Hold the Light (37 page)

"I dunno?"

"We all have to wait for God to call," she continued, "No matter how He works."

I thought it amazing that after all the evidence she had seen over the years that she still kept her faith.

Betsy shook her head while caressing the glass over Randy's image. She flipped the picture over to stop herself from crying again. Placing her hands on the black backside, she probed an edge with a curious expression. Her fingers picked at something.

"Wait a minute, I'm so forgetful!" She exclaimed and heaved Randy's picture against the wall.

I jumped once it hit, caught completely off guard. It cracked and sprayed glass all around. I wondered what the hell made her snap and break such a prized picture.

"I forgot all about this," she said as she walked over to the pile of glass and wood, sifting through the rubble. I leaped up and crouched next to her, ready to clean up the mess when she flung a folded piece of paper into my face. Tiny glass shards flew past me.

"Randy said if you ever came back - which I had given up on, you slow poke - to look behind his picture."

I took the folded piece of paper and looked it over, weighing it with my eyes.

"What is it?" I asked.

"I don't know. Look at it."

As I unfolded it, she moved next to me and peered over my shoulder to see what was written. I reached in my coat to feel the tattered paper nestled at the bottom of the pocket.

I was caught in a whirlwind of suspense. I unwrinkled it into a flat white page. It read:

'You are the lantern that holds the light. Come to me and let it go.'

Below was a scribbled street name and directions.

"When the hell did he get a chance to do this?" I asked in bewilderment.

Did he know how to beat death?

"He called me on his cell phone while you were sleeping in the car, shortly after you two left the last time. He knew there were things he couldn't plan for and that something could go wrong. Which was, unfortunately, right. He didn't want the convict to get the gift above all, so he planned to give it to you if he failed."

"Sneaky," I said, wondering how tough the decision had been for Randy to hand over such an abomination to his best friend. "But what's this address?"

"Cemetery. Family plot. He knew I'd put him there."

"What does it mean Betsy?"

"Beyond ending it? I don't know. I hoped you'd know that, but it looks like you'll have to figure it out."

"Well, I've got a guess but there's just no way he could've..."

"You should go, George. We've been talking for hours and it will be evening soon. I don't know anymore than you do, but I've kept you long enough from the rest of your life. Go and do what's right," she said firmly.

She quickly stiffened her bottom lip and shut off her tears. I could see the hope in her eyes.

"Thank you for everything," I said, hugging her.

"And thank you, my dear," she whispered in my ear. "Now go and set everything right."

I nodded and marched out the door. Once the door closed, I stopped and took a deep breath to collect myself. Fear welled within and I had to suppress it.

I stepped off the porch and looked over my shoulder at the house as I walked to my car. The sputtering porch light dimmed with each of my steps. I stopped and turned around and saw her waving. She stood out from her bleak house like a solitary star on an overcast night. I returned the gesture. She smiled and the flickering porch light winked out. She disappeared into the shadows of the house. I gazed back at the creased directions in my hand and prayed it was hope and not disappointment. If this piece of paper meant the end of all this torture, or perhaps even a new beginning, then so be it. No matter the outcome, this will end if it kills me.

The paper's simple instructions were perplexing in ways. I wondered what could possibly come from these words. But I knew how powerful words can be as I felt the piece of yellow paper inside of my coat pocket one more time.

Chapter 71

I jumped into my car with a spring of hope. The possibility of seeing this all the way through to the end caused my heart to pounce into my throat.

"Even if I die trying," I thought, "No - if I
live
trying. There's been enough death."

Every fiber within me stirred with anticipation as I drove. I traveled until the onset of dusk beamed down at gentle angles. I came upon the road the cemetery was on. I had about a quarter mile to go. Following the last wooded winding path, butterflies swarmed in my stomach.

But regret mixed in. I should have been here long ago. I had never been able to see this place before. I never got to say my final farewell to my friend. All because of the...

"...convict!" I screamed and swerved hard right.

I rumbled off the road to avoid the black slouching figure planted in the middle. Chunks of dirt spit from my tires as I sunk into the dirt lining the road. My heart was in my throat. I couldn't get control. I skidded along the grass and down the side of the road into a steep ditch. A tree emerged from the shadows in a blink of an eye. Instinct took over. I spun the steering wheel left and right.

Nothing. My limbs tightened as the tree came at me. I slammed on the brakes as the car slid into the tree. My arms loosened and I shot through the windshield. Sliding across the hood with a squeal of flesh on metal, I rolled off the car, and barely past the tree. I landed on my shoulder and rolled and rolled until another tree stopped me. My shoulder pulsed with pain and what other parts weren't injured, felt broken. The old knife wound in my side throbbed.

The soil was damp on my face and I had dirt and grass in my teeth. The bottom of my shirt and the top of my pants felt soaked. Slowly turning my head I saw gashes notched into my hands and scatter red marks lining my arms.

I rolled over to look at the road. A towering figure stammered towards me slowly, walking with a crooked head that observed me. He wobbled with a limp on the right side and was hunched over as he studied me curled up in the fetal position.

My creaking and snapping joints attempted to lift me to my feet. My eyes tried to focus through the swirling and hazy atmosphere. I felt faint. I closed and rubbed my eyes. I wished I had just rammed him instead of swerving, but the reaction was automatic. When I opened my eyes, the sight of the convict was so grotesque that my stomach lurched, but had nothing to heave.

"Jesus! Do you just appear anywhere I am?!"

The convict was more putrid than ever, decaying so badly that his limbs appeared to be poorly sewn on. He was tripping over his feet the closer he came. He grew visibly angry, grunting with each fumbling step.

"Give her back," he shakily said.

"We've been over this," I said, still trying to stand.

"Where is she? Bring her. Now!"

"She's not your wife." I attempted to reason with him one last time. "Look, I know about your wife, and Nathaniel, and Benjamin and leaving with your wife."

The convict shut his mouth. He was stupefied. He looked lost but angry. His big rotting hand came up to his forehead and wiped away sweat.

"I just want her back," the convict growled.

"Then let me help you."

"No! Can't trust you. You will do anything to keep the gift ...my gift."

"I don't want it any longer, dammit," I yelled and crashed back down to my shaky knees. "It has been nothing but Hell for me, and so have you. But you won't get it! You're a murderer and the gift will stay outta the hands of someone like you."

"I'm its rightful owner. It is time for it to come home." The convict frowned and closed in on me.

He reached for me with stiff zombie-like arms. He misjudged his balance as he leaned forward and his weight toppled him over. I shot my legs up and they landed squarely on his chest. I caved my knees into a slight bend to support his massive weight and gathered my strength. He rested on my feet for a confused second until I used his momentum to launch him over my head and into a tree. They connected with a loud crack. I rolled backwards and watched his skull split against the tree bark. I shuddered. Bouncing off the tree, he left a splatter of blood and toppled into a bundle of decayed flesh at the base.

With one knee on the ground, I shakily rose to my feet. Biding the time I bought for myself, I had to find a way to finish him once and for all. Every one of my bones moaned and threatened to crumble as I looked about for a weapon.

The convict slowly stirred and moaned. His skin was split down the middle of his brow, blood seeping into his eyes, pooling in the crevasses of his face. He looked around for me, blindly feeling the air around him with one hand and wiping the blood from his eyes with the other.

I frantically scanned the ground and came across a thick broken-off tree branch. Bending over slowly to get it, bracing myself with my hand on my knee, spots danced in my vision. I held the branch tight and hobbled over to him using it as a cane.

Standing just out of reach of his pathetic groping, I watched him squirm and call out in rage. Satisfaction welled within me. A smirk perched on my lips. Raising the branch over my head and ignoring the pain in my shoulder, I froze. Another convulsion gripped me.

The convict used that time to reach behind him and brandish my father's sword from his belt. He wildly swung it, cutting up the air between us. I hopped back and stared at him in amazement. He still wouldn't give up.

The steel swooped past my face and barely missed. The convict overextended himself with the ferocious swing and lurched forward. I saw my opportunity. I heaved the branch down at his head. The convict leaned back and swung at me again. The sword sunk into the branch I held. Even in his condition, the power he wielded the blade with shook my arms, but I held the branch tight.

Our angry and amazed eyes locked. We sneered at one another and struggled to break our weapons apart. Lunging from side to side weakly, we twisted and turned to unchain ourselves. My arms grew weary and he slunk in fatigue. Our struggle crawled to a halt. I smirked and shook my head at him.

"You're long overdue for this."

The convict pushed on our weapons one last time. My arms gave and I leapt backwards. The branch and sword plummeted to the ground. Our hands crashed against the soil still fastened to our weapons. I slipped my foot on top of the long gleaming blade and shifted my body weight on it.

I jerked the branch free like an axe from a stump. Standing on the blade like I was walking the plank, I raised all my might and reeled the branch back, and landed a baseball swing to his head that sent it into a tilt on his neck. The blow smashed his head into the tree trunk and he settled down at the roots.

I pulled the branch around for another vicious shot. I aimed to dig it into his head and bury it down into his neck. I yearned to hear all the sticky noises so I would know that he suffered as I have. It would be a fitting end for the harbinger of evil, but instead, my fingers relaxed. I dropped the blood stained branch. The sound echoed in the silent forest and my ears. It was the sound of my ineptitude and it stung. No mercy. I should kill him with the same sword I attacked my father with anyway. To fitting not to.

As soon as I leaned over to retrieve it, my head swam in vertigo. I ached to pick it up, but I was too weak to reach the ground. My head went light and a sickness saturated my gut. I quickly retreated from the blade and straightened up. I stumbled backwards as far away as I could, recovering my vigor with each receding step.

I recoiled until my backside hit what was left of my car. Confused and angry at my inability to finish him off, I fumbled with the door handle until it opened. I reached into my car and pulled the lever to pop the trunk.

Lingering morsels of queasiness bobbed about my stomach until I stood again. I swallowed heavily to keep from vomiting.

Chapter 72

I reached into the trunk and grabbed the old lantern, the lantern Randy knew I always left in my trunk and the one I guessed he called for in the note. I stared at it dumbfounded, wondering if he really meant the lantern and noticed another astonishment. Randy's old fedora was crumpled up behind it. That crafty bastard! He planted and planned this far in advance, even realizing, hell risking all, that I never clean out my trunk. Well, actually, the more I thought on it, the safer the bet seemed. I saw a few college text books in the far back.

God, I couldn't help but chuckle. He knew me, dammit. That man knew.

In homage to Randy's cunning and the good old times, I dusted off his old fedora, put it on and started down the thin lane leading to the cemetery.

I walked with my eyes over my shoulder, prepared for the convict to suddenly rise and come barreling after me. But nothing stirred. I could barely hear my own footsteps.

The staleness made it hard to breathe.

Distance and darkness took the convict from my sight. I couldn't help but think that everything had ended too easily. We were everlasting and so was my caution. There were no such things as good luck and helpful omens with him.

As soon as the wreck behind me disappeared into the twilight, I stopped. I felt eyes on me, like I was being followed. My feet froze and I was scared to turn. Behind me the night air blew hot puffs of breath down my neck. Fright gripped me but I leashed it. Over my shoulder my eyes crept, chin pointing the way, until I pivoted and looked back. I could see the wreck again. By my mangled car, not far from all the metal twisted into a hideous sculpture, a white glow hovered in the road. The dusk abated to this wispy haze of pure light that seemed to place the sunset on hold.

The radiance stood almost benevolently before the convict. A familiar laughter buzzed around my ears like a mosquito.

"The demon?" I whispered, feeling that it should be nearby.

Beneath my feet the cracked asphalt grew hot. Curiosity pulled me closer to get a better look. With each step, the light from my clanking lantern diminished and streamed outwards, hurdling into the strange glow. The radiance before the convict began to pulse and elongate. It thinned in the middle and evolved into a figure. A female figure. Long hair fell from a budding head and shone in the light. Pale white skin formed under a pallid dress that looked centuries old. Age cut forgivingly into her young face. Her features were youthful and soft, yet wrinkles stretched around her eyes, cheeks, and mouth. An old and noticeable scar was seared on her lip. It looked just like Amber's. Emitting a glow that draped over the convict's face, she benignly stepped over to him with her right arm outstretched. His head bobbed away a bit and his eyes squinted under the orb's radiance.