The Committee

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“Please forgive me,
mon bel amour,
” he said removing his top hat and lifting her hand to his lips. “The play was longer than I anticipated. Please accept my sincerest apologies.”

The couple entered the home filled with Rococo and Gothic Revival furnishings, finely woven Persian rugs, and a patchwork of oil paintings that gave it the distinct air of American aristocracy. Fantoché embraced Juliette passionately and kissed her lips. She quickly pried herself away from the clinging man and entered the parlor with him following close behind. Oil-burning lamps cast quivering shadows throughout the room, and a lone black candle flickered on an oak mantel above a fireplace. A silver chalice cradled the candle with an inscription at the base,
“Dans cette flamme brûle le destin de l'homme.”
In this flame burns the destiny of man.

“You are more than my mistress,” he said continuing his journey of kisses. “I love you and only you. She means nothing to me. Your kiss gives me reason to live.
Votre beauté nourrit mon âme.”

“Please do not say such horrible things,
mon amour
,” he replied painfully. “You are my world.”

 

 

Hattie Williams never dreamed she would still be alive today. Her life's motto had always been, “When the Lord decides to take me home, I'll be ready.” However, He wasn't ready for her just yet.

The last year took a heavy toll on her once-sturdy body. Hattie saw her beloved pastor, Hezekiah Cleaveland, gunned down in the pulpit of her church. She wept at his graveside as they lowered the mahogany coffin into the ground. She also assisted in the home going of his wife, Samantha. The taking of a life would have destroyed a lesser woman, but her soul rested contently in a cradle of peace because she knew it was necessary in order to save other lives.

Hattie's once jet-black hair now gave way to a current of grey. Arthur, the name she affectionately gave the constant gnawing pain in her knee, slowed her once-imposing gait to an unsteady hobble. She stood in the center of her garden, surrounded by a six-foot pink brick fence, with the afternoon sun resting on her shoulders. A wooden cane in one hand and a wicker basket half filled with freshly picked tomatoes in the other. These days she couldn't walk the full distance from the garden to her back door without stopping to steady herself at least once.

This was her second pause on the walk from the back row of the garden to the house. She used moments like this to marvel at the bounty around her. Bursts of yellows, greens, reds, and whites surrounded her like spurts of colorful water from an underground spring. Squash of every variety, bell peppers, cauliflower, a rainbow of heirloom tomatoes, onions, and okra were the precious gifts the soil gave her this year.

Hattie stood with her rubber-soled boots planted firmly in the damp soil. Suddenly, she felt a gentle rumble beneath her feet. She thought it might have been the beginnings of a California earthquake, but quickly realized something more otherworldly was in the works.

The light-headed feeling she always had when God was about to tell her something slowly enveloped her body. She looked toward the house and saw the three-legged stool used when weeding standing at the foot of the steps. There was no way she'd be able to get to it in time.
Lord, couldn't you have waited till I got to my stool?
she thought as the ground continued the gentle quake.
I don't know how long I'm going to be able to stay on my feet.

Hattie braced her hip against the cane and accepted she may have to stand in the center of the garden for a long time. She was ready, and the ground knew it. The intensity of the tremors steadily increased. Time slowed, and the clock stopped ticking. She was now in God's hands and on His schedule. “Tell me, Lord,” she said out loud. Hattie saw her words form a ripple in the thick fog enveloping the entire yard. “I'm here, Lord. Tell me what you want me to . . .”

The ground quaked violently before the last word escaped her lips. She took a measured step backward to prevent herself from falling into the crevice forming only a few feet away. The front two rows of precious collard greens slid into the pit as the gaping hole grew wider. Next went an entire row of snap beans tied to wooden trellises with white string.

“Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,” Hattie firmly recited, undaunted by the devastation to her garden and the danger to herself. “Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” Hattie was now in full warrior mode. No hint of Arthur, and no sign of fear. She forgot the cane and basket in her hand. To her, they felt like the cold steel of a shield and sword. She was ready for whatever might leap from the pit.

The rumbling stopped, and the ground slowly steadied as suddenly as it started. Hattie stood only feet away from the cavernous hole. She looked down and only saw blackness. The snap beans and collard greens were gone. All that was left was the bottomless void. She stood poised at the edge knowing this was not the end. Something was stirring down there. She sensed it in her bones. Something evil and powerful. Something she would be required to do battle with.

Hattie stood beyond the reach of time. There was no before or after. There was only the now, and her senses were operating at their peak. She was prepared to see, hear, smell, and even touch whatever emerged from the black hole.

Then she saw them. A pair of glowing brown eyes appeared in the darkness as if they were switched on like a lightbulb. They looked directly at her. She didn't feel threatened. They looked at her with a silent plea.
Help me.

The eyes slowly rose to the surface. Hattie squinted to see who they belonged to. There was something familiar. A gentleness she'd felt before. A kindness she had encountered in the not-so-distant past.

“Who are you?” Hattie said to the eyes as they crept closer. “What do you want from me?”

There was no response. Hattie pressed on. “In the name of Jesus, I command you to reveal yourself.” Hattie gripped the cane and basket tighter. “Tell me why you're here.”

Then she heard it. “Help me,” came the weak reply to her command. “Please, help me.” The words echoed in the hollow of the crater.

Hattie recognized the voice. She heard it again. “Please help me before they . . .” The voice trailed off, but the eyes continued rising.

“Before they
what?
” Hattie asked firmly.

A hand slowly sliced through the darkness and reached toward Hattie. She didn't move as the disembodied eyes and hand continued rising. Hattie was ready to reach down to the hand, but first she insisted on confirming to whom it belonged.

“I will help you because God sent you to me for a reason, but first you have to tell me who you are. Say your name!”

The eyes and hand were almost level to the ground when Hattie finally saw the face. It was Gideon Truman. “Gideon, is that you?” Hattie called out.

“Help me, Hattie.” The plea became urgent as if he were being chased. “Help me, please,” came again as she scrambled to the edge of the hole, “before they . . .”

Hattie dropped the basket and reached forward. “Give me your hand, baby,” she said, bending to the edge of the abyss. “I've got you, Gideon. Just give me your hand.”

Gideon's fingertips were only inches from Hattie's open palm. She stretched further and struggled to keep her balance with the cane. Then, suddenly, a massive howl erupted from the depths of the pit. The earth began to shake again. Hattie's feet slipped on the edge as the dirt gave way beneath her.

“Help me. Please help me. It's here. Don't let it take me,” came Gideon's frantic plea.

“You're almost out, baby,” Hattie said as she neared the limit of her reach. “Take my hand. You can do it.”

The terrifying wails from the bottom of the pit continued as the two struggled to make contact.

“I can't reach you!” Gideon cried out.

“Yes, you can. Just a little further.”

Hattie overestimated the strength of her knee and lost her balance. She tittered on the edge with no thought for her own safety. “Just another inch. You can make it.”

Their hands finally met. Hattie grabbed Gideon with a grip strong enough to transform a lump of coal into a diamond. She planted her heels into the ground and struggled to lift Gideon from the darkness. She felt something tug his body from the opposite direction. The horrifying howl continued as she jerked harder, but her strength was matched measure-for-measure by the powerful force pulling in the opposite direction. It was an evil she had never before encountered. Pure and ancient. An evil so dark she questioned her ability to fight it off. Hattie knew she was in the throes of battle for Gideon's life with the ungodly force.

“I can't hold on. It's too powerful,” Gideon cried out. “Let go, Hattie, or it will pull you in with me!”

“Don't let go, Gideon. I won't let it take—”

Before Hattie could complete the sentence, her feet slid in the crumbling earth and Gideon's hand slipped from her grasp. She fell and landed on her back between the rows of bell peppers and squash, sending her cane sailing behind her. She saw Gideon descend into the darkness and scrambled back to the hole.

“Gideon!” she cried out. “Don't go. I'm here. Don't go.”

But it was too late. The crater began to close as she crawled to the edge, and Gideon's eyes quickly vanished. The only thing remaining was blackness and the faint echo of the howl.

Hattie was now on her hands and knees at the spot where the hole had been. She cried while digging into the dirt, slowly accepting it was too late. Hattie sobbed into the earth, breathless with perspiration dripping from her brow.