When Darkness Comes

by W. Franklin Lattimore

  At nearly forty-three years of age, and after twenty-four years of service, she had recently been promoted to Senior Master Sergeant. She had a goal of becoming Chief Master Sergeant before she got out. Brent knew it was a given.

  Brent had also recently been promoted. His present rank sounded a little less lofty than Lydia’s, but he was proud to be a sergeant with nineteen years of service on the Millsville Police Department. While others with whom he had gone to high school had been happy to leave their hometown, Brent considered himself blessed to be able to serve the community in which he’d grown up. He knew the people and they knew him.

  It wasn’t a big city, or even medium-sized, for that matter, but the 17,000+ residents were enough to keep him and his department busy. While the city had its fair share of problem citizens and passers through, there wasn’t a lot of crime—nothing major anyway. Brent was undecided as to whether he preferred the quiet or those infrequent occasions that created some excitement.

  Brent took his mouse and clicked on his messages. One was from Galen Todd, his former high-school nemesis. They had reconnected on Facebook. Galen had actually sought Brent out and was excited to find that Brent had finally gotten into the social-network scheme of things. When Galen announced that he had become a Christian, it had blown Brent’s mind. He was enjoying a newly cultivated friendship with someone he’d known nearly his whole life.

  The second message was from Pastor Jonathan who was now senior pastor at his home church. Jonathan’s father, Pastor Chuck, had retired about thirteen years prior, but still attended as a member of his son’s church.

  Brent clicked on Pastor Jonathan’s message first.

  Jonathan Sagan April 22 at 2:18 P.M.

  Hi, Brent. I hope this finds you and the family doing well. I know you’ve been working the past couple of weekends, but I was hoping that you would be available to meet with me for a few minutes immediately after service tomorrow. If not, maybe you can meet me at my office early next week.

  Thank you.

  Pastor Jonathan

  Brent raised his eyebrows for a moment. Wonder what that’s all about?

  After electronically catching up with Galen, he spent the next twenty minutes reading and checking status updates and perusing the latest news updates on Japan and the pummeling of Libya. You can’t be too far off from returning, Lord. Hurry; it’s a mess down here.

  Finished with the negative news of the morning, he turned off the computer and returned the laptop to his upstairs office.

  Tara would be home any time now with the kids.

  11:03 A.M.

  AT LEAST THE sunshine was making up for the still-too-cold temperatures. It was a shame that she was still driving with the heat on. In Tara’s mind, the word spring should have meant a fifteen-degree jump in temps. If it’s not going to snow, Lord, at least make it warm! When had God ever answered that prayer in Ohio? She giggled softly to herself.

  “What’s got you laughing?” asked Jenna, her fifteen-year-old in the passenger seat of the minivan.

  “Oh, just trying to get the weather to change.”

  Jenna rolled her eyes. “Let me know how that works out for you.”

  Tara just smiled.

  Pulling into the driveway she again hit the depression in the lawn at the corner of the driveway and street, jarring everyone in the van.

  “Hey! Watch it!” shot Jamie, the thirteen-year-old.

  “Sorry!”

  Amy, the six-year-old, laughed.

  “At least someone appreciates my driving,” Tara quipped.

  Jenna retorted, “Mom. Seriously. I’ll drive home from now on.”

  “Ha! Not if I want to keep this latest mailbox!”

  Jenna looked away in a huff. It was all Tara could do not to laugh out loud. That got her.

  “Okay, everyone out!” She pressed the button to slide open the side door, allowing Amy and Jamie to vacate. “Jamie…shower.”

  “Aww, mom! I didn’t even sweat.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

  “Yep!”

  “Shower.”

  A huff from her boy, now. She smiled to herself. “Come on out, Amy.”

  Amy, the Lawton princess—that’s how she truly saw herself, with green eyes and strawberry-blonde hair like her mom’s—stepped out of the vehicle with something akin to a royal air. Her daddy’s doing. Those two were quite the pair.

  Grabbing a couple of boutique shopping bags from the back of the van, Tara pressed the sliding-door button on her key chain and started for the front door of the house.

  Once inside, she watched Jenna walk up to her dad, who was sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee, and give him a quick peck on his left cheek. He smiled.

  “You need to shave, Officer Prickles.”

  “I’ll take that into consideration.”

  Tara enjoyed watching the two of them interact. They butted heads quite often, but next thing you’d know, Jenna would be curled up under her dad’s arm as if he was the only man on Earth. She favored him in the looks category. Her hair, just past her shoulders in length, had already gone past the blonde stage and was starting to get dark, though it would never be as dark as her dad’s. She’d gotten his eyes, too.

  Jenna smiled at her dad, then got up and ascended the stairs, presumably to her bedroom.

  Amy walked up to her dad and promptly sat right next to him. He put his arm around her and she reached up to give him a kiss, as well. “You need to shave, Officer Prickly Face.”

  Both he and Tara laughed. Brent gave his daughter a quick embrace, and said, “Okay! I’m getting the point.” He pushed himself up off the couch while Amy giggled. “I’m going to go sandpaper this face.”

  “Good morning, Hon,” he said as Tara closed the front door.

  “Good morning, Officer …” She paused, allowing the mischievous phrase to just hang incomplete.

  Brent walked up to his wife, who placed her right hand on his cheek as he moved in for a kiss. She gave him an appreciatively-long one, then whispered, “Actually, I enjoy your scruffiness.”

  He gave her a wink and headed up the stairs.

  Jamie, in his white karate gi, came back into the living room from the kitchen with a glass of milk and a couple cookies on a napkin and set them down on the coffee table. Turning toward the television he made a move for an XBox controller.

  “Don’t even think it, Karate Kid. Finish your snack and hit the shower.”

  Jamie stood and stared at her for a long moment, probably trying to bend her will with his newly-found teenage attitude. Somehow his blonde hair and bright-blue eyes couldn’t manage to create any sense of intimidation within her. Tara smiled inwardly.

  “I mean it.”

  He made to say something back, but Tara gave him ‘the look’ and he retreated to his cookies.

  At least we timed it well enough to ensure that there would only ever be two teenagers in the house at the same time, Tara mused.

  Pastor Jonathan Sagan, now fifty-five years of age, still had a lean, muscular body. His six-foot frame, thick dark hair with a hint of gray at the temples, and his piercing blue eyes were a combination that gave him a commanding presence. Combine all of that with a double-breasted, dark-blue suit and he looked more like a model for a clothing catalog than a shepherd. His demeanor exuded confidence and most who met him were struck that a man of such imposing stature and good looks could be so humble.

  Jonathan knew that it was his wife, Jenni, who had kept him grounded through the years. Before she came into his life, he had known how to use his frame and looks to his advantage. But when Jenni and he married, she eventually made a comment that had set things straight ever since.

  “Don’t forget, Mister, I know your flaws and I have chosen to love you despite them.” That single sentence had stayed with him as a constant reminder through twenty-eight years of marriage.

  On the platform from which he had just finished preaching, he looked down and smiled at his congre
gation. “And before we’re dismissed this afternoon, let me add just one more thing. Be careful what you watch…”

  The congregation, knowing how he always concluded, took up the phrase in unison. “… Be careful what you listen to, and be careful what you talk about.”

  A lone, strong voice from the back of the sanctuary yelled out an additional refrain, “… And be careful what you eat!”

  The congregation erupted in laughter. So did Pastor Jonathan.

  “Steve, thank you for that wonderful word of admonishment.” He really enjoyed these people. “Okay, folks, spend some time getting to know each other better. Don’t just rush out of here like a bunch of heathens.”

  Again the congregation laughed as they started to rise from their seats to head off into the remainder of the day.

  Pastor Jonathan walked down the steps leading to the main floor of the sanctuary and was intercepted by a young man with a toothy smile.

  “Good message, Pastor. Right on time.”

  “Thank you, Jeff. I appreciate you saying so.”

  “Pastor, can I talk with you for a minute?” Jeff asked.

  “Sure. I’d be happy to,” he answered. “But you’ll have to excuse me for a few minutes. I’ve got to catch someone before he leaves.” Putting a hand on Jeff’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze, he turned his attention to searching the crowd.

  He found the man he was looking for and repeatedly excused himself as he cut through the throng of people.

  “Brent,” he called out. “Brent!”

  Brent was in his uniform—crisp white shirt, navy blue pants and tie—standing with Tara at the rear of the sanctuary talking with another couple. Neither Brent nor Tara had heard him.

  “Yo, Brent!” Pastor Jonathan called again.

  This time he was heard. Brent turned his attention down the aisle looking for the owner of the voice calling out to him. They made eye contact, and Brent excused himself.

  Walking toward his pastor, Brent, with a wry grin, asked “Are pastors actually allowed to say ‘yo’?”

  Pastor Jonathan chuckled. “Only in extreme situations.”

  “And I’m guessing this somehow qualifies,” said Brent.

  “Well, in a manner of speaking, yes. I’ve got a question that I need to ask you. Got a minute?”

  “Yes. Sure, Pastor. What is it?”

  Jonathan put his right hand on Brent’s left shoulder and began guiding him toward the hallway that led to the church’s office area. “Come with me to my office. I’d rather ask you in private.”

  Brent’s countenance changed. Jonathan knew that Brent had seen through his smile to the periphery of a matter of some importance.

  Once inside his office, Jonathan closed the door. He didn’t waste any time. “Brent, forgive me for pulling you away like this. But there’s something weighing on my mind. And I’m hoping that you might be able to shed some light on it.”

  Brent’s face was now serious, reflecting the demeanor of the man before him. “Pastor, whatever I can do to help.”

  “Good. Thank you.” He paused momentarily before asking, “While out on patrol, have you, or any of your officers, heard any rumors, or been made privy to any evidence, alluding to occult activity taking place in the area?”

  Jonathan knew that Brent would be his best resource for answers. Brent had been patrolling the streets of this community for many years. As a police officer for the Millsville Police Department, he heard things. Saw things. Encountered things.

  “No sir,” came Brent’s reply. “I haven’t heard about any activity since way back to Tara’s deliverance. But now you’ve got me curious. What’s going on?”

  “I’ve been hearing rumors.” Jonathan stopped, wishing that he could give Brent something solid to follow up on. “It comes down to a sense, actually. I’ve been approached three times in as many weeks by individuals—who, as far as I know, do not know each other—telling me that there’s something in the air.” He stopped. He knew that he was about to sound ridiculous. But before he could continue Brent stepped in.

  “Something in the air … as in something demonic?”

  “Yes. That’s what I’m getting at. Now, I don’t want to sound like a man searching under rocks for something to…”

  “No, pastor. You don’t have to finish that thought. If you think something’s going on, I trust that. And trust me, I know what it means to be sensitive to things demonic.”

  “I know. And that’s one reason that I wanted to ask you about this.”

  “Frankly, Pastor, I wish I could help you out with some sort of answer.”

  “Yeah, me too,” admitted Jonathan. “Do you still have my cell number?”

  “Of course.”

  “Brent, I, personally, have not discerned any demonic activity. But I do believe in the gift, as you well know. And I also know these three individuals pretty well. They are not given to flights of spiritual fancy. They are all biblically grounded.”

  “I understand,” said Brent. “How about Jenni?”

  “I’ve got her praying about it, but she’s not picking up on anything.” He paused for a moment, pondering. “Here’s the thing with the gift of discerning of spirits; every time that I’ve heard that God revealed something, it’s been in relation to a specific individual, not some general feeling over a population center.”

  Another thought occurred to Jonathan. “Brent, part of a Scripture verse just came to mind. ‘Principalities and Powers.’”

  It was obvious Brent didn’t like where the conversation was headed. “Here? Over Millsville? Aren’t they more concerned with places like Babylon and Persia?”

  Jonathan understood Brent’s point. “It was just a thought, Brent. But it’s something that I’m going to ask God about.”

  “Well, I will keep my eyes and ears open. And I’ll also start asking God to give me the gift of discernment.”

  “Good. I’ll ask the same thing for you, then. Now, this may sound like I’m splitting hairs, but I want you to consider adding two more words to the end of what you’ll be praying for. The Bible calls the gift ‘discerning of spirits’4, not just discernment. I’m not even sure there is such a gift as just discernment. It certainly isn’t mentioned in Scripture. So, let’s both pray for things in a way we know to be biblical. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  Jonathan walked back around his desk and extended his hand. Brent took it.

  It was obvious that Brent was expecting a simple handshake, but Jonathan liked playing this little ruse at times, disguising his intention to lead someone into an unexpected prayer.

  “Father,” Pastor Jonathan began after closing his eyes, “we come to you in the name of your Son, Jesus. What Brent and I just discussed may be much ado about nothing, but I don’t think so. I think there is something to these claims of spiritual unrest. And we come to you, now, for answers.”

  Jonathan could hear Brent quietly voicing agreement to his requests.

  “Lord, if there is a spiritual darkness out there that is planning to hurt this community, beyond what we might normally encounter, make us aware. Help us to see with eyes of discernment the works and intentions of these evil spirits.

  “If something needs to be done, if a battle needs to be fought, please show us and give us your wisdom to know how to advance. In Jesus’ name we ask. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  “Well, you’re in uniform. Going to, or coming from, work?” asked Jonathan.

  “Going to. I’ve been putting in some overtime to help out an officer whose wife just brought a new addition into the family.”

  “Ahh, yes. I’m sure he’s experiencing some sleepless nights. Well, I don’t want to keep you. Go and keep this community safe.”

  “Pastor, you do the same. God bless. Oh, and tell Jenni I said hello.”

  “I will. And you tell Tara I said the same.”

  With those words, they shook hands, and Brent departed the office, leaving Pastor Jonathan Sagan
hoping that all of this truly was ‘much ado about nothing.’

  5:03 P.M.

  BRENT SAT IN his cruiser watching traffic drive by. He was parked in the lot of a long-ago-closed gas station about a mile out of the center of town. Rarely did sitting with his radar gun pointing up the road amount to any tickets being issued. Everybody in town knew this to be the ‘danger zone’ for speeding. Brent didn’t mind, and neither did the department.

  During Brent’s high school years, there had been five major accidents, one causing the tragic death of a teen from another city. All of the accidents had been caused by taking the down-hill curve leading into the intersection too fast to either react to the light change or to avoid vehicles making right turns into the flow of traffic ahead of them. As far as the department was concerned, the more people who knew or believed there was a cop sitting in the lot with a speed gun, the better.

  The setting sun of a chilly, early spring cause him to have to squint at traffic coming down the road from his left. Winter’s supposed to be over, he thought.

  Just thinking about the coming of summer and the ever-increasing temperatures was enough to bring him out of his cold-weather melancholy. Why did I take on a job in Ohio? I could have moved someplace that was always warm after the academy. Brent sighed. It was a thought that had come to mind every year since his graduation from Summit State College. It was also a thought that was never seriously taken into consideration, because Tara loved the snow. And with the kids, snow meant escape from school and winter fun. He sighed. Oh well… Small price to pay. On the flip side, though he hated the Ohio winters, he sure loved its summers. There were certainly more positives than negatives about staying.

  Brent looked at his watch. He had another four hours before his duty day was done. Not that it mattered. Rarely was there a day that he didn’t look forward to going to work. Though most days saw little more than the occasional traffic ticket, the anticipation of the eventual next call for assistance always kept him coming back for more. And besides, a boring day on patrol always beat any day in an office.