Listening, he could tell that both of them were asleep. Tina was dreaming, but Colleen had apparently not entered REM sleep, yet.
REM sleep, thought Brent. An idea sparked.
Brent walked around to the left side of Elizabeth’s bed. He wanted to take a look at her eyes. As he approached, he saw the demon respond by coiling its tail more tightly around Elizabeth’s neck, its beady eyes following him closely.
Looking at Elizabeth’s eyelids, he was able to tell that she was dreaming. Seeing that she was relaxed made it clear that the dream-world events that were playing in her mind were, at least at the moment, not very disturbing.
Good.
Brent walked away from the bed and toward her bedroom door. Walking through it, he stood on the landing just left of the stairs. The house was now dark, Mr. And Mrs. Franklin apparently closed away in their own room for the night.
He walked up to the banister and leaned forward against it, forearms resting on the maple wood. Brent passively looked down to the marble-tiled floor below while trying to think of an avenue to take that would somehow be a benefit to Elizabeth while in her dream state.
He needed a change of scenery to help him trigger fresh thoughts.
Standing upright again, Brent decided to do what would have been unthinkable at any other time in his life. He place both hands on the banister and vaulted over it into the open space before him. He hoped he was right about his ability to do something this reckless without injuring himself. After all, transporting himself to another location was one thing; jumping and still having to deal with gravity from fourteen feet up was another.
He plummeted toward the ground. It was at this too-late-to-do-anything-about-it moment that he realized that he had not mastered floating. Brent cringed as he prepared to hit the ground feet first. The best he could hope for was to roll out of the impact.
Legs slightly bent, Brent hit the floor on the balls of his feet and allowed his body’s momentum to carry him into a roll to his right side. He hadn’t even come to a stop before a grin appeared on his face.
No pain. Plenty of gain.
“Okay, now that was cool,” he said to himself.
He got up and walked into the living room. It was dark. Could he…?
Brent walked back toward the front door of the house and to the panel of light switches that controlled the lighting above the foyer, outside the front door, and in the living room. He flipped up the left-most switch, and two lamps in the living room illuminated.
Huh. The things I’m able to do that I didn’t know about.
Walking back into the living room, he stepped up behind the love seat. It faced the couch with a coffee table between them. Off to the right was the curtained and draped picture window, and before him… Hold on! …before him was the fireplace! A fireplace with a mantle filled with pictures.
Brent had not paid any attention to them before. Several of the photographs were of Elizabeth, and a few of those were taken when she was a little girl. A very little girl!
Brent smiled. He now knew what to do.
Walking back to the foyer, Brent turned off the living room lights, then transported himself back into Elizabeth’s room.
Always wary, he made quick work of assuring himself that nothing unusual was going on within Elizabeth’s surroundings. Well, nothing unusual outside of a demon coiling itself around a teenage girl’s neck.
Again, Brent walked back to the left side of Elizabeth’s bed. When he reached the head of the bed, he knelt down and looked at the beautiful girl before him. She seemed without a care in the world, but hopefully that was about to change. Brent needed to give her something to care about other than escaping this life.
Elizabeth lay on her back, facing him. He leaned forward and placed his mouth close to her ear. Brent was taking a chance; he knew that. He was now close enough to the demon for the thing to do some damage if it desired—if it could. The thing just stared at Brent curiously, while making sure to hold on tightly to Elizabeth.
“Look at your beautiful baby, Elizabeth,” he said out loud. “She is beautiful! What a joy! Look at her long blonde hair and those bright blue eyes! Isn’t she lovely?”
The demon started to become agitated. Its face, resembling that of an angry pug dog, grimaced. It decried Brent’s manipulation. “Leave her be,” it croaked. “She’s mine and my master’s.”
Brent ignored it.
“Reach out to her and watch your little girl run into your arms! Swing her around, Elizabeth! Swing her around in the field full of wildflowers on this beautiful summer day! Look at her! She loves you!”
Then it happened. The faintest hint of a smile played at the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth. Brent knew, now, that it was working.
“Listen to her giggle!” Brent’s eyes were misting up as he pictured and listened to the event in his own mind. “What are you going to name her? You’re going to give her a beautiful name!”
TARA GREW TENSE, a look of concern spreading across her face—concern, I think, for herself, not just for Elizabeth.
I had anticipated this.
Several times since I had started telling this story, she must have fought to keep her emotions from becoming apparent. I predicted early on that it would be only a matter of time before she wouldn’t be able to fully contain them.
“You okay?” I asked, taking her hand.
She looked at me with a tilt of her head, sorrow filling her eyes. She gave an ever-so-slight shake of her head. Looking down for a moment, she collected herself and said, “I was part of the reason you hadn’t shared all of this until now. Wasn’t I?”
An ache developed in my heart as I watched a tear slide down my bride’s left cheek. I lifted a hand and wiped it away.
With a slow nod, I said, “Yes. I knew that most of this story would touch close to home for you.”
She sat up, squared her shoulders, and took in a deep breath. She closed her eyes and released it. “Okay,” she said, partly to herself, “I can do this.”
“You sure?”
“Brent, this is just one more day that I can add to all the other days of the year when I’m reminded of…” Her voice became strained. “…what I…did.”
Her right hand came up to her mouth as her eyes locked onto mine. Tears gathered above her eyelids. She was fighting to hold it together. The tears spilled as her breath caught in her chest. She began to tremble.
My wife—the love of my life—held my stare, looking for strength in my eyes. My own tears began to well up.
Tara dropped her hand and lunged forward into my arms. She began to sob as her trembling transitioned into shaking. I gripped her tightly, assuring her that I wasn’t letting go. My right hand went to the back of her head, hopefully an added touch of comfort as her face burrowed into my left shoulder and neck.
The shaking that had wracked her body finally began to wane as she transitioned into a soft cry. After another minute or so, she was able to sit back up.
Sniffling and brushing her hair back behind her ears, she asked, “Can you get me some tissues?”
“Sure,” I said softly. I went and brought back a box, setting it beside her.
She grabbed a couple, blew her nose, and wiped the tears away.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
The gentleman in me wanted to say, ‘You have nothing to be sorry about,’ but that would have been the most insensitive thing I could have said in this delicate moment. Instead, I simply said, “No problem.”
“Every year,” she said, “I have two dates that are pretty painful for me...”
One of the two I already knew, but as for the second, I didn’t have any idea as to what she was referring.
“The first is the date on which I had my abortion.”
I nodded my understanding.
“The second is the due date that I had been given when I was told that I was pregnant by the doctor.”
Grief welled up inside me. I’d had no idea…no idea that a secon
d pain-filled anniversary occurred every year for her. I could only imagine…
“I’m sorry,” I said in a whisper. “I didn’t know.”
She nodded as she wiped her nose again.
“I know,” she said. “It’s okay. It’s a date of grief that I created for myself. I didn’t want you to have to share in my pain.”
“You hid it…all these years.”
“Every year, as that date approaches, I make sure that our calendar is clear so that I can have some alone time. Sunny or rainy, I head out to Sunderland Park. It reminds me of a park that was near where I lived when I was still in Missouri. I sit on the same bench every time, and while I watch the children play, I talk to my little girl.”
Tara sniffled, and with a sad laugh she continued. “It’s funny, you know? Every year that I sit there and talk to her, I picture her being no older than five. Isn’t that silly? She would have been thirty-two now. Thirty-two ... and I can’t get the image of a little girl out of my head.”
I was barely hanging on as Tara spoke. Her bereavement was now growing to be my own.
“I wonder if she hears me, Brent. I wonder if she hears me say that I’m sorry and that I miss her.”
Tara began to cry again. And then it was my turn. I leaned into my wife and we held each other. Held each other for all we were worth.
For several minutes, we shared her sorrow. I wasn’t going to let go of her until she was ready.
There was no rush to get back to the story, and after Tara excused herself to go “clean up” in the restroom, we took a short break to decompress, making ourselves a couple homemade cafe mochas. I gave Tara all the time that she needed before she told me that she wanted me to continue.
“In fact,” she said, “can you back up a little bit? I want to get back into the flow that you created before you stopped.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I can make it through this now.”
ELIZABETH LAY ON her back, facing him. He leaned forward and placed his mouth close to her ear. Brent was taking a chance; he knew that. He was now close enough to the demon for the thing to do some damage if it wanted. And if it could. The thing just stared at Brent curiously, while making sure to hold on tightly to Elizabeth.
“Look at your beautiful baby, Elizabeth,” he said out loud. “She is beautiful! What a joy! Look at her long blonde hair and those bright blue eyes! Isn’t she lovely?”
The demon started to become agitated. Its face, resembling that of an angry pug dog, grimaced. It decried Brent’s manipulation. “Leave her be,” it croaked. “She’s mine and my master’s.”
Brent ignored it.
“Reach out to her and watch your little girl run into your arms! Swing her around, Elizabeth! Swing her around in the field full of wildflowers on this beautiful summer day! Look at her! She loves you!”
Then it happened. The faintest hint of a smile played at the corners of Elizabeth’s mouth. Brent knew, now, that it was working.
“Listen to her giggle!” Brent’s eyes were misting up as he pictured and listened to the event in his own mind. “What are you going to name her? You’re going to give her a beautiful name!”
“Master! Come quickly! Maaassster!” The demon was apparently terrified by what was taking place. It did the only thing it knew to do. Call for backup.
Simultaneously two beings showed up: the spirit of death and Garian.
The death demon took one look, and listened to one phrase of what was being said, and became enraged. It crossed from the bedroom door where it had entered, walked through both the bed and Elizabeth, and grabbed for Brent’s face with its talon-like hand.
Faster than the demon, though, was Garian, who grabbed the forearm of the demon and whirled it around to face him. “You will not touch him!”
“Release me, white agent! You will not control me or this situation! You do not have prayer cover!”
In Brent’s desperation, he fought to keep his concentration fixed on Elizabeth and her dream. He had to persist through whatever was going on around him.
“Tickle her belly and watch what she does, Elizabeth. Watch and listen as she squeals with delight! Have you ever heard such a joyful sound?”
The demon of death wrenched its wrist free from Garian’s clutches and glared, both at Garian and then at Brent. Rage grew within the creature, and it once again lunged for Brent.
The demon took a blow to its left temple as the pummel of Garian’s sword made contact. The demon flew across the room, through the wall, and presumably out above the foyer. Moments later it reentered, and Garian was ready for whatever assault the thing might try to bring.
The demon stopped and settled to the floor before the angel.
“I have rights!” it spewed. “I have rights that you are not permitted to impede!”
Garian glowered at the dark gray creature. Brent could tell that he wanted to add to the rips and gashes so evident in its wings and arms. But he stood fast. “You will not touch Brent Lawton. Is…that…clear?”
The demon stared, unflinching, and replied. “I will not touch the son of dirt.”
Garian backed away, allowing the demon to pass.
Brent didn’t understand why it had permission to now advance, but his mouth couldn’t object while at the same time it created a vision of beauty and life. “Listen to her call you ‘Mommy.’ Doesn’t that just thrill you? She loves you…”
The demon crawled atop the bed, opposite Brent. It brought along with its icy stare its own voice to lend to the dream that Brent was crafting. “Here comes Jason, Elizabeth,” the thing hissed into her ear. “He’s not happy. Look at him! Jason is coming to get you. He is outraged that you didn’t take care of the situation as you promised.”
Brent looked to Garian for help, eyes pleading. Garian closed his eyes, gave a slight shake of his head, and brought his chin down to his chest.
Brent was going to get no further help.
“Elizabeth, listen to me. Your daughter loves you. She needs and wants your protection. See how she clings to your neck? Feel her seeking your comfort. She needs you!”
The demon remained undeterred. “What is that in Jason’s hand, Elizabeth? It looks like a knife. He will take care of the problem all by himself since you refuse. Either you have your abortion, or he will kill that little girl in your arms.”
Elizabeth began to toss. Her face now contorting in fear and panic. She began to speak in her sleep. “Jay, no. No! Please!” Her eyes shot open and she rocketed into a sitting position. Her breathing was fast as she quickly searched the room for the knife-wielding intruder.
She swung her feet to the floor and rapidly traversed the bedroom to the door. Swinging it open, she walked out onto the landing, making sure that there was no one dangerous in the house.
Brent was angry, almost beyond what he could manage. Now he wanted to reach out and cause harm. Could he? The demon pushed itself up into a sitting position on the bed and smirked, very pleased with itself.
“Want to play, boy? I’ve been at this a long, long time.
“Don’t presume to be able to best me,” the demon admonished. “You’ll end up wishing you had never made the attempt.”
Brent was breathing hard, trying to keep his anger in check. He knew that he had to back down. But he wasn’t going to be silent about it. “You foul spirit, your day is coming,” responded Brent, seething. He duplicated the demon’s intense stare, refusing to break eye contact. “You will soon be cast into the pit and then the lake of fire. Your pitiful life on this earth will end in painful, fiery, eternal judgment.”
The smirk left the demon’s face, replaced with unadulterated hatred.
“Not before I kill this girl and deliver her spirit to the very same fate.”
Angel. Demon. Human.
Each knew exactly where the other two stood.
This was no game of cat and mouse. Two lives were on the line.
Brent knew that he should be terrified in the presen
ce of this fallen angel, but even the most fear-inducing things can be gotten used to or even overcome.
Ride the most terrifying roller coaster a few times, and eventually it becomes merely fun. Rock climb the wall of a one-hundred-foot gorge enough times, and it becomes merely work. See a demon of death three times, and it merely produces righteous anger backed with intense resolve.
The three remaining spirits in the room—Brent seemed to fit the bill as one of them—were standing their ground. The demon was splitting its attention between Brent and Garian, not showing any fear, but definitely wary.
Brent had been taught that, when encountering a demonic spirit during a deliverance session—a time and method of casting demons out of, or off of, an oppressed or possessed individual—a person is not to engage it in conversation.
Somehow this seemed different, so he ignored the protective ‘rule of thumb.’
“Why is she so important to you?”
The demon was happy to give a retort. “Because she’s important to your God.”
“What’s in it for you? That is, outside of even greater judgment.” Brent thought he saw the dark spirit’s lips draw tighter to its teeth.
“There is no reward. It is my appetite.”
What a repugnant answer! Brent couldn’t fathom the dark truth behind the statement.
“What happens if you release her?”
The death demon only provided Brent with a continued hard stare.
“Will you be punished by your master if you let her go?”
“I do as I please,” the demon hissed.
“Liar!” Garian’s pronouncement startled both the demon and Brent. “Your dark master keeps you on a short leash. Disobey him, and you feel the intensity of his displeasure.”
The demon lashed out. “You pretend that your situation is different! It is no different! Your master would cast you to the same cursed state if you did anything of your own choosing!”
“False,” replied Garian evenly.
“Veritas!”
Brent recognized the Latin word for truth.
“A full one-third of the Host was cast down for an independent thought!” it shouted. “Your master knows no compassion for our kind, only for these putrescent creatures that you protect!”
Behind the Darkness Page 19