When the Darkness Falls

by Gonzalez, J. F.

  I panicked when the bus blew a tire just outside Yuma, Colorado. We’dbeen going along at a steady sixty-five miles per hour when it happened, and the bus skidded some awful. For a moment I thought we was going to tip over. Everybody was screaming and scrambling to stay in their seats, but the bus driver was a real pro. He handled the skid real well and brought the bus to a stop at the side of the interstate where we all filed off.

  I was nervous when the Colorado Highway Patrol came with the rescue units to help those who might have been banged up, but I played it cool. Besides, I looked very different from the man who was wanted in California, Nevada and Utah. I was wearing an aqua colored T-shirt with a tropical design on it, a pair of blue shorts, and my customary Nikes. I was also wearing a pair of glasses I’d snatched from the Van Buren house; the prescription wasn’t that strong, so it wouldn’t be that hard a strain on the eyes so long as I didn’t wear them all the time. Thanks to the change in appearance, the police didn’t even pay attention to me. In time, a couple of vans pulled up to transport those passengers who were well enough in body and mind to continue onto Chapel Hill, and they took us into Yuma. But because there were no buses scheduled to go to that part of the country until tomorrow, they put us up at this Motel 6 here in town.

  I wanted to write some more about my background, and I guess now’s a good time to do it. Last I left off, I told about momma and Frank being born-again and my indifference to it all. Well, I was so indifferent to it all that I got into quite a bit of trouble. Became quite a hell-raiser, in fact. But I never did get arrested. Not for anything, not even for drinking or what goes with it. Instead, what I liked to do was lay around and drink, shoot the crap with my friends, go shooting in the woods, and chase tail. Naturally, momma and Frank weren’t too wild about that, especially the chasing tail part. Finally, when I was seventeen I got a girl pregnant and we got married.

  We lived with her family in their trailer for a while, and I had a job fixing cars at the auto shop on Lincoln and Grand in town. When the baby came I changed. I settled down some, and really got into fatherhood. Momma and Frank sort of eased up on me, and then before I knew it my wife had done left me for another man.

  I plumb near went crazy. I was set on heading over there with my rifle to kill the sonofabitch when Frank intervened. He talked to me, man to man for the first time since I knowed him, and that talking set me straight. Killing that man for running off with my wife was wrong. It was my wife who made the decision to leave me, and this man had nothing to do with taking her away from me. If it had been the other way around (she being married to him and having his child, and me being him) she would have done the same thing and left him for me. I saw Frank’s point, and it was then that he put his hands on my shoulders and asked to pray with me. I was so confused I didn’t know what to do, so I said yes. We prayed together and all of a sudden I felt better. All the bitter anger was lifted from my shoulders and I suppose I felt what they describe as the experience you feel when you become born-again. I knew then that Frank really cared for me and loved me like a son. And in knowing that, I knew God loved me. I think I cried then.

  I went back home to momma and Frank then, and my momma was so happy I was home that she took me in her arms and held me, crying on my shoulder.

  In the months that followed I went to church with them and Bible studies. A lot that I had learned about the Bible from when I was a kid slowly came back to me. And the more I listened and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it was right: the world is a wicked place, and there is a better place prepared for us in Heaven. I began to feel an overwhelming need to help people about that time, and I didn’t know where to channel this energy. I looked at various things but none of them appealed to me. Helping the homeless was useless because there were always more than you can help. Same with the hungry. I saw how many had been called to preach the Word, but there were already so many doing it I didn’t want to trample on nobodies turf, but I know that we could use a lot of good preaching folk. Besides, I tried it for a while but wasn’t too good at it. Didn’t win a single person over to the Lord, and what good is that when you got all this energy and fire for the Lord and it ain’t being taken in? I wanted to do something that really helped people, really set them free, really affected them, and it wasn’t until I was at home one night with Frank and momma watchin’ TV that it hit me.

  We were watching Pat Robertson’s 700 Club and Pat said that this world was the devil’s world. He said that as Christians we need to be on guard at all times because the Lord gave Satan the world to do his dirty work. As we watched it, momma and Frank would “amen” every so often, nodding as if they agreed with him. And as Pat Robertson went on about how bad and how evil the world was and how Heaven was a much better place, Momma finally said, “Amen and Praise the Lord! I can’t wait to leave this awful place and be with my Lord Jesus Christ!”

  Frank said, “Amen to that, honey.”

  And it was then that I knew what I must do to help people.

  I went into momma and Frank’s room and went to the dresser where I knew Frank kept a loaded Winston .38 caliber revolver. I checked to make sure it was loaded, then I went into the living room and I shot my mother in the back of the head. Frank was just getting up and turning around, a surprised look on his face when I shot him point blank in the face.

  And that’s how I sent Momma and Frank home and started doing this good thing.

  SEPT. 2, SOMEWHERE outside Jacksonville, FL

  Man, this last one was a pure contradiction!

  Her name is (or was) Janet Hain, and she was a sister in the Lord I met two days ago at Holy Bible Pentecostal Church, which is on Route 17 outside of Jacksonville, Florida. Them Pentecostals are some fierce folks; clapping and singing in church to the accompaniment of guitar or piano, speaking in tongues, hands raised in the air, shouting out Hallelujah every five seconds, some downright falling to the floor in convulsions like they was pitching a fit or something. And then there’s the snakes, and I’m not talking no harmless corn snakes or king snakes now, either. These Pentecostal folks pick up live rattlers and water moccasins and dance around with them, all the while praying and singing praises to Holy Jesus for keeping them serpents from striking them. Some of them snakes was mighty big, too; one rattler must have been a good nine feet long and was as big around as my upper arm.

  I even picked one up. I was scared at first, but I was so fired up for the Lord that the hands was picking the snake up the moment it was handed to me. I looked him right in the eye and the rattler kind of looked at me with those fierce eyes of his, his tongue flicking out lazy at me. I held the serpent high over my head in thanks and praise to the Lord, and I was praising God when I passed him on that I didn’t get bit. Guess that means my faith in the Lord is rock solid. Course that don’t mean much to the fellow I passed him on to. The snake bit him right in the neck the minute I handed him over, and Janet told me yesterday morning that he died even though we all prayed over him.

  Guess his faith in the Lord wasn’t as strong as it should have been.

  That’s what I mean about contradictions. I met so many Christians that were contradictory to an extent, but none so much as this bunch down here in Florida. Janet Hain was a prime example; the minute she met me she made it clear that her home was in Heaven. And what does she go and do when I try to help her, she not only puts up the fight of her life, she damn near broke my nose and I almost got bit by her snakes, which she keeps in a box in her living room for the congregation.

  I don’t get it. One minute they say they can’t wait to be in Heaven with Jesus, and the next minute they’re fighting like mad to stay down here on this miserable earth. Makes me wonder if they’re just fooling themselves, or if they got some doubt in their minds, like they’s scared to believe that maybe there really ain’t no heaven and they don’t want to have to find out.

  Well, there is a heaven, and God has prepared it for us, Praise His name. I know this because it sa
ys so in the Good Book.

  Between the time I left Yuma, Colorado and the time I got down here to Jacksonville, not much happened. I finally got in to Chapel Hill, North Carolina on August 28th, and man was it boring. Weren’t many Christians to be found in that town. Chapel Hill is a college town, and I stayed around near the University. Met some Christian folk, but they seemed to be more interested in buying school books for next semester and going to parties then they was about the Bible. I figured they liked it down here so there was no work here for me in this town. So, I left.

  I got to Jacksonville three days ago and tooled around town a bit. Wound up on the outskirts south of the city and found this small community out in the swampland and found this here Pentecostal church. Turned out it was Sunday morning when I stumbled across it, and I attended their service. That’s how I met Janet Hain.

  When Janet found out I was preaching the gospel on the road and that I needed a place to stay, she offered to put me up. She lived in a good-sized home on the edge of a swampy river; she said she inherited the home from her daddy, who was a land baron or some such. The home is nice (I’m sitting in the living room writing this now); it’s got those high ceilings with the big wooden beams in them and the main floor is split-level. The bedrooms is off to the back and the garage is attached to the house. The driveway winds through some dense foliage, and the back deck overlooks the river. In fact, there’s a small pier hooked onto the back and she’s even got a small boat on the river where she sometimes does some fishing.

  When she showed me around she took me all through the house and its grounds. The living room had a fireplace, and there was a big box sitting on a large table where she kept the rattlers the church used. I was especially impressed with the surrounding land and the river. She showed me her boat, and as it turned out she showed me Old Moses. That’s what she named the ten foot ‘gator that sometimes sleeps beside her pier. Old Moses. “He’s mean looking but he’s a real baby,” she said. “I been here fifteen years, and the folks that used to live here before were here for ten, and Old Moses been here the whole time. Folks that live around the river been wanting him gone because sometimes he’ll snack on somebody’s dog or cat, but I told them ‘God made Old Moses to do that. He made Old Moses just the way he is so you leave him be’. Other than that, he’s real friendly. If you see him, pay no mind to him and he’ll leave you be.”

  I stayed at her place, and the next few days were pretty much like they was in Salt Lake with the Van Burens. Janet don’t work (she lives off some inheritance) and we spent a lot of time together studying the Word and praying together. One day we went to a Gay Rights rally in Jacksonville and tried to spread God’s love, but Janet spent most of the time yelling at them queers, and some of them got downright ugly. One of ‘em even hit Janet and there would have been a fight, but I pulled her away. Got her out of there before the police arrived.

  It was that incident that really set her off about leaving. She was crying as I drove us home down the back road. She kept crying, saying that she didn’t mean to cause no fuss, but that she just couldn’t stand there and see them queers and faggots throwing their lives to Satan the way they was living in their homosexual sin. And then to have the nerve and reject the truth and try to shoot the messenger! It all made her very sick and very distraught and finally she just up and said it. “Lord, if I could go with you now, take me now, because I’ve about had it with the sin and wickedness of this world. This room is not fit for those who follow you, Oh Lord.”

  I said Amen to that.

  Amen.

  It was dark when we got home. As Janet started supper in the kitchen, I got my stuff together to make sure it was all in place. I’d probably leave tomorrow morning and I wanted to be sure I had everything before I went.

  Then I went to do God’s work to send Janet home.

  She was standing over the stove, looking out the window at the river beyond when I walked up behind her, grabbed her neck from behind and started strangling her. She went crazy instantly, struggling madly (actually, this isn’t uncommon for those I strangle; it’s an instinctual reaction, even if they really want to go home, but Janet was a big woman and strong). I bore my weight down on her and she managed to elbow me a good one in the ribs. I grunted and squeezed harder and she went down on her knees, then went limp. I bore her to the ground and looked down at her. She was unconscious.

  As I struggled to catch my breath, I saw the glint of rope near the box she kept the rattlers in. An idea began to form in my mind as I grabbed the rope and made a noose with it. I’ve made several of my favors to Christians look like suicides, and now was as good a time as ever to do so now, what with the manhunts in California and Utah going on. I put the noose around her neck, then threw the end of the rope up and over the beam that stretched across the ceiling.

  I’d just gotten her propped up on a chair and had her hoisted up ready to go, when she came to suddenly. Her sudden jerking knocked the chair over and she hung, her legs kicking furiously. I was still holding the end of the rope and I tied it down quick to an opposite beam. Then I went over to her as her body began swinging back and forth during her struggles. Her eyes bugged out, her face turning blue as she fought, kicked, and scratched at the noose. Her legs were kicking wildly and I don’t know how she managed to do it, but on her outward swing toward me she managed to swing out far and kick her foot hard and wide, connecting to my balls.

  God how that hurt. A bolt of deep pain shot through me and I collapsed to the ground, holding my nuts. It hurt so bad I wasn’t aware of anything for maybe a minute, just this white hot pain coursing through my belly and head and echoing through my groin. By the time I became more aware of anything, Janet had somehow managed to hoist herself up so she wasn’t hanging, and had undone my noose. Her dropping to the floor was what made my adrenaline surge, and we both came together in a fury, she clawing at my eyes and face, me holding her off while trying to knock her down.

  She hit me a good one across the face and it stunned me. She sought this opportunity to belt me a good one, and that sent me reeling back. I fell back against the box that held the rattlers and it fell to the floor with a splintering crash, spilling snakes all over the hardwood floor. I jumped up as if my ass hit red-hot coals and saw her coming at me with what looked like a knife. She stabbed down at me and I swung my legs out and knocked her feet out from under her. She fell over, dropped the knife, and landed right on the splintered box and the snakes.

  And then she screamed.

  Them snakes was biting her all over. In the brief time I watched, stunned, she got bit in the face, the chest, both arms, her left hand, and her leg. She managed to get up, screaming in rage, her right cheek bleeding from two puncture wounds from a snake bite, and her arm and hand bleeding as well. She bellowed at me in rage, her eyes red with anger and she charged at me. I dodged out of her way and my hand brushed against the knife–or what I thought was a knife–that’d been knocked out of her hand when she lunged at me. It turned out not to be a knife but some sort of carpentry tool with a broad wooden handle and a long, sharp end like a pick. Looked kind of like an ice pick.

  When she came at me again I met her head on and I gave her a karate chop to the throat. My hand hit her in her Adams apple and it wasn’t hard, but it was hard enough to make her choke and stumble back. I used this opportunity to push her down on her back and with the ice pick I jabbed it down at her, embedding it in the side of her head right above her ear. She gurgled for a moment and then was silent.

  My head was ringing, and for the first time I was aware that my nose was bleeding. I touched it and it sang with pain. It felt like it was bleeding a lot, and it was then that I thought it might be broke (turned out it wasn’t though, after I cleaned myself up).

  I sat on the floor and tried to catch my breath. The only sound I was aware of was the sound of my own breathing and the buzzing of them rattlers still fired up and pissed off that Janet had fell down on them. I’d almost calmed myself
down when I sensed movement.

  I looked up and she came at me. Her face was all swollen up from the snake venom, and her left hand was swelled horribly. There was a great river of blood gushing down the left side of her head from where the pick-like tool still protruded, but she was alive and she came at me. I swear, it was like one of them horror movies momma never liked me to watch. Her hands found my throat and tried to choke me and I somehow got out of her hold and pushed her. We struggled and I got the upper hand again and pushed her away from me. She came at me again and we struggled, only this time I got the upper hand. I grabbed her from behind, got a good grip on her and locked my hands around her throat. She didn’t even put up resistance as I strangled her again. She went limp.

  I tried to strangle the life out of her right there on the kitchen floor, but I was just too tired. Too tired even to try hanging her again, so I dragged her outside onto the pier by her hair. It was a warm, muggy night and if she stayed unconscious long enough all I’d need to do was throw her in the river and she’d drown.

  But wouldn’t you know it? She came to again.

  I had her on the side of the pier and was about to push her in when she came to and grabbed onto my leg. I got down and pushed her upper body into the water, holding her head under with one hand around her throat. She thrashed something wild, as if all the fight was back in her, which I don’t see how after having all that snake venom coursing through her veins and the pick stuck in her head. But she fought anyway and she fought wild. Raised quite a ruckus in that water, arms splashing wildly. I brought her up briefly to catch air and she gasped but couldn’t really draw it in–guess the snake venom was now starting to work—and I ducked her in again. She kept thrashing, and I kept bringing her up and ducking her back in. And her thrashing was starting to diminish when, all of a sudden, I felt a slight tug on her and almost fell in myself. It was then that I noticed that her left arm was gone.