The Defiance

by Laura Gallier

  We discussed our plan, and by the time I left, we’d clarified next steps in order of the most urgent, encouraging each other that we had nothing to fear. Our most pressing priority remained the student pastors—hopefully they were destined to join us, and starting this Sunday, would get busy helping recruit people to gather on my land and follow through on Arthur’s mandate as soon as possible. In the meantime, Ray and I agreed that we had to try to solve the urgent mystery of Molek’s thirteen targets and find a way to protect them, starting with Gentry.

  I was walking my bike backwards down Ray Anne’s driveway when the sound of whining stopped me. There was that pale-pink Creeper, huddled in fetal position in the dirt behind the hedge of bushes that lined the brick of Ray Anne’s garage apartment, its scared-skunk scent wafting in the midday breeze.

  I commanded it to leave, and it whimpered, then hobbled on all fours into the middle of Ray’s front yard, not a shred of fabric covering its naked, detestable skin-and-bones body anymore. It collapsed, pretending it could go no further, but I asserted heavenly authority again: “Get off this property.” The sorry excuse for a Creeper didn’t budge, as if it couldn’t comprehend my command. But I knew from experience that Creepers understand every word people say, and they’re also well aware of property lines. They’re just relentless trespassers. But Lights have a right to evict them. A responsibility to make them leave.

  Dealing with one or even a few usually wasn’t much of a challenge—at least now that I understood the heavenly authority I carried. But evicting the vast army that had staked claim to my acreage and this town over a century ago, along with seven Cosmic Rulers? That took more than one or two Lights saying, “Get out.”

  I commanded the pale-pink Creeper to flee a third time, and the thing finally started moving again, using its elbows to drag itself inches at a time, crying as if scooching over the grass was torture. It was the first time I’d ever witnessed a Creeper shed actual tears.

  Ray Anne stepped outside. “What’s going on?”

  She looked on as the pathetic Creeper finally toppled over the curb into the street, where a gang of full-size Creepers emerged from a nearby gutter and took turns beating the weakling. Ray Anne lowered her head and went inside.

  Not me. I stayed awhile and watched the thing suffer.

  That afternoon, I parked my bike between students’ vehicles in the Masonville High lot, just like old times. I had an idea to run by Principal Harding. If she agreed to it, it would serve a couple of purposes, including allowing me to be on campus another school year without the hassle of tutoring students.

  It didn’t matter how many times I’d seen Creepers crawl up the three-story school building and peer down from the edge of the roof, it still made me cringe. And clench my fists in fury.

  The front cement steps were littered with nearly-see-through Creeper notes inscribed with all kinds of dates and initials—evil missions—no two alike, from what I could tell. The lowercase word death was scribbled on the front brick of the school in wide, spirit-world letters that stretched above and all the way across the four main entrance doors. A not-so-subtle reminder that I was entering a war zone, one that still bore signs of Molek’s influence.

  I whispered, “Lord, give me mercy and compassion.” I wanted to see everything.

  Same as last year, stepping into the freezing foyer triggered a flood of unwanted memories. I could practically hear the blast of Dan’s rifle.

  Students made their way to class, hurrying before the bell rang, and I dodged them on my way to the administration offices, enduring the familiar yet still disturbing symphony of chains colliding and dragging on the tile floors. Creepers thronged the halls, attached to people, hovering midair, gathered around trash cans—you name it.

  Even though I felt no sudden rise in compassion, and it was so faint I almost missed it, I saw a mask of addiction on a student who walked past me, followed by another. Months ago, my entanglement with evil had weakened my senses; were they getting stronger now? Unfortunately, that possibility conflicted with the invisible-crying-baby incident, so I gave up on analyzing it for now.

  As I neared the office, I started really missing Ray Anne. She’d captured my heart in these halls.

  It was still hers.

  I ducked into the foyer of the admin offices and introduced myself to the shackle-free lady seated at the front desk, then asked if I could please speak with Principal Harding. The soccer-mom-looking woman glanced up at me from her computer, sitting up straight in her chair, but my breath caught as I saw a shadowy form of her—her soul—slumped over, a chain layered around her neck and dragging onto the floor. Her soul’s forehead nearly grazed her keyboard, bent by the burden of oppression. The lady’s physical form smiled politely at me while she used a handheld radio to page Harding. Meanwhile, the slouched, shadowy version of her groaned.

  Without causing a scene, I uttered under my breath, “Spirit of Despair, you have no authority over her.” I couldn’t stop myself from wincing when her hunched soul strained to turn its neck, gazing up at me with despairing eyes, yet remained bowed with suffering.

  So much for my attempt at liberating her. I figured that the lady—no doubt depressed and suffering within—had to take authority herself, on her own behalf. Or at least agree with my declaration for her. But she probably had no clue the miserable sense she was living with was the effect of a Cosmic Being permeating our atmosphere. And just like some deficit in my soul had obviously allowed Strife’s influence to stick, keeping me agitated, something in her invited Despair’s power.

  “Mrs. Harding welcomes you to go to her office.” The nice lady’s face smiled while her soul wept. And she was a Light.

  I stared as long as I could without making a scene, then walked the familiar path to Harding’s office, attempting yet again to win my own internal battle. “Spirit of Strife,” I uttered under my breath, “you have no authority over me.” But that abiding sense of aggression still brewed in me, like an app running nonstop in the background on my cell phone.

  I stepped into Harding’s office and . . .

  What. Is. Going. On?

  She was seated behind her same ol’ desk, bound in the same ol’ shackle, but now there were thick cobwebs all over the place, from floor to ceiling—the same kind I’d seen binding critically ill and dying people to their hospital beds in the ICU. And come to think of it, clinging to the Mother Mary statue.

  To make matters worse, Principal Harding was shrouded in webs too. A paranormal manifestation, no doubt.

  She stood and extended her arms, inviting me into a kind embrace. The white fibers stretched from her head all the way down to her high heels and were also layered around her chair and desk, like she was tethered to her office.

  I only managed to give her a hug because I closed my eyes and made it quick. When I stepped back, I saw that the light around my feet had incinerated the webs around hers. That was cool.

  I lowered into the chair across the desk from her. Thankfully, by now I was pretty good at acting normal when nothing around me was. She asked how my education was going, and when I told her I was still enrolled in online community college classes and still undecided on a particular degree, she removed her glasses and demanded to know what kind of student passes up the chance to go premed at Boston U.

  “I wanted to stay and make a difference here in Masonville.”

  She slid her glasses back on and shook her head.

  “There’s a freshman student I’d like to help,” I told her. “Gentry Wilson. He’s going through a hard time. Have you assigned a mentor to him?”

  She pursed her lips and leaned back in her web-covered chair. What kind of Creeper was spawning that stuff?

  “We’re in the process of matching certain freshmen with mentors,” she said, “and Gentry’s at the top of our list. But Owen, you’re so young. We’re looking for wise people with extensive life experience. Accomplished adults.”

  She’d basically just insinua
ted I was a juvenile nobody going nowhere, but this wasn’t the time to get defensive. We sat in silence a moment, long enough for me to observe the webs subtly moving and shifting, like poisonous vines growing at an accelerated rate. Strands started stretching over Harding’s glasses. I would have asked how long this had been going on, but it’s not like she had a clue.

  I stood, not only because I wanted to be taken more seriously but because I couldn’t stomach sitting there any longer, watching her be overtaken by webs. “I know I’m young, Principal Harding, but Gentry has looked up to me for a while now, and he respects me.” Hopefully on some level, anyway. “Please, give me a chance. I know I can help him.”

  It took some more back-and-forth, but she finally agreed to give it a try, providing his parents approved. I could only hope Lance hadn’t run me down to them. He was away at the police academy for now, so thankfully, not likely to interfere.

  As I turned to leave, I spotted an easel with a large foam board—a digital rendering of the soon-to-be-built middle and elementary schools. I sighed and faced her again. “You know better than anyone, Principal Harding, that this school has seen more than its share of tragedies. And student suicides and violence tend to happen in clusters, stopping for a while, then starting up again. What happens if it gets bad around here once more, and there’s two more campuses full of students close by—even little kids?”

  She stood and rearranged an already neat stack of papers on her desk. “Let’s not be superstitious, Owen. It’s not like the soil is cursed.” She grinned, oblivious. At least I hoped she was. I couldn’t imagine Principal Harding being part of the secret society, but then again, I’d never suspected Detective Benny until I straight up busted him.

  “Our strategies here are proving effective,” Harding said. “Masonville High’s mentoring program has gained national recognition, and we’ve taken the utmost measures to increase security and protect against any future acts of violence. I’ve also instituted specialized, need-based support groups for students this year and hired a new meditation instructor—a proven, upstanding member of the community, highly experienced in the art of promoting mental and emotional well-being.”

  “Who?” I wondered who had replaced Veronica.

  “Melanie Benny.”

  My jaw dropped. “As in, Detective Benny’s wife?”

  “That’s the one.”

  My gut churned. His wife was bound to be as corrupt as him. Another occult member instructing students. Man, those people were intentional.

  “Mrs. Harding, are you sure about her?” I knew it wasn’t my place, but given the circumstances . . .

  She folded her arms. “Excuse me?”

  I covered my tracks with a polite goodbye, hoping I hadn’t offended her and ruined my chance to be Gentry’s mentor.

  I drove back to the church in the late-afternoon drizzle. While I was waiting on leftover pizza to finish heating in the microwave in my room, my dad responded to my text about the symbol: Check the Hebrew alphabet.

  I sat on the floor with my Mac and did an online search. Sure enough, between quick bites, I learned my dad was spot on. The mysterious mark on my arm and Ray’s was a combination of Hebrew letters—the primary original language of the Bible’s Old Testament.

  I pasted the letters into Google Translate, selected the English translation, then dropped what was left of my slice of pizza and stared at my computer screen . . .

  Defender.

  Wow.

  The way I saw it, Heaven had given Ray and me an official title and seal for our mission. We were commissioned to defend our town and rid it of evil’s long-standing infestation, ultimately helping protect our nation and others around the world. In the immediate future, we were to identify and defend the thirteen people targeted to die. Surely both missions were related somehow.

  I called Ray Anne, and she was as amazed as me.

  I’d started researching if there was any biblical significance to the number thirteen, when the church secretary slid two pieces of mail under my door. I crumpled an ad flyer and tossed it across the tiny room, scoring a basket in the trash can, then eyed a white envelope, hand-addressed to me from the Texas Department of Corrections Hilltop Unit.

  My stomach sank. I only knew one inmate there.

  I tore open the envelope and unfolded the enclosed piece of paper. A single statement was written in pencil in childlike handwriting, in the center of the blue-lined sheet: I SEE YOU.

  Was Veronica trying to scare me?

  “Give me a break.” I huffed and balled the letter and envelope into a wad so I could score another trash can basket. But an unnerving squeal, like damp fingers dragging on glass, stopped me. And I heard whispers. Female, it sounded like.

  Surely no vandals would try to break in here during the day, with the church staff at work in their offices at the other end of the building.

  I stood and faced the glass-paned double doors, wishing the sheer curtain panels and rain weren’t obstructing my view of the balcony. I heard the slippery sound again and spotted movement.

  I was sure now: something was definitely out there, pressing against the soaked window.

  EIGHT

  I PULLED THE WHITE SHEERS BACK, then slapped a hand over my mouth. A pair of muddy bare feet were pressed against the glass, climbing the windowed door. They looked human—female—Caucasian and petite. But how could any human, man or woman, climb the side of a building?

  They couldn’t. This had to be demonic.

  I ran downstairs and outside into the afternoon drizzle, then stood in the damp grass, facing the balcony and scanning the brick exterior of my room, including the space above—a storage room, I’d been told. I didn’t see anything, and as best as I could tell from ground level, there was nothing looming on the roof. But there were whispers that sounded like they were coming from up there—whispers just like the ones in my nightmare, come to think of it.

  I looked behind and above me, searching the air, but all was clear.

  “Lord, what is this?”

  The voices got louder, but I still couldn’t make out what they were saying.

  I stayed outside until my clothes were soaked and I was chilled—a response to the frigid presence of evil, not the summer rain. I ventured back inside, content to dismiss the unnerving whispers for now.

  Why would the church building suddenly draw this kind of paranormal disturbance? The only reasonable answer was me. It’s not like the satanic kingdom was going to ignore a person marked by Heaven as a defender.

  I traveled the narrow hallway toward my room, wishing I could go see my friend Betty, the closest thing I’d ever had to a grandparent. I needed her advice and, I admit it, one of her reassuring hugs. Unfortunately, her grandmother Dorothy’s health was in a steady decline, and some weeks ago, Betty had driven her to Louisiana, where they were spending time with family—for as long as Dorothy had left, I imagined. So, this wasn’t exactly the best time to bother Betty, even when, for example, a whispering Creeper disguised as a woman had climbed up my balcony door.

  Then again, she of all people might have some advice for me.

  I called her, and the sound of her hello instantly eased the tension in my shoulders. I asked her how she was doing, and Dorothy too, resisting the habit of making our whole conversation about me and my always-urgent dilemmas. But after she explained that Dorothy was living out her final days pain-free and at peace, Betty invited me to confide in her.

  I told her everything that had gone down in the last two days. All of it, including the weirdness outside my window minutes ago. “What do you think is happening?” I asked her.

  She reminded me of the significance of my life calling and that I was bound to meet fierce resistance. Then she encouraged me, “Stay focused on Scripture, especially the red-letter text.”

  Jesus’ words were printed in red in some Bible translations, I knew.

  Maybe it was juvenile of me, but I didn’t want to hang up. Betty and her little
old lady friends had majorly come to my rescue when I’d entangled myself with demonic deceivers. They’d supernaturally barricaded my apartment against intrusions from the Lord of the Dead himself—and even came back and redid it after I messed it up.

  But maybe I needed to learn to stand on my own now. Wage war without a mother figure holding my hand, doing the work for me.

  I thanked Betty for her time and reluctantly told her goodbye.

  I changed into dry clothes and sat on the hard floor, leaning against my bed. I felt lonely in this room, somehow more so than when I lived alone in my apartment. And my spiritual ears were still picking up on those grating whispers. It sounded like they were drifting into my room from the storage room overhead, but instead of charging upstairs and inspecting things, I took Betty’s advice.

  I opened my Bible to where I’d left off in the book of Mark, working to tune out the unnerving audio interference. As Betty suggested, I focused on the red-letter text.

  As I read, it occurred to me that Jesus was kind and merciful and all, but what I liked the most was how he didn’t put up with religious elitists’ hypocrisy and garbage. And he cast devils out of people on a daily basis and told the guys who followed him to do it too.

  I used to agonize over how to free people from Creepers, whether they were just bound to them or completely possessed, but I was fairly confident I understood now, based on how Jesus dealt with demoniacs—possessed people.

  I finished the chapter, then closed my Bible and straight up asked, “God, give me a chance to try casting a Creeper out of someone.”

  That got me thinking . . .

  Why didn’t Ray Anne’s pastor, Gordon, ever do a sermon that exposed the tactics of our evil opponent? He only spoke of demons metaphorically, like, “Don’t let the demons of your past steal your joy today.” How about, “Don’t give demons open doors to infiltrate your mind and chain themselves to your soul so that your thoughts and words and impulses are dominated by evil and ruin your life, wounding the people closest to you in the process”?