TWENTY-FOUR

THE LIGHT AROUND MY FEET went from a soothing gold to a flash of glaring brilliance. I had to shield my eyes, but when I moved my hand seconds later, it had gone back to normal—and a pair of masculine hands made of the same golden illumination was reaching out from my aura. They were at least three times the size of mine—even bigger than a Watchman’s. Same hands that had crushed the curse in the trash can.

The supernatural palms moved away from me, leaving a glistening streak behind like a jet trail, traveling like liquid gold across the room, reaching . . .

For Gentry.

The hands gently rested on him, covering his chest and neck and head, similar to how Jackson’s tiny body fit in my hands. Both thumbs reached and extended up and—I couldn’t believe it—pulled the blinding scales down, uncovering Gentry’s eyes.

“What do you mean, we’re in a war?” he asked me.

I stood, in awe of the situation. I knew this was it—my chance to testify without the shroud of darkness filtering out the truth before it had a chance to reach his soul. “Gentry, God loves you. He loves you more than you can imagine. You have no idea how he feels about you.”

As much as I intended to make a solid case for the existence of spirit-world beings and explain the conflict he was in, the only thing that would come out of my mouth in that moment was an outpouring of God’s affirmation and affection toward Gentry.

I could literally feel it. Like, tangibly sense God’s over-the-top attachment toward Gentry. It was like a dam had burst, exploding from my gut and rushing toward Gentry’s parched soul.

He tucked his head. “I don’t believe in God.”

I hurried over and lowered in front of him. “Yes, you do. You’re just afraid he’ll let you down and hurt you like people have. And you don’t want to give up control—being your own god.”

The words coming out of me seemed to be just passing through my brain, not originating there.

Gentry tucked his chin lower into his chest. “Look, I don’t need to be preached at.”

And just like that, the miraculous hands eased away from him, slowly letting go, then vanishing into the aura around my feet.

“Gentry—”

“I’m tired.” His eyeballs were blanketed in black now. To make it worse, a different set of eyes stared me down through the slimy veils. The Creeper inside of him.

Gentry lay down and turned his back to me. Conversation over.

Yeah, it was rude of him, but I knew better than to take it personally. This was spiritual warfare—the way it goes when God reaches out to someone who doesn’t want his touch. When a guy harboring a devil believes his life is better off without God interfering in it.

The same messed-up mindset I’d had for eighteen years.

I didn’t say goodnight or anything—just turned off the lamp, then lay in my bed, restless on top of my covers. Awareness rolled in like crashing waves . . .

The aura around my feet wasn’t just heavenly illumination, as if I was merely reflecting spirit-world light the same way the sun’s rays reflected off my motorcycle’s rearview mirrors onto my face. The aura on me was alive—a living, loving spirit in and of itself.

The Holy Spirit.

Had to be.

And another epiphany: God wasn’t just watching over me from the distant cosmos or even occupying the same room as me. He was taking each and every one of life’s steps with me, from within me. And the inexplicable love he’d expressed to Gentry through me . . .

It was soul-soothing beyond words, and believe me, I wanted to receive it for myself too—but I couldn’t. It was like I was sure, without a doubt, that God cared immensely for Gentry—even while being rejected by him—but there was no way God could possibly feel that way about me. Of course it was irrational, but it felt like my unshakable reality.

I had another revelation. In the woods recently, and countless other times, I’d wondered how a loving God could make a place like hell. But now I realized that God didn’t want Gentry to go to hell—the only place in the entire cosmos where not one of God’s attributes is found. No, people banish themselves there by refusing his outstretched hands.

It was a game-changing realization I’d desperately needed for a long time, one that finally debunked my false, conflicting assumption that God could be merciful one minute and cruel the next.

And yet I was still all torn up inside. If only people understood.

I was full of hyped-up energy, which helped keep me awake so I could sit up and check on Jackson every so often. At some point though, I relaxed enough to accidentally fall asleep. I woke to an ear-piercing sound, as loud as a foghorn, only high-pitched.

I bolted out of bed, groggy and disoriented, my head pounding. Gentry’s pillow and crumpled blanket lay on the floor. It didn’t take long to scan the four corners of my room and realize he wasn’t here. Where had he gone?

Jackson started screaming his head off, and I picked him up, aware now of the unmistakable smell of smoke.

Fire alarm.

I grabbed an open duffel bag with my free hand and started chucking stuff in it—my keys and wallet, my best Nikes, a few of my childhood photos off the floor. And thank God, I remembered to grab Arthur’s prophecy out of the nightstand.

I tossed Jackson’s baby bag over my shoulder before rushing to the door and throwing it open. A heated blast of air and the distinct smell of burnt wood rushed past me, barging into my room like a smoldering tidal wave. I didn’t see any flames, but the hallway—my only passageway to the stairs, then out of the building—was filled with billowing smoke.

Daisy darted into the hall, disappearing into the darkness. I called for her, but she didn’t come back. I pulled the collar of my T-shirt down over Jackson’s face and tried making a run for it. But the singed air was too polluted to get through. By the time I ran back to my room, it was gray with smoke, and Jackson was coughing.

“God, help me.”

I opened the double doors and charged onto the balcony suspended some twenty feet above ground. I figured if I had to, I could jump and endure the bone-breaking pain of hitting the ground, but how was I supposed to do that while holding Jackson?

He started squalling, and I held him up in front of my face, trying to calm him. But he wasn’t crying.

Of all the times to hear that invisible child.

I yelled for help, but there was no one around. I searched my bag for my phone, but I hadn’t grabbed it. I had no choice but to sit Jackson on the balcony floor and run back inside for it. I searched frantically through my bedsheets and on the floor, choking on the scorched air. And then I remembered . . .

My nightmare.

The smoke, suffocating me.

Had it been God’s way of preparing me to die tonight?

I couldn’t allow myself to think like that, especially with Jackson here, counting on me. He started crying, and I had two children bawling in my ears now. I couldn’t find my cell or the burner phone. I grabbed a pillow and charged back outside, thinking maybe I could wrap it around Jackson and lower him somehow. But there was nothing to lower him with.

I tossed the pillow aside and scooped Jackson up, holding him against my chest. He was shaking like he knew his life was in danger.

A short distance from us, menacing flames lined the sanctuary’s outside wall, devouring the building from the ground up like scalding tongues. Creepers converged on the scene, drawn to disaster like wolves to an injured lamb.

Behind me, my room was so dense with smoke, all I could see were flashes of bright-orange and yellow. I knew any minute, the fire would spread onto the balcony, igniting the wood like a match.

“Custos!”

Where was he? And the Watchman with the shield on his back that I’d seen protect Jackson before?

Smoke was pouring out of my room onto the balcony, a swirling mix of dark gray and jet black, sparks spinning like flying dragons.

In a matter of seconds, my entire room was engulfed. It was so blazing hot, I leaned over the balcony railing, straining to keep a tight grip on Jackson’s squirming body, both of us sweating.

There was the distant sound of sirens—too far away to bring relief. Sure enough, flames reached out from my room and grabbed hold of the balcony. Everything in me wanted to back away from the flesh-eating heat, but there was nowhere to go.

“Please, God! Don’t abandon me!”

As the words left my mouth, I thought someone had plunged a sword through my lower back, and it had come bursting out beneath my rib cage. It was that painful. But I looked down and there was no weapon in me. Just such indescribable agony, I might have raised my hands and surrendered to the fire had it not meant sealing Jackson’s fate too.

I realized the pain had registered in my soul, but it wasn’t like I could stop and make sense of it right then.

There were all kinds of explosions and popping sounds, like my aerosol cans were detonating in the bathroom and the balcony was breaking away from the building. I gazed over the railing at the grass, contemplating whether Jackson would survive if I stepped onto the handrail, keeping him tucked into my chest with the pillow, then fell backward, slamming the earth on my back. I’d crack my skull and break my spine. Probably end up dead or paralyzed. But it was the right thing to do—the only hope of saving him—and now was the time to do it.

But I just stood there.

Unwilling to sacrifice myself for him.

Jackson and the invisible baby both continued wailing. Then I got a mental image so vivid, it was like it was really happening—me leaving Jackson on the burning balcony to free up my arms so I could hang from the floor of the balcony, then let go. I saw my feet slamming the earth, my arms and elbows bearing the weight of the fall, but me surviving. My future intact.

Without Jackson.

I’d battled a lot of temptation, but this . . .

I didn’t understand it. I’d been willing to risk everything to protect him before—why was I such a coward now?

“Owen!”

For the first time in my life, I was relieved to hear Ethan’s voice. He was running toward the balcony, dragging the massive ladder. “Hold on, I’m coming!”

He positioned the ladder and started climbing. That’s when I spotted the sopping-wet witches huddled by the pond. They were staring straight at me, no doubt willing my destruction.

I refused to look at them a moment longer and instead watched Ethan race up the rungs, knowing any second the building and balcony could collapse and incinerate him along with Jackson and me. Maybe it was a weird thing to think about in a life-and-death moment, but I couldn’t escape it any more than I could outrun the flames: Ethan hadn’t hesitated to risk being burned alive in order to save Jackson and me.

He’s a real man. I’m not.

I recognized it as the kind of crippling thought a Creeper would launch at my mind, but I couldn’t see any near me.

Finally, Ethan got to the top of the ladder and reached out. It was only when I handed Jackson to him that I realized how severely my hands were shaking. Ethan started down the ladder, holding tightly to Jackson, and I followed with my bag and Jackson’s strapped around my shoulders. I so despised myself for my lack of bravery, I figured a Creeper would have a chain fitted around my neck before my feet touched the ground—the automatic bondage of an unforgiving grudge, whether aimed at someone else or in this case, myself. Instead I was met with a flurry of firefighters and church staff charging onto the scene, all looking me over and asking if I was okay. I told them I was fine—my go-to response.

Even after watching Ethan deliver Jackson to an EMT and knowing full well he’d be fine, my body was riddled with adrenaline like I was still about to burn to death with a child in my arms. I attempted to get to him but was told to back away from the ambulance.

I kept bending and shaking out my hands and legs, trying to chill out. Unfortunately that haunting infant’s cries kept brushing past me—from down low, like it was being dragged past me on the ground.

Horrible.

I called for my dog, praying she’d escaped the building. I made my way around to the front of the church. While walking across the parking lot, watching firefighters work to tame the raging blaze, I finally crossed paths with Gentry.

“What happened, Owen?”

I shook my head.

“I went outside to get some air,” he said, “and all of a sudden the building was burning up.”

His slurred speech told me he’d gone out to get high, but all I cared about was that he was alive.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” I told him. “Have you seen my dog?”

He pointed. “She took off that way.”

She made it out. I sighed in relief.

Someone tugged on my shoulder. I turned, and Mrs. Greiner was fanning herself with both hands, her eye makeup smeared. “Oh my gosh, are you okay? Where’s Jackson?”

I pointed to the ambulance where they were treating him, and she ran over there. I looked for Ray Anne but didn’t see her. I decided her parents probably hadn’t even told her there’d been a fire. She’d have gone ballistic, especially knowing Jackson was here.

Ethan approached me, and before I could thank him for what he’d done, he offered me the key to his apartment. “I have a guest room,” he said. “You can stay as long as you need. And I can let you borrow some clothes.”

Oh yeah. Other than the shirt and shorts I had on and the shoes I’d shoved in my bag, everything I’d had in my room was ash, including both cell phones.

I reached for a handshake. “Thanks, man, I really appreciate it, but I’ve got a place to stay.” Never mind that it was my mom’s and I dreaded the thought of being there, even for a few days. But the idea of staying with Ethan was worse. Being in his presence was awkward. Like I was nothing.

He shook my hand, our identical defender seals momentarily in line with one another.

“About what you did . . .” How do you thank a person for saving you and a child from a horrendous death?

He smiled—with the same warmth as his father. “Hey, you’d have done the same for me.”

I averted my eyes. Would I?

Jackson was released to Mrs. Greiner, and I kissed his forehead before she took him home. I had no way to warn her that a Cosmic Ruler was after him. And I still didn’t understand why the underworld was so determined to get him.

There was no sign of Gentry now—or Daisy—but that black Suburban was parked across the street, watching my insane life unfold. Surprisingly, not one Watchman had shown up all evening. I figured maybe it was because Custos knew Ethan would save the day and had entrusted Jackson’s life and mine to him. No need to dispatch Heaven’s troops when Ethan’s around.

Detective Benny pulled up, and I took that as my cue to leave, even though it meant leaving Daisy behind. I vowed I’d find her tomorrow.

I showed up on my mom’s doorstep at sunrise—without being followed—and let myself in. It was technically my house, willed to me by her parents. I was glad to see it was still clean. Thankfully I’d left a few shirts and a pair of jeans here when I’d moved out. My mom was asleep, and I showered and sank into my old bed without her knowing I was there. A familiar feeling.

I dropped my head onto the dusty pillow with no pillowcase, totally exhausted. But it’s impossible to close your eyes, much less sleep, when an invisible baby is crying and an unseen tormentor refuses to leave you alone.