Behind the Darkness

by W. Franklin Lattimore

  Okay, I’ve got to stop here for a minute and let you know a little something. As I’ve already said, Tara and I don’t just love each other, we like each other. And please, don’t assume that ‘love’ and ‘like’ are synonymous, because you would be far from correct.

  As a cop, and even just as a friend and neighbor, I’ve seen too many marriages in which people loved, and even respected, one another, but they made it a point to pursue their own interests regardless of the different desires and interests of their spouses. They start their work days off with a kiss and a goodbye. Several hours later they reunite at the house, give each other a hello and a peck on the lips, and share a little small talk. Then it’s off to chasing after his and her own pursuits, only to come back together in time to join each other in bed. Heck, they might even make love to each other, the wife knowing she has just received the only dose of physical and emotional intimacy that she’s going to get, the man believing that he has just fulfilled his “touch quota” for the day.

  That is not Tara and me. I’ll say it again. We like each other. We take an interest in each other. And, yes, that means purposeful listening. Do I understand everything Tara tries to convey to this man brain of mine? Nope. But if I detect—right there’s a clue to happiness—that there is something on her mind, I’ll ask her about it, and then I’ll listen.

  Why am I saying all this? Because these two days of sharing my story have proven deeply important to me. If I had been that husband that pretends that he’s interested or pretends that he’s listening, I may have gotten a pretty cool response when I told Tara that there was something I wanted to share.

  Yeah, yeah. I’m fully aware that I’m being preachy. But if I can help just one other guy…

  These past two days have been an insight—small though it may be—into my wife’s way of thinking. In our marriage, she’s going to need me to listen far more than I’m going to need her to listen, but I have earned her attention when I need it.

  When I decide, daily, that my job as a cop is not allowed to be more important or more stressful or more painful than her day at home, it allows me to see anything difficult that she may be going through. And I make it a point to allow her need to talk far outweigh my desire to be left alone.

  Yeah, that means that I have to open up—periodically—when I’d rather do the guy thing and just give her one-word answers.

  All of that to say something pretty compact: I’m enjoying my wife’s interest in me on this day. I already know she enjoys when I take an interest in her, but there is something about the tables being turned…and I’ve got to admit that it’s pretty doggone cool.

  So, back to my story about telling Tara my story.

  “That’s horrible! What a jerk! Does he have any idea what it’s like to be preg—?” Tara’s tirade sputtered to an end when she saw the grin appearing on my face.

  “Umm…” she started again. “You don’t think I’m getting too emotionally involved in this story…do you?”

  “Of course not! That’s just silly,” I said. Somehow I thought I could keep from laughing, but I was wrong.

  And, yes, that earned me another love tap on the arm.

  “Jason Foy,” I continued, “had to be more than just the sum of his basketball abilities. I was confident of that. I mean, I had been more than that when I was in high school. Right? I figured that since I knew what it was like to try for a basketball scholarship that I’d be able to reason with him somehow.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Things didn’t go quite the way that I thought they would.”

  BRENT WATCHED AS Jason headed to his next class. The seventeen-year-old’s face showed that he was frustrated, and his thoughts bore witness.

  “Pregnant! I still don’t get it! We were careful.” He picked up his pace. “She saw me watching her. Now what? What’s she thinking now?” Jason shook off the questions. “It doesn’t matter what she’s thinking. I’ll give her the money right after school, and that’ll be the end of it. It better be.”

  “Jay! Wait up!”

  Another young man came running up from behind. Jason stopped and turned around.

  “So, are we still on for some Nintendo after school?” It was Jack Staler, one of Jason’s teammates.

  Jason silently cursed. Brent wished it had been a bit more silent.

  “Uhh… Yeah. I mean…it’ll just have to be a little bit later.”

  “Dude, you know it has to be right after school. Dina and I are going to see the matinee of ‘Die Hard 2.’”

  “Okay, umm…” “I can catch Elizabeth at her locker before she goes for the bus. It’ll just be a short ‘n sweet conversation. Shouldn’t keep me very long.” “Okay…uhh…wait for me out by my car. I’ve got to take care of something right after class. Shouldn’t be long.”

  “Sounds good, man. See ya then!” Jack jogged off back the way that he had come.

  “Now she’s eating into my gaming time. Figures. She may be hot, but she’s nothing but a wench.”

  With that thought, Brent got the message loud and clear: The guy really is a jerk.

  Brent transported himself down the hall to the entrance of Jason’s next class. He wanted to watch the self-absorbed athlete as he approached. Six feet, two-and-a-half inches tall, slim but muscular build, dark hair, and a face that would have probably attracted the opposite sex even if he hadn’t had a single basketball skill residing within. He had all the elements for a case of mega-conceit, and he was taking full advantage of them.

  Even so, the kid had to have at least a small amount of conscience.

  “So,” Brent said out loud, “let’s see if there’s anything in you that resembles a caring heart.”

  Jason reached the entrance to the classroom and walked in. Several girls in the room made it a point to let him know that he’d been seen. A cacophony of blushing, tucking hair back behind ears, quick looks into compact mirrors, with one girl going so far as to stand up to make sure that her skirt and blouse were fully visible while making it look like she was just checking to make sure that nothing was wrinkled.

  Really? Good grief.

  None of the actions were lost on Jason, who walked around the front of the class to find a seat, a smug grin ever-so-apparent on his face.

  The teacher, Mr. Markiewicz, walked into the classroom at about the same moment that Jason sat down.

  “Pop quiz, everyone. I hope everyone took the time to review chapter eighteen on the Federalist Papers.”

  A collective groan filled the classroom.

  “Now, now. It’s not like you aren’t used to these. Part of making sure that you are learning this material is me keeping you on your toes.” He began passing out the quiz. “Ten questions, as usual, with one bonus. You get the bonus point if you get the other ten correct and answer the bonus correctly. Some of you need this, so think before you answer.”

  “This is just great,” thought Jason. “I need to bail on this.”

  He raised his hand and called out for the teacher’s attention, “Mr. Markiewicz, is there any way I can make this up? The past two nights, the electricity has been out at my house due to a tree falling on our power lines. I’ve been staying with my aunt in a house full of chaos, and I haven’t been able to get much studying done.”

  There were a few knowing grins and snickers throughout the room.

  More internalized cussing from Jason toward those who mocked his lie.

  Mr. Markiewicz stood looking at Jason for a moment before saying, “Mr. Foy, the reason that a bonus question appears on this quiz is that you need it. You cannot make up a pop quiz, and you already know that. I can give you an incomplete on this quiz or you can try for some points. I suggest the latter.”

  “This sucks!” Jason thought—almost out loud. “And he sucks. I can’t get a break.”

  The girl sitting immediately to his right pushed her quiz to the far left of her desk while giving Jason a long glance. He immediately understood the offer that was b
eing made.

  He gave her a quick nod and one of his “irresistible” smiles. “Maybe I’ll give you one of my special ‘thank yous’ for this,” he plotted in his mind. “You are pretty hot, so why not?”

  Brent was getting quite the education on the guy. He’s just a big user. And he’s got a ton of gals just waiting for the chance to be with him, regardless of already knowing his reputation.

  “What’s wrong with you girls? You’ll trade your bodies just to take your boyfriend status up a notch? There’ll be a notch, all right—a notch on the headboard of his bed!”

  During the pop quiz, Brent watched as Jason copied each answer exactly as it appeared on the girl’s answer sheet beside him, with one exception. He purposely circled the wrong answer to question number seven, so as to throw off of any suspicion.

  Brent yelled into his ear. “Elizabeth is hurting! She’s pregnant and she’s alone! Be kind to her! Show her some support!”

  “I hope Jack brings Super Mario 3 and the new Final Fantasy. Can’t wait to try it.”

  Brent tried again: “Elizabeth! Elizabeth is in pain! She has a baby inside of her. Elizabeth is scared! She is lonely!”

  If Brent had been in his own reality—or whatever it should have been called—he was sure that the windows would have shaken with the extra-high volume of his voice. But nothing he said was rattling Jason. Not one iota. The kid was completely emotionally dead, so far as Brent could tell.

  “What a lowlife you are,” Brent said under his breath. He shook his head in disgust.

  Discouraged, Brent was about to teleport away from Jason and his attitude when he heard it—a soft, but passionate, prayer.

  Brent looked across the aisles of seated students and saw a young man that had previously gone unnoticed. He sat four seats from the back of the room and had his head bowed. Kyle Russell. It only took a couple of seconds to learn that he was a young man with an obvious passion for God.

  Brent listened.

  “Father, I don’t know if I’m thinking of the right Elizabeth, but I pray for her. I don’t know why you would bring her to my mind just now; I don’t really even know her. But, Father, I ask you to please help her. Help her to know that she’s loved. In the name of Jesus I pray. Amen. Oh! And let her closest friends know how to help her. Give them wisdom and insight. Thank you, Lord. Amen.”

  Brent stood in awe. This young man’s sensitivity to the things of God was going to make a positive difference, even if Jason’s self-centeredness would not.

  “Now, that…that right there is what I’m talking about!” exclaimed Brent. “Hear that, Joshua? Even though things didn’t work out with Jason, something good came out of it! And I know that you’re going to honor Kyle’s prayer!”

  Brent was ecstatic. “See? My decisions—my plans—are having a good outcome! Just keep watching. Keep watching, because you haven’t seen anything yet!”

  You weren’t familiar with the book of Proverbs at that point in your life, were you?” asked Tara.

  “I’m not sure I’m understanding what you’re getting at.”

  “You know, ‘Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.’”

  “Ah, yes. Well, trust me. I didn’t need to know that Scripture verse for its prophetic words to come into play.”

  “Are you saying that you are living proof of that?”

  “Ooohh,” I said with a chuckle. “Most definitely.”

  GARIAN, THE IMPOSING angel guardian, stood protectively next to Elizabeth as she sat in a classroom full of students. Brent walked through—literally—two rows of seating to stand on the opposite side of the girl. He was glad to see the warrior.

  “Expecting trouble?” Brent asked.

  “Prepared for trouble,” the massive being replied.

  So far, the only trouble that Brent had encountered during the day was Jason’s attitude. No signs of demons. A question sparked in his mind.

  “Are there demons in this room?”

  Garian didn’t need to look around. “Yes.”

  “I guess the Lord is only allowing me to see the ones that are being directed against our cause.”

  “That would be my guess, as well.”

  Brent realized that these few simple interchanges were the closest that they had come to an actual conversation. He didn’t really want it to end.

  “You’re guessing? I thought that you would…you know…just somehow know.”

  “I, too, am a finite being. My knowledge is limited—even restricted. I know what I need to know about my assignments and few things beyond that.”

  Brent found the next question nearly irresistible to ask. “How much do you know about me?”

  “Very little. You are not my charge. I am yours. Elizabeth is mine. I do not know your story.”

  “How about my grandmother, Hannah Elizabeth Moore?”

  “Neither do I know her story.”

  Brent was disappointed. But then, what would the odds have been that this particular angel would have been his mamaw’s guardian?

  Elizabeth’s thoughts redirected Brent’s attention. “So, do I just go home and look up a number in the phone book? Under what, abortion clinics?”

  Sadness crept over Brent. He was glad that the teacher and other students in the room were oblivious to their presence. It allowed him to concentrate fully on Elizabeth, not having to worry about anyone else’s actions or thoughts.

  He knelt down beside her, laying his right hand over hers on her lap. “Don’t worry, Elizabeth,” he whispered. “I’m going to work out everything for your baby’s protection. I will figure out a solution to what you are going through.”

  A sound became noticeable from below her desk. Initially it sounded like a release of pressurized air, but Brent couldn’t have been more wrong about its origin.

  As Brent pushed back from Elizabeth’s seat to have a look below, he viewed the beginnings of a swirling black vortex that had appeared in the floor. His initial reaction was to reach out to grab for Elizabeth, to prevent her from falling into it as it grew. He’d seen enough Star Trek episodes to know that something like this didn’t bode well for humans.

  A quick glance up and Brent saw Garian drawing his sword. Brent’s heart began to race as he anticipated conflict. The angel’s sword—glowing silver—was fully unsheathed, held low and at the ready in the angel’s right hand.

  Out of the swirling void emerged another being. Brent panicked and stood to his feet.

  It was leathery like the first impish demon that he had encountered, but much larger. As it rose, its head began to penetrate the writing surface of Elizabeth’s desk. Its ascension finally came to an end at a height that was a few inches taller than Brent. And those additional inches were imposing. Fear stabbed at Brent’s heart. The menacing being seemed to barely notice the girl. Instead, its eyes—black and poisoned with hate—burrowed into Brent’s own.

  Brent took an involuntary step backward, causing him to stand partway into the desk behind him. The thing showed more similarity to an angel than did the first one he’d encountered. Its wings were still devoid of any feathers, though it appeared that they had once existed on the creature’s raggedy extensions.

  The demon’s face was taut and fierce. The whole of the being was gray, with skin like the underside of a tanned elk hide—something Brent had seen a few years prior at his Uncle Joe’s house.

  Unlike Garian, this fallen angel showed its age. It looked ancient, weathered, and beaten. Ragged gashes showed in the creature’s arms and legs, no longer open wounds, but also never fully healed.

  Its arms and legs still showed formidable strength abiding within, and while neither hand wielded a sword, it proved threatening just the same. It wore no form of clothing over its chest, though its loins were covered with what appeared to be black canvas or burlap held in place by a black belt.

  Brent’s breathing became rapid to the point that he thought he might hyperventilate. Was that even possible in his god-lik
e state? He didn’t get a chance to find out, as a deep, penetrating voice issued forth from Elizabeth’s guardian angel.

  “State your business, fallen one.”

  The demon maintained its eye contact with Brent while giving its answer. “You know why I’m here,” it seethed. “I’m here for this daughter of dirt.”

  “What is your designation?” questioned Garian.

  The demon remained silent, but turned its head to face the angel.

  “Answer me.”

  “I will not. And I have rights to this female.” It turned to face Elizabeth. She was looking down at her desk, utter lack of hope in her eyes, face expressionless except for her furrowed brow.

  The demon reached out with its left hand to touch her head, but Garian’s sword swung upward from the floor, the flat of the blade slapping away the demon’s arm, a mere inch from Elizabeth’s face.

  Fierce anger coming to its face, the demon swung out its right arm out in an attempt to swipe at Garian’s face with nails that looked as though they could have come from the talons of a massive bird.

  Garian’s left arm shot upward, deflecting the blow. Barely.

  The angel quickly lifted his sword, drawing the blade up to the left armpit of the fallen being and, with an additional pull, causing it to fully face him.

  “You will have nothing to do with this girl right now. She is covered by prayer. If you wish to keep your arm, you will cease!” An icy stare dared the demon to make another move.

  The gray being showed no sign of fear, but dropped its right arm back to its side. “You know I will be back for her. You know I will not give up. That putrid child in her belly will not see the light of day.”

  “Be gone, underling. Now,” Garian growled. His demand had a tone of absolute finality underscoring it.

  “Next time,” the demon responded, “the advantage will be mine. You will lose…again.” The ancient creature turned its head, facing Brent once more. “I’m not done with you either, Pretender.”

  With a final stare that sent ice water through Brent’s veins, the agent of evil swirled, faded, and descended back into the opening from which it had come.