by Bill Myers
The crowd watched in horror and fascination.
And still the battle continued. Snapping teeth, tearing flesh. The man’s face and arms were covered in blood. Some of the others worked in closer, hoping to snatch away the little girl. But it was still too dangerous.
The snarling changed to gasps and grunts as the father wrapped his bleeding arms around the animal’s chest and began to squeeze. If he couldn’t break its neck, then he would crush it to death.
The dog yelped and writhed, twisting its head, lunging for the father’s face, but the man continued to squeeze. With superhuman strength he began breaking ribs, crying in rage until he let the animal slip a foot between his arms, then grabbed its head and lathering muzzle and jerked it hard to the right.
The dog went limp and dropped to the ground.
The little girl shouted and started toward him, but she was immediately swept up by the surrounding men.
Chest heaving, dripping in sweat and blood, the father looked down at his arms, at his torn and bloody clothing, and finally at the dog that lay at his feet. He was as dazed and as astonished as anyone.
Others approached, motioning him to follow, careful not to get too close, lest they, too, become infected by the saliva.
“Did you see it?” Tanya turned in amazement to Brandon and Salman. “Did you see what he did? How he risked his life?”
Salman nodded. “He is the father.”
“Such love, such anger. I’ve never seen anything like it. No one else would get in there. But he did. And did you see what he did to that animal?”
“It was about to destroy his child.”
“Yes, but such passion … and rage.”
“He is the father.”
As Brandon watched the scene, his understanding grew. God’s anger, His wrath had nothing to do with the throwing of what Tanya had called temper tantrums. Instead, it had everything to do with His love, with His overwhelming passion for His children. Instead of petty rage, it had everything to do with awesome love … and with destroying the very thing that was destroying those He loved. Because, as Salman had so clearly put it:
“He is the Father.”
CHAPTER 11
Dearest Sarah,
I’m constantly amazed at how great God’s love is. It seems every time I turn around I see it appearing in deeper ways. Of course I’m clueless about how to use all this information to “warn the bride.” Then again it’s better I don’t know or I’d probably freak. I guess not knowing is just another part of that love.
What you said about Eric’s EEG doesn’t sound good. If strong delta waves are what demoniacs and psychics experience during their trances … and if that’s what Eric’s brain is doing
when Heylel is around, then I think it’s pretty clear we’re talking possession. As a Christian it shouldn’t be a problem for you to send him running … if that’s what Eric wants. But if he doesn’t, that’s a whole ’nother ball game. Let me know what happens.
Is the heat as unbearable where you are as it is here? And the pollution from those volcanoes — the sky here is getting so thick with haze that it’s almost impossible to see the mountains just across the valley.
I miss you, Sarah. Not a moment goes by that I don’t think of you. Sometimes it’s in the way I hear a person laugh, or see them tilt their head, or when I watch other couples together. It’s like you’re everywhere. Everything speaks of you and reminds me how much I want for us to be together. Of course I wish you would write more, but I understand when you say you’re so busy. But not forever. Soon we’ll be back in each other’s arms, and we’ll never let each other go again. I look forward to that moment with all of my heart and with all of my soul.
Yours forever, Brandon
Sarah closed the lid to her laptop computer. Of course he was right about Eric. The kid was displaying typical signs of demon possession. Well, not quite so typical. Because this Heylel, or whoever he was, was not displaying typical signs of being a demon. The profound insights he was sharing with the Cartel, the intense visions he was giving the child … these were not normal for what she’d confronted in the past. Still, everything else pointed in that direction … and she knew what course must now be taken.
Then there were Brandon’s comments about the drought and the volcanoes. Who knew what effect the millions of tons of contaminants in the atmosphere would have? At one point a third of the world had reported “darkness at noon.” And it was anyone’s guess how those pollutants would affect the rest of the ecosystem. People were already complaining about water so bitter that it was unfit to drink. And it would only get worse.
But neither of these issues weighed as heavily upon Sarah as the other. She sighed wearily as she snapped off the computer and walked barefoot across the worn pine floor to her dresser. She slid open the top drawer and looked at Brandon’s neatly folded shirt. She reached down and unfolded it. As always, the women of the compound had done an excellent job washing the clothes. Every morning they left for the river with baskets full of dirty laundry. And every afternoon they returned with wonderfully clean and fresh-smelling clothes.
She pressed the shirt to her face and drew in a deep breath. There was only the smell of soap and fresh water now. No trace of Brandon remained. She felt the burning in her eyes. The tears happened almost nightly now. She peeled off her clothes, letting them drop to the floor, and slipped into his shirt. She crossed toward the bed, holding one of the sleeves to her face. There was nothing at all.
She curled up under the blankets. It was late, but sleep would not come. The knot in her stomach and the heaviness in her chest made that impossible. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was hurt him. He was such a good kid, so committed, so loyal. But that was the problem, he was a kid.
And Lucas Ponte was a man.
She rolled onto her side, pulling the spare pillow into her and clutching it tightly.
To the angel of the church in Pergamum write:
These are the words of him who has the sharp, double-edged sword. I know where you live — where Satan has his throne. Yet you remain true to my name. You did not renounce your faith in me, even in the days of Antipas, my faithful witness, who was put to death in your city — where Satan lives.
Nevertheless, I have a few things against you: You have people there who hold to the teaching of Balaam, who taught Balak to entice the Israelites to sin by eating food sacrificed to idols and by committing sexual immorality. Likewise you also have those who hold to the teaching of the Nicolaitans. Repent therefore! Otherwise, I will soon come to you and will fight against them with the sword of my mouth.
He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it.
Brandon woke within the ruins of a large round room. There was no sound, just crickets and a soft wind blowing across the dry grass of the Bakir Valley. The moon was nearly full, but because of the smoke high in the atmosphere, it produced a red hue that gave an eerie glow to the crumbling walls above him. He rose up on one elbow and spotted Salman sleeping a few yards away. At first he didn’t understand why the man slept curled on the dirt with no blanket to soften the hard ground … until he looked down and saw that he was sleeping on two.
Earlier, Brandon had complained about the rocky ground, and Salman had offered him his blanket. Of course Brandon had refused. But after he had fallen asleep, it appeared that Salman had stolen over and somehow slipped it under him. Brandon smiled. The greatness of the man’s heart continually surprised him.
It had been Salman’s idea for the two of them to sleep here at the Sanctuary of Asclepion, just a couple miles below the main acropolis. “It was one of the main healing centers of the world,” he had said. “Named after the ‘healing god.’ ” He’d given Brandon a wink. “Something you can relate to, I am sure.”
It was also upon Salman’s
insistence that Brandon had agreed to sleep inside the remains of this treatment center, or dream house. “It is where the patients used to sleep,” he’d said. “It is where they waited for Asclepion to give them dreams for the priests to analyze.”
Although Brandon wasn’t superstitious, he wasn’t crazy about sleeping in the remains of some building once used for occult practices. But, between arguing with Tanya — who kept wanting to chronicle his pilgrimage “for the folks back home” — and visiting the mind-boggling sights up on the acropolis earlier that afternoon, Brandon had little energy to argue.
Yet now he was wide awake.
When sleep showed no promise of returning, he rose and stepped out of the ruins. High above he could see the acropolis hovering in the distance, its white marble pillars glowing crimson in the moonlight.
“Where Satan has his throne,” that’s what Christ had said of the area. But what did that mean? And where was this throne? Brandon had been up on that hill all afternoon but hadn’t found an answer. Nor did he receive any further insights into the letter. Maybe that’s why he was unable to sleep. And maybe that’s why he had this sudden compulsion to return. Without the noise of tourists, the incessant chattering of Salman, or the scrutiny of Tanya and her cameraman, maybe now he could learn something.
It would take less than an hour to climb back up to the top. The night, although bathed in the moon’s unearthly red glow, was peaceful, and the solitude would be a good time for waiting upon the Lord. Although, even as he started forward, Brandon nervously wondered what time would ever be good for visiting Satan’s throne.
“Dr. Martus … Dr. Martus, over here!”
Sarah looked up from her papers to see one of Lucas’s aides motioning to her. The pressroom bustled with noise and confusion as members of the Cartel and other significant figures took their position onstage. Last-minute adjustments were being made to lights, makeup, and the pleats on the navy blue backdrop curtain. The reason? Less than an hour ago the Cartel’s scientific team in Brussels had found the cure to Scorpion.
Now they were about to make it public.
“Dr. Martus …” The aide continued motioning for her to join them.
Sarah glanced to the other distinguished members taking the stage, then turned back to him and shook her head. He’d obviously made a mistake; she had no business being in their company.
She returned to the report that had been thrust into her hands, a copy of the preliminary findings. Although viral diseases were definitely out of her field, from what she understood, the results looked very promising. No wonder everyone was so excited.
“Dr. Martus …” It was Ponte’s voice. Her head jerked up, and she saw him standing on the back riser, motioning for her to join them.
She pointed to herself. “Me?”
“Come, come,” he called, “you’re part of this, too.”
She hesitated, not understanding.
“Carlos, Deena,” he called to his aides, “please help Dr. Martus up here.”
A moment later Sarah was being guided through the crowd and up onto the platform.
“Over here.” It was Lucas again. “Please, bring her here, beside me.”
The crowd parted, not without a few raised eyebrows. Sarah felt her ears growing warm as she moved up the risers, until she was standing beside the grinning Lucas.
“What do you think?” he asked, referring to the report in her hands.
“From what I can tell it looks great.”
His grin broadened. “Good, good …”
“All right, everybody, if I may have your attention, please?” It was the press secretary, a short man with a nasal voice. He was clapping his hands and calling from below. “May I have your attention. If everyone would look this way, please?”
Sarah and the group turned toward him. He was surrounded by a small battalion of video and still photographers. Lights blazed as cameras whirred and clicked. Instinctively, Sarah’s hand rose to tug on her hair, but just as quickly Lucas reached out, took it, and gently brought it down to her side. She shot him a quick look of gratitude, but he did not respond. Instead, he continued posing and smiling for the cameras. He was, however, doing something else. Hidden by the others in front of them, he continued to hold Sarah’s hand.
And she did not withdraw it.
The climb was steep, but Brandon made good time. In fact, he was surprised at how quickly he’d arrived. Unfortunately, that wasn’t his only surprise. He’d not quite crested to the top of the hill when he heard rustling in the grass behind him. But it was more than rustling. It sounded like rushing water. Lots of it. He threw a look over his shoulder and saw that the entire hillside below him was now alive with snakes. Millions of them … slithering through the grass, crawling over rocks, and swarming across the broken ruins. He knew they weren’t real. They couldn’t be. At least not real in the physical sense. It was a vision, like so many he used to have — back when heaven had first called him, back when hell had used every power at its disposal to stop him. But, vision or not, it was just as frightening. And, on another level, just as real.
They came from the Asclepion healing center he’d just left. He suspected they represented the snakes the people there had worshiped as part of their healing. He didn’t know if they were poisonous. He wasn’t sticking around to find out. Although tired and winded from his climb, he picked up his pace.
As he stumbled up to the top of the hill, the first ruins to come into view was the Altar of Zeus. Only now it was no longer ruins. Instead of five rows of broken steps leading to rocks and grass, it was now a magnificent altar with dozens of polished marble stairs along with intricately carved reliefs, columns, and statues. And there, standing at the top, directly behind the altar, was a dazzling bright form of a man at least ten feet tall.
He radiated such power that, at first, Brandon thought it might be another vision of Christ. Or at least an angel. He glanced over his shoulder. The snakes continued their approach up the hill. Maybe the creature would stop them, maybe it would protect him. But as Brandon turned back to him, he noticed the eyes. They burned like Christ’s, but instead of burning with love, the flames flickered and leaped with hate.
Brandon continued to run, veering to the right to give the thing a wide berth. That’s when it roared, shaking the very ground under his feet. He stole a quick look over his shoulder and to his horror saw that the creature had started down the altar steps. And there was only one place it was going … after him!
Already exhausted from the climb, he forced himself to keep running. He staggered up a slight knoll and entered the large flat area that Salman had described earlier that afternoon as the Sanctuary of Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war. But instead of the broken pillars overrun with grass and shrubs that he’d previously seen, there was now a giant two-story marble building and gate. And exiting that gate, heading straight toward him, was another figure of light, almost as tall, but female. In her arms she carried several books. Her mouth did not move, but he could sense her calling out to him. There were no words, but he felt an incredible attraction to her. A powerful impulse to sit down and discuss what was happening, to search the books she was holding for some clue, to put their heads together and try to reason out what was going on.
But this was not the time for sitting and reasoning. The snakes were gaining on him; so was the creature from Zeus’s altar. He darted around her to the left … and a moment later she, too, had joined in the pursuit.
Up ahead was where the library had once been. Salman had said it had contained two hundred thousand scrolls. When it was standing it was the second largest library in the world. Well, it was standing now. And as far as Brandon could see, there were no glowing giants or slithering snakes anywhere around it. That was good enough for him. Near exhaustion and gasping for breath, he staggered toward it hoping to find someplace inside to hide and rest.
He arrived and entered the first room of the massive building. That’s when he heard the vo
ices. At first only two. They came from the shelves. No, they came from the scrolls on the shelves. He didn’t understand the language, but they were murmuring, as if alive. Others joined in. He sensed they were giving opinions, advice. Soon there was a dozen — each trying to be heard above the other.
With legs turning to rubber, he stumbled through the dimly lit room. The voices grew in number, hundreds of them now, coming to life as he passed the shelves, shouting at him, yelling at him, desperate to be heard.
He entered a second room. More voices. Growing to a roar. Deafening. He covered his ears. He had to get out. He couldn’t think. He forced his legs to keep moving, but they no longer had feeling. His lungs burned for air. Off to the side, he spotted the red glow of moonlight. It was coming through a distant doorway. He headed for it, staggering, stumbling, fighting to keep his balance until, finally, he burst outside into the night air.
He could go no further. He had to stop and lean over, to fill his lungs, to regain his strength. The voices faded only slightly, but even that was a relief. So many attacks on so many fronts. Why, God? he prayed. What’s going on? Glancing up he saw he was standing on the top row of a huge amphitheater. Just beyond, off to the right, was the temple of Bacchus, the wine god. Tell me, what are You trying to say?
Suddenly he felt his spirit quicken, his understanding expand …
This is exactly what the people of Pergamum had faced every day of their lives. The occult practices of Asclepion, the hostile Greek and Roman religions, the spiritual warfare, the intellectual reasonings, the overwhelming information — all constantly attacking their minds and their spirits. And when the assault was too much — Brandon looked down to the theater and over to the temple of Bacchus — they had plenty of diversions to distract and numb the pain.
I know where you live — where Satan has his throne. Yet you remain true to my name. You did not renounce your faith in me …