by Simone Pond
The senior housemaid entered the foyer and stood over Jack. “Sir?”
“Oh, Elizabeth, help me up,” he said.
She got him to his feet and helped him to the study, and into his leather chair.
“I’ll call Dr. Fitzsimmons.” She picked up the phone.
“No, don’t. I’ll be okay.”
“Do you need anything, sir?”
The dark presence had returned, and the shadow started to inch across the Persian carpet toward his chair. It rose up from the floor and whirled around his ankles, slowly spiraling up his legs.
“NO!” He kicked his feet, shaking it off, then tried to stand up. He fell to the floor and swatted at the air around him.
Elizabeth guided him to couch. “Who are you talking to, sir?”
“There’s something in this house. It’s some sort of shadowy thing, but I don’t know. Maybe I hit my head too hard.”
“There are all sorts of evil in this world,” Elizabeth said.
“I don’t believe in that hooey,” he said, forcing a fake laugh.
The shadow returned, swirling up around his thighs and a burning sensation gripped his stomach. He jumped off the couch and smacked his legs. “Get it off of me! Get it off!”
“I don’t see anything. Are you sure you don’t want me to call the doctor?”
He shook Elizabeth’s by the shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Do you really believe in evil? Actual, tangible evil?”
“You saw what happened in Los Angeles and San Francisco. They hunted down people in the streets and burned those cities to the ground. This is a fallen world, sir. You should know that. You preach about it every Sunday.” Elizabeth raised her eyebrows as though she were a telescope peering into his soul.
“Are you toying with me?” The pitch rose in his voice and he searched her eyes. “Are you some sort of charlatan?”
She squared her shoulders. “I’m just telling you what scripture states.”
“You read scripture?”
“I study it.”
“How did I not know this?” He laughed. “All this time I had a Bible-thumping maid under my own roof. Well, that beats all!”
He limped to the bar and poured himself a tall glass of bourbon, gulping it back in three swigs. The heat of the liquor tore through his stomach and rippled through his veins. Still unsettled, he poured another glass and chugged it back, then stumbled over to the couch. He clasped Elizabeth’s hand, pulling her down next to him.
“Tell me about it,” he slurred.
“About what?”
“About scripture. Because maybe something evil is going on here. I’m thinking this is God’s doing. I’ve done a lot of wrong. You know, with all of that “live to give” bullshit and the church. Convincing those sorry bastards that God will forgive their sins for money. God’s pissed off at me.”
“This has nothing to do with God. You invited evil into your home.”
“So how can I get it out?”
Elizabeth stood up, looking down at the pathetic old Pastor Wade. “You can’t,” she said.
He grabbed her wrists and held on tight. “Don’t leave. I need help. You have to help me, or this thing will take me under.”
“I can’t help you. Only repentance can save you from this mess.”
“I don’t know how.” He cried into her sleeve.
“Matthew 6:24 says, ‘No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon.’ Sounds pretty clear to me.”
“So, all I gotta do is make a choice between serving good or evil?”
“It’s not just about making a choice; it’s about meaning it and backing it up.”
“But I don’t wanna give up everything.”
Elizabeth pried his fingers from her wrists. “Then that’s your choice.”
She left the study, leaving Jack to sulk on the leather couch. He felt lost in an undertow of confusion. Suddenly, a gust of wind burst through the French doors and swept across the room. The hairs on Jack’s neck bristled and he rose to his feet. A gleaming white light poured through the doors, unlike any other light he had ever seen. The iridescent pink and gold hues streamed into the room in wavelets. The glow circled him like a cyclone and he fell to his knees, blinded.
“What do you want?” he yelled into the light.
The wind whisked around him and a vision of a hazy face emerged. It spoke in many different languages all at once, and somehow Jack understood what it said. Images of the town in flames and people being gunned down appeared in the light. More towns and larger cities began burning and crumbling to the ground from explosions. The streets became rivers of blood and the sky turned to a sea of orange. Then the old church materialized in the cloud of light.
The end is nigh. You must save them.
“Save who?”
The cloud revealed images his parishioners, clapping and singing and dancing in the aisles; their jubilant faces beaming. He heard Elizabeth’s voice: It’s not just about making a choice; it’s about meaning it and backing it up. If he wanted to be saved, he’d have to help the sorry saps he’d been swindling for the last ten years. The vision of light siphoned out of the study as quickly as it had come, leaving Jack Wade passed out on the Persian rug.
Jack awoke on the floor with a blanket over him. Nearby, Elizabeth slept on the couch. It was early morning, just before dawn, and the sky was shifting from black to a pale gray. He stood by the French doors and watched the sun come up, spilling yellow light across his elaborate rose garden and acres of rolling green hills.
“Feeling better?” Elizabeth’s voice came from behind.
“I know what I need to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Find a way to save my parishioners from what’s coming. They’re not stopping with Los Angeles and San Francisco. They’re gonna burn down the entire country.” Saying the words out loud didn’t sound so horrible. In fact, peacefulness rested through his body. He was going to get right with God. “I’m gonna give up everything to help them.”
“It doesn’t belong to you anyway.”
“I don’t suppose it does.”
“Sounds like you’ve seen the light,” she said.
He laughed as he went to his desk. “Quite literally.” He sat behind the enormous oak antique and began taking out ledgers and paperwork. He considered calling his lawyer and business manager, but they’d never approve of him selling off his estate and assets. Pastor Wade was getting rid of every single material possession, from his cars down to the bulky gold rings on his fingers. The only problem was he didn’t know how to use a computer. He looked at the middle-aged woman standing by his desk. “I’ll need your help,” he told Elizabeth.
She smiled. “That’s what I’m here for, sir.”
“First things first, we need to find a safe place to relocate the church. Not the physical church, but the body. The people.”
She sat in one of the overstuffed chairs, holding a pad of paper and a pen, ready for instructions. “I know what you mean, Pastor Wade.”
That was the first time the words Pastor Wade felt honest. He had a lot of making up to do, but he was ready to turn it around. And he’d do anything if it meant warding off the shadow.
“I need you to research bunkers and silos. I remember hearing one of my guests mentioning a company that makes underground living facilities. We’ll need something that can house about three hundred people. You start gathering costs and I’ll start gathering assets.”
Jack spent the next five hours going through his accounts, coming up with a spreadsheet of assets, as well as potential buyers. On paper, he was worth about thirty-two million dollars. That was a heck of a lot of swindling. He tried to ignore the pangs of guilt, reminding himself that God had spoken to him and he was making things right.
Elizabeth carried a laptop into the study and showed Pastor Wade a website.
&nbs
p; “I’ve found a company that has underground survival condos. The bunkers are in a non-disclosed location in Kansas. They have state-of-the-art technologies, and the comfort and luxury your parishioners are accustomed to. Each one has community areas, a pool, theatre, and even a library. Food to last ten years. There are enough of these compounds to house your entire congregation.”
Jack looked through the photos of the facilities, shocked that such a thing existed. The people would be packed in tight, but at least they’d be safe from those fires and the gunmen he had seen in his vision.
“It’s gonna take a lot of convincing to get the church to pick up and relocate to a bunch of underground condos somewhere in the middle of Kansas.”
“Maybe that’s why God chose you. After all, you do have the gift of persuasion. You can finally put it to good use.”
“How much?” he asked.
“After some back and forth, the lowest the owner will go is thirty-five million.”
Jack looked at his spreadsheet. He was three million short. And that was if he could sell off everything he owned.
“We don’t have enough. We need another three million,” he said.
“I’m sure you can find the money from somewhere.”
“I’ve squeezed every lemon. We’ll be lucky to get thirty-two mill. And selling these assets could take a while.”
Elizabeth closed the laptop and handed Jack a glass of bourbon. “I have an idea.”
She walked about the study, moving with grace and elegance. Jack wondered why he’d never taken notice of Elizabeth in the past. Perhaps he was too pre-occupied with glittery things. Knowing temptation was the best persuader, and not wanting to revert to his old ways, he quickly returned to the matter at hand. “I’m waiting,” he said.
“Why don’t you sell your story? You could come clean publicly. Your assets would start selling at top dollar. People love a good scandal.”
“Sell my story? Come clean?” He knew his story would sell for a lot of money, but that meant he’d have to confess his sins to the world, and admit that he was a fraud, a scam artist. He’d be labeled the worst kind of human to walk the earth. One that used God’s name to build his empire. He’d be ruined.
“I can’t do it––and it’s not about pride,” he said, although it was.
“What’s it about, then?” Elizabeth challenged him.
“Do you really think I’d be able to convince the church to follow me to Kansas after the news hit? They’d turn their backs and run the other way. Not to mention, I’d probably go to jail.”
“You’d most definitely go to jail,” she said.
“So what in tarnation is the point in coming clean? How will I be able to save my congregation if I’m locked up?”
“You can save them by purchasing the underground condos and providing transportation to Kansas.”
Jack Wade started to get a sinking feeling, the same one from the previous night. He felt the presence of the shadow reemerging and edging its way into the room.
“But what about me?” he asked.
“You’d still be saving yourself. Maybe not your physical body, but you’d be saving your soul.”
The dark fog fanned across the floor, its tendrils reaching around Jack’s ankles like a pair of shackles. He bolted from his chair and stomped his feet.
“Pastor?”
“Stop calling me that!” he yelled.
“I know you’re scared. But you’ve been given a second chance. This is an opportunity to make things right with everyone, especially with God. Do you want to stay stuck in your old ways? Do you think you can outrun the darkness? You can’t. It will suck you under.”
He held Elizabeth by the shoulders, tears flooding down his red face. “I don’t want to keep running!”
She stepped back and smoothed her blouse. “You know what you need to do. I suggest you swallow that pride and do it. What’s the point in keeping your name if you lose your soul?”
Jack Wade stared into Elizabeth’s clear blue eyes. A moment of peace overrode his fear. “You’re right.”
“We need to get organized, because once the story breaks, you’ll be taken away. First, you need to start transferring everything you can into a trust and assign me the trustee. You’ll have to give me permission to sell your estate and assets. We should involve your lawyer to get the documents in place. Then we’ll break the story.”
Jack agreed and they immediately got on a conference call with his lawyer. They spent the rest of the afternoon discussing details. Whenever his lawyer opposed anything, Jack offered him more money to stop arguing and just go along with the plan. At the end of the day, Elizabeth and Jack sat back and reviewed the final documents.
“It is finished,” he said.
“Those were the last words Jesus spoke,” she told him with a smile.
“Maybe there is hope for me.”
“Tomorrow’s a big day, sir. I’m going to start sending emails, alerting the local news reporters and bloggers of your announcement. You’ll probably want to get some sleep.”
“Might be my last good night of sleep for a while.” He paused. “Do you think I’ll make it to Kansas after the dust settles?”
“Anything is possible with God.” She left the study, closing the door behind her.
Jack was too exhausted to climb the grand staircase to his master bedroom. Instead he went to the couch and passed out.
###
In the morning, the chiming doorbell bolted him awake. He peeked out the window to the front lawn, where countless news crews and photographers clawed their way to the door. Elizabeth entered the study, holding out one of his Sunday suits. The gray material glistened in the morning sunlight. She helped him get dressed and smoothed back his gray hair. He opened the front door and stood before the crowd. After a few moments of internal wavering, he confessed his sins to the world. The reporters hurtled a barrage of questions at him, and he answered the best he could, until a team of police officers marched through the freshly cut grass. They pushed through the crowd and circled Jack Wade. He calmly turned around, surrendering to his arrest and peacefully let the police escort him off his property.
The crowd trailed behind, yelling out questions.
“What about the money?”
“Will you give it back?”
“Are you trying to save your soul?”
“Why did you hurt all of those innocent people?”
The last question stuck with Jack. He couldn’t explain why he had spent most of his life stealing money. He didn’t have a reason for the extravagant purchases, or his insatiable need to keep accumulating more and more. The answer was buried deep inside, hidden behind the shadow.
One of the officers shoved Jack into the backseat. “I sure hope God’s wrath comes down with mighty vengeance, Pastor Asshole.”
As the police car pulled away from the estate, Jack looked back one last time. Elizabeth stood in the doorway, waving him off. He had complete faith that she’d be able to save his parishioners from whatever was coming––the guns, the missiles, and streets on fire. But he wondered if he could be saved from all he had done, or if the shadow would follow him into his death and beyond. Was there hope for his redemption?
He heard a whisper from somewhere, “Anything is possible with God . . .”
- The End -
Safe Waters
“How Can I Keep From Singing?” is a Christian hymn with music written by American Baptist minister Robert Wadsworth Lowry.
CORY SAT IN the mess deck, pretending to focus on his bowl of bland and tasteless grits. They weren’t like his mama’s grits, that was for sure. He missed her; sometimes he even missed the drug-infested neighborhood where he grew up. It had been almost two years since he left Compton, but he thought about his mama every day––remembering how her beautiful face beamed with pride when her only son, Robert Cornelius Anderson, shipped off to the United States Navy. She prayed for his safety every day since he was born, and she wa
s grateful he had made it out of Compton alive. Not too many boys survived the hood. Most of Cory’s classmates were gang banging and running drugs in the streets, or they were locked up, or gunned down. But his mama pushed him to do better and to be better––and of course he had his Lord and Savior Jesus.
That morning on the boat, Cory stared at the flavorless grits, remembering how his classmates picked on him for being different and how he’d run home crying.
“Mama, I don’t wanna go back to school. They keep throwing my books in the toilet and they be callin’ me Bones and tellin’ me I ain’t really black ‘cause my daddy was white.”
“First, ain’t ain’t a word. Second, you ain’t no dummy; you’re too smart to fall for those silly tricks. They say that ‘cause they jealous. They knows you ain’t gonna end up in these streets pushin’ no drugs. You gonna be somebody, Cornelius.”
“But, mama, you just said ain’t four times.”
“That’s enough outta you. I didn’t raise no coward. Your daddy may have been white, but color ain’t nothin’ except a thing people use as an excuse to hate. You don’t need no hate in your heart. You keep praising Jesus and everything’ll be all right. Now go on and get some new books from your teacher.”
Cory made it all the way through high school by keeping his head in his books, hiding out in the library, and praying between studies. He was clever and found ways to avoid the local gangsters, like Lil’ Nut or Maze. His teachers fostered his passion for mathematics and Cory graduated with honors. He could’ve gone to a top university, but he had something else in mind. Though he never knew his father, he wanted to follow in his footsteps, so Cory joined the Navy in the summer of 2027.
Among the other junior officers on the boat, he felt as though he had finally found safe waters. On that ship he didn’t feel like an outcast. It didn’t matter if he had light skin or green eyes. It didn’t matter that he came from the hood. On the Nimitz, he was a sailor, just like everyone else.
“You gonna eat that?” Nick asked, pointing to Cory’s bowl of grits.