The Devil's Game

by Daniel Patterson

  A sudden coldness washed through his body. He remembered Simon. He must have had something to do with this.

  “Why can’t I remember what happened to me?” James could see why he couldn’t remember the surgery. They had sedated him. But why couldn’t he remember anything about his injuries?

  “Well, that’s the thing. They ran a toxicology screening on you to check for drugs. You tested positive.”

  He had a bad feeling about this.

  “Positive? Positive for what?” He didn’t have to ask who drugged him.

  “Scopolamine.” Branson looked down before continuing. “On the streets it’s called Devil’s Breath.”

  “Devil’s Breath? You’re joking right?”

  “Nope, they said you got a pretty good dose of it too.”

  “But how?”

  “It’s hard to say. The doctor said it is usually in powder form, odorless, tasteless. Could have been in the air, or in your food. It’s used to take away people’s free will. Makes you like a zombie.”

  “Could someone use this drug to make people do things they wouldn’t normally do?”

  “Yes. The doctor said people exposed to the drug become submissive. They appear fine, but their minds are highly susceptible to suggestion. The victim does whatever they’re told. Criminals in some South American countries use it to get access to victims’ bank accounts.” Branson looked him in the eye. “It also causes amnesia and in some rare cases hallucinations.”

  All the strange behaviors his parishioners had displayed lately were starting to make sense. James had assumed that Simon was using some sort of otherworldly power to trick people. But it seemed possible that he was just drugging them.

  Now James had been a victim of Simon’s foul deeds himself. Try as he might, he could not remember anything. He had never experienced amnesia before, and he didn’t like it at all.

  “Daniel tested positive for it, and Rick too. The police say they’ve seen a couple of cases here over the past few weeks. People waking up in the park and not remembering how they got there. They’ve got their hands full with this flu, but the drugging is also a big concern. I heard one doctor joke about this being the end of the world.” Branson clearly had not seen the humor in that. Neither did James.

  “Amy. How is Amy?” The chill in his belly deepened when the image of her smiling face appeared in his mind. He didn’t know what he would do if something had happened to her while he slept.

  “That girl cares about you. She was worried when you rushed off to Rick’s the way you did. Called my church when she couldn’t get a hold of you.”

  “She’s okay?”

  “Well, she’s still sick with the flu. But Georgette is taking good care of her.”

  “Branson, I’m worried about Amy and the rest of the people in Harmony. I think Simon has something to do with making people sick—or keeping them sick.”

  “That’s just the scopolamine talking, son. It takes days to leave your system. You just need to worry about yourself getting back on your feet.”

  But James did think so. If he wasn’t using scopolamine, then he was using something else. He just couldn’t remember what it was. His mind raced with the possibilities. Finding the proof would have to wait, though. The doctor came in and told him he would have to spend one more night in the hospital for observation. He tried to rest and gather his strength for the battle that was sure to come.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  THE NEXT MORNING, THE nurse helped James out of the wheelchair and into Branson’s car.

  “You mind dropping me off at my car?”

  “I already got your car for you. It’s at the church. Where you too should be.”

  It was Sunday, and James wanted nothing more than to reunite with his flock. Things had been so out of the ordinary lately that he could use a bit of fellowship. He also wanted to check on the people who were sick.

  “Good. I need to see if Simon’s made anyone else sick while I was out.”

  “I understand your anguish over this, James,” Branson said as he drove James to his church. “This is a nasty bug. I have some parishioners sick at home, too. Even got a few in the hospital. But what makes you think Simon—”

  “Look, Branson,” James interrupted, “I know this sounds crazy, but I told you about that town in Florida that got wiped out by a mysterious plague. I showed you the old newspaper clipping of Simon . . . and told you about the photo with Samuel in his youth. I know he has something to do with this illness too.”

  “Sometimes bad things happen, James. This is the world we live in. Diseases exist. People get sick. People get overwhelmed by their problems and turn to drugs.”

  “I know that. But I’m telling you what I know. Simon is going around to people’s houses under false pretenses and after he leaves them they get sick. I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

  The strange medicine he had unintentionally bought for Amy . . . That was it! The bottle in his car. That’s what he was trying to remember. It had to be how Simon was making people sick.

  Branson glanced at James for a moment and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Listen, James, the thought of this Simon guy walking up to my door or the door of someone I care about scares me too. But—”

  “Branson, I have proof.”

  “What kind of proof?”

  “The medicine! It has to be in the medicine.”

  “Medicine?” Branson asked.

  James could tell from the man’s expression that he needed to tread lightly here. Part of Branson had to be wondering if the scopolamine was still working its magic. It sounded crazy, but he was sure that he was right.

  “Yes, S’Wellness brand medicine. You ever heard of it?”

  Branson shook his head.

  “It’s orange, smells foul, and has some sort of green slime swirling inside,” James continued. “It almost looks alive. I have a bottle in my car. I’ll show when we get to the church.”

  “That does sound strange,” Branson’s brow furrowed.

  “I’m telling you, there is something wrong with this medicine, Branson. Caused by the devil or not, I’m sure it’s got something to do with what’s going on in Harmony right now.”

  Branson looked thoughtful for a moment as he pulled the car into the New Hope Church parking lot. The lot was at near capacity—which meant a packed house. Branson found a spot on the side of the church.

  “Let me make a phone call.”

  “You’ve got an idea?” James asked unsure of how they would get someone else to believe them. But was willing to do whatever it took to get to the bottom of this. Even if it made him seem like he had lost his mind.

  “Not an idea, a friend. He lives in New York. He’s sort of a disease detective.”

  James nodded. “I’ll grab the bottle out of my—” He paused.

  Behind the church, a shadowy figure lurked. Someone dressed in dark clothing was pouring something on the ground.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “Watering the garden?” Branson suggested. He didn’t sound convinced.

  “That’s no watering can. That’s . . . that’s a gasoline can. He’s going to burn down the church!”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “CALL 9-1-1 AND GET everyone out,” James said, exiting the car, “I’m going to stop him!”

  “God help you,” Branson said as they parted ways.

  James raced to the back of the church shouting, “Stop! Stop!”

  The man dressed in the black hooded sweatshirt continued to splash the contents of a gasoline can onto the ground. He wasn’t even paying attention to what was going on around him.

  “You can’t do this! This is a sacred place,” James shouted at the macabre figure.

  With his back to James the man stood straight up, holding the can dripping at his side. Lifting the can, he doused the rest of the container over himself, soaking the baggy sweatshirt that hid his true identity.

  “Don’t! This is wr
ong. You have to know that,” James said, trying to appeal to his sense of right and wrong. But there didn’t seem to be anything that he could do to prevent what was about to happen. “This must be hard for you to realize, but the devil is controlling your actions. On some level, you must be able to feel it. This isn’t right. You know it isn’t.”

  The man dropped the can, knocking it on its side, dribbling the remaining liquid onto the ground. It pooled underneath James’ feet. The gasoline vapors seared his nostrils.

  “He uses a powerful drug to control your actions,” James continued. “He has been doing this all over town. He uses our past transgressions against us.” James took another step closer. “God does not hold past transgressions against us. He understands our failings. The only way to thwart this evil man is for you to confess your sins.”

  The man pulled a gold lighter from his pant pocket. James stood his ground.

  “The devil can be beaten with the truth and God on your side.”

  The man flicked the lighter.

  Nothing happened.

  “Whatever your sin is, it can’t be as bad as what you are doing right now.”

  He flicked the lighter again.

  Again, nothing.

  “Open your eyes and see that what you are doing here is wrong. You’re allowing the devil to have a hold on you. Show your face and let me help you.”

  Finally, the man in the cloak of gasoline turned and faced James for the first time.

  His eyes were hidden in the dankness of the hood that billowed around and darkened his face. His head was tilted down, and he was either unable or unwilling to lift it to reveal his face. It had to be somebody that had been tainted by Simon’s influence.

  “The only way to win against the devil is to beat him at his own game. Stop hiding in the shadows and walk into the light. Use my voice as your guide. Everything will be okay.”

  A weak, strained voice came from the hooded man. “No. Not okay. It’s so dark out.”

  James couldn’t place the voice, but the words. There was something familiar about them.

  “There’s an evil in our town, Reverend!”

  James’ heart raced as he stepped closer, grabbed the top of the hood, and pulled it off. For the first time he was at a loss for words. He stepped back from the man that he thought he knew.

  “I have to . . . do this Reverend.”

  The pitiful voice was coming out of the parched lips of Samuel Stirling.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  AFTER BRANSON MANAGED TO get the ushers to assist in getting the church evacuated and called 9-1-1, he ran back to James’ side.

  “Samuel, you’ve atoned for your sins a long time ago,” said James in a reassuring voice. “You’ve been a good Christian and have never strayed from the word of God since.” James was sure of Samuel’s belief in the Holy Spirit and the strength of faith. There had to be a way to get through to him.

  Branson, on the other hand, saw something sinister and dark at work in Samuel’s face. In Samuel’s eyes he saw doubt and misgivings—here was a man who needed convincing. “Samuel,” Branson said, “I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but I see a man of unshakable faith in you. He wants to do the right thing. Deep down, you are more than a good person—you are a child of God. Whatever it is that’s troubling you, you have to voice it and surrender yourself to Him and His goodness. If you don’t, it will fester inside of you. It will allow the devil’s will to take root and grow there. Don’t let him do this to you, Samuel. To all of these innocent people!”

  Samuel took a deep breath and cast his eyes towards James. They looked strange, as if the clear blue of his eyes had been replaced with a swirling blackness. The blackness receded briefly but then surged again. A battle was being waged inside the frail old man, and it appeared that the darkness was winning.

  “I . . . I . . . don’t know where to begin. All of this seems like a nightmare. The things that I have seen myself do will haunt me for the rest of my life.” He paused and looked back and forth between the two men of God. The evil in his eyes expanded once more. “This church must be destroyed . . . Must be destroyed.”

  He was fighting his demons, and losing with every second that passed.

  “Samuel, I need you to tell us what it is,” James pleaded.

  “I . . . don’t know if I can . . . been holding on to this . . . must destroy the . . . Noooo!”

  Samuel put his head down, shoulders shaking with effort, and panted like a man who had just won a race. He raised his eyes, and the piercing blue of his color of his irises had returned. He had won. He looked sad, and scared, but the evil influence had passed.

  James could see that letting out this secret was the only way in which Samuel could come to terms with what he had done.

  “My friend . . . Pastor Griffin . . . I killed my friend. He saved me and I killed him . . . this is my confession. May God have mercy on me!” Samuel sank to his knees and started to cry.

  “Pastor Griffin? No, Samuel, he’s not dead. He moved away. To Florida.” James glanced at Branson. “Right?”

  Branson didn’t look well. His lips had gone gray and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. “I thought so, but it did seem odd the way he just left a note and didn’t say good-bye to anyone in person. The parishioners were sorely disappointed. No one’s heard a word from him since he left.”

  Sirens sounded in the distance.

  Branson and James looked at Samuel expectantly.

  “I killed him with my own bare hands. I could see everything that I was doing, but . . .” Samuel looked down at his own hands. “I had no control over my own body.”

  Even now, Samuel’s hands were struggling to stay under his own command. “I buried him in the garden. He loved his garden.” Samuel’s hand was visibly shaking. The lighter he had been holding dropped to the ground and his shoulders slumped. “Why Reverend? Why did I do it?”

  “This is the devil’s doing, Samuel. It’s time for you to break free of his power.”

  James watched as Samuel broke down, sobbing. “Please help me, Reverend,” he cried.

  James knelt down, took Samuel’s hand and prayed, “O merciful Father, our only help in time of need, look in pity upon Samuel, Your servant, who is troubled. Give him some token of Your forgiveness. Fill his heart with joy and peace. Keep him ever in Your love and obedience. Let him live to bring forth some good fruit, which shall assure him of Your pardon. Grant this, O Lord, for the sake of Jesus Christ, our Savior. Amen.”

  Samuel looked up at James with hope in his eyes.

  “God loves you Samuel. We’ll get you the help you need.”

  He hoped it would be enough.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER JAMES and Branson left Samuel in the capable hands of the paramedics. In between sobs, he whispered about the garden, asking James and Branson to ‘find the body.’ James offered to ride with him to the hospital, but Samuel refused. Said he was needed here.

  “God wants you here, Reverend,” he had said as they wheeled him away.

  Most of the people that had been inside the church had gone home and the grounds were beginning to fill with firemen and police officers. James and Branson needed to find out what they could before they were asked to leave.

  “Over here!” Branson called. He was standing under a willow tree, next to what appeared to be a slight mound.

  James swallowed thickly and tried to clear his throat. He had no words. He just walked over to the gently swaying tree. Beneath the low-hanging branches was a shallow grave. It looked recently disturbed, as though animals, or possibly Samuel, had tried to unearth the body that lay within.

  The two horrified men saw a torso and an arm, but the rest was buried in the loose dirt. Branson took a deep breath and looked Heavenward.

  The body was unrecognizable. It appeared to be a man, but James couldn’t even be sure of that much. He had expected the corpse to smell, but the only scent in the air was
musty dirt and a hint of aster blossoms. As he silently prayed, James crouched down and gently brushed the dirt off of a dark blue windbreaker. “Do you recognize this jacket?”

  Branson glanced down and nodded solemnly, tears springing to his eyes. Distasteful as it was, James reached into the jacket, trying to find something that could help them positively identify the body. He had to keep looking, even though both men knew who the victim was likely to be. There was a bulge in the inner breast pocket. James pulled out a dusty wallet.

  “James! We should leave that to the police.” Branson looked aghast.

  “We need to find out for sure who this is.”

  In spite of his objections, Branson made no move to stop James from continuing to search the wallet.

  James brushed the dirt off the wallet and let it fall open. There was a clear pocket that held a state-issued ID card. The name and picture were that of Charles Griffin.

  “Well?” Branson asked.

  “Its him,” James said, thumbing through the business cards and photos inside the small billfold, desperate for another clue.

  His heart stopped when he saw it.

  Inside the pastor’s wallet was a business card for S’Wellness Pharmaceuticals. There was no name, no address, just the S’Wellness logo.

  James flashed the card to Branson. “This can’t be a coincidence.” He flipped the card over. “There’s something written on the back. Something about a job. Did Pastor Griffin have another job?”

  “Well, no, I can’t say that he did. Let me take a look at it.” Branson reached for the card with a trembling hand. “It’s his writing, I’m fairly certain.” He squinted at the hastily scrawled note.

  “Something about a job on February seventh?” James asked. “Or was he meeting someone at 2:07 p.m.?”

  Branson’s eyes lit up. “Nope. That’s not a date, not a time. It’s a clue. It says Job 2:7. ‘So Satan went out from the presence of the Lord and afflicted Job with painful sores from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head.’”