On Tenterhooks

by Greever Williams

  Steve could see the rising fervor in Biker’s eyes, but the guy was forcing himself to remain calm.

  “And Veronica, look at what cult of celebrity this world has become, thanks to advertising and marketing. It makes young girls ashamed of their own bodies and reduces their self-esteem so low that they force themselves to vomit their school lunch in the toilet!”

  His voice and his pace escalated with each sentence.

  “You raise celebrities up to a status that makes them above the law. Drunk driving? Killed a bystander? No problem — community service for you!”

  Biker was nearly shouting now, but Steve was too enthralled in his tirade to notice.

  “Don’t believe me? Evil exists folks—in bars and basements, government offices, high-rise buildings on Wall Street and Main Street, malls across the globe. Sure, you don’t always see it. Maybe you never even made the connection. Think back over the last century or two to the worst evils you can recall. Hitler. . .Mussolini. . .Stalin. . .Jack the Ripper. . .Manson. . .Bin Laden. . .Josef Mengele. Think back to the terrorism of 9/11. You’re being killed by your own political correctness—so worried about offending that you forgot to defend yourselves!”

  He was shouting now. The bartender and locals were all listening to him. His already commanding voice boomed, as his body language mimicked his harsh words.

  “World wars, civil wars, genocide, terrorism, murder, rape, child abuse and so on and so on and so on and so on, until it all comes trickling down into a puddle of steamy, stinking scum. . .”

  He trailed off, his barrel chest heaving.

  “Much of this has been around for centuries, but not nearly so dominant. In the last few decades, seems like society has allowed—no—society has enabled evil to run amuck. You’ve eroded basic human values, until there are few safety nets left.”

  He stared down at the table and shook his head, as he breathed deep and sighed loudly, “I ain’t sayin’ it’s all bad, though. There’s still good, here and there. . .so we keep up the good fight.”

  He took Steve’s beer and downed it in four sloshing gulps, then rammed the glass back down on the table.

  “Hell, there have even been a few cases where God has been able to turn some of those negatives around, set them on the right track. Of course, those cases don’t make the history books or even the evening news.”

  The group stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

  “So, anyway, Satan got himself a new game plan. He wanted to take advantage of this shifting tide of humanity I guess you’d say. He recalled all of the demons on earth, brought ‘em back to Hell and did some reorganization in the ranks.”

  His head nodded forcefully as he spoke.

  “Yep. These days, there are only a few hundred of his demons up here with us. The problem is, these new ones are a might bit more nasty than your run of the mill soul-stalkers of yesteryear. They’re meaner, uglier and more powerful than ever before. They can influence, direct and even command humans in some cases. This new breed poses a much bigger danger.

  “Now, it’s tough for them to harm the positives directly. God is wise to Satan’s plan, and he’s beefed up security for the positives. While it ain’t unheard of, it is rare that these demons can attack the positives, because the angels are doing their Sunday best to protect ‘em.

  “But, that’s not Satan’s plan at all. He knows he can’t get to them, so he doesn’t even try. He’s too shifty to take the direct approach. Instead, he’s trying to hit them where it hurts—in the heart.”

  Biker put his palm on his chest.

  “You see — Satan figures that if he can inflict enough indirect pain and hardship on ya’ll and the others like you, he can break the spirit. Breaking the spirit could mean that it would change the path of a person’s life. He’d alter the course of your life so drastically that decisions would become blurry, difficult. You might end up changing so much that you might never live up to your full potential.”

  He paused for a moment, letting it sink in.

  “Pretty slick, huh? I mean—think about that one. His demons could traumatize and damage a person without ever getting near them. Here I was looking for him to come at ya’ll full-on and instead he went for the soft target—your family. Well, friends, let me tell you that it greatly reduced our ability to protect those under our watch. Everything we’d learned and everything that worked in the past? Well, that dog won’t hunt no more.”

  He shook his head. “I guess I don’t need to tell you that his maneuver turned the tide of the game even more in his favor. God had to do some quick reworking of his own in order to keep up.”

  “Wait,” Abby interrupted. “Back up. What do you mean ‘indirect pain and hardship’?”

  “Right, you got it girl. This is where y’all come into the story.”

  “You are saying that we—” Abby started.

  “Are positives,” Martin finished.

  “What the hell are you talking about, Abby?” asked Veronica, never taking her eyes off Biker.

  “She’s talking about you, Veronica,” said Biker, looking at each of them in turn. “She’s talking about all of you.”

  “Are you telling me that all of us, that we’re these positives?” asked Steve.

  “That is exactly what I’m telling you.”

  “Jesus Christ, give me a break,” Veronica snarled.

  “He did. That’s why I’m here,” smiled Biker.

  “You’re our guardian angel, aren’t you?” asked Abby, although to Steve it didn’t sound much like a question.

  Biker tipped his head toward Abby. “At your service.”

  “And that nasty pastor is a demon?” asked Martin, pounding the table.

  “Yes—but not just a demon; he’s a real badass. See, when these soul-suckers first get up here to earth, they aren’t . . . developed. This is new to them, almost as if they are newborns, in a way. They are experiencing life in the physical form, learning societal conventions to blend in. As they learn more, they gain more strength.”

  Biker tapped the table again with his fingertips.

  “The preacher has been among the living for many years now; he was one of the first of Satan’s new breed, so to speak. He, and others like him, are kinda like prototypes. He was pulled off of duty cultivating evil and instead is now focused on derailing the positives.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” said Veronica. “A preacher, a man of God, is some big bad demon, and you, a trash-talking redneck we meet in some Mexican dive bar, are a guardian angel? Yeah, put me in the non-believer category, please.”

  “No, Veronica,” said Abby, reaching across the table. “It makes sense. That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier. He’s not human. I could tell when that preacher touched me that he was evil. I could feel it. It was as if he were magnifying my pain. It was just. . .evil.”

  Veronica sighed. Biker crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, not wanting to intervene. He knew if they were going to believe, it would have to come from within.

  “Look, Abby, Sweetie” said Veronica. “You’re hurting. We all are. But grief can be a powerful thing — it can make you feel and do things that you never would have otherwise.”

  “I think that’s Biker’s point, Veronica,” said Martin.

  Veronica turned to Steve, looking for help. “Steve, tell them how crazy this sounds.”

  “Yeah, it does sound crazy, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

  “What? Are you serious?”

  “I don’t know if I’m serious, Veronica, okay? Look, it’s been rough for all of us. I’ve seen things that are reshaping my view of the world. Things I always took for granted no longer seem to fit.”

  “Unbelievable,” muttered Veronica. She shook her head.

  Chapter 35

  The group sat in awkward silence for several moments in the dingy back-corner booth before Martin spoke.

  “So, Biker, let’s say for a minute that you are an angel
, and that preacher is a demon—”

  “Okay, sure, let’s say that. But you need to understand the difference between reality and fantasy in this situation.”

  Veronica laughed aloud. Biker ignored her and continued.

  “In theology, angels are regarded as these halo-wearin,’ feather-flappin’ do-gooders that fly around carrying out God’s work. Well, that ain’t exactly right.”

  “Then what is right?” Steve asked him. “I mean, if you are an angel, why don’t you just show us? Prove it to us.”

  “It don’t work that way, Steve. I have strict orders to blend in as much as possible. Just think of what could happen, if people found out that a true, tangible messenger of God was among them. Civilizations have literally been destroyed over less, bro.”

  “Okay,” said Steve. “But Veronica has a point. It also sounds like a convenient cover story. How do we know it’s true? You could just be a clever con-man with a convincing tone.”

  “True,” Biker nodded. “But for what, Steve? None of you is rich. None of you has some heavy influence over anything. So if I were a bad guy, why would I lure you to Mexico just to sit down and talk in some dingy bar? I know you all can think for yourselves, so do it. When you do, you’ll know I am speaking the truth.”

  “Suppose we do believe all of this God and Satan stuff,” said Steve in response. “That still doesn’t tell us which side you are on. How do we know you’re not in league with the preacher?”

  “All I can tell you is that you have to be able to accept some things on faith. I know recent events have shaken your faith, but at the end of the day, that is the one thing that can save you. If you, we, are going to go any further with this, you’re going to have to accept me at my word when I tell you who I am, what I am and why we are all here.

  “Don’t think of me as somethin’ supernatural. Think of me more like a cross between a coach and an intelligence analyst. I ain’t here to showboat. I’m here because I have direct orders to counteract the work that Satan is doing on Earth right now, like killing the ones that you loved.”

  Abby winced.

  “Sorry to be so blunt about it, folks. But look, you got to understand this, above all else. He killed them. He murdered them just as surely as Veronica could murder with that gun.”

  “He killed Zack, didn’t he?” Abby asked, tears in her eyes.

  “Without question . . . and without remorse,” Biker answered. “Only, he is so skilled at it that it looked like an accident. All of ‘em did. That was the plan. He did it to get to you.”

  “It makes sense now,” said Abby, to no one in particular. “The doctors said it shouldn’t have happened that way, that normally something like that couldn’t kill somebody, or shouldn’t at least. They thought maybe he had some kinda preexisting condition or something.”

  “And he did,” said Biker, “in a manner of speaking. He had a demon on his back, a demon who took his life to get to you. He did it to shake your spirit, make you doubt your faith in the world, people, God, spirituality. . .all of it.”

  “What about the website? The Say Goodbye thing?” Steve asked.

  “Yeah, that was me. I set it up in the hope of doing some damage control. I couldn’t change what he'd done—I don’t have clearance for that kind of stuff. But I was hoping that in the process of writing to your loved ones, you would find some comfort, some closure and be able to move on. Get you back on the right track, so-to-speak.”

  “But it didn’t work like that, did it?” he continued. “It certainly brought you out of your shell, but not in the way I’d planned. I didn’t anticipate you being so skeptical about the response you got—big mistake on my part. Looking back, I shoulda known better. Nowadays, seems like people have a penchant for conspiracy theories, identity fraud and a litigious hunger that I don’t even try to understand. I shoulda been prepared for it, shoulda seen it coming. Everybody these days doubts the great beyond. The world is too cynical.”

  “That’s not fair,” said Steve. “Just because we didn’t trust that site doesn’t mean the world doesn’t have hope. But it’s not very often that something shines like those letters we got. You don’t see a lot of goodness like that, so it caught us off guard.”

  “Yeah,” nodded Biker, “you’re right. I guess I did know, and maybe just didn’t want to believe it. There has been a major erosion of faith here on earth that is difficult for someone like me to come to grips with. Mind you, I am not just talking about faith in the Holy church or God. I am just talking about plain and simple faith. Trust in your fellow man and yourselves.

  “Hell,” he muttered, waving a hand in Abby’s direction. “Even the eternal optimism of youth is dying off.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Abby said in a low voice. “You’re not listening to us. I knew that message was from Zack, as soon as I read the first line. I couldn’t explain how it happened. But to me, the important thing was that he was okay. He was safe and he was happy. That’s what I learned from the experience.”

  Biker leaned forward and put his elbows on the edge of the table. He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

  “I appreciate that darlin’, really I do. However, your belief, your faith is rare. Most others don’t take the time to appreciate what’s right there in front of them. Not that I can blame them. With all the progress made in the world, some things are just as dark as, or darker than, they ever were.”

  Biker sighed and crossed his arms across his chest. “Sorry for the soap-boxing, but it gets damn frustrating in this race sometimes. Despite our best efforts, these changes are sure signs of his evil influence.”

  “So if I had sent a letter to my mom, she would have responded?” Veronica asked.

  “Yep,” Biker nodded. “I channeled the messages the others sent and asked for a response, and what I got, I turned into words and sent back. I was a translator for it, but those were absolutely their words.” He placed his palms up and out as if presenting them with a gift, before he smiled.

  “Helen loves you Veronica, and she knew, even now she knows, that you still love her. The fact that you didn’t send a letter doesn’t change that—nothing would ever change her love for you.”

  Veronica’s eye welled up with tears, but she forced herself not to cry. She pushed the safety on the gun and gently laid it on the tabletop.

  “All of them know,” Biker said, looking at each of them in turn.

  “Martin, Maggie knows.”

  Martin closed his eyes at the mention of his daughter.

  “Abby, Zack knows it.”

  Abby stared down at the table.

  “And Steve, Julie knows, too.”

  Steve nodded, suppressing the lump forming in his throat.

  The group was silent once again, except for sniffles and throat clearing.

  Biker slid the gun aside, reached across the table and placed his calloused, weather-beaten hand over Abby’s. His lanky fingers and acorn-like knuckles covered her petite hand. She looked up at him. Silent tears streamed down her face. Biker looked into her eyes.

  Abby cracked a small smile, wiping her eyes with the heel of her palm.

  Biker smiled back. He squeezed her hand for a moment before letting go, then leaned back in his chair. “So what’s it going to be, Abby? All of you?”

  “You mean, do we believe you?” Steve asked him.

  “No, not me. My role in this is minor. Do you believe in yourself? Can you trust your heart and your soul and forget what your eyes show you or don’t show you and what your brain tells you or doesn’t tell you?”

  “What’s going to happen to us next,” Steve asked, “if we say we do?”

  “All in good time, bro.”

  Concern twisted Steve. He wanted to believe Biker. He wanted to believe that there was still some good in a world that had grown so utterly gray for him. He looked around the table. He could see it in each of them. They all wanted it.

  As they looked back at him, he knew they were craving his signal. They
wanted to believe Biker’s story, but they trusted Steve. He knew he had that power and that it boiled down to this minute and this decision.

  We’re all the same. We all have this same pain and this shared desire to see and feel something warm again. Julie would tell me to go for it. She was always what kept me from standing still.

  He could see her now, in his mind’s eye. Her hair was tousled and tied-up in a sloppy ponytail. She was wearing one of his old concert t-shirts and her favorite threadbare jeans, beautiful as always in her tomboy persona. “Go for it Steve,” she’d say. “Go get some mud on the tires!”