by Bill Myers
10
Becka and Scott invited Sara back to Aunt Myrna’s that night. The three of them talked long into the early hours of the morning.
“I’m really sorry for the way I treated you,” Sara said. “I — I was just afraid, after what I did to John and Ronnie, that somebody would try to . . .” She dropped off, then shook her head and resumed. “It seems funny now, but this last week it’s like all these things happened to someone else. Like it wasn’t even me.”
“In a way it wasn’t,” Becka explained. “The more you got involved with voodoo, the more you lost yourself.”
Sara shuddered at the thought. “I’m just glad it’s finally over.”
Becka and Scott exchanged looks.
“Actually — ” Scott cleared his throat, “ — it isn’t over . . . at least not yet. But it can be.”
Sara looked up concerned. “What do you mean?”
“Those evil spirits — they’ll try to come back.”
Sara sank deeper into the chair. “Oh no!”
Scott nodded. “The Bible says they will come back if you haven’t filled up the vacancy they left.”
“Filled the vacancy?” Sara asked.
Becka explained. “The only thing that can protect you from evil spirits is accepting Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior. Once that happens, once he’s in your heart, then when they try to return, you’ll have the authority to stop them.”
“Are you serious?” Sara asked. “I can have that authority?”
Becka and Scott nodded.
“Well, what do I have to do?”
Carefully Becka and Scott explained how Jesus died on the cross to forgive Sara of her sins. They told her about his being raised from the dead. All she had to do was ask him to forgive her, since he already took the punishment for those sins.
“That’s it?” Sara asked.
“That’s only half,” Scott said. “You also need to let him be your Lord.”
“Lord?”
“Yeah, you know — like your boss. The boss of your whole life.”
“You mean let him be the boss instead of me?”
Scott nodded. “No offense, but so far things haven’t turned out so great with you in charge.” He groaned at Becka’s quick nudge to his ribs.
Sara nodded, almost smiling. “Then that’s what I want to do,” she said. “I want to give your Jesus all of my life. I’ve had lots of trouble. I don’t want any more.”
“It isn’t so much that you won’t have trouble,” Becka corrected. “It’s just that Jesus will always be there to show you the way through any troubles you encounter.”
Tears welled up in Sara’s eyes. “That’s really all I’ve ever wanted — somebody to show me the way.”
And so, after they were sure that Sara understood and was serious about her decision, Becka and Scott led her in prayer. Together they helped her ask Jesus to forgive her of her sins and to come into her heart as the Lord of her life. Soon, before they even knew it, all three were crying and hugging one another. They knew it was just the beginning. Sara would still have a lot to deal with. But she no longer faced the battle on her own.
It was nearly sunrise when Aunt Myrna agreed to drive Sara home. And after several good-byes and a few more hugs, Becka and Scott headed back into the house to get some sleep.
“Can you believe it?” Becka asked. “Everything worked out.”
“It sure did,” Scott replied. “Not the way we thought it would, but better.”
“That’s the weird thing about God,” Becka said. “He never does things our way.”
“Guess he just wants it done right.” Scott smirked.
“Guess so.”
Becka was asleep before her head hit the pillow. This time, there were no dreams, no tossing and turning — just sleep. Deep, peaceful sleep — something she had needed for days; something she finally enjoyed.
The next day flew by. Before long, Becka, Scott, and Mom were packed and riding in the car back to the airport.
“Where’re you going, Aunt Myrna?” Becka asked as the car pulled onto the main road and turned left instead of right. “This is the way to Sorrento, not the airport.”
“Oh, I know, honey, but I wanted to show you something.”
Minutes later they passed the library and pulled up in front of Pastor Barchett’s church.
“What’s going on?” Scott asked.
“Just hold on,” Mom said. “You’ll see.”
They climbed out of the car and headed up the steps to the door.
“Good,” Aunt Myrna said, looking inside. “We’re just in time.” She opened the door wider. They all slipped into the church.
Only a handful of people occupied the church. But there, standing up front in the baptistry, were Pastor Barchett and Sara Thomas.
Pastor Barchett was in the middle of speaking. “And do you, uh . . .”
“Sara,” she quietly reminded him.
“Yes, of course.” He cleared his throat. “And do you . . . Sara, fully understand what you are about to do?”
Sara nodded, looking very solemn.
Becka and Scott watched in silent anticipation.
“Then — ” the old man folded her arms in front of her — “I baptize thee in the name of the Father, and of Jesus Christ the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
He lowered Sara back into the water, then lifted her again. She came out of the water looking radiant. Tears of joy mingled with the water streaming down her face.
Becka and Scott joined the others in applauding. But there was another sound — big, booming laughter, laughter that could only belong to . . .
Becka spun around. “Big Sweet! What are you doing here?” She smiled at the two little girls with him.
Big Sweet laughed again. “Why do you say that, Rebecca? I only tried to help Sara. I never wanted her to have such trouble.”
Becka nodded. “You’re right. I know that now.”
He pulled his two daughters closer and continued. “My father taught me voodoo so I could protect myself and my family from bad spirits and curses. Sometimes it works — ” he shrugged — “sometimes it doesn’t. But this Jesus, this Son of Bon Dieu, the God of gods, has much power. I will come by this church now and again to see what I see. What do you think about that?”
“I think that’s great,” Becka said.
“Me too,” Scott agreed.
“I just have one question.” It was Aunt Myrna. “What about my goat?”
“I am sorry, Miss Myrna. It wandered onto my place and joined the others. I did not know it was yours. I will give you one of mine. I will give you two.”
Everyone applauded that decision.
Outside, the good-byes were brief.
“Come on,” Mom fretted, “the plane won’t wait.”
“Did you hear the news?” Sara asked. “John Noey came out of his coma last night. And they think Ronnie Fitzgerald will be okay too.”
“That’s great,” Becka said.
“Looks like you got your first prayer answered,” Scott said to Sara.
She beamed. “And your aunt has hired me to help her out a couple days a week.”
“Well . . .” Aunt Myrna cleared her throat, a little embarrassed. “I can use a good worker like you around the house. Besides, I could stand a little company, now that my family is going.”
“Oh, Aunt Myrna . . . ,” Becka, Mom, and Scott said together.
There was another round of hugs and more than a couple of tears as everyone congratulated Sara and said good-bye.
Then, just before Becka entered the car, Sara whispered something in her ear — something Becka would remember for as long as she lived. “Thank you for showing me the real power,” she whispered as she gave her a final hug, “and the real love.”
Becka’s heart leaped to her throat as she saw Ryan Riordan waiting for them at the airport’s baggage claim. He still had that incredible black hair, warm blue eyes, and of course, that killer smile.
/> “Ryan!” Before she knew it, she had thrown her arms around him.
“I really missed you,” he said, pulling her back to look at her. His smile flashed again.
“I missed you too.”
“What about me?” Scott broke in. “Anybody miss me?”
Ryan scratched his head. “Dunno, kid. That’s a tough one. I’ll let you know if I come up with someone.”
Scott laughed. “I’ll bet Cornelius did.” Cornelius was the family’s parrot. “That poor bird is probably tired of having only Darryl to squawk at for nearly a week.” Darryl was his best friend. “Maybe Darryl’s tired of being squawked at too!”
The rest of the group laughed and agreed.
It was just like old times as the good-natured bantering began. But later that evening, when Ryan joined them at home and asked Becka to take a short walk with him, his mood had changed considerably.
“Beck, I’ve been waiting till we were alone to ask you something.”
Becka caught her breath, hoping for some heartfelt words of romance. But when she saw the look in Ryan’s eyes, she knew he had something else in mind besides romance.
“I really worried about you while you were away. Is this going to be, like, a regular thing . . . you running off to some faraway place whenever that Z guy contacts you?”
“Of course not!” She laughed in relief. “We haven’t heard from Z for a while. I’m sure this was just a onetime thing.”
The tension left Ryan’s face. Once again he broke into his killer smile. “That’s good because I — ”
“Hey, Beck!” Scott ran out of the house.
Oh, great, Becka thought, not at all pleased with her brother’s timing.
“There’s a message from Z on the computer. He has another assignment.”
Her stomach tightened. “What?”
“Yeah, and here’s what’s really weird. He wants you to go without me.”
“Without you?” Becka asked. “Why? Where?”
Scott paused, purely — Becka was sure — for dramatic effect.
“Where?” she repeated impatiently.
He grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Transylvania.”
“Transylvania?” Becka was shocked. “Isn’t that where all those stories take place . . . you know about . . . well, you know . . . ?”
“Vampires?” Scott said, grinning.
“But vampires don’t . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Exist?” Scott asked.
Becka nodded numbly.
Scott shrugged. “According to Z, something over there has got some actress scared out of her wits. He wants you to check it out.”
Becka turned to Ryan, unsure what to say.
But as always, he made it easy. “It’s all right, Beck . . . I understand.”
“Oh, and something else,” Scott said.
They both turned back to him.
“He’ll send a ticket for Ryan too!”
Becka and Ryan stared at each other. Ryan raised his eyebrows.
“In the mood for a vacation?” Becka asked meekly.
Ryan tried to smile. “Sure, why not?”
But she was sure he was thinking the same thing she was . . . Transylvania? Vampires . . .?
What was Z getting them into now?
The Undead
For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.
2 TIMOTHY 1:7
1
She was seventeen — blonde and beautiful.
At least, she would have been beautiful if her features hadn’t been twisted into a mask of terror as she screamed.
She backed up slowly, but there was nowhere to go. She was at the end of a dark alley — a dead end. Her heart beat rapidly, and her eyes were wild as she stared into the darkness. She opened her mouth and screamed again.
Two piercing yellow eyes reflected in the light of a distant streetlamp. Powerful eyes. Eyes that burned with an unearthly gleam. Eyes of hate. Of murder.
The girl stopped abruptly. Backed against the wall, she could go no farther. She pressed against the rough brick, trying to get as flat as possible as the eyes approached. Less than six feet away now, the thing began to move more slowly, as if, now that it knew she was trapped, it enjoyed prolonging her agony. The dim glow of the streetlight held no promise of escape — only one of increasing terror as the evil thing floated into view.
It was hideous.
The girl had been silent for several seconds — either resigned to her fate or too drained by fear to scream anymore — but the screams came alive again when, in the shadowy light before her, that part of the fiend that she dreaded most came into view: two long, glistening, white fangs . . .
“Cut!”
At the word, yelled from the darkness, Jaimie Baylor relaxed against the stone wall.
“Print that one,” the director’s voice came again from the darkness. “It’s a take.”
With that, the alley suddenly came alive. Lights blazed on, crewmen swarmed about, and a dozen voices started talking at once.
Dirk Fallon, the director, could be heard above the others. “That’s a wrap, people. Break down. Please don’t forget to check your morning call times before you leave. Thank you.” Jaimie watched as he walked over to her. Although he wasn’t a tall man, Fallon’s unfriendly nature was intimidating. She knew what was coming and did her best to meet his stern gaze. “Jaimie? I trust you’ll be here on time tomorrow?”
She nodded. “I will.”
Fallon stared intently at her, and she tried not to fidget. “No problems then with . . . things that go bump in the night. All right?”
“No problems, Dirk,” she said, but he was already walking away. She shook her head. He always did that. It was just one of a dozen rude and obnoxious things the man did on a regular basis.
Almost instantly people surrounded Jaimie. A kind-looking, older man from props collected the purse and shopping bag she had been carrying, while a middle-aged woman with brightly dyed red hair took her cape and jewelry. “Just drop the rest off at the costumes trailer before you leave, hon,” the woman told her. “I want to press some of the wrinkles out of this dress before we run it over to makeup to get it bloodied.”
“No problem,” Jaimie replied, forcing a cheery tone, hoping she didn’t sound like someone trying to appear happier than she really was.
“You gonna be okay, kid?” the red-haired woman asked as she folded the cape.
Jaimie smiled at her. “I’m okay, Maureen. Thanks for asking.”
Nearby, the actor who portrayed the vampire held his mouth open while a young girl from makeup carefully removed his artificial fangs.
“Better be careful you don’t cut yourself there,” a man in a bulky sweater said as he walked past the two. Jaimie felt herself relax as she recognized Tim Paxton, the producer of the movie.
“Oh, I’m careful, all right,” the makeup girl replied. “These teeth are more expensive than my own!”
Paxton laughed. “Great job today, everyone.”
“Producers always say that,” the propman joked. “Until you ask for a raise.”
Paxton laughed again, and Jaimie smiled as she listened to the banter. The producer had the kind of laugh that made a person feel good.
“Have I ever denied you a raise, Bob?” Paxton asked the propman.
Bob shook his head. “No, Tim, you haven’t,” he replied. “But then, you’ve never given me one, either.”
They both laughed again, but as Tim walked up to Jaimie, a more serious expression came over his face. “You need an escort back to the hotel? I’ve got a meeting, but I can get someone.”
Jaimie held up her hand. “No, Tim. I’ll be fine. I think I was just . . . getting into my part too much the other night.”
Tim smiled. “Okay. That’s good to hear. But let me know if you need anything.”
“I will,” Jaimie replied.
Tim nodded and moved on, making sure to say h
ello or to joke a bit with most of the cast and crew before they left the set.
“That Tim Paxton is the nicest guy in the movie industry,” Maureen, the red-haired costume lady, said as she watched him disappear into the crowd.
“He sure is.” Jaimie nodded. “Not like some others I could mention.”
They both cast a glance toward Dirk Fallon, who was busy chewing out his cameraman.
“Yeah,” Maureen added. “I’d like to take him over to makeup to be bloodied instead of this dress.”
Jaimie laughed in spite of herself. “Well, I’ve got to change. See you at the trailer in five, Maureen.”
Maureen nodded, but she didn’t glance Jaimie’s way. She was still staring at Fallon and shaking her head.
Twenty minutes later, Jaimie Baylor walked toward the Golden Krone Hotel, feeling better than she had in nearly a week. It was strange enough being only seventeen and acting in The Vampire Returns, a horror movie, but filming in Transylvania put things somewhere out in the zone of weirdness as far as she was concerned.
Everything was geared toward vampires here. Even the hotel. When Bram Stoker wrote his Dracula novel a hundred years ago, there wasn’t a Golden Krone Hotel in Bistrita, but because he had one in the book they wound up building it decades later. And that wasn’t all. Bistrita was full of vampire “landmarks,” from the names of the hotels and ruins of nearby castles to the items on the menus in the restaurants. With dishes like “Vampire Steak” and “The Count’s Chops,” it was no wonder Jaimie had a hard time separating her role in the film from reality.
At least, that’s what she told herself tonight as she walked through the dimly lit streets. It was the only explanation that made sense. Sure, since filming began a week ago, she’d twice thought she’d seen a real vampire on the streets at night. But what else could you expect in a place like Bistrita?
She shuddered as she recalled the first “sighting.” She’d figured it had to be someone in costume, but the second time . . . the second time she was sure whoever — or whatever — it was had been stalking her. It had started with echoing footsteps behind her. Every time she had stepped, someone else had stepped. When she stopped, sure enough, she heard footsteps shuffling to a quick stop behind her. That’s when she had turned around.