Deliver Us From Darkness

by W. Franklin Lattimore

  5:15 P.M.

  LOATHING SOUGHT TO reestablish itself within Tara. She peered into the courtyard, staring at two people who were sitting on the ground as she walked toward her dormitory. She wasn’t certain that she had correctly identified the guy until she was able to clearly see to the other side of the girl.

  Ah-ha! She hadn’t been mistaken. There, sitting next to the girl against the oak was Goodie-Two Shoes himself. Of course, she could just walk right by them and go into her dorm without either of them being the wiser, but that held little interest.

  Goodie was obviously one of two things: either a male witch who was able to take her spell and bend it back toward her or, more likely, a devotee of Christ. She’d had run-ins with them before. For whatever reason, her attempts to affect Christ-followers most often met with failure. Most often.

  Back when she’d had the added fortune of being part of a coven—before deciding to further her education—her high priestess, Stephanie, had warned her about these Jesus-followers.

  “They must be handled with caution,” she had said. “Most who have become Christians only call themselves Christians after their conversions. They are happy with being ‘saved’ but don’t let their religion get in the way of their preferred lifestyles. With these you have little to worry about. They are not your enemies.”

  Stephanie had then looked dead into her eyes and continued, “However, be warned. Those who follow The Way are not the same. It is not that they are stronger, but more difficult. Our masters are constantly warring against their ‘God,’ and, as in any war, there are victories and there are defeats. We win some against them, and we lose some. If you choose to battle, pick your fight carefully. In the same way that they seek to disarm those of the Dark Way, we must disarm them before launching an attack. Otherwise we can be on the receiving end of the pain. Get them to drop their guard. Then go for the jugular. To trip up or bring down a Christian is challenging, but always rewarding. The gods will sometimes reward those who engage and win against Christlings.”

  Tara decided as she drew closer to the oak, that she was going to throw caution to the wind. Let’s see how fast I can get to the jugular.

  5:16 P.M.

  BRENT STARED A moment longer at the dormitory and got a chill. “You think that if someone actually did send something my way, that he or she lives in that building?”

  “Not necessarily that one, but maybe one of them surrounding the courtyard. I mean, it probably didn’t take much more than looking down here to find a target.”

  Brent thought a moment, and then said, “So, I could have just been a random mark.”

  Marta was about to say something when a girl rounded the tree and stood in front of them. She looked strangely familiar to Marta, but she couldn’t immediately place her.

  The girl, wearing a black T-shirt, black jeans … black everything, seemed to be composing herself to say something.

  Brent broke the awkward moment of silence. “Hi. What’s up?”

  The girl fidgeted. “Uhh. I need to say something.” Her right hand went up to her hair and began to tangle it between her fingers.

  Brent stood up. “Are you okay?”

  Tears began to fill her eyes. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for what I did.”

  Brent, now confused, asked, “For what? I don’t think we’ve ever met before. Have we?”

  That’s when it hit Marta. She stood up and said, “Oh, now I remember who you are. You’re the girl who directed an elbow to his rib cage a few days ago.”

  The girl looked down at the ground. “Yes. That’s right.”

  “That was pretty mean!”

  Brent touched Marta’s shoulder. “Marta, it’s okay.” Then, waiting for the girl to look up again, he said, “It’s okay. Thank you for apologizing.”

  The girl just stood there, continuing to look at her feet. Her shoulders began to quake.

  “Hey, now. Are you okay?” asked Marta.

  The girl fell to her knees, sorrow heavy in her eyes, and shook her head. “No. No … I’m not all right. Nothing’s all right.” She was on the verge of breaking down.

  Brent and Marta both crouched down beside her. Marta began trying to comfort her. “Whatever it is … It will be all right. It will.”

  Brent asked her for her name.

  “Tara. Tara Baker,” she replied, composing herself. She started to stand up and mumbled, “I’m sorry. I … I’ve got to go.”

  “No, it’s okay. You don’t have to go. Would you like to sit and talk?”

  Tara sniffled and said, “Really? You don’t want me to go?”

  “No, of course not,” said Brent.

  Marta took Tara’s left hand in her right and reassuringly eased her down to have a seat with them on the grass. “I’m Marta.”

  “I’m Brent.”

  “I’m emotional,” said Tara, bringing out the laughter in all three of them.

  This couldn’t be going any better, thought Tara. Playing them like a … what’s the name of that violin? She gave up on the name. Like a Stratocaster.

  Violins were no match for a well-played, heavy-metal guitar.

  She had succeeded.

  Tara walked into the lobby of her dormitory, victorious. She had won them over and was now their new best friend. She giggled. How dismal she must have sounded to them. And in return, she received an abundance of their pity. Poor, poor Tara, they must be thinking. She has so many problems, and we’re going to help her fix them. Rarely had Tara put on such a performance; the tears, the appearance of utter hopelessness.

  “Academy, where is my Oscar?!” she nearly shouted as she entered the elevator. Pressing “6”, the doors closed. She reflected on the story that she’d given Goodie and Girly-Girl. It was a story that she was going to have to keep straight in order to play her part successfully.

  She had “explained” that her anguish had resulted from her boyfriend having just broken up with her, throwing her into a major depression. She had lashed out at Brent because he was a guy—a guy that happened to be in target range.

  Then she told them that the reason, she thought, that her boyfriend had broken up with her was her constant alcohol binging. She told them that she hated both her ex-boyfriend and herself for creating such a mess. And finally, she said that she couldn’t get her head back into her studies and that she was afraid she was going to fail the semester if things didn’t change soon.

  It was all lies, of course. Not a word of it was true. In fact, right now she was too busy for a boyfriend because she was concentrating so much on her sophomore-year studies. She was actually carrying a 3.7 GPA.

  But they bought it all, hook, line, and sinker … and bobber. She giggled again.

  Of course, Goodie had started in with the whole “God” thing. She’d expected it once she realized that he wasn’t a witch. The guy probably hadn’t so much as told a white lie since he was five years old. Goodie Two-Shoes to the core.

  Now, Miss Girly-Girl was a different story. She could tell that Marta had probably come from the other side of the tracks. And Tara knew she would have to watch out for her. She didn’t seem as trusting as Brent. Even so, she seemed to have bought the story as readily as he.

  Keeping the deception going was the key. They had offered to pray for her needs. And as long as they were praying for needs she didn’t have, Tara suspected that Goodie and Girly wouldn’t create too many problems when it came to using their Christianity.

  Both her mentor in the craft, Stephanie O’Leary, and her spirit guide, Shalinar, had warned her against being the focus of targeted prayers. It was to be avoided at all costs. Better to have Christlings praying for non-existent challenges than real ones. Tara didn’t understand why the warnings were given, especially if Christlings were actually misled weaklings, but caution would be maintained anyway.

  The diversion would also keep them from suspecting her when it came to the torments that Goodie, and now Miss Girly, would experience. She’d have to b
e careful, though, and bide her time. She mustn’t have any more attacks seeming to coincide with their “chance” meeting in the cortyard today. Yes, wisdom was called for.

  Devious wisdom.

  7:07 P.M.

  BRENT AND MARTA walked away from The Great Oak feeling better than they had when approaching it a couple of hours earlier.

  “Maybe God used what the enemy meant for evil last night to bring us back here to do some good today,” Marta offered.

  “Wow. Good thought. All’s well that ends well, right? If some good comes out of my weird experience, then I’m satisfied.”

  They walked a few more paces, heading toward the off-campus apartment that Marta shared with two other roommates. Brent reflected out loud. “Interesting girl.”

  “Yeah. Interesting,” said Marta. “Pretty screwed up. But it sounds like she really wants some help. She didn’t really seem interested in hearing about God, though.”

  “No. At least not yet. She basically gave us a list of things that we can pray for, though. When God starts answering our prayers for her, I’m sure she’ll become more receptive.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “I always am.” Brent looked over and presented a big, toothy grin.

  “Want another elbow?”

  Marta woke up after a restless night of sleep. Two nights in a row. She couldn’t understand what the problem was. She hadn’t had any bad dreams … that she could remember.

  Wiping sleep from her eyes, she walked blearily into the kitchen for her first cup of coffee. As she stepped toward the counter, she slipped on a notebook that lay inconspicuously on the floor. She caught herself from falling with a quick grab at the counter. Her heart raced and her face flushed with anger.

  She bent down, picked up the spiral-bound book with the name Catlynn Jacobson on it. “Cat!” she called out. “You nearly killed me!”

  Catlynn came around the corner into the kitchen with a puzzled look on her face. “Huh?”

  “Your notebook was lying in the middle of the kitchen floor. I slipped on it.”

  “Marta, I’m sorry.” She thought for a moment and said, “Lisa must have knocked it off the counter this morning.”

  “Lisa’s still in bed. Friday—no early classes.”

  “Then, I’m stumped. I know I stacked it with my other books right there.” She pointed to the neatly arranged pile on the counter next to the refrigerator.

  “It’s no big deal, Catlynn. I’m okay. Forget it.”

  Catlynn went back to getting ready while Marta reached up to get a coffee cup out of the cabinet. Maybe I shouldn’t have any coffee. I’m already feeling a bit jittery. She reconsidered. Jittery though she may be, the last thing she wanted to do was add a lack-of-caffeine headache into the mix.

  “Lord,” she whispered, “please, help me get through this day.”

  12:13 P.M.

  MARTA WALKED INTO her U.S. Constitution class and found an empty seat. Brent wasn’t there yet. She sighed. If he was late again, she’d have to wait until after class to express her emotions about the awful day she was having. The day was dragging, and it was all she could do to stay awake. Her second cup of coffee from Mocha Manz didn’t seem to be helping.

  She yawned.

  Professor Bauer walked in, took off his rain coat, and hung it up on a hook behind the door. He sat down behind his desk and opened his old brown leather briefcase. Taking out some papers, he set them on the desk beside him, closed the briefcase, and set it on the floor.

  “Good afternoon, Professor Bauer.”

  Marta turned her eyes to the door. Brent was all smiles as he walked in.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Lawton.” The professor made an exaggerated effort to look at his watch. “It’s only 12:15. Starting a new lease on life?”

  Brent grinned. Finding Marta, he started down the row leading to the seat next to hers. “Hey, you,” he said. “How’re you doing?”

  Marta began to say her typical “I’m good,” but opted for a touch of honesty instead. “I’m having a bad hair day.”

  Brent smiled. “Doesn’t look like it.”

  “It’s my light way of saying it’s been a bad day.” She conceded a little bit of a smile. Just being able to say it allowed a slight bit of relief.

  “Sorry to hear that. Anything in particular going on?”

  “No,” she said. “Just a bunch of little things. It’s just my day for the universe to turn its attention toward me. Can’t wait for the day to end, though.”

  She turned her attention to Brent. “You seem to be in a good mood.”

  “Well, actually, I am. I woke up this morning and just felt like everything was…” He thoughtfully chose his next word. “… honky-dory.”

  Marta laughed in spite of herself. “Nice description, Grandpa.”

  “So, you’re not exactly feeling the same, huh?” asked Brent.

  “Oh, I’ll be all right. Just glad you’re here to complain to.”

  Brent grinned and looked at his watch. “Umm, I think I’ve got to be someplace.” Marta hit him in the arm.

  Professor Bauer stood up and said, “Well, looks like everyone’s here a couple minutes early today, so why don’t we get started?”

  Brent turned his focus to the front of the class.

  Marta nervously began biting her fingernails. Again.

  6:15 P.M.

  BRENT FINISHED HIS meal. His parents were nearly finished with theirs as well. He got up from the table in the family room and, picking up his plate and glass, walked into the kitchen. The plate was nearly in the sink when his father called in. “Rinse it, and put it in the dishwasher, Brent. Don’t leave it for your mom to do.”

  “Okay,” he mumbled under his breath, lifting the plate back up. He turned on the water, rinsed the remaining mashed potatoes into the garbage disposal, and put it into the dishwasher. He walked out of the kitchen not at all liking how he felt. A funny thing, conviction. It was certainly designed to keep people from making mistakes, but so often Brent found that it was loudest only after he’d been caught trying to get away with something.

  To have moved from open rebellion against what his parents had required of him six years ago to where he actually felt conviction about such small things as a dirty plate was amazing, albeit perturbing at times.

  Still, Brent was growing. And in the midst of it, he had found that the more he was willing to give in to the Holy Spirit’s leading—his conviction—the more often the Spirit could be heard. Brent was amazed that the third person of the Trinity was not just willing to make himself known, he actually wanted to converse! Sometimes it was almost too much to fathom.

  He walked back into the family room and picked up his Bible from the coffee table. Tonight was Freedom Rings night, and he was looking forward to meeting up with George Chamberlin.

  As he turned around to head back through the house and out to his car, his mom called, “We received another letter from Lydia today.”

  “That’s great! Where is it?” Brent asked.

  “It’s on the dining room table,” his dad replied. “Part of the letter was written to you.”

  “Cool.”

  He stepped into the dining room and found the envelope that was addressed to The Lawton Family from AB Lydia Lawton at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas. He smiled. He still couldn’t get out of his head that his little sister had joined the military. The military!

  A year out of high school, Lydia couldn’t decide where she wanted to go with her education. A friend of hers had said that she was going into the military to help pay for college. As for Lydia, she knew she didn’t need help, because their mom and dad had already set aside money for her education. But she was directionless and didn’t want to go to college just to flounder. Her friend, Jessica, had asked her to go to the local recruiting station to provide a little moral support. The next thing they knew, they’d both committed their lives to four full years of active duty service in the United States
Air Force.

  That did not go down well with their mom and dad. Brent had seen that first hand.

  Lydia had walked confidently into the house and called out, “Mom! Dad! Can you come into the living room?” When they both walked in, she announced, “I know what I’m going to do with the next four years of my life.”

  Keith Lawton crossed his arms and displayed a mirthful smile. “Oh really, now. And what would that be?”

  Brent remembered that his mom’s face showed no discernible emotion; not until she’d heard Lydia’s next words: “The military.”

  “The what?” Sharon Lawton croaked out. “Ho oohh no you’re not.” Her look became stern.

  “The military?” asked his dad with a raised brow.

  “Yep.”

  Brent stood there wondering if this was another of Lydia’s little pranks. Sometimes she’d tease Dad just to get a reaction.

  “You can’t,” his mom had continued.

  “Well … I…” began Lydia.

  Narrowing his eyes slightly, their dad asked, “What did you do, Little Girl?” The mirthful look was gone, though he hadn’t registered anything beyond a focused curiosity.

  Lydia took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Then she came right out with it. “I already signed up.”

  “Nooo!” their mom cried, immediately devastated.

  It appeared that Dad took the announcement in stride. “Okay. Well, that’s done. No going back now.”

  “What do you mean, ‘No going back’?” his mom responded with a look of desperation.

  “Well, if she’s signed up, she’s signed up. Neither you nor I can go and erase that signature. She belongs to the government now.”

  In that moment, Mom began to cry. “What’s the phone number? I’m calling them right now. Lydia, give me the phone number.”