The blade dropped.
Thomas looked away.
???
Anisian stood tall beside Calan as his ward refused to deny the Commander, refused to bow to the enemy, refused to submit, even as he stared at the sharp blade above him, splattered in blood.
Zhaviel clapped Anisian on the back. “How wonderful for you, my friend. ’Tis the moment you have waited for.”
“Aye,” Arithem spoke from his other side. “You have protected him since birth, mourned when he drifted from the truth, endured when he defied the Almighty’s laws and suffered the consequences, and then celebrated when he repented and returned to follow our Lord.”
Indeed. Every memory was deeply embedded in Anisian’s heart. His eyes blurred with moisture, and he quickly wiped it away. ’Twouldn’t look good for a mighty warrior of the Most High to cry. “And now, I rejoice at his homecoming!” he shouted in victory. “He has finished his race. He has won the prize.”
Arithem glanced up to where Thomas watched the proceedings. “He does not approve. In truth, he mourns this barbarous death.”
“’Tis a huge step for him,” Zhaviel said. “Be encouraged. There is still time.” But Zhaviel’s eyes were focused on Kyle, gloating over Calan’s death. He released a heavy sigh. “I do not know why the Commander keeps me with this one. He is far from the light.”
“Have faith,” Anisian said as the two guards forced Calan’s head into the holder. “Our God is mighty to save!”
“Indeed.” Zhaviel nodded. “You are right.”
Anisian took a step forward, ready to escort Calan to his heavenly home. “He forgives them. What joy it is to see these sons of Adam become like their Savior!”
“We will miss you, Anisian,” Arithem said.
“We will meet again, my friends.”
The blade dropped.
Calan’s spirit-body rose out of his earthly one, a huge grin on his face when he saw the angels.
“I am Anisian, your guardian.” He held out his hand.
Calan grabbed it. “Where is my King?”
“He is most excited to see you. I will take you to Him.”
???
Thomas slammed the door of his house on the guard, tossed his key device onto a table, and stomped as fast as his cane would allow into the living room toward his wet bar. He needed a drink, and he needed one bad. Grabbing the bottle of aged bourbon, he poured a glass and picked it up. The pungent odor drifted to his nose, causing a yearning in him that was almost impossible to resist. He needed to numb the emotions raging within. He needed to silence the voices. He needed to squash the guilt. And the only way he knew to do that was by deadening all three with alcohol.
Drink, drink your fill, and you’ll feel much better.
His lips touched the rim of his glass. His heart took up a rapid beat. A vision of Tori staring at him with love and approval filled his mind. She had said alcohol opened doors for the demonic. Even if that wasn’t true, he knew from experience that the euphoria it produced never lasted. And it always came with a price.No! He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Setting the glass down, he grabbed his cane and hobbled to the kitchen. His gaze landed on Tori’s drawings stuck to the fridge with magnets. Two of her best—one of him and one of the sea. He swallowed down a burst of sorrow. He’d never see her again.
Moving to the living room, he spotted more of her drawings strewn across tables and chairs where she’d left them. He grabbed one of them from the coffee table, one he’d not seen before. It was of him sitting on the sand, staring at a bright light coming from the ocean. Strange. He tossed it down and swiped a rebellious tear from his cheek.
The sun set, luring shadows out from the corners and crevices of the house—moving, undulating, breathing shadows. They slithered over his couch, across the floor, around tables and up the wall. A chill crept over him. He trembled and then laughed at himself. Was he a child to be afraid of the dark?
Or were demons real?
“Lights on,” he commanded.
Nothing. Instead, the shadows grew darker. Had they removed his voice commands too?
Cursing, he limped to the sliding glass door and flung it open, then made his way past the pool and gardens and onto the sand. His cane dug into the soft silt, making it harder to walk. Pain radiated up his leg, and he finally gave up and plopped down.
Tori loved the beach. He remembered the day he’d found her here praying. She’d said the sea reminded her of God’s glorious power and beauty. A moon rose over the dark waters, sprinkling silver light on select waves even as a few stars could be seen through the normal hazy sky. The sand felt warm and soft beneath him, and he drew a handful and allowed it to sift through his fingers. A light breeze tickled his face, bringing the slightest scent of the sea beneath all the normal foul smells. Yet it was still there, and it brought back memories of better days growing up surfing in South Florida. When life had been normal and filled with hope.
