The Countering

by Patrick Higgins

  “Slobs!” he finally said in disgust, directing his comment toward the grave diggers, who were undoubtedly sleeping at this late hour. If their boss only knew, they’d get an ear full.

  The man walked back to his truck to warm himself. He lit another cigarette and drove off to patrol the rest of the cemetery.

  Thankfully he didn’t see Samuel E. Washington’s dislodged tombstone inside the hole. Had he seen it, Tamika would have been busted. Usually, holes were dug at cemeteries for three reasons: for a burial, to bury a loved one next to an already departed loved one, or to exhume a body for a criminal investigation.

  Tamika remained camped behind the thick oak tree until she was convinced the coast was clear, then hurried back inside the hole. If she kept low and didn’t shine her flashlight skyward, she might be okay. But if the guard came back again, she’d be trapped inside the hole with no possible way of escape.

  And she couldn’t use the “I-missed-Grandpa” story either. Visiting a grave site in the middle of the night and digging it up were two very different things. One might get you locked up. The other would get you locked up, no questions asked.

  Yes, if caught now, they would have to assume she’d escaped from a mental institution. Who else would break into a cemetery on the coldest of nights, dig up her grandfather’s grave, and drink hot cocoa on top of his casket?

  Only a person with a very serious mental condition. “Pretty much sums me up,” she told herself, chuckling without humor.

  Tamika reached inside the backpack for hot cocoa and a ham and cheese sandwiches. Sickening as it was, she felt hungry. The ten minutes spent hiding behind the oak tree had frozen her to the core. A fire would be great now, she thought, but was entirely out of the question.

  Tamika finished her sandwich and got back to work, clearing a dirt path around the perimeter of the casket.

  Locating the side that could be opened, she cleared a sizable gap on the other side to make more room.

  Taking a moment to visualize the task at hand, she grabbed the shovel and worked tirelessly, repetitiously throwing heaping piles of earth over her shoulders.

  At 5:45 a.m., with enough space cleared to open the casket, the moment of truth was finally upon her: Was Grandpa in there or not?

  Tamika’s hands shook. Her mouth was suddenly dry, like she’d just eaten a spoonful of cotton. Her stomach churned. A voice inside told her not to continue, but to run as far from this place as she possibly could. But running wasn’t an option. This was something she had to do.

  Tamika surveyed the landscape looking for any possible signs of life, namely a security guard approaching again. Nothing. It was showtime.

  Tamika reached for the pick. Her grandfather’s brass casket would be severely damaged in the next few minutes.

  As much as it pained her to desecrate his final resting place on Planet Earth, she had no other choice. She didn’t know how to open a casket. Nor did she have time to learn.

  Grandpa’ll just have to understand. If he was Raptured, it won’t matter anyway. If he wasn’t, well…Tamika pushed that thought out of her mind and raised the pick above her head...

  19

  CHARLES CALLOWAY COULDN’T SLEEP. He tossed and turned all night, unable to stop thinking about Tamika Moseley.

  So strong was his premonition that he sent a text message to Brian Mulrooney, despite the time, saying they needed to pray for Tamika’s protection.

  Brian replied: Protection from what?

  Calloway replied: Dunno, but I sense in my spirit she’s in grave danger. He had no idea of how right he really was, both literally and figuratively.

  Instead of replying, Brian called Charles and the two men prayed for God’s hedge of protection for Tamika wherever she might be...

  TOTALLY UNAWARE OF THE prayers being offered up to God on her behalf, Tamika broke the coffin locks with relative ease. All that was left to do was open it.

  Physically it was the easiest part of the job. But mentally it was the most difficult. She could already smell the decaying insides of the casket. It wasn’t pleasant. It was enough to make a person want to vomit. Did this mean his remains were still in there?

  Tamika hoped not. She reached for the flashlight in her coat pocket. This wasn’t one of those lifetime moments you brag about in front of family members and friends.

  Steadying the flashlight with her left hand, she closed her eyes and said a silent prayer to no one in particular. Her eyes remained closed as she opened the casket with her right hand. Her heart throbbed in her chest.

  Tamika opened her eyes, “Charles was right!”

  The only remains inside the coffin of Samuel E. Washington were his clothing, a Bible and Purple Heart medal he’d received in combat. But not a single bone was found inside the casket.

  “Thank You, Jesus!” Tears exploded from Tamika Moseley’s eyes. An indescribable surge of peace flooded her soul. Gone were the feelings of hurt and rejection, of anger and indignation. All those emotions were frozen in a block of awe.

  With a surge of healing rushing to her soul, Tamika closed the casket and sat atop it. Raising her hands in the frosty night air, she prayed: “Lord, I believe. I believe!” she cried, surrendering to the One who saw her unformed body before the beginning of time. “Thanks for showing me what I needed to see here tonight! I receive You, Jesus, as my Lord and Savior, and will follow You all the days of my life. Thanks for sending Charles and Brian into my life. Please bless them both tonight.

  “Oh, and please take care of my two boys and Momma in Heaven. If Daddy and Antuwan there, take care of them, too. Tell Grandpa I’m sorry for what I did tonight. And tell Dante and Jamal Momma’ll be Home real soon,” she said, her voice cracking. “Thank You, Lord for saving me tonight. Amen.”

  Tamika Moseley was overjoyed. And overwhelmed! At the same time, this life-transforming moment had rendered her emotionally exhausted. She needed to focus what little energy she still had on getting out of the cemetery as quickly as possible.

  After shoveling as much dirt on top of the casket as five minutes would allow—mostly out of respect for her grandfather—it was time to get out of Dodge.

  At 6:05 in the morning, the security guard was out making his rounds again. When his headlights illuminated the fresh mound of dirt, something looked different. And the pick and shovel were missing.

  At first, he thought perhaps the wind might have blown them over. But that’s not what his gut told him. He pulled as close to the grave site as he could, nervous twitch in his stomach.

  He climbed out of the truck and took one last drag from his cigarette. He flicked it to the ground and stomped it out with his right foot. It was so cold that it was impossible to discern the cigarette smoke from his own breath.

  The guard inched up toward the mound of dirt, his flashlight leading the way. Signs of daylight were starting to make their brilliant appearance in the eastern sky above. But not enough to offer much assistance.

  The beam of light from his flashlight moved from left to right, per his command, looking for the shovel and the pick. They were nowhere in sight. He walked to the hole and kicked loose dirt aside with his right foot, exposing part of the damaged casket.

  Whoa! What’s this? He panicked. Surely not the work of a grave digger. Grave robber, perhaps; grave digger, no. Whoever did this caused severe damage to a coffin on my shift. Not good!

  Scanning the area, he spotted someone running away carrying a pick and shovel. “Hey, you,” the man shouted. “Come back here!”

  Tamika shivered at his command and ran as quickly as she could toward the fence. Why couldn’t I have been a track star instead of wanting to be a nurse!

  The man reached for his walkie-talkie and called the other guard for
assistance: “Wake up, Hector!” he yelled, “And loose the dogs!”

  Tamika glanced back at the man. Bundled the way she was, she’d never make it over the fence without being caught. He was gaining on her too quickly. She dropped the shovel and pick to the ground and darted toward the largest tombstone she could find as a quick hiding place.

  “You can have ’em!” she said, knowing they’d never be able to pull her fingerprints from them. She dove to the ground and hid behind a four-foot high tombstone that read: Joshua Hampton—1883-1947. “Sorry to inconvenience you, Mister Hampton.”

  Suddenly, Tamika heard dogs barking. “Oh, no.” And they were getting closer.

  Just as she was about to make another run for it, a beam of light shone on her face. A voice boomed, “What are you doing here?!”

  Tamika’s throat tightened. “I...I...” She lost the ability to speak and was making a fool of herself proving it. “I...I...”

  “Don’t move a muscle!” the guard barked.

  Tamika ignored his stern command and slowly rose to her feet.

  “Hands above your head where I can see them!”

  Tamika did as she was told. When the guard reached for his walkie-talkie, she lunged forward and kicked him in the shin with as much force as her 5'5" frame would allow.

  The overweight man buckled over and fell to the ground, moaning in agony. The tan boots came in handy after all.

  “Sorry, Mister. Didn’t mean it.”

  A woman? “She’s out by the back fence, Hector,” the man barked into his walkie-talkie, ignoring her apology. “Stop her before she gets away!”

  “She?” the other guard asked, mostly to himself.

  Tamika raced for the fence. It was now or never. Had she only remained silent, perhaps the guard wouldn’t have known she was a woman.

  “Where are the dogs? She’s getting away! Let them loose!” the man cried in agony.

  Hector did as he was instructed. The dogs chased after their prey at top speed.

  Meanwhile, the injured guard stood and limped in Tamika’s direction, realizing it was a moot point. He had no chance of catching her. She was ten yards away from the fence.

  The dogs would have to get her. And they did! Two Doberman Pinschers tore into Tamika’s legs as she was climbing the fence, easily pulling her back down to the surface.

  Tamika tried kicking them, but they were too aggressive, too strong! Then she remembered she’d brought mace with her. She reached inside her coat pocket, found it, pointed it at dog number one and sprayed. He ran off whimpering.

  Dog number two was next. Tamika nailed him straight between the eyes. He, too, gave up the fight and ran away, looking for relief. But not before his teeth penetrated her flesh, doing potentially serious damage to her right leg in the process.

  Tamika needed to block out the pain. She would worry about it later. Right now, she needed to escape.

  The security guard approached her a little more cautiously this time.

  Noticing he wasn’t carrying a gun, Tamika said, “Look, mister, I didn’t mean to do what I did. I surely don’t wanna have to hurt you again. But you see this here mace? If I have to use it to get outta here, I’ll do it. If you smart, you’ll turn around and walk away and let the police handle it.”

  The man slowly started toward her. Tamika held up the mace and aimed it at his eyes. He froze. After a ten-second standoff the guard finally backed down. He didn’t want to have to explain how some woman had handled him not once, but twice.

  “Get outta here you lunatic,” he finally said in surrender.

  “I’ll do just that.” Tamika climbed the fence and thrust herself over, landing hard on a small patch of grass on the other side.

  She got up writhing in mind-numbing pain, brushed herself off and slowly walked backwards without taking her eyes off the security guard. Once she felt she was at a relatively safe distance, she turned and limped to her taxicab in agony, knowing full well the police could arrive at any minute.

  A moment later, Hector arrived. “You okay, Nick?”

  “I still have another shin,” came the grunted reply.

  “Got away, huh?”

  “Yep.” There was no way he would tell his partner about the ten-second standoff, or that he’d just given the woman her freedom. At least not now.

  “Want me to call the cops?” Hector asked.

  “Not yet,” Nick said, looking beyond the wrought-iron fence. Taking one last drag of his cigarette, there was a greedy glint in his eyes. Diabolical thoughts invaded his brain.

  The heavyset Caucasian man knew that, if successful, the plan marinating inside his head would serve two purposes; it would put much-needed money in his pockets and pretty much ensure that the woman who’d just escaped his clutches wouldn’t remain free for long.

  Before involving the police, Nick pulled his cell phone from his pants pocket and made another call.

  “We’ll see who gets the last laugh, lady!”

  20

  BY THE TIME THE police arrived on the scene, Tamika Moseley was back in Manhattan, in dire need a few stitches, some antibiotics and perhaps a rabies shot. As much as she wanted to go to a hospital, it was out of the question. How would she explain herself? Once a police report was filed at the cemetery, which Tamika knew would happen at some point, those in charge at the hospital would be obligated to inform the police of her visit.

  No, going to the hospital was out of the question.

  She thought about calling Nila Mirano. Perhaps her friend from college could stop by the apartment and tend to her wounds. Then again, with extremely limited contact and with the passage of time, could Nila be trusted? College buddies or not, if the story generated enough attention, she might feel pressured to report the incident to prevent losing her nursing license.

  Not good!

  After the smoke cleared she would go to a doctor. For now, like it or not, Tamika would have to clean her wounds herself. Thankfully, there was plenty of rubbing alcohol, peroxide and gauze bandages at home.

  Tamika arrived home feeling filthier than ever. She was desperate to scrub every inch of filth and grime off of her body. That’s what mingling with the dead on their turf did to a person.

  It took 20 minutes just to get undressed. Once inside the shower, the hot water stung her back and shoulders. Once it hit the wounds on her legs, the pain was so severe that it nearly knocked her out. Head down, she watched blood-mixed water form a vortex as it swirled down the drain.

  After showering, the wounded woman very carefully dressed her wounds and threw on a robe. She limped to the bedroom ever so gingerly to get her cell phone. This was a call she greatly anticipated making. She finally had good news to share with someone, despite the excruciating pain.

  Charles Calloway was in a deep sleep when his phone rang: “Hello?”

  There was silence for a few seconds. Then, “I believe you now.”

  Charles sat up in bed. He wanted to be certain he understood her perfectly clear. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  “I believe in the Rapture and everything else you and Brian been saying about Jesus being the only way to Heaven. I also believe Momma and my boys are in Heaven.”

  A volcano of happiness erupted inside Calloway’s soul. He started tearing up. “Praise the Lord,” he exclaimed. “What finally brought you to your senses?”

  “Rather not say.”

  “Did it have anything to do with your dream the other night?”

  “Doesn’t matter. All that matters is I believe now.”

  “Amen to that!” Calloway wanted to tell her he and Brian had prayed for her a few hours ago but left it alone for now. She was right. It didn’t matter. “How’s it feel to be a member of God’
s eternal Family?”

  “Painful.” Felt a whole lot better before I got saved!

  “Painful? What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing. Forget it. Will I really see my boys again someday, Charles?”

  “Yep.” If this was Tamika’s way of being joyful, Charles would hate to be around when she found out she’d never be part of the Bride of Christ and would exist on a different plane than her two sons. He wasn’t about to tell her just yet.

  “And my momma?”

  “You can bank on it, sis. After all, she was Raptured along with your two sons.”

  “Thanks, Charles. I really needed to hear that. I gotta go now, but I wanna say thanks for not giving up on me. Tell Brian the same for me.”

  Tamika ended the call, not knowing her life was about to be radically changed and her reputation utterly destroyed. Her little escapade at the cemetery was about to become the big story in New York City and beyond.

  After she made her getaway, before calling the police, Nick, the heavyset Caucasian guard, called a good friend who owned a scrap-metal yard. After telling him about the break in at the cemetery, his friend agreed that now was the perfect time to do what they’d dreamed of doing for many months.

  Said he, “If they’re made of copper like you say, bro, they’re worth a lot; perhaps five-figures for each of us, assuming Hector will help you steal them.”

  Exactly what I need right now! “I’m sure he will.”

  “Of course, I’ll need to weigh ’em first. But if they’re copper, it’ll be a very good score. Just wish you could’ve stolen them prior to last November; they’d be worth double or triple what they’re worth now!”

  “Oh well, better late than never. Five figures is good enough for me, bro!”

  “I guess you’re right,” the scrap-metal yard owner said.