Deadly Decision (10 page)

“I don't remember.”

“Whatever spoke through you was evil.”

Barbara gazed down at the water, her face expressionless. How could I make her understand?

“Look at me.” I turned her to face me. “You are letting evil enter you. That can't be good. It can't be from God.”

She slapped down my arms. “I have lived with this all of my life.”

“And maybe you have become numb to the effect of evil, but I'm not. Whatever entered you last night had ugly and hateful intentions. You can't really believe that God wants evil to have access to your body and mind.”

I paced back and forth. Barbara's eyes followed me but I didn't speak. I needed time to calm down.

“What do you want me to say?” she finally asked.

“I want you to tell me you won't do this again. Give it up.”

“It's not that easy.” Her hazel eyes searched my face.

The breeze that moments ago had felt like a caress now reminded me of the presence from the night before, trying to enter me.

“If these spirits come and go, what happens to them after they leave you?” I had to know if Trina was safe. My gut tied itself in knots anticipating Barbara's answer. Had I allowed demons to come to Trina's house because of my deluded desire to contact Jimmy?

“What do you mean?”

“Where do they go?”

“I don't understand.”

“After a spirit uses your body, and then it leaves you, where does it go? Does it hang around, flying over your head or whatever spirits do, or does it leave?” My breath escaped as hot streams of frustration.

“It goes back to where it came from, I guess.”

“Where is that?”

“The other realm.” She shifted her weight from her right foot to her left. Fingers thrummed on the railing. “I serve as a portal.”

“When we tried to contact Jimmy, you said he was in
this world
, either trapped or here by choice. He isn't in another realm. Does he need a portal to talk to us?”

“Is there a point to your questions?”

“Promise me that the evil spirit from last night is gone from Trina's house.”

“First of all, you don't know it was evil.”

“Is it
gone
?”

“I suppose.”

“You don't know?”

“Bill, there is a lot I don't know. I have to accept things on faith, just like you do. God doesn't need us to understand; just obey.”

I wanted to believe Barbara, but I didn't understand God's role in her gift. More than anything, I wanted to believe Barbara's abilities came from God. The itch of doubt raised its head again. How could I turn my back on my faith? On the scriptures? But there were more than one explanation. Look at all the denominations, all the Bible translations, all the different ways of expressing worship.

Barbara rested her hand on my arm. I glanced at her face, shining with kindness and understanding. The Mona Lisa smile that I had grown to love was gone, though. Obviously, I had hurt her.

Who was I to doubt something she had lived with all her life? I couldn't expect to comprehend God-given paranormal abilities overnight.

“I'm sorry. I know my doubt has hurt you. But this is all strange to me. I have lived my whole life believing the literal translation of the Bible.”

Gnats buzzed around my face, and I cringed at the thought of inhaling one. Sun beat down on my head, heating my shoulders and arms. The squirrels were gone, probably sleeping out the hot midday. Even the birds were quiet. Except for the gnats, Barbara and I could be alone on the planet.

“When I first met you and learned you were a psychic, I wanted to run the other direction.”

Barbara turned toward me. “Really? Why?”

“My biblical belief says to run from psychics.”

“Oh, Bill. Is that what's bothering you? There are good psychics and there are bad ones. Just as there are good preachers, and there are false profits. God told us to run from false profits, too.”

“That makes sense.”

“Let me explain it this way. You know about spiritual gifts,” Barbara said, “Do you know why God gives them to us?”

“Not really.”

“Satan has been trying to steal us away from God since the creation of the earth. God provided us with the Bible and good preachers who try to protect us, but sometimes the force of evil is so strong we need more. That's when God gives supernatural gifts. It happened all the time in the Bible.”

“But that was back then. Times are different.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.”

“I can help you understand what I experience, the warmth and gentle comfort I feel when I give myself to the spirit.”

My heart lurched. I wasn't sure what she had in mind. Did I trust her? I trusted the woman standing beside me. I wasn't sure I trusted the woman from the attic. “The spirit. You mean the Holy Spirit, don't you?”

She shrugged her shoulders, but I barely noticed. My mind was made up. She had a gift. She was a Christian.
There's nothing to fear from this beautiful gentle woman.
“I trust you.”

“Let's go back and sit down at the bench down the path.”

We left the bridge and walked the short distance to a marble bench.

“Take my hands,” she said, “and then close your eyes and clear your mind. I will ask God to send you a gentle spirit, someone to share your human body. It will help you feel what I feel.”

Red flags again, just like in the coffee shop. Something she said about God
sending me
a gentle spirit. Then I realized God didn't need to send the Holy Spirit. It already resided in me. My heart pounded as adrenalin pumped into my bloodstream.

Blue eyes, loving and full of hope, melted my hesitation. “Should we pray?” I asked.

“It's going to be fine, Bill.” She stretched out her hands toward me. I stared at them, knowing the decision could change my life.

I took her hands and closed my eyes.

The coldness from the bench seeped through my jeans, and I tried to push back the icy memory of last night. Birds chirped. Warm air brushed against my face and arms, comforting this time. Barbara's soft hands.

Like a balloon, I became buoyant, but still the tether remained.

A presence, vaporous but thicker than air, swirled around my mouth and nose, probing, seeking entrance. I turned my head, eyes squeezed shut, lips pinched tight, and tried not to breathe. An inner voice screamed for me to run.

My desire for the presence overwhelmed me, like a drug to an addict. And yet, I knew it was wrong. The internal battle waged. Desire over knowledge. Strength over will.

My lungs screamed for air. I took tiny breaths, denying my body more. I tried to concentrate again on Barbara's hands, but it was useless.

My eyes flew open. Barbara's face was in front of me, her eyes still closed, a smile of contentment on her lips.

The tightness in my chest felt vice-like as I shot my eyes left then right. The trees and brushes were distorted, as though I was looking through an old piece of wavy glass. A thin veil, almost translucent, drifted around Barbara and me, wrapping the two of us together in its barely visible net. My muscles contracted in revolt as the silken strands slid over my arms, up my neck, and across my face. We were being wrapped together in an invisible web, the silken threads as strong as steal and deadly as a black widow.

Hot. Violated.

Irrational with fear, I jumped from the bench and started to run, brushing away the invisible fibers that still clung to my skin. I had to get away, to put distance between me and the vaporous thing Barbara had summoned.

Barbara called my name. I didn't stop. I kept running.

I could flee, but could I escape the deceiver that wanted my soul?

 

 

 

 

13

 

I took Barbara to the airport the next morning. We didn't give the kids an excuse for her early departure, and they didn't ask for one. I assumed they thought we had quarreled, and it would have been better if that's all it was. Forgiveness is doable. Continuing a relationship with someone who knowingly allows evil spirits to enter her body is impossible.

As I drove home, I thought of Betsy. She had warned me. She hadn't called yet, and that bothered me. Our last major argument had been years ago. Trina wanted to live on campus her first year of college. She was young, only seventeen, and I wanted her to stay at home and commute. Betsy had taken Trina's side, stating living on campus was a learning experience. Betsy had won; she always did. Even then, we had still talked every day. I pulled the phone out of my pocket.

A smothering hotness filled the car, choking out my breath. I fumbled for the air conditioning control and cranked it to the coldest level. The car began to cool. I glanced at the cellphone resting on the car seat where I had tossed it. What was I thinking? Barbara may have been a bad experience, but Betsy over-reacted. She had treated me like a little boy. At least Barbara treated me like a man.

I always turned to my older sister for advice, and she had been right. A horn sounded behind me. The light had turned green. As I moved through the intersection, I reached for the phone on the opposite seat where I had tossed it.

A car careened through the intersection. I stomped on my brake. The sound of metal against metal ripped the air. My breath was shoved from my chest as my face hit the airbag. I awoke as the sound of sirens ripped through the air.

“Hey buddy, are you hurt?”

The fog started to lift, and I realized the question was directed at me. I rolled my head to the right, but my vision was blocked by a wall of metal. I focused on each part of my body. My heart lurched.

“I can't move my legs or arms!” I shouted through the tomb that encased me. “I can't move! Does anyone hear me?”

Breaths came faster. I was going to die.

“We're going to get you out. Now you need to do something for me. Can you feel your toes?”

“I can't reach them! I told you, I can't move at all.”

“No, you don't have to touch them. Can you wiggle your toes?”

“I don't know.” My breaths came in gasping pants. I expected my heart to come flying out of my chest at any moment.

“Are you bleeding?”

I shifted my head back and forth, trying to see as much of me as possible. My left arm had become pinned under me, the right one was fastened between the passenger headrest and my shoulder. Both legs were pinned between the dash and the seat. My left shoulder hurt. As I moved my head, something dripped down my left cheek and plopped onto my shirt. Blood.

I gave my report best I could to the paramedic. In minutes, a window had been pried into the side of the car. An hour later, I was finally released from my bondage, thanks to the Jaws of Life and five firemen.

“I'll have your car towed,” the policeman said as I was loaded into the squad. “Anything of value we need to rescue?”

“No, just maps and empty coffee cups.”

“Take care of him,” the policeman told the paramedic as the squad door was latched, encasing me in steel one more time.

 



 

“Dad,” Trina asked, “are you feeling up to switching bedrooms today?

I sipped my second cup of after-breakfast coffee and eyed my daughter. I could always tell when something was on her mind. And even though I had settled into somewhat of a slump, I recognized the flitty behavior. “What's up?” I asked.

“I want to get your room ready for guests. It is one of the nicer rooms. That's why I chose it for you, but now you need to move.”

“So my welcome as a guest is up?” I winked at her. “Where do I go? The garage? How about the other den, the one you want to paint pink?”

“Oh Dad.” Trina giggled. “You just need to move to the next bedroom. The one Barbara stayed in.” Her expression became serious. “That is, if you feel up to it. It's only been two days since your accident.” She leaned against the counter. “I can't believe you weren't hurt worse. I saw the pictures of the car. It was a mess. The policeman at the emergency room said he had never seen a car smashed up worse and have the driver come out alive.” She pulled a tissue out of the pocket of her shorts and dabbed her eyes. “Dad, we could have lost you.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I knew Trina loved me, but her expressions of caring always touched a special part of me that few were allowed to enter. “You didn't lose me, and I am fine.” I pushed myself up from my chair and took my cup to the sink. “I will start moving now.”

“I'll help.”

We each grabbed an armful of clothes and walked to the next room. The air felt close, like the place had been shut up for weeks instead of two days. “Trina, you mind if I open up the window?”

“No, go ahead.”

I went back to my room for another armful, and when I entered the room the second time, I had the sensation of being watched. “Creepy.”

Trina followed me into the room, her hands full of socks and underwear. “Did you say something, Dad?”

“It's nothing.” I put my shirts into their assigned drawer, and then peered down to look under the chest.

“What are you doing?” Trina chuckled. “Checking to see if I cleaned up here?”

“I just wondered about mice. You know, they like old houses.”

“Dad, you're so funny. I don't think you'll find any mice. If you do, Ted can go buy some of those trap-boxes and we'll put the critters back outside.”

Trina scanned the room, hands on her hips. “Want to know what color you're going to paint in there?”

“Me? Paint? Isn't that Ted's job?”

“Soft gray.” She said the words as though they were made of silk. “The room already has one of the best views of the back yard. I already bought black iron headboard for the bed, and I want to find dark gray draperies and bedspread, and layer cranberry pillows and a throw blanket.”