The Seventh Door

by Bryan Davis

  The woman nodded.

  Matt untied the gag and let it drop to the floor. Her face aflame with terror, Darcy called out, “Matt! That desk over there controls a nuclear bomb!”

  “I know,” Matt said. “Less than twelve minutes to launch.” As the conversation ensued, Bonnie drank in every word, every emotion. When Matt brought an exact replica of Darcy into the room, Tamiel’s sinister plan became clear.

  Arramos’s words returned to mind. You know that he harbors hatred and bitterness. You know that such hostility of heart will lead him to calamity, especially since the tests we have in store were designed with such weaknesses in mind.

  “Matt,” Bonnie said out loud, “don’t be blinded by hatred. Don’t let bitterness skew your thinking. Semiramis will poison you with her deceptive portrayal. I can’t be sure that the Darcy who traveled with us is the real one, but don’t let anger veil your heart to the idea that she really can change.”

  She spread out her wings and looked toward the sky. “Father in Heaven, please help him. If I were there, I could offer counsel. My guess is that Semiramis would never think to pose as a humble, contrite woman. She would seek to further embitter Matt’s heart with savage memories. I would suggest to Matt that the entire setup is a ruse. Maybe the nuclear weapon is real, but Elam would never be so foolish as to allow an open portal that an enemy could find. If Elam had made such a mistake, Tamiel would attack it immediately without resorting to this charade.”

  Bonnie lifted a chain and shook it. The reason for the shackles became obvious. The candlestones weakened her physical song, and watching Matt struggle through this decision was designed to stifle her inner melody by smothering her heart with grief.

  She covered the screen with a hand. Arramos’s prediction about her dilemma had come true. Should she keep watching? She couldn’t do anything to help. Yet, not watching might have the same song-stifling effect. She would wonder how Matt was faring. The fate of millions lay in his hands—inexperienced hands guided by a volatile mind that shifted between love and fury depending on who pulled his strings.

  Her lips quivering, she cried out, “Father! He’s my little boy! My darling son! I cuddled him for only a few short months! My baby who was torn away from my arms before he was even weaned! He and my sweet daughter fell into the jaws of vicious predators who feed on hatred, who gnash their teeth at righteousness, who want nothing more than to corrupt your perfect image, the imprint of your divine nature on the human heart. They hate your holy counsel. They despise your light, your law, and your love. They sow seeds of rottenness by spreading the great lie that you are not powerful enough to bring light to darkness, to cleanse from all sin, to completely heal the soul.”

  As she exhaled, her entire body shook. “And the corruption in Matt’s soul eats away at him. He doesn’t believe in your regenerating power, that a harlot like Darcy can kneel in humility and anoint your feet with her tears and dry them with her hair. The wounds she inflicted upon him won’t let him understand your gentle hands, that you offer grace to everyone—even to Darcy, though her back deserves a whip.”

  She sniffed to suppress a sob. “And that’s why Matt suffers in darkness. That’s why he is unable to reach out to you and embrace your forgiving heart. Unless he learns to forgive Darcy, he will never understand the mercy you offer. He needs to witness the blazing miracle of sacrificial love, or else he will remain shackled in the dark dungeon of misery and bitterness forever.

  “And Father . . .” Bonnie swallowed. Racing thoughts transformed into shattered words that squeezed through her narrowed throat. “And Father, Matt’s blindness is the world’s blindness. People don’t understand how God could be loving and still allow millions upon millions to suffer, whether at the hands of a cruel sister or at the hands of a domineering tyrant. How can a God of justice allow the wicked to oppress the innocent?” She pounded the ground with her fist. “Why doesn’t God come off his high horse and do something about it?”

  Weeping, she took a breath and continued. “Such is their misdirected anger. They don’t understand that your gift of free will is both a blessing and a curse, that it can be as beautiful as Heaven itself or as corrupt as the depths of Hell. Some are ignorant. Some are simply evil and rebellious. But they all need my song . . . your song . . . the song you sang when you called light into being, when you shaped mankind from the dust of the Earth, when you delivered your precepts on tablets of stone, when you visited us in a manger and later shed your blood on a cross. It has always been a mercy song, a song to strengthen your friends, for they need your guiding light, and a song to call your enemies to repentance, for love is a beacon that keeps wayward ships from crashing into the rocks.”

  She sucked in a breath and held it. Silence ensued again. When she exhaled, air came out in halting gasps—sobs that seemed to punctuate her emotions.

  “Bonnie, that was so beautiful.”

  The voice came from above, feminine and lyrical, as if the wind itself had spoken. Glittering specks appeared in the midst of crimson clouds. They collected in a swirl and swept toward the island. The spin broke into twin cyclones and rotated a few steps away.

  Still holding the tablet, Bonnie climbed to her feet. As the cyclones slowed, human forms took shape, though transparent, like phantoms. Seconds later, the swirls settled, and the phantoms’ faces clarified. Joran and Selah stood before her, dressed in loosely fitting brown tunics and ankle-length trousers—the same clothes they had worn in her dream, back when they hunted demons alongside Makaidos. Although semitransparent, every detail of face and form was clear.

  Bonnie brushed tears from her cheeks and smiled. “Joran. Selah. What are you . . . I mean . . . how did you—”

  “Don’t be alarmed, Bonnie,” Joran said, raising a glowing hand. “We were taken up to the skies and have now been called to help you.”

  “Help me?” Bonnie glanced at the tablet screen. Matt was now interrogating the two Darcys. The pain in his face tied a knot in her stomach. “How can you help me?”

  “You need to sing.” Selah lifted a lyre. Multicolored strings vibrated from top to bottom. “The God of our fathers has not abandoned you and will not allow you to be tested beyond what you can endure. So he sent us to this lonely isle to bring you spiritual sustenance. The battle for the human heart is hanging by a burnt thread. You must fill the cosmos with your song.”

  Bonnie nodded, though her heart felt like a lead weight. “There are candlestones in my ankle cuffs, and they’re draining me dry. I have no strength to sing, no spiritual energy. I’m an empty shell.”

  “The candlestones should prod a memory,” Joran said. “When you were inside one, even though you felt lost and abandoned in that dark place, you forced yourself to sing, and that built your defenses.”

  “And do you remember how you defeated the influence of a candlestone in Second Eden?” Selah asked.

  “I heard a voice, a song that strengthened me,” Bonnie said. “It carried the tune I often used to sing Psalm one thirty-nine.”

  Selah smiled. “And the voice also encouraged you with these words. ‘Let no shackles bind this valiant daughter of the lamb. Let no darkness overcome the light within an Oracle of Fire.’”

  “You broke those chains in Second Eden,” Joran said, “where corrupting influences have been but fleeting thoughts, thereby making them less able to enslave hearts and minds. Now you must break the chains in this world where corruption is a consuming cancer, and the influences that bind hearts are much more powerful.”

  Selah strummed the lyre. “The world needs you. Matt needs you. Even if you sing from the ashes of grief, your song will be like a balm to needy hearts. Just pour out your soul. Your prayer for Matt will be like a prayer for the world. Speak your heart, and we will find a melody.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” Tears again trickling to her chin, she sat and looked up to the sky. A cool breeze wafted from the lake, drying tears, sweat, and blood. She let her min
d drift to places far away and times long past, pleasant memories when life was simple, when cares were nothing more than how to hide wings in a backpack. “I am on Mount Hardin once again. I seek refuge in the God of comfort, and I cry to him from the depths of my wounded heart. My soul has been stabbed with a cruel dagger. The evil one, the enemy of all that is good, the father of lies has poisoned the stream of truth with his deceptions, and mankind has eagerly lapped the defiled water.”

  Selah played a note, then three more. Colors radiated from the strings and vibrated in the air as they ascended into the sky. Joran hummed along, his voice as beautiful as peace itself.

  As the lyre’s notes collected into a haunting melody, Bonnie’s words conformed to the tune as if they had minds of their own.

  From the ashes I call to you, O God;

  From the canyons of grief I beg for light.

  Darkness covers me, evil ensnares me;

  I need your love to cast away the night.

  While Selah continued playing, Joran added a descant that felt like pure energy. Bonnie’s voice strengthened and poured forth, filling the air with luxurious song.

  You are the one who spread out your hands;

  You are the one who cleansed all my blight.

  You bled on the cross; you purged all my dross;

  You transformed my scarlet into white.

  She pressed her hands over her heart. Her tone altered to a mournful lament.

  My dear son is lost in the wilderness;

  He bears no shining light from above.

  Let him see kindness; heal his dread blindness;

  And touch his darkened eyes with love.

  You understand the mysterious plan,

  Never confused by the turns;

  You see from the skies with experienced eyes,

  Always knowing my concerns.

  From ages to ages, from ashes to glory;

  You know all the stages, you know my whole story.

  And now my appraiser, who purged all my dross,

  Come be my trail blazer, I look to the cross.

  Bonnie rose to her feet and lifted her hands.

  I rise from the ashes to praise your name;

  I shout from the darkness to shine your light.

  You are always near; my words you always hear.

  My spirit revives; my soul takes flight.

  My spirit revives; my soul takes flight.

  My spirit revives; my soul takes flight.

  When the words finished, she continued humming the tune. Selah added embellishing notes, while Joran harmonized with hums of his own.

  Something clicked below. The manacles had unfastened and lay loose on the ground. As Bonnie stooped and lifted a chain, new tears flowed. “God of my deliverance!” she called out. “You have truly set this captive free—body, heart, and soul! Let the wicked bring their ropes and chains! Let them shout their lies! Nothing compares to your power! Nothing compares to your love!”

  Breathless, Bonnie spread out her wings. “I have to go. I have to find Matt.”

  “Not yet, Bonnie.” Joran nodded at the computer tablet. “Wait to see how God answers your prayer for Matt. You can no longer be his crutch. He must find the light on his own or else it will be merely a reflection of yours. The fire must burn within his own heart.”

  Brushing away more tears, Bonnie nodded. “I understand.” She lifted the tablet so Joran and Selah could watch with her. Again, she set a finger over Matt’s face. “Peace be with you, my son. Settle your mind. Listen for the song as it arrives on angels’ wings. Let God’s love reach into your heart and set you free from your chains.”

  * * *

  Matt stared at the two Darcys. He could ask more questions, but time was running out. As sweat trickled down his cheeks, a hummed tune filled the air. He looked at the door, now closed to the snowy landscape. “Did you hear something?”

  “Nothing,” Darcy #2 said, her hands tight on the chair’s armrests. “No time for distractions. Just get me out of here and put that imposter in my place!”

  “I’m not an imposter!” Darcy #1 shouted. “She’s the imposter!”

  Darcy #2 lifted a hand. “Matt! I just remembered. This is the ring you gave me when we first met, the one from the Cracker Jacks box. I told you I threw it away, but I really saved it.”

  Matt looked at her finger. Yes, it was the exact ring.

  “No!” Darcy #1 rubbed her finger. “Tamiel must have taken it from me. I’ve been wearing it ever since you left.”

  His thoughts spinning, Matt blinked at Darcy #1. Her story could be true. She had been rubbing that finger. That couldn’t have been a ploy, could it? Only if the imposter knew about the ring. If so, the imposter would have taken it, which meant the Darcy in the chair had to be the liar.

  He glanced at the clock. Fifteen seconds! He had to retie the imposter’s arms, but she would fight tooth and nail. Maybe a quick punch to the jaw would knock her out.

  Darcy #1 whipped out her knife, leaped for the chair, and sliced through the remaining ropes. She grabbed Darcy #2’s arm and jerked her from the seat. A siren squealed. A mechanical voice called out from the control station, “Thirty seconds to launch.”

  Darcy #1 threw off her coat, sheathed her knife, and sat heavily in the chair. Covering her face with her hands, she wept.

  The siren died. The speaker announced, “Launch terminated.”

  The words echoed in the barn. Silence took over except for gentle sobs from the former prostitute now sitting in the chair.

  Matt gaped at her. He couldn’t breathe. What had she done? She had to stay put or the missile would launch. And Tamiel would eventually kill her.

  Darcy #2 crossed her arms. “Now that was a surprising move. The ultimate play for your sympathy. I suppose when the people who planned this crazy system come back, they’ll turn off the launch system and let her—”

  “Shut up!” Matt punched her in the mouth. She staggered backwards and slammed against a wall.

  As she slid down to her bottom, her eyes rolled upward. Seconds later, her cheeks, forehead, and chin morphed into the familiar face of Semiramis.

  Matt charged, grabbed her by the throat, and threw her on her back. Straddling her on his knees, he set a fist in front of her eyes. “Listen, witch! I want to hear only one thing from you. How do I get Darcy out of that chair without launching the missile?”

  “You . . .” Her eyes wide, she swallowed. “You can’t. The system is locked. If she gets up, the missile will launch. It’s impossible for anyone but Tamiel to turn it off.”

  The hummed tune again drifted in the air—soothing and peaceful as it cleared his mind fog. “Elam’s not stupid. He wouldn’t leave his defenses down. Where is the missile really aimed?”

  She glared at him, her lips thin and pale.

  Matt tightened his grip around her throat and shouted, “Tell me!”

  She gagged as she spoke. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”

  “You’re probably right.” He loosened his hold. “I can’t even trust that the missile is real.”

  “No, you can’t trust anything.” She stared at him with hate-filled eyes. “You are such a fool, a simple pawn in this game. Every step has been designed to weaken your mother’s song. Some things you see are real. Some are merely deceptions. What matters is that we silence your mother.”

  “But my mother’s not here. She—” He looked at the cameras on the ceiling. One still aimed its lens at him. A red diode on the front silently blinked. “Oh. I get it. She’s watching us right now.”

  Semiramis smirked. “So you plucked one grain of truth. As you will learn, the truth can be an effective dagger. It plunges straight to the heart.”

  “What do you know about truth?” Matt snatched the ring off her finger and stuffed it into his pocket. “I’m going to show you some truth.” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her to her feet. While she struggle
d, he hauled her to the chair and collected the pieces of rope.

  “Matt,” the real Darcy said. “What are you going to do with her?”

  “Semiramis is about to learn how truth can be a dagger.” He dragged her to the exit, flung the door open, and threw her outside, sending her sliding through the snow-covered cornstalks and up against the silo.

  “Matt . . .” Semiramis sat up, her back to the silo. “What do you have in mind?”

  “You’ll see.” Matt flung the silo’s access panel away and peered inside. A blast-door hatch lay open on the concrete floor of the otherwise empty cylindrical shell. The missile appeared to be ready to launch immediately.

  Semiramis scrambled to her feet and tried to run, but she slipped on the wet stalks and fell. Matt grabbed her hair again, dragged her into the silo, and laid her next to the blast door. Using the rope sections, he tied her wrists and ankles as tightly as he could. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  He ran to the barn, picked up a coil of rope, and hustled back to the silo. As he tied one end around Semiramis’s waist, he spoke in a calm tone. “Remember how I lassoed you in the tank? That’s nothing compared to the ride you’ll go on when I release Darcy.”

  She spat but missed his face. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “I looked at the map. The target is in a remote area, far from any farms or towns. Even if the missile is real, Elam is smart enough to be ready for it, and maybe it won’t hurt too many people. Whatever happens, at least we’ll be rid of one of the worst blights in the history of the world. . . . You.” He jerked the knot tight. “The truth plunges straight to the heart.”

  “Matt . . .” Her glare melted into a weak smile. “Let’s be reasonable about this.”

  “Keep your demonic tongue moving long enough to tell me how to stop the launch.” He tied a slipknot loop at the other end of the rope and began lowering it into the silo. “I’m listening. It might take me a minute to attach this end to the missile.”