by Chris Fabry
To those who don’t understand it, it is hard to describe what a dog can mean to somebody who does not have much in the way of human companionship. A dog can be the comfort God uses to tell us that things are going to be all right. Rogers was there waiting for me at home anytime I left. He was there at the foot of my bed when I got up in the morning. Sometimes when I fell asleep at the console, he would lick my hand at just the right time to wake me up. And to think at the beginning I didn’t even want him.
Of course, Rogers reminded me of my mother. He reminded me that though I felt alone at times, I really wasn’t. He never asked for one thing except for food and water. And that my carelessness led to his death was almost too much to bear.
I finally got the power back on and the transmitter fixed. On the morning show I told folks about Rogers and I suppose I got a little emotional, especially the part about taking him out back on the hill by the tower and digging his grave and putting him there with his favorite blanket (which happened to be my favorite blanket). But I got through it and played an instrumental version of “Amazing Grace” that I thought was appropriate.
Just so you know how the Lord works in mysterious ways, the next few days I got the most e-mail and calls ever about anything. People wanted to tell me about their animals and how much they were like family to them. With all the misery in the world, it was clear to me how pure and good the love of an animal is. It was recounted to me over and over.
One lady wrote and asked my advice about what to do with her cat. I thought it was humorous that someone who didn’t own a cat and really didn’t like them would be asked to help an older woman get the courage to put it out of its misery, but I wrote her back and tried. I told her not to go alone to the veterinarian and that her cat would understand, in the end, that she was just trying to love her.
Her last e-mail was the most heartbreaking thing. She said her cat was gone and that I had given her the strength to let her go. After I read it, I turned on the tape machine and went into the kitchen for another cup of coffee. I saw Rogers’s empty food and water dish and I was done for just about the whole day. I know some people will not understand this, but I don’t apologize for loving that old dog. And after he was gone, I felt such an empty place in my soul that I’m ashamed to admit it, but there it is.
18
My curiosity piqued, the way ahead of me paved with good intentions, as well as the justification of believing that the fight would be better fought if I had full understanding of Billy’s past, I took leave of my station and traveled across enemy lines for the meeting I had requested. I was reluctant to leave Billy so distraught about an animal that meant so much to him. I wondered if events such as these were “ordered” or were simply allowed to take place. The dog’s death had caused great consternation in Billy, but I felt the meeting in the nether regions would finally give answers.
There is no place on earth or in the heavenlies that the Almighty, the Creator of the universe, is not. But there are areas where His presence seems to have less effect—where pervasive evil appears to hold sway, and it was to one of these places that I traveled.
The risk of humans speaking about the evil one is that they will get him and his power out of perspective. Let me say this to clear up any misconception. Satan is limited. He is not ever-present or all-knowing. But, of course, he is a force to be reckoned with, and his legions of followers are not the stumbling, bumbling oafs that many depict. They are a malevolent army trained in terrorism of the soul.
I knew going in that I was dealing with an enemy that would seek to confuse and lie. He and his minions would do anything to deter me from protecting my charge. And I truly believed that was what I was doing in attempting to learn more about the past. I sought answers to why he would choose to live alone and isolated, why he had given up the musical gift.
The demons seemed busy about their tasks and mostly ambivalent to my presence. Perhaps they expected me. Perhaps they had been told to ignore me. But I believe they were acting as they always do, for this is the effect of evil—a retreat into a world of one’s own, thinking of nothing but self-preservation. As I looked on, I saw how trapped these creatures were, and something inside wanted to sing, wanted to exult in the goodness of the Holy One, who allows His creation to live and move and have its being in unfettered allegiance to an unending Kingdom.
From the darkness came a voice calling my name. I recognized it and stood my ground, knowing it would be a mistake to go farther.
The demon’s face twisted in the light, as if in pain, and he shielded his eyes. “Can’t you do something to tone down?”
“It is my nature. How can I do otherwise? I do not apologize for it nor will I change it.”
“Ah, the superior attitude. Don’t you find it annoying? Darkness has its positives. Especially when discussing the human heart.”
“It is written that men loved darkness rather than light. Your leader loves darkness because all who do evil hate the light and refuse to go near it for fear their evil deeds will be exposed.”
“Spare me the biblical exposition. If I wanted preaching, I would listen to that simpering charge’s radio station.” He studied his fingernails and said in a monotone, “What is it you want to know?”
“I was called away from my charge at a vulnerable time in his life. When he was beginning his tenure with the musical group. Did you or any of your kind witness what happened?”
“Why don’t you ask your superiors? Why come running to the enemy?”
“I’ve been unsuccessful in discovering what happened.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I thought all-knowing meant all-knowing. Hmm. A little problem with that attribute. And this has meaning to you for what purpose?”
“It is information that I believe will help me in my tasks.”
He twisted his head in that impish way that always repulses me, but I tried not to show it. “Why would I want to cooperate in any way?”
“I do not appeal to your goodwill, for I know you have none.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” He licked his lips grotesquely and moved away from the cavern behind him. “You know, if the few people who actually listen to this radio station knew the depths to which he had fallen in his younger days, I doubt one of them would even come near the signal. They wouldn’t waste their time listening to his babbling. It is because of this that we have decided to allow his flailings and machinations with this venture. With what little harm it can do to us, we should be able to use it in the future for much greater harm against him and, ultimately, the One he purports to serve.”
The imp edged closer and lowered his voice. “You see, your charge makes a big deal about how much freedom he has in Christ, how much victory and power he has in following your Leader. But he is enslaved. We have him trapped between the past and the present, all those memories, all those evil deeds that run like the infernal tapes, round and round and round. There is no end.”
While the demon spoke, I reminded myself that he was a liar and his father had invented the activity and raised it to an art form. Still, like any communiqué from the enemy, there were shreds of truth. I struggled to separate fact from fiction.
“How could you know any of this if you weren’t following my charge?”
“This information does not come from me, but from a colleague familiar with that history. He gave a full report of the activity surrounding his own charge who, at the time, had interaction with yours.”
“Explain.”
“As a youngster your charge was included in a musical endeavor with several others, and it was one of them who, shall we say, led him astray.”
“How so?” I said.
The imp chuckled. “You really do want the juicy tidbits, don’t you?”
“I want to know the story. What happened?”
“I would have to read you reams of files. It would certainly cause you to distrust not only your charge and his motivations but also the very One who called you to prote
ct him. Tell me this: why would the Almighty be so interested in one who had fallen so far? one who had so degraded himself as to become involved in a bevy of immoral behavior?”
“Perhaps my charge repented. This is something the Almighty delights in doing—forgiving those who have trespassed against Him.”
The imp rolled his eyes and his tongue as he said, “Forgiveness. The great mantra of the whole race. They want to forgive everyone. They want to absolve the murderer and the child rapist and the jaywalker and put them all on even footing. And if someone does evil to them, they tie themselves in knots because they cannot truly let go of the anger and resentment. It is such an insidious spectacle. Lucky for you and me that we don’t have to entertain any of those thoughts, eh?”
As the demon spoke, I had a fleeting thought. While all of this was happening to Billy—if it did really happen—I was engaged in battle. Our side had again been victorious. But at what cost to Billy? And who had ordered me to this post, knowing the danger Billy would be in? knowing there was someone in the group who would lead him astray?
God Himself.
I focused my thoughts. “We are different from the humans; this is true. But the Almighty says He uses the weak things of this world to praise Him.”
“If I hear that one more time, my insides will explode. It is one thing for the humans whose eyes are clouded by their limited vision to believe that twaddle about the low being high and the high being low, but for you—an intelligent being who can see—for you to believe it and defend it stretches the bounds of credulity.”
I didn’t answer, for my insides roiled with answers that sprang from the ages. I could have spent the next hour recounting the stories of humans who had fit into the holy rubric he demeaned. But this information also brought the questions focused on one life instead of the great circumference of humanity. I was learning about Billy and how his life intersected with the purposes of his Creator. I pondered all of this but kept silent, and he read my silence as a victory.
“He is ours,” the demon said. “Totally and irrevocably. Your charge pretends to serve his heavenly Father, but he is really serving himself. He is trying to expunge all of the things in his past for which he feels remorse. He is making up for everything evil he’s ever done or thought about doing every day he gets up and strives and does his service to the King. He is not praising God with his being; he is selfishly assuaging his guilt through his own power and confession.” The demon laughed derisively.
“Perhaps the most important thing is not what he has done but what was done to him.”
“Victim status, then. ‘Woe is me; I’ve been violated by evil people. I had no control. I had no say in the matter.’ If I were to read to you the transcript, I’m sure you would never look at your charge the same way again.”
The demon retrieved the report, or what he purported to be the report, and it was then I realized the truth. The demon had agreed to this meeting, had engaged with me, to keep me from the task I had been given. He was plying me with information to ensnare, not for an attack on me, but on Billy.
I hastened my return to the hills with the demon’s voice echoing its accusations. It does not take long for an attack to become effective. What I found there showed what a tragic mistake I had made in listening to the evil one.
19
When a new mailman showed up driving the route one Monday, I didn’t think much about it. He came late in the day, but few people are as fast as Callie in their sorting and delivery. She took time off every now and then and was off every other Saturday. But when he came earlier the next day, I went out and asked what was going on. He was a young fellow from Barboursville who had started part-time and was now full-time in Dogwood. He said Callie hadn’t been to work since Saturday and they hadn’t been able to get ahold of her.
I called her house but there was no answer, so I called her parents and her mother answered.
“Billy, we’ve been so worried. Her car’s gone and the door is locked tight and there’s no movement in there at all. She’s never done anything like this before, not letting us know where she is or if she’s okay. I’ve called the hospitals . . .” Her voice broke. “We just can’t find her. I swear I don’t know what to do. Have you heard anything from her?”
“No, ma’am.” I told her about the last time I had seen her at the mailbox.
“We’re real worried. I think something’s happened. We called the sheriff, but he said they have to wait a certain amount of time and that she’ll probably show up.”
I took a deep breath and looked at the programs ready to go on the machines. “Tell you what. Let me go over to her place and see if I can find out anything.”
“Thank you, Billy.”
I started the next preaching program and set up my reels of music. The way I’d set it up, if there was more than twenty seconds of dead air, the first music reel or whatever was on machine number one would automatically start. To play music in the afternoon liked to kill me because I knew I’d get phone calls from people telling me they missed the second part of some message, but I saw this as an emergency and knew the people would understand if they knew the situation.
Sometimes I’d get a call from Callie on her cell phone when I played the wrong program. Half the time I was just mixed up, but many times it was because of the fatigue or my blood sugars that were out of whack. She was an angel on my shoulder trying to keep me on track.
* * *
Callie’s trailer was supposed to look white and blue, but mostly it was a rusty red. One of the metal panels had come loose from the roof and turned up like a cowlick on a country boy. I checked her mailbox and there was a pile of stuff. I knocked, but there was no answer and the metal door didn’t have a window. I pulled a loose cinder block over to the trailer and stood on it to see into the kitchen. The sink was full and on the table was the book I had given her. But there was no sign of Callie.
I cupped my hand over the window and looked closer. By the sink was an open prescription bottle. My heart skipped a beat. I carried the cinder block to the living room window. The drapes were open there, but she wasn’t on the couch. Then I moved to the back bedroom and looked in the window, but the blinds were closed. The window was the kind you crank open and there was a little crack there. I pulled it open a couple of inches.
“Callie? You in there?”
A familiar sound came from the room—my radio station playing through the tinny clock radio. The preaching had stopped and the music was going.
I had to pull at the blinds through the ripped screen and broke a couple of the slats. I let my eyes adjust and saw her unmade bed. There was a long lump on it that I thought was her at first, but I realized that was one of those body pillows under the covers.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I grabbed my chest and took a breath. I hadn’t noticed the woman standing at the end of the next trailer. “Just trying to find Callie.”
“She ain’t here,” she said. Her voice was like gravel and her stare could have stopped a freight train. She had one hand in her apron pocket and the other flicking a cigarette.
“Are you sure?”
“Haven’t seen her for a few days. Who are you?” It was more of an accusation than a question.
“A friend of hers. I talked with her mother and she told me she was missing.”
“A friend don’t go breaking in to a house.”
I finally noticed there was something making her apron stick out. Something hard. And it was pointed right at me.
“What’s your name?” she said.
“Billy Allman.”
She squinted. “You the fellow on the radio?”
I nodded.
“Say something else.”
“It’s fifty-three degrees in Dogwood, relative humidity is 73 percent, and we should get a shower a bit later in the day.”
She took her hand out of her apron. “You are him.” She laughed and a cough accompanied it. “You sure don’t
look like I thought you would.”
What do you say to the expectations of casual listeners?
She wore a tight-fitting smock and shuffled through the crabgrass in faded pink house shoes. She held out nicotine-stained fingers and shook my hand. “Opal Walker,” she said. “I’ve known Callie since she moved in.”
I recognized the last name. Her son, Graham Walker, had gotten in trouble with the law and was doing time at Pruntytown. Anybody who knew about her pretty much stayed clear of her. That Callie would befriend her was not a surprise. She was always the one to believe the best about people and see them as needing the Lord. To be honest, Opal was right in my target audience, though she didn’t know it.
“You listen to my station?” I said.
“Anytime I was over at Callie’s, she had it on. She talked about you something fierce. Just a walking billboard. Like you hung the moon over the mountain.”
“When was the last time you saw her?”
She thought a minute. “Saturday. She came home from work and then went out in the evening.”
“I don’t want to alarm you, but I saw an open bottle of pills by the sink, so I’m trying to get inside and make sure she’s not lying in there.”
Her jaw fell. “Well, I got a key.” Opal turned and hobbled back toward her trailer. “She gave it to me just in case.”