Out of the Shadows

by Timothy Boyd

  As they continued down California Street, Trevor felt his nerves tingle as he stepped closer to the massive, reinforced concrete building ahead, beaten to give the appearance of old stone. He finally came to rest at the base of the steps leading up to the front doors of Grace Cathedral.

  He stood still, allowing the awe-inspiring gothic-style of the building to overwhelm him as he gazed up at the round, ornate, stained glass window high in the center above them. The two bell towers on either side stretched into the sky as if reaching out toward the heavens, and the intricate detail across the façade took his breath away.

  It had been a long time since he had stepped foot inside the cavernous sanctuary within, but he needed some guidance that Micah could not offer. His body trembled as he ascended the steps, eyes focused on the immense gothic archway that framed the intricately crafted golden doors, the Gates of Paradise.

  As he entered, he became engulfed with a peaceful silence that echoed from the walls, offering solace from the bustling city outside. He treaded lightly across the floor, feeling as though his footsteps were a disruption to the quiet within.

  He subconsciously walked around the labyrinth inlaid on the floor, taught that its intricate circular path of meditation was too sacred to tromp across. He entered the center aisle flanked by dark wooden pews, feeling overwhelmed by the gigantic concrete pillars that rose to the vaulted ceiling, lining the outside of the benches. As he neared the halfway point to the pulpit, he stopped, unable to go any farther.

  Micah joined him at his side, placing a hand of strength on his shoulder and sitting down in the pew next to them, allowing Trevor to continue in privacy.

  He looked onward, his eyes coming to rest on the large crucifix ornamented onto the wood panel against the wall at the head of the church. Biblical figures peered back, surrounding him on all sides, stuck within the rich tones of the crystalline stained glass. Standing there in the center of the aisle, amidst the comforts of religion, a knot formed in his gut. He knew why he was so angry, but he no longer felt that standing in this sacred church hollering accusations at the cross would cleanse his soul.

  “Trevor?” a man’s voice called out from the side of the sanctuary.

  He glanced over and felt sudden shame when he saw who had spoken. “Bishop Andrews.”

  The bishop approached, his short gray hair full of eccentric waves, his long black robes enveloping his slim frame. Thin golden glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and his face portrayed as much shock as it did happy surprise. He reached his hands out to take Trevor’s and said, “It’s so good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”

  Trevor nodded awkwardly. “A year.”

  “Well,” he smiled. “I’m glad you could make it in today.” He turned to leave.

  “Bishop, wait!”

  The man turned in surprise.

  Trevor shuffled uneasily, nervous of the conversation he needed to have. “Please don’t go.”

  The bishop grew concerned and offered, “If you feel that you need confession, we can—.”

  “No,” Trevor interrupted. “I don’t want anything… formal like that. I…” he sighed. “I just need to talk.”

  The man considered him, and then he held out his arm and motioned, saying, “Walk with me, and I will listen.” He turned and quietly headed down the aisle, past the pews toward the entrance.

  Trevor followed, no longer sure he knew about what he wanted to talk with the bishop. He looked to each side as he traveled, watching the intricate stained glass windows reveal themselves around every concrete pillar that rose high into the air, supporting the wooden ceiling structure. He felt that they were judging him, hiding and peeking out from behind the cathedral’s supports. These watchful eyes filled him with shame, and he didn’t know why.

  “Where are we going?” Trevor called out to the bishop, his voice echoing throughout the spacious sanctuary.

  “I’ve been feeling out of touch lately,” he admitted, continuing down the center aisle. “I’m going to journey through the labyrinth. You’re welcome to join me while you talk.”

  Trevor’s palms became sweaty as they neared the circular pattern on the ground, the winding path outlined in gold. He had never felt the need to walk the meditative path before, and now he was about to join the Bishop of California on a journey through.

  “Sir,” Trevor began. “Walking the path is supposed to be a quiet time for introspection.”

  “Yes, it is,” he agreed. “But a man of rational thought has difficulty accepting that answers can be found within; therefore, I will guide you.” The bishop stopped and turned to face him, adding, “If you like.”

  Trevor nodded, feeling that turning him down would be an insult.

  The reverend entered the labyrinth’s floor path as Trevor followed closely behind. At first, both were quiet, the sounds of relaxed breathing echoing within Trevor’s mind. His family had been religious, going to a worship service every Sunday morning. When a car accident had stolen his mother and brother a few years back, his father had encouraged him to hold on to his faith, saying that time would heal both of their wounds.

  Then, one year ago, on a routine trip out to sea on the family’s fishing boat, his father had also been taken from him. He loved his mother and brother, but his father had always been the rock that supported him. He was devastated, and he had found it difficult to maintain faith in a Supreme Being that so callously ripped his family from him. He did not deny the existence of God; he merely believed that He no longer deserved Trevor’s unconditional love and devotion. He felt betrayed in the worst way.

  He realized that nearly a minute had gone by, and neither of them had said a word. He watched the bishop traverse slowly around the path, inhaling and exhaling, allowing the surrounding serenity to seep into him.

  Trevor could tell that he was patiently waiting for him to begin, and so he did. “Do you believe in angels and demons?”

  He noticed the bishop hesitate only slightly before continuing on his path. “The Bible speaks very plainly about them.”

  “Forgive me, sir, but that’s not what I asked.”

  A moment of silence passed between them before the reverend replied, “I believe in what they stand for.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Hope and despair. Courage and fear.”

  Trevor contemplated the answer before asking, “So, demons fill us with fear, whereas angels remove it?”

  “Courage is not the opposite of fear, Trevor. They co-exist. Without fear, there can be no courage.”

  As Trevor processed the answer he had received, a small lump caught in his throat, and he took a deep breath in an attempt to stave off his emotion. “Do you think my father was afraid while he was drowning?”

  The question lingered in the air, a cloud of unwanted thoughts threatening to suffocate Trevor. But the bishop finally responded, “I believe we all experience fear when faced with death, but I also know that your father was a courageous man.”

  Trevor wiped a tear from his face, taking another deep breath to steady himself. “I’ve just been so… angry. I don’t understa—.” He silenced himself, repressing the feelings that were beginning to build. “Sir, why do you believe in God?”

  The bishop rounded his final curve in the path and entered the center of the labyrinth. He turned and answered, “Because I choose to, son. It’s not about needing proof of God’s existence. There will never be proof. That’s the whole point of faith.” When Trevor didn’t respond, he continued, “We all need something to believe in, Trevor, because believing in something is better than believing in nothing at all. Sometimes, faith is the only thing that can lift us up when we need it the most.”

  Trevor entered the center of the circle now, standing face to face with Bishop Andrews. “I don’t understand how I’m suppose to unconditionally love Him when he’s allowed all this bad to happen.”

  The bishop clasped his hands behind his back. “When you were very young,
your father tried to teach you how to ride a bike. He made you wear a helmet, kneepads, elbow pads, all of it. I remember him mentioning to me that he was so afraid you would hurt yourself. It pained him to see you cry. When he finally removed the training wheels on your bike, he still wouldn’t let you ride down the street without having him hold on to the back of your seat while running beside you. This went on for weeks, until finally, one day, while you were pedaling… he let go.”

  Trevor’s vision began to blur with emotion, and his voice quavered as he wondered, “What happened next?”

  “Well, you fell, of course,” he chuckled softly.

  Trevor allowed a small chortle to escape his lips as he wiped the wetness from his face. “So, what’re you getting at?”

  The bishop smiled and explained, “Any good father fights fiercely to protect his kids… until he realizes that they need to learn from their own experiences. But even then, when it hurts the most, he’ll always be there to listen.”

  Trevor felt an emotional release as the meaning of the words swept over him. He stood in the center of the labyrinth, trembling from exhaustion, as the bishop placed a consoling hand on his arm and said, “Your friend is waiting for you.” He nodded in the direction of Micah.

  “Oh, he’s not my friend. He’s…” Trevor paused, looking over at the guy sitting patiently in the pew, staring straight ahead toward the front of the church. He smiled to himself and said quietly, “He’s my guardian angel.”

  * * *

  Outside the cathedral, Trevor and Micah walked down the steps and headed toward California Street. It was late afternoon now, and the sun finally had begun to break through the cloudy day.

  “So,” Trevor began. “You haven’t asked me what we talked about.”

  Micah shook his head. “It’s not my business.”

  They walked on in silence for another minute, the trolley car passing by, its bell chiming cheerfully. Trevor smiled and felt at peace, feeling as though the day might turn out to be all right after all.

  Micah clutched Trevor’s arm, his eyes suddenly wide with alarm. “Oh no…”

  “What?!”

  The ground rumbled fiercely as an explosion rocked the passing cable car, sending it soaring into the air, a wild streak of searing flame.

  “Look out!” Micah yelled, pushing Trevor out of the way as the car came crashing down to where they had been standing a moment before.

  Adrenaline sped through Trevor’s veins, his heart blasting a feverish beat. As everyone on the street began screaming and running, he ignored the chaos and examined the burning trolley before him as a large pool of blood seeped out from underneath, its many passengers succumbing to their sudden and violent end. A rectangular hunk of metal, black wheels underneath, fire, and blood…

  His second painting from last night had just come to life in front of him, just like Patti’s death. Two out of four of his horrific works of art had turned out to be premonitions, and before he could try to recall the other two, he heard more screams behind him.

  The heat from the blazing cable car seared his skin, and he backed off, turning to see the new commotion. A woman of about forty stood twenty feet away, aiming a gun at everyone. She sobbed uncontrollably, muttering that she didn’t know what was going on, and that she never wanted to hurt anyone. She said she didn’t understand why she felt the need to shoot everyone, and that she wasn’t a violent person.

  A middle-aged man with thick brown hair and a blue polo shirt stepped up next to the woman with the gun. He was grinning at Trevor. “Kincaid!” he greeted. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  “Let her go, Luke!” Trevor demanded, knowing the man’s identity immediately.

  Luke considered him with a keen eye, and he smirked. “He finally told you.”

  Micah stepped close to Trevor and whispered fiercely, “You can’t beat him yet. This isn’t the time.”

  Micah’s words sparked a helpless fury within him.

  “Don’t forget about that guy,” Luke added, pointing behind them at a young man who looked uncontrollably crazed, holding a knife to an old frail woman’s throat, screaming unintelligible profanities about divine purpose and saving the world.

  Trevor became overwhelmed with options, and he wasn’t sure how to act. Just when he thought he knew the best choice of action, Luke tipped his head toward him and said, “You want me? Come and get me.”

  And he turned and ran.

  11:24

  V

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone!” the woman sobbed, waving the gun wildly, like an unseen puppet master hovered above, pulling her arm strings.

  The blaze from the demolished cable car heated the air around them, scorching their skin and suffocating their lungs. Hysterics ran high, and chaos swirled through the air as people sped off in their vehicles, crashing into other pedestrians and cars just to escape the insanity. Behind him, the crazed young man screamed wildly with a knife trained on an old woman’s throat. His face was red, and the veins in his temples protruded from his manic expression. Spittle flew from his mouth as his profane vitriol spewed forth.

  Trevor watched helplessly as the new Luke, dressed in a blue polo shirt, disappeared around a corner, turning north down the hill. He could pursue, leaving these people to their own uncontrollable devices. Who knew when the demon would show himself next, giving Trevor another chance to end the madness forever? But if he fled, dozens more would die in the street.

  He focused his attention on the woman with the gun. “Hey, Miss!” he called out, knowing she wouldn’t hear him over the surrounding cries that pierced the air. He advanced toward her, his hands raised in front of him to show his subservience. “Lady!”

  She turned away from the scattering people and locked her terrified eyes on Trevor. She froze, her short breaths exploding in quick bursts, her weapon shaking vigorously. It was clear she was trying to fight against some unseen force that controlled her every move.

  Trevor’s heart pounded fiercely in his chest, adrenaline shooting through his veins. He was terribly afraid, but he knew that there was nothing else to do. He felt great pity for this suffering woman; she hadn’t been completely possessed by the demon’s will but just enough to make her consciously aware of her lack of control. The serenity that he had seen in Lisa before she had jumped the previous night did not exist in this hysterical woman.

  He wanted so badly to destroy Luke, to put an end to the chaos that spread across the city, but Micah’s words floated in the forefront of his mind: “This isn’t the time…” Besides, Luke was gone, having escaped down the street like a coward.

  “I don’t want to shoot you,” the woman cried.

  “I know you don’t,” Trevor nodded.

  “I have a good life,” she pleaded, as if Trevor were the one in control of her fate. “I have a husband who loves me and a bright little boy getting ready to start first grade.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” he smiled, trying to encourage the woman to put her focus elsewhere. “I envy you.”

  “Why?”

  He slowly inched closer toward her, his hands still raised. “I tried to kill myself last night,” he offered frankly.

  The woman’s gaze softened a bit.

  He tried to drown out the surrounding pandemonium to concentrate completely on the woman with the gun. “My mom and brother were killed in a car accident a few years back.”

  She seemed to calm down slightly, focusing on Trevor’s sad tale.

  “And about a year ago,” he began, feeling the pain rise within him but choosing to push through it. “About a year ago, my dad drowned. He was a crab fisherman. Had his own small business. Taught me what it meant to work hard and pursue my passions.” His eyes welled with sorrow, and he inhaled deeply to maintain his steadiness.

  “One day, he was out on the water with one of his guys. His foot got tangled in the net…” He trailed off, not wanting to finish, but he saw that the woman was hypnotized by his painful memories. “It was just bad
timing,” he shrugged slightly, recognizing the randomness of it all. “A wave rocked the boat, and he fell overboard. His friend slipped and hit his head.” He felt tightness in his throat as he strained against his body to hold back his emotional deluge. He slowly shook his head and concluded, “He couldn’t save him.”

  The woman’s contorted face was matted with streaks of salty terror. She quietly whimpered, “Why am I doing this? I can’t stop it.”

  “Yes, you can. You really can.” Trevor slowly reached his hand toward her, hoping to get the gun from her grasp.

  Suddenly, a shrill cry pierced the air behind them, and Trevor spun to see the old woman on the ground, her neck sliced open, spilling thick, crimson streams onto the pavement, pooling under the burning cable car.

  “We’re all going to Hell!” the young man screamed, suddenly reveling in the blood that ran from his hands, as if his fingers dripped precious rubies that sparkled in the sunlight.

  The gunshot echoed through the late afternoon, deafening Trevor and making him drop to the ground, his hands shielding his head. When he looked up, the young man was dropping to the ground, a bullet hole through the center of his head.

  “Oh, my god!” cried the woman with the gun. “I just killed him! I didn’t mean to!” Her sobs returned to hysterics as she mumbled through sloppy tears, “I didn’t want to! Oh, god, I couldn’t stop! I’m so sorry!”

  Trevor stood to face her once more, trying to calm her down, but she was no longer listening to him. “I’m so sorry! Oh, god, I’m sorry! Please tell my family I’m sorry!” And before Trevor could intervene, she put the gun’s muzzle in her mouth and pulled the trigger.