Roland snapped his face to Jarret, worry in his eyes.
Jarret picked up another rock.
As darkness filled the sky, he whipped rocks at the ground near Roland and recounted incidents from the past, one after another, as they came to mind. “Remember when I . . .”
The moon rose high and stars filled the black abyss. The cool breeze and the coyote’s cries came more often. Roland had inched his way to the big rock and now sat slumped over, holding his leg. He’d stopped moaning, but he breathed funny.
Jarret’s mind had grown numb. It felt good having confessed all that. Not that he was sorry. It just felt good getting it out in the open. He stopped pacing, let the stone in his hand fall to the ground and looked at Roland. “You hate me, don’t you?”
It took a moment for Roland to make eye contact.
Ellechial
“That’s my boy, Jarret. Let the hate own you.” Deth-kye’s accursed laughter filled the air. Many of the surrounding minor demons sniggered with him.
As much as he despised the touch of the demons, Ellechial let them hold him for a moment more. They had no clue what was about to happen.
Once again, Nadriel held the golden chalice. Angels dressed for battle had appeared and taken control of several demons, all without Deth-kye’s knowledge. He’d been too busy coaching Jarret.
Deth-kye patted Jarret’s face and grinned. “You could kill him yourself, couldn’t you?”
Jarret, with eyes like coal, turned a fist-sized rock over in his hand.
“You have made this easy for me over the years,” Deth-kye said. “I ought to thank you for your cooperation. Only we demons, we don’t believe in that. We seduce and tempt, we rule and control, we manipulate and destroy. We don’t thank.” He slapped Jarret’s cheek and then strolled a few steps away with his hands behind his back and his gaze on Ellechial. “Oh, the sweet victory. I can taste it.”
Jarret gripped the rock and sucked in a breath of air.
“Do it,” Deth-kye whispered in a voice harsh and cold as death.
Behind Deth-kye, Nadriel brought the cup to Roland’s lips. Eyes closed, Roland mouthed a prayer that Nadriel carried at once to Heaven.
Roland breathed and opened his eyes, training his gaze on Jarret. “No.” His voice held strength. “I don’t hate you.”
Deth-kye reeled around, eyes wide and fury written on his face. “Who let that blasted angel past?”
“He was too strong for us,” Self-Pity said, cowering in the shadows with several minor demons.
Deth-kye streaked through the air to the cowering demons and began thrashing and shrieking, cursing and slashing. Demons fell back, clutching their wounded limbs. Some scaled the sides of the canyon. Others spread their scrawny wings and shot into the air.
Within seconds, a bow materialized in Deth-kye’s hands and he drew back a flaming dart, with Roland as his target.
Nadriel lifted his shield with a casual motion as if he sensed no real danger. The other angels simply watched.
Perhaps aware of the futility of letting a dart fly, Deth-kye lowered his bow and spun to face Jarret. “Hate! Hate!”
Jarret’s face contorted with anger.
In a flash, Deth-kye raised his bow and shot. The flaming dart sailed through the air toward Roland. At the same moment, Jarret lunged and kicked Roland in the side.
The flaming dart met with Nadriel’s shield, but Roland grunted and clamped an elbow to his side. “Why are you . . .” He groaned.
“You have to hate me!” Jarret seethed, lifting the stone. “I’ve done so much against you for so long. You can’t forgive all that. Forgive and forget. No, you want revenge. Some things are . . . unforgiveable.”
Deth-kye made ready to nock another dart.
Ellechial cracked him in the ribs and ripped the bow from his hand.
A mocking grin stretched across Deth-kye’s face. He vanished but then reappeared as a small, bat-like creature near Jarret.
Ellechial swung his sword.
Deth-kye shrunk back and circled around to Jarret’s other side.
Ellechial swung again.
The demon shot up and back down, avoiding the brunt of the blade. Then he affixed himself to Jarret’s head, digging his claws in deep. He used this method to retrieve certain memories or to bring up the sins of Jarret’s past: sensuality, lies, manipulation, thieving, drunkenness . . . Lately, he focused on Jarret’s attempts to get Zoe to abort their baby.
“Who could forgive that?” Deth-kye spewed. “God gives life and you wanted to kill it. How could God ever forgive that? How could God forgive all that you have done? Impossible.”
“Jarret, no.” Roland straightened up, his face flinching but his gaze locking hard onto Jarret. “I do forgive you. You’re my brother and I love you.” His lips trembled. “I don’t care what you do to me. I don’t care if you, if you . . . kill me. I still love you.”
Deth-kye shrieked and shot from Jarret’s side as if thrown by some force.
Jarret reeled back, the stone falling from his hand. Rocks slid under his feet as he continued backing up. He spun away from Roland and cracked down onto his knees, dropping his head into his hands.
Ellechial alighted by his side and spread his wings for protection. All the memories Deth-kye had brought to Jarret’s mind in order to deceive him, would now be set straight.
“Remember,” Ellechial whispered.
Jarret
“What’s with all the snacks?” Papa made a squinty-eyed glance at Jarret’s armful of junk food as they walked together to the winery.
“You bought ‘em.” Jarret used his teeth to rip open a package of beef jerky.
“I thought they were for both of us, to eat a little at a time.” He opened the door and motioned for Jarret to go through first.
They descended the steps to the wine cellar.
Jarret chuckled. “There’s more. I didn’t take it all. Besides, you wouldn’t let me get cigarettes so—”
“All right, all right.” Papa switched on the practically useless overhead lights.
Jarret glanced at the racks of wine bottles before following Papa to the back corner of the cellar. The inky darkness visible through the door-sized hole in the wall made him shiver.
Papa opened one of the crates and dug through the supplies inside.
Jarret set his armful of snacks on the other crate, took a bite of jerky, and leaned back.
“Here,” Papa said.
Jarret glanced up in time to see a pair of safety glasses sailing at him.
Papa picked up the sledgehammer and gave Jarret a sly smile. “Ready to tear down a wall?”
“Yeah!” Jarret grabbed the snacks.
They followed the tunnel to where it split off, took the branch to the right, and kept going until they reached the wall under the church.
“You really think there’s a stash back there?” Jarret cracked open a can of Spanish peanuts.
“Well, the monks don’t believe there’s anything under the church. If there is, someone had it sealed up for a reason.” Papa took the can of peanuts from Jarret and offered the sledgehammer as a trade. “I say, it’s here or nowhere.”
Jarret set the rest of the snacks against the wall, donned the safety goggles, gripped the sledgehammer, and stepped up to the wall. “Hey, you know, I found a crucifix down here. Right back there.” He pointed to the crack between the tunnel wall and the wall of stone.
“Oh yeah? Maybe that was a sign.” Papa tossed a handful of peanuts into his mouth.
“A sign? Yeah, right.” He didn’t think God worked that way. Sometimes he wondered if God really existed. Atheists had a few good theories, the Big Bang and evolution and all. Anyway, if God was real, it didn’t mean he talked to people or gave them signs.
“Have at it.” Papa stepped back and made himself comfortable leaning against the tunnel wall and munching on peanuts.
“I’ll have at it, all right.” Jarret drew the sledgehammer back, loving the f
eel of the weight, and anticipating the first swing and the jarring impact. He could see it all play out in his mind even as he swung forward: swinging, slamming, cracking, going at it again and again . . .
He hadn’t been at it long when Papa broke his concentration. Unsure of what Papa had said, Jarret turned to look at him. “What?”
Papa chuckled. “I said, let me know if you want me to take a turn.”
“Oh. No, I got this.” He took a deep breath, turned his face to the wall, and let fly.
Before long, cracks appeared and stones shifted. The wall sank in and a hole formed. Stones and granules of mortar slid to the ground. A cloud of dust rose up.
Breathing through his mouth, re-gripping the sledgehammer, pulling back, swinging, and dragging it back . . . he fell into a sort of rhythm. His mind grew calm. All anxiety left him. The hole had grown in size so that he had to reach high to clear more, but the feeling of euphoria wouldn’t let him stop. His body wanted more.
He drew the sledgehammer back again, ready to swing, when something stopped it and a hand landed on his shoulder.
“Didn’t you hear me when I said to stop?” Papa gave him a hard stare then snatched the sledgehammer from him. “The hole’s plenty big. Nice job.”
Papa set the sledgehammer down and picked up a lantern. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” His sweaty chest rose and fell with every breath, and his heart thumped like crazy.
“Let’s see what’s back there.”
Papa stepped over the debris, his boots crunching on stones, his lantern driving away the darkness and revealing walls that had been hidden for decades. Light bounced off shapes and colors. There was something inside, all right.
Jarret hesitated to follow. He felt like both sides of a magnet, simultaneously drawn to and repelled by what he would discover.
He forced himself forward.
No sooner did he get a boot over the pile of debris than he froze at what he saw. His heart twanged with feelings of longing, of familiarity, of discomfort. He wanted to flee.
Papa mumbled something as he moved around the room. The room resembled a little underground chapel with an altar on the far wall and religious items everywhere else: crucifixes, paintings, statues on pedestals, dust-covered sacred vessels, and candlesticks of all sizes.
All this Jarret noticed as a backdrop, none of it able to compete for his attention. His every thought was riveted to the life-size statue before him. The figure appeared to look directly at him—into his soul—with eyes so realistic they glistened in the light, with a gaze so penetrating it rendered him immobile, helpless, exposed.
Jesus stood there with his arms outstretched and fire burning in his heart. The words of the priest in the confessional rang in Jarret’s mind. “Jesus waits for you.”
Jarret stumbled back. Why would Jesus care about him after all he’d done? He wasn’t worthy of such love.
❖
Doubled over on his knees, Jarret writhed with spiritual agony. Roland had forgiven him? Just like that? No conditions, no payback? Could it be that easy?
No. Not possible. Roland had a reason for saying it. He wanted help getting out of the canyon. That’s what he wanted.
No, that wasn’t right either. Roland had said that he didn’t care what happened to him. He didn’t care if Jarret . . . if Jarret . . . killed him. Kill him? He would never do that, could never do that. He could never kill anybody. Could he? Sometimes his emotions got so hot, so out of control, seemed to rule him. Maybe no bad deed was beyond him.
“Oh, God,” he whispered, “I don’t want that.”
A crack formed in the protective wall he’d built around his heart. Weak and trembling, Jarret uncurled himself but remained on his knees. As he lifted his head—
Light flashed. A single blinding burst less than four yards away.
Jarret flung his arm over his eyes, but the light had already ceased. Had it happened at all? An image hovered in his mind. At the center of the flash of light, had stood a woman in a long gown. And the light had seemed to come from her hands.
Jarret’s hand lifted to his chest, to where the medal hung under his shirt. Then he heard a voice.
Come to me.
The voice, strong as thunder and gentle as a stream, spoke to Jarret’s soul, giving him certainty that he knew who spoke. Yet, who was it?
Jarret looked around him. Roland was some distance away. Had someone else come into the canyon?
A figure in a long white robe stood in the distance, too far to make out, though his voice had sounded near. The man lifted his hands in a welcoming way. Do not be afraid.
Afraid? He wasn’t afraid of anyone, of anything. Jarret broke out in a cool sweat and his body trembled. “Wh-what do you want from me?”
Everything. Hold nothing back. The figure drew nearer, taking slow steps, navigating with ease over the broken ground.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
It is you I want. It is for you that I came into the world. Do not be afraid. Do you not know me?
No, he didn’t know him. And yet . . . Jarret strained to see more clearly, struggled to sift through his mind. He did know him. How did he know him? From where did he know him?
Once the figure had come near enough to make out, Jarret gasped.
Bruises and blood marred the face. One eye was purple and swollen. Yet no distress showed in the man’s expression, only compassion.
Unable to hold his gaze, Jarret slumped over and hid his face in his hands. “Who are you?” He knew the answer even as he asked: Jesus.
Jarret struggled to rise above feelings of worthlessness, guilt, and fear. With furtive glances, he made himself ask, “What happened to you?”
Sin did this to me. He turned his hands palms up, revealing wounds of deep red. Love allowed it.
The Lord sat on the ground near Jarret and rested his arms on his raised knees. I have waited long for you. Do not make me wait any longer. Do not let your sins and weakness stand in the way. Can’t you see that I love you?
Jarret’s heart wrenched. “How can you love me? I’ve lived a life of . . . of pleasing myself, of doing whatever it took to get what I wanted. I . . . I’ve sinned.”
He paused and forced himself to behold the man. “I did that to you.” He indicated the Lord’s hands with a glance. “I don’t think about you, about what I’ve done to you or what I do to you.”
The Lord smiled. I know everything about you, Jarret. I know the number of hairs on your head. I know your every sin. I know your fear of surrendering control, your longing for love, for intimacy. I know the loneliness you feel inside, how you feel like half a man. I have been with you through it all.
“No.” The words struck him, convicting him like flaming darts that burned but did not consume. Jarret hid his face again.
You have closed your heart to me, but I stand at the door and knock. Open to me. Only I can fill the void in your heart.
“You can’t possibly want me after all I’ve done. I’m not worthy of your love.” As he spoke the words, he began to realize that love was possible. Roland had shown him this. If Roland could still love him after all he had done . . .
Jesus put a hand to his chest. A golden, flickering light showed through the fabric. Pulling back the robe, he revealed His Sacred Heart.
Jarret threw his arms up to shield his eyes from the brightness. The light reached him anyway, but it caused no pain. He lowered his arms and gazed upon the flames burning in His heart. Unable, now, to tear his gaze away, his own heart ached with a feeling both new and familiar. He longed to immerse himself in the flames.
The Lord closed his robe. It is for sinners that I have come. Your misery attracts my mercy. Your sins, many though they are, are as a drop of water compared to the immense furnace of my merciful love. Give them to me, and let me be your Savior. He held out his hands, palms up. Open to me the door of your heart.
Sorrow for his sins welled up within him. Jarret flung himsel
f into the arms of the Lord and wept.
CHAPTER THIRTY
SALVATION
Jarret
Jarret had never bawled so hard in all his life. The feeling of the presence of the Lord had diminished somewhat, enough that he could move. Utterly drained and body trembling, he pushed himself up from where he had collapsed.
Moonlight created patterns on the canyon floor, lighting up rocks and the far wall. Roland sat in darkness. His breaths came steady but short.
Jarret grabbed onto a boulder and pulled himself up. As he stood straight, the blood seemed to drain from his head and glowing gnats filled his vision. Afraid of passing out, he dropped to his knees and crawled to Roland. “Hey.” His voice came out as a whisper. He had so much that he needed to say, he didn’t know where to start. He wanted to apologize and ask for forgiveness. But first, he had to find a way to help Roland.
“You awake?” Jarret said.
“Yeah. You okay?” Roland’s voice trembled.
“Me?” Roland must’ve heard him sniveling or something, probably thought he was losing his mind. “I’m gonna find a way to get you outta here.” He stood and steadied himself then took two steps and stopped. “Are you cold?”
“Yeah, I’m freezing.”
“I think I can make a fire.” He had a lighter and he’d seen a couple of dead trees at the other end of the canyon. Yeah, he could make a fire and maybe a splint for Roland’s leg. “I’ll be back.”
Stepping on moonlit stones, Jarret stumbled toward the far side of the canyon. How had he let this happen? He deserved the broken leg. Not Roland. What if he couldn’t find a way out of the canyon? What if he couldn’t get Roland out? Would Roland die down here?
Jarret’s heart pounded violently with remorse.
Do not despair. Jesus’s merciful love washed through him, strengthening him to move onward and giving him hope. He could do this. He would get them out. He would get Roland to safety. Somehow.
Dry branches lay on the ground all around the dead mesquite trees. Jarret gathered the ones in his path as he made his way to one of the dead trees. He would get an armful and head back.
Battle for His Soul Page 26