by C. J. Sears
“Anna, let your brother have the fire truck. It’s his toy too,” said a man, firm but fair in his authority.
His father sounded so young. It had been years since the last time Finch heard that voice. The cancer had done a number on his throat and vocal cords.
“No, it’s mine. He’ll just bury it in the sandbox anyway,” declared his sister, looking defiant.
“Little bird,” said his mother, “listen to your father.”
“Don’t call me that,” shouted Anna. “It’s stupid. Our family name is stupid.”
Young Llewyn watched all of this quietly. He didn’t care about the fire truck. He wanted to play with his sister, but she was in one of her moods. She was like that, headstrong and petulant and rebellious.
But he still loved her. She was kind and sweet when she wanted to be. And fiercely loyal when it came time to put up or shut up. This wasn’t one of those times.
“Anna,” said their father, “don’t you remember what I told you the other day? This family has a great legacy. Our ancestors were here before America was even a nation.”
“Oh yeah? Then why can’t we buy anything. Lucy Smith got a new dress the other day for her birthday. What did I get? Stupid hand-me-downs from Aunt Geraldine.”
“Little bird,” repeated their mother, “you know we bought you that cute necklace a month ago.”
“It’s not cute. It’s u-g-l-y. All the other kids laugh at me. Bad enough our last name is Finch. Why did you have to get me a stupid blackbird?”
“Crow,” corrected Young Llewyn, speaking up for the first time, “and they like to eat dead things and collect shiny objects. They can talk and some people think they can use tools too.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Whatever. It’s still dumb. And you’re a weird nerd.”
“No, I’m not.” Young Llewyn looked to the camera for reassurance. “Am I?”
“No, you’re not,” said their father, “in fact, the crow is a symbol of our people. When our ancestors broke away from the tribe, it was because of our singular worship of the Great Spirit. This being, which some said took the form of a crow or a raven, was believed to be the Sovereign Creator of all mankind. Later, Christian missionaries visited our people and thus, the truth was revealed to us.”
“So they looked to this bird as the representative of their truth seeking, their quest to discover the One responsible for all we know,” explained their mother.
Anna made a face. “If the crow’s so important, why are we called Finch?”
“Our ancestors and the missionaries intermarried. We became part of the Finch family. But we have always kept our traditions and appreciation of the crow and what it means to our people.”
The voices and faces from his youth faded. He wasn’t even sure it was a real memory. If it was, he’d long ago sequestered it in the region marked ‘Do Not Recall’ in his brain.
Another scene played out on the film. This one he recognized instantly. Although he had come to terms with it a couple months before, he had no desire to relive the experience. He closed his eyes until the screeching tires stopped and his sister was dead and crumpled in the wrecked car.
When he opened them again, there was a gash in the screen. Again he gazed upon a hurtful memory, but this wound was fresh.
“I don’t understand. We’re in love. You told me you couldn’t think of anyone else you’d rather be with. What changed?”
Kasey, five years younger, answered, “You did. God, Llewyn, we’re too damn young. I don’t want to be bonded for life and I never said I wanted marriage. You just assumed that what you wanted was what I wanted.”
“But we’re partners. You’re the outgoing, in-your-face gal and I’m the reserved, think-it-through guy. We’re a perfect match. It fits.”
Kasey shook her head. “Just because it fits doesn’t mean it works. Look, we’re more than friends. We’ve slept together a few times, been on a few dates. That doesn’t make us soul mates, if there is such a thing.”
The ring in his hand, with that pitiful yet expensive diamond, diminished in its glow. Finch tore it from the box and tossed it on the ground.
Stomping on it, he said several things he’d later regret. That night, neither of them walked away from the room feeling euphoric. All that remained between them was bitterness and a battered engagement ring.
Another slash assaulted the screen, ripping the corner apart. This time, glimpses of the disaster and heartache he incurred in Lone Oak flickered before his eyes.
Her eyes were wide, the shock of her attacker etched into her face. A round had gone clean through her forehead, severing brown tufts of hair tied into a ponytail. Blood trickled out of the hole, running down her cheek…
Long arms, impossible arms stretched toward the sun, then came down upon the figure lying helpless. No, not impossible, not only arms, but hands clutching knives, tire irons, blunt instruments of all kinds. Beating the figure, no, the person, on the ground until their movement ceased. There was this unfathomable sound, like the grating of nails on a chalkboard mixed with the wail of a cougar having its flesh stripped from its bone. But it was something more than that, lower-pitched yet loud and somehow felt as if it were burrowing into his skin…
They laid there in a formation that reminded him of a flock of birds. There were twenty of them, sprawled on their bellies, backs arched into the air. The parasite was exposed, writhing in a peculiar dance that Finch thought must have been ritualistic behavior. He heard the clacking of their limbs coming together, like they were clapping. Between the infected, he saw the source of the smell. It was Mason, ripped to shreds, his peeled flesh like flakes of bloody pink flower petals in the grass…
Finch heard a series of explosions, distant but close together, and felt the warmth of the napalm that leveled the town of Lone Oak and the infected within.
A third and massive laceration bisected the flimsy screen. He couldn’t help but think an invisible tiger or maybe a dinosaur was tearing through the fabric. Anything was possible in the grand and horrifying delusions his thinker conjured from the abyss.
It was too much for the fabric to handle. The tattered screen landed on the floor. The room grew colder as the projector switched off and the light disappeared.
Tangible, encompassing darkness closed in on Finch, who closed his eyes again and waited. He pictured tendrils of pulsing dark puncturing and encasing his body like barbed wire. The dead hand of his sin reached out to throttle him.
A scent, somehow both mundane and combative, butted into the darkness. It was at once flowery and strong, tender yet unyielding to the outer blackness. Although he could not see it, he knew its color must be a bright orange or red.
The scent became noise, full of hope and love and as vocal as a chattering songbird. Her voice rejuvenated the air in his lungs and he felt his strength, his own willpower return. He could fight against the forces that had come to claim him and his soul.
“Hatred stirs up conflicts, but love covers all offenses,” said another voice that was at once singular yet a chorus.
Simple and profound, the words soothed him. The darkness started retreating, quelled by the steadfast Truth.
“Just as I have loved you, you must also love one another.”
Again this voice, new, old, and eternal, had spoken the Truth. And the darkness could not stand to be in the presence and reality of Truth.
“Love is from God. God is love.”
The poison of the darkness which brings death quivered and shrank from the dose of Truth which brings life.
“Everyone who is of the truth listens to My voice.”
“I’m listening,” said Finch, willing and eager and convinced. “I hear you.”
“You must be born again.”
“Lord, forgive me. I once knew You but refused You. I sought You but could not see You. I squandered my heritage and wallowed in despair. I dwelled in darkness instead of light and could not forgive others or myself. But You are the Way, the T
ruth, and the Life.”
Now the voice, the golden light of Truth, encircled and cradled him. He wept tears of joy as his great sorrow departed from him alongside the darkness.
“Have courage, son, your sins are forgiven.”
He awoke from the dream. The pain in his arm returned but the stain on his being had been removed. Willow loomed over him.
As a child, Finch had believed in Truth. As an adult, he learned and believed in many truths.
Now Llewyn Finch was again a child. And his Father rejoiced.
*
Thirty minutes passed. Kasey came into the room, looking pointedly away from Llewyn. It was time to leave.
They lifted him together. Clarissa observed them, her tail patting the floor worriedly.
Llewyn stirred. “Where’s the fire?” he asked, delirious.
“We’re moving you to a safer place,” Donahue said, knowing they didn’t have a destination in mind.
“Fox Creek,” he whispered.
“Huh?” said Kasey, trying not to touch his damaged shoulder.
“Take me to Fox Creek Community Church.”
*
The Dodge Charger parked behind the apartment building was cherry red. Two months ago it was black, white, and belonged to the Lone Oak Police Department. Now it was their getaway vehicle. Packing nothing more than their weapons and a change of clothes, Donahue and Kasey smuggled Llewyn and a caged Clarissa into the back.
His request to transport him to a rural place of worship made little sense in her eyes. But if he thought it was a safe haven, who was she to deny it? Donahue believed that Llewyn knew what he wanted even in his current condition. She didn’t have any better ideas and it would get them out of the city.
Donahue drove while Kasey watched for anyone suspicious who might be following them. Men in suits tracking their car didn’t make her as nervous as she should’ve been. Funny. Only a short time before she’d been a small-time sheriff in over her head. One federal agent, a vengeful psychopath, and a bunch of parasite-infected townspeople changed that.
It was actually kind of exciting. She didn’t want to die and she was concerned for Llewyn’s safety, but the thrill of being on the run invigorated her senses. In its own way, getting caught up in a plot out of some bizarre spy movie was addicting.
Rain drenched the streets. The threat of hydroplaning was real, so she took it easy on the pedals. Kasey thumbed through their weapons bag, inspecting each gun for possible flaws or an empty clip. The blonde maintained her composure remarkably well considering Donahue had almost shot her in the face earlier that day.
“Any sign of trouble?” asked the former sheriff.
“There was a van a few miles back that looked questionable,” Kasey answered, glancing up from her examination of Llewyn’s Browning.
“Is it still behind us? I can’t see anything in this storm.”
“I don’t think so. But if it shows up again, I’m not taking any chances,” Kasey said, ejecting the magazine to double-check its ammo count. Full.
“Give me a warning first. If I’m going to be spinning tires through flooded roads, I’d like to know before the bullets fly.”
“Gotcha.”
Traffic on the highway was sparse, working to their advantage. Donahue tapped the accelerator but didn’t go over thirty-five miles per hour. She wasn’t that reckless. Assuming the Smiling Man’s goons showed up, they’d have to play by the same rules—or be pancaked on the cement.
They turned off the interstate and entered Fox Creek without a hitch. She knew they were close to their destination when gravel gave way to muck. The rain slowed but didn’t stop as she forced the vehicle through the mud, avoiding the deepest puddles.
A tattered wooden sign read “Fox Creek Community Church” as Donahue approached the parking lot. At least it used to say that. The F was missing, leaving only a shadowed outline in its place.
As far as houses of worship went, its looks weren’t the most inviting. The building was ramshackle, tiny, and in desperate need of a paint job. Or a bulldozer.
She supposed it was quaint. It reminded her of the churches in Lone Oak. That was before a lunatic preacher burned everything to the ground in the name of ‘cleansing’ the town. Go figure.
Donahue pulled up behind a white van and switched off the ignition. Sunday service was over, but one pastor must’ve stayed behind to plan the next week’s sermon.
With Kasey’s help, she hauled Llewyn out of the car. Awake for the moment, he told them he could walk. He took a few steps. His balance was wonky. He became woozy, and started to fall. The girls propped him up.
They knocked on the church’s door which was jury rigged against the storm. The sound of a rope being loosened was unmistakable. Wind crashed against the door. It swung inward, revealing a befuddled old man in a blue work shirt and creased black Dockers.
“Can I help—” he said, stopping mid-sentence when he saw Llewyn. He shepherded them inside.
While the pastor secured the door, Donahue carried Llewyn to a pew near the podium. It didn’t look comfortable, so Kasey snatched the shabby pillow reserved for carrying communion wafers and wine. It would have to do.
The building didn’t have indoor heat, so Donahue laid her rain poncho over Llewyn. She wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do; his body temperature seemed to fluctuate rapidly. But he smiled and mouthed that he was thankful.
“I know this man,” said the pastor, coming up the aisle, “but I don’t believe we’re acquainted. Name’s Bob Hartman.”
“Willow,” she said, shaking his outstretched hand.
“Kasey,” said the blonde, nodding. She wasn’t comfortable around the religious.
“Family?”
They shook their heads. “Friends,” they said in unison.
“I see,” said Hartman as if he understood that they were both more than that.
“How do you know Llewyn? Why would he want to come here?”
It was Kasey who responded to her question.
“He’s been visiting this place every Sunday. Hasn’t missed a service.”
That solved that riddle. But how did she know?
“I told you I’d be here,” Llewyn muttered from the pew.
Hartman’s smile was grim. “Yes, you did. But I don’t think you expected to be bleeding? I know I didn’t. What happened?”
“He’s been shot,” replied Donahue.
“Why not take him to a hospital?”
“That’s something we can’t tell you,” said Kasey.
The pastor sighed. “Of course it is. We live in a world of deception, after all.”
“Jeremiah 9:6,” Donahue said. It was one of the few verses she remembered off-hand.
Hartman grinned. “You know your Bible. Good girl.”
“Not much of it. But thank you. Is there anything you can do for Llewyn?”
“If lightning doesn’t short-circuit the power line, I can call our local physician. He’s not a miracle worker, but he’s pretty good. Set my daughter’s ankle the other day.”
“Thank you.”
Hartman waved her off. “It’s no matter. Besides, this is the Lord’s house, isn’t it? What are we if not a shelter in the storm?”
He retreated to his office to dial the number. Kasey went back to the car and retrieved Clarissa. Donahue seated herself next to Llewyn. He rested his head on her lap.
After setting the cat down next to her master, Kasey paced the room. The blonde consulted her watch, comparing the time to the clock on the wall above the entrance. What had gotten her knickers into a twist?
“Trying to redecorate the floor with your muddy boots?”
She ignored Donahue’s tease. “I can’t stay here,” she said, eyeing the door.
“Why? Because it’s a church? You won’t turn into a pillar of salt, Kasey.”
“No,” she said, “it’s not that. Well, maybe a little. It’s the mission. The Smiling Man’s experiment is tonight. People will die
if I don’t stop him.”
Overwhelmed by what had happened to Llewyn, Donahue had forgotten that more than their lives were at stake.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
Kasey raised an eyebrow. “Who’s ‘we’?”
Donahue rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. You aren’t doing this alone. Llewyn can’t help, but I can.”
Amazed, the blonde said, “You’re a civilian. I told you what I had to in order to keep him safe. But you’re being ridiculous.”
“I’m no ordinary civvie,” said Donahue, coaxing Llewyn’s head from her lap and rising from the pew.
“It’s not your case,” argued Kasey, “and it’s not your job.”
“You think I can stand by while innocent people get hurt? That’s not who I am.”
Kasey laughed. “What, you think you’re some kind of hero? Because you saved his life one time? We’re just going to swoop in and rescue the damsels? Is that it?”
Her bitterness bled into every word. Donahue took a different tact.
“I’m not a hero. I’m a survivor. You need someone like me on your side and you know that.”
She grappled with the proposal in her mind. When she finished, Kasey said, “Fine. I need help. I admit it. But if you’re coming along, it’s not my approval you should be seeking.”
She tilted her head toward Llewyn. He had woken up in the midst of their discussion.
“She doesn’t need my say-so either,” he said, cracking a smile and wincing as he sat up.
Donahue knelt in front of him. “I know you’re worried,” she said, gripping his hand, “even if you won’t admit it. I’ll be fine. The scar’s healing fast.”
“I know. Looks like I’m getting one of my own.”
Pastor Hartman returned. “The doctor will be here shortly. Storm will slow him down, but Llewyn will get the care he needs. I promise.”
“Thank you,” Donahue said. “Listen, Kasey and I have to leave. We can’t tell you where we’ll be. But we will come back.” She hoped.
“God be with you,” he said, electing not to question her further.
