SPENCER CALLAGHAN : The Fight for Heaven and Earth

by Ryan Conway

  "You sounded pretty shaken up when I called," George said. "What happened?"

  "Something miraculous," Sandra said, her eyes filled with tears.

  Both men gave Sandra their full attention as she recounted her story, ending with, "...and Spencer actually died for five minutes or so." She wiped away tears.

  They stared at her in disbelief. "What do you mean, died?" George demanded.

  "Spencer died?" Meadows blurted.

  "Ssshhhh, not so loud. Come out in the hallway." Sandra led the two men out the door into the bright hall, then turned to them and moved in as if she were relating a secret. "Spencer's heart stopped," she whispered. "He stopped breathing. He died."

  "And they resuscitated him?" Uncle George inquired. "What happened after?"

  "That's just the thing: They didn't resuscitate him. They couldn't." At her husband's shocked look, she said, "Well, of course they tried everything they could, but everything failed. They shocked him six times before they pronounced him dead. They said there was nothing more they could do." She was weeping openly now.

  George and Pastor Meadows just stared at her, knowing there was more to the story. With a wide grin, she said, "Then it happened. The heart monitor picked up a heartbeat, about half a minute after they gave up, and suddenly it was like Spencer was just sleeping. Honey, it was a miracle from God. He's truly blessed us."

  George stood there looking shocked and awed, while Pastor Meadows stared into space with an introspective look in his eyes. "Why, this is God showing Spencer his true power!" he proclaimed. "Maybe he'll learn from this experience. He'll be all right."

  "This was God showing ME his true power," Sandra responded tartly. "I witnessed it personally." She glanced up humbly at the heavens, wiping the last tears from her reddened eyes. "I don't know what anyone else will get from this, but I witnessed something today that I can't explain, and I can only say how it's affected me. God truly does work in mysterious ways."

  "It's not for us to always understand what those ways are," George stated. "But I'm thankful for it."

  "I'm just glad everything turned out okay," Meadows said. "We can move forward from this point. and you're going to have to share with him what happened here tonight so he can learn from it."

  George and Sandra stared and him coldly. He seemed not the least bit repentant about the fact that his ridiculous histrionics had triggered the attack that had almost killed their nephew. George turned away from him pointedly. "The police want to speak with Spencer when they can," he informed his wife. "They know he was the only witness of the events with Drake… and before you ask, I didn't mention Spencer's version of events. It seems like a pretty complicated situation, and I think Spencer needs some time—we need time—to figure out how he should present his side of the story."

  Pastor Meadows pulled out his cell phone and looked at it, sighing in disappointment. George said sharply, "You still can't get in touch with him?"

  "Not yet," the pastor replied. "The police haven't called me back yet, either." A solemn look came across Pastor Meadows' face as he looked up from his phone. "I'm going to have to call the mission," he said, shaking his head reluctantly. "If we don't find him soon, I'll have to inform them about what's happened here."

  Slight movements from inside Spencer's room caught Pastor Meadows' attention via his peripheral vision. He swiftly whipped his head around to catch whatever he thought he was seeing, and squinted through his glasses. After a few seconds he removed them, pinching the lenses in his shirt and wiping them clean with his fingers. Without lowering his eyes from his view into Spencer's room, he placed his glasses back on his face and was able to see more clearly.

  He would have sworn there was a transparent haze hovering over Spencer's bed. Meadows thought he was witnessing either an optical illusion or a spirit of some kind, but nonetheless he marched over to Spencer's room, determined to find out what he was observing, as the boy's aunt and uncle looked on, confused. The thing's barely visible outline transformed into a more noticeable shape as it drifted toward Spencer's bed; objects in the background seemed to have a slight optical curve around a human-like form. As it cautiously and quietly approached Spencer's bedside, Meadows flipped on the light switch right inside the doorway, suddenly illuminating the entire room—but whatever he thought he had seen, whether it was an actual spirit or just his mind playing tricks on him, had vanished. He peered around the room, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Spencer, on the other hand, began to stir. He opened his eyes, looking toward the doorway at Meadows. "George, Sandra… he's awake now." Meadows called out.

  George and Sandra rushed over to the room with huge smiles lighting up their faces. "Spencer." Sandra called to him. "I'm so glad you're okay."

  "You really gave everyone a scare, son," George said. "It's great to see you awake."

  ***

  Aunt Sandra quickly ran to his side and planted a huge kiss on his forehead. Uncle George followed her and waited for his turn to give Spencer a hug. Pastor Meadows was smiling, Spencer noted, but was also looking curiously around the room. "How do you feel, honey?" Aunt Sandra asked.

  "Well, I'm kind of hungry," Spencer admitted, "and I'm pretty tired, but mostly hungry. And, um, why am I in a hospital bed?"

  The adults looked at one another. "You passed out and we had to call the ambulance," his aunt said slowly. "And… there were complications."

  "Complications?" Spencer looked down and noticed he was wearing only a hospital gown. "When did they change my clothes?"

  "After they revived you. Your clothes are over there on the table. What's left of them," Uncle George answered, nodding his head in the direction of a small table on the other side of the room. "Your pajama top is pretty much a loss, because they cut it off you to get to your chest. The rest are wearable."

  Spencer just stared at them with a mixture of worry and fright, speechless.

  "Spencer," Aunt Sandra began, "your condition got really critical, and the doctor had to resuscitate you at one point."

  "Seriously?" Spencer responded. "But I feel like I was just sleeping…."

  "You probably have a sore throat from the respirator tube, and I'll bet your chest feels burned," Uncle George said gently. "That was from the defibrillator paddles."

  "No. No, I feel fine." He pulled open his hospital gown and looked down. "There aren't any burns on my chest." Spencer braced his arms to push himself up and sit forward in the bed. Aunt Sandra placed her hands on each shoulder and peered into his eyes. Her smile disappeared momentarily, and Spencer stared back at her, focusing on the intense look in her face. "Spencer, you actually died for a while," Aunt Sandra said. "The doctors pronounced you dead—after shocking you six times. I was there. I saw and heard everything. And then… you just came back."

  Spencer's eyes lit up with astonishment. "Seriously? No. No way. , Spencer replied, still unable to believe what his aunt was telling him.

  "Apparently, God decided it wasn't your time yet," Aunt Sandra said as the huge, glowing smile returned to her face. "And I couldn't be more grateful."

  "Oh." Spencer looked flustered. "Well, I guess I'm ready to go if they want to release me."

  "Excellent," Uncle George responded. "We'll talk to the staff and find out if there's any reason for you to stay in that bed. I'd like you to come home tonight too, but they may need to do some tests or something." Uncle George looked thoughtful. "Anyway, you said you were hungry. Anything in particular you want? Maybe we can pick something up from the cafeteria for you."

  "Hmm. I guess I'm in the mood for a chicken salad sandwich. And maybe a bottle of iced tea."

  After checking with his wife to see if she wanted anything—she didn't—Uncle George left the room, accompanied by Pastor Meadows. After they left, Aunt Sandra glanced up at Spencer with an inquisitive look on her face. "So, Sweetie, when you said you were dreaming before. What were you dreaming about?"

  Spencer glanced down for a moment, trying to remember details. "Well, I
remember something about a giant stone wall with little holes in it, and bright light from the other side shining through the holes," he said.

  "Did you see anything like a staircase, or a tunnel?"

  "No," Spencer answered. "Other than the holes in the wall, there was this huge doorway with a lot more light coming out of it, but everything else was kind of bluish or gray. There were a lot of people and animals gathered around, and even some other… beings that looked sort of like people, but not really." He rubbed his chin, squinting, and continued the guided tour of his odd dream. "I walked through the big doorway, and there was a long road and a bridge I had to walk along before I came to this gate." He glanced at her. "And no, it wasn't made of pearl. It was just a big iron gate. It was weird, but at the same time it seemed so real," he concluded.

  "Most dreams do at the time," Aunt Sandra noted. "Well, I was just wondering, because I, well, I was wondering what you might've experienced or seen when you almost, you know, passed on."

  Spencer sat there meditating on the dream, but could only shake his head in the end, figuring he wouldn't be able to make any sense of it anytime soon. He turned his head to check the time on the nightstand, and found his amulet lying next to the clock with the leather thong coiled around it. He was surprised to see it, because he could barely recollect what had happened to it. He was a little confused, trying to remember when he'd held it last. He couldn't remember if it was in his pocket or even around his neck when he passed out, but here it was, curled up on the nightstand like a loyal dog waiting for its owner to wake up. What puzzled him most was that it was lying separate from his clothing on his nightstand.

  He picked up the medallion and slipped it on, hiding it beneath his hospital gown. Since all the excitement over the last few hours seemed to surround the medallion, he figured that wearing it, hidden under clothing, was the safest place for it.

  After everything he had witnessed that night before, Spencer was a little worried about Uncle George and Pastor Meadows actively trying to find Drake. At the same time, he knew he couldn't just come out and argue against their search based on what he alone had witnessed. Meadows didn't believe him as it was. All he could do was quietly pray that Drake, whoever or whatever he was, had run off for good, and would at least leave his family alone. But the incident left him full of questions—not only about what kind of danger he and his family might be in, but also about why Drake was after his medallion… and, even more strangely, what the invisible force was that had fought Drake off at the house before he fled.

  "Struck out at the cafeteria, son, but there was a little diner open down the street, so I got your sandwich," Uncle George announced. Spencer and Aunt Sandra looked up to see him holding a white paper bag and a cup bearing a diner's logo on the side.

  "Thanks, Uncle George." Spencer said, as his uncle handed the bag to him. He reached in, pulled out a container, and opened it to find his chicken sandwich, which he began eating ravenously. While he ate, his aunt and uncle quietly discussed the police findings from the investigation at their house. Pastor Meadows remained outside, still trying to contact Drake and hoping to hear back from the police department about his missing person's report.

  After a while, Uncle George stated, "I'd better go find Bill and see how he's doing." He walked over to Spencer with his arms open; Spencer stood up from the bed and hugged his uncle firmly. "Spencer, you really gave us a scare, but I'm glad you're doing a lot better… I love you, and I'll see you later."

  "Love you too, Uncle George."

  "And by the way—we had to file an incidence report and a missing person's report with the police because of last night. Drake's still at large." Uncle George leaned in close and said softly, "I didn't mention any of the bizarre stuff you were talking about, Spencer. Since you're the only witness to the events last night, you'll need to tell the police your story yourself." He looked at his nephew intensely. "But you need to think about how you want to present your story, get my drift?"

  "Yessir," Spencer concurred. "I don't even believe what I saw myself. Maybe I was even hallucinating. But I do know that Drake did try to take the medallion, and ran off with the dogs chasing him. I'll tell them at least that much."

  After saying goodbye to Aunt Sandra, Uncle George headed out the door to find Pastor Meadows. Once he was gone, Spencer grabbed his pants off the table and rummaged through the pockets. He pulled out his cell phone and draped the pants over the back of a chair, then turned back toward Aunt Sandra and sat down on the bed, composing a text to Tom. It essentially informed him about his trip to the hospital and included his room number. Spencer also texted that some really weird stuff was going on, and that he needed to talk to him. Tom was the only person he felt he could fully confide in about the bizarre phenomena involving Drake.

  Unsurprisingly, both Spencer and his aunt dozed off for a few moments at a time as they awaited Uncle George's return. Dawn soon began to break, the sky gradually blushing peach in the distance. While they were awake, the two talked about a gamut of topics, ranging from his medical condition to his future aspirations. Spencer kept glancing down at his cell phone, hoping to see a response from Tom.

  As the sun peeked over the horizon, Aunt Sandra stood up from the chair, stretching and yawning, then announced that she was headed down to the cafeteria. She wasn't sure if it was open yet, but she was feeling hungry, and wanted to get breakfast for Spencer and herself.

  Spencer looked down at his cell phone again in frustration. Tom still hadn't texted back and it was after 7 AM, so Spencer decided to try calling him. The ringtone sounded five times before the call was directed to voicemail. Spencer figured Tom must still be sleeping, his phone set on silent mode. At the beep, he said, "Hey, Tom. I tried texting you earlier, and was just wondering if you got it. I've really gotta talk to you. I'm at West Augusta General Hospital. I'm okay now, but something really weird happened overnight, and I feel like I might be going crazy. Um, just call me back as soon as you can when you get this message, 'k?"

  Sighing, he ended the call and put his phone on the nightstand. After a nervous moment, he felt compelled to walk over to the window and close the blinds; the events of last night were replaying so vividly in Spencer's mind that he didn't feel safe alone. He paced around the room for a moment, shaking and rubbing his arms as if he were outside in a blizzard. He glanced around the room, paranoid, hoping some level of normalcy would return soon—and wondering if he was going insane.

  A noise from the hallway startled Spencer, and he jerked around. A white-coated man walked casually into the room holding a thin manila folder. He greeted Spencer with, "Hey there, I'm Dr. Simmons," and spun a chair around from under the small table. After taking a seat, he leaned forward, opening the folder. "You probably don't remember me, but I saw you when you came into the ER last night, and we've met before," Simmons said without looking up.

  "Of course I remember you, sir. You've helped me a lot with my migraines."

  Spencer sat on the edge of the bed and waited patiently to hear Dr. Simmons' news. "So, where's your Aunt?" Simmons asked, looking up. "I was hoping to speak with you both."

  "She should be back anytime," Spencer answered. "She went to get breakfast." Simmons looked at Spencer, paused in mid-thought—as if he wanted to ask Spencer something, but was too afraid. But before he could speak, his attention was diverted by Aunt Sandra's timely arrival. She was carrying two Styrofoam containers; she immediately set one down on the table and handed the other one to Spencer.

  "There's plasticware inside, Spencer," Aunt Sandra informed him. Then she turned toward Dr. Simmons. "Sorry if you were waiting long, Doctor."

  "Not at all. I just got here," Dr. Simmons assured her. "Anyway, I have some good news. The results of Spencer's MRI last night shows no abnormalities—no tumor, no blood clot, no cerebral hemorrhaging or anything like that to worry about. As far as I can see, there's no reason for any type of cerebral treatment." Spencer and Aunt Sandra both smiled gratefully. "Now,
that being said," Dr. Simmons continued, "This is far from the first migraine you've experienced. In fact, you've got quite a history of migraines. You've come into the hospital before several times because some of them were so bad. And we have no idea why." Dr. Simmons leaned forward and said in a more serious tone, "So I want to provide you with something that would be a more permanent solution. I'm going to prescribe a medication called rizatriptan. The meds come in 10 mg tablets, and they're made specifically for migraines. How does this sound to you?" he asked.

  "Sounds great," Spencer proclaimed, and Aunt Sandra echoed his statement.

  Dr. Simmons shuffled the files and slid them back into the folder. "All right, then. I'll put the prescription into the hospital database as soon as possible, and you can pick it up at the pharmacy downstairs. Call me if you have any further issues," he concluded. After shaking their hands, he left the room.

  Almost immediately afterward, there came a rapid knock at the open doorway; they looked up and saw Tom Englewood standing in the threshold. To Spencer, Tom had never looked as concerned about anything as he did at that moment. His jaw was hanging partially open and he was panting slightly, as if he'd just sprinted up a flight of stairs. His wide eyes, looking huge in his pale face, were fixed on Spencer. He didn't even crack a smile. Spencer was surprised to see him, since he hadn't responded to his text or call. He must have left home immediately upon opening the text and sped to the hospital. "Spencer, is everything okay?" Tom asked breathlessly.

  "Oh, you did get my text," Spencer said happily. "Or my message."

  "Yeah, I got your text earlier this morning," Tom responded. "I texted you back. Didn't you get it?"

  Spencer looked down at his phone. "Nope, no texts. I wonder what happened?"

  "Yeah, I texted you twice before I jumped in my car and hightailed it over here," Thomas responded as he entered the room and approached Spencer's bed. Spencer felt a stab of frustration; sometimes his phone functioned perfectly fine, but once in a while there was a lag before text messages arrived. Spencer often referred to his phone as "the Bermuda Triangle" because of the way that texts, and sometimes even voicemail, would seemingly disappear and reappear at random moments. If ever there was a day when Spencer really wished it were working properly, today was that day.