SIXTEEN
MY HANDS WERE SHAKING. Not from fear, but with seething anger. The kind that makes you want to drive too fast and keep going until you’re somewhere far and secluded.
I’d learned to accept that my mom had lied to me my whole life. Most alcoholics lie, especially to themselves. But my father?
Furious as I was, something in me—in my damaged psychology, I guessed—wanted to make excuses for him. I stood in the center of my room, trying to convince myself there had to be a good reason that, although he’d known he had a son, he chose to hide from me.
He must have cared, or he wouldn’t have bothered coming to my game. Right?
But I couldn’t suppress the obvious: there’s never an acceptable excuse for a father to intentionally let his kid grow up without him. And to think that all this time I’d been feeling sorry for Jackson because his mother had failed him and his father had given up parental rights. I was basically in the same sinking boat.
My father hadn’t been unaware of my existence, like he’d led me to believe. He’d abandoned me.
And that Creeper posing as Veronica knew it and had used it against me, aware it would torment me to the core.
Forget the burner phone. I snapped a picture of the photo with my own cell and sent it to the number I had for my dad, along with a text:
That wasn’t satisfying enough. I sent another:
That still didn’t quench the anger, but what more could I do? I hurled my phone at my mattress.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this irate, if ever. I stomped back and forth in the tiny room—it felt like a maddening jail cell now. And here came the Creeper Rage, thrusting its mangled head through the painted cinder block. Then my old enemy Demise. But neither had the guts to set foot in my room. As unspiritual as I felt, the aura around my feet still shone bright, keeping demons out.
Both Creepers backed away.
I dropped to the hard floor and leaned back against the metal bedframe, considering packing my bags and leaving Masonville once and for all, as if I could run away from my dad’s betrayal. I was exhaling into my cupped hands when a brood of spirit-world serpents came spewing out from under my bed, then spread out and slithered all over the floor and walls and ceiling. Forked-tongued curses. Another manifestation of witchcraft, aimed at me by people I didn’t even know.
“Leave, in Jesus’ name!”
The serpents sank into the walls and floor, but kept slinking around, refusing to go.
And how’s this for bad timing? That horrible baby started crying again—right outside my door, from the sound of it. But there was no sense in looking. Even if it was there, it wasn’t there.
I faced the door and commanded the tormenting presence to go, along with the snakes again. I ordered them to leave the church building and surrounding property. They didn’t, so I read the cards out loud again—the exact same verses that had just cleared out a storage room packed with demons parading as humans. But the baby kept bawling and the snakes kept slithering.
I couldn’t believe how quickly the spirit-world tables had turned on me. The thrill of my victory snatched away by serpents and a sobbing infant that increased the foreboding sense I was under spiteful surveillance.
“Custos!” I stood in the corner of my room, waiting, stomping my foot, but he didn’t come.
I finally sank hopelessly into my bed and pulled the sheets over my head, reminding myself that the snakes couldn’t get past my light to crawl on me. But then again, one had managed to breach Ray Anne’s skin. I piled all three of my pillows on my head and tucked them over my ears, not because I thought it would protect against the snakes but in a useless attempt to block out the aggravating sobbing.
For the first time in a while, I seriously questioned my sanity.
Lying there suffering, I sifted quickly in my mind through the life events that had led to this moment. As committed as I’d been to my life calling and mission to help heal this town—and as impressed as I was with my defender seal—I was beginning to come to grips with a sobering realization: The bigger the assignment from God, the bigger the satanic attack to try to block it.
It’s not like I’d had some fluffy idea about what it would be like to walk out my destiny and reclaim Masonville from the powers of darkness. But I’d somehow mistakenly assumed that overall, it would be exciting and fulfilling and . . . okay, heroic.
But this?
For the first time since I’d read Arthur’s prophecy and accepted the supernatural call, I second-guessed if it was remotely worth it.
Sunday morning came, and I hadn’t slept. The baby had squalled on my doorstep until sunrise. That was one reason I didn’t feel like going downstairs and sitting in a pew—passing the offering plate, listening to Pastor Gordon preach like everything in Masonville was on the up-and-up, then passing the plate again, in case his sermon had inspired people to give more to the building fund. But I was starting to like the worship part a lot—the glistening, reassuring light it ushered into the atmosphere, even though it meant having to watch Ethan sing center stage.
I chose getting out of bed over staying closed off in my reptile-infested room and missing a chance to see Ray Anne.
In the foyer, I downed a couple of donuts, eyeing the entrance doors the whole time, waiting on Ray to arrive. She walked in and gave me that heartwarming grin of hers. But she ducked her head as she approached, fiddling with the collar of her blouse, trying to cover the scaly curse.
She didn’t tell me hello or ask how I was—just blurted out, “Veronica was back at four o’clock this morning, spying into Jackson’s crib again. It’s her, Owen, I swear.”
I spun her around and rubbed her tense shoulders. “It’s not her,” I insisted all over again. “And you know how to make Creepers leave—you’re the one who first showed me.”
I hoped to encourage her by explaining how things had gone down at the church last night with “Veronica” and the horde, ending my story at the victorious part, where the Scriptures on note cards drove every dripping-wet oppressor away. I spared her an account of the rest of my defeated night. Uncovering my dad’s abandonment. Tormented by snakes and a wailing infant that refused to leave me alone no matter what I commanded or quoted.
“I know what I’m supposed to do,” Ray said, “But I got so scared, I couldn’t speak. She only left ’cause Jackson’s Watchman showed up, the dark-headed robed one with the shield on his back.”
“You? Too scared to speak?” I rubbed the sides of her chilled arms. “You’re fearless, Ray Anne. This isn’t you.”
“I know.” She pressed her lips together, straining to hold back tears. “But I can’t shake it. I’m terrified.”
“Of what?” I was no shrink, but common sense said if we could figure out what she was afraid of, we could start combatting it. But I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught.
“I’m afraid Veronica is gonna hurt Jackson—take him at night while I’m sleeping, and I’ll never find him again. Or Dr. Bradford is going to demand visitation rights, bribe some judge to approve and expedite it, then steal Jackson away from me and finish what he started in the woods. Maybe he’ll have me killed first so I’ll have no chance of protecting Jackson or trying to find him when he goes missing. Can’t you imagine it, Owen!” Tears flowed, right there in public. “I don’t understand why God is allowing this—haven’t I been through enough?”
I couldn’t get a word in.
“You’re bound to want to break up with me, Owen, seeing me like this.” She stared at the grayish tile floor and rubbed the back of her neck—the black coiled clump she knew was there but couldn’t touch. “It’s not like I blame you. You don’t have to pretend you still want to be with me.” She cupped her mouth with a trembling hand and took deep breaths, like she was on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
I wanted to hold her and try to embrace away her fears, but this was no time to coddle her. Not her, the fiercest girl I’d ever known. She needed to be reminded of who she was, the unshakable courage she’d always possessed.
I took her by the hand and led her outside the church, to the grassy side of the building where we could be alone. “Look at me, Ray Anne.” She wiped her cheeks, then tilted her chin up, squinting in the sunlight. “I’m suffering through some hard things too right now, and yeah, it gets scary sometimes. But we can’t assume or expect the worst, and we cannot cave to fear.”
“I don’t want to be afraid,” she said. “I just feel so alone.”
I lowered to one knee, not to propose again but, like, as a sign of humility. “I know we’re not married, Ray Anne, but you’re the closest thing I have to family. And I want you to know something.” I hadn’t expected my throat to start throbbing, but it’s not like I was going to cry in front of her. “I will never abandon my family, Ray. It’s what some men do, but not me—you hear me? I’m not breaking up with you or going anywhere. You’re not alone.”
She embraced my neck, sniffling, resting her chin on the top of my head. I closed my eyes, refusing to look at the tail wrapped around her throat. We stayed that way awhile, until she asked me a question. A hard one I hadn’t seen coming.
“How come we never say I love you?”
I stood and dusted grass off my jeans.
“You’ve never told me, Owen, even when you proposed. And I’ve never said it to you either. Don’t you think that’s weird?”
Of course I did.
I actually had said it once, back in high school, but it was right after she’d been shot, and she’d been unconscious and hadn’t heard me. And I hadn’t said it since then because . . .
“I don’t know why we don’t say it, Ray. I guess we both have issues. Serious ones.”
She didn’t deny it.
“There you are!” Mrs. Greiner came up to us, pushing Jackson’s stroller and panting like she’d been afraid she’d never see her daughter again. Unlike Ray, her mom had been an uptight, fearful person as long as I’d known her.
We all went inside and filed into the third row from the stage, next to Ray Anne’s dad, then sang along to the music. Ethan held a microphone in one hand, the other raised high in the air to show everyone how devoted and spiritual he was. Or maybe he just really loved God, and that’s how he expressed it. Every time he worshiped, colorful light would swirl around him—all over him and others throughout the sanctuary. Those who really meant what they were singing. I knew that was the case because the shimmering rainbow, made of familiar colors as well as some not found in the earthly spectrum, would dance around me too whenever I blocked out distractions and made a point to sing the words to God instead of just mouthing them.
I noticed some people would suffer a certain unfortunate fate every Sunday. The instant the singing started, Creepers would cover their ears, no doubt filling their heads with soul-noise interference so they couldn’t focus.
As for me, I liked the way worship made me feel, like God was bigger than all my problems and everything was going to be okay, even if I couldn’t imagine how. Which was definitely the case right now.
Eventually Pastor Gordon took the stage and instructed us to greet the strangers around us as if we were friends—not that he said it like that. I happened to glance at the back of the sanctuary and spot Detective Benny, of all people, in the back row. It was weird enough he was at church and had Zella and Gentry with him, but the way he was staring at me—like he was about to run down the aisle and choke me—told me something was definitely up.
I’d recently had two forbidden conversations, one with Veronica and the other with Officer McFarland. Did he know?
Pastor Gordon motioned for all to take a seat, then stood silently behind the wooden pulpit, heavy-eyed—not just his shadowy, slumbering soul, but his physical face, like something was seriously wrong. “For those who have not heard the tragic news, I regret to inform you that Deputy Officer James McFarland died last night in an unfortunate boating accident . . .”
I didn’t hear anything after that.
Slowly, my jaw gaping, I turned and peered over my shoulder. Detective Benny met my gaze with a single, narrow-eyed nod. I faced forward again, my mind reeling. My heart hammering.
That was no unfortunate accident.
I’d given Officer McFarland a tip about Benny, and he’d obviously gone poking around. Maybe even questioned the detective. And now the man was dead. A shackled man, suffering for eternity . . .
Because of me.
Another casualty of my naive mistakes. And yet another victim of Masonville’s secret society.
Ray Anne cried on my shoulder, even more distraught now. I wove my fingers between hers, determined to be strong enough for the both of us, trying to block out the mental image of James McFarland being murdered, only to have his soul ripped away and cast into the pit. Banished to eternal hopelessness.
I looked back a second time, and Benny was leaving, ushering Gentry and Zella out the back doors of the sanctuary. I figured he’d brought them along to threaten me—to let me know they were under his control, just like the rest of this town, and I’d better back off or who knows what would become of them. His own daughter, for crying out loud.
As for the guilt and grief over McFarland’s death, I had no choice but to stuff it for now—to let it fuel my determination, not stop me in my tracks. I’d deal with the emotional fallout later, when Molek and the Rulers were defeated. And Detective Benny was behind bars.
That afternoon, I paced the empty sanctuary during a phone conversation with Elle. I didn’t want to be confined to my tainted room. Elle was equally convinced McFarland’s death was no accident. “The occult targets the people around you,” she explained, “working their way to those you care about most. It’s how they intimidate and silence potential whistleblowers like us. It’s why we have to be so careful.”
I chose to interpret that as her way of not blaming me for McFarland’s death.
“Trust me, Owen, I’m working on a plan to expose these people as soon as possible.”
She and I agreed she’d continue the investigative side of things while I stayed focused on the spiritual battlefront. I told her what to do to drive the nighttime intruders from her home and sent her screenshots of my note cards.
“It’s that simple?” she questioned.
“Was for me.”
I dodged explaining the rest of my unsuccessful night, just like I had with Ray Anne. It was too much to focus on at once.
“Hmmm . . .” Elle made the hum that meant she was concentrating. “Concerning the witches, do you think maybe we’re dealing with astral projection?”
“Astral what?”
She explained that people can tap into demonic powers that make it possible for their spirits to leave their bodies and go harass others.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“So . . .” I walked up and down the center aisle of the church, trying to understand. “You’re saying the human forms I saw last night could have been real people, not Creepers, whose spirits had left their bodies and actually been there, in the storage room?”
“It’s possible.”
I stopped and pondered the dreadful scenario. “That would mean Ray Anne was right, and Veronica really has been leaving the jail and stalking Jackson’s crib. And those weird letters from the jail Veronica denied mailing to me really were from her. She completely lied to you and me yesterday about having changed her ways.” I huffed into the phone. “Seriously, Elle, how much crazier can this spirit-world stuff get?”
A call-waiting beep interrupted us—and answered my question.