The Other Side of Darkness (25 page)

“Will you stay here with us, Mommy?” pleads Sarah. “I can feel the demons all around us tonight. I could feel them outside and in our backyard, and I know that they killed our dog and that they want to kill us too.”

“We need to keep praying.” I get an extra blanket from the closet and lie down on the floor between their two beds. “We are going to do extra-hard warfare tonight. We will not let the demons win.”

So the three of us take turns praying until first Sarah and then Mary drift off. Even as I listen to their even breathing and know that they are soundly asleep, I remain on the floor between their beds, still praying, still keeping the Enemy at bay.

I
wake up cold and achy, wondering where I am and why, and then I remember I’m still in the girls’ room—Sadie. With a tight, painful lump in my throat I get up and, wrapping myself in the blanket, go off in search of my own bed. I’m surprised that the lights are off in the house, that it’s 2:47 a.m., and that Rick has already come home and gone to bed. Completely oblivious to his family’s plight on this blackest of black nights, my husband is contentedly snoring. I know it’s unreasonable, not to mention un-Christlike, but I have the strongest urge to beat the living daylights out of him right now. Still, I control myself, standing there next to the bed with fists clenched in rage. I tell myself to just let this go, slip into bed, and continue to travail for the Lord’s protection on my seemingly defenseless family. But I cannot do it. I cannot force myself to get into bed and to lie next to that man.

In so many ways he seems a large part of our problem. It’s because of him that we are so vulnerable right now. I’ve heard that when the head of the family slacks off, becoming spiritually lazy in the way that Rick has these past few years, it’s as if the family is left wide open. They’re left uncovered and unprotected, and Satan is freer than ever to take potshots at them or, as it seems to be in our case, to launch a full-scale demonic attack. It’s Rick’s fault that our poor Sadie is lying cold and lifeless out in the children’s old red wagon. And as I
walk out of our bedroom, pausing in front of Matthew’s open bedroom door, I think Rick is also to blame for our missing son.

I turn on the light, then go inside Matthew’s mostly stripped-down room. I’m still not sure how he got so much stuff out of here while we were at church on Sunday, but I suspect a friend, maybe Jason, must’ve helped him. I close the door, then sit on the bare mattress of his twin captain’s bed, where I place my head in my hands and cry. What is happening to our family? How can we survive this? When will it end?

I don’t actually know where Matthew is right now. Oh, I know that Jason has an apartment downtown, and Matthew has probably even mentioned the name of the complex before, but all I can remember is that it’s not far from the bookstore. I don’t even know Jason’s last name or his phone number. For all I know, this Jason person could be a serial killer or a sexual pervert or perhaps even a Satan worshiper, and my son could be in serious danger right now.

I lie down on Matthew’s bed and once again begin to pray. Sometimes I wonder how long I will have to pray like this, waging warfare and doing battle. Will it take forever? And what if I get weary or run out of words? What if I forget how to use my prayer language or how to speak at all? What if I should completely give in to the insanity that seems to press against me from every angle, especially on nights like tonight? What if I should lose my mind? Would anyone pray for me? Would Rick?

When I wake up, the sunlight is streaming in through the opened miniblinds, straight into my eyes. It takes me a few seconds before I can see well enough to get my bearings, before I can figure out where I am, as I recognize the faded clipper-ship wallpaper border that I hung in this room back when Matthew was ten and life was
good. I still have the fluffy pink blanket from the girls’ room wrapped around me, but I’m chilled to the bone.

I go out to see that the thermostat’s been turned down, I’m sure by my penny-pinching husband. I turn it up to eighty-three just to spite him. I hope it gets so hot in the master bedroom that he gets up and comes out roaring like a grumpy bear. And then I’ll tell him about Sadie and about how he’s neglected the spiritual welfare of his family and about how we are going under.

But first I need to get the girls up. It’s nearly eight already, and we’ll have to move fast if they’re to make it to school on time. I feel sorry for them as I gently shake them awake. We had such a late night, and as they sit up in bed, their eyes are still somewhat swollen and red from all the crying over Sadie. Perhaps I should just keep them home with me today.

“Oh, it’s late, Mom.” Mary pops out of bed and looks at the clock. “Did we forget to set the alarm?”

“Yes. That’s my fault.”

“We better hurry,” Mary tells Sarah. And the next thing I know, they’re pulling on their uniforms, not even questioning whether or not it makes sense to go to school. Such good girls.

I have milk in paper cups, bananas, and granola bars all ready to go by the time they come into the kitchen. “Maybe you can eat breakfast on the road.” I balance this makeshift meal and usher them out the door. “Just try not to spill in the new car, okay?”

Miraculously, no milk is spilled in the car, and only wrappers and banana peels and empty paper cups are left to be removed after I drop off the girls. Just the same, I stop by a trash barrel in the parking lot so I can get the debris out of my car before it has a chance to leave an odor. I feel incredibly weary as I bend down to pick these things up
from the car floor, where I asked the girls to set them. It’s as if I’m a hundred years old. How can I go on?

“Hello, Ruth,” calls a male voice. I stand up straight and see Ed Chambers walking toward me. I know from my conversation with Colleen last night (could it have been only last night?) that Ed is still
playing
the role of head pastor at VBF until they hire someone else. Since I don’t go to church there anymore, there’s no need to call him “Pastor Ed,” which sounds slightly ridiculous anyway. I’d rather call him “Mr. Ed,” which reminds me of that old silly sitcom my girls love to watch on TV Land, the one about the talking horse.

“Hi, Ed.”

“How’s it going?” he asks as he comes closer.

I consider telling him how it’s
really
going. Expounding on how, ever since the church fired Pastor Glenn, it’s been really, really hard and how this whole town is undergoing a spiritual attack right now, particularly my own family as a result of my willingness to take up arms and stand against the Lord’s enemy. And how my beloved dog died last night, most assuredly as a demonic attack against our family. But most of all I want to ask Ed what he plans to do that will make any of this better. Instead I tell him, “Things are fine, thanks.”

“I see you got a new car. Nice.”

“Thanks.”

“I saw Rick at church last week. Were you sick?”

I consider lying, saying, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I was …,” and I’m pretty sure it would be believable, considering how frazzled I must look right now. But why bother? He probably already knows what’s up anyway. So I tell him about New Fire and how it’s already growing by leaps and bounds. “It’s really wonderful. And I’m heading up the children’s ministry.”

He nods. “Yes, I’d heard something about this new church. Enough to be concerned, Ruth. I don’t think it’s going to be a healthy church.”

Now this just gets me. Who is he to judge what is or is not healthy? I almost lash out at him. But somehow, maybe by the power of the Holy Spirit, I manage to control myself. “I guess that’s for the Lord to determine, isn’t it?” I say in a calm voice. “It’s not for us to judge one another, now is it, Ed?”

He presses his lips together as if carefully weighing his response. “I’d say that’s right most of the time, Ruth. Judging usually gets us in trouble. But there are times when you must use sound spiritual discernment. Especially when church leaders twist God’s Word for their own purposes and when they use fear tactics to control their congregation and lead good people astray. That’s why God gives us discernment, and that’s why the Bible says there is wisdom in the counsel of a multitude of—”

“I couldn’t agree with you more. That’s probably why I feel so at home there.” I open the car door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go bury a dead dog.”

He blinks in surprise at this off-the-wall statement. But I just get in my car and drive away. Who cares what he thinks? But I don’t want to go home. And I don’t want to bury my dead dog either. So I just drive around town and try to do warfare, especially as I drive past the seamier side of town, where the adult bookstore and new strip club are located, but my prayers sound tired and flat, not to mention totally unintimidating. So I finally go home.

When I pull up to the house, Matthew’s bike is out front, and Matthew and Rick come out carrying a dresser. That’s when I notice that the tailgate on Rick’s pickup is open, and inside is Matthew’s bed.

I get out of my car. “What are you doing, Matthew?”

“Moving my stuff.”

“Your
stuff?” I put my hand on top of the maple dresser that we got before he was born. It was low enough to double as a changing table, and I used it for the girls as well, but ultimately it ended up back in Matthew’s room.

“This is my bed and my dresser.” Matthew looks defiantly at me. “Dad said I can take them.”

“That’s right,” Rick says to me.

“But it’s—”

“Just let me handle this,” Rick says in a warning tone.

“Yeah, right. Just the way you handle everything!” I storm off into the house, which has gotten quite warm in my absence. Naturally, the thermostat’s been turned down again. Well, fine!

“Just what is that supposed to mean?” Rick says as he comes in the door.

Matthew doesn’t appear to be with him. “It means, why are you making this easy for him? Why are you letting him take all that furniture? I thought you wanted him to come home. We don’t even know this Jason person. For all we know—”

“Look, Matthew and I just had a pretty good talk. He said that his rent is only two hundred dollars a month and that by working full-time, he’s still able to save a lot. He wants to do this, Ruth. He says it will help him grow up.”

I roll my eyes. “You mean it will help him get drunk every night without having his parents on his case.”

“There’s nothing we can do about that. He’s old enough to make his own choices.”

“That’s right,” Matthew says as he comes into the house. I suspect
he’s been listening by the still-open door. “And speaking of making my own choices, Mom, you don’t happen to know where some of my books and CDs have suddenly disappeared to, do you?”

I feel like my back’s against the wall right now, like I am facing down the enemy and am outnumbered. Rick and Matthew have joined forces, not only with each other, but probably with the darkness as well.

“I can’t take this.” I put my hands to my face as if to shield myself from them. “I don’t see why you have to move out, Matthew. You’re only eighteen, and you—”

“I’m old enough to think for myself!”

This makes me cry. I sink down onto the seat of the hall tree, still holding my hands to my face and sobbing, “I can’t take any more. I just can’t.”

“Is she having some kind of breakdown?” asks Matthew. I can’t tell if he’s concerned or amused.

“Are you okay, Ruth?” asks Rick.

“She’s just being a drama queen,” says Matthew. “She always does this. And next she’ll go into her fanatic religious routine. Crud, Mom, I know you took my stuff. You probably thought it was evil, the work of the devil. I can just—”

“Stop it!” I stand now, facing them both. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”

“See,” he says to Rick, “she’s having a breakdown. Better call the psych ward, see if they can get her a bed.”

Now I just stare at my unfeeling son with tears streaming down my face. How have I managed to spawn such an evil child?

Rick pats me on the back in a condescending way. “Just take it easy, Ruth.”

I turn and glare at him. “You’re telling
me
to take it easy? I was
the one who was here with the girls last night. The one who found Sadie dead on the road. We had to put her in the little red wagon in the middle of—”

“What?” Rick looks truly stunned. “What are you saying?”

“Is that true, Mom?” I can tell I have Matthew’s attention too.

Fresh tears fill my eyes as I remember last night. Then I tell them about how we’d been at Colleen’s, how it was pretty late, and how we found her. “It was horrible,” I tell them, but they’re both walking through the house now, with me following. I know they’re on their way to the back door. “The girls and I cried all night. I had to sleep in their room just to comfort …”

Both Matthew and Rick bend down by the red wagon. Rick slowly removes the damp beach towel, its cheerful bright stripes a contrast to the sadness it’s covering. I get a small sense of satisfaction when I see their faces, father and son, both stricken by the sorrowful sight of our family dog now deceased. But then I look at poor sweet Sadie, lying there so peacefully, and I completely lose it. I run back into the house, straight for my bedroom, and fall onto the bed in tears.

By the time I wake up, I have just enough time to take a shower before I pick up the girls. Matthew’s room is completely empty now, and both he and Rick are gone. Rick probably helped him move his stuff, then continued on to work, maybe in an effort to avoid me, the crazy woman. But as I stand in the kitchen, I notice a fresh mound of dark brown dirt out in a corner of the backyard. And next to it is what appears to be a handmade cross, two sticks tied together with string. Sadie’s final resting place.

I sigh, making a mental note to get some flower bulbs on the way home. The girls can plant them there for Sadie. Maybe we can hold
a memorial service, just the three of us. I assume that Rick and Matthew have already said their good-byes.

After I pick up the girls, we stop by the hardware store and get tulip, daffodil, and narcissus bulbs, along with a fall chrysanthemum that Mary spots. “It’s almost the same color of gold as Sadie,” she points out.