This Present Darkness (47 page)

“Who’s ‘we’ and ‘us’?”

“Oh, you already know that too, all too well. The Society, Marshall, the Society you’ve been hounding after all this time as if chasing after some mysterious burglar.”

“The Universal Consciousness Society. And we have our own little chapter here in Ashton, our own little piece of the Conquer the World Club!”

Young smiled ever so tolerantly. “More than a club, Marshall. Actually, a long-awaited, newly rising force for global change, a worldwide voice that will finally unite mankind.”

“Yeah, and such a wonderful, humanitarian movement that you have to sneak in with it, you have to hide it …”

“Only from old ideas, Marshall, from the old obstacles of religious bigotry and intolerance. We live in a changing and growing world, and mankind is still evolving, still maturing. Many still lag behind in the maturing process and cannot tolerate the very thing that will be best for them. Marshall, too many of us just don’t know what’s best. Someday—and we hope it will be soon—everyone will understand, there will be no more religion, and then there will be no more secrets.”

“In the meantime, you do what you can to scare people and chase them from their homes and businesses—”

“Only,
only
if they are limited in their perspective and resist the
truth; only if they stand in the way of what is truly right and good.”

Marshall was getting as sick as he was angry. “Truly right and good? What? All of a sudden, you guys are the new authority on what right and good is? C’mon, Young, where’s your theology? Where does God fit into all this?”

Young gave a resigned shrug and said, “
We
are God.”

Marshall finally did sink into a chair. “Either you people are crazy or I am.”

“I know it’s quite beyond anything you’ve ever considered before. Admittedly, ours are very high and lofty ideals, but what we’ve come to achieve is inevitable for all men. It is nothing more than the final destination of man’s evolution: enlightenment, self-realization. Someday all men, even yourself, must realize their own infinite potential, their own divinity, and become united in one universal mind, one universal consciousness. The alternative is to perish.”

Marshall had heard enough. “Young, that is pure, unadulterated horse hockey and you are out of your ever-loving mind!”

Young looked at the others and almost looked sad. “We all hoped you would understand, but in truth, we did expect you to feel this way. You have so far to go, Marshall, so very far to go …”

Marshall took a good long look at them all. “You plan to take over the town, don’t you? Buy out the college? Make it some kind of hive for your cosmic, mind-blown Society?”

Young looked at him with a very sober face and said, “It’s for the very best, Marshall. It has to be this way.”

Marshall got up and headed for the door. “I’ll see you in the paper.”

“You have no paper, Marshall,” Young said abruptly.

Marshall only turned and shook his head at Young. “Drop dead.”

Ned Wesley, the president of the Independent Bank, spoke on cue from Young. “Marshall, we have to foreclose on you.”

Marshall did not believe what he had heard.

Wesley opened his file to the records of Marshall’s business loan on the
Clarion.
“You’ve been delinquent in your payments for eight months now, and we’ve received no response whatsoever from our many inquiries. We really have no choice but to foreclose.”

Marshall was totally prepared to make Wesley eat his phony records, but didn’t have time before Irving Pierce, the county comptroller,
spoke up.

“As for your taxes, Marshall, I’m afraid those have become quite delinquent as well. I just don’t know how you thought you could go on living in that house without meeting your obligations.”

Marshall knew he could be a murderer right about now. It would be the easiest thing in the world, except that there were two cops in the room who would love to pin such a rap on him and a judge who would love to lock him away for good.

“You are all crazy,” he said slowly. “You’ll never get away with it.”

Just then Jimmy Clairborne from Commercial Printers put in his two cents. “Marshall, I’m afraid we’ve been having some trouble with you as well. My records here show that we haven’t been paid for the last six runs of the
Clarion.
There’s no way we can continue to print the paper for you until these accounts are cleared up.”

Detective Nelson added, “These are very serious matters, Marshall, and as far as our investigation of Ted Harmel’s murder, these things do not put you in a very good light.”

“As for the courts,” said Judge Baker, “whatever decisions we ultimately render will depend, I suppose, on your behavior from now on.”

“Especially in light of the complaints of sexual misconduct we’ve just received,” added Brummel. “Your daughter must be a very frightened girl to have remained silent for so long.”

He felt like bullets were ripping into him. He could feel himself dying, he was sure of it.

The five demons clung tenaciously to Bobby Corsi, hissing their sulfurous oaths and cursings as they cowered in the front of the little sanctuary of the Ashton Community Church. Triskal, Krioni, Seth, and Scion were there along with six other warriors, their swords drawn, surrounding the little prayer group. Hank had his Bible handy and had already gone through a few references in the Gospels to get some idea of how to proceed. He and Andy held Bobby firmly but gently as Bobby sat on the floor in front of the pulpit. John Coleman had come right over to help, and Ron Forsythe wouldn’t have missed it.

“Yeah,” Ron observed, “he’s got it bad. Hey, Bobby. Remember me, Ron Forsythe?”

Bobby looked at Ron with glassy, staring eyes. “Yeah, I remember you …”

But the demons also remembered Ron Forsythe and the hold their comrades once had on his life. “Traitor! Traitor!”

Bobby began to scream at Ron, “Traitor! Traitor!” as he struggled to free himself from Hank and Andy. John stepped in to help hold Bobby down.

Hank commanded the demons, “Stop it! Stop it right now!”

The demons spoke through Bobby as Bobby turned and cursed at Hank. “We don’t need to listen to you, praying man! You will never defeat us! You will die before you defeat us!” Bobby glared at the four men and screamed, “You will all die!”

Hank prayed aloud so everyone, including Bobby, could hear. “Lord God, we come against these spirits now in Jesus’ name, and we bind them!”

The five spirits ducked their heads under their wings as if being pelted by stones, crying and whimpering.

“No … no …” said Bobby.

Hank continued, “And I pray right now that you will send your angels to help us …”

The ten warriors were ready and waiting.

Hank addressed the spirits. “I want to know how many are in there. Speak up!”

One demon, a smaller one, ducked inside Bobby’s back and shrieked, “Nooo!”

The scream came belching out of Bobby’s throat.

“Which one are you?” Hank asked.

“I won’t tell you! You can’t make me!”

“By the name of Jesus—”

The demon responded immediately, “Fortune-telling!”

Hank asked, “Fortune-telling, how many of you are in there?”

“Millions!” Triskal jabbed Fortune-telling lightly in the flank. “Awww! Ten! Ten!” Another jab. “Aww! No, we are five, only five!”

Bobby began to twitch and shake as the demons got into a scuffle. Fortune-telling found himself the brunt of some very harsh blows.

“No! No!” Bobby screamed for the demon. “Now see what you’ve made me do! The others are hitting me!”

“In Jesus’ name, leave,” said Hank.

Fortune-telling let go of Bobby and floated up over the group. Krioni
grabbed him.

“Depart from the region!” he ordered.

Fortune-telling obeyed immediately and soared out of the church, not looking back.

A large and hairy demon shouted after the departed spirit, and Bobby stared at the ceiling shouting, “Traitor! Traitor! We’ll get you for that!”

“And who are you?” Hank asked.

The demon shut its mouth, as did Bobby, and glared at the men with eyes full of fire and hatred.

“Spirit, who are you?” Andy demanded.

Bobby remained silent, his entire body strained, his lips tightly together, his eyes bulging out. He was taking frantic, short breaths through his nose. His face was crimson.

“Spirit,” said Andy, “I command you to tell us who you are in Jesus’ name!”

“Don’t you mention that name!” the spirit hissed and then cursed.

“I will mention that name again and again,” said Hank. “You know that name has defeated you.”

“No … No!”

“Who are you?”

“Confusion, Madness, Hatred … Ha! I do them all!”

“In the name of Jesus I bind you and command you to come out!”

The demons all made a sudden rushing of their wings together, pulling, tearing at Bobby, trying to get away.

Bobby struggled to get free from the men who held him, and it was all they could do to hold him down. They outweighed him at least four to one, and yet he almost threw them off.

“Come out!” all four commanded.

The second spirit lost his grip on Bobby and jolted upward as Bobby suddenly relaxed. The spirit immediately found himself in the waiting hands of two warriors.

“Depart from this region!” they ordered him.

He looked down at Bobby glaringly, and at his three remaining cohorts, then shot out of the church and streaked away.

The third demon spoke right up, speaking through Bobby’s voice. “You’ll never get me out! I’ve been here most of his life!”

“Who are you?”

“Witchcraft! Lots of witchcraft!”

“It’s time for you to leave,” said Hank.

“Never! We’re not alone, you know! There are many of us!”

“Only three by my count.”

“Yes, in him, yes. But you’ll never get to us all. Go ahead and cast us out of this one; there are still millions in the town. Millions!” The demon laughed uproariously.

Andy ventured a question. “And what are you all doing here?”

“This is our town! We own it! We’re going to stay, forever!”

“We’re going to cast you out!” said Hank.

Witchcraft only laughed and said, “Go ahead, try it!”

“Come out in Jesus’ name!”

The demon held tightly, desperately, to Bobby. Bobby’s whole body strained again.

Hank commanded again, “Witchcraft, in Jesus’ name, come out!”

The demon spoke through Bobby as Bobby’s eyes, wild and bulging, glared at Hank and Andy, and every sinew in his neck strained like piano wire. “I won’t! I won’t! He’s mine!”

Hank, Andy, John, and Ron all began to pray together, pounding at Witchcraft with their prayers. The demon ducked inside Bobby and tried to hide his head under his wings; he drooled from pain and agony, he winced at every mention of Jesus. The praying continued. Witchcraft began to gasp for breath. He cried out.

“Rafar,” Bobby cried. “Ba-al Rafar!”

“Say that again?”

The demon continued to cry out through Bobby, “Rafar … Rafar …”

“Who is Rafar?” Hank asked.

“Rafar … is Rafar … is Rafar … is Rafar …” Bobby’s body twitched, and he spoke like a sickening broken record.

“And who is Rafar?” Andy asked.

“Rafar rules. He rules. Rafar is Rafar. Rafar is lord.”

“Jesus is Lord,” John reminded the demon.

“Satan is lord!” the demon argued.

“You said Rafar was lord,” Hank said.

“Satan is lord of Rafar.”

“What is Rafar lord of?”

“Rafar is lord of Ashton. Rafar rules Ashton.”

Andy tried a hunch. “Is he prince over Ashton?”

“Rafar is prince. Prince of Ashton.”

“Well, we rebuke him too!” said Ron.

NEAR THE BIG
dead tree, Rafar spun quickly around as if someone had just pricked him, and he eyed several of his demons suspiciously.

THE DEMON CONTINUED
to spout his boasts, speaking through Bobby, whose face contorted in almost a perfect representation of the demon’s expressions.