Plot Line

by Alton Gansky

  “All right, so I’m off my game a little. So what?”

  Shackleton leaned his elbows on the wood table and spoke firmly. “Ray, I’m sitting in the dark looking across a table at a man I’ve only met once before and I can see something has happened. No man is meant to go through adversity alone.”

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  “Talk to me. That’s all.”

  “I can’t. It’s not that simple. I don’t even go to your church.”

  “That doesn’t matter in the least.”

  “It’s more complex than that. I can’t talk to you, even if I wanted.” Ray’s hands shook and his eyes burned. More than anything, he wanted to throw open the floodgates of confidence and let spill the pent up fear that grew with each hour.

  “Give me your hand,” Shackleton said.

  “What?”

  “Your hand, give it to me.”

  Ray studied the man. He had spent less than two hours with him when he came for dinner nearly a month ago, yet he trusted him. He had no idea why. By nature, Ray was a skeptic, slow to believe anything he couldn’t see with his eyes, touch with his hands. In the underground lab he saw something he could not deny but could not fully believe. Slowly, Ray held out a tremulous hand and Shackleton took it in his own. There was a surprising strength in it.

  “Look me in the eye, Ray.”

  Ray did.

  “I’m your friend. I know we barely know each other, but that doesn’t matter. I’m a good judge of character and, more important, I care. You can trust me, Ray. I have no ulterior motives. I’m not looking for another notch on my spiritual gun belt. I just want to help.”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “I’m not a psychologist, but I know when I’m looking at a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown. You need someone to trust.”

  Tears flooded his burning eyes. He tried to will them back, to command them to return from where they came. They refused. Instead, they brimmed his eyes and trickled down his unshaven cheeks.

  Devlin’s warnings played in Ray’s ears. So clear were the words he would have sworn Devlin sat on the bench next to him. Trust. Shackleton spoke of trust. Ray wondered when he had last trusted anyone outside his family. He had put a measure of faith in Devlin, but he had been driven by financial need. This was different.

  “It’s too dangerous,” Ray whispered. “To involved.”

  “I’m not afraid. I have put my faith in the Lord and there it will stand. He is able to sustain me.”

  “I don’t believe like you do. I don’t have faith.”

  “You can. It can all start tonight.”

  Shackleton was firm, confident. Ray wanted to feel the same way. He hungered for peace, security and his confidence. To talk about it was too much to ask, but if he didn’t do something, then he would break down. The pastor was right: Ray was teetering on the crumbling precipice of an emotional collapse.

  “I saw something,” Ray’s voice quavered like a leaf in a storm. “It was real, but I can’t believe it.”

  Tears poured, dripping to the table beneath Ray’s chin. He closed his eyes. The image of the repulsive alien flashed on his mind. When he opened his eyes, he saw tears streaking Shackleton’s face. For the first time in three weeks, Ray did not feel alone.

  Eleven

  It had taken ninety minutes for Ray to pour out his heart. The words came haltingly at first, but then flowed in a torrent of expression. He began with his first encounter with Devlin and carried the account through every nightmare of the last few weeks. The night grew cooler, but neither man made note of it. There were more important things than personal comfort at stake. At the end he said, “You must think I’m nuts, crazy, loony.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Really?” Ray had doubts.

  “If you had had episodes like this in recent years, if you were seeing things others could not, then I might suspect mental illness. I just don’t see that in you. This is too sudden, and your family tells me you have always seemed balanced and emotionally even. I think you’re telling the truth.”

  “But what about the aliens? You don’t find that bizarre?”

  “Oh, I find it bizarre, but not unbelievable. However, I don’t think they’re aliens.”

  “What? What do you mean? What else could they be?”

  This time, it was Shackleton who paused the conversation. He smiled. “It just occurred to me that what I am about to say, is going to sound stranger than your story.”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

  “Why do you suppose Dr. Rehnquist was so afraid the beings?”

  “I don’t know,” Ray answered. “He was terrified and angry. When someone, the general I think, said Rehnquist had lost his mind, he shouted, ‘I didn’t lose it, they took it’.”

  “And you said his scalp was bloody.”

  “Yes, scalp and forehead, like he had been digging at his skin. He was crazy, a genuine nut case. My greatest fear is that I’ll become like him.”

  Ray watched Shackleton. The light from the back porch threw an eerie yellow cast across his face. Even in the dim illumination, he could see the man was lost in thought.

  “I’m a man of the Bible, Ray. I have studied it for years. I went to seminary, three years of graduate education, to learn everything I could about it. I find it to be true in everything of which it speaks: history, science, human relationships, everything. I say all that to make this point: the Bible contains information we don’t fully understand. Some things are described, but we are left wanting more. I believe this is done on purpose. There are matters for which we are not ready. I believe what you saw had nothing to do with aliens from another planet.”

  “How can you say that?” Ray was surprised. “I can tell you they weren’t human. Not even close. You can take my word on that.”

  “I’m saying they may not be extraterrestrial in origin.”

  “What else is there?”

  “The Bible describes angelic beings,” Shackleton stated.

  “Angels?” Ray said, narrowing his eyes. “Little bare bottomed babies with wings? These were nothing like that.”

  Shackleton shook his head. “No, not bare bottomed babies,” he explained. “The image of cupid-like creatures floating around in heaven came from Renaissance artists, not the Bible. The Scriptures describe angels as powerful, intelligent, and sometimes as very different from humans. In fact, angel isn’t even a good word to describe them.”

  “What word would you use?”

  “There’s no single word that would do the trick. In the Book of Ezekiel, the prophet describes visions he’s had. In chapter one, he sees what he calls four ‘living creatures’. His description of them stretches the imagination to the breaking point. He said they had four faces: that of a man, a lion, an ox, and an eagle. Ezekiel also states they had the basic appearance of man but also had four wings, straight legs and feet were more like a calf’s than a human’s. In the tenth chapter he describes the creatures as cherubim and says they were covered with eyes. The Apostle John saw similar creatures in his vision and wrote about it in the book of Revelation.”

  Ray tried to picture the creatures, but had trouble doing so. “That’s not what I saw.”

  “I’m not saying it is. I’m just showing the Bible mentions intelligent creatures other than what we see on Earth today. The prophet Isaiah sees creatures with three pairs of wings.”

  “So you’re saying there are creatures we can’t see.”

  “Exactly. Some are described in the Bible others are not, and not all of them are friendly. The Scripture is clear about God’s holy angels, but it is equally clear about demons.”

  “I may have seen a demon?” Ray drew back. This was beyond his experience and his willingness to believe.

  “I can’t say for sure. Even if I was there, I wouldn’t know any more than you. The New Testament speaks of demons as evil spirits, but no physical description is given. We have no idea what th
ey look like.”

  “I need more than that.”

  “So would I. One thing that got me thinking in that direction was your response to what you’ve seen. You were terrified, right?”

  “More than I can say.”

  “You said Dr. Rehnquist was crazed and filled with hatred, and that he had been clawing at his head and face.”

  “Right.”

  “In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus heals a man who was possessed by a group of demons who called themselves ‘Legion’ because there was so many of them. The Gospel of Luke has the same account. The possessed man lived among the tombs, withdrawn from others, screaming, and cutting himself with rocks.”

  “Why would someone cut themselves?”

  Shackleton shrugged. “We can’t know for sure, but I suspect that either the demon’s were causing the man to hurt himself, or it was a desperate act on the man’s part to force the demon’s out.”

  “That doesn’t seem rational.”

  “That’s the whole point, Ray, it’s not rational. At least not by any standards we humans use.”

  “I don’t know if I can believe this,” Ray shook his head. “Aliens are one thing, wicked angels are another.”

  “In the New Testament book of Second Peter there is a verse that says, ‘For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but cast them into hell and committed them to pits of darkness . . .’ He then goes on to talk about judgment against false teachers. Peter uses a very interesting word in the verse. The New Testament was written in Greek and the word translated Hell is not the usual term. It’s Tartarus. In ancient Greek thinking, Tartarus was the lowest part of Hell in which the Titans were punished. Peter uses the same word. No one knows what these angels did to receive such a severe punishment, but the Scripture records it as a fact.”

  “How does this relate to what I saw? What would angels, wicked or otherwise, be doing in an underground military research facility?”

  Shackleton sighed and rubbed his forehead. “I can only speculate. I’m guessing and nothing more. We just don’t have enough facts to go on. Based on your response, your sense of evil, and what you’ve told me about Dr. Rehnquist, I would say they found a way to bridge the gulf that separates the world we know from the spiritual world described in the Bible.” He paused. “I can’t know what they were looking for, but the researchers may have opened a door between these two worlds. Worse, they may have opened the door to the worst possible place.”

  “Tartarus.”

  “Maybe. If so, I fear for everyone in the lab.”

  “How does this help me? Even if it’s true, how do I get the images out of my head?”

  Shackleton leaned over the table and spoke firmly. “The Apostle Paul wrote something in the book of Ephesians that may help. He said, ‘Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places. Therefore, take up the full armor of God, so that you will be able to resist in the evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm.’”

  “Heavenly places?”

  “The realm of spiritual beings,” Shackleton explained. “I think you have seen what few, if any, have: ‘spiritual forces of wickedness.’ If I’m right, then your protection must be a spiritual one—and the only spiritual solution that works is Jesus.”

  “Jesus?” Ray spoke with disbelief. He was thankful for Shackleton’s compassion. He was even more thankful the man hadn’t laughed in his face, but he knew sooner or later, religion would pop up in the conversation. “I’m not religious.”

  “Ray, do I strike you as an ignorant man?”

  The question caught Ray off guard. “No, not at all. You seem brighter than most people I know.”

  “I am not a religious man, either. I’m a spiritual man. There’s a difference. I have spent much of my life studying the things of God, and I assure you He is as real as this table.” He rapped a knuckle on the wood surface. “Jesus, His son, came in the flesh, lived among men, died on the cross for our sin, was buried in a tomb, and raised from the dead. Those are not suppositions those are the facts. I believe you’ve had an encounter with something sinister, and I believe the help you need must come from God through Christ.”

  Again, Ray shook his head. “I’m a writer. I deal in fantasy, but fantasy is based in reality. I once had an editor tell me that fiction must be more believable than life itself. I just can’t believe the way you do.”

  “Despite all you’ve seen and experienced?”

  “I appreciate your help, Pastor, I really do. You’ve taken me seriously when anyone else would have called me crazy, but all this talk of demons, angels, living creatures, is beyond me. I don’t see how Jesus can help me.”

  Shackleton leaned forward. “Ray, when the time comes, Jesus will be waiting. Call on him. If anyone needs Jesus, it’s you, Ray. In your heart you know that.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Ray said.

  “Ray, do more than think about it, act on it.”

  Twelve

  Ray sat bolt upright in the bed. His heart fluttered in his chest, his breathing was ragged, sweat dripped from his face. Another nightmare. He raised his hands to run them through his hair. They shook. The dream had been so real. He had just lived through the death of his wife and only child, yet it was only a dream. What difference did that make to the mind and heart? Ray was shaken to his core.

  “Another dream?” Nora’s voice floated up from her place on the bed. Ray turned to look at her, but the room was too dark. He could see nothing.

  “Yeah, another dream.” He draped his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up.

  “This can’t go on, you know.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Ray stood.

  “Where are you going?” Nora asked.

  “To the kitchen. I need a drink. You go back to sleep.” Ray didn’t wait for a response, and made his way through the dark, his hand in front of him. He knew the bedroom well enough to know where the door was. Once he touched the doorjamb, he would be able to find the knob and exit into the hallway. A small night-light shone in the corridor casting a dim, pale yellow light on the opposite wall. It wasn’t much light, but it was enough to see what lay ahead.

  In the kitchen, Ray poured a tall glass of milk and then sat at the dining room table. His heart was pounding against his chest like a bull trying to break down its pen. Raising the glass he watched as the white fluid sloshed in rhythm with his tremulous hand. Nora was right; Ray couldn’t go on like this. It wasn’t fair to her or to Skeeter, but what could he do? How did one wash away a memory, especially one so deeply scored into his brain?

  Ray sipped the milk, barely tasting it, and stared into the dark house. By the time he had consumed half the glass he was certain he would soon lose his mind. Despair, darker than the room in which he sat, enveloped him. When he drained the last of the milk from the tumbler Ray was contemplating suicide. The most frightening part of the thought was that it made so much sense.

  There would be pain for the family, of course, but they would adjust. Others had. Why couldn’t Nora and Skeeter? A tear flowed down his cheek. Setting the glass aside, Ray lowered his head to the table. How had he reached the point where life, his life, was so cheap that he would be willing to toss it away?

  There was a sound. A familiar click. Ray lifted his head and listened. He heard the noise of the refrigerator quietly humming, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room, and the sound of a slow drip in the kitchen sink—but he had heard something different, distant, and yet familiar. Where had it come from? The living room. He rose from his seat to investigate. Reaching for the dining room light switch he paused. The sound repeated. This time he recognized it. The deadbolt on the front door had been turned—from the outside. There was another noise, this time from the kitchen window. Snapping his head around, Ray caught a glimpse of a face, lit only by moonlight, peeking in the kitchen.

/>   A burglar? No. Not coming from the front and back of the house. Ray took his hand away from the light switch. Darkness was the only shield he had.

  A phone hung from the kitchen wall. Ray lifted the handset and placed it to his ear. There was no dial tone. This was no robbery, it was an abduction and Ray knew why. He had spoken to Shackleton. How they knew that, he could only guess. At the moment, it didn’t matter. They had come for him. Ray’s mouth went dry.

  By nature, Ray avoided confrontation, but there would be no avoiding what happened next. Still, he was not going to surrender. For the first time in his life, Ray wished he kept a gun in the house. There was no gun. Not even a baseball bat.

  Quietly, Ray slipped down the carpeted hall until he reached Skeeter’s room. He turned the doorknob and slipped in. A dim blue light came from the dresser that stood opposite her bed. A lava lamp, with its churning globules, gave off the light. He stepped to her bedside and saw his daughter in blissful sleep. He touched her arm and she awoke with a start. “What—”

  “It’s Dad,” he whispered. “Hush.” He put a finger to her mouth. “Get out of bed and follow me.”

  “Why—”

  “Don’t talk. There’s danger. Follow me.”

  Her eyes widened, but she didn’t hesitate. Slipping from the bed, she took Ray’s hand. With agonizing slowness, Ray pulled the bedroom door open, listening first, and then venturing a glance down the hall. He gulped a lungful of air and stepped into the corridor, pulling Skeeter behind him. It was only five quick steps to the master bedroom, and he slipped in quietly, closing and locking the door behind him. The lock was useless. One hearty kick and the whole, hollow-core door would cave in. It might, however, make the intruders pause for a few moments.

  The bedroom was pitch black. Ray was familiar enough with the furnishings to walk the room blindfolded. Skeeter wasn’t. She smashed her toe on a large wood hope chest at the foot of the bed. A small cry of pain slipped from her lips. Ray knew it took a heroic effort not to scream in pain.

  Nora was immediately awake. “Ray?”