“What should we do?” Michael asked.
“Well, we can’t leave town, so all we can do is prepare. Rebecca, can you shoot a gun?”
“No.”
“You mad at me?” Finn eyed Rebecca.
She didn’t look at him. “No.”
“You’ll need to shoot well if you want to find your mom. You up for some target practice?”
Rebecca nodded. “If it will help us get her back.”
15
Pastor John stepped inside the gate to his property and the security guard jumped to attention.
“Good afternoon, Pastor John,” the guard said.
He rolled past the guard without a reply and stepped up to the front door. The coffee cup sized plastic container sloshed as he held it before his eyes. Was it half full or half empty? Bertha would raise hell. The putrid odor from the black liquid somehow seeped through the sealed container and curled his stomach. He gagged and faced away from it as he opened the front door and moved inside.
The biting aroma of Bun Bo Hue, his favorite Vietnamese food, caught his nose and his stomach growled. The housekeeper spent a great deal of time mixing and cooking the ingredients, yet she never got it right. It was never spicy enough.
“Make it spicy,” he demanded.
“Yes, sir.”
She hurried between preparing the meal and putting away the clean dishes from the dishwasher. She focused on her work as Pastor John had instructed her to do.
“Sir, your food will be ready in five minutes,” she said, expressionless.
The basement door was open a crack, and Pastor John moved in slow motion as he stared at the sliver of darkness running along the edge. Had he forgotten to shut it? He never forgot such a thing, and the housekeeper knew better than to go down there. He’d always meant to install a lock. Everything else had one.
“Has Bertha been down today?” Pastor John asked.
The housekeeper turned her head. “No, sir.”
“Anyone else stop by today?”
The dishes clanked. “No one, sir.”
Coughing erupted from the bedroom upstairs. Bertha was always coughing now. A true miracle would happen if she made it an hour without hacking up a pint of blood. He set his sunglasses on the counter and trudged up the stairs holding the container off to the side. Again, the smell of the Dunamis, was like a rotting corpse ground up and mixed with cat piss wafting into his nose, and he lost his appetite.
The light from the kitchen faded as he walked up the stairs. Bertha liked it dark, and he’d do just about anything to make her happy. She hated the light, she hated the open windows, and she hated the fresh air. Pastor John crept down the hallway toward her bedroom holding the container out in front of him as if it were a bomb about to explode in his face. He had to bring her the Dunamis before going to the bathroom, before eating, before sitting down, before doing anything. He passed the room where he slept, the one across from his wife’s room. He was far enough away for some privacy, but not far enough that he couldn’t hear her groans of pain and the cursing that filled the air.
“How are we doing today?” Pastor John asked his wife as he entered the room. She turned her head and rolled over toward him from her bed.
“Did you get the medicine?” Bertha peered at him.
The question didn’t come as a surprise, but it still caught him unprepared.
“Yes.” He held the container out for her approval. Her eyes locked on it without turning her head.
“That’s not enough!” she shrieked. “I need more than that. I’ll be dead by morning. Are you trying to kill me?”
“I’ll get more. This is the last for now.” He cleared a spot for the container on the small table next to her bed.
“Find it faster,” she cleared her throat and coughed. “I can’t go on without more medicine. I need it, you know. I need it right now.”
“I’ll get more as soon as I can. I’ll get it for you, my sweetheart. Please be patient.”
“Look at me.” She held up her trembling hand toward his face. “How long before I’m gone? I’m withering away; do you understand?”
He nodded. “I’ll get more for you.”
John scanned the medicines cluttering the table next to her bed. He picked up one bottle and looked at the prescription. “Is any of this stuff helping?”
Bertha grabbed his hand and squeezed as hard as she could. “The only medicine that helps is the Dunamis.”
“God will find a way,” he said.
She whispered now and looked back at the ceiling. “Bullcrap. You find a way. Look at me. I have no time. I’ll be dead by morning.”
He rested his hand on her forehead, and her temperature had gone up since morning. Her skin was a little more yellow just as the doctor had explained. He could see it now.
He took a tissue, tore it in small pieces, wadded up two of them and stuffed them into his nostrils. Then he grabbed a towel from the stack on the small table next to her bed and unbuttoned her pajama top. He might as well get it over with. He picked up the container of Dunamis again and removed the lid. He tasted the foul air with every breath and gagged. Bertha didn’t react to the smell. Maybe the cancer had destroyed her sense of smell too. He steadied his hands and poured Dunamis into the towel and then smeared it over the area on her chest above her liver. Some of it dripped down onto her clothes.
Bertha coughed then jerked away and grinned at him. “You tickled me.”
Her eyes flashed the love, strength, and innocence of the woman he’d married forty-two years earlier. The corners of his mouth widened, breaking his frown, and his cheeks relaxed, opening his eyes. A playful smile spread across his face until she lurched forward and coughed. The moment was gone.
“Bring me water!” she yelled in his face.
He scanned the table next to the bed. Two empty glasses. He stormed over to Bertha’s bedroom door and yelled down the stairs. “What are we paying you for? Why doesn’t she have any water? Where’s her damn water?”
The housekeeper ran up the stairs moments later with a glass of water and apologized over and over. Bertha sat up in bed. The housekeeper’s hands shook as she handed her the glass and some of the water spilled across the front of Bertha’s clothes. Pastor John reached over and thrust the housekeeper to the side. She stumbled back and smashed down into a bookcase. Several hardcover books dropped onto her thighs and a basketball-sized pottery vase wobbled, threatening to crash onto her head.
“You’re worthless,” he said to the housekeeper.
The housekeeper nodded and picked up the fallen books while lying on the ground.
“Why are you on the ground?” he asked. “Get more damn water.”
The housekeeper struggled to her feet, holding her right side where she had slammed into the bookcase. She groaned and limped, but hurried down the stairs.
“You don’t love me anymore,” Bertha moaned to Pastor John.
“My sweetheart,” Pastor John said, moving closer, “I love you more than anything in the world. I would do anything for you.”
“Then get me more medicine or you’ll be burying me soon. Is that what you want?”
“Of course not,” he said. “You know it’s not so easy.”
The yellow tint in her skin faded back to its normal color with every passing moment. He smeared the remaining portion of the Dunamis across her chest until the jar was empty. It wouldn’t be enough. The Dunamis had never worked well for cancer, not in the long term anyway.
He rested his hand on her head, closed his eyes, and held one hand high in the air above her. “Our God in Heaven,” he said, “heal my wife and fill her with your power—”
“Oh, stop.” She swatted his leg with the back of her hand. “You don’t love me.”
“Don’t say that,” he said. “I’m praying for you.”
“I’ve been praying for months. Do you see me getting better? I need the medicine.”
“We’re trying to get more,” he said.
<
br /> “Maybe I’ll die tonight, John. Would that make you happy?”
“No.”
“I’ll be dead soon,” she said. “Why are you here? Why aren’t you out there getting my medicine?”
“We were out all day,” he said. “We have to take care of the temple.”
“I know you don’t love me. You put the temple before me. I’m your wife.” She sobbed. “You can’t marry the temple. I’m your wife. Who is the most important person in your life?”
“You are,” he said.
“Why are you still here? Don’t come back unless you get more medicine. Leave my room.”
Pastor John walked out of the room and shut the door with great care, as if a newborn was sleeping inside. The housekeeper then brought up a new glass of water. Before she opened the bedroom door, he stepped in front of her and smashed his open hand against her cheek. She screamed and flew back against the wall, smashing her head into the sheetrock, leaving a crater behind as she tumbled back to the edge of the stairs. Blood trickled down her face and into her eyes. She whimpered and wiped away the blood as tears welled up and mixed with the blood.
“You went to the basement!” He kicked her in the stomach and she folded over, crying and moaning in pain. “You violated me! I trusted you and you betrayed me.”
“No, sir!” she cried.
She reached for the handrail and he thrust his foot out toward her face. He missed, yet she lost her balance and tumbled over the edge of the staircase anyway. She tumbled and rolled all the way to the bottom.
He walked down the stairs, passing her motionless body on the way to the kitchen where he dished himself up a large bowl of the Bun Bo Hue.
“Spicy!” he yelled and threw the bowl at the housekeeper’s head. “I said spicy!”
The bowl hit its target and skipped across the tile floor. The contents splashed across her face and clothes. She gasped for a breath and whimpered.
Pastor John called his security guard to remove her body. She groaned and crawled toward the door.
“Take her to the church,” he said. He settled into a seat at the table and ate. “We’ll have something to feed the phantoms.”
16
Rebecca hopped out of the truck even before Finn had stopped and hurried over to the edge of the driveway. She squinted and strained herself forward toward the woods behind her house. Michael came up beside her and followed her gaze. Tall dark pines created a layer of darkness at the base of the trees, although they weren’t as foreboding as they had been the previous night.
Finn got out of the truck and hurried inside the house. “I’ll be right back.”
“We’ll find her,” Michael said.
“I’m just glad we came back and didn’t go to Finn’s brother’s house. We need to look for her. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Michael wrapped an arm around her back, and she leaned into him.
Finn stomped out the door a moment later wearing boots and a camouflaged jacket. A rifle was slung over his shoulder, and he marched toward the end of the driveway. “I’ve decided we’ll make a quick search of the forest behind your house before we start weapons training. Maybe we’ll find something leading us to Ray and your mom. Let’s go.” He shot past them.
“What if those monsters are waiting for us in the forest?” Michael called out to Finn.
Finn stopped and turned to them. “No chance. They head back home before sunrise.”
“Where is their home?” Rebecca asked.
“Below the church, of course.”
“Shouldn’t we go look for my mom there then?”
“She might not be there,” Finn said. “She might be injured or hiding somewhere along the way. Getting into the tunnels below that church is nearly impossible. We’re going to rule out all the other possibilities first. Are you on board with my plan?”
Rebecca paused, lowered her eyes and then nodded.
Michael and Rebecca followed behind him like baby ducklings, their footsteps crunching along the edge of the gravel road. The deserted road stretched at least a mile in each direction, broken only by subtle hills. A white van sat at the top of a hill facing them on the way toward town. They followed the main road for a couple hundred feet until they turned down a smaller road dividing their farms. The woods almost came right up to the edge of the road with only a small ditch filled with thick weeds standing between them and the shade of the pine trees.
Michael glanced at his Nike tennis shoes. He’d paid over a hundred dollars for them. The tan and white leather was scuffed and soiled from the last two days. He might need new shoes when he got home.
Finn plowed ahead into the ditch and up the other side, stopping at the edge of the woods. Rebecca followed him first, and Michael let out a sigh as he trudged through the mud and weeds behind her. Small animals disturbed the grass and scurried through the surrounding brush. The birds chirped frantically in the trees overhead as if warning the other animals of intruders. The branches scraped across his shirt and shorts until they emerged in a larger clearing.
Branches swayed and puffs of leaves burst into the air as squirrels darted from one tree limb to the next.
“It dragged her that way,” Rebecca said, pointing ahead and toward the left. “I think I heard her screaming last night near the Miller’s house. Can we go there too?”
“We’ll check it out.” Finn pushed ahead without stopping. “But we also need to get you two battle-ready.”
“What else do we need to learn?” Michael asked. “We just shoot them, right?”
“That’s a good start, but I need to show you how to defend yourselves effectively,” Finn said. “I’ll train you.”
“What are they?” Michael asked.
“Shadow demons from Hell,” Rebecca said. “Pastor John says the demons are devouring the souls of people who don’t have faith—”
“Pastor John’s a fucking moron, pardon my language. Wasn’t no shadow demon. Looks like a shadow all right, but it’s no demon.” Finn turned around and towered over Rebecca. “I know you’re a member of that temple, honey, so I’ll try to be careful what I say, but those creeps are lying to you. I don’t know what those things are, but they’ve been attacking more and more people in this town over the past few months.”
Rebecca crossed her arms over her stomach.
He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Little miss, I’ve known your mom for years. We’ll find her.”
Rebecca nodded.
They continued pushing through the branches until Finn stopped and examined the ground at his feet. Mud and weeds streaked perpendicular to the ground, forming a path running from Rebecca’s yard to the rear of the forest. Broken and twisted branches in the trees lined the path. Rebecca rushed forward along the path ahead of them toward the back of the forest. Twigs snapped below her feet, and the branches that had survived the previous night’s disturbance grabbed at her clothes like bony fingers. Michael and Finn followed her, and within moments, Rebecca was out of sight.
“Rebecca, wait there,” Finn yelled.
They came up to the edge of the woods and out into knee-high grass, although a section of flattened grass created a path before them ending at the bank of a small stream. Rebecca had crouched down at the edge of the stream and was leaning toward the water with her arm outstretched. She yanked at something held together by a mound of branches. She broke it away and stood up, cradling the item in her hands.
Her eyes watered. “My mom’s shoe.” The laces on the black and white tennis shoe were still tied, and it was caked in dried dirt, but there was no blood on it.
Finn nodded and walked over to her. “We’re on the right track. This creek runs all the way into town past the cemetery.”
“That was her last night!” Rebecca said to Michael. “The creek goes behind the Miller house too.” She pivoted to Finn. “We heard her voice. I knew it was her.”
“The creek ends a few blocks from the church.”
“We need to go
there right now.”
Finn shook his head. “After you’re trained.”
Rebecca squeezed her eyes closed, and a tear ran down her cheek. “We need to hurry.”
“Soon,” Finn said. “You’ll need training first.”
“Mom!” Rebecca yelled. The chirping in the trees silenced for a moment. She moaned and clenched the shoe. “God, please help me.”
Finn leaned forward and looked at her straight in the eyes. “PJ’s God isn’t going to help us. We need to do this ourselves. After Art gets back, we’ll follow the stream into town and check all the tunnels where it flows beneath the roads.”
“Why would a demon take her? She—” Rebecca sobbed with her arms folded over her chest. “She’s a good person.”
Michael stepped within arm’s length of her. She trembled in the mid-morning sun. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it.
“Let’s get back to the farm,” Finn said. “Demon or not, I need to teach you both how to shoot a weapon and defend yourselves.”
They followed the edge of the woods around the back toward the smaller side road, brushing up against the taller grass blocking the view of the small creek beside them. The light trickle of flowing water followed them until they stepped through a ditch, the grass squishing below their feet, and up onto the gravel road again. Michael’s shoes were ruined. Mud and streaks of green grass circled the edges.
Finn walked ahead of Michael and Rebecca, along the edge of the gravel road. His strides carried him twice their pace, and he paused without looking back as they caught up. Rebecca bent forward. “We need to keep looking,” she insisted.
“We’ll find her,” Michael said, not truly believing his own words. Any news reports of an abduction always ended with a body being found in a wooded area or body of water. He kept his thoughts to himself, though.
They returned to the house just as his grandfather pulled into the driveway with the passenger side empty. Finn went over to the driver’s side as he stepped out of the car, but the light breeze carried their voices away. His grandfather stared blankly at the ground and stooped forward, his arms hanging limp at his sides as he made his way from the car to the house. His jaw hung open, and he stared at the ground. Finn spoke to him, something about guns and Rebecca, and his grandfather nodded and mumbled a few words in response.
Shadows Rising Page 12
