sanctuary, ready to compare notes, talk it out, pray it through.

  “I figured we should meet here tonight,” said Mark. “This seems to be the center of Satan’s attention right now, the center of his attacks. We need to pray a hedge around this place.”

  “Let’s meet the enemy!” said Ben.

  “It’s high time we did!” said Jack.

  Mark smiled, encouraged. “I want to tell you, the battle is getting thick out there!”

  “So how did your deposition go last week?” Doug Parmenter asked.

  Mark sighed; Corrigan rolled his eyes a bit. Mark answered, “Ames and Jefferson are laying a trap of some kind, that’s obvious. They were just so kind and yet . . .”

  Corrigan completed the thought. “They were trying to milk Mark for anything they could find to use against him, to set him up for a fall.” He looked at Mark. “I think you did all right, though, pastor. You came out squeaky clean, and they didn’t like that.”

  “Well, praise the Lord for that. ‘He who walks in integrity walks securely.’”

  “Right on,” said Bev.

  Mark turned to Corrigan again. “Wayne, since we’re on the subject, why don’t you tell all of us what’s next in the legal process?”

  Corrigan looked a little tired and depressed. “Well, of course, Tom and Mrs. Fields are scheduled for depositions in the next few weeks. But in the meantime, we’re going to appeal today’s ruling to the Court of Appeals, and then we’ll have to wait and see. We may not win there either, but at least it will buy us a little more time. Mind you, this is just a minor detail in the whole lawsuit, only one little skirmish in a long and costly war.” He looked at Marshall. “We’ll have to hope that something else breaks in this case. It just feels like we’re so close!”

  “How about that curriculum?” asked Kate. “I’m convinced now that the school system isn’t going to let us see it without some real legal pressure. They’re stalling.”

  Corrigan nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they were hoping they can outlast the court system and hide that curriculum until we’re already in court. Well, with today’s ruling and the app
eal process starting, that’s going to be hard to do. I’ll definitely issue a subpoena for that curriculum tomorrow.”

  “As far as something else breaking,” said Marshall, “we just might have it, or a part of it, or an inkling of how we might track down a corner of a part of it. I’m talking about the curse put on the church this morning.”

  Bob Heely asked, “Did you go to the police about that?”

  Ben replied, “Are you kidding? I’m about 90 percent sure that Mulligan’s in on this thing! Those goat legs came from Sally Roe’s goat, and you know how Mulligan’s been covering up that attempt to murder her. He’s got to be a part of this curse too, or at least helping whoever it was that did it.”

  Jack Parmenter had to ask, “Are you really sure about that?”

  Marshall stepped in. “Not yet. But the point I’m making is that now we have concrete evidence that there’s some witchcraft or Satanism in the area, some organized, heavier form of occultism like a coven, a secret society, whatever. And that means there are people—and I mean normal-looking, everyday people you’d never suspect—that belong to this group. And in a town this size, they can pull a lot of weight and intimidate a lot of people. Mulligan and Parnell the coroner might be under the control of these people, or they might belong to the group themselves.

  “But don’t miss this point: Whoever these people are, they’ve clearly spelled out that this church and Sally Roe have something in common: we are their enemies, and they mean to do us harm. They killed Sally’s goat and drained its blood, probably for use in their ceremonies. Now that’s a contact point for them, something that belonged to the person they want to curse. They took off the legs and left the front ones here at the church. That includes us in the curse they’ve leveled at Sally Roe. I’m guessing that the hind legs are still with the witches somewhere as a contact point at their end.”