Battle for His Soul

by Theresa Linden

  “What could they be . . .” Still in his socks, Keefe dashed after them.

  He jogged through dew-laden grass, slowing as he neared the edge of the woods. The songs of the early morning birds drowned out any sound the friars made.

  Keefe stepped through a row of lush maples and oaks. Then he saw them.

  They stood in a small clearing between thick-trunked trees, a lush canopy of leaves overhead. Books in their hands, eyes to the pages, a few of them spoke in unison. When they stopped, the others replied in unison.

  Keefe drew nearer but remained hidden behind trees. His eyebrows lowered and rose; he couldn’t make out what they said. To get closer, he’d have to step out where they could see him. He looked up and scanned the branches of the trees.

  “Not a good idea, Keefe,” Monettello said.

  Keefe scurried to a tree with a few low branches and climbed.

  Monettello stretched out his wings. “Keefe, please think about this. The branch that extends over the friars may be well hidden, but it is not a good climbing branch. Do not be afraid to approach them. You need not hide. They will welcome you.”

  Keefe climbed with great dexterity and soon reached the overhead branch. He inched forward.

  Though concerned for his safety, Monettello smiled, admiring Keefe’s determination. A man discerning his vocation can do crazy things.

  The friars continued their back and forth exchange, the words becoming clearer now to Keefe, judging by the joy in his eyes.

  O God, you are my God, for you I long, for you my soul is thirsting. My body pines for you like a dry, weary land without water. So I gaze on you in the sanctuary to see your strength and your glory.

  Keefe’s eyelids flickered, and he mouthed, “For you my soul is thirsting.” When he scooted forward for a better view, the branch creaked and dipped. He clung to it, his knuckles turning white, but his legs slipped.

  “I’ve got you.” Monettello extended his wings and moved beneath him. He would make certain Keefe sustained no injury.

  The friars turned as Keefe’s legs swung down. They stopped mid-prayer, gaping as Keefe dropped from the tree and landed on the ground with a grunt. He rolled onto his back.

  “Keefe!” Brother Leo, the oldest, darted to his side. “Are you okay?”

  Panting to catch his breath, Keefe glanced from one brother to the next, for they had all gathered round now. Red-faced, he nodded and pushed himself up on his elbows. “I’m fine.”

  Two smiling brothers took him by the arms and helped him to his feet.

  “I think Brother Zacchaeus would like to join us,” Brother Leo said to the chuckles of the others.

  “Zacchaeus? I kind of . . . Well, I can’t, really.” He glanced at the friars and brushed dirt and leaves off his clothes. “I’m only seventeen. I-I’m not done with high school, and I . . .”

  The friars laughed outright, one of them slapping his arm.

  “I only meant for Morning Prayer,” Brother Leo said, straight-faced now and with a fatherly kindness about him. “If you would like to join us, you can share my book.”

  “Oh. Morning Prayer.” Keefe gave a little laugh, sounding quite relieved. “Yeah, sure, I’d like that.”

  They returned to their places in the clearing and lifted their prayer books. Keefe stood beside Brother Leo. With wings held high, Monettello joined the other angels in carrying the prayers to the heavenly throne.

  On the way back to the house, Keefe walked alongside Brother Lawrence. After a few words on the beauty of the woods in the early morning, Brother Lawrence asked a question.

  “Have you ever considered a religious vocation?”

  The question threw off the beating of Keefe’s heart. “Me? Well I . . .” He paused to take a breath. “I don’t know. I think God’s been trying to tell me something for the past few months. I’ve changed a lot of things in my life, and I’ve been praying, asking, but I haven’t received a definite answer. I like the idea of a life dedicated to God. But . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t do it now.”

  A squirrel scampered across their path.

  Brother Lawrence’s gaze followed the squirrel then drifted back to Keefe. “You are too young?”

  “Well, yeah, that’s one reason.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  “Discernment is a process,” Brother Lawrence said. “Pray, reflect, listen to the Lord. And perhaps you would like to keep in touch with us. Then once you graduate—”

  “No. It’ll be longer than that. I have—” He shut his mouth, glanced away, then continued. “I have a twin brother. We’re pretty close. Or, well, we used to be before I changed my view of life. He’s going down a hard road right now, and I really believe that I’ve got to help him. Besides . . .”

  He smiled, looking Brother Lawrence in the eyes. “I don’t think I’m good enough for this way of life. I mean, I don’t think I’m worthy.” His gaze dropped to the ground. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the past, and I don’t have any talents, besides being good at a few sports. But I don’t think those skills would—”

  “You can’t think like that.” Brother Lawrence touched Keefe’s arm. “If the religious life were only for those who felt worthy, there would be no religious. We are all unworthy. Besides, your skills could come in handy. God surprises us sometimes.”

  Monettello rejoiced. “Do not be afraid to make a commitment, Keefe. Trust in the Lord.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TESTING

  Jarret

  Thumbs in the belt loops of his denim shorts, Jarret paced the shrine and tried to keep his gaze from landing on anything in particular. The strange feelings he had experienced the night before hit him again the second he’d crossed the threshold and dipped his finger in the holy water font. Why should the place make him feel one way or another?

  “It’s twelve and a quarter inches tall.” Selena stood on tiptoe, measuring the height of a plaque of the Last Supper. Roland had said it was made of cast stone and stained with an antique finish.

  “Are you sure?” Roland sat on a kneeler, clicking away on his laptop keyboard. His dark hair fell in his eyes, making him appear childish. Way too young for Selena.

  Selena put a hand on her hip. “Of course I’m sure. I know how to use a measuring tape.”

  Roland glanced at her out of the top of his eyes, his forehead wrinkling. “Oh. I didn’t mean—”

  She laughed.

  He smiled and exhaled. Idiot. Did he think he could win Selena by cataloging her father’s trinkets?

  Jarret rolled his eyes and stepped between them, facing Selena. “I know you go riding in the mornings. Why don’t you ever take me?”

  “How do you know I ride in the mornings? Are you spying on me?”

  He huffed.

  “You wanted to go?” She removed the Last Supper plaque from the wall and turned it over, her eyes on it and not him.

  “Yeah, I already told you that.”

  She clicked her tongue, her gaze snapping to him.

  He took the plaque from her and handed it to Roland. “Why don’t we let Roland do his thing, and you and me can go riding now? I’m dying to go riding. I’m having withdrawals.”

  Selena laughed. “Withdrawals? From riding?”

  “Yeah, I ride every chance I get at home.” His conscience gave him the slightest prick. Their groundskeeper, Mr. Digby, ended up grooming and exercising the horses more than anyone else. But Jarret did ride his horse, Desert, more than Keefe or Roland rode theirs.

  She smiled, squinting at him as if she couldn’t decide whether or not to believe him. “It’s so hot right now. We can ride later, in the evening. We can all go.” She leaned, looking past him to Roland. “Do you like to ride?”

  “Yeah, sure. I love to ride.”

  “You love it, huh?” Jarret shot a wicked glare at Roland.

  “Good, then it’s settled.” Selena looked from one to the other. “We’ll go riding tonight.”

  Roland snapped a f
ew pictures and placed the plaque in Selena’s waiting hands. Selena returned it to the wall.

  “Oh, you know who else was at the dinner party?” she said, turning around.

  Jarret groaned. Did she have to keep on with the obsessive conversation that Roland had started?

  “You mean the night Saint George was stolen?” Roland said. “Who?”

  “My mother’s friend, Becca. The woman is so annoying.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “Why is she annoying?” Roland said.

  “She and my mother have been friends since high school. I guess they both came from poor families and Becca, unlike Mamá, married a man of modest means. Anyway, now she always makes comments about our family’s wealth, like she’s jealous and can’t get over it.”

  “What’s her husband like?”

  “The same. Less vocal. And they have three kids, two boys and a girl. One is my age. The other two are adults now, on their own, but sometimes they still come with her. My mother invites her over several times a year. I don’t know why.”

  “Was she at the last dinner party?”

  “Mm-hmm. And so was her oldest son. He shares her attitude about our wealth.”

  “Did they go out to the shrine?”

  Selena shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “What about shopping?” Jarret said, moving in on Selena. “Where do you shop around here?”

  Her serious expression turned into a smile, amusement in her eyes. “What do you need?”

  He stopped less than two feet from her and shrugged. “Nothing. But I like to shop. You got a mall around here? Some kind of dinky desert mall?”

  “Sure, there’s a little mall near here, but if you really like to shop, you want to go to Tucson.”

  “So take me,” he said, meaning to sound suggestive.

  Roland clicked his tongue and shook his head. When he turned away, his eyes locked onto something on the floor, and his eyebrows twitched.

  “I don’t have a car,” Selena said. “I just turned sixteen.”

  “You should have a car.” He risked touching her hair, finding it as soft as he had imagined it to be, and finding her undisturbed by his action. Did she like him? “Maybe my father will let me borrow his rental. Would you go with me then?”

  She glanced at Roland who had set his laptop down and was heading across the room. His gaze was on the floor under the shelf where Saint George had once stood.

  Jarret sneered. “What are you looking at him for? He’s gonna want to do this all day. He’s a papa’s boy.”

  “Give it a rest.” Roland glared then dropped his gaze and squatted. “If you want to go shopping, go shopping. I’d like to go too but, yeah, I’m gonna finish what I started.”

  “Why can’t we do both?” Selena asked.

  Jarret shook his head and walked away from her. “‘Why can’t we do both?’” he said, attempting to imitate her voice. “Is that your standard answer? Doing both means we do what Roland wants first.” His gaze slid to her silky hair. He really needed to get her alone, get her mind off Roland. They could have fun.

  Selena gave him a strange, narrow-eyed look for two seconds then walked up to him, hands on hips. “Think you can borrow your father’s car?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay. Let’s see what we can do here, then we’ll go to dinner in Tucson and shopping afterwards. And after we get back . . .” She smiled and her eyes lit up. “. . . we’ll take the horses out.”

  The way she stood so close to Jarret, with her hands on her hips and looking him dead in the eye, made him want to lean down and kiss her. But he let a smile spread across his face instead. “When you say we . . .”

  She dropped one hand to her side and used the other to stifle a laugh. “I mean all three of us.”

  “Of course.” He sneered at Roland, working up to another sarcastic remark when an idea came to his mind. Maybe Roland wouldn’t be able to go.

  “What do you think that is?” Roland stood up, pointing to the floor.

  While Selena and Roland investigated a small brown splotch on the floor, Jarret worked on a plan.

  Chapter SIXTEEN

  LISTENING TO THE VOICE

  Ellechial

  Jarret climbed the staircase in the Zamoranos’ house. Ellechial glided alongside him, bombarding Heaven with prayers. If he did not perpetually behold the face of God, Jarret’s present frame of mind and his devious plan would cause Ellechial deep sorrow. Especially knowing that Jarret never turned away from an idea once it got wedged in his mind.

  Jarret stopped at the bedroom door, glanced inside the brown paper bag he carried, and reached for the doorknob.

  Roland looked up as Jarret stepped into the room. He sat at a small circular table, his fingers resting on the keypad of his laptop. A yellowish light from a corner lamp shone behind him in the otherwise dark room.

  “Greetings and praise be to God,” Nadriel said to Ellechial.

  “Now and forever.” Ellechial sighed. “Be on guard, my friend.”

  “Always.”

  “Hey there, little brother.” Jarret set the bag on the dresser, between a stack of towels and a statue of an angel, then turned around and stared at Roland for a moment. “What’re you up to?” His tone lacked its usual arrogance.

  “Organizing my notes.” He typed another line but then stopped, probably sensing the change in Jarret’s attitude. “What’ve you been up to?”

  Jarret jabbed his thumb in the direction of the bag. “Went with Papa to the drug store.”

  “What time is it?” Roland checked the time on his laptop even as he asked the question. “You going to shower? Selena wants to leave for Tucson in an hour.”

  “An hour? So it’ll be at least two hours before we eat anything. I need something now.” Jarret turned to the bag. With slow deliberate movements, he brought two bottles of juice from the bag, cracked one of them open, and lifted his gaze to the dresser mirror. His pupils dilated, making his eyes appear black as he studied his brother through the mirror.

  Roland had resumed typing and rocked slightly, oblivious to Jarret’s scrutiny.

  “Don’t do it,” Ellechial said. “You’ll regret it. It’ll only make you—”

  Deth-kye’s callous laughter filled the room. He appeared as a charred, lanky figure crouching on the dresser on the side opposite the angel statue. “Why do you bother? He doesn’t hear you. Has he ever listened to your advice?”

  Ellechial’s wings drew back. “He has.”

  “Not since he was two.” Deth-kye spit out the last word and grinned. “He’s mine. You are unable to touch him, and you know it.” Deth-kye leaned his face close to Jarret’s and whispered seductively, “You have to do it. How else will you get Selena all to yourself? You see how she likes him as much as, maybe more than she likes you. Get him out of the way. Let Selena get to know you one on one. You can have fun tonight.”

  Jarret’s eyelids flickered and, frowning, he reached into the bag again and drew out a bottle of liquid sleep aid. After taking a long swig of juice, he refilled the bottle with the vanilla-flavored drug, secured its lid, and shook it.

  He turned around smiling. “Thirsty?”

  Ellechial wept and lifted prayers to Heaven. If only he had permission to fight. He needed grace from prayers and sacrifices.

  Roland glanced up from the laptop. “What?”

  “I picked up some juice.” Jarret strolled over, opened the bottle of tainted juice, and handed it to Roland. “It’s a juice cocktail. It’s pretty good. I had one earlier.”

  Roland glanced at the juice then squinted at Jarret, a hint of suspicion in his eyes. “For me?”

  “Don’t drink it,” Ellechial said to Roland, then to Nadriel, “If he doesn’t drink it—”

  Nadriel shook his head. “God allows it. I am certain it will work around to His greater glory.”

  “You foresee things, then, that I do not. Jarret’s disregard for Roland, I have always feared, may one day lead to great tr
agedy.”

  “Today is not that day.” Nadriel spread his wings and gazed upon Roland with love.

  Ellechial sought refuge in prayer.

  Deth-kye hopped off the dresser, cackling. With a taunting gleam in his eyes, he strutted toward the angels. “You might as well go. This is my show now. Or you can stay, watch it unfold. I do like an audience.”

  He waved his lanky, charred-red arm dramatically as he said, “Act one.” He strutted to Jarret and draped his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Jarret pretends to like Roland. The naïve sap believes him instantly.”

  “You look shocked.” Jarret gave a friendly smile, one that Roland had rarely seen directed toward him.

  “It’s just that—”

  “Yeah, I know. I never do anything nice for you.” He returned to the bag on the dresser. “I got pretzels too.” He ripped open the pretzel bag, tossed a pretzel in the air and caught it in his mouth. Then he sat on the end of Roland’s bed, the one in the middle of the room. “Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.”

  Deth-kye burst out laughing and flung himself onto the bed. “Turning over a new leaf . . . Isn’t that superb?”

  He sat up and wiped his face, removing the hideous grin. “Act two . . .” He slunk up behind Roland and peered at him over his shoulder. “Roland drinks of the tainted juice,” he said in a stage whisper.

  Roland lifted the bottle to his mouth. “Thanks.” He took a swig, gulping down almost half the contents. When he lowered the bottle, he squinted at the label. “Tastes strange, sweet, like it’s got vanilla in it.”

  Jarret lifted his own drink. “Yeah, but it’s good.”

  Juice in hand, Roland joined his brother on the bed. He crunched a few pretzels and drained the juice.

  After fifteen minutes of small talk, Roland’s expression evened out and his focus waned. He stared into space for a moment, blinked a few times, and then asked, “Do you think someone tried to break into the chapel after the locks were installed?”

  Jarret’s eyelids flickered with a look of annoyance. Then he grinned and downed the last drop of his juice. “Do we have to talk about that? Do you really think you’re gonna catch the thief? You know Papa doesn’t want you involved. What’re you gonna say when he realizes you’re all hung up on it? I have half a mind to rat on you.”