by Chris Fabry
“I don’t know if we could handle all that excitement every week, darlin’,” I said. “What if we shoot for once a month?”
The others nodded, and we agreed on the next date on the calendar. It felt like we’d started something that we’d talk about for years.
As Lester was leaving, he took me aside. “I guess you heard about Vernon.”
“I did. That was a sad occasion.”
“I never asked you about it, but I always had the suspicion that he was up to something. With you, I mean.”
“Your suspicions were true.”
He shook his head and winced. “I’m really sorry I didn’t say something, Billy. When you left the group, I wanted to ask, but I never did. That’s to my shame.”
“It’s okay, Lester. You were always good to me. And I appreciate you asking.”
“Are you doing all right with it?”
“I’ve learned that stuff like that follows you wherever you go. Follows you the rest of your life. And that’s probably why I walked away. But the Lord has a way of showing you that you have to deal with things or they’ll eat you alive.”
“I’m sure glad you’re giving the music another run,” Lester said.
“I hadn’t planned on it until tonight.”
“The Lord bless you, Billy.”
“He has,” I said. “He surely has.”
He patted me on the back, and I watched him load up his guitar and drive away. Jimmy Stillwater said he needed to take his microphones and little Mackie board back to the station, but that he would be glad to come back every month and provide the same setup.
“That’s a lot of time commitment without any pay,” I said.
“I love the music, Billy,” he said. “I’d work just for the pleasure of hearing something so pure and clean. It was like a breath of fresh air. Plus, I feel like I owe you something for the way my brother treated you.”
“That’s long forgiven and forgotten, Jimmy. I appreciate your heart. Tell Karl I asked about him next time you see him.”
Natalie stayed past her bedtime until everybody left. She sat down in the control room while I reset the computer. Mae had gone and Callie said she would drive Natalie home when the festivities were done.
“That was just about the most thrillingest thing I’ve ever been a part of,” she said.
“Me too. And from what Callie says, it wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you and all those ideas you have locked up in that head of yours.”
“I do have a lot of ideas, but she was the one who made it happen. Do you think my daddy heard the program tonight?”
“I’ll bet he did. And if he didn’t, Jimmy made a recording and I’ll send it. You miss him, don’t you?”
“Yeah. But sometimes I feel bad for missing him because I think it hurts Mamaw’s feelings.”
“Your grandmother is a tough old bird. I’ll bet you she can handle it if you talk with her. She’s probably wondering what’s going on up there.”
“I think I talk too much.”
“God has given you a gift, Natalie. And I’ve learned over the years that your strength can be your weakness. Do you know what that means?”
She thought a minute. “That the thing you’re good at can get in the way?”
I nodded. “If you lean on your own strength and understanding, you’ll spin your wheels. If you let God use the thing he’s given you, and also use the things you feel weak in, your life will be an amazing song sung to him every day.”
“How do I do that?”
“There’s no formula. Stay close to him. Talk to him. Don’t see the trouble as him being mean to you but him trying to get you closer. And whatever you do, give it all your heart because your heart is the best thing. It always will be.”
She smiled and gave me a big hug, then went skipping out the door to the house. As I watched her, I thanked God that he would give me something to do that I loved and friends to share it with, a little girl whose life I could speak into, and a wife who loved me.
You can bet that the good feelings that come from such a day will soon pass because of life’s troubles, but right then I felt like the most blessed man on the face of the earth. With the mountain behind me and a clear signal on the radio and a wider outreach than I could have ever dreamed and a mandolin to hold again, it was almost too much to take in. I wished my own daddy and mama could be there with me. Somehow it felt like they were.
30
I sang the night of Billy’s return to music. His was such a small sound, with such a tiny instrument, and yet I felt what I witnessed in that room had been ordered by a divine hand. It took so many pieces falling together to make it happen. I was in awe of all that transpired.
There is rejoicing in heaven when a sinner repents, but we can be captured by other things as well. Answered prayer. Healing. Miracles that spare the lives of the unrepentant who cry out for mercy. And when we rejoice, the music is sweet. It swells over eternity’s portals and invades the deepest darkness. I have long wondered why our singing cannot be heard on the earthly plane, except for certain instances like that night in Bethlehem.
But my song drew attention in other areas, and soon a bright light approached. It was such a shimmering, shining presence that I was forced to shield my eyes. He spoke my name. He commended me for my service to the King and asked what I had learned. And I was so honored that I began telling of Billy’s life, my observations. I centered on the music and the similarities and differences to our realm.
“There seems to be a sound track to each human’s life that runs through every thread and fiber of their being. For some, the music is a dirge, a plainsong that undergirds them through difficult times. For others, the song shifts to major, and life becomes more pleasing. If they harmonize with that sound track, meaning His will and His moving, they are content in every circumstance. But if they fight against it and accuse God of indifference or maliciousness, there is discord.
“To me,” I continued, “music is compulsory. It springs from our being. It is the way we were created. And in the same way it springs from them, but it seems to me they have a choice. They can play and sing, allowing the music to flow through them, or they can ignore it, to their own peril. We are given a charge—even the warriors—and we sing well. It is not just a duty; it is a privilege given by the One who made us and makes us sing to His glory.”
“But it is mandatory,” the shimmering one said.
“Yes.”
“And that somehow seems unfair?”
“I know nothing is unfair in the service of the One who calls us, but the humans’ way feels, somehow, more organic.”
“An interesting hypothesis. Explain further.”
“I know of the Almighty’s justice. I have seen His blinding holiness. The splendor and majesty. They only see faded glimpses of that on the earthly plane. They can only imagine what it must be like in the heavenlies. But I cannot know or even hope to understand what they do about His love. For all of their deficiencies, they are able to feel the love of Him who spared not even His only Son. I have never felt, nor will I ever feel, that inexpressible love. I feel gratitude, of course, for His creating power, His omnipotence and omniscience, but I marvel at the sacrifice. It is the One putting Himself in the place of another that captures me, that makes me sit in awe of their station.”
He moved closer, his voice beckoning and alluring. “Now that you have tasted of this human drama, now that you have been enlightened in the ways your King has chosen to work, wouldn’t you like to taste true freedom? Rather than following and obeying and the weariness that comes from all of the directives He sends, would it not be better to choose your own way?”
A cold shiver ran down my spine as I looked upon the form of the enemy. I had been deceived into thinking this was an ally. Or perhaps even the King Himself visiting me, and for a moment my pride rose, that I would be important enough to have this dialogue. Instead, I had met the chief enemy of souls and the one whom I had be
en fighting since he fell.
“Never,” I whispered, my jaw set. My hand went quickly to the sword.
His gaze was upon me, and suddenly so were a legion of those from the demonic realm, binding and subduing. I had let my guard down for an instant. I would pay the price. Searing pain shot through my body. But before I could call for help, my mouth was clamped shut, the demons crawling over each other to restrain me. It was then that I looked into the face of the most malevolent evil that has ever existed. In his eyes was desperation that comes from defeat. Insanity that springs from one who can never win but only work against a divine plan.
He laughed in derision. “Your charge is about to meet mine. And there’s nothing you or your Master can do.”
31
After our first live show, a reporter from Huntington came to the house to interview me and took some pictures of the studio, Natalie in front of a microphone, and Callie and me on the front porch holding hands. It was a small piece in the Herald-Dispatch on a weekend, and I didn’t expect much response, but as often happens, I did not anticipate what God was up to. The Web site count kept rising, and Homer told me we’d probably have to change our server for the Internet stream because of the increased hit count.
On the last Thursday night in September, I was late getting to the studio. It was the day before my thirtieth high school reunion, and people from all over the country were coming back to connect. It was a two-day affair, and part of me was excited about it and another part of me just wanted to skip the whole thing. I knew there would be a lot of people who would crow about all of their accomplishments, and I’d been stuck in Dogwood not doing much of anything. Still, I was looking forward to seeing Heather, who was said to have made something of herself.
Callie and I met at the diner, which was the reason I was late getting back to the station. We’d been talking about our finances and how things had evened out somewhat now that ads were picking up. We even talked about Callie quitting the post office so she could help me at the station. We’d been praying that would happen, but it was still a dream. She had some things to do at work, so I headed home and saw Natalie’s bicycle against the house when I pulled into the driveway. She was sitting there waiting like a faithful dog.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said.
“No problem,” she said. “Gave me time to think. Here’s my list of songs.”
She handed me a piece of notebook paper with the songs listed from one to fourteen.
“I’ll get ’em lined up, and you get settled,” I said.
I was focused on the board and getting the computer to cooperate and saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked up, and Natalie was busy putting on her headphones. I didn’t think anything about it and hit the theme song, the instrumental version of “I’ll Fly Away” that the boys and I had recorded. I turned on the microphone, and the on-air light clicked. I usually let Natalie just feel where she wanted to come in, but when she didn’t say anything, I pointed at her and leaned back to look through the window. She just stared at the door for some reason.
“What do you want?” she said.
I hit the talkback. “I want you to start the show, June Bug. Let’s go.”
She glanced at me, and the look in her eyes is something I will never forget as long as I live. A mix of fear and white-hot terror. That type of look should not happen to someone so young.
I pulled the music down and heard somebody else inside the room talking, low and unintelligible.
“Is somebody in there with you?” I said in the talkback.
Natalie nodded, still staring at whoever it was.
“I saw your picture in the paper.” It was a man’s voice. Higher pitched and whiny.
I froze. I knew I should jump up from the board and charge into the studio, but that voice and the whole situation left me immobile.
“What—what do you want?” Natalie said again.
The man moved past the double-paned glass, and I saw the glint of a hunting knife in his hand. “Just to see you. You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”
I finally came to my senses and killed the microphone and let the computer take over. The music came up full in Natalie’s headphones, and she jerked them off and stood up, moving away from the man. I kept the microphone in cue.
“Billy!” Natalie shouted.
Her frightened voice sent me over the edge, and I jumped up and ran. He’d locked the dead bolt from the inside. The way I’d built it, there was no way I could kick the thing in. He had the upper hand.
The man looked through the double-paned window at me, a scrawny-looking thing with a beard he’d been working on for a long time. A dirty, long-sleeved jacket. Muddy jeans with holes in the knees. And that knife. Long and curved at the end. It could do some damage. Underneath the scruff and dirt I recognized the picture that had been in the paper when Clay had gone missing.
I ran back to the control room and picked up the phone, but the line was dead. I really needed a cell phone.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” the man said. “I just want to get a closer look.”
“You leave her alone!” I yelled into the talkback, and the guy jumped when he heard my voice through the speakers. Natalie screamed and looked for a place to hide, but there was nothing in there but the round table I’d made and a few filing cabinets against the wall. She could try to run him around the table, but he had control from the moment he walked into the room. I kicked myself for not locking the outside doors.
I banged on the window to get his attention. The man looked at me with a sick grin, like he knew I was powerless.
“I remember you,” he said. He pointed a crooked finger at me that had dirt under the fingernail. “You almost hit me with that truck of yours. I’ll get to you directly. First things first.”
The Bible teaches you to pray without ceasing, which I take as an attitude of prayer that ought to be part of your whole day no matter what you’re doing. And as I prayed, I tried to think of any weapon I had in the station, and the only thing that came to me was a rusty shovel outside the back door. I hurried down the hall and without thinking twice about it brought it back and swung the heavy end into the glass, but the end of it flew off and winged its way down the hall. I shoved the handle into the middle of the first pane of glass until it broke, then did the same with the second that I had mounted at a slightly different angle. It pained me to do that because it cost a bit of money, but there was nothing in the world that was as important as that little girl. I would have blown up the whole building to keep her safe.
I remembered Sheriff Preston’s words about Clay, and the memory sent a shiver through me. I should have been more on guard.
Clay had caught Natalie back by the filing cabinets, and when I stepped through the empty window onto the broken glass, he had her out in front of him and the hunting knife at her neck.
“If I was you, I’d put that thing down. Unless you want to be cleaning her blood off this nice carpet.”
I held out one hand and propped the shovel handle against the wall. “Put the knife down, Clay. You don’t want to do this.”
He leveled his gaze and spoke in a guttural whisper. “You don’t have any idea what I want to do. I have a lot planned for you and your wife after I get through with this one.”
It sounds funny to say it, but I thought about Psalm 121 right then. When trouble comes, where does help come from? It comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth. He is the one who keeps me. He’s the one who won’t let my foot slip. He doesn’t nod off during the troubles of my life. If he really does care, he already knew this was going to happen and had prepared an angel to protect us. He’d protected me all along and I had no doubt he could do it now if he wanted. He was the one who was going to get glory, no matter what happened.
“Everybody thought you were dead,” I said.
He cackled and his spotty, black teeth showed. “That’s what I wanted them to think. And I bided my time, don’t you know.
Just waited for a chance to set things straight. After I get done here, I’ll disappear again. And nobody’s going to find me.”
“How did you find us?”
He seemed to loosen his grip on Natalie a little, and for that I was grateful.
“That’s the funny thing. When I found Callie’s trailer, she wasn’t there no more. So I didn’t have no way to tell. And then I seen this newspaper article, and lo and behold, there you were. Both of you. Wasn’t hard from there. It was just choosin’ when. Late at night while you were asleep? Early in the morning? So many choices. You know, you really should lock your house and not be so trusting of people.”
“Billy?” Natalie said through clenched teeth. “Help me.”
It was the most pitiful cry for help you have ever heard. If I could have taken her place right then, I would have. If I could have lunged at the knife and wrestled it away from him, I would have done it in a second, even if it meant I would lose fingers or a whole hand. But all I could do was talk, and right then it seemed like a poor way of trying to save somebody’s life. I tried to put out of my mind some of the things Callie said he had done to her and what the police report detailed. He held Natalie close again, the knife pressed against her skin so hard I thought it would draw blood.
“Clay, she’s not part of this. Just let her go. You and I can settle this.”
Natalie looked at me, and my heart just about broke for her. I kept trying to think of some way to get her away from him, but one wrong move and it would all be over and I’d have to live with the regret. It seems to me there are times when you have to act and times when you have to wait, but the hardest times are those when you want to do one but you have to do the other and you’re not sure which is best.