This Present Darkness (23 page)

Shawn leaned forward. “
You
don’t get into
it
, Sandy.
It’s
already in
you.
Think about that for a minute.”

“I don’t feel anything in me …”

“And why not? Guess!”

She twisted an invisible radio dial with her fingers. “I’m not tuned
in?”

Shawn laughed with delight. “Right! Right! Listen. The universe doesn’t change, but we can; if we’re not lined up with it, not tuned in, we’re the ones who are blind, who are living in an illusion. Say, if your life is messed up, it’s really a matter of how you look at things.”

Sandy scoffed, “Come on, now. You’re not going to tell me that it’s all in my head!”

Shawn put up hands of caution. “Hey, don’t knock it until you try it.” He looked again at the sunshine, the green trees, the busy birds. “Just listen for a moment.”

“Listen to what?”

“The breeze. The birds. Watch those leaves waving in the wind up there.”

For a moment they were silent.

Shawn spoke quietly, almost in a whisper. “Now be honest. Haven’t you ever felt a sort of … kinship with the trees, and with the birds, with just about everything? Wouldn’t you miss them if they weren’t there? Have you ever talked to a houseplant?”

Sandy nodded. Shawn had a point there.

“Now don’t resist that, because what you’re experiencing there is just a glimpse of the real universe; you’re feeling the oneness of everything. Everything is fitted together, interwoven, interlocked. Now you’ve felt that before, haven’t you?”

She nodded.

“So that’s what I’m trying to show you; the truth is already within you. You’re a part of it. You’re a part of God. You just never knew it. You wouldn’t
let
yourself know it.”

Sandy could hear the birds clearly now, and the wind seemed almost melodic as it shifted in pitch and intensity through the branches of the trees. The sun was warm, benevolent. Suddenly she felt so strongly that she had been in this place before, had known these trees and these birds before. They were trying to reach out to her, to talk to her.

Then she noticed that, for the first time in many months, she felt peace inside. Her heart was at rest. It wasn’t an all-pervading peace, and she didn’t know if it would last, but she could feel it and she knew she wanted more.

“I think maybe I’m tuning in a little bit,” she said.

Shawn smiled and squeezed her hand encouragingly.

Meanwhile, with very gentle, very subtle combing motions of his talons, Deception stood behind Sandy, stroking her red hair and speaking sweet words of comfort to her mind.

TAL AND HIS
troops gathered once again in the little church, and the mood was better this time. They had tasted the first promises of battle; a victory, even though a small one, had been won the night before. Most of all, there were more of them. The original twenty-three had grown to forty-seven as more mighty warriors had gathered, called in by the prayers of …

“The Remnant!” said Tal with a note of anticipation as he looked over a preliminary list presented to him.

Scion, a red-haired, freckled fighter from the British Isles, explained the progress of the search. “They’re out there, Cap, and there’s plenty o’ them, but these are the ones we’ll be bringin’ in for sure.”

Tal read the names. “John and Patricia Coleman—”

Scion explained, “They were here last night and spoke up for the preacher. Now they’re all the more for him, and they drop to their knees easy as droppin’ a hat. We’ve got them workin’.”

“Andy and June Forsythe.”

“Lost sheep, you could say. Left the United Christian here in Ashton out of sheer hunger. We’ll bring them to church tomorrow. They have a son, Ron, who’s searchin’ for the Lord. A bit wayward now, but reachin’ his fill o’ his ways.”

“And plenty more, I see,” said Tal with a smile. He handed the list to Guilo. “Assign some of our newcomers to this list. Gather these people in. I want them praying.”

Guilo took the list and conferred with several new warriors.

“And what about relatives, friends elsewhere?” Tal asked Scion.

“Plenty o’ them are redeemed and ready for prayer. Shall I send emissaries to burden them?”

Tal shook his head. “I can’t let any warriors be gone for long. Instead, have messengers carry word to the watchcarers over these people’s towns and cities, and let the watchcarers see that these people are burdened with prayer for their loved ones here.”

“Done.”

Scion set right to work, assigning messengers who immediately vanished to their missions.

Guilo had sent his warriors also and was excited to see the campaign in motion. “I like the feel of this, captain.”

“It is a good beginning,” Tal said.

“And what of Rafar? Do you suppose he knows of your presence here?”

“The two of us know each other all too well.”

“Then he will be expecting a fight, and soon.”

“Which is why we won’t fight, not yet. Not until the prayer cover is sufficient and we know why Rafar is here. He’s not a prince of small towns but of empires, and he would never be here for any task below his pride. What we’ve seen is far less than the enemy has planned. How’s Mr. Hogan?”

“I hear little Complacency has been banished for failure and the Ba-al is in a rage.”

Tal chuckled. “Hogan has come to life like a dormant seed. Nathan! Armoth!” They were there immediately. “You have more warriors now. Take as many as you need to surround Marshall Hogan. Greater numbers may intimidate where swords cannot.”

Guilo was visibly indignant and looked longingly at his sheathed sword.

Tal cautioned, “Not yet, brave Guilo. Not yet.”

RIGHT AFTER MARSHALL’S
call to Harmel, Bernice’s phone nearly jumped off the wall. Marshall didn’t ask her, he told her, “Be at the office tonight at 7, we’ve got work to do.”

Now, at 7:10, the rest of the
Clarion
office was deserted and dark. Marshall and Bernice were in the back room, digging old issues of the
Clarion
out of the archives. Ted Harmel had been quite fastidious; most of the past issues were neatly kept in huge binders.

“So when did Harmel get run out of town?” Marshall asked as he flipped through several old pages of a back issue.

“About a year ago,” Bernice answered, bringing more binders up to the big worktable. “The paper operated on a skeleton crew for several
months before you bought it. Edie, Tom, myself and some of the college journalism majors kept it going. Some of the issues were okay, some of them were a lot like a college paper.”

“Like this one here?”

Bernice looked at the old issue from the previous August. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t look too closely.”

Marshall flipped the pages backward. “I want to see the issues up to the time Harmel left.”

“Okay. Ted left in late July. Here’s June … May … April. Just what are you looking for?”

“The reason why he got run out.”

“You know the story, of course.”

“Brummel says he molested some girl.”

“Yes, Brummel says a lot of things.”

“Well, did he or didn’t he?”

“The girl said he did. She was about twelve, I guess, a daughter of one of the college regents.”

“
Which
one?”

Bernice probed her brain, finally forcing the memory out. “Jarred. Adam Jarred. I think he’s still there.”

“Is he on that list you got from Darr?”

“No. But perhaps he should be. Ted knew Jarred pretty well. The two of them used to go fishing together. He did know the daughter, had frequent access to her, and that helped the case against him.”

“So why wasn’t he prosecuted?”

“I don’t think it ever went that far. He was arraigned before the district judge—”

“Baker?”

“Yes, the one on the list. The case went into the judge’s chambers and apparently they struck some kind of deal. Ted was gone just a few days after that.”

Marshall gave the worktable an angry slap. “Boy, I wish I hadn’t let that guy get away. You didn’t tell me I’d be putting my fist through a beehive.”

“I didn’t know that much about it.”

Marshall kept scanning the pages in front of him; Bernice was going through the previous month.

“You say this all blew up in July?”

“Mid to late July.”

“The paper’s pretty quiet about it.”

“Oh sure. Ted wasn’t going to print anything against himself, obviously. Besides, he didn’t have to; his reputation was shot to pieces anyway. Our circulation dropped critically. Several weeks went by without any paychecks.”

“Oh-oh. What’s this?”

The two of them zeroed in on a letter to the editor in a Friday issue from early July.

Marshall scanned, muttered as he read, “‘I must express my indignation at the unfair treatment this board of regents has received from the local press. … The recent articles published in the
Ashton Clarion
amount to nothing less than blatant malfeasance of journalism, and we hope our local editor will be professional enough to check his facts from now on before printing any more groundless innuendoes …’”

“Yes!” Bernice brightened with recollection. “This was a letter from Eugene Baylor.” And then she slapped her hands to either side of her face and exclaimed, “Oh …!
Those
articles!” Bernice started flipping hurriedly through the June binder. “Yes, here’s one.”

The headline read, “STRACHAN CALLS FOR AUDIT.” Marshall read the lead: “‘Despite continuing opposition from the Whitmore College board of regents, College Dean Eldon Strachan today called for an audit of all Whitmore College accounts and investments, still voicing his concern over recent allegations of mishandling of funds.’”

Bernice’s eyes rolled up and scanned the heavens as she said, “Hooboy, this may be more than just a beehive!”

Marshall read a little further: “‘Strachan has asserted that there is “more than adequate evidence” to justify such an audit even though it would be costly and premature, as the board of regents still maintains.’”

Bernice explained, “You see, I never paid that much attention when all this was going on. Ted was an aggressive sort, he’d gotten on the bad side of people before, and this just sounded like another mundane political thing. I was just a reporter on the innocuous human interest staff … what did I care about all this?”

“So,” said Marshall, “the college dean got himself in hot water with the regents. Sounds like a real feud.”

“Ted was a good friend of Eldon Strachan. He took sides and the regents didn’t like it. Here’s another one, just the week after.”

Marshall read, “‘REGENT MAULS STRACHAN. Whitmore College Regent Eugene Baylor, the college general treasurer, today accused Dean Eldon Strachan of “malicious political hatcheting,” asserting that Strachan is using “deplorable and unethical methods” to further his own dynasty within the college administration.’ Heh. Not exactly a harmless little tiff between friends.”

“Oh, I understand it got bitter, really bitter. And Ted probably stuck his nose out a little too far. He started catching the crossfire.”

“Hence Eugene Baylor’s angry letter.”

“Along with political pressure, I’m sure. Strachan and Ted had many meetings and Ted was finding out a lot, maybe too much.”

“But you have no details …”

Bernice only threw up her hands and shook her head. “We have these articles and Ted’s phone number, and the list.”

“Yeah,” Marshall mused, “the list. A lot of college regents on it.”

“Plus the chief of police and the district judge who cooked Ted’s goose.”

“So what became of Strachan?”

“Fired.”

Bernice flipped through some more old
Clarion
s. A loose page fluttered out and dropped to the floor. Marshall picked it up. Something on the page caught his eye and he perused it until Bernice found what she was looking for, an article from late June.