This Present Darkness (26 page)

“Nor shall you need to.”

The Strongman only smirked. “You have your orders. Begone!”

Rafar bowed low, and with an unfurling of his wings he quietly rose through the house until he was outside.

Then, with a furious burst of rage, he swooped upward, sending unexpecting demons tumbling out of the way. He picked up speed, his wings rushing in a blinding blur, and the defenders could barely get a channel opened before he burst through it trailing a hot stream of sulfurous breath. They closed up the channel again, giving each other curious looks as they watched him soar away.

Rafar roared like a rocket up the side of the mountains and then out over the craggy peaks and back toward the little town of Ashton. In his rage he cared not who saw him, he cared not about stealth or even decorum. Let the whole world see him, and let it tremble! He was Rafar, the Prince of Babylon! Let all the world bow before him or be decimated under the edge of his sword!

Tal! The very name was bitterness itself on his tongue. The lords of Lucifer would never let him forget that defeat so long ago. Never—until the day when Rafar redeemed his honor.

And indeed he would. Rafar could see his sword gutting Tal and scattering him in shreds and pieces across the sky; he could feel the impact in his arms, he could hear the ripping sound of it. It was only a matter of time.

Among the jagged rocks on one mountain’s summit, a silver-haired man came out of hiding to watch Rafar quickly shrink into the distance, etching a long black trail across the sky until he vanished over the horizon. The man took one more look at the demon-swarmed cluster of buildings in the valley, looked again toward the horizon, then vanished down the other side of the mountain in a flash of light and a flurry of wings.

WELL, THOUGHT MARSHALL,
sooner or later I have to get around to it. On Thursday afternoon, when things were quiet, he closed himself in his office and made some phone calls trying to track down Professor Juleen Langstrat. He called the college, got the number of the Psychology Department, and went through two receptionists in two different offices before he finally found out that Langstrat was not in today and had an unlisted home number. Then Marshall thought of the very cooperative Albert Darr, and gave his office a ring. Professor Darr was teaching, but would return his call if he would leave a message. Marshall left a message. Two hours later, Albert Darr returned Marshall’s call, and he did have the unlisted number for Juleen Langstrat’s apartment.

Marshall called the number.

It was busy.

THE LIVING ROOM
of Juleen Langstrat’s apartment was dimly lit by one small lamp on the mantel. The room was quiet, warm, and comfortable. The shades were drawn to block out distractions, bright light, and any other disturbances. The phone was off the hook.

Juleen Langstrat sat in her chair, speaking quietly to her counselee who sat opposite her.

“You hear only the sound of my voice …” she said, then repeated the sentence several times quietly and clearly. “You hear only the sound of my voice …”

This went on for several minutes until her subject was in a deep, hypnotic trance.

“You are descending … descending deep within yourself …” Langstrat watched the face of her subject carefully. She then extended her hands palms out, fingers spread, and began to move her hands up and down just inches away from the subject’s body, as if feeling for something. “Release your true self … let it go … it is infinite … at unity with all existence … Yes! I can feel it! Can you read my energy returning to you?”

The subject murmured, “Yes …”

“You are free from your body now … your body is an illusion … you feel the bounds of your body dissolving away …”

Langstrat leaned in close, still using her hands.

“You are free now …”

“Yes … yes, I am free …”

“I can feel your life force expanding.”

“Yes, I can feel it.”

“That’s enough. You may stop there.” Langstrat was intent, closely observing everything. “Go back … go back … Yes, I can feel you receding. In a moment you will feel me slipping from you; don’t be alarmed, I’m still here.”

In the next several minutes, she brought her subject slowly back out of the trance, step by step, suggestion by suggestion.

Finally she said, “All right, when I count to three, you will awake. One, two, three.”

Sandy Hogan opened her eyes, rolled them about dizzily, then took a deep breath, coming fully around.

“Wow!” she responded.

The three of them laughed together.

“Wasn’t that something?” asked Shawn, sitting next to Langstrat.

“Wow,” was all Sandy could say.

This was a real first for Sandy. It had been Shawn’s idea and, though she hesitated at first, now she was very glad that she had gone along with it.

The apartment shades were opened, and Sandy and Shawn prepared to go back to their afternoon classes.

“Well, thank you for coming,” said the professor at the door.

“Thank
you
,” Sandy piped.

“And thank you for bringing her,” Langstrat told Shawn. Then she said to the two of them, “Now remember, I wouldn’t advise speaking to anyone about this. It’s a very personal and intimate experience that we should all respect.”

“Yeah, right, right,” said Sandy.

Shawn drove her back to campus.

IT WAS FRIDAY
again, and Hank sat at home in his little corner office looking anxiously at the clock. Mary was usually very reliable. She had said she would be back before Carmen got there for her afternoon counseling appointment. Hank had no idea if there were any spies watching the house, but he could never be sure. All he needed was for someone to figure out that Carmen was dropping in to see him while Mary went grocery shopping. Hank’s fearful side could envision all kinds of plots his enemies might be forming against him, such as sending some strange and seductive woman to compromise and ruin him.

Well, he knew one thing: If Carmen didn’t show a genuine responsiveness to the counseling and begin to apply real solutions to a real problem, that would be the end of it as far as he was concerned.

Oh-oh. There was the doorbell. He sneaked a look out the window. Carmen’s red Fiat was parked out front. Yes, she was standing at the door, in broad daylight, in full view of ten or fifteen houses. The way she was dressed today made Hank figure he’d better let her in quickly, if only to get her out of sight.

Where, oh where, was Mary?

MARY WAS NOT
sure she liked the new owners of what used to be Joe’s Market. Oh, it wasn’t their service or the way they ran the store, or whether or not they were friendly; they were okay in most of those departments, and Mary also figured it would take time for them to know everyone and vice versa. What bothered Mary was how obviously
secretive they became any time she asked them whatever became of Joe Carlucci and his family. As far as Mary could find out, Joe, Angelina, and their children left Ashton abruptly and didn’t tell anyone, and so far no one could be found who even knew where they went.

Oh well. She hurried out of the store and toward her car, a young box boy pushing a cart of groceries along behind her. She opened the trunk and watched the boy load the groceries in.

And then she felt it, suddenly, without any apparent reason: an unexplainable tinge of emotion, an odd mixture of fear and depression. She felt cold, nervous, a little shaky, and could think of nothing but getting out of that place and hurrying home.

Triskal had been accompanying her, guarding her, and he felt it too. With a metallic ring and a flash of light, his sword was instantly in his hand.

Too late! From somewhere behind him came a stunning blow on the back of his neck. He toppled forward. His wings shot out to steady him, but an incredible weight came down on his back like a pile driver and pinned him down.

He could see their feet, like the clawed feet of hideous reptiles, and the red flicker of their blades; he could hear their sulfurous hissing. He looked up. At least a dozen demonic warriors surrounded him. They were towering, fierce, with glowing yellow eyes and dripping fangs, and they were sneering and gargling with laughter.

Triskal looked to see if Mary was all right. He knew her safety would soon be threatened if he didn’t act. But what could he do?

What was that? He suddenly felt an intense wave of evil rolling over him.

“Pick him up,” said a voice like thunder.

A viselike hand curled around his neck and jerked him up as if he were a toy. Now he was looking at all these spirits eye to eye. They were newcomers to Ashton. He had never seen such size, strength, and brazenness. Their bodies were covered with thick, ironlike scales, their arms rippled with power, their faces were mocking, their sulfurous breath choked him.

They turned him around and held him tightly, and he found himself face to face with a vision of sheer horror.

Flanked by no less than ten more huge demonic warriors, a gargantuan
spirit stood with an S-curved sword in his monstrous black hand.

Rafar! The thought coursed through Triskal’s mind like a death sentence; every inch of his being tightened with the anticipation of blows, defeat, unbearable pain.

The big, fanged mouth broke into a mocking and hideous grin; amber saliva dripped from the fangs, and sulfur chugged forth in rancid clouds as the giant warlord chuckled mockingly.

“Are you so surprised?” Rafar asked. “You should feel privileged. You, little angel, are the first to look upon me.”

“AND HOW ARE
you today?” Hank asked as he showed Carmen to a comfortable chair in his office area.

She sank into the chair with a coo and a sigh, and Hank began to wonder where he left his tape recorder. He knew he was innocent of wrongdoing here, but some proof would be nice.

“I’m much better,” she answered, and her voice was pleasant and even. “You know, maybe you can tell me why, but I haven’t heard any voices talking to me all week.”