The Fourth Trumpet

by Theresa Jenner Garrido

  “Berry, stop, please,” she said in a strained but controlled voice. “I need to ask that young man a question.” Her cousin gave her a funny look but didn’t object. Andrea glanced at his sober expression and made a futile attempt to smile. “Stay here. Don’t leave the car.” He shrugged as she got out and his eyes never left her as she walked sedately over to the young man. She knew he was beyond understanding her motivation.

  As Andrea approached, she had to clear her throat twice. “Excuse me. Hello.”

  The young man looked up, smiled and stopped. “Yeah? Can I help you?” It was the punk—the thug who’d beaten up Father Joe and then taken shelter in her home. The one Eleazar and Father Joe forgave and said they loved. Andrea did her best to maintain some semblance of cordiality, not stare with mouth gaping.

  “Uh, yes, yes, you can. I hope,” she stammered. “Does a-does a Father Joe work, uh, I mean, live here?”

  “Yeah, Father Joe’s the pastor here. Do you need to see him? I can take you to his office.”

  “Oh, uh, no, thank you. I mean. I don’t need to talk with him right now.” She squinted at the youth. “Is your name Richard, by any chance?”

  The young man looked somewhat surprised and was about to speak when the door behind him opened and out stepped Father Joe, looking healthy, happy, and very much alive. Andrea was caught off guard and could only stare stupidly.

  The young man, however, spoke up. “Father. This young lady was asking about you. I tried to help, but…”

  The priest took three long strides over to her and stuck out his hand. “Hello. I’m Father Joe Dunn. Is there something I can do for you?”

  Before Andrea could find her voice, the youth muttered a hasty apology and backed away as though he suddenly remembered something important he had to do—far away from this obviously unbalanced female. But Andrea stopped him in his tracks when she blurted, “Weren’t you a member of a gang?”

  Both the priest and the youth looked startled. They stared at her as though she’d lost her mind. Or had sprouted horns.

  “I’m sorry if I seem rude—really I am—but did you belong to a gang and have spiked hair and earrings?”

  Father Joe cocked his head and gave Andrea a long, silent look that made her squirm. Then he smiled, put an arm around the young man’s shoulders, and spoke. “Yes, Richard, at one time belonged to a gang. But he’s paid his dues.”

  “Yeah, if it wasn’t for Father, here, I’d be upstate at a work farm or worse—in the pen. Father Joe’s given me a second chance.” His face clouded. “If I-if I hurt you when-when I was a part of the Cobras, I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I-I can only ask for your forgiveness.” His head lowered and then popped up again. “And I can mow your lawn.”

  Andrea now was at a loss for words. Father Joe continued to smile at her, patiently waiting for her to find her voice. That, of course, made her even more embarrassed. She sucked in a deep breath, wet her lips with a nervous tongue, and managed to gather enough courage to speak. “Uh, no, no, you did nothing to me. I, uh, knew somebody who had a run-in with that gang. But, like you said, it was a long time ago. And-and I’ll call if I need you to mow my, uh, lawn. Well! Thanks, Father. Richard. I’ll be going now.”

  “Wait. Didn’t you want to talk to me about something?”

  “Uh, no. Not anymore. Thanks again. Oh! By the way, I’m glad to see your church is okay.” And, with that cryptic remark, she clambered into the truck and urged Berry to leave quickly. In the rearview mirror, Andrea could see a very perplexed priest standing on the front lawn of his church, mouth open in utter mystification. The young man had his arms crossed and was staring like he’d just seen a flying saucer take off.

  Andrea squirmed and gnawed on her lower lip. Her head was spinning; she wanted to scream in frustration. The world had gone crazy, and she hadn’t a clue what to do about it. She was tripping over toppling thoughts when Berry’s voice broke through her growing consternation.

  “Please tell me we’re done. I don’t think I can take much more. You’re scaring me, Andy. I think you’ve gone bonkers.”

  “No, no. I’m okay.”

  “Okay? Are you nuts? You’re about as okay as the Titanic.”

  “Oh, stifle it.”

  “All teasing aside, kid,” Berry said in a lower voice. “I’m serious. You’re not yourself. Maybe you didn’t want to make a big deal in front of the folks, but you can level with me. How do you feel? Why this sudden desire to see people you don’t know and never met?”

  Andrea ran a hand across her face and sighed. “Oh, Berry. I can’t even begin to explain. While I was unconscious—I know it sounds incredible—I lived another life.”

  “Oh, come on. You were only out a few minutes.”

  “I realize that. But to me, what I went through, what I experienced, lasted for several days, maybe weeks. It was hard to tell time because it was completely dark out.”

  “Dark. Like in night-dark?”

  Andrea’s brown eyes locked onto her cousin’s incredulous blue ones. “No. More like the-end-of-the-world dark. Impossible dark. And everyone had disappeared—you, Aunt Claire and Uncle Mike. The Martins were dead. There was just the six of us until Father Joe died—”

  “What? You mean that priest back there? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I know. It doesn’t make sense even to me.”

  Berry’s mouth snapped shut. For a full minute he just drove—eyes riveted on the road ahead. Then he licked his lips, lifted and dropped his shoulders. “Okay, okay. Whatever you say. You can fill in the details when we get home.”

  “Fine. But I need to stop at one more place.”

  “Aw, no. No way, Andrea.”

  “Just one more. I promise.”

  Looking ready to explode, he clenched his teeth as well as his hands on the wheel and gave in. “Okay! Where? This really better be the last.”

  “It will be. I just want to make a quick stop at Twin Oaks Baptist Church.”

  “Another church? First Catholic, now Baptist! What is this?”

  “Just take me there.”

  Berry’s fingers drummed the steering wheel then lifted in frustrated submission. He muttered something incoherent as he nosed the truck out of town toward the quaint Baptist church by the curious “twin” trees. Seven minutes later he drove up a short driveway, edged with massive oaks, and parked in front of the white clapboard building. A black man, somewhere in his late forties or early fifties, in the act of removing a poster from the church door, turned when he heard their car.

  Andrea rolled down her window. “Excuse me, but is Eleazar—I mean, Pastor Thomas—around?”

  The man looked vacant for a moment. “Pardon me? For whom are you looking?”

  “Pastor Thomas—Eleazar Thomas. Isn’t he the pastor of this church?”

  The man shook his head and smiled. “No, I’m afraid not. I’m Pastor Joshua P. Johnson. I’ve been pastor here for—gosh, about sixteen years, now.” His smile turned lopsided as a sudden realization struck him. “Did you say Eleazar Thomas?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Now that’s funny because there was an Eleazor here, oh, let’s see, now. Some forty years ago. You couldn’t be meaning him.”

  “Forty years ago? Oh, uh, I guess not. Sorry. My mistake. Must’ve gotten my facts wrong. Thanks.” Andrea covertly motioned for Berry to start the engine and go. He complied and she waved at the man as they tore down the driveway, spitting gravel behind them.

  “Please say we’re going home now,” her cousin said in a subdued voice.

  “Yes. We’re going home now.”

  “Good. Now, maybe, we can get back to normal.”

  Andrea stared out the window at the passing scenery. Back to normal. Back to normal. Oh, Berry. Just what is normal?

  TWENTY-FIVE

  They drove in silence for several miles. Berry, although relieved that they were through with her little errands, was totally mystified. Andrea, on the other hand,
was almost sick with confusion. The whole thing didn’t make sense. She was beginning to fear that Berry was right—she had hit her head harder than they thought.

  Almost to their driveway, Andrea suddenly blurted, “Wait. I want to stop for just one second at the Martin’s. Is that okay?”

  “Jeez, Andrea, wh—”

  “Please?”

  “Okay!”

  “Thanks.”

  Berry drove the short distance past their road and pulled into their neighbor’s property. From the car, they could see Bill Martin digging in his mulch pile beside the garage. He looked healthy and happy, but a tremor ran down Andrea’s back. Donna Martin, having heard their car, came out onto the front porch and waved cheerfully. Both Andrea and Berry left the car and joined her.

  “Well, hi, you two,” the woman greeted them, pushing damp bangs off a flushed forehead. “Whew, it’s humid today. Been putting up jam and I’m ready to jump in the pond.” She grinned. “What’ve you two been up to?”

  Andrea tried not to stare at her neighbor, but it was like seeing a ghost. Berry jabbed her with an elbow. She snapped to attention, blushed and stammered, “Oh. Hey, there. Sorry for staring like that. My mind was wandering. I-I—” She looked around quickly. “Where’s Thor?”

  Donna looked confused. “Where’s who?”

  “Thor, your German shepherd. Is he somewhere around?”

  Now even Berry was staring at her like she’d just said the Pledge of Allegiance in Swahili. Andrea sensed that this was going to be yet another in a series of bizarre bloopers she’d made today. She grimaced. Squinting at her neighbor, she stammered, “You don’t have a German shepherd, do you?” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

  “Well, of course we don’t. You know that,” Donna smiled. She wrinkled her nose then cocked her head. “But, you know,” she chuckled, “it’s strange you should mention that name. When we were first married, Bill and I had a dog—a German shepherd—and we called him Thor. He was a part of our family for thirteen years, if you can believe that. Our boys adored him and he was an excellent watchdog.” Her eyes narrowed. “However in the world did you hear about him? It’s been years since he died.”

  Berry cut in before Andrea could grope her way out of the present dilemma. He gave Donna his biggest smile and tugged on his cousin’s arm. “Well, you never know with my nutty cousin, here,” he joked in a strained voice. “Either that bull knocked the sense out of her or she should take up writing.”

  “Oh, my goodness! We heard about that. How do you feel, hon?”

  Andrea made a face. “Oh, fine, fine. I feel fine. Really. It was nothing. Just scared me half to death is all.” Her laugh came out a whinny.

  “Well, you be careful. I just hate thinking about such a thing. Why, if I saw that old bull chasing after me, I’d drop dead on the spot. You take care.”

  “I will. Definitely.”

  “Well! We gotta go,” Berry cut in. “Been running errands all over the county and need to get home.”

  “Well, thanks for stopping by. Next time, stay longer. I’ll bring over some jam when the jars cool.”

  “Great. Thanks. I’ll tell Mom.” Berry gave the thumbs up sign.

  They left their neighbor, still waving from the porch. As soon as they were inside the truck and out of the woman’s sight, Berry looked at Andrea with eyebrows in a knot. Andrea had no doubt he was about to explode.

  “I’m sorry, Berry. It’s just the-the stupid dream.”

  “The stupid dream.”

  “Yes, like I already told you. While I was unconscious. My very real, very involved dream.”

  “More like a nightmare or a psychedelic trip,” Berry muttered.

  “It was very, very real. I lived it, Berry.”

  “I know. You told me. In abstract, Picassoesque detail, you told me.”

  “Please don’t patronize me.”

  “I’m not, and I won’t. You told me some, but not enough. I want to hear more. You’ve got my curiosity ratcheted way up.”

  They’d reached their home. Berry parked his truck beside the garage, turned off the motor, but didn’t make an attempt to get out. Instead, he sat back.

  “What?”

  “I’m waiting. Talk.”

  “Here? Now?”

  “Can’t think of a better place or time. The folks can’t hear. You’ve got center stage.”

  Andrea cringed. “Oh, Berry, not now. I still have to sort through a million different images and impressions. I am so confused, I don’t think I could tell you—so you’d understand, anyway. Can’t it wait? At least until I’ve had a chance to think. Please?”

  Berry’s lips thinned and he shook his head. For a minute he didn’t say anything, only stared thoughtfully out the window. Finally, he grunted, “Okay. I will give you the rest of the day and tonight. Tomorrow, however, you will tell me. Everything. Got that?”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay.” Berry got out, slammed his door, and trudged up to the house without a backward glance.

  Andrea took her time leaving the truck and was careful not to slam the door. She walked sedately to the back porch, sat on a rocking chair and put her feet up on the porch railing. Closing her eyes, she leaned back and willed her muscles to relax. No way she wanted Aunt Claire to see her looking frazzled and nervous. No way she wanted to answer questions about the errands she’d been so adamant about running.

  Oh, Keith. Keith, Keith. She rocked back and forth, relishing the cool breeze that fanned her flushed cheeks. I really need to find you. To see you. To talk to you. Her throat constricted. No. I need to kiss you. To feel your arms around me, keeping me safe. A sob welled up. Oh, God. What am I supposed to do? In the dream, I was frightened and miserable. And asleep. I’m frightened and miserable. And awake? I want Keith. Even if it means I have to go back to the nightmare. I want Keith.

  A surge of determination had her dropping her feet with a loud thud and shooting out of the rocker so fast, it banged against the wall. She opened the screen door—careful not to slam it—and sprinted through the kitchen. Praying she didn’t bump into her aunt or uncle, Andrea tore upstairs and into her room.

  She had a plan. She would shower, take an extra minute to do her hair and nails, dress up a bit and go to Keith’s house. He’d be home from work by six—at least, she hoped he’d be. She’d wait on his porch if necessary, and cross her fingers that she didn’t run into Carrie and her husband. She needed to see Keith. She’d do anything to see him.

  Her only obstacle was her aunt and uncle. Andrea was pretty sure they’d make a fuss when she asked to borrow the car for another errand. God only knew what Berry would say. Well, he’d just have to play along. Or else.

  An hour later, Andrea left her room, dressed in a simple summer dress and matching sandals. Her hair was freshly combed and curled, and she’d applied a light blush to her cheeks and mascara to her eyes. She paused at Berry’s closed door, set her shoulders and knocked.

  “Yeah?” he grunted. Andrea quickly entered, shutting the door behind her. Berry looked up from the book he was reading and his eyebrows shot into his hairline. “What the heck! Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I have one more errand to run—”

  “No wa—”

  “Quiet! And don’t interrupt. Yes, I do, and I don’t need a single word of advice or admonition from you. You all seem to forget that I am an adult. If you recall, we celebrated my eighteenth birthday last April. It’s unfortunate I don’t have a car yet, so I am forced to humble myself and ask to borrow yours.” Berry opened his mouth to protest, but she raised a hand and he shut it. “I will ask Uncle Mike if I can borrow the Explorer, but if he says no, then you, dear cousin, must rally to my cause and offer yours. Understand?”

  Berry opened his mouth again, closed it, grimaced, then said, “Fine. But remember. I’m holding you to your promise. Tomorrow you tell me everything. If you don’t, I will blab to the folks and insist they take you in to have your head ex
amined. Understand?”

  “Yes, Berry. I told you I would. Now help me with this. Okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Thank you.”

  Andrea left his room and descended the stairs with her head high. She was determined to appear calm and in complete control; she would exude self-confidence and maturity.

  Uncle Mike was in the living room, reading the paper. He looked up when she entered the room. “Say, don’t you look nice. Going out?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I was just coming in to ask whether I could borrow the Explorer for a few hours.”

  “You feel well enough to drive?”

  “Of course. I felt well enough yesterday. I only let Berry chauffeur me around today to appease Aunt Claire.”

  Her uncle pursed his lips then blew out his cheeks. “Okay, sure, sure. You can have the Explorer. Where’re you going? Meeting friends somewhere?”

  “Yes. I won’t be late. Everyone has to work so we don’t have many late nights anymore.”

  “You sure managed to get a few in, in high school.”

  “Yes, well, you know seniors. So! I’ll be leaving around six. Thanks, Uncle Mike.”

  “No problem.”

  Andrea refrained from sighing in acute relief and headed for the kitchen. Aunt Claire demanded notification when one of them wasn’t going to be there for dinner, and she was giving her none. Fearing a lecture and a minor scene, Andrea spoke quickly. “Aunt Claire. Sorry this is such late notice, but I’m, uh, not going to be here for dinner.” There. She waited for the outburst.

  Her aunt surprised her, however, by merely nodding. “Oh, that’s fine. It’s only spaghetti. It’ll be good as leftovers. Where’re you going?”

  “Just meeting an old friend for a quick bite. Thanks.” Andrea turned to leave before her aunt could question her further. She didn’t want to out and out lie, and if Aunt Claire asked for names, she’d be unable to offer one.

  Grabbing the key from the hall table, Andrea left the house and dashed for the moss green Explorer parked by the garage. Her hands shook as she put the car in gear. Deep down, she knew she was behaving like an idiot. She had no idea what she would say if and when she saw Keith.