The Seventh Door

by Bryan Davis

  For the next few minutes, Matt, Walter, Ashley, Elam, and Yereq hustled around in search of anything that might be of use for Matt’s journey. At the bus’s depot behind the prison fence, Yereq found a long rope and ripped away a crawl-space access door that could be used as a lowering platform. From the makeshift car, Walter retrieved a duffle bag containing a stash of weapons he had brought from the military prison in Arizona. Elam discovered an electrician’s climbing harness, while Ashley pulled blankets from the only remaining house.

  Since Thomas sensed a growing danger, Dad stood guard over the women while they worked on the harness and blankets to fashion a way for Matt to carry Lauren. Mom retrieved the flame-retardant cloak from her suitcase and padded the harness with it, saying he might need flame protection for a portal jump.

  Matt used the prison’s restroom facilities, drank plenty of water, and ate three snack bars. When they reconvened in front of the seventh door, Walter strapped a belt around Matt’s waist and attached two semiautomatic pistols, four extra ammo magazines, two hand grenades, and a knife in a sheath. He also clipped a flashlight to a pants loop underneath the belt. When he finished, he slid the scrap of paper that contained the device coordinates into Matt’s shirt pocket. “In case you get in touch with Second Eden before we do.”

  “Thanks.” Matt adjusted the belt, taking note of a water bottle someone had slid into a pouch. Since the strap was too wide to pass through his pants’ belt loops, the heavy load made the belt hang low, and the buckle seemed ready to pop loose. He would have to be careful.

  Yereq held aloft a four-foot-by-four-foot board attached to a rope at the center. Ashley gave it a push, making it swing. “As you can see,” she said, “it’s going to take a lot of strength and skill to keep from falling, especially with Lauren strapped to your body, but it’s better than just hanging on to a rope.”

  Sapphira and Darcy tied the harness around his abdomen and fastened it at his chest and waist. Mom looped a rope from his back, between his legs, and up to an attachment point at his chest, then tied it in place. “Is that all right?” Mom asked.

  Matt pushed the rope to a comfortable spot. “Yeah. It’s good.”

  “There’s something I have to tell you before you go.” She slid a finger behind a strap at his chest. “Sapphira told me some of the things you said when Lauren died.”

  “Yeah . . . well, I can explain that—”

  “No need to explain. The Lord did let Lauren die. That’s a fact.”

  “What then? Was I not supposed to get mad? She was my sister. If God let her die, then—”

  “Shhh.” Mom touched Matt’s lips with a finger. “Just let me tell you what’s on my mind.”

  Matt gave her an apologetic nod. “Sure. Go ahead.”

  “You lost your sister, and it broke your heart. It broke mine, too, and we’re both sobbing in our souls. And no wonder. She was an amazing young woman. Even though we knew her for such a short time, she was more precious to us than any treasure.” Mom bit her lip and swallowed hard a few times. A new tear slowly coursed down her cheek. “With all our grief, can you imagine what it would be like to lose someone you have loved and cherished for uncountable years? Can you imagine what it would be like to watch your son, your only son, die a cruel death at the hands of people who should have loved him?”

  Matt looked into her eyes, seemingly alight with a flickering flame. Obviously this was going to be a Jesus talk, but that was fine. “No, I guess I can’t imagine it.”

  “Neither can I.” She inhaled deeply, as if gathering courage. “Matt, we don’t have much time, so I have to be blunt. I hoped to tell you this in another way, but now I feel like I have to step up on a soapbox and preach a sermon. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, Mom. You can say anything you want. I’m listening.”

  “Okay. Here goes.” Mom slid her hand into Matt’s. “God loves us so much, he allowed his only son to die for us on a cross. I’m sure he watched in agony and suffered far more than we do over Lauren. But he let it happen anyway. Why? So something good would result, something so wondrous, it was worth the torture. Jesus died so we could spiritually die with him, so that the poison of sin could be purged from us, body and soul. And once we died, we could be resurrected to a new life, free from bondage to those evil things we couldn’t purge ourselves, a life of liberty and life that casts away every shadow, even the most stubborn phantoms that once stalked us, wrapped us in chains, and never let us go.”

  Matt swallowed. A phantom? Yes, how well he knew the phantom, the one that kept injecting poison every time Darcy tried to heal the rift between them. He glanced at her, but she had walked several steps away, her back turned. “So . . . um . . . how does it happen? . . . I mean, how does a person die like that?”

  “By faith.” She pressed a hand against his chest. “From the depths of your heart, soul, and mind, you have to believe in God and what he has done for you, turn away from your sins, and surrender to Jesus. Reject hate and embrace love—love for God, love for others, especially for . . .” Mom’s face twisted into a mournful mask. “Especially for . . .”

  “Especially for Darcy.” Matt nodded. “That’s my phantom. I understand that. But I’ve tried to get rid of it, and I can’t. I just can’t.”

  “I know. I know.” Tears flowing, Mom took his hands and ran a finger along each palm. “He bled for you, Matt. People who hated Jesus drove nails into his hands. Yet he forgave every repentant soul, even those who were once his enemies.” She kissed the heel of his hand and whispered, “That’s real love. And real love forgives. There is no need to hold on to pain and bitterness. Jesus can set you free.”

  His own tears welling as he looked into her eyes, Matt enfolded her hands in his. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll be thinking about it. I promise.” He lifted his brow. “Pray for me?”

  “With all my heart.” She pulled back, her chin quivering. “I guess you’d better go.”

  He kissed her knuckles. “I’m ready.”

  Yereq picked Lauren up and hoisted her high enough to let her slide feet first into the harness. While Ashley tapped on Tamiel’s phone, the other women worked on strapping Lauren securely to Matt’s back.

  When they finished, Ashley slid the phone into one of Matt’s pockets. “I programmed it to use the frequency for our tower in Second Eden. If you manage to get there, maybe it will help. Also, your mother wrote an electronic note that explains how to translate the resurrection book. If you find Abaddon’s table, look for the book, a glass egg, and a vial. If those are all there, then you’re good to go. Her note is on the screen right now. The battery’s almost fully charged, so it should last a long time.”

  Matt shrugged to get Lauren to slide down a bit. When her body shifted into place, he nodded. “Got it.”

  After a tearful round of good-byes, Matt walked to the abyss. Yereq stood there, his feet set wide apart next to a coil of rope and his two powerful hands clutching the fibrous line. Several paces behind him, the rope led to the Mustang where he had attached the end to the front bumper.

  At the other end, the platform dangled a foot or so below the pit’s edge. For some reason, the flat slab of wood seemed familiar. Probably nothing. Just a bout of déjà vu.

  With everyone watching from a few steps away, Matt turned toward them and gave them a weak smile. Mom folded her hands as if in prayer, her arm curled around Dad’s. Dad offered an affirming nod. Walter pumped a fist. Darcy drew the closest and blew a kiss.

  Matt dropped to all fours and grabbed the rope. As he scooted backwards toward the platform, Lauren’s weight dragged him down until he set his feet firmly on the board, one at each side of the rope.

  “Let me know when you have your balance,” Yereq said, “and I will begin lowering you.”

  Matt shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The board teetered but not too much. This was definitely doable. “Okay. Slow and easy, Yereq. I want to look for exits on the way down.
”

  “Call if the descent is too fast.”

  The platform lowered. As Matt dropped with it, his chest and head descended below the pit’s lip. As light grew dimmer and reddish, only Yereq’s bearded face stayed in view.

  Matt looked at the surrounding wall—rugged stone at this level, no sign of holes or tunnels, though below, the pulsing radiance continued painting shadows, then erased the dark silhouettes and painted them again. The spinning wind constantly pushed him to the side, but his weight combined with Lauren’s kept them from flying around.

  When he reached a depth of about thirty feet, a rocky ledge fell open to his right, like a castle’s drawbridge dropping over a moat. Above the protrusion, a low recess led into darkness. “Yereq! Hold it there!”

  The rope stopped. As Matt reached for the ledge, his danger sense heightened. Something terrible lurked nearby, but not in this pit. It seemed to come from above.

  “Yereq? What’s going on up there?”

  “The sky is filling with creatures Darcy calls drones.” Yereq looked away, though he remained visible from chest to head. “There are hundreds of them. They will be upon us in seconds.”

  “Then pull me up. Quick.”

  A dark-winged beast leaped onto Yereq and sank fangs into his neck. Yereq let go of the rope with one hand and swatted the drone away. The platform dropped a foot. Matt nearly tumbled off. He set a hand on the ledge and steadied himself, but the rocky protrusion lifted, forcing him to let go. It then sealed the opening with a crackling thud.

  Yereq reset his grip and began reeling Matt upward, “Drones are chewing the rope!”

  Shouts and demonic squeals streamed from above. Only twenty feet to go.

  Yereq vanished under a blanket of beating wings. The rope slipped from his hands. Something snapped. Matt plunged, clutching the useless line. Then, the descent slowed. A wild scream erupted from above, a woman in horrible pain. Had the drones attacked Mom? Sapphira?

  Matt replanted his feet on the platform. A new stony projection opened at eye level. He grabbed it with one hand and brought the drop to a halt. Now about a hundred feet below the surface, he looked up. Darcy lay prostrate. Half of her abdomen jutted over the edge of the abyss, her arms straight down and her hands desperately holding the rope.

  More hot air blew from below and swirled past. Hadn’t he dreamed this exact scene? Didn’t Darcy let him fall, laughing as he plunged? What could it all mean?

  A sudden gust slammed the platform and Matt’s hip against the wall. The belt flew loose and fell into the abyss, taking the weapons and water with it. The wood cracked and broke into pieces.

  Matt held to the rope, set his feet against the wall, and clutched the ledge with straining fingers. He couldn’t swing up to it, not with Lauren’s body adding extra weight. “Hang on, Darcy!”

  “I’m trying.” Her throaty cry pierced the dark pit. “Matt! I can’t hold on much longer!”

  Explosions boomed somewhere above. More shouts rang out, angry and warlike.

  He released the ledge and grabbed the rope with both hands. “I’m trying to . . . get to this hole . . . before it closes.” Straining with all his might, he climbed hand over hand to the opening’s level, his feet stepping up the wall. With a leg thrust, he pushed off and swung toward the ledge. The moment his feet landed, Darcy screamed. The rope reeled downward.

  A stretched-out call zoomed at him from above. “Matt!” Darcy plummeted past him, the rope still in her hands.

  “Wrap it around your waist and hang on!” He dropped to his stomach, twisted the rope around his wrists, and pulled his sleeves over his hands. The projection began to rise. Matt slid backwards into the darkness as if being swallowed. The rope twanged and jerked him forward. The force nearly pulled his hands from their sockets, and the rope cut into his palms in spite of the protective sleeves, but the projection’s angle kept him from being slung into the void with Darcy.

  The “drawbridge” slowly lowered again. Gasping for breath as he hung on, Matt belly-crawled to the edge. Below, crisscrossing shadows seemed to jab a dangling human form as it swayed in the cyclonic updraft.

  “Darcy!” Matt battled for breath. His hands and wrists burned. “Can you hear me?”

  A shaky “yes” floated up from the void.

  “Is the rope around your waist?”

  Another weak “yes” rode the hot rising air.

  “Hang on.” Matt pushed up to his knees, lifting Lauren and pulling Darcy at the same time. Biceps screamed. Sweat poured. His palms grew slick, but he held on. Failure was not an option.

  With a thrust, he planted one foot on the projection’s floor, then pushed up to the other. Both hands still gripping the rope, he backed up, step by step, grunt after grunt. His leg muscles ached, but they gave relief to his arms as he labored through the torturous reverse march.

  When he reached the opening in the pit’s wall, he walked onto the drawbridge again, pulling the rope along the way, then trudged backwards once more. After repeating the process several times, Darcy’s head appeared. She threw an arm over the ledge, then the other.

  Matt lunged and grabbed Darcy under her arms. With Lauren pressing down on his back, he summoned every remaining ounce of strength, heaved Darcy onto the ledge, and helped her crawl into the recess.

  With their weight removed from the projection, it lifted and shut them in. Pressure crushing his lungs, Matt unclipped the flashlight from his belt loop and flicked it on. At least that had stayed put when the belt snapped, as did the phone in his pocket. The flashlight slipped from his numb fingers and spun on the ground. As the beam arced, its radiant circle illuminated the walls of a small cave.

  Darcy sprawled on her stomach and clawed at the stony floor, groaning. Matt lowered himself to his side next to her and let Lauren’s body rest. He gasped for air, but his lungs wouldn’t draw it in. Too much strain. Too tired to inflate. His head pounding, he turned over a little to put more weight on Lauren. Something released in his chest, and air slowly seeped in.

  After nearly a minute, the pounding stopped. Air flowed easily. He reached out and slid his hand into Darcy’s. His fingers touched something warm and moist. Sweat, maybe? “Are you all right?”

  “I . . . I think so. I just hurt my palms while holding the rope.” She pulled her hand away and pushed up to her knees. Her dirty, wet shirt clung to her abdomen. “Are you?”

  “Yeah.” He slid his arms out of the harness, unhooked the groin loop, and knelt upright. “What happened? I saw the drones attack Yereq, but that’s all.”

  “Those things were everywhere.” Darcy pushed sweat-dampened hair from her forehead and sat down. “Sapphira blasted them with fire while your father and Walter carried Thomas and Mariel to the Mustang and shut them inside. Then they shot the drones with rifles and even threw hand grenades, and your dad blasted fire at them. All that stuff worked for a while, but they just kept coming and coming, clawing and biting. Anyone they bit just collapsed in a heap.”

  She sucked in a long breath. “When Yereq let go of the rope, I was the closest, so I just leaped for it and hung on.”

  “I’m glad you did.” He rose and pushed on the projection, now tightly closed, but it wouldn’t budge. “I don’t think I have the strength to open it. I guess I could put Lauren back on again, and our combined weights might dislodge it, but I can barely move.”

  “Rest a while. Maybe it’ll open up again on its own.”

  “Good thought.” Matt sat cross-legged in front of her, grasped her wrists, and turned her hands up. Bloodstained rope burns cut deep gashes in her palms. Like a firebrand, the image burned in his mind, and Mom’s words returned, reverberating like a distant echo.

  He bled for you . . . bled for you . . . bled for you.

  Real love forgives . . . forgives . . . forgives.

  Jesus can set you free . . . set you free . . . set you free.

  When the voice died away, he whispered, “How much
does it hurt?”

  She flexed her hands and winced. “It’s pretty awful. I think one of the cuts goes to the bone.”

  “Maybe I should try to heal you.”

  She pulled her hands away. “I’ll be all right.” Her head drooped. “I mean, it didn’t work before.”

  Matt gazed at her sorrowful pose—shoulders slumped, head low, blood and sweat smeared over nearly every inch of bare skin. She had been so heroic, so sacrificial. Once again she risked her life to save his, asking no questions, expecting no rewards. And now? Now she probably just hoped the pain would go away, untouched by his clumsy hands.

  More words returned to mind, this time Enoch’s, as if spoken by the prophet himself. You have healing hands that will seal horrific wounds . . . your touch will be of no use unless all barriers to love are broken. If there is the slightest stain of contempt for your patient, love will be squelched, and your touch will be nothing more than the abrasive scrape of a hardened callous.

  Matt bit his lip. Tears welled. As images flashed of Darcy hanging on to the rope while drones attacked her vulnerable body, it seemed that the rope binding his heart unraveled and plunged into the void, pulling a dark phantom with it. “Darcy . . .” He carefully lifted her hands with his fingers. “Darcy, I need to tell you something.”

  She raised her head and looked into his eyes. Blood dripped from her hand wounds and pooled in his palms, intermixing with his own blood. “Yes?”

  He swallowed. “I hated you for so many years, I couldn’t—”

  “For good reason. I was a real—”

  “Shhh.” He leaned his forehead against hers. Their noses nearly touched. “I know what you were. I wouldn’t let you be who you are. I guess I’m saying that I couldn’t forgive you. I should have, but I didn’t. And now I’m saying that I do . . . forgive you, I mean.” He drew back and gazed into her eyes, twin orbs sparkling in the flashlight’s glow. “Will you forgive me?”