The Countering

by Patrick Higgins

  If Heaven was a real place for true believers, surely he was there now. But what about his earthly body? Was it also in Heaven? No. Tamika attended his funeral and saw his lifeless carcass lying inside the casket that day. He was nothing but skin and bones.

  She still remembered what the preacher said at his viewing, “His body’s there all right, but he’s at Home with the Lord!”

  Would that mean…No…I couldn’t. Sinister thoughts started invading every inch of her brain. Just the thought of it was vile.

  Tamika thought about her late father, Reggie Ferguson, and her brother, Antuwan. Were they in Heaven? She was unsure.

  If they were true followers of Jesus Christ, they lived out their faith in secret. But if anyone in her family, aside from her mother, was a true Christian, it was her grandfather.

  Besides, he was the one invading her dream, not her father or Antuwan. Would that mean his body was no longer in his coffin?

  Tamika wondered if she could do something so scandalous? Could she stoop so low and do something so inhumane and unethical? Something that could possibly get her thrown in jail?

  On one hand, if her grandfather’s body wasn’t inside his casket, it would prove Charles’ theory correct. How could she not believe it then? On the other hand, was it worth taking a risk like this just to prove it?

  At 4:45 that morning, Tamika finally decided against all logic that she would dig up her Grandpa’s grave. Otherwise, she might never have a decent night’s sleep again.

  If his body was still inside the casket—what was left of it—she would dismiss Charles Calloway’s theory no matter how logical it sounded and look to dispel all other theories, one by one, until she finally found the Truth.

  But what if his body’s gone? First things first. Time to start looking for a pick and shovel.

  “Here you go again girl with dis crazy thinking!” Tamika said, totally unamused by her own ponderings, before eventually falling back to sleep…

  17

  DURING HER LUNCH BREAK, Tamika Moseley drove to the cemetery in Brooklyn that housed her late grandfather.

  Come nightfall, without a proper lay of the land, it would be impossible to accomplish the maniacal task at hand. She couldn’t aimlessly wander the cemetery, flashlight in hand, recklessly bouncing beams of light everywhere until she miraculously found her grandfather’s grave.

  If she did that, she’d surely be caught at some point.

  Ten years had passed since she’d last stepped foot inside this sprawling lot of land. She hadn’t the faintest idea where to begin looking. Her late father and brother were buried elsewhere.

  As for her mother and two boys, they weren’t buried anywhere. Which is why she was doing this crazy thing in the first place. Yes, in her warped mind, part of her felt she was doing this for them. If Charles and Brian were right, perhaps tonight would bring closure.

  “Maybe then I can finally find peace for my soul!” she told the windshield.

  Tamika parked the taxi in front of the main office and went inside for assistance.

  The man inside was happy to assist her. Unbeknownst to him, he was preemptively aiding and abetting her in a crime by leading her in the right direction. But he would never stand trial for it. When someone asked the location of a loved one’s grave, his job was to help that person, no questions asked.

  Tamika took the makeshift map the man had drawn for her and drove off to her grandfather’s grave.

  A few minutes later, she found it. A light covering of dirt, caked-in mud and stray leaves covered much of his in-ground tombstone, a tombstone provided by the U.S. military, for Samuel E. Washington’s 20 years of faithful service to his country.

  Because no family member had been to this place in quite some time, it was totally devoid of flowers, American flags, stuffed animals, and the many other things loved ones left. Weeds, now dead, like the bodies buried beneath the frozen ground, lay everywhere.

  Tamika walked back to the cab and retrieved a pocketknife she kept in the glove compartment for added protection. She scraped and chiseled away at the hardened soil covering the light gray marble tombstone. This was done out of respect for her grandfather, and also so she could easily identify his grave when she came back later to do the unthinkable.

  Tamika wondered if God would ever condone such a thing. Could He? Probably not, she concluded. Then again, if Charles Calloway, Brian Mulrooney and the preacher at her grandfather’s funeral were all right, his body wasn’t there anyway. Was God behind the craziness after all?

  Tamika let her eyes wander over the partially frozen landscape for the best entryway in later. Eyes darting left and right, it quickly became apparent that if the front gates were locked, which she had every reason to think they would be, the only other way in would be to climb over the fence at the back of the cemetery.

  This might pose a challenge but, at 27, she was still young enough to do it. With her mind made up to go through with her sinister plan, all that was left was preparation and execution. Execution, not a good word at dis place, Moseley thought.

  After work, she would borrow the necessary tools—namely a pick and shovel—from Juan, the custodian at her apartment complex. They were pretty good friends. Hopefully I’ll have the nerve to go through with it.

  Tamika left the cemetery and went in search of a customer. Her cell phone rang. It was Charles Calloway. After exchanging pleasantries Tamika said, “I tried praying last night.”

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that!”

  “Don’t be. It was a total waste of time,” she said, taking the wind out of his sail.

  Charles grimaced. “I understand how you feel, Tamika. That was me much of my adult life. But at least you’re praying. That puts you on the right track.” Right track or not, Charles knew if she just stood there, chances were good she’d get run over by the devil again and again until she finally jumped all in with God.

  He didn’t tell her that. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Shoot,” Tamika said.

  “Does anything feel different now that you’ve tried praying? You know, anything out of the ordinary? After all, God tends to work in mysterious ways.”

  This is mysterious, alright! Wickedly mysterious! “Nope,” Tamika lied. She took a deep breath and decided to come clean. “Actually, I was jolted from a deep sleep in the middle of the night. I had a dream...”

  “And?” She’s having dreams too?

  “Listen Charles,” she barked, “I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Besides, I’m working and need to concentrate on the road.”

  “Understood.” Now wasn’t the time to pressure her. Tamika was finally searching for the Truth and Charles was grateful for that. She was even having dreams! God was answering both his and Brian’s prayers!

  Hallelujah!

  The moment the call ended, an alarm went off inside Charles Calloway’s head. Perhaps it was spiritual discernment on his part, but he suddenly felt Tamika was slowly surrendering to the pull of the Holy Spirit. Now more than ever, she needed prayer.

  “Time to call Brian!”

  18

  TAMIKA MOSELEY WOKE AT one a.m. still a little discombobulated. The vicious cold front predicted to reach New York City came through in full force. It was twelve degrees outside, but the fierce wind chill made it feel like eight below zero.

  But at least the skies were mostly clear. And this was vital because Tamika would rely heavily on the moonlight for illumination, so long as the stray clouds would allow it. The flashlight would come in handy once the hole was dug and she began the task of desecrating her grandfather’s coffin.

  Tamika was bundled up in the darkest and warmest clothing she owned: a purple hoodie, a black parka ja
cket, black gloves, black jeans and a black mask to shield her face from the frigid elements. The only boots she owned were tan in color. She thought to dye them black, but there wasn’t enough time. Underneath all her layers of clothing she wore thermal underwear.

  Tamika wasn’t expecting a big crowd where she was going. At least not among the living. But there would be security guards. And dogs? Why didn’t I look for dogs earlier? Dummy!

  Security guards would be bad enough. Dogs would pose a more serious challenge. If they found her, they’d be all over her petite frame before she knew what hit her. Yes, if there were dogs on the grounds, she’d surely be caught at some point, which meant she would never get this close again. Definitely not good!

  Tamika needed to be extremely careful. One wrong slip could surely land her in the hospital; perhaps even in jail. By being related to the corpse buried six feet beneath the surface, she could say she missed Grandpa real bad and needed to see him again.

  Perhaps they’d think she was crazy, kick her out of the cemetery and forget the whole thing. But only if she got caught before she started digging. Once she started, she’d be all out of excuses. The police would be involved and it would probably be turned into a criminal matter.

  Thanks to Juan, the janitor at her apartment complex, Tamika had the proper tools. But did she have the strength to go through with it? Did she have the nerve? The resolve? Whether she did or not, the job needed to be done. And it had to be done while it was still dark. Come daybreak, cemetery guards would easily notice the freshly-dug hole and the scene would be investigated.

  But what else could she do? This was the only viable option she could think of. One way or the other, following her dream—nightmare rather—would provide all the proof she needed.

  No one had to tell her this was a despicable way of proving whether Charles and Brian were telling the truth or not. In her heart of hearts, Tamika wanted to believe the Rapture theory. She needed to believe in something again.

  If her grandfather wasn’t inside his casket, she would ask God’s forgiveness and repent of every-last sin she’d ever committed—especially this one—receive Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior and rejoice knowing she would be rejoined with her kids and mother again someday.

  On the other hand, if his remains were still there, she would sincerely apologize to her late grandfather, then sorrowfully and respectfully lay him back to rest. She would also lay to rest the Rapture theory once and for all.

  Driving up to the front entryway of the cemetery, Tamika didn’t need to get out of her vehicle to see the chain-links circling the gates. Time for Plan B!

  Moseley parked a block and a half from the cemetery and grabbed the backpack from the front passenger seat. It was full of tools; a flashlight, extra batteries, Band-Aids and gauze, a Thermos full of hot cocoa and enough food to get her through the night, including two ham and cheese sandwiches.

  Walking the streets with a backpack at 2 a.m. didn’t necessarily make her look too out of the ordinary. Anyone seeing her might think she was homeless and leave it at that.

  Carrying a pick and shovel was altogether different. If seen carrying these things, especially by a woman, it would surely bring unwanted attention her way.

  Except for a few passing cars, Tamika reached the back of the cemetery without incident. Thankfully the police weren’t out patrolling the area with great frequency this night.

  Tamika Moseley eyeballed the black eight-foot wrought-iron fence surrounding the entire cemetery, protecting it from possible intruders, so the dead could rest in peace—even though the dead were already at their final destinations.

  Some were at peace. Most were nowhere near eternal bliss.

  She removed her backpack and tossed it over the fence. No turning back now! Sliding the pick and shovel through an opening in the fence, Tamika checked to make sure the coast was clear, like any criminal worth their salt would do.

  Satisfied that she was in the clear, she grabbed the fence with both gloved hands and slowly pulled herself up, her feet gripping a pole. Atop the black fence were metal spikes, obviously there to keep people from doing what she was doing.

  Straddling the fence, Tamika took a deep breath and thrust herself onto the semi-frozen ground below. She hit the surface with a hard thud. The ground easily absorbed it. But not her body. She heard a crack in her left shoulder upon hitting the ground.

  Now wasn’t the time to worry about it. Tamika brushed herself off and went in search of the grave site of Samuel E. Washington, all the while hoping the surface wouldn’t be too frozen to dig up.

  Except for the faint moonlight, a few house lights and some streetlights in front of the cemetery, it was pitch black. But she couldn’t use her flashlight just yet.

  When Tamika was just 14, her brother, Antuwan, was shot and killed during a drive-by shooting meant for the next-door neighbor.

  Mostly due to the fact that his killer was never brought to justice, she came to believe that the screams of murder victims echoed from the grave, calling out to the still-alive for justice, hoping to be heard.

  Tamika could almost hear their cries bouncing off the trees before slowly fading and getting smaller and smaller, but never fading completely. A chill shot through her. It was almost as if she could feel the devil walking alongside her.

  The bitterly cold wind blew the dark, leafless trees from side to side, casting an eerie, stirring, whistling sound all throughout the cemetery. They looked like large monsters coming after her, their many arms flailing up and down. Not a good thought in a cemetery, especially at this ungodly hour. More chills shot down her spine.

  The wind ripped through her protective gear at times like it wasn’t even there. Even bundled up, Tamika Moseley was chilled to the bone. Chilled to the bone. Another bad thought. Bones made Tamika think of skeletons; skeletons made her think of graveyards; graveyards made her think of…

  “Stop dis crazy thinking, girl,” Tamika reprimanded herself under her breath.

  But nothing would deter her. Her mind was made up. She was so close. Her soul was starved for the Truth. One way or the other, the one question that dominated her thinking since meeting Charles Calloway would finally be answered: Did Jesus really come back for His Church last November?

  No, there was no turning back now.

  Tamika easily located her grandfather’s grave. Clearing the caked-in dirt from his tombstone earlier was a good move on her part. She removed her backpack and placed it on the frozen ground, then reached inside for the flashlight and placed it inside her coat pocket. She needed to know exactly where it was when it came time to use it.

  She unscrewed the cap off the Thermos and filled a cup full of hot cocoa. It tasted good. She finished it and wanted more but, knowing she might be there all night, it needed to last.

  Tamika scanned the area. Seeing it was clear, she raised the pick above her head and struck the ground with it, easily ripping into the semi-frozen surface. The topsoil posed no challenge for the pick. Two inches beneath the soil it was still moist from the heavy rains the past couple of days.

  Tamika furiously picked away at the earth in broad even strokes. It was as if the ground had angered her and she was seeking vengeance. She kept in rhythm, as if trying to morbidly serenade the dead before shoveling what she managed to loosen to the side.

  It took less than a half-hour to dislodge the tombstone. Though flat on the surface, it was 24 inches in diameter. Tamika tried lifting it out of the way, but it was heavier than expected. It fell into the hole she’d just dug, much to her dismay. Jus’ have to dig around it...

  After an hour and a half more of rigorous digging, Tamika hit pay dirt. It was time for more hot cocoa and a ham and cheese sandwich.

  Climbing out of the hole she s
aw headlights coming in her direction. “Oh no! Not now!” she cried.

  Tamika grabbed her backpack and ran as quickly as she could. Hiding behind a nearby oak tree, fear snaked through her. Was it a security guard? Who else could it be at this hour?

  Yes, it was a security guard. Pulse racing in her ears, she frequently stuck out her head to monitor the guard’s every move. Hopefully he would leave quickly so she could get back to what she was doing before he rudely interrupted her.

  What Tamika didn’t know was, at four o’clock in the morning, this was supposed to be the security guard’s fifth time patrolling the cemetery. His job was to make the rounds every hour on the hour. But this was only his second go-round. He and his partner had both fallen asleep while playing cards at around one-thirty.

  “What the…” the overweight Caucasian man said, noticing the fresh mound of dirt off to his left. He didn’t remember seeing it earlier. He wiped the windshield with his forearm to clear the frost build up. Unable to catch a good glimpse, the guard climbed out of the truck to take a closer look.

  Tamika Moseley remained behind the tree paralyzed with fear. Not only that, she was completely frozen from head to toe. Being inside the hole had somewhat shielded her from the punishing winds. Now she felt its full brunt again.

  She’d come oh so close. All her hard work the past few hours could go down the drain, just like that. If caught, it would all be for nothing.

  Flashlight on, the man surveyed the area looking for anything out of the ordinary. In wide arcs, the beam of light illuminated every place it was directed to go. The overweight man was used to shivers crawling up and down his spine at this place. Bottom line: You never knew what to expect working at a cemetery.

  Upon taking a closer look, the guard was satisfied that the freshly-dug hole was for a new burial tomorrow. But why were tools left out? He reached for the pick and shovel and mounted them in a fresh pile of dirt. He thought to take them back to the shed, but it wasn’t part of his job description.