That young girl mocked me with a sarcastic pout.
“All lies,” I said.
Veronica’s face was a breath away from mine, though she wasn’t breathing. “Your mother never loved you or bothered being there for you. And your father . . .” She shook her head. “He never wanted you.”
I knew it was useless to defend myself against her false accusations, and yet I gave in. “My father didn’t know he had a son. He would have wanted me.”
“Oh, but he did know. Full well.” She tilted her head to the side and whispered in my ear. “You’re unwanted, Owen. An orphan. Totally alone in this world. You always have been, and you always will be. It’s what you deserve.”
Her words sliced through me like a samurai sword. That’s what evil does—pinpoints our soul’s deepest wound, then brutalizes it with lies.
I didn’t have to take this. The kingdom of darkness is aggressive—I had to be also.
I read the first card in my hand. “Christ disarmed the spiritual rulers and authorities. He shamed them publicly by his victory over them on the cross.”
The whole nest of them launched into a rage, yelling and releasing more snakes and flailing their arms like they were falling.
I read another card, turning the verse into a personal declaration this time, shouting it. “No weapon turned against me will succeed. God will silence every voice raised up to accuse me.”
Veronica growled in my face, flaring her gums like a wild beast as the cluster disbanded, covering their ears and rushing to the far end of the room.
One by one, I read through the Scriptures. By the time I’d finished, every dripping figure was on the floor, convulsing like the Word of God was attacking their nervous system.
At last, I watched out the windows as the Watchmen rose above the building. The blinding radiance lifted, and the anguished mob went rushing out, flinging themselves out the same west-side wall through which they’d entered. With my face pressed against a window, I watched them race to the pond, then run into the water and sink out of sight.
“Yes!” I threw my fists in the air, reveling in having done something right this time. Something that totally worked.
Every last one of them was gone from the room, along with the slithering snakes. The red puddles and footprints were gone too—every trace of them. Custos and his battalion moved on as well, their work done here.
I marched downstairs to my room and collapsed on my bed, smiling, feeling like I’d just downed an extra-large double-shot of espresso. I could hardly wait until sunup. I’d call Elle and tell her exactly how to purge her home of the nighttime hauntings—demons impersonating people, likely appearing identical to the witches loosing them on us.
I sat up in bed, with no intention of sleeping. “That phony form of Veronica said some mean things, Daisy.” Yeah, I talked to my dog sometimes. “But none of it was true.”
I spotted the plastic box my mom had given me and figured now was as good a time as any to dig through it. She’d saved a few of my honor roll certificates, some report cards from random school years, a plastic baggie with two of my baby teeth. Gross.
There was also a small stack of photos. A few of Mom and me at the lakeside carnival where she used to take me when I was little. Me blowing out candles at the kitchen table when I turned thirteen. No, fourteen—the year we moved three times.
There was one of me at bat at a Little League game. I played one season of baseball in the fifth grade since the boy next door played, and his mom offered to let me ride with them. My mom hardly showed up at my games, so I knew the neighbor lady had likely taken the picture.
I stared at my munchkin face in the photo, recalling how my coach would crush his paper cup and hurl it at the ground every time I struck out—which was a lot, because I’d never swung a bat before joining the team.
Then I saw something strange, in the right-hand corner of the picture.
Wait . . .
I rushed to my lamp and held the photo next to the bulb. I rubbed my eyes and blinked. “That can’t be right.”
Even wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, there was no denying who was in the stands, watching me play ball nearly ten years ago.
What was my father doing there?
SIXTEEN
MY HANDS WERE SHAKING. Not from fear, but with seething anger. The kind that makes you want to drive too fast and keep going until you’re somewhere far and secluded.
I’d learned to accept that my mom had lied to me my whole life. Most alcoholics lie, especially to themselves. But my father?
Furious as I was, something in me—in my damaged psychology, I guessed—wanted to make excuses for him. I stood in the center of my room, trying to convince myself there had to be a good reason that, although he’d known he had a son, he chose to hide from me.
He must have cared, or he wouldn’t have bothered coming to my game. Right?
But I couldn’t suppress the obvious: there’s never an acceptable excuse for a father to intentionally let his kid grow up without him. And to think that all this time I’d been feeling sorry for Jackson because his mother had failed him and his father had given up parental rights. I was basically in the same sinking boat.
My father hadn’t been unaware of my existence, like he’d led me to believe. He’d abandoned me.
And that Creeper posing as Veronica knew it and had used it against me, aware it would torment me to the core.
Forget the burner phone. I snapped a picture of the photo with my own cell and sent it to the number I had for my dad, along with a text: Never knew you had a son?
That wasn’t satisfying enough. I sent another: Please don’t contact me ever again.
That still didn’t quench the anger, but what more could I do? I hurled my phone at my mattress.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this irate, if ever. I stomped back and forth in the tiny room—it felt like a maddening jail cell now. And here came the Creeper Rage, thrusting its mangled head through the painted cinder block. Then my old enemy Demise. But neither had the guts to set foot in my room. As unspiritual as I felt, the aura around my feet still shone bright, keeping demons out.
Both Creepers backed away.
I dropped to the hard floor and leaned back against the metal bedframe, considering packing my bags and leaving Masonville once and for all, as if I could run away from my dad’s betrayal. I was exhaling into my cupped hands when a brood of spirit-world serpents came spewing out from under my bed, then spread out and slithered all over the floor and walls and ceiling. Forked-tongued curses. Another manifestation of witchcraft, aimed at me by people I didn’t even know.
“Leave, in Jesus’ name!”
The serpents sank into the walls and floor, but kept slinking around, refusing to go.
And how’s this for bad timing? That horrible baby started crying again—right outside my door, from the sound of it. But there was no sense in looking. Even if it was there, it wasn’t there.
I faced the door and commanded the tormenting presence to go, along with the snakes again. I ordered them to leave the church building and surrounding property. They didn’t, so I read the cards out loud again—the exact same verses that had just cleared out a storage room packed with demons parading as humans. But the baby kept bawling and the snakes kept slithering.
I couldn’t believe how quickly the spirit-world tables had turned on me. The thrill of my victory snatched away by serpents and a sobbing infant that increased the foreboding sense I was under spiteful surveillance.
“Custos!” I stood in the corner of my room, waiting, stomping my foot, but he didn’t come.
I finally sank hopelessly into my bed and pulled the sheets over my head, reminding myself that the snakes couldn’t get past my light to crawl on me. But then again, one had managed to breach Ray Anne’s skin. I piled all three of my pillows on my head and tucked them over my ears, not because I thought it would protect against the snakes but in a useless attempt to bloc
k out the aggravating sobbing.
For the first time in a while, I seriously questioned my sanity.
Lying there suffering, I sifted quickly in my mind through the life events that had led to this moment. As committed as I’d been to my life calling and mission to help heal this town—and as impressed as I was with my defender seal—I was beginning to come to grips with a sobering realization: The bigger the assignment from God, the bigger the satanic attack to try to block it.
It’s not like I’d had some fluffy idea about what it would be like to walk out my destiny and reclaim Masonville from the powers of darkness. But I’d somehow mistakenly assumed that overall, it would be exciting and fulfilling and . . . okay, heroic.
But this?
For the first time since I’d read Arthur’s prophecy and accepted the supernatural call, I second-guessed if it was remotely worth it.
Sunday morning came, and I hadn’t slept. The baby had squalled on my doorstep until sunrise. That was one reason I didn’t feel like going downstairs and sitting in a pew—passing the offering plate, listening to Pastor Gordon preach like everything in Masonville was on the up-and-up, then passing the plate again, in case his sermon had inspired people to give more to the building fund. But I was starting to like the worship part a lot—the glistening, reassuring light it ushered into the atmosphere, even though it meant having to watch Ethan sing center stage.
I chose getting out of bed over staying closed off in my reptile-infested room and missing a chance to see Ray Anne.
In the foyer, I downed a couple of donuts, eyeing the entrance doors the whole time, waiting on Ray to arrive. She walked in and gave me that heartwarming grin of hers. But she ducked her head as she approached, fiddling with the collar of her blouse, trying to cover the scaly curse.
She didn’t tell me hello or ask how I was—just blurted out, “Veronica was back at four o’clock this morning, spying into Jackson’s crib again. It’s her, Owen, I swear.”
I spun her around and rubbed her tense shoulders. “It’s not her,” I insisted all over again. “And you know how to make Creepers leave—you’re the one who first showed me.”
I hoped to encourage her by explaining how things had gone down at the church last night with “Veronica” and the horde, ending my story at the victorious part, where the Scriptures on note cards drove every dripping-wet oppressor away. I spared her an account of the rest of my defeated night. Uncovering my dad’s abandonment. Tormented by snakes and a wailing infant that refused to leave me alone no matter what I commanded or quoted.
“I know what I’m supposed to do,” Ray said, “But I got so scared, I couldn’t speak. She only left ’cause Jackson’s Watchman showed up, the dark-headed robed one with the shield on his back.”
“You? Too scared to speak?” I rubbed the sides of her chilled arms. “You’re fearless, Ray Anne. This isn’t you.”
“I know.” She pressed her lips together, straining to hold back tears. “But I can’t shake it. I’m terrified.”
“Of what?” I was no shrink, but common sense said if we could figure out what she was afraid of, we could start combatting it. But I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught.
“I’m afraid Veronica is gonna hurt Jackson—take him at night while I’m sleeping, and I’ll never find him again. Or Dr. Bradford is going to demand visitation rights, bribe some judge to approve and expedite it, then steal Jackson away from me and finish what he started in the woods. Maybe he’ll have me killed first so I’ll have no chance of protecting Jackson or trying to find him when he goes missing. Can’t you imagine it, Owen!” Tears flowed, right there in public. “I don’t understand why God is allowing this—haven’t I been through enough?”
I couldn’t get a word in.
“You’re bound to want to break up with me, Owen, seeing me like this.” She stared at the grayish tile floor and rubbed the back of her neck—the black coiled clump she knew was there but couldn’t touch. “It’s not like I blame you. You don’t have to pretend you still want to be with me.” She cupped her mouth with a trembling hand and took deep breaths, like she was on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
I wanted to hold her and try to embrace away her fears, but this was no time to coddle her. Not her, the fiercest girl I’d ever known. She needed to be reminded of who she was, the unshakable courage she’d always possessed.
I took her by the hand and led her outside the church, to the grassy side of the building where we could be alone. “Look at me, Ray Anne.” She wiped her cheeks, then tilted her chin up, squinting in the sunlight. “I’m suffering through some hard things too right now, and yeah, it gets scary sometimes. But we can’t assume or expect the worst, and we cannot cave to fear.”
“I don’t want to be afraid,” she said. “I just feel so alone.”
I lowered to one knee, not to propose again but, like, as a sign of humility. “I know we’re not married, Ray Anne, but you’re the closest thing I have to family. And I want you to know something.” I hadn’t expected my throat to start throbbing, but it’s not like I was going to cry in front of her. “I will never abandon my family, Ray. It’s what some men do, but not me—you hear me? I’m not breaking up with you or going anywhere. You’re not alone.”
She embraced my neck, sniffling, resting her chin on the top of my head. I closed my eyes, refusing to look at the tail wrapped around her throat. We stayed that way awhile, until she asked me a question. A hard one I hadn’t seen coming.
“How come we never say I love you?”
I stood and dusted grass off my jeans.
“You’ve never told me, Owen, even when you proposed. And I’ve never said it to you either. Don’t you think that’s weird?”
Of course I did.
I actually had said it once, back in high school, but it was right after she’d been shot, and she’d been unconscious and hadn’t heard me. And I hadn’t said it since then because . . .
“I don’t know why we don’t say it, Ray. I guess we both have issues. Serious ones.”
She didn’t deny it.
“There you are!” Mrs. Greiner came up to us, pushing Jackson’s stroller and panting like she’d been afraid she’d never see her daughter again. Unlike Ray, her mom had been an uptight, fearful person as long as I’d known her.
We all went inside and filed into the third row from the stage, next to Ray Anne’s dad, then sang along to the music. Ethan held a microphone in one hand, the other raised high in the air to show everyone how devoted and spiritual he was. Or maybe he just really loved God, and that’s how he expressed it. Every time he worshiped, colorful light would swirl around him—all over him and others throughout the sanctuary. Those who really meant what they were singing. I knew that was the case because the shimmering rainbow, made of familiar colors as well as some not found in the earthly spectrum, would dance around me too whenever I blocked out distractions and made a point to sing the words to God instead of just mouthing them.
I noticed some people would suffer a certain unfortunate fate every Sunday. The instant the singing started, Creepers would cover their ears, no doubt filling their heads with soul-noise interference so they couldn’t focus.
As for me, I liked the way worship made me feel, like God was bigger than all my problems and everything was going to be okay, even if I couldn’t imagine how. Which was definitely the case right now.
Eventually Pastor Gordon took the stage and instructed us to greet the strangers around us as if we were friends—not that he said it like that. I happened to glance at the back of the sanctuary and spot Detective Benny, of all people, in the back row. It was weird enough he was at church and had Zella and Gentry with him, but the way he was staring at me—like he was about to run down the aisle and choke me—told me something was definitely up.
I’d recently had two forbidden conversations, one with Veronica and the other with Officer McFarland. Did he know?
Pastor Gordon motioned for all to take a seat, then stood si
lently behind the wooden pulpit, heavy-eyed—not just his shadowy, slumbering soul, but his physical face, like something was seriously wrong. “For those who have not heard the tragic news, I regret to inform you that Deputy Officer James McFarland died last night in an unfortunate boating accident . . .”
I didn’t hear anything after that.
Slowly, my jaw gaping, I turned and peered over my shoulder. Detective Benny met my gaze with a single, narrow-eyed nod. I faced forward again, my mind reeling. My heart hammering.
That was no unfortunate accident.
I’d given Officer McFarland a tip about Benny, and he’d obviously gone poking around. Maybe even questioned the detective. And now the man was dead. A shackled man, suffering for eternity . . .
Because of me.
Another casualty of my naive mistakes. And yet another victim of Masonville’s secret society.
Ray Anne cried on my shoulder, even more distraught now. I wove my fingers between hers, determined to be strong enough for the both of us, trying to block out the mental image of James McFarland being murdered, only to have his soul ripped away and cast into the pit. Banished to eternal hopelessness.
I looked back a second time, and Benny was leaving, ushering Gentry and Zella out the back doors of the sanctuary. I figured he’d brought them along to threaten me—to let me know they were under his control, just like the rest of this town, and I’d better back off or who knows what would become of them. His own daughter, for crying out loud.
As for the guilt and grief over McFarland’s death, I had no choice but to stuff it for now—to let it fuel my determination, not stop me in my tracks. I’d deal with the emotional fallout later, when Molek and the Rulers were defeated. And Detective Benny was behind bars.
That afternoon, I paced the empty sanctuary during a phone conversation with Elle. I didn’t want to be confined to my tainted room. Elle was equally convinced McFarland’s death was no accident. “The occult targets the people around you,” she explained, “working their way to those you care about most. It’s how they intimidate and silence potential whistleblowers like us. It’s why we have to be so careful.”
The Defiance Page 14