Demons at War

by P A Minyard

  When Jonathan saw his brother, he rushed to him and held on for a long time.

  “I thought he was pulling my leg,” Benedict said in his best brotherly tone.

  Jonathan felt him trying to pull away but just kept hanging on. “What are you doing here, little brother?” Benedict asked, and pushed Jonathan out at arm’s length and looked him over.

  “I know why you came back,” Jonathan pleaded, “but you don’t have to prove anything. You don’t have to do this.”

  “Do Mother and Father know you’re here?” Benedict’s tone was stern.

  Jonathan watched as ‘his brother’ stepped back, separating himself even further from him.

  “No, but... just listen to me, please.”

  “This is neither the time nor the place for this,” Benedict said, feigning anger. “Didn’t we say goodbye when I left?”

  “Joshua’s dead,” Jonathan blurted out. His eyes began to fill with tears, and he bit his lower lip as he felt it trembling. He felt unwelcome and was confused by Daniel’s anger and dismissive attitude.

  “I’m sorry,” Benedict said. He seemed to choke on the words, as if he had never said them before.

  “I can’t lose you too.”

  “Is that what this is about?” Benedict replied.

  Jonathan’s head cocked slightly, the condescending tone caught him off guard.

  “I’m worried about you. I want you to come home. I want you to stay home. How much is enough? How much more must you give before you realize that we need you too?”

  “There is much to be done before I can return,” Benedict said, turning on the charm, “but I promise, I will return.”

  Jonathan wiped his sleeve across his face and mustered a smile. “How ‘bout that picture?” It was Buck, who poked his head into the tent.

  Benedict rolled his eyes at the intrusion.

  “Daniel, this is my friend Buck. He’s a photographer.”

  “Do tell,” Benedict said, recoiling as Buck held his hand out to shake.

  “He’d like to take our picture,” Jonathan announced, full of pride. “Wouldn’t that be great?”

  “Just capital.”

  Jonathan couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Daniel kept glancing at the door of his tent, and forced a smile as he looked back at Jonathan.

  “Jonathan, grab that stool,” Buck ordered. “You take a seat there, and we’ll get your brother to stand slightly behind you and to your left.” Buck motioned to the area of the tent that suited his vision of the portrait. “Major, if you please.”

  Benedict nodded, but rather than seeming happy at the novelty of getting his picture taken, it seemed to Jonathan that Daniel acquired an odd, violent twitch or tick. They waited as Buck positioned the camera.

  “Hold it right there,” Buck called out. “Don’t move.”

  The brothers maintained their positions as the exposure continued. Jonathan sat with his back straight, proud that his brother was at his side. Benedict took a deep breath and held his pose, right hand upon Jonathan’s shoulder. Neither one smiled, although Jonathan found it hard to fight back his enthusiasm.

  “Got it. Thanks, fellas,” Buck said, and began tearing down the camera, hastily retreating.

  Once he had left, Benedict turned to Jonathan. “I know you meant well,” Benedict said, keeping his composure, “but I’ll not have you pull another stunt like this. Do I make myself clear?” He held his hand out.

  Jonathan grasped it firmly.

  “OK.”

  “Off with you now,” Benedict said, and motioned to the tent’s opening. “I’ll feel better once I know you’ve left for home.”

  Jonathan walked away, at least convinced that he had made his point. Daniel had promised to return, and Daniel never broke a promise.

  Benedict stood in the tent with his hand to his forehead. Only a trip through the gate could soothe the sickness that was overtaking him. “Still yourself, Daniel,” he said. “Your love for that boy is making my head pound. I can barely hear myself think.”

  Later that afternoon, Buck and Jonathan packed up for their return home. As Jonathan went through his things, he came upon Daniel’s pipe. As much as he longed to keep that piece of Daniel with him, he thought maybe his brother might actually want it back.

  “What’s that there?” Buck asked, always full of curiosity.

  “It’s Daniel’s pipe,” Jonathan said, saddened by the moment. “I should give it back to him. He left it at home.”

  “There’s still time. Why don’t you run it back to him before it gets any darker?”

  Jonathan shot out of the tent without saying a word. He ran across the camp and back to Daniel. He didn’t think to announce himself he just pulled back the flap and entered. Benedict was crossing back through the gate. Benedict was as shocked to see Jonathan as Jonathan was to see his brother walking through the back wall of the tent. Jonathan’s eyes widened and fear stopped him in his tracks even though adrenaline was racing through him from head to toe.

  Benedict’s anger carried him to the opposite side of the tent, and in one swift move, he pulled the knife from his belt and ran it through Jonathan’s heart. It all happened so quickly that Jonathan didn’t even cry out. There were gasps and a slight gurgle as blood ran from the corners of his mouth. Benedict’s eyes flashed black as night as he held the boy close, watching the light fade from his face, savoring the look of terror in his victim’s eyes. Jonathan’s hand let loose the pipe he was clutching. It fell to his side, bouncing twice upon the ground before settling. Benedict paused as a tear ran down his face.

  “Daniel, you actually weep for one so weak?” Benedict said. His tone was callous. He left Jonathan’s body in a heap on the ground until night fall, then dragged the boy’s body down to the Rappahannock and dumped him there.

  There was darkness unlike any Jonathan had ever experienced. He felt lost and confused. How was Daniel able to walk through the tent’s wall as if it didn’t exist? And the knife, his eyes, that look on his face? It all happened so quickly that Jonathan wasn’t aware he had died.

  “Jonathan,” a voice began, “your heart is pure; your soul wiped clean by the murderer’s knife. You are Beloved in the Father’s eyes.”

  “Who are you? Where are we? What just happened?” Jonathan stammered. He spit the words out so fast he hardly knew they came from him. He was still panicked by the overwhelming darkness. He felt like he was spinning, turning in every direction, looking for the tiniest hint of light.

  “I am here on behalf of the Father, and you have not yet passed into his kingdom,” the voice continued. “Your service is required. Will you give now in death as you so often gave in life?”

  “Death?!” Jonathan said, taken aback by the word.

  “No!” said another voice, breaking into the conversation. “I will not allow this.”

  Jonathan tried to look around to locate where the new voice was coming from. He could see nothing.

  “Bernard, you are far too bold,” the first voice chided.

  “That is my namesake, and I should live up to it, my only purpose,” said the voice called Bernard. “Tell the boy what he’s facing; of the sacrifice that you ask of him. Tell him how there’s nothing in it for him and how he will not survive.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jonathan interjected. “What are you talking about? What is all this? Who are you people?!”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry, Jonathan,” Bernard answered, “more than you will ever know. You were taken from the world by a demon who now holds your brother captive. We offer you the chance to save him, but we offer no more than that.”

  “Am I dead?” Jonathan asked. He tried to calm himself, and to grasp what was happening. He still didn’t know who was speaking to him — the voices were unfamiliar.

  “Yes, you are dead,” Bernard answered.

  “Then, how can I save anyone?”

  “You are Beloved of the Father,” the first voice said, “and as such, wil
l be given the means to achieve your purpose.”

  “To fight this demon and save my brother?”

  “Yes,” Bernard said. “I would guide you through this task. I am Bernard, and I would be your guardian.”

  “You speak of things that are impossible,” Jonathan replied. He felt as though he was caught up in a dream, and desperately wished to wake up.

  “Your brother expressed those very same thoughts,” Bernard said.

  “My brother... ?”

  “Daniel died at Antietam,” Bernard replied. “The demon that now possesses him took his life just as he has taken yours. You were not to know of such things. Your brother agreed to the service that is now laid before you. I failed him, and I must ask you to right a wrong that has been committed.”

  “You’re lying to me!” Jonathan shot back with such fury and passion. “Daniel’s not dead. He was wounded but he came back home.”

  “And he was different, was he not?” Bernard said. “You felt it. At moments he even frightened you, didn’t he?”

  Jonathan thought back to when he’d sparred with Daniel in the woods behind the house and how strong his brother was and how he didn’t flinch when Jonathan accidentally punched his chest. He thought about the walk to and from the foundry and how Daniel lifted Robert into the cart and how he struck fear in Jonathan’s heart on the way home. And the outburst at dinner...

  “I don’t know what to believe,” Jonathan said after a long silence.

  “Believe that you have the courage to save your brother,” the first voice replied. “Believe that you have the strength to accept this mantle and complete the task now set at your feet.”

  “And believe that I will be there every step of the way,” Bernard interjected. “I promise not to abandon you.”

  “Your service is required, Jonathan,” the first voice continued, returning to its soothing tone. “Will you give now in death as you so often gave in life? Know that there is no right or wrong answer. But also know that I will not ask again.”

  “Daniel said ‘Yes’ when you asked him this very question?” Jonathan asked, taking a deep breath.

  “Yes, he did,” Bernard replied hopefully.

  “No matter the price,” Jonathan said, “I will not abandon my brother. Yes, I will do what you ask.”

  “You must rest now,” the first voice sighed.

  At that point, all consciousness ceased for Jonathan, and the darkness was still again.

  “Do you think this wise, Bernard?”

  “Wisdom has never been my strong suit.”

  Buck didn’t think it was odd that Jonathan didn’t return that night. He figured the boy had spent his last evening in camp with his brother. He only became concerned when Jonathan didn’t show up the next morning. He asked around camp, yet no one had seen the boy. Just when he was about to cry foul, he saw Major Parker coming toward him.

  “You there,” he said as he strode up to Buck. “Weren’t you the one who took our photograph?”

  “Where’s your brother, Major?” Buck asked, less friendly this time. “I sent him along hours ago under cover of darkness,” the major answered calmly.

  “Two of my best men accompany him. I will not trust his safety to just anyone. No offense.”

  “None taken,” Buck replied. He wasn’t sure he trusted the situation but was in no position to question an officer. And he had no reason not to believe him.

  “Will you see that his belongings reach our home?” Major Parker asked, extending his hand seemingly in gratitude.

  “They’re accompanying him back to Pennsylvania?” Buck inquired, still a little suspicious.

  “Of course.”

  Buck reached out and shook his hand robustly.

  “Consider it done, Major.”

  “Good lad.” The major let go of Buck’s hand and strode away as quickly as he approached.

  Buck couldn’t help but feel uneasy at the exchange, yet he couldn’t understand why.

  16

  INNOCENCE LOST

  March 10, 1863

  Dearest Beth,

  Thank you for your letter. The days here at Camp Chase are monotonous and the company brutish at times. Your kind words bring a smile to my face and remind me of the beauty of gentleness. I find it hard to remember what the world was like before this war. We must look to the future and the hope that peace will bring.

  You needn’t worry for Daniel. He is a man of fine quality and an excellent tactician. Should he return to the battlefield, it will only hasten the end of this war. Even knowing this, I’m sure you found it hard to let him leave the safe haven of your home. As you no doubt have found, no words can sway him from his decision.

  Please tell me everything about your days when you write again. Though you think it mundane or boring, it is a welcome glimpse into the future I hope to have, and I find it most pleasing. There is nothing routine about sharing time with you, nor will there ever be. These moments away from you are even harder than you will ever know. But they are only moments, which soon will pass and speed me to your arms.

  Give my love to your family.

  Faithfully yours,

  Gerald

  Beth folded the letter and placed it in the top drawer of her desk. Her cheeks had a touch of pink, and her eyes were bright, full of life. Her days were filled with boundless opportunities and so was her attitude. There were no more dark circles under her eyes, and the endless tiredness she had felt was gone.

  Her mother no longer hovered over her, and the freedom and energy to venture out of the house were very welcome. Her love for sewing had found new life as her hands and fingers no longer ached from the tedious work. Daniel and Duff were doing their part for the war effort, and Beth wished to do hers as well. When not helping around the house, Beth began volunteering at the church, sewing and mending shirts to be sent to soldiers in need.

  Beth straightened her dress before leaving her room. Her mother was waiting in the foyer as she came down the stairs.

  “I’ve gathered some blankets that we can take, as well as the shirts you’ve finished,” her mother said.

  “They’ll be grateful to get those,” Beth answered. “Are you sure you don’t mind walking down to the church?”

  “It’s a lovely spring day. No need to waste it all inside the house.”

  Beth nodded in agreement, and they walked out the front door. The trees and plants were coming back to life, and Beth marveled at the delicate buds almost ready to bloom. She looked over at her mother, who seemed to be lost in her own thoughts.

  “You haven’t spoken much about Jonathan since he left with Robert.” Beth couldn’t help herself. “You didn’t want him to go, did you?”

  Her mother shook her head as if to say ‘No’. “I promised your father that I wouldn’t protest openly.”

  “Why do men think they have all the answers?” Beth asked, agitated by her mother’s reply.

  “It will not be so different when you are married,” her mother warned. “I would strive for a more open forum with my husband,” Beth said with resolve. “My opinion will not go unheard.”

  “Gerald won’t know what hit him.” Her mother’s face softened.

  “Mother!”

  “Am I premature?” her mother laughed.

  Beth blushed and lost her train of thought.

  “Now, Beth, your father has always sought my council, always considered my opinion, and has never dismissed me. But he felt strongly about letting Jonathan see the world in a different light.”

  “You disagree?” Beth was confused.

  “Not in the least. Your father is absolutely right. But Jonathan is so young, so innocent, and he will always be that way to me no matter how old he gets.” Her mother’s eyes were full of love.

  “He is very sensitive,” Beth agreed.

  “At least, he has you to confide in,” her mother said knowingly.

  Beth’s jaw fell slightly open, and she began to panic at the thought of betraying Jonat
han.

  “I’ve known for some time. How could I not?”

  “Please, you can’t tell him. I promised...”

  “I won’t,” her mother said, and reached over and squeezed Beth’s hand.

  Jonathan returned to consciousness and became aware of his body. He knew that he was lying down, could feel clothing touching his skin and noticed the warmth of a blanket. He was weak and not ready to force open the heavy lids that covered his eyes. He focused on his breathing; on how effortlessly the air moved in and out of his lungs. There was no pain. He was alive and the voices he had heard nothing more than a dream.

  He struggled to open his eyes and tried to focus on the young soldier who sat next to him, whose fiery red hair was a blur.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” Bernard said softly.

  The sound of his voice jolted Jonathan into reality. He recognized it from his ‘dream’. Jonathan lifted his head and looked around. The room was lined with empty beds — no doubt he was in a hospital or infirmary of sorts. A blue Union uniform sat neatly folded at the end of his bed. He pushed himself further upright, only to be greeted by dizziness. Jonathan closed his eyes tightly, hoping to shake off the disorientation.

  “Open your eyes,” Bernard said. “The dizziness will pass.”

  “Are you Bernard?” Jonathan asked tentatively. His eyes were bright and clear as he stared at his guardian.

  “I am.” Bernard smiled.

  “And who am I?” He wasn’t sure he wanted this answer.

  “You are Jonathan, the Beloved.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Evil spurred the hand that took your life,” Bernard replied. “So evil shall be taken by the mark it left behind. The scar now upon your chest is the key to who you are.”

  Jonathan slowly ran the fingers of his left hand down the center of his chest. He could feel the misshapen and grotesque scar beneath his shirt. He swallowed hard and was unable actually to bring himself to open his shirt to touch his own skin.