This Present Darkness

by Frank E. Peretti

  Marshall called the number.

  It was busy.

  THE LIVING ROOM of Juleen Langstrat’s apartment was dimly lit by one small lamp on the mantel. The room was quiet, warm, and comfortable. The shades were drawn to block out distractions, bright light, and any other disturbances. The phone was off the hook.

  Juleen Langstrat sat in her chair, speaking quietly to her counselee who sat opposite her.

  “You hear only the sound of my voice …” she said, then repeated the sentence several times quietly and clearly. “You hear only the sound of my voice …”

  This went on for several minutes until her subject was in a deep, hypnotic trance.

  “You are descending … descending deep within yourself …” Langstrat watched the face of her subject carefully. She then extended her hands palms out, fingers spread, and began to move her hands up and down just inches away from the subject’s body, as if feeling for something. “Release your true self … let it go … it is infinite … at unity with all existence … Yes! I can feel it! Can you read my energy returning to you?”

  The subject murmured, “Yes …”

  “You are free from your body now … your body is an illusion … you feel the bounds of your body dissolving away …”

  Langstrat leaned in close, still using her hands.

  “You are free now …”

  “Yes … yes, I am free …”

  “I can feel your life force expanding.”

  “Yes, I can feel it.”

  “That’s enough. You may stop there.” Langstrat was intent, closely observing everything. “Go back … go back … Yes, I can feel you receding. In a moment you will feel me slipping from you; don’t be alarmed, I’m still here.”

  In the next several minutes, she brought her subject slowly back out of the trance, step by step, suggestion by suggestion.

  Finally she said, “All right, when I count to three, you will awake. One, two, three.”

  Sandy Hogan opened her eyes, rolled them about dizzily, then took a deep breath, coming fully around.

  “Wow!” she responded.

  The three of them laughed together.

  “Wasn’t that something?” asked Shawn, sitting next to Langstrat.

  “Wow,” was all Sandy could say.

  This was a real first for Sandy. It had been Shawn’s idea and, though she hesitated at first, now she was very glad that she had gone along with it.

  The apartment shades were opened, and Sandy and Shawn prepared to go back to their afternoon classes.

  “Well, thank you for coming,” said the professor at the door.

  “Thank you,” Sandy piped.

  “And thank you for bringing her,” Langstrat told Shawn. Then she said to the two of them, “Now remember, I wouldn’t advise speaking to anyone about this. It’s a very personal and intimate experience that we should all respect.”

  “Yeah, right, right,” said Sandy.

  Shawn drove her back to campus.

  IT WAS FRIDAY again, and Hank sat at home in his little corner office looking anxiously at the clock. Mary was usually very reliable. She had said she would be back before Carmen got there for her afternoon counseling appointment. Hank had no idea if there were any spies watching the house, but he could never be sure. All he needed was for someone to figure out that Carmen was dropping in to see him while Mary went grocery shopping. Hank’s fearful side could envision all kinds of plots his enemies might be forming against him, such as sending some strange and seductive woman to compromise and ruin him.

  Well, he knew one thing: If Carmen didn’t show a genuine responsiveness to the counseling and begin to apply real solutions to a real problem, that would be the end of it as far as he was concerned.

  Oh-oh. There was the doorbell. He sneaked a look out the window. Carmen’s red Fiat was parked out front. Yes, she was standing at the door, in broad daylight, in full view of ten or fifteen houses. The way she was dressed today made Hank figure he’d better let her in quickly, if only to get her out of sight.

  Where, oh where, was Mary?

  MARY WAS NOT sure she liked the new owners of what used to be Joe’s Market. Oh, it wasn’t their service or the way they ran the store, or whether or not they were friendly; they were okay in most of those departments, and Mary also figured it would take time for them to know everyone and vice versa. What bothered Mary was how obviously secretive they became any time she asked them whatever became of Joe Carlucci and his family. As far as Mary could find out, Joe, Angelina, and their children left Ashton abruptly and didn’t tell anyone, and so far no one could be found who even knew where they went.

  Oh well. She hurried out of the store and toward her car, a young box boy pushing a cart of groceries along behind her. She opened the trunk and watched the boy load the groceries in.

  And then she felt it, suddenly, without any apparent reason: an unexplainable tinge of emotion, an odd mixture of fear and depression. She felt cold, nervous, a little shaky, and could think of nothing but getting out of that place and hurrying home.

  Triskal had been accompanying her, guarding her, and he felt it too. With a metallic ring and a flash of light, his sword was instantly in his hand.

  Too late! From somewhere behind him came a stunning blow on the back of his neck. He toppled forward. His wings shot out to steady him, but an incredible weight came down on his back like a pile driver and pinned him down.

  He could see their feet, like the clawed feet of hideous reptiles, and the red flicker of their blades; he could hear their sulfurous hissing. He looked up. At least a dozen demonic warriors surrounded him. They were towering, fierce, with glowing yellow eyes and dripping fangs, and they were sneering and gargling with laughter.

  Triskal looked to see if Mary was all right. He knew her safety would soon be threatened if he didn’t act. But what could he do?

  What was that? He suddenly felt an intense wave of evil rolling over him.

  “Pick him up,” said a voice like thunder.

  A viselike hand curled around his neck and jerked him up as if he were a toy. Now he was looking at all these spirits eye to eye. They were newcomers to Ashton. He had never seen such size, strength, and brazenness. Their bodies were covered with thick, ironlike scales, their arms rippled with power, their faces were mocking, their sulfurous breath choked him.

  They turned him around and held him tightly, and he found himself face to face with a vision of sheer horror.

  Flanked by no less than ten more huge demonic warriors, a gargantuan spirit stood with an S-curved sword in his monstrous black hand.

  Rafar! The thought coursed through Triskal’s mind like a death sentence; every inch of his being tightened with the anticipation of blows, defeat, unbearable pain.

  The big, fanged mouth broke into a mocking and hideous grin; amber saliva dripped from the fangs, and sulfur chugged forth in rancid clouds as the giant warlord chuckled mockingly.

  “Are you so surprised?” Rafar asked. “You should feel privileged. You, little angel, are the first to look upon me.”

  “AND HOW ARE you today?” Hank asked as he showed Carmen to a comfortable chair in his office area.

  She sank into the chair with a coo and a sigh, and Hank began to wonder where he left his tape recorder. He knew he was innocent of wrongdoing here, but some proof would be nice.

  “I’m much better,” she answered, and her voice was pleasant and even. “You know, maybe you can tell me why, but I haven’t heard any voices talking to me all week.”

  “Oh … um … yeah,” said Hank, finally getting his counselor’s thoughts in gear. “That was what we were talking about, wasn’t it?”

  TRISKAL LOOKED TOWARD Mary. She was thanking the box boy and closing her trunk.

  Rafar watched Triskal, amused. “Oh, I see. You are here to protect her. From what? Did you expect to swat mere flies?” Triskal had no answer. Rafar’s tone became cruel and cutting. “No, you are mistaken, little angel. It is a much greater
power with whom you have to do.”

  Rafar tapped the ground with his sword, and Triskal immediately felt the iron hands of two demons clamping his arms from behind. He looked toward Mary. She was looking for the key to the car door. She was getting into the car. Another demon stretched out his sword and pierced the hood of the car. Mary tried to start the engine. Nothing happened.

  Rafar looked toward the nearby laundromat that faced the parking lot. A young, greasy-looking character stood in front of it, leaning against a post. Triskal could tell the man was possessed by one of Rafar’s henchmen—as a matter of fact, several of them. At Rafar’s nod, the demons went into action and the man started walking toward Mary’s car.

  Mary checked her lights. No, she had not left them on. She turned the key on and turned on the radio. It played. The horn honked. What on earth was the matter? She saw the young character coming her way from the direction of the laundromat. Oh, great.

  As Triskal watched helplessly, the demons guided the man up to the car window.

  “Hey, cutie,” he said, “having some trouble here?”

  Mary looked out at him. He was skinny, dirty, and dressed in black leather and chrome chains.

  She called through the window, “Uh … no thanks. I’m all right.”

  He only smirked, eyeing her up and down as he said, “Why don’t you open up and let me see what I can do?”

  HANK DIDN’T FEEL right about any of this. Where was Mary? At least Carmen was making a little more sense this time. She seemed to be dealing with her problems intelligently and with a genuine desire to change things. Maybe it would be different this time, but Hank wasn’t counting on it.

  “So,” he asked, “what do you suppose became of those amorous voices in the night?”

  “I don’t listen to them anymore,” she answered. “There’s one thing you helped me to realize, just by talking about it: Those voices aren’t real. I’ve only been fooling myself.”

  Hank was very gentle when he agreed, “Yes, I think you’re right.”

  She heaved a deep sigh and looked at him with those big blue eyes. “I was trying to cope with my loneliness, that’s all. I think that was it. Pastor, you’re just so strong. I wish I could be that way.”

  “Well, the Bible says, ‘I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.’”

  “Uh-huh. Where’s your wife?”

  “Getting groceries. She should be back any minute.”

  “Well …” Carmen leaned forward and smiled ever so sweetly. “I’m really drawing strength from your company. I want you to know that.”

  MARY COULD FEEL her heart pounding. What would this guy do next?

  The man leaned against the window and his breath fogged the glass as he said, “Say, sweetheart, why don’t you tell me your name?”

  Rafar grabbed Triskal by the hair and jerked his head around. Triskal thought his head would snap off.

  Rafar breathed sulfur right into Triskal’s face as he said, “And now, little angel, I will have words with you.” The tip of the long sword came up to Triskal’s throat. “Where is your captain?”

  Triskal did not answer.

  Rafar yanked his head around and let him look toward Mary.

  The man tried the latch on Mary’s door. She was terrified. She groped for every lock button in the car, pushing each one down only seconds before the man could grab the outside latch. He tried all the doors, a leering smile on his face. Mary tried the horn again. A demon had already taken care of that—it didn’t work. Rafar twisted Triskal’s head back again, and the cold blade pressed against Triskal’s face.

  “I will ask you again: Where is your captain?”

  CARMEN WAS STILL telling Hank how much good this counseling was doing her, how he reminded her of her former husband, and how she was looking for a man with his qualities. Hank had to put a lid on this stuff.

  “Well,” he finally cut in, “do you have any other people in your life that you feel are significant as far as strength, support, friendship, those kinds of things?”

  She looked at him just a little mournfully. “Sort of. I have friends who hang out at the tavern. But nothing ever lasts.” She let her thoughts brew for a moment, then asked, “Do you think I’m attractive?”

  THE MAN IN black leather leaned close to Mary’s window, threatened her with horrible obscenities, then started banging on the glass with a large metal buckle.

  Rafar nodded to a warrior whose hand passed through Mary’s window and grasped the lock button, ready to pull it up at Rafar’s order. The demons in the young man were drooling and ready. His hand was on the latch.

  Rafar made sure Triskal could see it all, and then said, “Your answer?”

  Triskal finally spoke, moaning, “The brake …”

  Rafar held him tighter, leaning closer. “I didn’t hear you.”

  Triskal repeated it. “The brake.”

  Mary had a flash. The car was parked on an incline. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough to get the car moving. She released the parking brake and the car started to roll. The creep wasn’t expecting that; he banged on the window, tried to get around in front of the car to stop it, but it began to roll at a steady clip and he soon realized that his efforts to stop it were becoming a little too obvious to other shoppers.

  A husky contractor standing by his big four-wheeler finally saw what was going on and hollered, “Hey, creep, whaddaya doin’?”

  Rafar watched it happen, his rising anger coursing through his big iron fist, making it tighten more and more around Triskal. Triskal thought his neck would crack any moment.

  But then Rafar seemed to give in.

  “Desist!” he ordered the demons. They backed off; the man gave up the chase and tried to saunter nonchalantly away. The big contractor started after him, and he fled.

  The car kept rolling. There was an exit from the parking lot that emptied onto a backstreet with a fairly good grade. Mary steered for it, hoping no other cars or pedestrians would get in her way.

  Triskal saw that she would make it.

  So did Rafar. The cold steel of his blade pressed against Triskal’s throat. “Well done, little angel. You have spared your charge until a more opportune time. I will leave you with only a message for today. Pay careful attention.”

  With that, Rafar released Triskal into the hands of his henchmen. One huge, warty demon pounded his iron fist into Triskal’s torso and sent him spinning into the air where another demon intercepted him with a swat of his sword, carving a deep gash in his back. Triskal fluttered and tumbled down in a daze, into the clutches of two more demons who pummeled his limp body with iron fists and tore at him with taloned feet. For several horrible minutes the demons made violent sport with him as Rafar coldly watched. Finally the great Ba-al gave a growled command, and the warriors let Triskal go. He flopped to the ground, and Rafar’s big taloned foot stomped down on his neck. The huge sword swung down and waved in small circles before Triskal’s eyes as the demon master spoke.

  “You will tell your captain that Rafar, the Prince of Babylon, is looking for him.” The big foot pressed harder. “You will tell him!”

  Suddenly Triskal was alone, a limp, ragged wreck. He struggled to his feet again. All he could think of now was Mary.

  HANK GENTLY TOOK hold of Carmen’s hand, lifted it off his own, and placed it courteously in her lap. He held it there for just a moment and looked into her eyes with compassion and yet firmness. He let go of it and then leaned back in his chair to a safe distance.

  “Carmen,” he said with a soft and understanding voice. “I’m very flattered that you’re so impressed with my masculine qualities … and really, I have no doubts that a woman of your particular qualities will have no trouble finding a good man with whom to build a lasting and meaningful relationship. But listen—I don’t mean to sound abrupt, but I have to emphasize one thing right here and now: I am not that man. I’m here as a minister and counselor, and we have to keep this relationship strictly limited
to that of a counselor and his client.”

  Carmen seemed very disturbed, and very offended. “What are you saying to me?”

  “I’m saying that we really can’t continue these appointments. They’re causing emotional conflicts for you. I think you’ll be better off going to someone else.”

  Hank couldn’t explain why, but even as he said that, he felt like he had just won some kind of battle. From the icy look in Carmen’s eyes, he figured she had lost.

  MARY WAS CRYING, wiping the tears from her face with her sleeve and praying a mile a minute. “Father God, dear Jesus, save me, save me, save me!” The hill was beginning to flatten out; the car slowed down, fifteen, ten, five miles an hour. She looked behind and saw no one following, but she was too scared by now to be comforted. She just wanted to get home.

  Then, up the street behind her and about ten feet above the ground, Triskal flew, his clothes flashing with white-hot light and his wings rushing. His flight path was wobbly and the rhythm of his wings out of sync, but he was determined nevertheless. His face was etched with deep concern for her welfare. He spread his tattered, fluttering wings like a large canopy and let them brake him to a stop as he settled down onto the roof of the car. By now it was barely rolling and Mary just kept crying and wailing, jerking her body in futile attempts to urge the car onward.