Otherworld (42 page)

“You are wrong, old man. I am the authority here, and I will take the lives of those who are mine.”

With that, the demon vanished, and almost instantaneously, Bering sprang to life. Rising to his feet and waving his arms purposelessly, the voice of the demon said, “Samuel and I may just take a dive out the window.”

“In the name of Jesus, I command you to stop,” Sutzkever said.

Steve inched his way to the Bible and leafed to his stopping point. He resumed: “For You have tried us, O God; You have refined us as silver is refined. You brought us into the net; You laid an oppressive burden upon our loins.”

Suddenly, a loud cracking boom exploded into the room, echoing off the walls. A hot blast of air rushed by Steve, knocking him down again and burning his cheek. The demon began to laugh from within Bering. Everyone turned to see a teenager, dressed head to toe in black, standing in the doorway, a shotgun in his hands. Over his shoulder peeked an old face.

 

The noise of the shotgun tortured Graham, whose headache had risen to epic proportions when the demon had reentered Bering, but he turned to the doorway. His first sight was of the kid's bicep and the unmistakable image of the Grim Reaper leering at him from the pale flesh. The demon continued to laugh as Sutzkever and Steve clutched the wood floor.

“What an odd turn of events,” the demon said. And then, wistfully: “In the old days, you had to create a cow of gold to lead people astray. Now you just kill one.”

Graham, fighting the blinding pain, reached inside his coat for his shoulder holster.

 

Mike heard the gunshot.

“I'm gonna die,” he said aloud.
I'm already dead. I'm trapped and I'm dead and I want out!
“God, if You can hear me, I want out! I don't want to be dead; I want out!”
I want what Steve talked about at the funeral, what Sutzkever said in our meeting.
“I need You, God! I want out!”

 

Jimmy saw the cop removing his gun and stepped back, bumping into Pops. The shotgun discharged, sending another deadly spray into the room. The blast flew into the far corner, clear of everyone in the room, but they all flattened out anyway. Pops crumbled to the floor. Jimmy backtracked, hopped over his fallen comrade, and disappeared into the shadows to reload. He saw the cop sit up on one knee, poised with pistol drawn. The gun was aimed at Pops, who was clutching his hip.

 

At the sound of the second gun blast, Mike began to cry uncontrollably. “I'm sorry God I'm sorry so sorry so sorry don't let me die let me out so sorry let me out get me out please …”

 

Sutzkever placed his hand on the prostrate Steve and pushed himself upright. “Sorry,” he quipped. Fearing nothing, he faced Bering, whose mouth projected Malcam's smile. “This will soon be over,” Sutzkever said.

Malcam seemed to read the purpose in Sutzkever's eyes. It was as if the demon's ego could no longer protect his fear. His weaknesses were exposed to this man—he knew it. The man had a gift, and he would not stop until he had used it against Malcam.

“This world will perish,” Sutzkever intoned. “The Lord's enemies will be like the beauty of the fields; they will vanish. Vanish like smoke.”

“No,” Malcam muttered. Bering's face proved the spirit was shaken.

“The Lord helps the righteous and delivers them; he delivers them from the wicked and saves them.”

“Let's talk this thing over,” Malcam begged.

“There will be no bargaining,” said Sutzkever.

“But, but,” Malcam stammered, “the beginning of words is the end of all sadness.”

Sutzkever countered: “The Word has no beginning. He has always been, even in the beginning. The beginning of
knowledge
of the Word is the end of all despair, not sadness.”

“But that's different.”

“Well, of course it is.”

“No, no, no …”

“Now, I shall cast you out, foul creature.”

“Do you blaspheme me, an angel?”

Sutzkever knew what Malcam was referring to and replied, “But even the archangel Michael, when he was disputing with the Devil about the body of Moses, did not dare bring a slanderous accusation against him, but said—as I say to you now—the Lord rebuke you!”

Bering's hands reached for his own throat, and his eyes bulged. Choking, he pleaded, “But I am Malcam. I am Malcam.”

Sutzkever's eyes widened in surprise. “Ah, yes: Malcam. Malcam, son of Shaharaim.”

“Yes, yes; that's me.”

“Malcam, god of the Ammonites.”

“The same.”

“Malcam, known as Mileom.”

“Yes, that's right,” Malcam said, strangely pleased.

In the background, Steve struggled to his feet and recited, “From now on, let no man cause trouble for me, for I bear on my body the brandmarks of God.”

 

In Trumbull, Abby Diaz clasped her hands, closed her eyes, and prayed, “Dear Jesus, stop the bad man, wherever he is tonight. Let the good man win. Amen.”

 

In Dallas, Molly Walsh cried as she took down Vickie's finger-painted lady from the wall. She ran her trembling fingers over the sharp texture of the thick and hardened paint. She whispered a prayer: “Lord, save Mike. Wherever he is, please save him.”

 

Sutzkever continued: “Malcam, son of Shaharaim, known as Mileom.”

“Yes, that is me.”

“Malcam, known as Molech.”

“Yes!”

“You are a false idol, a false god, an unclean spirit.”

“No!”

Jesus, stop the bad man—

Lord, save Mike—

God, let me out!

“Be quiet and come out!”

An explosion of light and power rocked the house as Malcam burst out of Bering. In the same moment, one floor below, Mike chose a not-so-random spot on a not-so-random wall of the basement and ran at it full speed, shoulder level. He found himself running up an incline and eventually crashing through the door into the kitchen. Temporarily blinded from the sudden exposure to light, he stumbled about, plowing into one counter and then another, his frantic hands searching for a hold and instead pulling a few pots and pans onto the floor. With a loud crash, he tripped over them and out of the kitchen and onto the first-floor landing at the foot of the imposing stairs.