When Darkness Comes

by W. Franklin Lattimore

  Brendan forced himself again back into the moment. He would get the first five sections translated. His ability to translate the true meaning of the Pictish symbols in the sixth category would come from those.

  It had better.

  It ended up taking the better part of three hours to get the pictures organized into eight piles; the eighth containing two types of photos: stones that didn’t seem to have on them any of the symbols contained within the six categories and stones that had symbols that were just too faint, due to erosion with time, to determine one way or the other.

  For all of Brendan’s anger, he was still excited to be delving into his ancient past. No one in over twelve-hundred years had been able to understand these stones. Lots of wild guesses had been made, of course, but he, Brendan Cadeyrn, was about to truly unlock secrets that had purposely remained hidden from their sworn blood enemies, the MacAlpins, and the rest of the invading Scots.

  The MacAlpins. Yes. That was another thing he was looking forward to; the Appeasement Ceremony which would set things right with the Pictish gods. The Picti had waited far too long for vengeance against Kenneth MacAlpin. Brendan knew that history would not bear it out, but he liked to think that MacAlpin had taken on the name Kenneth in order to keep his name from being associated with the treacherous, bloody slaughter that had been meted out on the last king of the Picts. But there would be no hiding. Just enough evidential history about the man, prior to his name change, existed to prove he was the traitorous Cináed mac Ailpin. And it was his bloodline that would pay for the usurpation of the crown of Pictland as well as his blasphemous self-anointment as King of the Picts.

  Brendan relished the thought of having blood on his hands.

  John Eldredge didn’t like having to spend his Sundays on the job. But being a cop in a small town meant sacrifices. He was glad that his church held a Saturday evening service. He needed that service and some alone-time with God in order to get some clarity on how to handle his new ‘work situation’.

  Knowing that his boss was an alleged practitioner of witchcraft was one thing, knowing that he was potentially covering up something unlawful because he was practicing witchcraft was another.

  Brent’s evidence had been convincing, or at least the man had been. He could see that Brent was serious about his Christian faith just by the way that it came up in conversation. It was just difficult getting his mind to knit in the additional information about his boss.

  Connor was a decent guy, from the perspective of a working relationship. However, that didn’t mean, obviously, that he didn’t have some dirty little secrets.

  John drove through the downtown area. The wrought-iron arches that were spaced every hundred feet lent a feeling of sophistication to the Village of Pittston. At night, with the lights turned on, the arches lit up the street and gave the main drag a festive feel.

  There was little trouble in Pittston. Most of the people that he had to deal with during the course of his duties, were generally traffic or parking violators. Quite the change from his former home of Hilliard. The City of Hilliard wasn’t a bad place, either. In fact, he oftentimes missed his former home and colleagues. It was just that Hilliard was larger, and with that came bigger challenges.

  He pulled his cruiser up to the traffic signal at the main downtown intersection. Looking to his right he was able see the police department. The back end of Chief Connor’s blue GMC Yukon could be seen in the parking lot.

  Hmm. He’s not normally in on a Sunday.

  John made a right turn and drove to the police station. Pulling into the parking lot he saw another truck pulled up alongside that of Chief Connor’s. The vehicles were parked so that the two men in the driver’s seats could talk comfortably through each of the driver-side windows.

  John knew that truck. Same guy that seems to hold some sway over the chief. There was no turning back once he was spotted coming into the lot. He raised his hand in friendly acknowledgment. The driver of the Ford did the same. His chief looked over his shoulder as John opted to look away. Parking the cruiser near the main entrance to the station, he got out of the vehicle and made his way inside.

  There was no reason for him to be inside the building, of course, but he could hardly have pulled a U-turn in the parking lot without looking suspicious. So inside he went.

  The station was relatively quiet, and since all of the glass at the front of the station was tinted, he decided to stand a few feet inside the doors and watch the interaction take place between the two men.

  For several minutes they just talked. Then John watched as the brake lights lit up on the back of the F250. A quick flash of the reverse light let him know that the man had just shifted into drive.

  Eldredge could see the chief look around the parking lot, then to the front doors where John stood unseen, before extending his hand toward the driver of the pickup truck. The driver extended his left hand, too. In it appeared to be a small box, about the size of a baseball or softball—hard to determine from the distance. When the chief took possession, the black pickup accelerated out of the parking lot.

  Interesting, but not necessarily illegal.

  Chief Connor started driving toward the main entrance of the station. Eldredge decided to make his way to the patrol officers’ office. Fortunately, he did have a couple of tickets that he could process.

  Think of something. What can you come up with? Eldredge wanted to develop a seemingly legitimate reason for interrupting the chief at an intentionally very inopportune time so as to hopefully find out… well, something. Anything that might incriminate him in this whole Picti-cover-up episode. But John knew that the likelihood of the chief doing something so inept as to reveal a criminal connection was small.

  The patrol officer sat himself at an open desk and waited for the Pittston chief to walk through the hallway to his office. He heard the chief’s steps bringing him closer, eventually landing him in the patrol officers’ office.

  “Eldredge, how are things in our lovely community today?”

  John turned from the desk to look at his boss. He looked comfortable, even with the small, blue and white, baseball-size box in his left hand.

  He’s playing it awfully cool for a guilty man. “Nothing to write home about. Yet, here I am writing.”

  The chief chuckled. “Anything other than tickets?”

  “Nahh. The usual.” He quickly turned the tables. “Don’t usually see you in here on a Sunday. Anything I need to know?”

  The chief must have expected the question. “Just forgot to bring something home yesterday. A quick jump into my office and I’m out of here.”

  “That’s good. Thought for a moment that the guy in the pickup might have been here to report something.”

  That triggered a reaction. A look in his eye let Eldredge know that he had touched on forbidden, or at least, unexpected, territory.

  “Him? Uhh… No, he’s not important. That is, he wasn’t reporting anything.” He feigned a quick look at his watch. “I’ve got to get running. Keep up the good work.”

  ”Will do, Chief. Have a good day.”

  Without another word, the Pittston Chief of Police uncomfortably walked out of the room.

  That’s all I needed to see. That man is up to something.

  BRENDAN DROVE HIS pickup back to the farm. Safeguards were now in place to assure that no one would be looking their way on the night of the Appeasement Ceremony. It was great having a loyal member of the police force on their side. Be that as it may, it was still going to cost a little bit of money to cause the police to deal with another situation far from the farm that night. There was already little chance that problems would arise, but better to have the assurance than to be looking over their shoulders throughout the entire ritual.

  Uilliam had made a good call not to have any money exchanged in envelopes. Too suspicious. That little box with a wad of bills would have appeared to be anything but money, should anyone have seen it.

  Smart man.
>
  Brendan realized that showing up at the police station probably wasn’t the smartest thing for him to do, but he figured that it was better to hide in plain sight. After all, in the eyes of the average citizen—or even the cops—the most unlikely place to conduct criminal activity would have to be at the police station with the chief of police. Right?

  12:47 P.M.

  ALL FIVE OF the Lawtons and Donna McNeill walked out of the church and into the parking lot. It appeared to Tara that Donna still had her reservations about the importance of a Savior in her life. Pleading to God for her salvation during the altar call, Tara was sure that Donna would have responded. After all, who wouldn’t after such a life-changing ordeal, followed by a day with the whole Lawton clan?

  Well, apparently Donna.

  Tara tried to not let her disappointment show. Normally Brent and she would have had the same sentiments rising to the surface, but he seemed rather removed from the whole experience, or, rather, lack of one.

  Donna did seem to enjoy the atmosphere, however. She mentioned more than once that the people had been so friendly and that she felt such a “sense of well-being” in the building.

  God, don’t let her drift into that whole “spiritual but not religious” deal. It irked Tara to hear people use the word spiritual. What did that truly mean, anyway?

  Typically it meant that a person was content to create a god—or recreate the God—in his or her own image; creating one’s own method of worshiping or paying some sort of penance to any number of non-existent gods. “I worship God my own way,” she’d heard people say way too many times. Really?

  Having reached the area of the parking lot that was the closest to their two vehicles, the Lawtons said their goodbyes to Donna. She needed to get home after neglecting “so many things that just have to get done.” She couldn’t be blamed. After all, she had spent the better part of two days with them.

  Tara felt confident that a solid friendship was forming. That was certainly a good beginning.

  She was the last one to part company with Donna, not wanting the separation to take place. Maybe she was being overprotective. It sure didn’t feel like it, though.

  When she finally got into the passenger seat of the minivan, she heard Amy and Jamie fussing about something in the back seat. That was certainly nothing new.

  Brent backed out of the parking space and headed for the exit. The noise created by Amy and Jamie escalated somewhat, but that, too, was not unusual with the two of them always sitting next to each other at the rear of the van.

  Reaching the stop sign, Brent jerked the van to a stop. He threw the gear shift into park, unlatched his seatbelt, and whirled around to face his children.

  “Hey! I want the two of you to stop it! I’ve had enough of your bickering! Why can’t the two of you just leave each other alone?!”

  He turned back toward the front, his eyes momentarily engaging Tara’s. In them was such intense anger.

  The van quieted immediately. Brent put the van in drive and took off. Tara looked back, Amy was wide-eyed and stunned, staring at the back of her daddy’s head. Jamie’s mouth was stuck in the open position as he looked at his mom. Tara mouthed the words, “It’s okay” and glanced at Jenna. She was pulling the ear buds from her ears. Whatever she had been listening to didn’t seem to be all that enjoyable anymore.

  Tara stared through the windshield in a tension-filled van the whole way home.

  BRENT WANTED TO scream. This time at himself.

  He hated himself for what he had just done to his family. He knew that Jamie and Amy didn’t deserve his outburst. He also knew that he was going to have to apologize. The problem was that he needed this anger that was coursing through him, and he didn’t want to let it go.

  So he didn’t.

  The van was quiet for the nearly fifteen-minute drive home. He was very aware of Tara’s quiet presence. And he was sure that she was reserving comment for later; comment that he would accept without excuse.

  While the rest of his family emotionally recovered from their night of demonic attacks, he had done nothing but stew. It began while the events of that night were being explained to him in the waiting room of the ER.

  Brent knew it had been a premeditated and deliberately-sent attack. He knew who had done it, too. It wasn’t the first time he’d contended with an attack of this nature. In fact, the first time he’d experienced one it had been sent by the one sitting in the passenger seat next to him.

  He thought back to that night on the campus of Summit State College. He had just left an enjoyable night of laughter with some Christian friends he’d made on campus. Marta and Karen, among them. He walked through the area where the Great Oak stood on the way to his car. It was then that he felt a presence—a discernible presence. He knew from the outset that it was demonic and began binding and rebuking the spirit right away. That spirit had left without further incident. Only a couple of months later had he discovered for sure that Tara had been the culprit that had performed the spiritcast.

  This time, though, he had been asleep. Asleep!

  He clenched his teeth. Unforgivable! Had he just stayed up another half hour, maybe just a little longer…

  But no… No, he wouldn’t allow himself to hang with the girls!

  Idiot!

  He wanted to slam his hand on the steering wheel, but he contained himself, at least that much.

  Brent’s dad had asked him after the church service if he had taken time to consider what the two of them had talked about during their walk the previous morning. He had said yes.

  He hadn’t. Not at all.

  Love them? That’s what he was supposed to do? Those people tore away the security of my family! They attacked my children! You want me to love them?!

  “Yes, son, that’s exactly what I’m saying. ‘Love your enemies.’ Isn’t that what Christ said?”

  Yes, that’s what Christ said. But there is a difference between loving someone who attacks me and someone who attacks those that I care about!

  “Yes, Son, there is a difference. But the difference is justice, not hate. Bring them to justice if you’re able, but don’t let hate for them consume you.”

  Brent thought through his dad’s words again, but it was too late. Or, even if it wasn’t too late, he didn’t care.

  Not one iota.

  I’m taking way too many chances, Officer Eldredge eventually acknowledged to himself. I should have been back on the streets a good ten minutes ago. But he couldn’t stop hoping for the opportunity to see something important.

  He had grabbed a copy of the morning’s shift briefing, which didn’t really have anything significant on it, but it gave him something official to be perusing while standing in the hallway near the chief’s office. Come to think of it, there was one thing in the brief that he could ask about if he was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  He propped himself up on the left door post looking into the office of the chief’s administrative assistant. Beyond her desk was the chief’s office; door wide open. But at this angle all that he could see was the right front corner of his desk. The light was on and he could hear the movement of the chief’s chair.

  Behind John, down the hallway, was a mostly empty police station. Thankfully. The dispatcher wouldn’t come out into the hallway and Greg Ballard, another patrol officer, had come in for some reason and already left. As far as he could tell, it was just the three of them in the building presently.

  He heard the distinct sound of a cardboard container being opened. A minute later a piece of paper was crumpled followed by the audible soft ting of a paper wad having been thrown into a brass trash basket. The chief’s chair shifted and let out a slight squeak. He was getting up.

  Eldredge stepped back out of view, waiting to hear the chief flip the switch to turn off his office light.

  Click!

  John’s heart was beating a little harder than normal as he casually stepped around the corner into the secretary�
��s office. The chief was halfway through the room heading toward the hallway.

  “Oh, sorry, Chief. Got a sec?”

  Connor continued into the light of the hallway before answering. “What can I do for you?”

  “This morning’s brief indicates a need for someone to step into Carrington’s shoes as the new D.A.R.E. officer.”

  “Okay. Yes, that’s true.”

  “Sir, did you ever perform that duty?” Eldredge said as they walked toward the front doors. “I don’t really want to give up patrol, but I also don’t want to give up on something that might be good for advancement. I wanted your opinion.”

  “Can’t say that I have. Filled in one time, and that was my quota,” he said with a wry grin. “Frankly, Officer Eldredge, I’d rather have you out in the community and cycle the rookies through our D.A.R.E. program here. But I’m leaving that up to Sergeant Strafer and all of you to decide.”

  The two of them exited the buildings and headed to their vehicles. “Thanks for the input, Chief. Have a good day.”

  “You, too, Eldredge.”

  The chief got back into his Yukon and left the parking lot.

  Eldredge went back into the building and headed to the chief’s office.

  5:19 P.M.

  STEPHANIE LEANED BACK against the wall behind the dining table, arms crossed, watching and listening as David and Brendan continued with the standing stone translations. They were making pretty good progress, though she was able to see that a certain pile of pictures had yet to be touched.

  The important one.

  She wasn’t sure why Brendan seemed to be purposely avoiding the photos with the Pictish symbol for ‘religion’ on them.

  “So, when do we get to meet her? It is a woman, isn’t it?” asked David.