THE POLICE AIMED their guns. What was this nut going to do next?
Hank shouted, “No, take it easy! It’s not him!”
They did not understand that statement at all.
Hank stepped forward and gave it one more try: “Strongman, I know you can hear me. You are defeated. The shed blood of Jesus has defeated you. Be silent and come out of him and depart from this region!”
Now the police were aiming at Hank!
But the Strongman could take no more of this praying man’s rebukes. He wilted. His sword dropped. The General took one swipe with his flashing blade, and the Strongman was gone.
KASEPH COLLAPSED TO the floor and lay there as if dead. The lawyers and regents shouted from the conference room, “Don’t shoot!” and came out with their hands raised whether ordered to or not. The police still did not know who to arrest.
“In here!” someone shouted from the lounge. The police ran in and found the pitiful wreck that Alf Brummel had become, and the very deceased Juleen Langstrat.
CHAPTER 42
RIP! RAFAR’S SWORD took off a corner of Tal’s wing. Tal kept darting and flitting, dodging and swinging, and he clipped Rafar’s shoulder and thigh. The air was filled with the stench of sulfur; the evil darkness was thick like smoke.
“The Lord rebuke you!” Tal shouted.
Clang! Rip!
“Where is the Lord?” Rafar mocked. “I see Him not!”
Whoosh!
Tal screamed in pain. His left hand hung useless.
“Lord God,” Tal cried, “His name is Rafar! Tell them!”
THE REMNANT WERE not praying so much now; instead they watched all the excitement and the police dashing in and out of the Administration Building.
“Wow!” said John Coleman. “The Lord’s really answering our prayers!”
“Praise the Lord!” Andy replied. “That just goes to show … Edith! Edith, what’s wrong?”
Edith Duster had sunk to her knees. She was pale. The saints gathered around.
“Should we call an aid car?” someone asked.
“No! No!” Edith cried. “I know this feeling. I’ve felt it before. The Lord is trying to speak to me!”
“What?” asked Andy. “What is it?”
“Well, quit your gabbing and let me pray and I’ll tell you!”
Edith started to weep. “There’s still an evil spirit out there,” she cried. “He’s doing great mischief. His name is … Raphael … Raving …”
Bobby Corsi spoke up. “Rafar!”
Edith looked up at him with wide eyes. “Yes! Yes! That’s the name the Lord’s impressing upon me!”
“Rafar!” Bobby said again. “He’s the big wheel!”
TAL COULD ONLY back away from the fearsome onslaught of the demon prince, his one good hand still holding his sword up for defense. Rafar kept swinging and slashing, the sparks flying from the blades as they met. Tal’s arm sank lower with each blow.
“The Lord … rebuke you!” Tal found the breath to say again.
EDITH DUSTER WAS on her feet and ready to shout it to the heavens. “Rafar, you wicked prince of evil, in the name of Jesus we rebuke you!”
RAFAR’S BLADE ZINGED over Tal’s head. It missed.
“WE BIND YOU!” shouted the Remnant.
THE BIG YELLOW eyes winced.
“WE CAST YOU out!” Andy said.
THERE WAS A puff of sulfur, and Rafar bent over. Tal leaped to his feet.
“WE REBUKE YOU, Rafar!” Edith shouted again.
RAFAR SCREAMED. TAL’S blade had torn him open.
The big red blade came down with a clang against Tal’s, but that angelic sword was singing with a new resonance. It cut through the air in fiery arcs. With his one good hand, Tal kept swinging, slashing, cutting, pushing Rafar back. The fiery eyes were oozing, the foam was bubbling out the mouth and fizzing down the chest, the yellow breath had turned deep crimson.
Then in one horrible, rage-empowered swipe, the huge red sword came sizzling through the air. Tal went tumbling backward like a tossed rag toy. He fell to the floor stunned, his head spinning, his body drenched in fiery pain. He could not move. His strength was gone.
Where was Rafar? Where was that blade? Tal tried to turn his head. He strained to see. Was that his enemy? Was that Rafar?
Through the vapor and darkness he could see Rafar’s battered frame swaying like a big tree in the wind. The demon did not move, he did not charge. As for the sword, the huge hand still held it, but the blade now hung limply, the tip resting on the floor. The breaths were coming in long, slow wheezes. The nostrils spewed deep red clouds. Those eyes—those hate-filled eyes—were like huge, glowing rubies.
The dripping, foaming jaws trembled open, and the words gargled through the tar and the froth. “But … for … your … praying saints! But for your saints …!”
The big beast swayed forward. He let out one last hissing sigh, and rumbled to the floor in a cloud of red.
And it was quiet.
Tal could not breathe. He could not move. All he could see was red vapor spreading along the floor like thin fog and darkness all around that huge body.
But … yes. Somewhere the saints were praying. He could feel it. He was healing.
What was that? From somewhere the sweet music found its way to him. It soothed him. Worship. The name of Jesus.
He lifted his head up from the floor and let his eyes explore the cold, concrete room. Rafar, the mighty, loathsome Prince of Babylon, was gone. Nothing remained but a shrinking cloud of darkness. Above the cloud of darkness light was coming through, almost like a sunrise.
He could still hear the music. It echoed throughout the heavenlies, washing them clean, clearing away the darkness with God’s holy light.
And his heart was the first to tell him: You’ve won … for the saints of God and for the Lamb.
You’ve won!
The light grew and grew, blossoming, filling the room, and the darkness continued to shrink and ebb and fade away. Now Tal could see light coming in through the windows. Sunlight? Yes.
The Heavenly Host? Yes!
Tal struggled to his feet and waited for more strength. It came. He stepped forward. His gait became firm and steady. Then, like unfurling silk spun from sparkling diamonds, he spread his wings, fold by fold, inch by inch. They blossomed outward from his shoulders and back, and he let them grow strong.
He drew a deep breath, took the handle of his sword in both hands, held it out in front of him, and the wings took over. He was into the air, climbing into the fresh, light-washed sky, looking straight up and seeing no darkness, no oppression, no clouds.
What he did see was light: light from the Heavenly Host as they swept the sky clean from one end to the other. The air was so fresh, the smells were so clean.
He sailed over the little town and back to the college just in time to see the many flashing lights of squad cars and aid cars and official cars parked everywhere.
Where was Guilo? Oh, where was that blustery Guilo?
“Captain Tal!” came the shout, and Tal dropped toward Ames Hall where his burly friend awaited him with an almost crushing bear hug.
“Surely the battle is over?” Guilo roared happily.
“Is it?” Tal wanted to know.
He looked all around to make sure. Yes, in the very great distance he could see the last fleeing fragments of the cloud scattering in all directions, swept away by the heavenly forces. The sky was a very lovely blue. Below them he could see the faithful Remnant still singing and cheering. It looked like the police were going through some kind of final clean-up.
NORM MATTILY, JUSTIN Parker, and Al Lemley huddled around Bernice and her new friend.
“Well, everybody,” said Bernice, “I’d like you to meet Susan Jacobson. She has a lot to show you!”
Norm Mattily took Susan’s hand and said, “You are a very brave woman.”
Susan could only point at Bernice through tears of relief and say, “Mr. Mattily, look
right there. You’re looking at bravery personified.”
Bernice looked at the stretcher being carried out of the building by two medics. Juleen Langstrat was completely covered with a white sheet. Behind the stretcher came Alf Brummel, handcuffed and escorted by two of his own officers.
Behind Brummel came the number-one man himself, Alexander M. Kaseph. Susan stared at him long and hard, but he never raised his eyes. He got into the squad car with a federal agent without saying a word.
Hank and Mary were embracing and crying because it was over … and yet it was just beginning. Look at all these fired-up saints! Hallelujah—what God could do with a bunch like them!
Marshall held Sandy as if he had never held her before. Both of them had lost count of how many times they had each said they were sorry. All they wanted to do now was get caught up on some badly missed love.
And then … what was this, some kind of fairy tale? Forget the doubts and the questions, Hogan, that’s Kate coming your way! Her face was shining, and boy, did she look good!
All three of them held on to each other, and the tears dripped all over everybody.
“Marshall,” Kate said with tearful giddiness, “I couldn’t possibly stay away. I heard you were arrested!”
“Aw,” Marshall said, giving her a loving squeeze, “how else was God ever going to get my attention!”
Kate cuddled close to him and said, “Wow, this does sound promising!”
“Just wait’ll I tell you about it.”
Kate looked around at all the people and the activity. “Is this the end of your … big project?”
He smiled, held his two favorite girls, and said, “Yeah, it is. You bet it is!”
THE GENERAL TOUCHED Tal on the shoulder. Tal looked and saw that big, golden trumpet in the General’s hand.
“Well, captain,” said the silver-haired angel, “how about doing the honors? Sound the victory!”
Tal took the trumpet in his hand and found he could not see through a sudden flow of tears. He looked down at all those praying saints and that little praying pastor.
“They … they will never know what they have done,” he said. Then he took a breath to sober up and turned to his old buddy-in-arms. “Guilo, how about you?” He pushed the trumpet toward the big angel.
Guilo was reluctant. “Captain Tal, you are always the one who sounds the victory.”
Tal smiled, gave Guilo the trumpet, and sat down right there on the roof. “Dear friend … I am just too tired.”
Guilo thought about that for one short moment, then started guffawing, then slapped Tal on the back and sailed into the air.
The victory signal went forth loud and clear, and Guilo even did a tight corkscrew climb for effect.
“He loves to do that!” said Tal.
The General laughed.
SO HANK HAD Mary and his little newborn church; Marshall had his family back together again, ready to patch things up; Susan and Kevin would be busy for a while as state witnesses; Bernice figured Marshall would let her cover the story to its final end.
But as Bernice stood there, bruised and exhausted, she felt very separate, far away from this happy crowd. She was glad for them, and her professional, public-minded side acted the part very well. But the rest of her, the real Bernice, couldn’t smile away that same old burden of deep sorrow that had been her closest companion for so long.
And now she missed Pat. Perhaps it was the mystery of her death and the obsession with finding the answers that kept Pat alive in her heart for so long. Now there was nothing left to delay the final step Bernice had never been able to take: saying good-bye.
And there was that strange yearning deep in her heart, something she had never felt before she met that strange girl, Betsy; had she really been touched by God somehow? If she had been, what was she to do about it?
She started walking. The skies were bright again, the air was warm, the campus was quiet. Maybe a walk along the red brick pathways would calm her and help her to think, help her to make sense of all that was happening around her and inside her.
She paused under a big oak tree, thought of Pat, thought of her own life and what she would ever do with it, and then let herself cry. She thought maybe she should pray. “Dear God,” she whispered, but then she couldn’t think of what to say.
TAL AND THE General were assessing the situation below them.
“I would say this whole thing has left the town in quite a mess,” said the General.
Tal nodded. “The college won’t be the same for a long time, what with the investigation by the state and federal authorities, not to mention all that money to be tracked down.”
“So do we have a good contingent to set the town back in order?”
“They’re assembling for that now. In the meantime Krioni and Triskal will remain with Busche; Nathan and Armoth will remain with Hogan. Hogan’s family will have a good church where they can heal, and—” Tal suddenly noticed one downcast figure standing alone across the campus. “Hold on.” He got the attention of one particular angel. “There she is. Let’s not let her get away.”
BERNICE FINALLY THOUGHT of one little sentence to pray. “Dear God, I don’t know what to do.”
Hank Busche. The name just came to her. She looked back toward the Administration Building. That pastor and his people were still there.
You know, said a voice inside her, it wouldn’t hurt to talk to that man.
She looked at Hank Busche, and then at all those people who seemed so happy, so at peace.
You’ve been calling out to God. Well, maybe that preacher can introduce the two of you once and for all.
He sure did something for Marshall, Bernice thought.
There’s something back there that you need, girl, and if I were you I’d find out about it.
THE GENERAL WAS eager to be gone. “We’re needed in Brazil. The revival is going well, but the enemy is concocting some plan against it. You should like that kind of a challenge.”
Tal rose to his feet again and drew his sword. Just then, Guilo returned with the trumpet. Tal told him, “Brazil.”
Guilo laughed excitedly and drew his sword also.
“Wait,” said Tal, looking below.
It was Bernice, timidly making her way toward the young pastor and his new flock. By the quiet surrender in her eyes, Tal could see she was ready. Soon the angels would be rejoicing.
He waved his approval to the little curly-haired angel sitting in the crook of the big oak, and she smiled and waved back, her big brown eyes sparkling. Her glowing white gown and golden slippers suited her much better than bib overalls and a motorcycle.
The General asked with pleasure in his voice, “Shall we be going?”
Tal was looking at Hank when he said, “Just a moment. I want to hear it one more time.”
As they watched, Bernice found her way to Hank and Mary. She began to weep openly, and spoke some quiet but impassioned words to them. Hank and Mary listened, as did the others nearby, and as they listened, they began to smile. They put their arms around her, they told her about Jesus, and then they began to weep as well. Finally, as the saints were gathered and Bernice was surrounded with loving arms, Hank said the words, “Let’s pray …”
And Tal smiled a long smile.
“Let’s be off,” he said.
With a burst of brilliant wings and three trails of sparkling fire, the warriors shot into the sky, heading southward, becoming smaller and smaller until finally they were gone, leaving the now peaceful town of Ashton in very capable hands.
FROM ILLUSION
FRANK PERETTI'S NEWEST NOVEL
CHAPTER 1
MANDY WAS GONE. She went quietly, her body still, and Dane was at her bedside to see her go. The ICU physician said it was inevitable, only a matter of minutes once they removed the ventilator, and so it was. Her heart went into premature ventricular contractions, stopped, restarted momentarily, and then the line on the heart monitor went flat.
It
happened more quickly than anyone expected.
She was an organ donor, so she had to be removed immediately for procurement. Dane touched her hand to say good-bye, and blood and skin came off on his fingers.
A nurse wheeled him out of the room. She found a secluded corner out on the fourth floor patio, a place with a view of the city and shade from the Nevada sun, and left him to grieve.
Now, try as he might to fathom such feelings, grief and horror were inseparably mixed. When he wiped his tears, her blood smeared his face. When he tried to envision how she gladdened whenever she saw him, how she would tilt her head and shrug one shoulder and her eyes would sparkle as she broke into that smile, he would see her through the blackening glass, crumpled over the steering wheel, the deflated airbag curling at the edges, melting into her face.
A handkerchief made careful passes over his face below and around his eyes. Arnie was trying to clean him up. Dane couldn’t say anything; he just let him do it.
The smell under his robe found his attention: sweat, antiseptics, gauze, bandages. His right shoulder still felt on fire, only, thanks to the painkillers, on fire somewhere else far away. Not a serious burn, they told him, so he kept telling himself. The bruises ate away at him, little monsters sequestered against his bones, festering under all that blued flesh in his side, his right hip, his right shoulder. It hurt to sit in the wheelchair; it hurt more to walk.
He broke again, covering his eyes to ward off the vision of her hair crinkling, vaporizing down to her scalp, steam and smoke rising through her blouse, flames licking through the broken glass, but it remained. Oh, God! Why? How could He change her so instantly from what she was—the woman, the saint, his lover with the laughing eyes, wacky humor, and wisdom of years—to what Dane had just seen perish on a bloodied gurney behind a curtain, sustained by tubes, monitors, machines? The images replayed. He thought he would vomit again.