He went to the back gate and shook it. It was solid. He retrieved the padlock and secured the gate then gave it another shake.
“Just a wacko,” said Mark.
He headed back through the garden towards the kitchen. His keys rattled against the metal lock as he opened the back door. Once inside, he tossed them back in the drawer, along with the flashlight, and set the bat down on the counter. He made sure that all the windows and doors were locked, just in case. He thought about getting the bat and keeping it with him, but he refused to be paranoid.
“Incredible,” he said as he ran his fingers through his hair, staring blankly at the carpet. He took a deep breath, pushed the near suicide from his mind, and shook his head.
Was the man in the garden really from God? He thought about it and dismissed it as idiocy. It sure was weird. But, he figured, the guy had to have been watching for a while. That was the only explanation.
Mark dropped his hands to his side and titled his head up, then side to side, stretching, relaxing. He exhaled and he felt the first stage of exhaustion hit him.
He thought about eating but felt like changing into something more comfortable first then he’d grab something from the fridge and eat it in front of the TV.
Another long exhalation.
He plodded up the staircase slowly, letting each foot fall loudly on the steps. The door to the bedroom was open and the bed, unmade, lay before him. He headed straight for it and sat on its edge.
The day’s events played through his mind. He had hoped his time alone would be productive but had found that it was anything but. Dejected, he kicked off his shoes and looked at a mirror opposite him on a wall. Staring back at him was a vulnerable, weak man who looked like he had been up for days.
“Crying really takes it out of you,” he mumbled.
He was a disgusting sight, so Mark let himself fall back on the bed to look at something less nauseating, like the ceiling. He stared at the textures, finding small patterns in them.
Images of the garden, the rope, Sotare, and Kathy easily surged through his mind as though they were self-propelled and interconnected. He let them progress freely, not caring about what he thought, just relaxing, not resisting. He closed his eyes. It felt good.
Sotare sat in the gazebo in the dark. He looked over to Nomos, who stood outside the structure. Above them, the two evil creatures still sat in the tops of the trees. Why had they not attacked? What were they waiting for? And why was Mark granted the rare privilege of speaking with an angel?
The presence of the prince was especially perplexing since it meant that a principality was involved. Would the principality show itself, or was Nabal enough to do the job? They did not know. Both angels kept silent, not wanting to think the worst.
***
Mark opened his eyes and squinted. The bedroom light was still on, glaring down on him. With his feet dangling over the edge, his body had gotten uncomfortable and he had awakened. The clock said 2 a.m. He sat up slowly, stretched his back, and once again stared at himself in the mirror on the opposite wall. His hair was matted and his clothes wrinkled.
“You look like crap,” he said. His reflection didn’t answer, so he headed to the bathroom. He was awake, but barely. After using the toilet, he washed his hands and again looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The unflattering lighting in the room was unforgiving; the mirror seemed to reveal his inner character, or at least that’s how he felt.
The images of the day flooded his mind again, causing him to shake his head. Suicide, he thought. I can’t believe how stupid I was.
Staring back at him was a man he saw as a failure who had caved in over unanswered questions. Could he trust himself never to try suicide again? He couldn’t be sure. He walked out of the bathroom, swatting the light switch off. He did the same with the bedroom light and immediately thought about the unnerving encounter with the man in the garden. He wandered back to the bed and sat down, too tired to take off his clothes. His stomach grumbled from hunger, but he didn’t care. He looked at the gray reflection of himself in the bedroom mirror again and immediately noticed that an illumination from outside was shining through a window.
Was there a light on outside?
He walked over to it and looked down into the garden.
What the heck?
A dim light was glowing in the gazebo.
“Great,” he said. “The wacko is back.”
Mark hurried downstairs, went into the kitchen, grabbed the bat, and headed towards the back door in his bare feet. He paused, thought about calling the police, but decided to take care of it on his own. He needed to face this on his own. He opened the door. Mark reasoned that the intruder had turned on the gazebo light, which would make it easy for him to be seen before he was himself spotted.
Mark moved silently, bat in both hands above his right shoulder. The glow from the gazebo was oddly white and full. His heart beat fast and hard. He moved his feet with care, purposely trying to be quiet, breathing lightly, focusing on the light, listening for sounds.
What an idiot, he thought to himself. I should have called the police. What am I doing here?
But Mark knew why he was there. He wanted to meet this intruder on his own, facing the fear and maybe gaining back a little of his self-respect.
He tiptoed along the path. There was enough light to illuminate any stray leaves that might give away his presence should he step on them. He avoided one, and then another. He forced himself to be as quiet as possible, moving slowly, deliberately. His heart beat harder. He gripped the bat, flexed his fingers around the handle, and continued his stealthy movements. Finally, after he had woven his way sufficiently along the garden path to gain a clear view of the gazebo, he saw Sotare was sitting down, looking at him.
Mark was dumbfounded. Emanating from his body was a soft glow of white light. Shadows reached outward into the night sky like angled slivers, fragmented by the latticework of the gazebo, the trees, and bushes, until they finally disappeared into the darkness. Mark stood, bat in hand, frozen.
“Welcome,” said Sotare. “I have been waiting for you.”
Mark stared in amazement. Was he hallucinating? Was it a dream, or was his lack of sleep playing tricks on his mind?
“My name is Sotare. I am an angel sent by the Almighty in answer to your prayer.”
Mark kept the bat elevated and stared in obvious bewilderment. He backed up a step.
Sotare stood up slowly. Mark stepped back again and raised the bat a little higher.
“Observe.” The light from Sotare’s body began to grow more intense. He raised his arms slightly.
Mark watched as rays of illumination forced the shadows to withdraw. The light seemed to pass through the foliage and into him. He stared with eyes wide open, hardly breathing, heart pounding. He was seeing but not believing.
Was he hallucinating? But it seemed too real for that. He focused. The light was real. Sotare was real. It was all real. Then he began to lower his arms, the light began to fade and within seconds, it was back to its original, soft intensity. Sotare sat down. Mark stood frozen.
“The light,” said Sotare, “is both part of my existence as an angel and the result of being in the presence of God.”
Mark was unable to process what he’d just seen and heard. He was still, silent, and could only stare. After a few seconds he began to breathe normally again, but didn’t do anything or say anything. All he could do was gaze at this man whose body was glowing. It was surreal.
Sotare smiled.
Mark didn’t know why, but he sensed that somehow, some way, this man standing in front of him was telling the truth.
He slowly lowered the bat.
“We can talk about Jacob when you’re ready,” said Sotare.
The words hit Mark like slap in the face. He involuntarily stepped backwards and let go of the bat, which fell to the ground, bouncing with a vibrato of wooden thunks before it came to rest. How could he have known about Jaco
b? Who was this person? Mark focused on Sotare’s light and for a moment he wondered if it was really true. It can’t be, he thought. He backed up some more.
“Please understand that I mean you no harm,” said Sotare calmly.
Mark was still moving backwards.
“You need rest. Go up to your room and lie down. You’ll go to sleep quickly and when you awaken in the morning you will be rested. Then, when you get up, eat breakfast, and, when you’re ready, return here to the garden and we can talk.”
Mark stopped his retreat for a moment as he seriously considered Sotare’s words. Could it be real? There he was face to face with this glowing individual! He was right there in front of him, shining—right in front of his eyes. He focused on the light. It was unmistakable. It was real. This person was emitting light! But how was that possible?
Mark looked around quickly to see if there was some trick, some spotlight on him. But he could see nothing.
No, this was real. This man was glowing.
“I will go now and see you in the morning,” said Sotare. Then to Mark’s utter surprise, he vanished. The shock was instantaneous and complete. He stared at the place where Sotare had just been standing. The light gone. Sotare was gone.
Unnerved, he turned around and hurried to the house. Once inside, he locked the door, turned the kitchen light off, and made sure the porch light was on. The outer boundaries of the garden were visible, but its depths were lost in the blackness.
He stood there for several minutes while he tried to calm down. He kept looking out the window, unsure of what to expect. It took a while, but after about ten minutes he moved into the living room.
“What the heck is going on?” He mumbled to himself as he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.”
He looked around the house and listened. It was dark except for the backyard light that filtered in through the kitchen. The pressing silence was almost foreboding and it reminded him of how alone he was.
He looked around, glancing here and there. “Unreal,” he said aloud.
From the kitchen he stared out into the backyard again.
“I saw what I saw.” He exhaled.
Then, out of nowhere, a rush of fatigue seemed to ambush him. The shock of the day’s events was wearing off. It was obvious that he was done.
Mark didn’t know what else to do, so he walked upstairs to the bedroom but didn’t turn on the light. He went to the window and stood there for a while, reviewing the day’s events, the light, the disappearance, all his questions, his frustration, the near suicide, the confusion, everything. It was just too much. He moved over to the bed, sat down, and let his body relax. It was good and he welcomed it.
He looked over at himself in the mirror. The dimly lit room hid his tired features. “Am I crazy?” he asked himself.
He sat staring at himself and periodically glancing out the bedroom window. He was tired, too tired to keep fighting so he lay back on the bed and focused on the ceiling. An image of Kathy crossed his mind and he savored its pleasant effect. Then, he closed his eyes and within seconds he was asleep.
Beside him, Sotare silently stood watch.
Chapter 3
MARK AWOKE TO SUNLIGHT flooding in through the window, dancing across the ceiling, and spilling down the wall. He stretched and, in a flash, remembered the glowing man. He reviewed the memory: light emitting from the man’s body, glowing brightly, sitting calmly, and claiming to be an angel. Then more memories: Kathy had left for the hospital. He had broken down and cried like a baby. He almost committed suicide.
His heart sank.
He would have dismissed it all as a bad dream if it hadn’t been so incredibly true. He got up and walked over to the window, leaning on the sill as he looked out. Sunlight bathed the backyard and a slight breeze gently stirred the trees. He gazed out at the gazebo but could not see if anyone was there.
He headed to the bathroom where he caught his reflection in the mirror. “Are you going crazy?” he asked aloud, testing how the words sounded. He knew he wasn’t.
Was Sotare real? he wondered. Was it all a dream? He focused on his own face. “It was no dream,” he said. Mark remembered the glow. It was unmistakable…unless…well, unless the emotional duress that led him to almost commit suicide had somehow warped his mind. He had been under prolonged strain. Perhaps this Sotare person was a self-induced hallucination he’d concocted in order to help him cope, or maybe it was evidence that the hinges that held his mind in place were coming undone.
Mark furrowed his brow as he thought. “Maybe I am crazy,” he said to himself. “I have been under a lot of stress.” He listened to his own words, but they didn’t ring true. He knew what he had seen. At least he thought he did. It was either real or a figment of his imagination. He visualized the garden below. He needed to get out there. But on the other hand, he wasn’t exactly thrilled with what he might find or, for that matter, not find. It was a bit exasperating. Stalling, he decided to clean up first and grab a bite to eat, as that would allow him more time to think.
In the shower, the water felt surprisingly good. He let it flow over him, soothing him, and washing away his agitation. He stood in place for several minutes, breathing through the stream as it ran over his head and face. He thought about his near suicide and the man who had appeared. He thought about calling Kathy and telling her everything.
He chuckled then said, “Hi, hon. Last night a glowing man appeared in the garden, said he was an angel, and then disappeared. Oh, by the way, I almost committed suicide yesterday. Other than that, I’m doing great.”
He smiled mockingly. “That’d go over well.”
Once finished, he dried off, threw on some old jeans and a loose shirt, and brushed his teeth, all the while casually contemplating his situation. He headed down to the kitchen, poured cereal in a large bowl, doused it with milk, and sat down at the kitchen table with a large glass of orange juice. From there he could see into the garden through the kitchen window. As he cleaned up, the familiar sound of running water and the clanking sounds of spoon, glass, and dishes helped to give him a sense of normalcy. Dishtowel in hand, he mopped up the droplets that had splashed on the countertop. He waited, stalling, preparing himself. He turned the water off and looked quickly about the kitchen. Everything was neat and tidy, just how he liked it. Just inside the kitchen door he saw his bat. It was propped up against the door.
“What the heck?” he said aloud. He walked over and picked it up. Then he glanced out the back door window into the garden. He distinctly remembered dropping it out there, but here it was. He checked the door. It was locked from the inside. How did it get here? He looked around nervously as he lifted the bat to his shoulder, then walked into the living room. It was empty. He went back to the kitchen and into the garage. The door was closed and everything seemed fine. He checked it quickly and then went upstairs and looked in the rooms. All empty. Returning to the kitchen, he looked out the window at the garden. “All right,” he said. “Let’s see what’s going on.” He opened the door and walked outside into the subtle warmth of sunlight and prepared himself for what he might find waiting for him.
The morning air was fresh, not too cool, not too warm. It was perfect. He looked up at the blue cloudless sky. A breeze was softly moving the treetops. He purposely breathed in the clean air as he headed for the gazebo, bat in hand.
Above him, the prince watched. The hideous creature followed Mark’s every move. The slave demon crouched beside its master and with a clawed finger the prince pointed at the man. Immediately, the slave leaped from the treetops, opened its wings, and spiraled downward.
In an instant Nomos appeared between Mark and the slave, holding his wings wide open. The demon abruptly stopped and hovered. It looked up at its master. The prince opened its fanged mouth and growled. The slave continued to hover, waiting for a command. Nomos held his guard until the prince pointed to a branch next to its feet. The demon re
treated in a hurry.
Mark was anxious. He heard only distant birds and the soft rustling of leaves. Other than that, the garden was silent. The gazebo was just a few feet more. There it was, empty. Mark was surprised that he was disappointed.
“Maybe I am crazy,” he said.
He looked around and saw nothing. He leaned the bat against the gazebo entrance and stood there. At least the setting was peaceful. Yesterday had been unnerving to say the least. But, it was behind him. He sat down and looked at the seat where Sotare had sat the night before.
“Okay,” he said with a skeptical chuckle. “Here I am. If you really are who you say you are, then show yourself.”
Mark noticed a movement in the seat opposite him. He watched and then right before his eyes, Sotare simply appeared.
“I am here,” he said.
Incredulous, Mark stared, frozen, eyes wide, until finally he let himself breathe again.
“So, where do we begin?” asked Sotare.
***
Kathy found her father’s hospital room and knocked on the door softly as she slowly pushed it open. John glanced over and as soon as he saw her, he gave her a joyous smile, “Hi, Kathy!”
“Hi, Dad,” she said, heading straight for him.
John reached for her hand. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
She leaned over and gave her father a kiss on his cheek. He held her with the arm that didn’t have an IV in it, savoring her touch.
“How are you feeling?” She held his hand and looked into his eyes.
“I feel fine except for this pain in my side. Strange though, it is a lot better this morning.” He smiled. “Better than I expected.”
“I’m so glad to hear that. You always were a tough guy.” She smiled.
The Influence (Supernatural Thriller) Page 5