Almost Heaven (40 page)

His gaze was upon me, and suddenly so were a legion of those from the demonic realm, binding and subduing. I had let my guard down for an instant. I would pay the price. Searing pain shot through my body. But before I could call for help, my mouth was clamped shut, the demons crawling over each other to restrain me. It was then that I looked into the face of the most malevolent evil that has ever existed. In his eyes was desperation that comes from defeat. Insanity that springs from one who can never win but only work against a divine plan.

He laughed in derision. “Your charge is about to meet mine. And there's nothing you or your Master can do.”

31

After our first live show, a reporter from Huntington came to the house to interview me and took some pictures of the studio, Natalie in front of a microphone, and Callie and me on the front porch holding hands. It was a small piece in the
Herald-Dispatch
on a weekend, and I didn't expect much response, but as often happens, I did not anticipate what God was up to. The Web site count kept rising, and Homer told me we'd probably have to change our server for the Internet stream because of the increased hit count.

On the last Thursday night in September, I was late getting to the studio. It was the day before my thirtieth high school reunion, and people from all over the country were coming back to connect. It was a two-day affair, and part of me was excited about it and another part of me just wanted to skip the whole thing. I knew there would be a lot of people who would crow about all of their accomplishments, and I'd been stuck in Dogwood not doing much of anything. Still, I was looking forward to seeing Heather, who was said to have made something of herself.

Callie and I met at the diner, which was the reason I was late getting back to the station. We'd been talking about our finances and how things had evened out somewhat now that ads were picking up. We even talked about Callie quitting the post office so she could help me at the station. We'd been praying that would happen, but it was still a dream. She had some things to do at work, so I headed home and saw Natalie's bicycle against the house when I pulled into the driveway. She was sitting there waiting like a faithful dog.

“Sorry I'm late,” I said.

“No problem,” she said. “Gave me time to think. Here's my list of songs.”

She handed me a piece of notebook paper with the songs listed from one to fourteen.

“I'll get 'em lined up, and you get settled,” I said.

I was focused on the board and getting the computer to cooperate and saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I looked up, and Natalie was busy putting on her headphones. I didn't think anything about it and hit the theme song, the instrumental version of “I'll Fly Away” that the boys and I had recorded. I turned on the microphone, and the on-air light clicked. I usually let Natalie just feel where she wanted to come in, but when she didn't say anything, I pointed at her and leaned back to look through the window. She just stared at the door for some reason.

“What do you want?” she said.

I hit the talkback. “I want you to start the show, June Bug. Let's go.”

She glanced at me, and the look in her eyes is something I will never forget as long as I live. A mix of fear and white-hot terror. That type of look should not happen to someone so young.

I pulled the music down and heard somebody else inside the room talking, low and unintelligible.

“Is somebody in there with you?” I said in the talkback.

Natalie nodded, still staring at whoever it was.

“I saw your picture in the paper.” It was a man's voice. Higher pitched and whiny.

I froze. I knew I should jump up from the board and charge into the studio, but that voice and the whole situation left me immobile.

“What—what do you want?” Natalie said again.

The man moved past the double-paned glass, and I saw the glint of a hunting knife in his hand. “Just to see you. You're a pretty little thing, aren't you?”

I finally came to my senses and killed the microphone and let the computer take over. The music came up full in Natalie's headphones, and she jerked them off and stood up, moving away from the man. I kept the microphone in cue.

“Billy!” Natalie shouted.

Her frightened voice sent me over the edge, and I jumped up and ran. He'd locked the dead bolt from the inside. The way I'd built it, there was no way I could kick the thing in. He had the upper hand.

The man looked through the double-paned window at me, a scrawny-looking thing with a beard he'd been working on for a long time. A dirty, long-sleeved jacket. Muddy jeans with holes in the knees. And that knife. Long and curved at the end. It could do some damage. Underneath the scruff and dirt I recognized the picture that had been in the paper when Clay had gone missing.

I ran back to the control room and picked up the phone, but the line was dead. I really needed a cell phone.

“I don't want to hurt you,” the man said. “I just want to get a closer look.”

“You leave her alone!” I yelled into the talkback, and the guy jumped when he heard my voice through the speakers. Natalie screamed and looked for a place to hide, but there was nothing in there but the round table I'd made and a few filing cabinets against the wall. She could try to run him around the table, but he had control from the moment he walked into the room. I kicked myself for not locking the outside doors.

I banged on the window to get his attention. The man looked at me with a sick grin, like he knew I was powerless.

“I remember you,” he said. He pointed a crooked finger at me that had dirt under the fingernail. “You almost hit me with that truck of yours. I'll get to you directly. First things first.”

The Bible teaches you to pray without ceasing, which I take as an attitude of prayer that ought to be part of your whole day no matter what you're doing. And as I prayed, I tried to think of any weapon I had in the station, and the only thing that came to me was a rusty shovel outside the back door. I hurried down the hall and without thinking twice about it brought it back and swung the heavy end into the glass, but the end of it flew off and winged its way down the hall. I shoved the handle into the middle of the first pane of glass until it broke, then did the same with the second that I had mounted at a slightly different angle. It pained me to do that because it cost a bit of money, but there was nothing in the world that was as important as that little girl. I would have blown up the whole building to keep her safe.

I remembered Sheriff Preston's words about Clay, and the memory sent a shiver through me. I should have been more on guard.

Clay had caught Natalie back by the filing cabinets, and when I stepped through the empty window onto the broken glass, he had her out in front of him and the hunting knife at her neck.

“If I was you, I'd put that thing down. Unless you want to be cleaning her blood off this nice carpet.”

I held out one hand and propped the shovel handle against the wall. “Put the knife down, Clay. You don't want to do this.”

He leveled his gaze and spoke in a guttural whisper. “You don't have any idea what I want to do. I have a lot planned for you and your wife after I get through with this one.”

It sounds funny to say it, but I thought about Psalm 121 right then. When trouble comes, where does help come from? It comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth. He is the one who keeps me. He's the one who won't let my foot slip. He doesn't nod off during the troubles of my life. If he really does care, he already knew this was going to happen and had prepared an angel to protect us. He'd protected me all along and I had no doubt he could do it now if he wanted. He was the one who was going to get glory, no matter what happened.

“Everybody thought you were dead,” I said.

He cackled and his spotty, black teeth showed. “That's what I wanted them to think. And I bided my time, don't you know. Just waited for a chance to set things straight. After I get done here, I'll disappear again. And nobody's going to find me.”

“How
did
you find us?”

He seemed to loosen his grip on Natalie a little, and for that I was grateful.

“That's the funny thing. When I found Callie's trailer, she wasn't there no more. So I didn't have no way to tell. And then I seen this newspaper article, and lo and behold, there you were. Both of you. Wasn't hard from there. It was just choosin' when. Late at night while you were asleep? Early in the morning? So many choices. You know, you really should lock your house and not be so trusting of people.”

“Billy?” Natalie said through clenched teeth. “Help me.”

It was the most pitiful cry for help you have ever heard. If I could have taken her place right then, I would have. If I could have lunged at the knife and wrestled it away from him, I would have done it in a second, even if it meant I would lose fingers or a whole hand. But all I could do was talk, and right then it seemed like a poor way of trying to save somebody's life. I tried to put out of my mind some of the things Callie said he had done to her and what the police report detailed. He held Natalie close again, the knife pressed against her skin so hard I thought it would draw blood.

“Clay, she's not part of this. Just let her go. You and I can settle this.”

Natalie looked at me, and my heart just about broke for her. I kept trying to think of some way to get her away from him, but one wrong move and it would all be over and I'd have to live with the regret. It seems to me there are times when you have to act and times when you have to wait, but the hardest times are those when you want to do one but you have to do the other and you're not sure which is best.

Clay crooked his arm around her chest and lifted her off the ground, and she struggled and her legs flailed. He was concentrating on her so much that he left the opportunity for me to move in. But as soon as I did, glass crunched underfoot and he stared at me. “Wouldn't do that if I were you.”

He was moving to his left, holding Natalie with his left arm, until he positioned himself in front of the window, the shade up. I heard a car pull up outside and tried to cover it with some words.

“Natalie, just stay where you are. Clay and I are going to work this out.”

“Where's that wife of yours?” Clay said. “She has a way of disappearing on me. I hoped she would be here.”

“She's probably on her way home,” I said.

“Can't wait to see her face when she sees me. It would almost be worth it to keep you two around for that, but it probably wouldn't be too smart.”

The Lord says vengeance is his, but if I could have gotten my hands around his throat, I would have choked the living daylights out of him. Still, something inside told me there had to be some part of the man reachable with reason or compassion or something akin to it.

“Clay, whatever you've done with your life, you don't have to live in light of that. You can change. God has a way of turning the bad to good if you'll let him.”

“God?” Clay said. “You want to talk to me about God, preacher man?”

“I'm not a preacher. Never have been. But I know he's real and he can help you.”

“Nobody can help me where I'm going. I just want to take as many with me as I can. Know what I mean?”

He held Natalie up again with his left arm and tightened his grip on the knife. “Say good night, darlin'.”

I knew this was the end and if I didn't act, I'd be sorry. I reached for the shovel and while my head was turned heard what sounded like a tuft of air escape. I had the sick feeling that it was Natalie's throat, but when I looked up, Clay had turned and was studying a hole in the window about the size of a peanut M&M. He'd let go of Natalie and she was bent over on the floor. Another hole appeared at about the same spot on the window, but this time Clay moved back and staggered a little, reaching up to his neck with his knife hand and almost cutting himself.

Natalie ran to me, and I shoved her through the empty window and told her to get outside fast. I picked up the handle, but Clay was leaning back against the table, three more holes in the window and two more showing through his shirt. He dropped the knife and it hit the carpet with a thud. Blood spurted from the wound in his neck, and I moved toward him and kicked the knife away. I waved in front of the window and then looked out to see Callie holding Natalie in her arms, my .22 rifle on the ground. There was a siren in the distance.

“Is that her?” Clay said, choking on something.

“Lie down,” I said. “We'll get you some help.”

He slipped a bloody hand out to catch his fall, but he dropped to the floor and shook, blood bubbling from his wounds. With Natalie safe and him with no way to hurt anybody, I felt something strange. It was pity mixed with revulsion and compassion.

“Clay, you don't have to go into eternity with all this on your soul. Cry out to God now. He can help you.”