Battle for His Soul

by Theresa Linden

  “A plan from Caitlyn’s angel? It will affect Jarret?”

  “Yes.” Nadriel disappeared before his thought faded. “Many souls depend upon Jarret.”

  Ellechial sighed. “That they do.” So much depended upon the soul entrusted to his care, yet his wings were tied. “May Cyabrial’s plans be blessed—”

  A sudden gust of hot wind made Ellechial’s wings ripple.

  Deth-kye, the demon bent on seeing Jarret in hell, appeared. He crouched and whispered in Jarret’s ear. Then he cackled. His evil laughter echoed in the woods. A flock of sparrows spread their wings and took flight.

  Ellechial grieved, knowing that Jarret would listen to the demon’s lies. He ached to protect.

  A long, low moan escaped from the depths of Jarret’s soul. He grabbed the hair on the top of his head and curled up. “Leave me alone.”

  “No one cares about you,” Deth-kye whispered, making nearby blades of grass shudder. “You’re worthless. You think Zoe wants you. Ha! You used her. She had to make choices she wasn’t ready to make. She hates you for that. She hates you,” he hissed, “but you need her. Go to her. Go now. You can get her back under your control.”

  Jarret moaned and tucked his head under his arm.

  “Do not listen to him,” Ellechial shouted, coming to full stature. “He seeks your ruin. Turn to the Lord who is quick to—”

  “Get up!” Deth-kye spat.

  Jarret pushed himself up on his elbows, wincing at the pain.

  “That’s my boy.” Deth-kye laughed, acknowledged Ellechial with a glance, and laughed harder, evil resonating through his being.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SECRET MEETING

  Roland

  Fifteen-year-old Roland West ran. The ground jiggled and trees flew by to the steady beat of his black Nikes. He pounded down the path behind his friend Peter Brandt’s house.

  If only he had his mountain bike, he wouldn’t need to run. What could’ve happened to it? Who would’ve taken it? Now he was going to be late.

  Two days ago, he received a letter. He had smiled when he read it, knowing exactly who wrote it, though she hadn’t signed her name. He and Caitlyn Summer had recently become friends again, not that they had been enemies, but there had been some tension between them for a few months. He couldn’t wait to see her. What could she want?

  His lungs and heart begged him to ease up, so he slowed to a fast walk. Sweat trickled down his neck and chest, soaking his gray t-shirt. He was over halfway to his destination, but it was the middle of summer and too hot to be running anywhere.

  He’d cool off when he got there. There. He shuddered. Why did she want to meet there? Why not somewhere else? Roland pulled the note from the back pocket of his jeans and read it again.

  You are called to a secret meeting. Tell no one! Thursday, 3:00 PM. Be at the Hiding Place.

  As he shoved the note into the pocket of his t-shirt, he stumbled over a root. What time was it? He checked his cell phone. 3:01. Shoot. He picked up his pace, jogging again.

  He had seen the Hiding Place for the first time almost a year ago. Peter had led him deep into the woods behind his house, down to the river, and to the waterfall. Moving from one rock to another in the river, Peter had gone right up to the waterfall. Then he’d stepped through it.

  Sure it was amazing, but Roland had had no desire to follow. Ever since he was a child, and for reasons he didn’t understand, he hated the feeling of cold water pouring on his head. He hated it with a passion. Whenever it happened, it sent a shock though his system and paralyzed him with fear. Would he be able to go through the waterfall this time? Any chance the secret meeting would be on the riverbank rather than the cave behind the waterfall? Maybe he should’ve worn his Twins baseball cap.

  No one else had such a stupid fear. Why couldn’t he get over it? Didn’t therapists suggest facing your fears? He had faced it, forcing himself through the waterfall several times last fall, every time Peter got a crazy idea and wanted to go back there. So why was the dread hitting him even now? He couldn’t even see the waterfall or the river.

  “Chill out,” he said aloud. Soon he and Papa would be in Arizona, and this would be a memory. He could do it. Relax.

  Before long, the rumble of the waterfall rose above his labored breaths and the murmuring of leaves. The trees thinned out, and the river showed through them more and more. He followed a rocky path that ran parallel to the river, the rush of the falls growing louder with each step.

  Emerging from the woods, he directed his gaze to the ground and half climbed, half slid down a steep slope to the riverbank. Reluctant even to look at the threatening waterfall, he crossed the sandy, rocky bank to the river’s edge. Rocks leading to the cave jutted out of the troubled tea-colored water. He would have to jump from rock to rock to get there.

  His heart thumped so hard that he imagined he could hear it over the noise of the waterfall. Taking a deep breath, he jumped to the first stone. As he made it to the next stone, drops of icy water hit his face. He shuddered.

  Don’t think about it. It’ll be so hot in Arizona that I’ll look back with longing on this moment. He forced his gaze upward and beheld the white rushing monster before him, sunlight shimmering on its grasping claws. His stomach flipped. I’ll look back with longing? Yeah, right.

  He jumped to the next stone and the next, the spray of the water increasing, his stomach tightening. Tons of roaring water loomed directly before him, icy and seething, waiting to jab its claws into him and consume him with its chill. The idea of stepping through it seemed about as absurd as stepping through a brick wall. Why was he here?

  Caitlyn.

  With a last breath, he readied himself to become a victim of the foe in order to get to the other side. He squeezed his eyes shut and plunged into the water.

  Knives of ice attacked. Cold ripped through him. His mind went numb. Pounding, slicing, slashing . . . He groaned. Keep moving. Another step. Another step.

  It was over. He stood on the ledge behind the waterfall, soaked, trying to compose himself, and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. A long shudder passed through him.

  A group of kids stared at him.

  Peter laughed. “Man, you look like you’ve been running from the devil.” He stepped forward, a towel in his hands.

  Roland shuffled along the narrow ledge, past the pool of water behind the fall, and to the dry part of the cave. He took the towel from Peter.

  Kiara and Phoebe sat on matching logs near a low rock shelf. Peter and his father had dragged the logs and other things into the cave years ago, making the place kind of homey. Dominic sat on the edge of the pool, his legs dangling in the water.

  Caitlyn, in a 1940s vintage-style beige dress and white tennis shoes, stood in the back of the fifteen-foot-deep cave, her hands clasped in front of her. Burning candles filled the holes in the wall behind her, the light from their flames bouncing off her long red curls and making her look like an angel.

  Dominic got up and slapped Roland on the arm. “Hola, Vato.” Vato probably meant something like dude in Spanish. Dominic said it all the time, that and a lot of other Spanish words nobody knew but him.

  Roland gave him and the others a nod as he dried his hair and moved to the back of the cave.

  Caitlyn smiled. “I’m glad you made it.”

  “Yeah, better late than never.” Peter smirked at him and then turned to Caitlyn. “So, now maybe you’ll tell us what this is about, huh? What’s the secret?”

  She folded her hands and bounced once on her toes, her gaze flitting over each of them. “Well . . . I have an idea.”

  “Uh-oh,” Dominic said.

  Peter laughed.

  Caitlyn continued unfazed. “I think we should start an intense, radical prayer group.”

  “What?” Peter’s voice squeaked. “Are you kidding me? We’re here for . . . a prayer group?”

  “Let’s hear her out,” Kiara said. “She must have a reason for her idea.” S
he returned her attentive gaze to Caitlyn. “You have the floor.”

  “Thank you.” Caitlyn curtsied to Kiara. “Last year, well almost a year ago, God did something special for us.” Her eyes went to Dominic. “For you, in particular, but for all of us, really.”

  Roland glanced at Dominic to gauge his response.

  Dominic rubbed his legs and dipped his head, his black bangs falling in his face. A year ago, Dominic would not have been in this cave. Not easily, anyway. A car accident two years ago had left him confined to a wheelchair, and he had lost hope of ever walking again.

  “Peter,” Caitlyn said, “when you inherited the relics of Saint Conrad, it was for a reason. Don’t you think?”

  Peter shrugged and exchanged glances with Dominic. “Well, sure.”

  “And when God showed us his love and power by healing Dominic through Saint Conrad’s intercession, there was a reason for that. He didn’t have to heal Dominic, but he did. And we witnessed it, well, some of us.”

  Roland remembered it like it had happened yesterday. Kiara and Phoebe hadn’t been there, but the news spread through the high school and Saint Michael’s Parish. Everyone knew Dominic needed the wheelchair. And then everyone saw him walk. The doctors were astonished. They all gave credit to God and to the prayers of Saint Conrad of Parzham.

  “So, I think God is trying to tell us something,” Caitlyn said.

  Kiara jumped to her feet, beaming. “God wants us to turn to him, to keep asking for things. He wants to answer our prayers.”

  Caitlyn beamed back, her green eyes glittering in the candlelight. “We saw a miracle. God hears us when we pray, and He still works miracles.” Caitlyn and Kiara came together, wide-eyed and grinning, and locked onto each other’s hands.

  Phoebe stood. She folded her arms and scowled like a schoolteacher. With her honor-roll status and freaky image—blue-streaked hair, mismatched clothes, and gaudy jewelry—Roland never knew how to take her. “Don’t get carried away, girls. Miracles are rare. We don’t know why God chose to work a miracle for Dominic. I can’t imagine that there’ll be more miracles in our little town just because we ask. God doesn’t work that way.”

  “Yeah,” Peter said. “Why can’t we pray by ourselves? Why a group?”

  “There’s power in numbers,” Kiara said. She almost never got upset with anyone, so it was strange seeing her without the pleasant smile. “Where two or three are gathered in my name...”

  The discussion continued, Caitlyn and Kiara insistent on the idea, Peter and Phoebe objecting, each shouting to be heard over the waterfall and the voices of the others.

  Nadriel

  “This is not going as I had hoped,” Cyabrial said to the other angels present.

  Guardian angels hovered close to their charges, wings pulsing as their prayers rose to heaven.

  “Caitlyn has heeded your suggestion,” Nadriel said to Cyabrial. “It is now up to the others. I will encourage Roland.” He winged to Roland’s side and leaned to whisper. Roland responded with a tilt of his head and a quickening of his heart rate.

  Dominic’s guardian angel stepped forward, his wings fanning out. “We must keep Doubt and Dissension from having their way!” Spinning to face the demons, he whisked his arm out and pointed.

  The demons Doubt and Dissension retreated to a dark corner. But they did not leave.

  “Silencio!” Dominic stepped into the middle of the teens and they all stopped talking. “I, for one, like what Caitlyn is saying here. And I, for one, will join her. Maybe God does not want to perform another miracle, but he still answers prayers. And I know mucha people with muchas needs. My aunt, for one, she suffers from leukemia. My second cousin, he gets made fun of because of a lisp. My abeula in Mexico has been sick for years.”

  He faced each of them, holding each one’s gaze for a second. He stopped at Roland. “And what about you, amigo? You stand here in the shadows saying nothing. I want to know: what do you think?”

  Roland blushed under the sudden redirection of everyone’s attention. “I, uh, I’m not gonna be around. I’m leaving for Arizona in a couple of days.” His gaze turned to Caitlyn.

  Nadriel, Roland’s guardian angel, exchanged thoughts with Cyabrial. Roland and Caitlyn had recently become friends again, so Roland probably had reservations about leaving for the summer.

  Caitlyn took a step toward Roland. “You can still pray. You can pray for our group’s intentions. We’ll be united in spirit.”

  Cyabrial’s wings lifted in his admiration for his charge.

  “I’ll join you, Caitlyn,” Kiara said with a firm nod of her head. “Just tell me when and where.”

  “Count me in, too,” Dominic said, turning to Peter.

  Peter squirmed. “All right. I-I guess, when I left those relics with Father Carston, you know, to keep at the church, I sort of left my prayers with them. It won’t kill me to start really praying again.”

  Everyone faced Phoebe now.

  She sighed, propping her hands on her hips. “I need more. Tell me your idea. Where do we meet? What do we do—exactly? And what are we looking for? Don’t tell me we’re looking for more miracles. I think it’s presumptuous to expect—”

  “Okay, okay.” Caitlyn put a hand up, silencing her. “We won’t ask specifically for miracles. We’ll accept whatever way God wants to answer our prayers. But we’ll believe that he does answer them. Okay?”

  “Fine.” Phoebe stuck her hand out and Caitlyn shook it.

  “There’s one more detail,” Caitlyn said.

  Peter moaned.

  “Because I want everyone to feel as called about this as I do, and to make sure this is God’s will, I want each of you to ask for a sign.”

  “Now you’re pushing it,” Phoebe said, exchanging glances with Peter.

  “A sign?” Peter said. “I mean, I thought we agreed we weren’t asking for miracles.”

  “A sign isn’t a miracle,” Kiara said. “What’s wrong with wanting to know if this is God’s will?”

  “Right,” Caitlyn said. “I don’t mean the sun has to spin or fall from the sky or anything. I just think it’d be nice if everyone received something small and personal, a little sign that left each of you as convinced as I am that God really wants this. Saint Therese the Little Flower asked for a sign when she started praying for a criminal’s conversion. She got her sign. I can’t explain how strongly I feel about this. I believe that God wants this of me. But I don’t know what I’m doing.” She frowned, her bottom lip sticking out. “And I can’t do it alone.”

  When her gaze landed on Roland again, sympathy showed in his eyes. A frown on her face always made him shift about uncomfortably. “I’ll ask for a sign.”

  Dominic draped his bony arm around Roland’s shoulders and flipped the hair from his eyes. “Me too, amigo.”

  While the others added their affirmations, Cyabrial and Nadriel smiled at each other and at the other guardian angels present.

  “I guess we have some work to do,” Nadriel said.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ENCOUNTER

  Jarret

  Jarret walked the damaged mountain bike home, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t find Keefe waiting for him. He left the bike behind the stables and snuck inside through the veranda to avoid notice. Unfortunately, there was Keefe, sitting on the couch in the family room. To Jarret’s annoyance, Keefe jumped up and followed him through the house.

  At the foot of the stairs, Keefe grabbed Jarret’s arm. “Are you alright?” He looked Jarret over, his gaze lingering on the biggest dirt smear on Jarret’s designer t-shirt.

  Jarret yanked his arm free and climbed the steps by twos.

  “Hey, we need to talk.” Keefe remained at the foot of the steps. “I guess you’re going to take a shower, huh?” A pause. “I-I’ll wait in the kitchen. Come down when you’re done.”

  Jarret threw his twin a cold glance from the top of the steps. Once upon a time, Keefe would’ve understood his situation. Keefe would’
ve been on his side, but now he only wanted to talk him out of things. No, they did not need to talk.

  Stripping his muddy shirt off over his head, Jarret stepped into the bathroom. If he took long enough cleaning up, maybe Keefe would find something else to do.

  He cranked the water temperature to hot and adjusted the shower head to get a full-pressure spray. The pounding water soothed his aches and numbed his mind. Rolling clouds of steam filled the room. He imagined himself as a bird coasting beneath cumulus clouds. Not a care in the world.

  He left conditioner in his hair an extra-long time and even shaved the scruff off his chin and upper lip. Once back in his room, he put on his gray Armani shorts, the blue t-shirt with the wild black pattern—Zoe had given it to him—and the cologne she found irresistible. Ready to go, he stuffed his car keys into a pocket.

  Sandals in hand, he stepped from his bedroom into the dark hallway. The vacuum cleaner hummed in some distant part of the house, probably the family room. No lights showed at the foot of the stairs. Maybe Keefe had given up waiting on him.

  Jarret crept down the steps.

  Keefe’s bedroom door flew open. “Hey, you got a minute?” he said from the top of the stairs.

  Jarret bristled but stopped. “No. I’m going somewhere.”

  Keefe bounded down the steps, slowing as he neared the bottom. “Where you going?” He gave Jarret the once over, the hint of a smile passing over his lips. “You got a date?”

  “No.” In the past, Jarret would’ve told him everything. Part of him wanted to now. But he hated to even look at his twin with his cropped hair, dark-rimmed glasses, and protruding ears. Keefe was a stranger to him.

  “So, where, then?” Keefe circled around Jarret, checking him out. “You’re wearing cologne or something. A clean shave. You put gel in your hair?” He stretched out one of Jarret’s curls.

  Shoving Keefe’s hand away, Jarret sat on a step to put on his sandals. “Not that it’s your business, but I’m going to Zoe’s.” He cringed. Why had he told him? He had not only lost control of his twin, he’d lost control of himself. He was unpredictable.