This Present Darkness

by Frank E. Peretti

  Step step step step step step step—he was gone.

  She was dreaming, her head was reeling, there was blood upon the floor and broken glasses in bent pieces. She slumped against the wall, still feeling the fist in her ear and the boot in her face, and hearing blood dripping from her mouth and her nose. The floor drew her down like a magnet until her head finally thumped on the boards.

  She whimpered, a gurgling sound as blood and saliva bubbled over her tongue. She spit it all out, raised her head, and cried out in a sound that was half cry, half moan.

  From somewhere up above, the boards began to pound and clatter with a sudden flow of traffic. She heard people shouting, swearing, thundering down the steps. She couldn’t move; she kept half-dreaming as light and sound faded in and out, were there, were not there. Hands began to hold her, move her, cradle her. A cloth wiped across her mouth. She felt the new warmth of a blanket. A towel kept dabbing her face. She gurgled again, spit again. She heard someone swear again.

  MARSHALL STILL WOULDN’T reply to any questions, although the detective at the Windsor Precinct kept trying.

  “We’re talking about murder here, bub!” the detective said. “Now we have it from reliable sources that you were there at Harmel’s place early this morning, and that’s right near the time of death. Do you have anything to say about that?”

  This flunky was born yesterday, Marshall thought. Sure, punk, I’ll tell you all about it so you can hang me! In a pig’s eye it was murder.

  But what really bothered Marshall was just who this “reliable source” was, and how that reliable source not only knew he’d been at Harmel’s, but also knew these cops could find him at Strachan’s. He was still working on the answer to that riddle.

  The detective asked, “So you’re still not going to say anything?”

  Marshall wouldn’t even nod or shake his head.

  “Well,” the detective said with a half shrug, “at least give me the name of your lawyer. You’re going to need counsel.”

  Marshall had no name to give him and couldn’t even think of one. It became a waiting game.

  “Spence,” said a deputy, “you’ve got a call from Ashton.”

  The detective picked up the phone at his desk. “Nelson. Oh, hi there, Alf. What’s up?”

  Alf Brummel?

  “Yeah,” the detective said, “he’s right here. Would you like to talk to him? He sure won’t talk to us.” He offered Marshall the receiver. “Alf Brummel.”

  Marshall took the receiver. “Yeah, this is Hogan.”

  Alf Brummel was acting shocked and dismayed. “Marshall, what’s going on up there?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “They tell me Ted Harmel was murdered and that they have you as a suspect. Is that true?”

  “I can’t say.”

  Alf was beginning to catch on. “Marshall … listen, I’m calling to see if I can help. Now, I’m sure there’s been a mistake and I’m sure we can work something out. What were you doing up at Harmel’s place anyway?”

  “I can’t say.”

  That flustered him. “Marshall, for crying out loud, will you just forget that I’m a cop? I’m also your friend. I want to help you!”

  “Do it.”

  “I want to. I really want to. Now listen, let me talk to Detective Nelson again. Maybe we can work something out.”

  Marshall handed the receiver back to Nelson. Nelson and Brummel talked for a while, and it sounded like they knew each other pretty well.

  “Well, you might be able to do more with him than I ever will,” said Nelson quite pleasantly. “Sure, why not? Huh? Yeah, okay.” Nelson looked at Marshall. “He’s on another line. Guess he’ll vouch for you, and I think he can take jurisdiction over your case, if there is one.”

  Marshall nodded all too knowingly. Now Brummel would have Marshall right where he wanted him. If there was a case! If there wasn’t one, Brummel would find one. What would it be now, Harmel and Hogan running a child-molesting ring with a gangland-type murder?

  Nelson heard Brummel come back on the line. “Yeah, hello. Yeah sure.” Nelson handed Marshall the receiver again.

  Brummel was upset, or at least he sounded like it. “Marshall, that was the fire district that just called. They’ve just sent an aid car out toward Baker. It’s Bernice; she’s been assaulted.”

  Marshall never thought he’d hope Brummel was lying. “Tell me more.”

  “We won’t know more until they get out there. It won’t take long. Listen, they’re going to release you on personal recognizance under my supervision. You’d better get back to Ashton right away. Can you see me in my office at, say, 3?”

  Marshall thought he would have a seizure trying to contain all the cuss words he had for this whole thing. “I’ll be there, Alf. Nothing could keep me away.”

  “Good, I’ll see you then.”

  Marshall returned the receiver to Nelson.

  Nelson smiled and said, “We’ll take you back to your car.”

  THE MAN IN black leather was back in Ashton, running down the streets and then through the alleys like a man possessed, looking behind him, panting, crying, terrified.

  Five cruel spirits rode on his back, ducked in and out of his body, clung to him like huge leeches, their talons deeply embedded in his flesh. But they were not in control. They too were terrified.

  Just above the five demons and their running victim, six angelic warriors floated along with their swords drawn, moving this way and that, to the right, to the left, whatever it took to keep the demons herded in the right direction.

  The demons hissed and spit and made shooing motions with their sinewy hands.

  The young man ran, swatting at invisible bees.

  The young man and his demons came to a corner. They tried to go left. The angels blocked their way and prodded them with their swords to the right. With a cry and a terrible wailing, the demons fled to the right.

  The demons began to cry for mercy. “No! Let us alone!” they pleaded. “You have no right!”

  Just up the street, Hank Busche and Andy Forsythe were walking together, taking some time to share their burdens and pray.

  Right alongside them walked Triskal, Krioni, Seth, and Scion. The four warriors all saw what their comrades were herding their way, and they were more than ready.

  “Time for an object lesson for the man of God,” said Krioni.

  Triskal only beckoned to the demons with his finger and said, “Come, come!”

  Andy looked down the street and saw the man first. “Well …!”

  “What?” asked Hank, seeing the dumfounded look on Andy’s face.

  “Get ready. Here comes Bobby Corsi!”

  Hank looked and cringed at the sight of a wild-looking character running toward them, his eyes filled with terror, his arms beating the air as he battled unseen enemies.

  Andy cautioned, “Be careful. He could be violent.”

  “Oh, terrific!”

  They stood still and waited to see what Bobby would do.

  Bobby saw them and cried out in even more terror, “No, no! Leave us alone!”

  Heaven’s warriors were bad enough, but the five demons wanted no part of Busche and Forsythe. They twisted Bobby around and tried to run away, but were instantly hemmed in by the angelic six.

  Bobby stopped dead in his tracks. He looked at nothing ahead of him, then looked at Hank and Andy, then looked again at his unseen enemies. He screamed, standing still where he was, his hands clawlike and trembling, his eyes bulging and glazed.

  Hank and Andy moved forward very slowly.

  “Easy, Bobby,” Andy said soothingly. “Take it easy now.”

  “No!” Bobby screamed. “Leave us alone! We want no business with you!”

  An angel gave one of the demons a prod with the tip of his sword.

  “Awww!” Bobby cried out in pain, collapsing to his knees. “Leave us alone, leave us alone!”

  Hank stepped forward quickly and said firmly, “In Jesu
s’ name, be quiet!” Bobby let out one more scream. “Be quiet!”

  Bobby grew still and began to weep, kneeling there on the sidewalk.

  “Bobby,” said Hank, bending down and speaking gently, “Bobby, can you hear me?”

  A demon clapped his hands over Bobby’s ears. Bobby did not hear Hank’s question.

  Hank, hearing from the Spirit of God, knew what the demon was doing. “Demon, in the name of Jesus, let go of his ears.”

  The demon jerked his hands away, a surprised look on his face.

  Hank asked again, “Bobby?”

  This time Bobby answered, “Yeah, preacher, I hear you.”

  “Do you want to be free from these spirits?”

  Immediately one demon answered, “No, you don’t! He belongs to us,” and Bobby spit the words in Hank’s face, “No, you don’t! He belongs to us!”

  “Spirit, be quiet. I’m talking to Bobby.”

  The demon said no more, but backed off sulkingly.

  Bobby muttered, “I’ve just done a horrible thing …” He began to weep. “You gotta help me … I can’t stop from doing this stuff …”

  Hank spoke quietly aside to Andy. “Let’s get him somewhere where we can deal with him, where he can make a scene if he has to.”

  “The church?”

  “Come on, Bobby.”

  They took him by his arms and helped him up, and the three, and the five, and the six, and the four headed up the street.

  MARSHALL SPED THROUGH Baker and then made a quick swing by the apartment complex where Weed lived. There seemed to be no activity there, so he drove on into Ashton. When he reached the hospital, the aid car was parked outside.

  An emergency medical technician who was securing the stretcher back in the vehicle filled Marshall in. “She’s in the emergency room, two doors down.”

  Marshall burst through the main doors and got to the right room in an instant. He heard a cry of pain from Bernice just as he reached the door.

  She was lying on a table, attended by a doctor and two nurses who were washing her face and dressing her cuts. At the sight of her, Marshall could contain himself no longer; all the anger and frustration and terror of this whole day exploded from his lungs in one vehement expletive.

  Bernice responded through swollen and bleeding lips, “I guess that about covers it.”

  He hurried to the side of the table as the doctor and two nurses gave him room. He took her hand in both of his and couldn’t believe what had happened to her. Her attacker had been merciless.

  “Who did this to you?” he demanded, his blood boiling.

  “We went the whole fifteen rounds, boss.”

  “Don’t clown with me, Bernie. Did you see who did it?”

  The doctor cautioned him, “Easy now, let’s take care of her first …”

  Bernice whispered something. Marshall couldn’t make it out. He leaned closer and she whispered it again, her swollen mouth slurring her words. “He didn’t rape me.”

  “Thank God,” Marshall said, straightening up.

  She wasn’t satisfied with his response. She motioned to him again to lean forward and listen. “All he did was beat me up. That’s all he did.”

  “Aren’t you satisfied?” Marshall whispered back rather loudly.

  She was handed a glass of water to wash her mouth out. She swirled the water around in her mouth and spit into a bowl.

  “Was Strachan’s house nice and neat?” she asked.

  Marshall held back his answer. He asked the doctor, “When can I talk to her in private?”

  The doctor thought about it. “Well, she’s going in for X-rays in just a few minutes—”

  “Give me thirty seconds,” Bernice requested, “just thirty seconds.”

  “It can’t wait?”

  “No. Please.”

  The doctor and the nurses stepped out of the room.

  Marshall spoke softly. “Strachan’s place was a mess; somebody really went through it. He’s gone; I’ve no idea where he is or how he is.”

  Bernice reported, “Weed’s place was the same way, and there was a threat spray-painted on the wall. He didn’t show up for work today, and Dan at The Evergreen Tavern said he was really upset about something. He’s gone, too. I didn’t find him.”

  “And now they’ve got me wrapped up with Ted Harmel’s death. They found out I was there this morning. They think I did it.”

  “Marshall, Susan Jacobson was right: our phone must be bugged. Remember? You called me at the Clarion and told me you’d been at Ted’s and where you were going next.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I figured that. But that means the Windsor cops would have to be in on it too. They knew right where and when to find me at Strachan’s.”

  “Brummel and Detective Nelson are like that, Marshall,” Bernice said, holding two fingers together.

  “They must have ears everywhere.”

  “They knew I’d be at Weed’s alone … and when …” Bernice said, and then something else dawned on her. “Carmen knew it too.”

  That revelation hit Marshall almost like a death sentence. “Carmen knows a lot of things.”

  “We’ve been hit, Marshall. I think they’re trying to get a message to us.”

  He straightened up. “Wait’ll I find Brummel!”

  She grabbed his hand. “Be careful. I mean, really be careful!”

  He kissed her forehead. “Happy X-rays.”

  He stormed out of the room like a raging bull, and no one dared get in his way.

  CHAPTER 26

  MARSHALL WAS SEEING red, and was so angry that he parked crookedly across two parking places in the Courthouse Square parking lot. He thought that walking fast across the parking lot to the police department’s door might air-cool him a bit, but it didn’t. He jerked open the door and went into the reception area. Sara wasn’t at her desk. Brummel wasn’t in his office. Marshall checked his watch. It was 3 o’clock on the dot.

  A woman came around the corner. He’d never seen her before.

  “Hello,” he said, and then added very abruptly, “Who are you?”

  She was quite taken aback by the question, and timidly answered, “Well, I’m … I’m Barbara, the receptionist.”

  “The receptionist? What happened to Sara?”

  She was intimidated and a little indignant. “I—I don’t know of any Sara, but can I help you?”

  “Where’s Alf Brummel?”

  “Are you Mr. Hogan?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Chief Brummel is waiting for you in the conference room, right down at the end of the hall.”

  She hadn’t finished her sentence before Marshall was already on his way. If the door latch would have given the slightest resistance, it wouldn’t have survived Marshall’s entrance. He burst into the room ready to wring the first neck he could get his hands around.

  There were many necks to choose from. The room was full of people Marshall had not been expecting, but as he looked around at all the faces, he had no trouble guessing the meeting’s agenda. Brummel had friends with him. Big shots. Liars. Schemers.

  Alf Brummel sat at the conference table surrounded by his many comrades and smiling that toothy grin. “Hello, Marshall. Please close the door.”

  Marshall kicked the door shut with his foot without looking away from all these people now gathered, no doubt to have it out with him. Oliver Young was there, as was Judge Baker, County Comptroller Irving Pierce, Fire Marshall Frank Brady, Detective Spence Nelson from Windsor, a few other men Marshall didn’t recognize, and finally the mayor of Ashton, David Steen.

  “Well, hello there, Mayor Steen,” Marshall said coldly. “How interesting to find you here.”

  The mayor only smiled cordially and silently, like the dumb puppet Marshall always thought he was.

  “Have a seat,” said Brummel, waving his hand toward an empty chair.

  Marshall didn’t move. “Alf, is this the meeting you and I were going to have?”

  “Th
is is the meeting,” said Brummel. “I don’t think you know everyone in the room …” With overcooked graciousness, Brummel introduced the new or possibly new faces. “I’d like you to meet Tony Sulski, a local attorney, and I believe you’ve dealt with Ned Wesley, president of the Independent Bank. We understand you’ve had a conversation at least with Eugene Baylor, college regent. And you of course remember Jimmy Clairborne, from Commercial Printers.” Brummel showed his teeth widely, obnoxiously. “Marshall, please have a seat.”

  Cusswords were going through Marshall’s mind as he told Brummel squarely, “Not while I’m outnumbered.”

  Oliver Young piped up in answer to that. “Marshall, I can assure you that this will be a civil and cordial meeting.”

  “So which one of you beat the ever-living daylights out of my reporter?” Marshall was hardly feeling civil.

  Brummel responded, “Marshall, these things happen to people who aren’t careful.”

  Marshall smeared some descriptions on Brummel like icing from a sewer trap and then told him seethingly, “Brummel, this didn’t just happen. She was set up. She was assaulted and injured and your cops haven’t done a thing, and we all know why!” He glared at them. “You’re all in on this whole thing, and your tricks come real cheap. You vandalize homes, you make threats, you drive people out, you act like some kind of Mafia boys’ club!” He aimed an accusing finger at Brummel. “And you, buddy, are a disgrace to your profession. You’ve used your entrusted powers to silence and intimidate, and to cover up your own dirty work!”

  Young tried to interject. “Marshall—”

  “And you call yourself a man of God, a pastor, a pious example of what a good Christian should be. You lied to me all along, Young, hiding behind some excuse you call professional ethics, guzzling down all that mystical bull from that Langstrat witch and then acting like you knew nothing about it. How many people who trusted you have you sold out to a lie?”

  The men in the room sat silent. Marshall kept unloading. “If you guys are public servants, Hitler was a great humanitarian! You schemed and manipulated and horned your way into this town like mobsters, and you silenced anybody who spoke up or got in your way. You will read about it in the paper, gentlemen! If you want to make any comments or denials I’ll be glad to hear them, I’ll even print them, but it’s press time for all of you whether you like it or not!”