Plot Line (13 page)

How silly his life seemed bathed as it was
in the iridescent glow of the unseen. He had wanted fame and
fortune, to be the author people lined up for blocks to see. He
hungered to be the object of autograph seekers and publishing
houses, but it hadn’t worked out that way. He wrote because he
loved it and because he felt compelled to do so. Books had been his
life, occupying the space that belonged to another.

Standing before the unknown, Ray felt like a
clown, devoid of reason and insight. All of his previous goals
seemed insignificant, empty of meaning, vacuous visions that had no
merit to commend them.

He had always loved his family, but Ray
loved them more now than ever. He would prove it, even if it meant
walking through the gates of Hell.

A small voice echoed in his
mind, rebounding off the scores of fearful concerns that wedged in
his brain like a logjam. It was Shackleton’s voice: “I’m not
a
religious
man;
I’m a
spiritual
man. There’s a difference. I have spent much of my life
studying the things of God, and I assure you He is as real as the
table we sit at. Jesus, His son, came in the flesh, lived among
men, died on the cross for our sin, was buried in a tomb and raised
from the dead. Those are not suppositions those are the facts. I
believe you’ve had an encounter with something sinister, and I
believe that the help you need must come from God through
Christ.”

If ever there was a time Ray needed help, it
was now. He had never given God any thought. Not as a child and
certainly not as a man. Could he now turn to a God he had ignored
all his life? Would God be interested in hearing from him? Did God
care about what happened to one man, one who had been a life long
agnostic?

More of Shackleton’s words played in his
mind. Each word was as crisp as when first uttered: “Ray, when the
time comes, Jesus will be waiting. Call on him. Ask him into your
life. If anyone needs Jesus, it’s you. In your heart you know
that.”

A face pushed through the watery partition
and Ray gasped loudly. It was just as vile, just as soul jarring as
the first time. The eyes were coal black and small, deeply recessed
into the fleshly lump that was the creature’s enormous head. The
eyes sparkled as if painted with glitter. There was no nose, but
several large openings dotted the face, opening and closing as if
the stomas were breathing. The skin was bluish ash-gray. A long,
thin slit that Ray took to be a mouth ran just above the bottom of
the jaw.

The creature turned its head to the right
then to the left. It was staring at Ray through its tiny eyes. Its
skin churned and bubbled, as if something boiled just beneath
it.

It opened its wide mouth.

It spoke to Ray in a rumble that sounded
like distant thunder.

It said, “Come.”

The verse Shackleton had quoted slammed to
the front of Ray’s mind. “For God did not spare angels when they
sinned, but cast them into Hell and committed them to pits of
darkness.”

It repeated: “Come.”

Ray fought the rising gorge of nausea that
threatened to erupt. His legs shook and he gasped for air. He was
crossing from terror to madness.

“COME.”

“Do it,” Devlin shouted behind him. “Do it
now!”

Images raced in Ray’s mind. He saw Skeeter
as she was now, but also as a toddler. He remembered holding her in
his arms, rocking her when she cried, even reading from his own
writings when she insisted on being awake throughout the night. His
voice always quieted her. Her image quieted him. He saw Nora
dressed in her wedding gown, she was smiling in a way she so seldom
did now.

He regretted his life. He had been a good
husband and loving father, but he hadn’t appreciated the life God
had given him. Now that life, he believed, was about to be
suctioned away.

Ray started forward, propelled by the
thought that his death, if that was what was to be, might save Nora
and Skeeter. It was a small price to pay if it did.

Taking a deep breath, he paused one step
from the bulbous head of the creature. The being withdrew into the
portal. “Help me Jesus,” he said. “Shackleton was right. I need
You. I need You now.”

Ray crossed the threshold.

At first Ray sensed nothing.
He expected to feel the splash of cold water as he
crossed the fluid membrane that defined the portal, instead he felt
as if he had been sucked into a void. All sense of direction lost
meaning. One moment he stood a short distance away from the
cascading partition, the next he was in a world that not even he as
a writer of fiction could imagine.

Above him was a purple, black, and red sky
that reminded him of astronomy pictures of distant nebulae. Dim
lights flashed through the foggy sky like tiny stars exploding into
existence only to die a second later. Around him the air was dark
and thick. He could feel it move across his face like a heavy mist.
The air was foul with an odor Ray couldn’t recognize.

Looking at his feet, Ray saw the strange
ground upon which he stood. The earth was porous and hard like a
sponge left in the desert air. Wisps of gas floated up from the
holes near his feet. He took a step that caused more of the vapor
to rise, and reminded him of wet wool.

Ray was disoriented. The world was stranger
than any he had read in a sci-fi novel and yet he knew he couldn’t
perceive it all. That there was more to what he was seeing, but his
brain could make sense of only part of it. What little he could
understand terrified him. As a child he read novels about traveling
to other worlds, seeing what no one else had seen. To his young
mind it was the highest adventure a person could experience. Now,
he wished he couldn’t see at all.

Ray turned and looked sdown the short path
he had traveled. He had taken no more than three steps. Behind him
should be the curtain of water, the marker between the world he
knew and the one he now occupied. It was gone.

Despite his determination to be courageous,
Ray shook with fear. His knees felt weak again, his stomach
tightened into a fist-sized knot, and his breathing accelerated. He
was lost. Just three steps and he was lost in a land he knew
nothing about.

The thick air moved around him, the tangible
twilight closed in with suffocating intensity. Ray’s heart rumbled
in his chest like a speeding freight train.

For the first time in his life, Ray felt
truly alone.

“Countless, countless,
we.”

The voice came from inside Ray’s head, but
the words weren’t his. Ray turned and saw two figures standing
before him. He immediately took a step back, then paused. These
beings looked different from what he had seen in the lab. Their
heads were large and bulbous as before, but their eyes were
different, larger, and their skin showed no signs of churning. They
appeared taller than Ray, but he doubted his ability to judge
dimensions. Nothing was right.

“Countless, countless,
we.”

“I don’t understand.” He had to force the
words from his mouth. His voice sounded weak, hollow, little more
than a whisper.

“Types and kinds many,
we.”

The creatures approached,
gliding along the surface as if suspended by wires.
“Countless, countless, we. Types and kinds, many,
we.”

“Many types and kinds,” Ray said,
deciphering their words. He had no idea if his assumption was
right.

The beings stopped within arm’s reach. Ray
took a step back, and they advanced. Ray’s first impulse was to
run, but he stood his ground. Not out of courage, but because he
feared becoming more lost than he already was.

“Interference none from
you. Life no more, you.”

Ray needed no interpreter to recognize the
threat. “What do you want?”

“You. You interfered.
Punishment.”

They pressed forward and Ray took another
step back. They were terrifying but Ray sensed they were tortured
beings. “Leave me alone,” Ray shouted. That too was a whisper.

A hand caught Ray by the throat. One of the
creatures pulled him close. His arms and legs trembled. This was
the end. He had no defenses for such a situation. This was where he
would die. Ray wished for a moment with his family, longed for an
opportunity to say the things he should have said many times
before. Most of all, he wanted to see Skeeter. She had been right
about so many things. She had been right about her mother and been
right about faith. Ray chastised himself for not seeing it sooner.
Jesus had made a difference in Skeeter’s life. All she wanted to do
was share that joy with him. He had been a fool. If he had it all
to do again, he would believe. He would express his faith. He would
listen. He would learn. He would be changed.

The creature released him suddenly, and
backed away. The other did the same. They acted frustrated, even
frightened.

Ray had done nothing, said nothing, yet
something changed.

“Want what with us?”
One of them asked.

“What?” Ray was confused. “I want nothing to
do with you.” It took a moment for Ray to realize they weren’t
talking to him.

Ray turned and saw what had fixated the
creature’s attention. A hole had appeared behind him. At first he
thought it was the portal back to the lab, but soon realized how
wrong he was. What he saw could not be described. The hole had no
edges, but it was nonetheless an opening. Light, bright yet soft,
poured into the dark environment that surrounded Ray. In the
distance was a figure, magnificent in every way. The figure stood
straight and tall, and it glowed brighter than the light that
flowed through the opening.

In his heart and mind, Ray knew he was
looking at something far greater than he could comprehend. He was
looking on Deity. The light seemed to be alive. An urge rose in
Ray, a desire to walk through the portal, to run to the figure
before him. Peace and safety were across that threshold.
Undiminished joy was within reach.

He started forward, no longer concerned
about the creatures behind him, no longer fearful of death and
agony. What stood before him seemed right and full and complete.
Ray found himself weeping. There was no concern for facts, no need
to analyze the situation. Ray knew everything intrinsically. There
was no doubt in his mind; he knew he had been created for that
place.

There was a sound, soft and subtle. The new
portal was gone. “No,” Ray pleaded. “No, come back.” He snapped his
head around to see the fearful creatures behind him. They were gone
too. Ray closed his eyes and this time, all went blank.

“Did you write this? Is it a novel?”

Ray opened his eyes and saw
a large, round woman in a bright blue dress with a large, gaudy
yellow flower print standing before him. She held a copy of his
book
Tender Hate
in her hand.

Her
.
It’s her
.
But how can that be?

“I asked you a question,” the woman
said.

Ray looked past her and saw scores of
shoppers walking the wide corridor of Wenham. Turning around, he
saw the bookstore where had been signing books months before. “I
don’t understand.”

“It’s a simple question,” the woman snapped.
“Did you or did you not write the book?”

Ray looked at the table before him. Two
small stacks of his books were there, as was a letter from his
publisher. Heavy ink marks had been scratched through the return
address. Gazing down the corridor Ray spied a man in a black
collarless tee shirt and beige sports coat sitting on a wood and
wrought iron bench. He was calmly watching the woman.

“Devlin,” Ray said softly.

“Excuse me?” The woman looked taken
aback.

Ray stood. “Yes, I did write the book, but
you’re not interested in that. That’s okay. I’m not interested in
you.”

“How dare you?”

“Quiet easily. I only wished I had dared the
first time.” Ray cut his eyes to Devlin who rose from his seat.
“And tell your boss I’m not interested in him either. Good day,
ma’am.” Ray started to pick up his books, but decided against it.
They represented hundreds of hours of work but that truth no longer
held meaning for him. There was something more important on his
mind.

Taking the envelope from his publisher, Ray
walked from the bookstore to his car.

Epilogue

Ray sat in the car outside
the Lincoln Street Community Church. Somewhere
inside was his daughter. She was there every Sunday morning and
every Wednesday night. Golden light flowed through the windows of
the simple building. Singing floated through the air like perfume
from a rose garden.

The questions returned to his mind. Had all
of it really happened? Had he really crossed the border between
this world and a place where fallen angels were kept captive? Was a
doorway opened between Tartarus and Heaven? Ray couldn’t be sure.
He felt out of place and confused, but he was certain that
something special, exceptional, maybe unique in all of history had
happened to him. He had questions, questions that would not be
answered in this life, but he would continue to search for
them—spiritual answers.

There remained the problem of the secret
base in New Mexico. The researchers there were playing a dangerous
game, one that could destroy them all. What could he do about it?
The answer came upon him like a oak leaf falling gently to the
ground. He had only one skill in life that could make a difference.
He was a writer and words were his tools. Now those words would
become his weapons. He doubted anyone would believe him. He was
just one man alone against a military juggernaut.