The Devil's Game

by Daniel Patterson

  THE DEVIL’S GAME

  by Daniel Patterson

  www.facebook.com/DanielPattersonAuthor

  A Fast-Paced Christian Fiction Suspense Thriller

  Also available on audiobook.

  Click here to listen to an exclusive clip.

  Main Menu

  Start Reading

  Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

  Read an Excerpt From One Chance

  Also by Daniel Patterson

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Dedicated to my Facebook fans. I couldn’t have done it without your help.

  PART ONE

  And the Lord said to Satan, “Where have you come from?” Satan answered the Lord, “From roaming throughout the earth, going back and forth on it.”

  — Job 2:2 (NIV)

  Chapter One

  Seven months ago

  Harmony, New York

  THE SOUND OF HEAVY footsteps on the creaky hardwood floor woke Pastor Charles Griffin from a restless sleep.

  Bang!

  The bedroom door slammed open, sending splinters of wood everywhere.

  Charles threw the blankets off with a flurry and sprang out of bed. The Bible he had been reading, his constant companion, crashed to the floor.

  The confrontation was inevitable. If only he time to gain some strength. The seventy-six-year-old pastor of New Hope Church had been stricken with a nasty flu virus. He’d fought it off once, but he was still bedridden and nowhere near full health.

  He stood on shaking legs and confronted his intruder. “You are not . . . welcome here. In the name of Jesus Christ . . . I rebuke thee, flee now!”

  The words fell on deaf ears, but he wasn’t afraid. If God is for us, who can be against us?

  But the confident rebuke was all he had in him.

  Charles fell back onto the bed, with blood pounding in his temples and his face flushed. His body was soaked with perspiration, and his sheets were damp against his skin.

  “You’re not looking so good, Reverend,” a sinister voice said.

  The words struck the ailing pastor like a cold wind, instantly evaporating his sweat and chilling him to the bone. He reached down and fumbled for his Bible that had come to rest at his bedside. His hands trembled as he picked up the Book and held it to his chest like a shield.

  A heartless laugh sounded from the doorway. “Nothing in there is going to help you now.”

  The words caused more chills.

  The cold presence in his room seemed to weaken him by the second, but Charles looked at him with a steady gaze. “Have . . . you ever thought . . . that maybe . . . everything is working out . . . exactly the way He . . . wants it to?” If only his voice didn’t sound so helpless.

  The evil man’s elation vanished with a sneer, as if surprised by the pastor’s burst of bravery.

  The chill in the air intensified, as did Charles’ grip on his Bible.

  “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble priest! I think it’s time we said our good-byes. Unless, of course, you’d like to reconsider my offer!” the uninvited guest continued.

  Charles tried to sit up in the bed. He had to take a stand. There was too much at stake to simply lie back and accept his fate. He pushed his fists into the mattress and raised his body up as much as he could. Huffing with exertion, he stood face to face with the malevolent being that suddenly seemed to be standing closer to the bed than before. His breath was foul and cold. Charles cringed as it washed over his skin.

  He tried to wet his lips, but his tongue was dry and numb. He looked evil straight in the eye and gathered every last bit of strength from the recesses of his being. “No!” he said.

  “Think carefully . . .” the evil one whispered, a whisper that seemed to carry more strength than the pastor’s clear refusal.

  Charles searched for a way out. He looked to the window and then to the door. The man had brought someone with him. A hooded figure stood motionless in the doorway.

  There was nowhere to run.

  No way to call for help.

  There was no escape.

  “Is that your final answer Reverend?” There was a slight but noticeable emphasis on the word final.

  Charles glanced at the brown newspaper clippings on his desk. What more could he have done? Should he have said something to the other pastors? He had gone to the police looking for help, but even he had to admit how outrageous his claims sounded. The man was powerful, manipulative, and well connected.

  But he knew who this man was—who he really was!

  That left but one option.

  Only one.

  And who knew if it would work . . .

  He could only hope his clue would be found.

  He drew courage from the depths of his soul, courage he didn’t know he still had left, and managed to speak clearly. His strong voice carried the weight of the warning he was trying to convey. “I know the truth about you. I know who you are. If anything happens to me, others will know it too.”

  “So what! They will only fail as you’ve failed, Reverend,” he grunted. “You’re just a crazy old man. No one believed you. Even being a man of God didn’t help you.” He followed the pastor’s gaze to the old newspaper clippings and shook his head. “The truth will die with you.”

  “You can not touch me. ‘For he is in your hands, but you must spare his life.’”

  The hateful man smiled, and the unnatural coldness in the room heightened. “Quoting from that silly book won’t help you.”

  Without breaking eye contact, the intruder motioned to the man standing behind him in the doorway. The mysterious, dark figure advanced toward the bed.

  The man was dressed in dark clothes and wore a black hooded sweatshirt that concealed his true identity, but there was something familiar about him.

  As the hooded man approached, there was no mistaking his slow, labored shuffle, or that slumped posture.

  No!

  It can’t be . . .

  He had been a friend—a best friend.

  Was this how it was going to end?

  “Do it!” the evil man demanded. “Do it now!”

  “No, not like this . . .” Charles pleaded. “Don’t involve . . .”

  The man in black closed the gap between them in an instant and knocked the pastor back onto the bed. With his face hidden in the dark recesses of the hood, he wrapped his gloved hands around the pastor’s throat and began to squeeze.

  Shaken and struggling for air, Pastor Charles Griffin reached for the man’s face under the hood. With the last bit of energy he had, he gently caressed the man’s face. “God loves you . . . my son and I . . . forgive you . . . for what you are about to do.”

  Charles used his last breath to forgive his killer before the hands clamped even tighter around his throat and made speech impossible.

  His old friend’s eyes were completely black, and there was no evidence that he was aware of what he was doing. There was no sign that this person’s soul was even in his body anymore.

  Charles fought against the inevitable. His body’s survival instincts took over. He kicked and swung his frail arms, trying to break the hold. He clawed at the hands around his throat. But his struggle was useless.

  His vision filled with dark spots and pinpoints of light. So this was what dying was like. His starved lungs burned, craving air.

  His limbs turned leaden.

  His vision blurred.

  It was time.

  He floated up out of his body and looked back at it lying empty and motionless on the bed. Had he failed his beloved town? Were its people now at the mercy of this evil?

  A bright light from above chased the shadows from the room. Turning toward the light, a cloak of lov
e enveloped Pastor Charles Griffin.

  * * *

  The evil man watched with pleasure as the man in black squeezed the last bit of life out of the meddlesome pastor.

  This was good.

  No one would stand in his way now.

  He stepped out of the shadows that pulsated around him and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “That’s enough.”

  The hooded man relaxed his grip and straightened to stand over the lifeless body of his old friend. He had no idea what he had just done.

  Pleased, the evil man looked out the window toward the church next door, and to the garden outside.

  First he would sow. Then he would reap.

  That was his favorite part.

  Chapter Two

  Present day

  Harmony, New York

  PASTOR JAMES BUCHMAN SMILED as he stood on the front steps of the New Hope Church and bid his parishioners good-bye. It had been a good service today. The glory went to God, but it was nice to know he was doing his part. It was always nice to get a few compliments now and then.

  “Beautiful service, Reverend Buchman,” said Mindy Ellison, holding the hand of her lively five-year-old son, Jordon, who looked as if he would rather be any place else.

  Her husband, Richard, said, “I hope Jordon wasn’t too disruptive.”

  “No, he was just fine. Hopefully, by this time next year we’ll be able to open a Sunday school to keep little ones like Jordon more engaged.” James knelt in front of the boy and looked him square in the eyes. “I had a hard time sitting still for that long when I was your age too. Even when listening to the Good Word.”

  “I like Noah’s Ark,” Jordon said.

  “Me too,” James told him. “I’ll try to work that into next week’s service.” He ruffled the boy’s hair and stood up.

  As the Ellisons walked away, James turned to Samuel Stirling, who had appeared at his side. At eighty-five years old Samuel was New Hope’s oldest parishioner. His thinning white hair was combed straight back, and his pale skin was spotted with broken capillaries like a road map of everything he had experienced.

  “Always good to see you, Samuel,” James said, shaking the old man’s hand in both of his.

  “Always good to live to another Sunday, Reverend,” Samuel said with a wink. There was still a lot of life left in him. “I’m going to have a house guest later this week,” he beamed.

  “That’s exciting news. Who is that, may I ask?”

  “My sister’s boy, Daniel, is coming home from Afghanistan. The good Lord saw him through some tough times over there, and he’s coming home in one piece. He’s going to help me out around the house.”

  “Well, that is wonderful news indeed. I look forward to meeting him.”

  Samuel shuffled on, and James smiled as more people filed out of the tiny church and went off into the lovely late summer day.

  He’d been at this church now in rural upstate New York for just about three months. His sandy blond hair and his naturally tan skin didn’t exactly blend in up here in the North Country, but he had fit in quite well. His parishioners had welcomed him easily enough, treated him as a friend and had no problem looking up to him for guidance when times were tough. This community was everything a young pastor straight out of Bible College could hope for.

  Today he had noticed a new face among the familiar and that very person was now stepping up to greet him. He had dark hair that hung loosely down to his shoulders in thick waves and a goatee that was touched by just a little bit of gray on his chin. He was tall, taller than James, but lean while James was trim and athletic. The corners of his green eyes were crinkled with laugh lines.

  “Hello, Reverend,” he said in a deep resonant voice, stepping up to James. “Thought I might introduce myself.”

  James accepted the man’s outstretched hand. “Well, it’s always good to see a new face.”

  Looking at him now, he couldn’t tell how old the man was. Somehow he seemed old and young, an odd mix of youthful vitality and mature wisdom. His handshake was strong and firm. And those eyes, now a bright green, seemed to pierce him, as though they were looking clean through to his soul.

  “That was a wonderful sermon today. I just had to tell you.” The man kept pumping James’ hand as he spoke. Finally, James had to pull away, gently, or risk his arm going numb.

  “Thank you, Mister . . .” James prompted.

  “Paradis, Simon Paradis. I’m new in town and just had to stop in to see what the local churches had to offer. I liked the way you spoke to us.”

  The man’s long dark coat was slightly frayed around the collar and the cuffs. It must have been one that Simon had been wearing for years.

  Some people liked to hold on to things they loved, even when it was past time to let them go.

  It was an interesting thought, and James ran it through his mind again. Maybe he’d craft a sermon about that for next week—

  “Right, Reverend?” Simon said.

  The world came back into focus. James hadn’t even realized his concentration had wandered or that he’d lost track of what Simon was saying to him. “I’m sorry, my mind’s still on work,” he said sheepishly, nodding toward the open church doors. “What were you saying?”

  “I was saying that you sure do have a nice group of people here at your church. A charming couple, Sally and Ben, just asked me to dinner tonight.”

  “Oh, that’s the Larsons,” James said. “The Larsons are good folks. I’m glad to see they’re trying to make you feel welcome. You know there’s another church here in town, right? I mean if you think you might want to try something different from ours to see which you like best.”

  “You’re talking about the one down on Grand Avenue?”

  “That’s the one. Branson Miller is the minister there. He’s a bit more animated in his services than we are here. Some people find that helps them connect with God better.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I can connect well right here with you,” Simon said. “You haven’t lived here long, have you?”

  James smiled curiously. How did he know that?

  “Your hair and tan. A bit out of place, I’m guessing California?”

  “Very good. San Diego to be precise.”

  “San Diego is a lovely city.”

  “It is. You’ve been there, I take it?”

  Simon smiled. “I’ve done a bit of traveling . . .”

  James’ eyes flicked to one side as he recognized another familiar face.

  Simon looked in that direction, and both men smiled as a young woman wearing a set of gray overalls walked out.

  “Good morning, Reverend,” said Amy Sheridan. “Would you have a moment for me?”

  “Of course, Amy, of course.” James smiled. “I’m sure Mr. Paradis here won’t mind, will you?” He turned his attention back to Simon and then to Amy. “We were just getting to know each other. He’s new in town.”

  Amy gave a shy smile to Simon, her cheeks and the bridge of her nose blushing under her dark freckles. Her red hair was tied back into a ponytail today. “Good to meet you, Mr. Paradis. I’m Amy Sheridan.”

  “Very nice to meet you as well, Miss Sheridan.” Simon took her hand and bowed over it.

  “You’ll have to excuse my outfit,” Amy said. “I work at the recycling plant, and this is my lunch break.”

  “Not at all,” said Simon. “A person’s value is based on what they are inside, not what they wear outside . . .”

  “Well said,” Amy said with a smile.

  Simon glanced at his watch. “I’m sure you have only limited time, so I will bid you good day, Reverend, Miss Sheridan.”

  As Simon turned and walked away, James noticed that Amy’s mood darkened slightly.

  Chapter Three

  JAMES AND AMY WALKED through the double doors into the cool shade of the nave and sat in one of the back pews.

  He always enjoyed his time with Amy. It went beyond just discussing her problems and what God wanted for her—
the usual things people talked to him about in his role as their shepherd. With Amy, he could be more open than with most people. Over the past three months they had shared a lot of things with each other, and they had become close.

  He shook his head.

  Those thoughts would have to stay private. Amy was a parishioner who had turned to the Word of God for support.

  She perched on the edge of the seat and looked as if she planned to bolt at the slightest noise. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s about . . . It’s about Rick,” she finally said.

  Rick Mason was Amy’s ex-boyfriend and an auto mechanic in town. They were both only a couple of years younger than James. Since they began dating a year ago, Rick had been pressuring Amy to move in with him. She had been dead set against it, not wanting to live with Rick until he was ready to make a commitment that went beyond sharing a bedroom. More importantly, she didn’t believe in sex before marriage. That led to their break up only six months into the relationship, and the rejection had made Rick lash out. He’d started showing his ugly side, feeling betrayed and hurt. The love of a good woman had been ripped away from him when he’d just expected what was natural to him in a relationship.

  James had been counseling Amy from the start, urging her to follow her heart and stay true to her commitment to God. He told her to take her lead from God and trust in Him to show her the way. God’s guidance would never send anyone down the wrong road, even if emotions pointed that way.

  This had given Amy enough courage to refuse Rick’s advances. But he wasn’t taking that well.

  “Okay, what about Rick?” James asked.

  She finally turned her eyes to meet his. “His hours are being cut back at the shop. He says he can’t afford his apartment anymore—unless I move in with him, and we share expenses.” Her eyes changed to a deeper shade of blue and glistened as they were on the verge of tears. “I still care about him, and I don’t want to see him thrown out in the street, and I think that we could be friends in the future, but—”