by Corey Brown
In the unexpected silence, a sound, besides that of awestruck humans, cuts the air. It starts with a quiet metallic squeak and then the crunch of gravel underfoot. No one dares lift their head, none of them can muster the courage to look but they all know it is Cody getting off the gurney. Todd raises his head just enough to see Cody walk past.
Shocked, Todd opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He swallows. “Dad, don’t,” Todd whispers. “Come back.”
Now T'biah, David, and Suzanne steal a glance. Cody is walking toward the church. His pace is steady, determined. His wounded arm held close to his chest.
“Don’t worry, Todd,” T'biah whispers. “The Master has it in hand.”
A few feet from the entrance Cody stops. His posture is that of a broken man, shoulders sloping, head tipped forward, his body little more than a shell for a spirit that has been crushed. For a time he is motionless. Then he reaches for the doorknob, waits, balls his hand into a fist, holds it tight, then relaxes his fingers and opens the door.
In his mind Derek screams out in protest, expecting the worst, expecting the Yaw to burst out and consume everyone. But no such thing occurs. The seething, dark liquid-like form does not move, does not make a sound. But there is something new. Now a pair of emerald eyes stare out of the open doorway.
Cody sighs. Everyone hears it, they all hear the mechanics of inhalation and exhalation but Todd detects something else, something more. He hears despair. Todd knows all too well this feeling, claiming it as his very own during those last few days when Lucas had him driving all over southern Louisiana delivering the medicine, delivering illegal drugs.
Todd knows despair is a lonely place and hearing his dad arrive there breaks his heart. Forgetting where he is or who has brought him here, Todd starts to stand but something stops him.
Not something, someone.
A palm pressing down, a gentle touch on Todd’s shoulder prevents him from getting to his feet.
“T'biah is right,” a throaty, comfortable voice says. “I have it in hand.”
Todd swallows, stares straight ahead. “But my dad, look at him…”
“He’s hurting, I know. I’ll take care of it.”
Fat, heavy teardrops roll down Todd’s cheeks. His breath catches, he shudders. “Promise?”
The ambulance driver gasps, signaling what everyone is thinking. Who is this kid? Who makes demands in the very presence of God?
Another gentle touch. This time on Todd’s face, warm and reassuring, wiping away his tears.
“Yes, I promise.”
Todd watches as a form moves past him, moves toward Cody. In this form is the impression of a human shape and at the same time it is without definition. Trailing behind is a sparkling fog that swells like a wind-filled cloak, like millions of tiny diamonds floating, swirling. The form reaches Cody, stops several yards short but the shiny mist billows out, spreads wide engulfing everyone and everything except the church, except Cody.
There are more sounds from the deputies, Suzanne, the EMT’s and Derek. Pleasant exclamations of surprise as the wonder of God wraps around them, as they breathe in divine existence.
“What about you Cody?” The form of God says, “What do you intend to do?”
Still facing the open church door, still staring into the shapeless face of the Yaw, Cody starts to answer but hesitates. He sighs, shrugs his shoulders. “I’m going in, they want me.”
“And what if I want you?”
Cody closes his eyes, shrugs again.
The deputies, Derek, the EMT’s are looking on, anxious, bewildered by Cody’s behavior. What they see is a man with his back to God, ignoring God’s questions. But David, Suzanne, Todd and T'biah see something quite different.
“He can’t really hear me,” God says. “David, would you correct that problem?”
Cautiously, David gets to his feet and approaches.
“I’m not sure I know how,” David says.
As if disturbed by a breeze, the atmosphere around David’s head ripples and, in that disturbance, he is reassured, is told to proceed. But he hears admonition, as well. David steps out of the crystalline fog, setting one foot into the clear space surrounding Cody, but he pauses, looks at the form of God and considers what he heard.
“What do you mean, if my faith allows?” David says.
“Ah, a rhetorical question.” God’s words roll like thunder.
David would have preferred something more definitive, something more like a real answer but suspects he already knows what God meant, even though he is not sure.
Looking away, looking at nothing, David considers his newfound spirituality. Once more, he wonders just exactly when it was he chose to believe. David feels his life has split in two. Not like the split when his demonic twin exited his body, but a more fundamental separation, a division of before and after, a split between believing and not believing.
But the absence of control, not knowing when or how the choice was made is troubling, and David wants to ask how it all came about.
Now, instead of rolling thunder, God’s words sound like a jolt of lightning. “There will be time for questions later,” God says. “This man’s life hangs in the balance. How about it, Regulator, can you tip the scales?”
David waits a moment longer, feels the weight of the question, then nods and steps out of God’s misty presence and into the blackness surrounding Cody.
With surprising immediacy, David feels both fire and ice. He feels the heat of Hell’s bondage and the freezing aura of the Yaw. He glances into the church doorway, looks at the pair of intense, emerald eyes then he catches a glimpse of what Derek and the others see.
David realizes how little they know, how little they understand. They see a man with his back to God, ignoring the Creator, but he and Suzanne, Todd and T'biah see the enormous, rusty spikes protruding from the doorway, stabbing into Cody’s body.
One spike runs though Cody’s right eye and out the back of his skull. A second is thrust into his heart and the third impales his foot to the ground. Each one holds Cody in some fashion, pins him in place, possesses his heart, clouds his mind.
David is fascinated by the duality of these perceptions, some see the spiritual reaper of death reaching out, stabbing into Cody, while others think they see a man ignoring, defying God. Still more surprising is the unexpected knowledge that even Cody cannot see, or feel for that matter, the iron rods piercing his body. David can tell Cody senses the effects of those metallic talons but he does not know that he is slowly being murdered by the Yaw.
Seeing the difference in what each person knows, knowing the difference between what each person sees, David recalls a conversation with T'biah in the Saint Louis Cathedral only----how long ago now? It feels like decades but in reality it has only been a few short hours since he and Suzanne had made their way to the church, trying to avoid the inevitable. Only a few hours since his twin split away, fewer still since T'biah had used David’s blood to chase the remnants of the Yaw from Cody’s mind and hardly any time at all since he had become a Regulator.
Standing amidst the debris at the shattered entrance of Saint Louis Cathedral, waiting for Cody to come around, they talked about the Yaw.
‘So, it's an army of demons,’ David had said.
‘It's not like that,’ T'biah had replied. ‘Once in the Yaw, a demon is no longer a demon. They lose all their individuality, their identity, everything. They are absorbed, consumed, they become part of a single presence taking whatever form the Destroyer wishes. Know this, the Yaw is nothing more and nothing less than mindless, insatiable evil. It is pure insanity, alive and in motion. Never, ever, face it alone.’
And here he was, facing it. Not alone, but facing it nonetheless. Fabulous.
David glances back at T'biah, hoping for some direction but catches himself. What is he thinking? He is standing with the ultimate counselor. Turning his attention back to the nasty-looking iron stakes, David reaches into his battered, ankle-length leath
er coat. Removing a small black and yellow McCulloch two-cycle chainsaw, he studies the tool for a moment then tosses it away. Too crude.
The implement lands with a thud, the tip stubbing into the dirt but David makes no move to extract another weapon. Using both hands to smooth back his hair, David inhales, narrows his eyes, thinks about this situation. There is more going on here than his mind can pull together. Why would God ask him to tip the scales? Why doesn’t God just take care of it?
But David knows he must play some part in all of this, so he searches his long coat for something suitable. Finding then removing an enormous battle axe, David holds the weapon up, examining it, the razor sharp blade so fine that even the light of God cannot reflect off its edge.
Stepping back, David plants his right foot to form a wide stance, adjusts his grip on the oak handle, and takes one last look around. He catches his father’s eyes and T’biah nods in approval. Then David raises the axe overhead, swings the blade down hard on the spike stabbing into Cody’s brain.
The impact sends a volley of ultra-bright sparks exploding in every direction and for a moment there is a deafening yowl, like a dull saw blade chewing through something hard. But an instant later the sound collapses into a hiss, as if water has been splashed on hot metal. Now, instead of sparks, a reddish-orange glow pulses from the point of contact and a thick, smoky haze fills the air around David and Cody.
David draws back, intending to take another swing, but he can’t budge the axe. He strains, pulls harder, gives up. It is welded into the iron rod. Releasing the handle, he steps back and stares. Not really looking, David flashes a glance at the form of God, then at T'biah, Suzanne and the others. For a few moments, as the smoke drifts upward and clears away, no sound is heard, no one speaks. Then a gentle squeak cuts the silence.
David looks at the axe head. It is slowly pivoting on the Yaw’s iron rod. The oak handle swings downward and bounces off the rod spiking into Cody’s heart then the axe pops free, landing at David’s feet with a thud.
Looking down at his useless weapon, two sensations work through David’s mind, a pair of thoughts or feelings that seem to be at war with each other. One is a sense of control. He knows how this will end, at some level he knows the Yaw will suffer the wrath of God, but what about his humiliating failure to cut through its rusty metal talons?
This is where the second, opposite sensation, a feeling of panic and embarrassment runs headlong into that sense of control. What if he cannot do it, what if he can’t tip the scales for Cody?
David swallows, runs his fingers through his hair again and closes his eyes, God’s admonition drifts through his brain like some rogue neurotransmitter. What did that mean, David thinks, if my faith allows?
A low clicking, growling sound rolls out from the church, followed by a deep, self-satisfied laugh. David turns, looks through the door, sees the burning emerald eyes of the Yaw widen as if it was smiling. Then he hears a slick, whipping sound like an arrow taking flight. At the last second David jerks back and narrowly escapes being struck as two more pales fly out, plunging into Cody’s body. One stabbing through Cody’s left foot, the other into his right shoulder.
Stunned by the suddenness of the Yaw’s ability, or maybe it was the close call on his own being, David stares at Cody. Now, as Cody is held fast by a spike through each foot, with his heart and mind also held captive by the Yaw, David’s sense of panic begins to overwhelm the idea of control. Who could ever control this monstrosity? And poor Cody, what he must be going through. How can he ever be saved? But just as swiftly God’s admonition rings in David’s head.
If your faith allows.
“Okay,” David says out loud, looking at everyone, seeing no one. “So I’m a Regulator. Fine, I’ll fight, do good, all of it, that part I get. But I don’t understand faith. I just don’t know what that means.”
From the glittering mist of God’s presence, a voice says, “But how did you find me?” It is Suzanne and she is surprised at the boldness of her words. Then, more tenuously, she says, “How did you know where I was?”
David points at her, his eyes growing dark. “That was easy, I could smell you. In my head I could see your scent trailing out into everywhere. But this….” He waves his hand at Cody then motions at the open doorway, motions toward the Yaw. “Who can deal with that thing?”
“But did you really see her scent, did you really smell her?” Now Todd is speaking. He, too, is astonished to hear his own voice. “Or was it your trust in God that led you?”
“Of course I did. I was the one----”
David catches himself. Did he really smell Suzanne as he was free jumping from one galaxy to the next? Was it really his internal compass, that autopilot thing or was something else at work? Was it trust in God that formed some nebulous part of him called faith? And just what was the difference between trust and faith?
Once more the clicking, laughing growl rumbles out of the church and David knows another iron talon is about to stab into Cody’s life. But for some reason the memory of tracking Suzanne’s scent across a trillion miles of creation is still strong in his mind. The feeling of following her, pursuing the twin suddenly becomes palpable—he can taste it, smell it, he knows the experience. Then it shifts, becomes more instinct than memory.
David hears the sound of another spike hissing forth and he steps into the doorway just as the sixth iron rod sails out. It hits David’s body hard, hits him in the chest, rocks him backward. On impact David sucks in his breath, expects blinding pain, expects to be impaled just like Cody but is surprised to feel nothing at all. Bouncing off David’s chest, the metal shaft lands flatly on his foot. He looks down, looks at the rod lying on his right shoe, and is astonished. Even on his foot, this iron rod weighing millions of tons does not hurt.
Then, from behind, David hears three more rods strike the ground. He turns to see the spikes in Cody’s eye, right foot and shoulder are lying harmlessly on the ground. David’s own body has blocked all but the ones in Cody’s left foot and heart.
Puzzled, David steps away to see if the rods will re-impale Cody, but nothing happens. He looks back through the open door, looks back at the Yaw, half expects another barrage of rusty spears.
Still, nothing happens.
Confusion and suspicion wash over David’s face. How is this possible? His axe hardly made a dent but his own body not only blocked new spears, it removed the old ones. It didn’t make sense.
If your faith allows.
The statement works from David’s mind into his heart and he feels something on the move in his soul. The idea of faith quietly shifting away from a question, becoming more of a statement then it is no longer a consideration at all. In a flash his faith has become a matter of fact, a point of reference. It surges, pulses throughout his body like living electricity.
David reaches for the spike that sticks Cody’s left foot to the ground. He hesitates, his fingers almost touching the iron rod. David can feel the intense heat radiating from it. He waits a moment longer then takes it, pulls it free.
Moving closer to the edge of God’s presence, Suzanne stares at what David has just done. He has plucked an infinitely long, white-hot spike launched from a creature of pure evil and tossed it aside as if it were a Tinker Toy. A second later David does the same with the one running into Cody’s heart.
Now free of the Yaw’s grip, Cody seems to come alive. He stumbles forward, starts to fall but David catches him. Bewildered, Cody looks at David then looks past him, sees the penetrating eyes of the Yaw staring out of the church. His body stiffens, fear and panic welling up in his gut.
“Don’t worry,” David says. “It cannot hurt you now. You’re safe.”
In response to David’s statement, a vicious roar, full of hatred, explodes from the doorway. On the heels of the sound, there is a rush of breath so foul that Cody’s eyes start to tear up then the Yaw expels another roar, this time even more venomous.
“Oh shit,” Cody says, wiping his
eyes. “Man, the smell….”
Four more spears shoot out from the Yaw. Three bounce harmlessly off David’s back but the fourth one passes over his shoulder, nicking his longcoat, heading toward Cody. The tip of the spike is a mere sixteenth of an inch from Cody’s chest when David takes it. Cody feels the air pressure, feels the tip of the rusty spear stop just short of his body.
Holding the iron talon in a vise-grip, David does not move. No one moves.
David’s knuckles glow white hot and his biceps bulge as he crunches the iron between his fingers. It deforms, flexes, bends upward in his grip. Turning his head slightly, David looks at the Yaw from the corner of his eye.
Moving closer, Suzanne detects another change in her brother. There is a wild, defiant sense about him.
T'biah slips in next to Suzanne and whispers, “I’ve never seen that before.”
“Never seen what?”
“He’s controlling a weapon from Hell as though it were his own.” T'biah shakes his head. “I’ve never… it can’t be done.”
T'biah glances at the form of God and frowns, sees what might be a look of surprise.
Turning to face the Yaw, spear still in hand, David shoves the rusty rod back into the doorway, into the church. An agonized howl escapes the little wooden structure with such force that one wall pops outward and a large crack spreads upward from the foundation.
David readjusts his grip, jams the spike even further inside the church. He pushes harder, pushes again. Then, with one final shove, the spear disappears back into the Yaw.
