Gather The Seekers

by Vince Milam

  “St. Peters. Lutheran.” She stared him in the eye, locked and loaded.

  Texas had received a large population of German immigrants during the nineteenth century, many Lutheran, and Cole was pretty dang sure few of the pastors among their generational offspring would appear as she did. But he smiled back, and asked, “What part of the world?” Please don’t say Texas.

  “San Francisco.”

  Cole smiled wider. “Pretty city. I like it.” On his one visit, he had indeed enjoyed it. A unique funkiness, and the geography was drop-dead gorgeous.

  Jude eased off and halfway smiled back.

  “How about you, Bishop? If you don’t mind me asking,” Nadine said.

  “Now why in the world would I mind, Ms. May? The Tabernacle of the Divine Spirit. Nondenominational. Evangelical. Culpeper, Virginia.”

  “Okay,” Nadine smiled back. “Okay, although I’m unsure what that means.”

  Luke chuckled. It came to Cole as a noise reverberated from a barrel. “What it means for this group is Great God Almighty has called us. The Good Book tells all, if we are willing to listen. And the Enemy lives, now, on this good earth. And we have been brought together to address the Enemy.”

  “A little earthly ass-kicking, for sure,” Jude added.

  Luke raised an eyebrow at the “ass-kicking” reference. Nick smiled and looked from Luke to Jude.

  “Yeah, well, we—Cole, Francois, and I—have some experience in that regard. The Enemy thing. Although Francois has done most of the heavy lifting,” Nadine said.

  “Bon. Bon,” Francois said as he grabbed Jude and Luke’s hands across the table. “Allow me to suggest this is an appropriate time to dine. Prior to great details, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Agreed,” Luke said. “I’m more than a little hungry. You too, Nick?”

  Nick nodded back, said, “Sure,” and continued to watch the six of them with wider-than-usual eyes.

  “And so,” Francois declared. “We shall break the bread. For we have gathered. It is wondrous and a gift, most certainly.” The priest fought back more tears, blinked, failed. He did not wipe them away.

  “A coming together,” Jude agreed. Her eyes welled as she smiled.

  “Oui. Let us dine. And organize. Perhaps organize a plan to channel this love. For I fear, tous mes amis, the Enemy gathers as well.” Francois paused to signal the waiter as the air became cool and dusk settled. “My dear Jude. My dear Luke. Does this sense of the Enemy collecting reside within you as well?”

  “Big time,” Jude said. “I mentioned it to Jean in passing, but I’ve been unsure. Unsure of this gift, unsure there were others.”

  Luke took Jude’s hand and smiled an affirmation. “I can testify. The Enemy gathers. As do we. Ours is a righteous assembly, brothers and sisters, full of power and grace.”

  “And so,” Francois said, joy and determination mixed in his countenance. “We shall plan.” He looked to each at the table. “A plan of battle.”

  Chapter 12

  They ordered dinner and discussed backgrounds. Jean confirmed Cole’s assumption—big city cop, retired. As Cole skimmed his background as sheriff, he caught an appreciative nod from Jean. She saw another cop. Another comrade-in-arms.

  Francois underplayed his background, an element of self-deprecation that was unexpected. Cole and Nadine countered with tales of Francois’s past exploits, bringing admiration and wonder from the group.

  Nadine garnered looks of respect when Nick mentioned he’d heard of her at DHS, and used the term “legendary.” She and Nick took off on a tangent of names and associates they had both worked with. Luke brought them back to more immediate matters.

  “An eclectic group here gathered,” Luke started. “Surely, God’s will. Do we have common bond with regard to the Enemy? We cannot waffle on this. We must understand what we face.” His low and emphatic voice poured gravity over the setting.

  Nick squirmed. Jean leaned back, deadpan.

  “Bon,” Francois said. “A starting point. Belief. Most apropos.” He paused to lift his hands, palms up, toward Nadine and Cole. “My two compagnons have come to understand. To believe. Slowly, to be sure. Doubts cast—perhaps by the Enemy, my dear Luke—and yet they have come to believe. With reservations. A process, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Same with Jean,” Jude said. “A process.”

  “You mind if I speak for myself?” Jean asked. Jude shrugged and puffed her e-cig. “It’s been a bumpy road,” Jean continued. “I’ve dealt with lots of evil bastards. Oakland isn’t Disneyland. But this is new. The supernatural component still grates. Discordant.”

  “Well, Cole and I sat in the same boat as you, Jean. And you, too, Nick,” Nadine added. “But we’ve had several hellish experiences. Direct contact. Up close and personal, and they scared the bejesus out of me and I didn’t want to believe. But the data is there. Hard evidence.”

  “Cole?” Jean asked.

  “Yep. Nadine’s right. It’s real. They are real.”

  “I’ll bust right in here,” Jude said. She sat upright, agitated. “So. The Enemy. Let’s get beyond this Western civilization crap. In most parts of the world, the concept of a war between spiritual good and spiritual evil is not a strange concept. And it’s racist, or at least Eurocentric, to assume they’re wrong and we’re right.”

  “Jude,” Luke said. “The cursing. Please.”

  “We don’t have time for that, Luke. No apologies.” Jude bounced in her chair. “There are bigger things on our plate. We have to work together. Work together and kick this thing in the nuts.”

  She’s wound pretty tight, Cole thought. But she understands teamwork.

  Jude’s emphatic statement brought silence to the table. A flock of ducks whistled overhead as they set their wings for a river landing.

  “Let’s can the nut-kicking for the moment,” Jean told her friend and turned to the group. “I’m not denying evil. Lord knows I’ve seen a ton of it. It’s the ‘not of this world’ element I’ve got a problem with.” Jean turned back to Jude. “And don’t hang your cultural guilt trip BS around my neck.”

  “Sorry,” Jude said. “Really. I’m sorry. But we are culturally narrow. Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims, and Christians in other parts of the world don’t stumble over the belief in supernatural evil. It’s part of their lives.” Jude took a drag of her e-cig and exhaled vapor through her nose. “I don’t understand why we think we’re so much damn smarter than everyone else. That’s all I’m saying.” Jude smiled at her companions, then finished her drink. “Gotta love a good martini.”

  “Eloquently put, Jude. But again, there’s no need to curse,” Luke said.

  “I’ll really let it rip if that waiter doesn’t show up with our drink order soon,” Jude replied. “And you, Nick? Do you have a grip on what we face?”

  Nick shifted and cleared his throat. Luke gave him a focused look, calm and empathetic. “Well, the bishop makes a compelling case,” Nick said. “Although I haven’t experienced one of them, as Sheriff Garza says. But the bishop has something special working. No question.” He cleared his throat again. “And I don’t want to wet-blanket this whole affair, but I represent Homeland Security. And real efforts of terrorism—human efforts—are my focus.”

  The waiter arrived to deliver another round of drinks. The spring twilight carried coolness and clarity. Tall, thick cottonwoods sheltered calling birds, and trout rose to feed on the evening insect hatch in the slack shallows.

  “Perhaps we should describe the Enemy, so as to assist our Monsieur Capellas,” Francois said. “And to assist us all in this quest. Let us define the adversary.”

  Nadine mentioned the temperature, and several others remarked on the evening chill. Cole and Luke grappled several large outdoor propane heaters scattered across the patio and repositioned them around the table. The waiter joined to help, and lit the heaters. The red glows provided warmth and a soft light to the conclave.

  “So these spiritual forces of evil,” Jean sa
id. “Who exactly are they? I’ve heard from Jude. I’d like to hear from others.” She looked around with a wry smile. “It would help me with the belief aspect. And, yeah, it’s a cop thing. Just the facts, ma’am.”

  Luke leaned over the table, an action sufficient to give him the floor, and addressed Jean. “Fallen angels. Minions of Satan.” He paused and scanned them. “The Enemy.”

  Francois blew smoke into the air, well above their heads, and raised his wineglass as a speaker’s stick. “Not of flesh and blood. The nature of evil. A challenge to accept. Yet we cannot understand evil unless we accept this.”

  “I understand where you’re coming from, Jean,” Nadine said and addressed the group. “It’s the whole supernatural walking evil that causes pause. It sure did me. And Cole. That’s a biggie, folks. And I get it, now. But it doesn’t lessen the skepticism for someone unless they’ve faced one of them.”

  As usual, a great point, Cole thought. We’re asking Jean and Nick to hit the deep end based on our experiences.

  Food arrived, and they kept quiet while the waiter served them. Joggers on the Greenbelt passed by, working out the winter kinks. They picked at their food, too absorbed to eat. Even Francois laid his fork down to lean back and light a smoke.

  “The flesh and blood evil we struggle against,” Luke said. His tone held calm assuredness. “Cruelty, violence, racism, war. Much of this belongs to something beyond the human and natural.”

  “I’m not trying to be a skeptic, Bishop,” Jean said. “And I’ve experienced Jude’s weird sense. It’s what got her and me here. But evil spirits in the background pulling the strings is a big pill to swallow.”

  “Please call me Luke. And yes, this reality is a challenge to grasp. Especially when given our current culture of infatuation with the size of folks’ rear ends and their sex habits. But it is a reality.”

  The food remained untouched. They formed as a team, found common footing.

  “Nick, where is your head with all this?” Nadine asked. “I know the DHS concerns—real and immediate—but I mean on a personal level.”

  “Look,” Nick began. “I was raised Greek Orthodox. Lots of ‘fight off the devil’ stuff. Tradition. And that’s how I viewed it. For years. So it will take a while to turn around. If I can.” They waited as he sipped his beer. “And no, I can’t account for the depth and pervasiveness of evil. I can’t explain it.”

  “The Bible doesn’t have that problem,” Luke said, patting his companion’s back.

  “Yeah, well, I’m a product of what I’ve seen and lived,” Nick said. “Call it Western prejudice. Or one-dimensional. Whatever. But it’s who I am. The other factor I can’t shake is how strange this whole event is. I mean, look at us, and what we’re discussing. You have to admit it’s weird. Damn weird.”

  “No need to curse, Nick.”

  Francois gripped one of Nick’s hands, eyes intent. “God has given men and women the capacity to choose good or evil in their lives, no? The free will, no?”

  Francois smoked, waited.

  “Alright,” Nick said. “I’m with you.”

  Francois turned to Jean. Her pursed lips accompanied a tight nod.

  “But understand this, mes amis. God created two races. Humans, oui. But also angels. Some of them fell. Through their choice. Satan and his demons. Turned against God.”

  Cole scanned his fellow travelers, the air filled with sincerity and considerable depth of feeling. No accusations, no derision.

  Jude raised her e-cig vaporizer, a staff in small hands. “Back to Western civ,” she said. “We have a big-ass issue with this in the modern world. Fallen angels. Supernatural evil. Because everything has a natural cause. Everything has a scientific explanation. Bad psychological factors. Bad sociological factors. Has to be a natural cause. All we gotta do is figure it out. Figure it out and fix it. What total bullshit!”

  Cole checked Luke and anticipated another cursing rebuke. None came.

  “But it’s not cut-and-dried,” Nadine said as she laid a hand on Jude’s arm. “I’m sorry. Even with all I’ve seen with Cole and Francois. It’s just not that simple. There are sociological factors. There are psychological factors. Factors to affect and shape the person.”

  “Amen on that,” Jean said. “Check out the Oakland ghettos. Child abuse—physical and mental. Hopelessness. Depraved actions driven by despair and, yeah, evil. But that’s with a heavy dose of social and psychological elements.”

  “Well, if we don’t want to overplay that hand—the supernaturally induced hand—where’s the line? What’s the criteria?” Nick asked the gathering.

  “Ah. I fear you shall be disappointed with the answer, Monsieur Capellas,” Francois said. “These elements of which the Mademoiselle Jean speaks. Social. Psychologique. Oui. They exist. But aggravated by Satan. Manipulated, worked.”

  “You’re suggesting a sophisticated approach, Father Domaine? Nuanced?” Nick asked.

  Oh, no, Cole thought. An open barn door for Francois to go full esoteric. And Nadine will jump right in.

  Luke slammed the door shut. He slapped his massive hand on the table to precede his point, rattled the dishes, and addressed Nick. “It is simple. You believe in God? Then you believe in a good, loving supernatural being. Why not believe in bad ones? And their effect on our lives?”

  Jean, through conscious effort or a cop-like demand for clarity, shifted the conversation. “Okay, but it’s the transition from supernatural to physical where I’d appreciate clarity. For instance, if I pop a cap in one of these evil entities, does it have an effect?” Jean asked. She looked around the table.

  “Good question,” Cole said.

  “No. It will have no effect. None. I have witnessed such an event,” Francois said, his voice low and final.

  “Really?” Nadine asked, before Cole could do the same. “In Mexico? You saw?”

  Francois had yet to reveal details of his previous battle with a demon, and the current revelation surprised both Cole and Nadine.

  “Oui.” Francois leaned forward, inspected his food, and ended that line of conversation—to Cole’s disappointment. “Bon. Let us partake of this sustenance. My expectations are quite low in this regard, and yet we must maintain our strength. And more wine, of course.”

  “I’m with you, brother Francois,” Luke said, scooting his chair closer to the table. He’d ordered the twenty-ounce prime rib. In front of him it appeared as a very reasonable amount of food. “Don’t require the wine, but I’m hungry. Let’s pray.”

  Luke led the simple meal prayer as they held hands, circled. A potent calm energy flowed between them. Questions and contentions faded. A need for unity and understanding and belonging overrode the brief moment of dissonance. The collective atmosphere relaxed, and everyone began to dig in.

  Francois had ordered three potato side dishes—roasted garlic mashed potatoes, caramelized onion and gruyere sliced potatoes, and a large Idaho baked potato, slathered with butter and sour cream.

  “I’m worried you’re not consuming enough carbs, bud,” Cole said. “Did you forget hash browns?”

  Francois, between bites—each accompanied by noises of critique—gulped wine and said, “I have researched our location. This Idaho. One must adopt to local custom.”

  They spoke of locales and family and life. The Bay Area. Virginia cuisine. Jean’s husband, Sly, in Bolivia. Traffic. Texas heat. Banjo. They began to form a team. A band of brothers and sisters.

  Night river noises filled the air. Ducks chortled from pockets of backwater, and an osprey screeched a call to an unseen mate.

  The waiter removed the plates and enquired of dessert, an opening Francois could not resist. He ordered three sweets, seven spoons, and coffee and cognac for all.

  “I don’t drink, brother Francois,” Luke said.

  “It shall not go to waste, mon ami.”

  Nadine bummed a smoke from Francois and started the next leg of the gathering. “There’s a reason we’ve gathered here. B
esides becoming acquainted—which has been great. Outstanding. And a relief.”

  A gentle murmur of agreement passed among them along with a few amens. “But here’s a secular infusion. Newton’s third law. Equal and opposite reaction,” she continued. “What’s the feeling? The sense? Three folks at this table have the radar. The gift, as Luke calls it.”

  Deference appeared to cause silence among Francois, Jude, and Luke. Cole waited, Nadine’s fingers tapped threes on the tabletop, Jean halted her spoonful of layer cake, and Nick swirled his cognac.

  Cole broke the ice. “Jude, what are your thoughts? Any horrific events headed our way?”

  The floodgates opened. “I more than sense it. I know it. No specifics, but I feel it with every fiber of my being,” Jude said.

  “Storm clouds gather,” Luke affirmed. “A great effort by the Enemy.”

  “Oui. A wave. A wave of horror. To be sure.”

  The three carriers of the gift attempted to define and clarify their sense. Ideas bounced around the table, a blend of ecumenical and practical ideas, thoughts. A consensus accepted, without definition or location, but filled with conviction.

  Jean sipped coffee and commented, “How do we fight all of this? Specifically. A cop thing, again. But we’d better talk about it.”

  Francois, Jude, and Luke focused on the ex-cop from Oakland, incredulous.

  “You speak of Spiritual Warfare,” Francois stated. “Is this not so?”

  “Yeah, I suppose. But the nitty-gritty of how to defeat it. Tactics,” Jean said.

  Cole pointed his beer bottle toward her and softly added, “You’re fixing to be disappointed with the answers, Jean. Believe me, I’ve been there. More than once.”

  “With the armor of God!” Luke said, animated.

  “We rely on God’s power, not our own!” Jude added.