The Calling (23 page)

I have done research on Samael. According to Jewish mythology, he is one of the angels of death. I did not know this then, but what would it matter even if I did? I suppose now that if you are indeed reading this, Christopher, then what Samael told me came true. It was a difficult decision to make, one that haunts me even now, but in the back of my mind I kept seeing you at the house when you visited, the innocence in your eyes not yet infected by the world. In a way, it probably would have been better to make the other choice, but I simply could not, because deep down inside I knew you had to live.
 

After I told Samael my decision he simply vanished, leaving me with the knowledge of what I had done. Later that week the pressure and guilt became too much. I couldn’t stand it anymore, knowing that I had damned my son and daughter-in-law. That was why I came to Pennsylvania. That was why I took you out of school and tried to get away. Why the gun? Because if Samael came back I intended to stop him whichever way I could, even though a part of me knew bullets would prove useless. Truthfully, I did not know what I was doing. I did not know when the time would come for your parents to die and you to be left all alone. The only thing I knew was that no matter what happened, since I was your grandfather, and since my father was your great-grandfather, it would happen to you someday too. The more I thought about that the more I questioned whether I had done the right thing. Because putting death on one side and making an irrevocable choice like the one I had on the other, I was not sure which was the lesser of two evils.
 

The state police ended up stopping me. I doubt you can even remember what happened. It does not matter anyhow. There was much confusion, much shouting, and you had begun crying. I did my best to comfort you. Naturally I did not tell them the truth about why I took you away. I did not tell them how I made a deal with the Devil for your life. Nor did I tell them that I wanted to somehow make you understand.
 

I hope you do not think me crazy, Christopher. I am sure to everyone else I am nothing more than a madman. Even your father refuses to speak with me, for I have tried many times to contact him letting him know about Samael. I cannot say I blame him though, especially with my own knowledge that I am responsible for his eventual death. But perhaps I am crazy; perhaps what happened was all in my mind. Then if this is so, how can you explain what happened to James Bidwell and Richard Weiss? Just last year in my research I found that Richard went into a daycare and killed thirteen children and employees before taking his own life. I can only imagine Samael coming to him as his dead father. I am not certain of his choices, but I have a good idea which he made. His wife and two sons, at this present moment, are still alive.
 

I wish I could tell you this in person. I wish I could see how you have grown up, what kind of man you have become. I am certain I would be proud of whoever you are. At this moment as I write you are in your eleventh year, and I wonder just how many more you will have left. Not before you die, but instead before the time comes when churchyards yawn and you will have to make that choice. So why did I want you to see this and know? Because when the time comes I want you to be prepared and not taken aback like the others before you.
 

Again, I do not know the entire story, or else I would do my best to tell you. I only know as much as I do and I hope that is enough. If you decide to disbelieve me, that is your decision. But I want you to understand at least one thing: I did what I did because I love you. I made that choice without hesitation because I knew you were special and worth it. So please, do what you think is best. Again, I love you.

Chapter 21

T
he crematorium was located in the far corner of Elmira Cemetery. Hidden by pine trees and bushes, the red brick building had only two long windows facing front, with a steel door between them. Its tall narrow chimney—located behind the building—was coughing dark smoke when we first arrived, and for an instant I wondered if that was from Joey.
 

Moses went inside alone. By then the smoke had stopped its ascent to the clear afternoon sky.
 

I stood leaning against the parked Metro and stared out across the cemetery. I couldn’t help but remember the day my parents were buried, how I’d looked out over the vast array of tombstones and thought about how meaningless life really was. People lived their entire lives, working nearly every day, and when they died what else did they have to show for it but a stone tablet with their name engraved six feet above their decomposing bodies? It was sad, the revelation that crept into my mind during my parents’ funeral, and while I knew it was mostly true I also realized what else my parents had left behind, and it saddened me even more.
 

The door opened and closed behind me. Footsteps approached. When I turned I saw Moses walking slowly with his head down. In his hands was a silver box.
 

I opened my mouth to speak—maybe ask him if he was okay—but decided not to say anything. We just stood there on either side of the car, silent. Finally he cradled the box in the crook of his arm, reached into his pocket, and tossed me his keys.
 

“You’re going to have to drive,” he said, not looking at me. “I don’t think I can right now.”
 

Once inside the car, I asked, “Where to?”
 

“I don’t care. Just drive.”
 

Not familiar at all with the area, I figured just driving wouldn’t be a problem. I maneuvered us out of Elmira Cemetery and then onto the main road.
 

After a couple minutes of silence, of Moses just sitting there staring down at the silver box in his lap, I cleared my throat.
 

“Aren’t you going to ask me?”
 

His eyes still downcast, he said, “Ask you what?”
 

“If I read it. What my grandfather wrote.”
 

“Did you?”
 

“You know I did.”
 

“Do you believe it?”
 

I kept my eyes on the cars ahead of me, unsure whether I wanted to answer him.
 

“Well?”
 

“Yes,” I said. “I ... I think so.”
 

Silence was his only reply. It was all I needed to know that my answer was good enough for him.
 

“So now what?”
 

“Hmm?”
 

“The thirty-four people. How do we save them?”
 

“Oh,” Moses said, and I knew he was off in a world of his own, probably trying to keep memories of him and Joey away from one of those doors in his mind. “Well, thirty-four is a relatively big number. Our best bet is to try to find a place where that many people or more are going to be.”
 

“But that could be anywhere. In a store, in a movie theater, at a park. Even in a McDonald’s.”
 

Moses said, “I know,” but that was it. He continued staring down at his lap.
 

There was a question then that came to mind, but one I wasn’t sure I wanted to ask. The real clincher in Job 42 for me was my grandfather’s mention of Samael, the angel Joey said had taken and tried to kill him.
 

“Moses,” I said, as we stopped at a traffic light.
 

“Hmm?”
 

“What about Samael? How ... how do we stop him?”
 

The light turned green. Traffic pulled ahead. Beside me, Moses was silent. I glanced over at him to make sure he was still with me. The box still rested in his lap, but his eyes were no longer downcast. Instead he was staring out his window, and when he spoke, his voice was small and soft.
 

“I have no idea.”

•
 
•
 
•

S
ARAH
SAT
IN
the same lawn chair outside my trailer she’d been sitting in the day we went on our picnic—only this time there wasn’t a cooler between her Keds.
 

I said, “Hey,” surprised to see her.
 

“Hi.” She managed a smile and stood up slowly. I almost stepped forward to help her but knew she’d get angry, so I stayed put. Then, once she was standing, she glanced down the drive toward the Rec House. “I thought you said you were going back home.”
 

“I thought I was.”
 

She nodded but didn’t say anything, seemed to avoid my eyes. “Mind taking a walk?”
 

We walked in the field behind the trailer park, the one with the deserted picnic tables and pair of volleyball poles. Neither of us spoke but only seemed to enjoy the nice day and soft breeze. Finally Sarah stopped and sat at a table that didn’t look like it had been a complete target for birds. I lowered myself on the other side.
 

“If it’s all right with you,” she said, “I want to start over.”
 

I just nodded.
 

The smile on her face only lasted a few seconds. Then she tilted her head and frowned at me. “What’s wrong?”
 

“What do you mean?”
 

“Something’s bothering you. What is it?”
 

I wanted to tell her everything. I wanted to tell her about Joey and Moses and what my grandfather wrote. I wanted to tell her the real reason I was helping Moses. Not because of the thirty-four lives or whatever Samael had planned, but because my own life was in danger and I was scared and wanted to live. It was selfish, but I was a selfish person. Probably even more so than I had been before my parents died, even though I tried fooling myself that I’d changed. I wasn’t like Joey or Moses. I couldn’t just put my life on the line for other people, especially strangers.
 

“Nothing,” I said. “It’s just been a weird week.”
 

She nodded, her blue eyes questioning, and I wondered just how much she believed. Then she surprised me by asking, “Can you tell me about your girlfriend?”
 

I hesitated. “What do you want to know?”
 

“Just anything, I guess.”
 

I wasn’t sure if this was her way of making conversation, but if so I didn’t mind. Even if she considered herself trailer trash, I didn’t. I still saw her as the girl I’d met in the Rec House, the one reading Herman Melville just for fun. Her favorite movie
Pretty Woman
, her favorite actress Julia Roberts, the most recent CD in her player one of Coldplay’s. The girl who couldn’t decide between mango strawberry and watermelon cherry as her favorite bubblegum flavor.
 

“There really isn’t much to tell. Her name was Melanie. We dated off and on for two years. And then ... she got pregnant.”
 

“She didn’t want the baby?”
 

I actually had to think about it for a moment. “I never really asked her. I just knew I didn’t want to be a father. I mean, I’m eighteen years old. I was planning on going to college in the fall. We both were. We just ... we couldn’t be parents.”
 

A part of me thought I should feel uncomfortable talking about Mel like this, but for some reason I didn’t. Maybe I was just relieved to get everything out in the open. I hadn’t told anyone what happened between us until today.
 

We were both silent for the longest time. Then finally she took a deep breath and began speaking in a soft whisper.
 

“His name was Justin. I never found out where he lives, and even if he told me I’m not sure I could believe him anyway. He usually passed through here and spent a few nights in his van twice a year. I remember looking at his license plate one year and seeing it was from Maryland, then the next year—I swear to God—New Jersey. My dad even gave him a special rate for it. He seemed nice enough and respectful and would even help out when it was needed.
 

“He was twenty-five, which isn’t too old, but I’m only sixteen and ... well, he was always nice to me. That’s really the thing. He was always nice. He always made me feel special, even the few times I saw him. He’d been coming almost every summer for about five years, I think. Anyway, I never really had a boyfriend, and he was just so handsome and things had been so crappy ever since my mom died that I ... I needed someone. And he was there. Every night I would come over and see him and we’d just talk and sometimes smoke pot and then ... then one night we started fooling around and one thing led to another.”
 

“Did he rape you?” The words left my mouth before I even had a chance to stop them.
 

She shook her head. “No, he didn’t. I mean, I guess it could be considered statutory rape, but I ... I wanted him to. I wanted to feel even more special and he did that for me.”
 

I asked her if she knew where he was now.
 

“I don’t know. I never did find out where he comes from or what he does. Heck, he’s probably married with kids or something, and was trying to get into my pants from the beginning. It wouldn’t surprise me.”
 

“Does he know?”
 

“He left the day after it happened, and two weeks after that I found out I was pregnant. He hasn’t been back since and I don’t think he will any time soon.”
 

“Your dad doesn’t know it was him, does he.”
 

She shook her head again, this time very slowly. Her eyes were now focused on the line of trees. “He flipped out at first, which I guess was what I expected. But he’s managed to come to terms with it. Even John has. For some reason they just don’t get along anymore, they’re constantly fighting, but when it comes to me and this baby they actually cool down. It’s almost like this baby keeps them civil.”