This Present Darkness

by Frank E. Peretti

“Mrs. Pinckston, a trustee on the board of regents.”

  “Ah, so it’s not just men.”

  “Oh, certainly not.”

  Bernice kept writing. “Go on, go on.”

  “Oh dear, who else? Uh, I think Dwight Brandon …”

  “Who’s Dwight Brandon?”

  Darr looked at her condescendingly. “He only owns the property the college is built on.”

  “Ohhhh …” She wrote the name down with a bold-lettered explanation.

  “Oh, and then there’s Eugene Baylor. He’s general treasurer, a very influential man on the board of regents, I understand. It seems he’s been needled just a little about whatever it is he and the professor do in their sessions together, but he remains self-righteous and steadfast in his convictions.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Ah, and there’s also that reverend fellow, that … uh …”

  “Oliver Young.”

  “How did you know?”

  Bernice only smiled. “A lucky guess. Carry on.”

  CHAPTER 10

  ON FRIDAY EVENING Hank couldn’t get the upcoming business meeting off his mind, which was probably to his advantage considering the young lady sitting across from him in his little office corner of the house. He had asked Mary to stick closely around and act very loving and wifely. This young lady—Carmen was the only name she gave—was quite a case load. The way she dressed and carried herself, Hank made sure that it was Mary who answered her knock at the door and let her in. But as far as Hank could tell, Carmen wasn’t trying to put on a facade; she seemed real enough, just sincerely overdone. And as for her reasons for wanting counseling …

  “I think,” she began, “I think I’m just very lonely, and that’s why I keep hearing voices …”

  Immediately she examined their faces for their reaction. But after their recent experiences nothing sounded too far-out to Hank and Mary.

  Hank asked, “What kind of voices? What kind of things do they say?”

  She thought for a moment, searching the ceiling with big, overly innocent blue eyes.

  “What I’m experiencing is legitimate,” she said. “I’m not crazy.”

  “No problem there,” Hank said. “But tell us about these voices. When do they talk to you?”

  “When I’m alone, especially. Like last night, I was lying in bed and …” She related the words the voice spoke to her, and it could have been a perfect script for an obscene phone call.

  Mary didn’t know what to say; this was becoming heavy. To Hank it sounded kind of familiar, and though he felt very cautious about Carmen and her motives, he still remained open to the possibility that she was encountering some of the same demonic forces he’d been dealing with.

  “Carmen,” he asked, “do these voices ever say who they are?”

  She thought for a moment. “I think one of them was Spanish or Italian. He had an accent, and his name was Amano, or Amanzo, or something like that. He always spoke very soothingly and always said he wanted to make love to me …”

  Just then the phone rang. Mary quickly got up to answer it.

  “Hurry back,” said Hank.

  She hurried away, that was for sure. Hank was watching her go when he felt Carmen touching his hand.

  “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?” she asked with pleading eyes.

  “Uh …” Hank withdrew his hand to scratch a nonexistent itch. “No, Carmen, I’m not—I mean I don’t. But I do want to know where these voices came from. When did you first start hearing them?”

  “When I came to Ashton. My husband left me and I came here to start over, but … I get so lonely.”

  “You first started hearing them when you came to Ashton?”

  “I think it was because I was lonely. And I still am lonely.”

  “What was it they said at first? How did they introduce themselves?”

  “I was alone, and lonely, I’d just moved here, and I thought I heard Jim’s voice. You know, my husband …”

  “Go on.”

  “I really thought it was him. I didn’t even think about how he could talk to me without being there, but I talked back and he told me how much he missed me, and how he thought it would be better this way, and he spent the rest of the night with me.” She began to shed some tears. “It was beautiful.”

  Hank didn’t know what to make of this. “Incredible,” was all he could say.

  She looked at him with those big pleading eyes again and said through her tears, “I knew you’d believe me. I’ve heard about you. They say you’re a very compassionate man, and very understanding …”

  Depends on who you listen to, Hank thought, but then her hand was touching his again. Time to call a recess, Hank thought.

  “Uh,” he said, trying to be comforting, sincere, and nonjudgmental. “Listen, I think it’s been a fruitful hour …”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “Would you like to come again, next week sometime?”

  “Oh, I’d love to!” she exclaimed, as if Hank had asked her for a date. “I’ve so much more to tell you!”

  “Well, okay, I think next Friday will be fine for me if it’s fine for you.”

  Oh, it was, it was, and Hank stood up to give her the hint that the session was over for now. They hadn’t covered much ground, but as far as Hank was concerned, boy, was it enough.

  “Now let’s both take some time to think about these things. After a week they may be a little clearer to us. They might make more sense.” Where, oh where was Mary?

  Ah, she came back into the room. “Oh, leaving so soon?”

  “It was wonderful!” Carmen sighed, but at least she had let go of Hank’s hand.

  Getting Carmen out the door was easier than Hank had expected. Good old Mary. What a lifesaver.

  Hank closed the door and leaned against it.

  “Whew!” was all he could say.

  “Hank,” Mary said in a very hushed voice, “I don’t think I like this!”

  “She’s … she’s a real hot one, she is.”

  “What do you think of what she said?”

  “Ehhhhh, I’ll wait and see. Who was that on the phone?”

  “Just wait until you hear this! It was some lady from the Clarion wanting to know if it was Alf Brummel we disfellowshipped from the church!”

  Hank suddenly looked like an inflatable toy that had sprung a leak.

  A LITTLE DISAPPOINTED, Bernice walked into Marshall’s office.

  Marshall was at his desk, going over some new advertising copy for Tuesday’s edition.

  “So what’d they say?” he asked her without looking up.

  “Nope, it isn’t Brummel, and I guess it wasn’t a very tactful question. I talked to the pastor’s wife, and by her tone of voice I can infer that the whole subject is very touchy.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard talk at the barbershop. Some guy was saying they’re going to vote the pastor out tonight.”

  “Ah, so they do have troubles.”

  “But totally unrelated to ours, and I’m glad. It’s gone far enough.” Marshall looked again at the list of names Bernice had gotten from Albert Darr. “How am I supposed to get any work done around here with this kind of stuff hanging around unresolved? Bernie, you’re getting to be a lot of trouble, you know that?”

  She took it as a compliment. “And have you looked over that flyer of elective courses Langstrat is teaching?”

  Marshall picked it up from his desk and could only shake his head incredulously. “What in blazes is all this stuff? ‘Introduction to God and Goddess Consciousness and the Craft: the divinity of man, witch, warlock, the Sacred Medicine Wheel, how do spells and rituals work?’ You gotta be kidding!”

  “Read on, boss!”

  “‘Pathways to Your Inner Light: meet your own spiritual guides, discover the light within … harmonize your mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual levels of being through hypnosis and meditation.’” Marshall read a little further and then exclaimed, “What? ‘How to Enjoy the Pre
sent by Experiencing Past and Future Lives.’”

  “I like that one near the bottom there: ‘In the Beginning Was the Goddess.’ Langstrat, perhaps?”

  “Why hasn’t anyone heard about all this before?”

  “For some reason it was never advertised in the school paper or in the public list of classes. Albert Darr gave me the flyer himself and said it was a somewhat exclusive pass-around item among the interested students.”

  “And my little Sandy is sitting in this woman’s class …”

  “And in a way so are all those people on the list.”

  Marshall set down the flyer and picked up the list. He shook his head again; it was all he could think of to do.

  Bernice added, “I guess I don’t mind it too much if a bunch of dupes want to be taken in by this Langstrat, but they’re all too important! Just look at that: Two of the college regents, the owner of the college land, the county comptroller, the district judge!”

  “And Young! Respected, revered, influential, community-involved Oliver Young!” Marshall let some memory tapes play in his head. “Yeah, it fits, it makes sense now, all that vague, noncommittal stuff he was handing me in his office. Young’s got a religion all his own. He’s no hard-shell Baptist, I’ll tell you that!”

  “Religion I don’t care about. Lies and cover-ups I do!”

  “Well, he most certainly denied knowing Langstrat. I asked him directly, right to his face, and he told me he didn’t know her.”

  “Somebody’s lying,” Bernice sing-songed.

  “But I just wish we had some more corroboration.”

  “Yeah, we’ve only just met Darr.”

  “What about Ted Harmel? How well did you know him?”

  “Well enough, I suppose. You heard why he left?”

  Marshall sneered just a bit. “Brummel said there was some kind of scandal, but who can you believe these days?”

  “Ted denied it.”

  “Aw, everybody’s saying everything and everybody’s denying everything.”

  “Well, call him anyway. I have the number. He’s living up near Windsor now. I think he’s trying to be a hermit.”

  Marshall looked at all the advertising copy still on his desk, awaiting his time and attention. “How am I going to get any of this stuff done around here?”

  “Hey, it’s no biggie. If I could do some independent hoofing, the least you can do is give Ted a call. Do it tomorrow … Saturday, your day off. Reporter to reporter, newsman to newsman. You might hit it off with him.”

  Marshall sighed. “Let’s have the number.”

  MARY FINISHED THE dinner dishes, put up the towel, and made her way through the little house to the back bedroom. There, in the dark, Hank knelt beside the bed in prayer. She knelt down beside him, took his hand, and together they placed themselves in the hands of the Lord. God’s will would be done this night, and they would accept it, whatever it was.

  ALF BRUMMEL HAD a key to the church and was already there, switching on the lights and turning up the thermostat. He wasn’t feeling well at all. They’d just better vote right this time, he kept thinking.

  Outside, even though it was still a half hour before the meeting, cars began to arrive, more than were usually there on Sundays. Sam Turner, Brummel’s chief cohort, drove up in his big Cadillac and helped his wife Helen from the car. He was a rancher of sorts, not a land baron, but he acted like one. Tonight he was grim and determined, as was his wife. In another car came John Coleman and his wife Patricia, a quiet couple who came to Ashton Community after leaving a large church elsewhere in town. They really liked Hank and made no effort to hide it. They knew well that Alf Brummel would not be happy to see them there.

  Others arrived and quickly coagulated into little clusters of similar sentiment, speaking in quick syllables and hushed tones and keeping their eyes to themselves, except for a few rubbernecking nose-counters trying to foresee the final tally.

  Several dark shadows kept a wary eye on everything from their perch atop the church roof, their stations around the building, or their appointed posts in the sanctuary.

  Lucius, more nervous than ever, paced and hovered about. Ba-al Rafar, still wanting a very low profile, had entrusted this task to him, and for this night at least Lucius was back in his old glory.

  What worried Lucius the most were the other spirits standing around, the enemies of the cause, the host of heaven. They were held at bay by Lucius’s forces, to be sure, but there were some new ones he had never seen before.

  Nearby, but not too near, Signa and his two warriors kept watch. Upon Tal’s orders they allowed demons access to the building, but monitored the demons’ activities and kept an eye out for Rafar. So far their very presence, as well as the presence of so many other warriors, had had a taming effect on the demonic hosts. There had been no incidents, and for now that was all Tal wanted.

  When Lucius saw the Colemans come in the front door, he was agitated. In the past, they had never been very strong against the defeats and discouragements Lucius had ordered, and their marriage had just about dissolved. Then they aligned themselves with Praying Busche, hearing his words and becoming stronger all the time. Before long they and others like them would be a real threat.

  But their arrival didn’t cause Lucius as much agitation as the huge, blond-haired messenger of God who accompanied them. Lucius knew for sure he’d never seen this one before. As the Colemans found a seat, Lucius swooped down and accosted this new intruder.

  “I’ve not seen you before!” he said gruffly, and all the other spirits focused their attention on him and the stranger. “From where do you come?”

  The stranger, Chimon of Europe, said nothing. He only riveted his eyes on those of Lucius and stood firm.

  “I’ll have your name!” Lucius demanded.

  The stranger said not a word.

  Lucius smiled slyly and nodded. “You are deaf, yes? And dumb? And as mindless as you are silent?” The other demons guffawed. They loved this kind of game. “Tell me, are you a good fighter?”

  Silence.

  Lucius drew a scimitar that flashed blood-red and droned metallically. On cue, all the other demons did the same. The clatter and ring of burnished blades filled the room as crimson crescents of reflected light danced about the walls. The other messengers of God were barred from intervening by an armed ring of demons as Lucius continued to toy with this one single newcomer.

  Lucius peered at his solid, unmoving opponent with a burning hatred that made his yellow eyes bulge and his sulfurous breath chug out through widely flared nostrils. He toyed with his sword, waved it in small circles in the stranger’s face, watched for the stranger to make the slightest move.

  The stranger only watched him, not moving at all.

  With an intense cry Lucius swept his sword across the front of the stranger, slashing his garment. Cheers and laughter came from the crowd of demons. Lucius poised for a fight, held his sword with both hands, crouched, his wings flared.

  Before him stood a statue with a slashed tunic.

  “Fight, you listless spirit!” Lucius challenged.

  The stranger did not respond, and Lucius cut his face. Another cheer from the demons.

  “Shall I remove an ear? Or two? Shall I cut out your tongue if you have one?” Lucius taunted.

  “I think it’s time we got started,” said Alf Brummel from the pulpit. The people in the room stopped their hushed conversations, and the place began to quiet down.

  Lucius leered at the stranger, and motioned with his sword. “Go stand with the other cowards.”

  The newcomer stepped back, then took his place with the other messengers of God behind the demonic barricade.

  Eleven angels had managed to get into the church without raising too much ire from the demons: Triskal and Krioni had already entered with Hank and Mary. They had often been seen with the pastor and his wife, so they were not paid much attention other than the usual threatening expressions and postures. Guilo was there, as bi
g and threatening as ever, but apparently no demons were the slightest bit interested in asking him any questions.

  A newcomer, a burly Polynesian, made his way over to Chimon and tended the wound in Chimon’s face while Chimon repaired the slash in his tunic.

  “Mota, called here from Polynesia,” came the introduction.

  “Chimon of Europe. Welcome to our numbers.”

  “Can you continue?” Mota asked.

  “I will continue,” Chimon answered, skillfully reweaving his tunic with his fingers. “Where is Tal?”

  “Not here yet.”

  “A demon of fever tried to stop the Colemans. No doubt Tal has encountered an attack on Duster.”

  “I don’t know how he’ll ward it off without making himself visible.”

  “He’ll do it.” Chimon looked about. “I don’t see the Ba-al Prince anywhere.”

  “We may never.”

  “And may he never see Tal.”

  Brummel brought the meeting to order, standing behind the pulpit and looking out over the nearly fifty people who had gathered. From this vantage point even he couldn’t help but try to guess the final tally. Some of the people were definitely going to give Hank the ax, some were definitely not going to, and then there was that frustrating and unpredictable group he couldn’t be sure about.

  “I want to thank you all for coming tonight,” he said. “This is a painful matter for us to decide. I’d always hoped that this night would never come, but we all want God’s will to be done and we want what will be best for His people. So, let us open with a word of prayer and commit the rest of the evening to His care and guidance.”

  With that Brummel began a very pious prayer, appealing to the Lord for grace and mercy in words to bring a tear to the driest eye.

  In the front corner of the sanctuary, Guilo sulked, wishing an angel could spit on a human.

  Triskal asked Chimon, “Getting any strength?”

  Chimon answered, “Why? Is somebody else going to pray?”

  Brummel finished his prayer, the roomful muttered a few Amens, and then he went on with his introduction to the proceedings.