The Defiance

by Laura Gallier

  There was the distant sound of sirens—too far away to bring relief. Sure enough, flames reached out from my room and grabbed hold of the balcony. Everything in me wanted to back away from the flesh-eating heat, but there was nowhere to go.

  “Please, God! Don’t abandon me!”

  As the words left my mouth, I thought someone had plunged a sword through my lower back, and it had come bursting out beneath my rib cage. It was that painful. But I looked down and there was no weapon in me. Just such indescribable agony, I might have raised my hands and surrendered to the fire had it not meant sealing Jackson’s fate too.

  I realized the pain had registered in my soul, but it wasn’t like I could stop and make sense of it right then.

  There were all kinds of explosions and popping sounds, like my aerosol cans were detonating in the bathroom and the balcony was breaking away from the building. I gazed over the railing at the grass, contemplating whether Jackson would survive if I stepped onto the handrail, keeping him tucked into my chest with the pillow, then fell backward, slamming the earth on my back. I’d crack my skull and break my spine. Probably end up dead or paralyzed. But it was the right thing to do—the only hope of saving him—and now was the time to do it.

  But I just stood there.

  Unwilling to sacrifice myself for him.

  Jackson and the invisible baby both continued wailing. Then I got a mental image so vivid, it was like it was really happening—me leaving Jackson on the burning balcony to free up my arms so I could hang from the floor of the balcony, then let go. I saw my feet slamming the earth, my arms and elbows bearing the weight of the fall, but me surviving. My future intact.

  Without Jackson.

  I’d battled a lot of temptation, but this . . .

  I didn’t understand it. I’d been willing to risk everything to protect him before—why was I such a coward now?

  “Owen!”

  For the first time in my life, I was relieved to hear Ethan’s voice. He was running toward the balcony, dragging the massive ladder. “Hold on, I’m coming!”

  He positioned the ladder and started climbing. That’s when I spotted the sopping-wet witches huddled by the pond. They were staring straight at me, no doubt willing my destruction.

  I refused to look at them a moment longer and instead watched Ethan race up the rungs, knowing any second the building and balcony could collapse and incinerate him along with Jackson and me. Maybe it was a weird thing to think about in a life-and-death moment, but I couldn’t escape it any more than I could outrun the flames: Ethan hadn’t hesitated to risk being burned alive in order to save Jackson and me.

  He’s a real man. I’m not.

  I recognized it as the kind of crippling thought a Creeper would launch at my mind, but I couldn’t see any near me.

  Finally, Ethan got to the top of the ladder and reached out. It was only when I handed Jackson to him that I realized how severely my hands were shaking. Ethan started down the ladder, holding tightly to Jackson, and I followed with my bag and Jackson’s strapped around my shoulders. I so despised myself for my lack of bravery, I figured a Creeper would have a chain fitted around my neck before my feet touched the ground—the automatic bondage of an unforgiving grudge, whether aimed at someone else or in this case, myself. Instead I was met with a flurry of firefighters and church staff charging onto the scene, all looking me over and asking if I was okay. I told them I was fine—my go-to response.

  Even after watching Ethan deliver Jackson to an EMT and knowing full well he’d be fine, my body was riddled with adrenaline like I was still about to burn to death with a child in my arms. I attempted to get to him but was told to back away from the ambulance.

  I kept bending and shaking out my hands and legs, trying to chill out. Unfortunately that haunting infant’s cries kept brushing past me—from down low, like it was being dragged past me on the ground.

  Horrible.

  I called for my dog, praying she’d escaped the building. I made my way around to the front of the church. While walking across the parking lot, watching firefighters work to tame the raging blaze, I finally crossed paths with Gentry.

  “What happened, Owen?”

  I shook my head.

  “I went outside to get some air,” he said, “and all of a sudden the building was burning up.”

  His slurred speech told me he’d gone out to get high, but all I cared about was that he was alive.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” I told him. “Have you seen my dog?”

  He pointed. “She took off that way.”

  She made it out. I sighed in relief.

  Someone tugged on my shoulder. I turned, and Mrs. Greiner was fanning herself with both hands, her eye makeup smeared. “Oh my gosh, are you okay? Where’s Jackson?”

  I pointed to the ambulance where they were treating him, and she ran over there. I looked for Ray Anne but didn’t see her. I decided her parents probably hadn’t even told her there’d been a fire. She’d have gone ballistic, especially knowing Jackson was here.

  Ethan approached me, and before I could thank him for what he’d done, he offered me the key to his apartment. “I have a guest room,” he said. “You can stay as long as you need. And I can let you borrow some clothes.”

  Oh yeah. Other than the shirt and shorts I had on and the shoes I’d shoved in my bag, everything I’d had in my room was ash, including both cell phones.

  I reached for a handshake. “Thanks, man, I really appreciate it, but I’ve got a place to stay.” Never mind that it was my mom’s and I dreaded the thought of being there, even for a few days. But the idea of staying with Ethan was worse. Being in his presence was awkward. Like I was nothing.

  He shook my hand, our identical defender seals momentarily in line with one another.

  “About what you did . . .” How do you thank a person for saving you and a child from a horrendous death?

  He smiled—with the same warmth as his father. “Hey, you’d have done the same for me.”

  I averted my eyes. Would I?

  Jackson was released to Mrs. Greiner, and I kissed his forehead before she took him home. I had no way to warn her that a Cosmic Ruler was after him. And I still didn’t understand why the underworld was so determined to get him.

  There was no sign of Gentry now—or Daisy—but that black Suburban was parked across the street, watching my insane life unfold. Surprisingly, not one Watchman had shown up all evening. I figured maybe it was because Custos knew Ethan would save the day and had entrusted Jackson’s life and mine to him. No need to dispatch Heaven’s troops when Ethan’s around.

  Detective Benny pulled up, and I took that as my cue to leave, even though it meant leaving Daisy behind. I vowed I’d find her tomorrow.

  I showed up on my mom’s doorstep at sunrise—without being followed—and let myself in. It was technically my house, willed to me by her parents. I was glad to see it was still clean. Thankfully I’d left a few shirts and a pair of jeans here when I’d moved out. My mom was asleep, and I showered and sank into my old bed without her knowing I was there. A familiar feeling.

  I dropped my head onto the dusty pillow with no pillowcase, totally exhausted. But it’s impossible to close your eyes, much less sleep, when an invisible baby is crying and an unseen tormentor refuses to leave you alone.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  THIS TIME IT SOUNDED like the distraught infant was in the closet, sobbing behind the closed door. And I could feel that other presence standing beside the bed. Gazing down at me.

  I jerked my head off the pillow, and no surprise, saw nothing. But it was there. No question.

  I sat up and unleashed the ultimate, undefeatable weapon. “In the name of Jesus Christ, according to Luke 10:19, whoever you are, I command you to go now—away from me and out of this house!”

  The unholy presence remained, and the infant cried harder.

  I was so infuriated, I sprung out of bed, and while standing in the center of my old bedroom, I
quoted more verses. But instead of fleeing, I felt the stalker move in circles around me.

  More livid than scared, I stormed to the closet and threw the door open, shouting more spiritual truths at the unseen child, not caring if I woke my mother.

  And how weird is this? The baby went from sobbing to sniffling, like it was somehow comforted I’d found it. Meanwhile, I sensed the predator closing in, hovering behind my back.

  I knew better than to commune with spirits, no matter their form, but the exhaustion and frustration and total desperation got to me. Without thinking, I turned around and belted out, “Who are you?”

  There was a knock on the bedroom door, and I grabbed the knob and rushed to open it.

  “Owen?” My mom gasped, then grinned. “What are you doing here?” She hugged me. I couldn’t squeeze back tightly with all her icy chains and didn’t bother trying. I didn’t feel like being affectionate, and I still wasn’t used to this from her.

  “The church burned down last night,” I told her.

  “Oh no.” She looked genuinely concerned, like a normal mom, even though she had nothing but contempt for churches.

  When she offered to make breakfast, it really seemed like this whole experience was a dream. Breakfast had been my chore my entire childhood. She set the meal on the kitchen table, and even though it was only a bowl of Cheerios, from all appearances, she was still sober.

  “Are you dating Dr. Bradford?” I was too grouchy to mince words.

  “We’re just friends. Good friends.”

  Yeah, right. She didn’t know how to be “just friends” with a man. “You know he’s in the occult?”

  “Was.” She poured more cereal in my bowl, her hand trembling now. “There’s a big difference.”

  I kept my gaze on my food, using my spoon to dunk dry Cheerios in milk. “How come you’re willing to talk to him about your past but not me?”

  Her eyes pooled. “I would never burden you with the atrocities I’ve witnessed.” She put the milk back, then slammed the fridge and stormed out of the kitchen. I found it oddly comforting, my mom acting a little like her old self.

  I was so tired, the second I ate my last spoonful, I went back upstairs. This time, for whatever reason, my old bedroom was quiet. I slept hard until nearly five o’clock in the evening, when Pastor Gordon showed up at the door. Another first: I actually felt comfortable welcoming someone inside my mom’s house.

  We sat across from one another in the living room, and my mother was quick to retreat to her bedroom, as uneasy around pastors as I was Creepers. Gordon said he was relieved that Jackson and I had made it out safely last night. Then he asked me questions, including if I had any thoughts about what might have started the fire.

  “I have no idea,” I said.

  “Please don’t think I’m accusing you, Owen.” He stared intently at me, even though his soul kept nodding off. “That said, if this turns out to be intentional—a case of arson—the insurance company may try to accuse us of having set the fire to collect the insurance money, and therefore, refuse to pay for the damages. They know we’re embarking on a remodel.”

  “Arson?” I slid to the edge of the sofa. “Why would someone want to burn the church down?”

  Duh. I immediately knew the answer, but it wasn’t something I could share. I had enemies in this town that wanted me dead—Detective Benny being the primary culprit. Or maybe Dr. Bradford was as entrenched in the occult as ever and out to eliminate me and his grandson with the simple strike of a match.

  “It’s my understanding you had a friend staying the night?” Pastor Gordon asked.

  “More like a little brother. A freshman, Gentry Wilson. I’m his mentor. He had nowhere else to go.”

  “I see.” He nodded. “And how well do you know him?”

  “He’s got some issues, but I mean, he’s no arsonist.” I couldn’t name the real suspects—they were among the most highly esteemed men in Masonville. But the last thing Gentry needed was to get blamed for the church fire. He’d been falsely accused enough.

  “Detective Benny is looking into the matter,” Pastor Gordon said. “He assures us he’ll get to the bottom of it.”

  I rolled my eyes. There was no telling how Benny would manipulate and sabotage the investigation, even if it meant pinning the crime on a vulnerable high school kid.

  I walked Pastor Gordon to the door and asked him to please keep an eye out for my dog. Before he left, he reached into the back pocket of his slacks. “I almost forgot. This came to the church for you.”

  Another letter from the Hilltop Correctional Unit, only the handwriting was different. A nice cursive.

  I went back upstairs and sat at the antique desk in my old bedroom and opened the envelope.

  Owen, I hope this letter arrives in time. Be aware of your surroundings, especially on these hot summer nights.

  Veronica was intentionally vague, but I got the message. The fire was no accident. And she’d known it was coming.

  Here are the cities I hope to visit someday, the ones we talked about . . .

  More code speak. She was referring to the cities that had already fallen to Cosmic Rulers, leaving Masonville as the final targeted town to collapse. I read through her list of twenty-three US cities—some densely populated and some as backwoods as Masonville.

  This time, the letter was signed from Veronica, not Eva.

  My mom knocked, and I shoved the paper into my lap. “You want to come with me to Kohls?”

  I know most women shop, but this was the first time I’d seen my mother get fixed up and excited about it.

  “That’s okay, Mom. You go ahead.”

  She turned to go, but I called to her. I had no way of knowing her true motive for her recent life change or how long it would last, but I still felt I owed it to her to say something nice about it. “You look beautiful, Mom. I’m really proud of you.”

  Her eyes welled up. “Thank you, Owen. That means a lot.”

  She’d been gone about an hour when I heard a heavy vehicle door close outside. I looked out my window, and that black Suburban was parked in the driveway. An unfamiliar man in a suit sat behind the wheel, but I recognized the man who’d just gotten out of the passenger seat, even with his dark sunglasses on. He started toward the house.

  I could hardly catch my breath.

  My father. Approaching the door.

  TWENTY-SIX

  HE KNOCKED. I stood there with my hand on the doorknob, trying to reel in my emotions so there’d be no hint of them—no weakness—when I opened the door.

  Finally, I turned the knob.

  “Owen.” He removed his sunglasses. “I can’t tell you what a relief it is to see you.”

  I didn’t say anything back. It was awkward, but I was mad at him. Supposed to be, anyway. The resentment would come and go.

  “May I come in?” He stepped inside and shut the door fast, as if it was dangerous to be outside. Then he took a slow glance around the living room, studying every detail.

  Back when I’d lived here, I never would have imagined in a million years that my father would someday show up and set foot inside my house. It was surreal, seeing him here.

  I kept my emotions in check, playing it cool. But on the inside . . .

  My father’s home. Even as a diehard atheist, I’d prayed for that. I’d just had zero faith I’d ever see it.

  He walked to the sofa and motioned for me to sit next to him. I lowered beside him, our auras nearly touching.

  “That Suburban you were in has been following me,” I said.

  He nodded. “I’ve had my men keeping an eye on you.”

  “Your men?”

  He angled more toward me and searched my face. “The only way I know to do this, Owen, is to start at the beginning and tell you everything I’m able to disclose.”

  “The truth is all I’ve ever wanted. The whole story.”

  He cleared his throat. “You have no idea how incredibly head over heels in love I wa
s with your mother.”

  Were my eyes seriously starting to pool? I clenched my fists, digging my fingernails into my palms, displacing the internal ache.

  “My parents had someone else in mind for me, an Ivy-League girl, but my mind was made up. I couldn’t wait to spend the rest of my life with Susan. We eloped at the age of twenty and started our lives together in New Haven, Connecticut. Honestly, my best memories in life are from those days.

  “But it didn’t take long to realize something was deeply troubling Susan. She would look over her shoulder everywhere we went and wake up most nights screaming from some terrorizing nightmare. She finally came clean with me about why she’d run away from home—her escape from her parents and the occult. Unfortunately, that vindictive society soon tracked us down in New Haven and started threatening her constantly, in all kinds of terrifying, demented ways.”

  “So, what’d you do?”

  He clasped his hands the exact way I did sometimes. “She begged me not to go to the police, swearing it would only make things worse. So I did the only thing I knew to do. I trailed a vehicle as it followed her to work one afternoon, and when she went inside, I confronted the driver in the parking lot, demanding that he call off the operation. He told me I’d have to talk to the man in charge, and I was so young and naive, I actually got in his car with him, then boarded a private plane for Texas.

  “He and I landed in Masonville that night, and he drove me to some forested land. I followed him on foot until we arrived at a secluded, candle-lit pavilion. I’ll never forget the thick wood beams overhead with ropes dangling down. I was afraid they were going to hang me.”

  I gulped. The occult had met for generations on the land I’d inherited. Was the pavilion still there, somewhere on my property, or had my father been taken to a different patch of woods entirely? My stomach was twisting in knots. “Please, keep going.”

  “A man in a ram’s mask emerged from the forest, followed by some twenty people, draped in black hooded robes. They encircled me in the pavilion. The masked man ordered me to drop to my knees. When I refused, I was struck on the back of my legs. I hit the ground.”