He huffed at them in anger. “To the Abyss with all of you! I will finish what I have started!”
The Strongman shook his head. “You won’t, Destroyer. She belongs to the Lamb. He has redeemed her from our grasp!”
Destroyer clenched his teeth and growled, “I will finish!”
The Strongman spread his wings in Destroyer’s path. “We are withdrawing, Destroyer, and Khull’s henchmen will not go with you. Without men to do your killing, the woman will have power over you!”
“She doesn’t know that!” Destroyer pointed his sword right at the Strongman’s belly. “I will finish what I have started!”
The Strongman studied Destroyer with probing eyes, and then stepped aside. The hate-crazed demon shot out of the chalet.
“We will not see him again,” said the Strongman. He turned to the battered, tattered assemblage. “Princes, we are restrained! We will wait for a better time.”
In a burst of black wings, chugging sulfur, and trails of red smoke, the Strongman and his princes scattered in all directions from the Summit Institute, abandoning it like a sinking ship, letting the clamor and smoke shrink into the distance behind them.
FOLLOW THE WOMAN, follow the woman, get her! The spirits of Broken Birch thought only of the woman and stayed close to the ground in hot pursuit, guiding and empowering the four killers who now thrashed and clawed their way through the forest looking for their fleeing prey.
There! The killers spotted her, struggling up a steep bank, losing strength, stumbling, falling.
Tears streamed down Sally’s face; her shirt clung to her back, soaked with sweat. She clambered over some stones and then flopped to the ground, her lungs heaving. Every muscle in her body trembled and quivered; her legs and arms would no longer move. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t think; she felt she was dreaming.
THE DEMONS JUMPED on the backs of the killers. Kill her! Kill her! Chop her into little pieces!
There was a roaring sound behind them. The forest was flooded with light.
Behind them?
Some looked back. They screamed, and others looked back also.
They could no longer see the Summit Institute, their haven, their fortress—all they could see was the Host of Heaven!
Cut off! Ambushed!
“Take them!” said Tal.
Red smoke.
KILLER NUMBER ONE collapsed to the ground, gasping for air. He’d had enough of this mountainside.
Killer Number Two, further up the slope, turned when he heard Number One hit the ground. “Hey, c’mon!”
Number One didn’t answer. He just wanted to breathe.
Number Three had just broken into a clearing and could see the Institute. He whistled at them. “Hey! Looks like feds down there! They’ve got Khull!”
Number Four saw the woman tumble behind some rocks. He took his knife in his hand. He was almost there. He paused just momentarily to look back, then cursed. “It is Khull!”
The Summit Institute looked like a model of itself from up here, with neat rows of toy cars lined up in the blacktop parking lot and rough shake rooftops nestled among the trees. Khull wasn’t hard to recognize, staggering along between two men in suits with the front of his shirt all red and his hands behind his back. That guy behind him had to be Santinelli, being led along by a third man. There was no sign of Goring, but just seeing this was enough.
“Good-bye,” said Number Three, heading back down the mountain.
Number One followed him. “Let’s get into town. I’ll hot-wire a car.”
There was an immediate consensus.
Sally did not hear them go. She lay among the rocks in a dead faint. The Satanists had come within four feet of her hiding-place before turning back.
IN CLAYTONVILLE, FORMER Police Sergeant Harold Mulligan locked the front door of coroner Joey Parnell’s home and put Parnell’s house keys in his pocket. He’d just dropped by the Parnell residence on a business call—but it wasn’t police business. Mulligan was in civilian clothes, and was driving his own private vehicle, an older Ford. He did not linger, but got into that Ford, backed down the driveway, and drove out of that neighborhood, out of that town, and, for all practical purposes, out of existence. He would never be seen again.
Within a few days, the papers would report the mysterious gunshot deaths of Parnell and his wife, both found dead together in the Parnell home, apparently from a mutual suicide pact. Satanic literature would be found in the home, along with evidence linking Parnell to several unsolved murders in that part of the state.
SALLY AWOKE WITH a start and stiffened. Don’t move! They might be near you! She stifled her breathing and remained still, listening.
There was no sound except the cold breeze. The shadows were longer. It was the only way she could tell that any time had passed. She lay among some large stones, flat on her back. She raised her head slightly. She felt cold.
Then she felt fear. Steady. Pounding. Growing. Like footsteps behind her in the dark, like some . . . some thing lurking around the next blind corner, like a crawling, unstoppable monster approaching while she was unable to move.
She whispered so quietly she only mouthed the words, “Who’s there?”
EYES! Scales! Blackness, power, sulfur, hatred!
It stood tall before her, a waking nightmare, a black, towering silhouette against a surreal, blood-red sky, the bulging yellow eyes leering at her, never blinking, never wavering.
She knew it was there. It was not material, and physical eyes could not see it, but she’d had such visitations before, and she knew it was real. She tensed, rose to her elbows, looking up at it while it looked down at her, the sulfur blowing in silken wisps from its nostrils, its fangs bared as it grinned with fiendish delight.
It spoke to her in her mind. You know me.
She did, and now she had good reason to be terrified. She pushed herself away, wriggling backwards on her hands and elbows, speechless, shaking.
The thing’s words throbbed in her head. You know me, Sally Roe, and you won’t get away!
The huge red sword came down like a meat cleaver.
TAL HEARD SALLY’S scream above the battle and shouted, “Guilo!”
“YAHHH!” came Guilo’s answer as he shot up from the center of the ebbing cloud. He’d heard it too.
Side by side, with wings spread full and trailing fire, they dove like meteors for the mountain, rolled sharply to the right, then dropped into the forest, lighting up the treetops.
SALLY TUMBLED OVER the rocks and rolled down the steep incline, arms thrashing, kicking up pine needles, dirt, and pebbles. The ground was washed red with the light of that huge sword as the thing glided down the slope after her, wings spread like a canopy. She could hear its huffing breath, the rippling of its leathery wings.
She came to a stop against a tree.
WHOOSH! The sword split the air once more. Sally ducked, scrambled down the hill, fell, and rolled again.
TAL BANKED TO the left, Guilo to the right; they would strike from opposite sides. Tal shot up the mountainside, chest just above the rocks and brush, then cupped his wings, swung his feet out before him, and doubled back.
He could see Sally tumbling down the slope with the black spirit pouncing on her like a murderous vulture, red sword flashing again and again. Beyond the spirit, he saw Guilo as a fast-closing ball of light. Tal hauled back his sword, ready to strike.
The loathsome spirit saw them coming and stood his ground, ready to meet them. They came at him like two colliding trains. With incredible power, he batted them both aside. Guilo went tumbling uphill, trying to come out of a spin, while Tal cannonballed downhill, passing through and between the pines, disappearing into the thick forest below.
You are mine, said the spirit, and I will finish what I have started!
“No!” Sally pleaded. It was the only word that would come to her mind.
ZING! The sword caught her in the leg. She fell against a tree, then to the ground. The sw
ord came down again, just missing her shoulder.
Brilliant light! Two comets! Guilo from above, Tal from below, closing again!
Guilo struck first. The spirit batted him aside, but caught a stunning blow in the back from Tal’s sword and teetered forward before spinning and meeting Tal’s sword with a jolting parry that sent Tal fluttering into the forest again.
Guilo dove and struck the thing’s neck. It elbowed him several miles out of the way.
Tal righted himself, gripped his sword tightly, and shouted, Sally Roe! Stand against him! Turn him away!
Sally didn’t seem to hear. She was crying out, trying to get on her feet. The thing leaped upon her, digging its talons into her. She could feel them searing her flesh. She was choking on the foul breath. It raised the sword again.
OOF! A streak of light passed overhead, and the thing pitched forward. Guilo looped in a tight circle and came in for another pass, and there came Tal, straight down from above.
The spirit rose to its feet and faced them head-on, wild-eyed, sword ready. Guilo came in low; it kicked him aside. Tal dropped from above; it batted him into the treetops.
Speak up, Sally! said Tal.
“Stand aside,” the thing roared. “The woman belongs to me!”
With that, it stomped its black, scaled foot down on the fleeing woman’s leg, knocking her down, holding her there.
Tal shouted, “She is ours,” and dove for the demon again, at least to keep it diverted.
This time their swords met in a shower of sparks. The blow sent Tal reeling.
Take authority! said Tal.
You are mine, Sally Roe! said the demon.
“No!” said Sally. She’d found some words. “I belong to Jesus, the Son of God!”
That’s it, that’s it, that’s it! Guilo roared, rushing through the trees with incredible fury.
His blow knocked the demon backward. The thing whipped his sword around, but Guilo pulled his feet in just in time and got away.
You do not belong to Jesus! the monster screamed. He could never love you!
Sally was distraught, groping for words. “Jesus loves me! The Bible tells me so!” A child’s Sunday school song. It was all she knew.
Tal scored a hit and sent the demon tumbling into the trees.
Sally went running for her life, crying out, “Jesus, help me! Help me!”
The demon recovered and roared after her, wings thundering. You will burn in Hell with me! I will drag you there myself! He swung his sword at her, but his reach was short.
She fell, twisted, looked up at those yellow eyes.
He landed on her, knocking her flat with his knees, clamping her down.
Their eyes met.
“Jonas!” she screamed.
He broke into a wide, hideous grin, the fangs dripping, the brow furrowed with wicked laughter. The sword went high over his head.
“Jonas,” she said, extending her open hand toward the gnarled face, “STOP!”
The sword remained above his head. The eyes narrowed. You are mine!
She rose up on one elbow. She was gaining new courage. “I am not yours! I belong to Jesus!”
No . . . no, Sally Roe!
She was amazed. The sword teetered above the demon’s head. He could not lower it. She spoke again. “I belong to Jesus now; He paid for my sins with His blood, and you can’t torment me anymore!”
I will do what I wish! I am going to kill you! Suddenly the demon didn’t sound too convincing.
“My Lord has defeated you!”
Destroyer stumbled to his feet, holding his sword limply, his eyes losing their fire.
“Get out of my life, Jonas! Forever! Do you hear?”
THUD! Tal came in with a blow that sent Destroyer spinning. The black demon righted himself and held his sword ready. Guilo came in from the side and assailed him again with a clash of blades and bursts of light.
“The woman belongs to me!” Destroyer roared.
“She is ours!” said Tal.
Sally’s desperate, screaming voice came across the distance: “I belong to Jesus! Jonas, I renounce you! You have no claim to me! Get out of my life!”
The words hit Destroyer like poisonous darts. Then a revelation hit like a salvo, and Destroyer stood still, facing his archrival, the Captain of the Host.
“You knew, Captain of the Host! You knew she would do this to me, to us!”
Tal held his sword ready, but answered, “I knew what you would do to her—that you were commissioned to destroy her.”
Destroyer’s mouth spread open, and the fangs went dry. “You placed her there, in Bacon’s Corner!”
“And you tried to kill her, as always!”
Destroyer began to wilt. “She . . . was mine, from her youth!”
“Ours—our Lord’s,” said Tal, “from her mother’s womb.”
“Get out of my life, Jonas!” Sally cried. “Jesus has conquered you—so get out!”
The sword quivered in Destroyer’s hand. “She has taken away my name!”
With an agonized roar and a final burst of fury, the weakened demon dove at Tal, bringing his blade down in a fiery arc. Tal parried, jabbed, let him keep coming. The red sword swung from the side, came back again, cut through the air. Tal sidestepped it, struck it aside with enough force to throw the demon off-balance. He delivered a stunning kick to the demon’s flank, jolting him, toppling him. The demon twisted about, swung at him; Tal met that clumsy attack easily, then brought his own blade down in a shining arc.
The air filled with red smoke. Destroyer wailed like an eerie siren, clutching his opened side, floating, withering, fading. He pushed himself backward with one foot, hovering on erratic wings. Tal hauled back for one more blow, but it wouldn’t be necessary. As the demon’s eyes remained fixed on him, ruby-red, bulging in hate, the wings fell silent.
With the dying, groping lips forming a silent curse, the thing pitched forward, sighing out sulfur, and slipped into oblivion.
The forest was suddenly quiet. Now Tal could hear the muffled weeping of Sally Roe. He sheathed his sword.
SHE LAY NEARBY, facedown in the dirt, weeping, physically exhausted and emotionally spent. Guilo sat beside her, his wings spread over her, stroking her head and speaking soothing words to her soul. Tal approached quietly, knelt beside them, and spread his wings high and wide, joining Guilo’s wings to form a canopy to keep out the world for a while.
“One more season of restraint,” he said. “She has gained it for all of us.” He touched her head, now scratched and dirty, and said softly, It’s over, Sally. You’ve won.
In the valley below, the sounds of battle continued—rumblings, shrieks, clashings, flashes of light like distant lightning. But it would settle eventually. The outcome was certain and only a matter of time. For now, they remained with her.
CHAPTER 45
IN WESTHAVEN, IN the quiet, dull courtroom, Wayne Corrigan was just finishing his rebuttal to Gordon Jefferson’s arguments.
“And so, we hope that the court will be careful to protect Mr. Harris’s constitutional right to due process and his right to confront his accuser. We confirm once again that we have no intention of harming Amber Brandon or causing any further trauma. We only desire to get to the truth, and that, we believe, is the least our judicial system must allow any defendant. Thank you.”
He took his place next to Tom Harris. Tom had been watching the clock. It was just about 4 in the afternoon.
The three judges had been watching the clock as well. The one in the middle, the older man, shuffled his papers together.
“Thank you, Mr. Corrigan, and thank you, Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Ames. Arguments were thorough and well-presented. Court will recess for the day. We’ll have a ruling for you by Thursday, the day after tomorrow.”
WHAM! The bailiff rapped the gavel and ordered, “All rise!” and they all rose, and the judges went out.
Ames and Jefferson seemed just a little somber, even angry, as they rose, gave Cor
rigan and Tom a carefully sculpted dirty look, and left the courtroom.
“Hm,” said Corrigan. “I didn’t think I did that well.”
“I thought you did great,” said Tom.
Corrigan shrugged. “Well . . . we’ve been praying. It’s in the Lord’s hands.” He gave a weak smile, looked at the floor, and admitted, “But I don’t know, Tom. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just a rotten lawyer or if God chooses to stay out of courtrooms. I haven’t had much to feel good about lately.”
Tom’s smile came from deep inside. “Oh, whatever happens, God isn’t mocked. He’s Lord, Wayne. However He wants this to turn out, I’ll accept it.” He slapped Corrigan on the back. “Let’s get some dinner.”
Corrigan fumbled a bit. “I hope you have some money on you.”
“Uh . . . I have three dollars, I think.”
“Okay. I think I can match that.”
“We’ll make it McDonald’s!”
THE LAKE WAS calm, like a mirror, reflecting the trees on the shoreline with clear, unbroken lines and deep spring colors while just above the water’s surface myriads of bugs danced in the sun like tiny golden sparklers. The lone fisherman sat in his aluminum boat, glad for the quiet, glad to be alone. He was somewhere in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a youthful face, dressed in jeans, flannel shirt, and a drooping fishing hat that had to have been his favorite for years. The fish weren’t biting much, but he was getting the peace he’d come for, and he was satisfied. For now, he reclined lazily against a boat cushion, just floating, relaxing, and not thinking much.
Somewhere in the middle of the day, he heard the rumble and gentle splashing of boat oars, and looked out from under his hat brim. Yes, someone was coming toward him in a small wooden dinghy.
When the visitor drew nearer, the fisherman sat up. He knew that slightly rotund, bespectacled man in the straw hat. They weren’t exactly friends, but they’d bumped shoulders on many occasions. What was he doing here? This was supposed to be the fisherman’s hideaway.
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