Piercing the Darkness (15 page)

Sally’s eyes froze on those last words. The local postmaster? She read the paragraph again.

“. . . the child’s mother, the local postmaster, first became suspicious when her ten-year-old daughter was playing games of pretend and began to recount questionable behavior by her teacher at the school . . .”

Sally checked the time. A little after 5. Maybe there was something on television. She clicked it on.

Well . . . nothing much, just the sale of a pro football team to some unknown millionaire, a cleanup of hazardous waste in some small
Midwest town, a new paint job for a historical building in the state capital . . .

She let the television talk to itself while she finished reading the newspaper.

According to reliable sources, Tom Harris’s two young children were taken from his home by child welfare workers yesterday afternoon . . . The CPD had what it felt was adequate reason to remove the children from the home . . . “If we must err, we must err on the side of the child,” said the source . . . CPD is beginning an investigation into the alleged abuses of children at the school . . . Postmaster Lucy Brandon and ACFA lawyers have filed a suit against the school, charging the school with outrageous religious behavior against a child, physical abuse by spanking, excessive religious instruction harmful to the child, harassment, discrimination, and religious indoctrination using federal funds. The little girl reported that Harris tried to cast a demon out of her . . .

Oh! There it was on the television! Sally turned up the sound just as the on-the-scene footage began to roll. There was the little school, and there was Tom Harris, the headmaster, standing in the doorway. Yes, and there was the blonde lady, handing him the summons.

Chad Davis, reporter for Channel Seven News, was doing his voice-over narration. “The lawsuit on behalf of Ms. Brandon once again raises the question of how much religious freedom is too much, especially where young children are concerned, and calls for a limit to extreme fundamentalist practices that violate the laws of the state.”

Next shot: Lucy Brandon, the postmaster, and . . . Amber! Neither of them said anything—they just went to their car and got in. Davis narrated, “The case could have implications at the federal level because federal funds were involved in the child’s education at the school. The ACFA argues that the practices and teachings of the school are extreme, harmful, and clearly violate the laws concerning separation of church and state.”

The blonde lady came on the screen. Her name appeared below her face: Claire Johanson, ACFA.

“We are concerned for the welfare of our children,” she said, “and want to protect them from any more vicious and inexcusable abuse inflicted upon them under the license of religion.”

Next came a quick interview with a Child Protection Department lady, Irene Bledsoe. “We always investigate any reports that come to us,” she was saying, “and we are looking into it.”

Davis pressed a question from off camera. “Have Mr. Harris’s children been removed from his home?”

“Yes, but that’s all I can say.”

“In the meantime,” Davis continued in his voice-over, “the Federal District Court has handed down a temporary injunction against the school, barring any further spanking, religious teaching that could be harmful to children, or outrageous religious behavior, pending a hearing to be held in two weeks.”

Back came the anchorman, staring soberly at the camera. “Thank you, Chad, for that report. We’ll definitely keep working on this one and bring you more developments as they happen. Speaking on the lighter side . . .”

Commercial. Young bucks running and hollering and opening bottles of beer.

She turned off the television and sat on the bed, stunned. Irene Bledsoe . . . that same woman with the ratty brown hair and crinkled moonface. That same scowl.

The woman at the intersection! That was
her
? Those were
Tom Harris’s
kids?

Lucy Brandon. Amber. Oh, and just when my mind was clearing up!

Thoughts began to fill Sally’s mind with the bursting rhythm of popcorn, carrying it away in a tumbling flood, driving it forward like a wild automobile with no one at the wheel; it raced and swerved headlong from one thought to another, skipping over memories and colliding with replays, snagging and dragging scenes through her consciousness faster than she could watch them, flushing out conversations, facts, faces.

She clapped her hands to the sides of her head as if being attacked by a horde of noises.
Please, one at a time! I can’t hear you when you’re all screaming at once! Slow down!

She looked at the news photo of Tom Harris again, standing in the doorway of the little school, getting his big white envelope from the blonde lady.

So he had met little Amber too!

Sally’s hand went to the ring hanging under her shirt. It seemed that bad things happened to people who had run-ins with Amber Brandon.

She went to the table and found the first piece of paper she’d scribbled on that day. It was all she had; perhaps some legible writing would show up against all that nonsense.

Unless she just wrote more nonsense. It was going to be a struggle, but she would try again. She would try all night if she had to. Her head was boiling with scattered, unruly thoughts, and sooner or later they would have to spill out in some clear fashion.

THEN SUDDENLY, ALL
around the motel, such an unexpected legion of harassing demons began to shower down that Chimon and Scion could no longer hide and had to throw any subtlety to the wind. They were in full glory, bright and visible, swatting and slashing as the demons swarmed around them like vile, biting bees. The intensity of the onslaught was shocking, surprisingly strong. It seemed each spirit would be swatted away only to be replaced by two more, and the air was filled with them. They were bold, brash, reckless, attacking with screams and shrieks, even grinning mockingly.

“For Destroyer!” they screamed as their battle cry. “For Destroyer!”

So that was it. The demonic warlord was trying a new tactic now, and this difficulty could only be caused by one thing: something had happened to their prayer cover.

“WELL,” SAID JUDY
Waring, “you just . . . you just never know about people. I always did wonder about him. We voted on your recommendation, we went along with it, and now what are we going to do . . .”

Mark was trying to end this telephone conversation and get back to the meeting. The parsonage telephone had been ringing all day, and he was about to pull the plug out of the wall.

“Listen, Judy,” he said, “we’re about to have an emergency board meeting about it right now, so I have to hang up. But let me assure you that Tom’s handling this whole thing very well, just really open and
forthright. I think we can trust him.”

“Well . . . I’m hearing a lot of things . . .”

“Right . . . Let me say something about that before I hang up. I don’t want any more gossip going around about Tom or the school or any of these matters. If there’s anything to be settled, it will be settled at this meeting, with Tom present and able to speak for himself. Now please—”

“You
did
hear what the news said tonight—”

“Judy! Now listen to me! You don’t need to get your information from the news, not when all this is happening to
us
, in our own church. Now you just sit tight and don’t listen to any more rumors, and please don’t spread any, all right?”

“Well, all right, but I don’t know if we can keep Charlie enrolled at the school with this going on . . .”

“We’ll have our meeting tonight, and then we’ll take care of your concerns. Just be patient.”

Judy was about to say something else. She always had the last word in any conversation. Mark quietly and courteously hung up before she could get rolling again.

Cathy Howard was nearby, making coffee for the men gathered in the dining room, and overhearing Mark’s end of at least the twentieth conversation. Mark told her quietly, “Maybe you can unplug this thing, or leave it off the hook.”

She made a questioning face.

“Or take the calls?” Mark asked.

“Just go ahead and have your meeting,” she said with a chuckle. “I’ll screen the calls for you.”

That deserved a kiss. Cathy, a striking blonde with fine Nordic features, was remarkably serene. She’d kept her composure during this rough time, and Mark was thankful for her, more than he could say. Of course she didn’t enjoy tribulation—who does?—but right now, when extra strength and resilience were needed, she was supplying them, and that gave Mark a quiet assurance that they would get through this crisis.

He stepped through the kitchen door and out into the dining room. The four church elders were gathered around the table, listening to Tom’s account of what had happened up to this time.

“So what was it this spirit said?” asked Jack Parmenter, a hardworking, durable farmer with silver hair.

Tom didn’t enjoy the memory of it. “Oh . . . it said we were all fools to worship Jesus, that He was only a liar, and not God at all, but just an illegitimate child—uh, the spirit used another word, of course—and then it went on to accuse Jesus of sexual perversions . . . in graphic terms.”

“All that coming from a ten-year-old,” said Bob Heely in disgust. Bob was a Viet Nam vet, a diesel mechanic who kept all the farm machinery around Bacon’s Corner running. His hands were rough and grease-blackened.

“Sounds pretty weird to me,” said Doug Parmenter, Jack’s son and the spitting image of his father. “What do you think, Mark? I’ve never seen someone demon-possessed before.”

Mark took his place at the head of the table. “I have, and I think Tom’s impressions were correct.”

Vic Savan, who ran the farm right next to the Parmenters’, concurred with that. “Well, what that little girl—or that demon—had to say fits right in with everything else the Devil’s saying nowadays about Christians and about Christ. Just look at all the slander he’s been spreading in the papers and on the television, and I don’t mean just our own situation. Seems like it’s everyone else’s civil rights and freedoms that matter, but when it comes to Christians, people—and I guess demons—can say and do whatever they want.”

“Well,” said Mark, “like Wayne Corrigan said, a lawsuit, a test of Christian freedom, had to happen somewhere. Looks like that somewhere is here in Bacon’s Corner, and at our school.”

“But isn’t it just like Satan to use a child?” said Jack. “I mean, that’s getting really low.”

“Well, he can use God’s own people, too. How many of you have heard some destructive talk about this before coming to the meeting tonight?”

Every man put up his hand.

Vic related, “I ran into the Jessups at the filling station, and they were wondering how many other kids got abused.”

Tom cringed at that. “Abused? Just what do they mean by that?”

“You can fill in the blank, Tom.”

“Well, we have the newspaper and KBZT to thank for that,” said Jack. “They’ve been tossing that word around like it was a fact.”

“And that’s my point,” said Mark. “We’re the elders of this church, and we’ve got to keep a lid on this thing. There are going to be questions flying and a lot of accusations and gossip, and we’d better be thinking of how we’re going to handle it.”

Vic raised his eyebrows, shrugged one shoulder, and said, “Well, as far as the Jessups are concerned, they’re taking their two kids out. They don’t want any part of it.”

“Neither do the Wingers,” said Doug.

“And they said I was a fool for keeping my three in there,” said Bob.

The phone out in the kitchen rang again. They could hear Cathy answering it.

Mark commented, “That’s probably another family with the same concerns.” He looked at Tom. “Well, Tom, let’s get the first item covered and then we can go from there.”

Cathy peeked in. “Ted Walroth’s on the phone. He saw the news tonight, and he wants to know if we’re going to have a congregational meeting.”