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Dare The Devil
“And
in one gleaming moment I saw beyond the tomb…”
--Kansas, Mysteries and Mayhem
I realize I dread having to write this chapter.
Have dreaded it since before I began to arrange the electrically-charged
silicon in my computer into the formations which I would call my story.
Electrons, bytes in a processor, lines on a page, formed
into words and sentences for the reader, only hint at the nightmare which was
me, and what I had done, and what would happen the day after I had asked the
demons to kill me at my stolen Communion.
I hate that it happened.
I hate that I did it. I hate
the memory.
But you must listen, you must learn, you must believe me.
Failure to do so brings you inch-by-inch closer to the Edge, the edge of
madness, the edge of this world, the edge of evil.
Denying it or doubting it makes it just the tiniest little bit possible.
And you do not want that.
No you don’t. You
want anything else at all but that.
You never want to happen to you anything like the events of
the day I am about to relate, for they will create memories a thousand times
more haunting than any silly walking-dead zombie in a cheesy Hollywood
horror-flick. You would realize
that those memories are the genuine living dead, gone, lifeless, unable
grow or to be changed in any way, yet somehow reanimated within you, as their
visage lives forever burnt into your memory, images you cannot shake no matter
how much penance you do, or repentance you do, or booze you do, or anything else
you might do.
Sam did not die on the school playground, of course.
Elsewise I could not be here to tell this story.
But I did lay there for nearly an hour wanting to die, hoping to die,
trying to die. I would exhale as far as possible and try to hold my breath
and actually hope I would pass out and slip out of my body again, but to no
avail. The only reason I am here to
relate this sordid tale is because I would not, somehow could not, take
more drastic measures, measures which the Voice became increasingly insistent
that I must do
(You will do what you are told!)
or else…or else…or else the Voice would make me very,
very sorry, as promises of unimagined Divine blessing turned to threats of
retribution for disobedience.
As the drug wore-off and some semblance of sanity returned
I experienced none of the confusion or ambivalence I had before.
As the psychosis-inducing intoxicants worked their way through my system
I realized what I had done, was doing, and had almost done!
I had been laying on the pavement of the elementary school
actually praying that demons or the Devil would kill me.
That they were evil was no longer in question.
All doubt had been removed. Somehow,
by some unmerited favor I could never comprehend, as the magic of my own spell
cast upon myself began to fade, I saw the unspeakable sickness of what I was
doing. It was all so drastic that as sobriety crept in, so did my
revulsion with myself.
God does not ask people to kill themselves.
It just doesn’t happen. And
yet, right here, just a few minutes ago, I had been not only thinking about it
but praying to Evil that it might happen.
The Voice was the Devil.
Plain and simple.
The “gifts” and the powers and the delusions of
grandeur were all temptations, enticements, and I saw for the first time that
the entire year-long process had been a Satanic plot to get me to kill myself.
And as I lay on the ground I began to shake, physically ill
at the gravity I had been engaged in…and…and how close I had come.
Just a little more trust, just the smallest bit of more faith
(though it pains me to use that word in this context) in the promise of
empowered resurrection after my suicide, and I would have done it.
Listen to me.
Heed my warning.
I would have done it.
Almost did.
Tried to, in my own cowardly way, but it is hard to
actually kill yourself by just holding your breath.
No question…My God, I had actually been laying here praying
for it to happen!
The drugs were wrong, the Communion was wrong, listening to
the Voice was wrong, all of it so very, very wrong.
And Lori had been right.
All my rationalizations were just delusions…when she saw Satan’s
grimace on my face it was because that’s who it was…in some ways, who I
was, and what I was becoming.
Eventually I stood, brushed myself off and returned home.
I don’t remember much of that day, except for a feeling, an impression,
of wanting a new life, a REAL new life, full of health and sobriety and raising
my spirit in praise to the Lord and learning and growing and being safe, and
loving my girlfriend, the Love of my Life, who had been right, oh so right about
the danger and the evil and I am sorry oh so sorry I will never ever go near
that again…
Please forgive me, Lord.
Please forgive me, Lori.
I did not want to talk to Lori that day, lest any trace of
the drugs come through my voice, and she be able to tell, or
(worse much worse)
that there be any sliver of a window left open even a crack
in my soul, allowing anything
(dark, evil, horrible)
to get through and affect her in any way.
No, that could not happen, must not happen, I really would rather
die
(not to get any kind of demonic power or fantasize I
would wash my soul in the River of Life or any other such foolishness)
than let anything harm or hurt her in any way.
All she had ever done wrong was love me.
And she had suffered enough.
And I vowed, beyond vowing which can be just words but from
the absolute essential and candid depths of my soul I knew that I would spend
the rest of my life trying to be
(no, not try, only DO!)
the best, most honest and lovingly perfect Christian I
possibly could.
That’s why I didn’t want to talk to her that day,
wouldn’t talk to her that day, and spent the rest of the day in remorse and
resolve to live differently, really differently.
No more drugs. No
more Voice. No more Communion.
No more Light Pyramid. No
more talking records. Do more death
wish, and no more stupid AntiChrist
(The Desolation of Abomination, the Devil from of Old,
Oh Lord forgive me, how could I have been so blinded?)
thoughts or prophesies or anything.
Just peace. Sweet
sobriety. The warmth of Christian
fellowship. Being nice to my
parents and brother and sister. All
was going to be beautiful from now on.
(Right. Yeah.
Just like that. Luigi
wakes-up one morning and decides it wasn’t so good that he borrowed that money
from the Mob and he’ll just explain it was all a mistake and all will be well.
Yeah. Right.)
And call Richard, maybe I can somehow make it up to him for
what I had done.
But oddly the New Me, the Real, Christian New Me, not the
evil “washed in powers” me that I thought I was going to be, slept fitfully
that night.
(Satan I had used Satan’s powers and decided I
didn’t want them and Satan was not pleased oh no because I did not do what I
was told oh no someone would have to pay oh yes but not Sam…oh no…Sam would
not have to pay…that would be all too easy…maybe we’ll just have to find
someone you do care about…we will touch…the other…we will touch…the
lamb…)
--\--
The next morning my overriding thought was how much, how
very desperately I wanted to see sweet Lori and begin my new life with her.
No, I wouldn’t and couldn’t tell her about the tragic mistake I made
yesterday, Calvary Chapel called it backsliding, but I would do everything I
could to reinforce my commitment and love for her, and renew my pledge to live a
loving life with her.
Of course I still wanted to make love with her.
That hadn’t changed. The
New Me was dedicated to love, and making love was an expression of that love.
How could it be wrong? It
never crossed my mind there could be anything wrong with being with my 15 year
old girlfriend. It’s not like it
was rape or anything.
When I appeared at her house we were alone.
Everyone else was at Church and a family picnic.
So Lori and I had the place to ourselves, perfect, so perfect, so that we
could share our love with each other.
She was a bit distant.
That’s all I noticed. Perhaps
there were other signs (signs?), but I couldn’t see any.
Girls are, after all, girls. Moody,
strange creatures. Who can predict
them?
So I didn’t pay any particular notice when I greeted her
with a hug and she kept her arms down by her sides and felt just a little bit
cold. Besides, I was here on a
mission of love
(pathetic fool even now didn’t know the first meaning
of the word)
and with her parents gone it looked like I’d be able to
accomplish that mission.
As we sat and chatted on the couch I talked in
generalities, without going into specifics,
(oh no cannot do that must not do that…love and
openness have their limits, spaces in your togetherness just like the trees in
the forest)
about how glad I was for her, how much she meant in my
life, how God was using her to make me a stronger, better Christian.
Lori was silent. Wouldn’t
even look at me, kind of staring into space.
You could say cold and distant, but those are just words and something
was wrong here.
“Are you OK Honey?” I really wanted to know.
“Yeah. Sure.
I’m just on my period.”
Oh. I see.
That explains everything.
“I’m going to go take a shower,” she said quite
deadpan.
Lightbulb! “Say,
how about if I join you?”
“Sure.” Hardly
any response at all. A more
sensitive or at least halfway caring person would have backed-off and realized
this person was hurting. But like I
said before, don’t look for any heroes here.
We got in the shower.
Somewhere I realized Lori had not once made eye contact with me since
I’d been there, but I failed to notice that it didn’t really matter to me.
“You know, Dearest, since your cycle just started we
don’t need a condom.” Real
romantic. One of the great,
all-time classic lines.
“Oh. Right.
Sure”
And without any ceremony, or hardly even a kiss, we united
on the floor of the shower, as her blood flowed down the drain…and
yet…strange…Lori’s breathing is strange, labored, thicker than it should
be, thicker than it ever had been on any of those nights or movies or long car
rides when she’d rest her head on my shoulder, feeling safe when she should
have been running, running in panic for fear of…of…for fear of now.
“Are you really OK?”
No. Lori was
most definitely not OK, as I could clearly see when I actually took the
time to look at her face…pale…eyes rolled back in her head…almost
lifeless, going through the motions…I’d seen her tired and with low blood
sugar and many ways, but never like this.
“Look, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
Ya think, Romeo? And just what was your first clue?
That she hasn’t looked at you? The blood on the floor of the shower?
Or perhaps the fact that she is only 15 years old, and you shouldn’t
even be here? No?
Oh, wait, I think I’ve got it…It’s that just yesterday right about
this time you were praying to the demons to kill you and make you the AntiChrist
and now Luigi is tired and wants out but the Mob wants its money you cannot run
oh no you cannot run…
We disengaged, and I stood up, practically dragging her to
her feet. But now, yes now,
(something is wrong here)
oh why now is Lori staring at me like that?
Head tilted back, not blinking, a “lights-are-on-but-nobody’s-home”
stare that put a chill through me.
“Honey? Here,
dry-off, you’ll be OK. Do you
want some juice or something?”
No response except for a half-mumbled “nah.”
“Alright, well I’ll get dressed and wait for you.”
I quickly dabbed-off the water from the shower, grabbed my
clothes and went out to sit on the floor at the top of the stairs, just outside
her bedroom that I had helped paint. What’s
going on here? Uggh, I hated this,
I felt like I was caught in some slow-motion dream, unable to free myself from
the inevitability unfolding before me.
I turned my head toward the bathroom, ready to call out
again if she was alright, and Lori was standing there still staring at me.
She had not bothered to dry-off, but had just thrown her clothes back on
in as sloppy and disheveled manner as you could imagine.
“Lori…” But
before I could utter another syllable my voice was stopped in my throat as I
noticed Lori was chuckling, a deep, slow, demonic chuckle. “Lori?” Something
was very wrong here.
“You pathetic fool” she more hissed than spoke.
And as she said this she walked past me, down the first 4 steps that were
at the very top of the stairway, sitting on the landing just a few feet from me.
She really didn’t sit so much as flop down, back to the wall, still
staring at me.
“We need you down here.” Her eyes were bloodshot, actually bloodshot, and her face was
oh so pale.
And I was sober here.
No drugs of any kind this time. Nothing.
I had sworn off them, really I had.
So what was this?
“A teacher. That’s
what you are, a teacher. And there
are so many who need to learn.”
Oh no. I did
not like this one bit. I was
getting a very bad feeling here. “Lori,
please, knock it off. Stop it.”
But it was no longer Lori in front of me.
I knew that, either below or beyond consciousness, but I knew it.
“Just one little thing.
You just had to do one little thing yesterday and it all could have been
yours. Communion.
SECRET COMMUNION!! Didn’t think anyone would know!!” Again that laugh.
She knew. I do
not know how, but she knew. I
hadn’t told her and I hadn’t told anyone about the Stolen Communion but she
knew!!
“Coward. You
ruined everything…….” she or he or it hissed at me.
But I had rebuked the Devil, bound the darkness…or at
least I thought so….Evidently it had bound me, and was now rebuking me…
“Lori” I said again.
“Can’t have her not now…she’s ours….There’s
so much for you to do down here.”
I know that I was not a good person.
I know that I had caused much pain.
But with whatever limited capacity I had I did, indeed, love Lori with
all of me, such as it was. She had
told me she loved me and she went to my cousin’s wedding when I played the
organ and we kissed when the bride and groom kissed and we went to Church
together and, and I knew that I would, indeed, have died for her if it would
have helped.
“Oh God, Please!!”
And Lori, sweet Lori, who had played Morning Has Broken and
loved George the family dog and hugged me so sweetly when she was sad, Lori
stared at me and screamed, yes screamed, “FUCK GOD!!!!!!” But
it wasn’t her. It really
wasn’t. It was my old friend The
Voice, who had promised me so much and only wanted one thing and I had made it
mad, very mad.
The Devil, the face I had seen in David and had shown to
Lori and what the hell had I been thinking and oh
no…..Please……Please…….
Lori’s eyes slammed shut and she started smashing the
back of her head against the wall…over…over…over…pound….pound…
“Please, Dear God! No!
NO!! NO!!!”
Please Dear GOD!!!!!
The last magic spell I ever cast in my life came from a
“place” deeper in my soul, and with more intensity, than I ever imagined
possible. Only it wasn’t a spell
for power, it wasn’t a spell for a Voice or vision or anything, and I only
call it a spell because I did not ask I ordered, I commanded, but I did not
order nature or drugs or Voices or the Devil or anything else, no…
…pound…pound…
The last “magic spell” I ever cast in my life I aimed
at myself, and I ordered and commanded myself to really, actually, truly repent,
renounce the Devil and Powers and magic and only love people, now
and forever more, and God please Oh God if you can hear me not for my
sake I know how wrong I am and how evil but for Lori’s sake she doesn’t
deserve this….Please…Please Dear GOD SAVE US!!!!!!!!!!!
And if this was a movie then there would be floating
and an exorcism and foul smells and all kinds of special effects, but this was
not a movie and this is not a story and this was real and none of that
happened…But as I cast my last “spell”, ordering myself to finally get my
life together and start living like a decent person, and simultaneously prayed
and begged and pledged my life over and over to the Holy One of Israel…Lori
stopped thrashing around, stopped hitting her head, opened her eyes…and began
to cry.
I hugged her, squeezing hard, maybe too hard, and cried
like I had never cried in my life.
“I’m sorry. So
sorry. Dear Lori, please forgive
me.”
All she had ever done wrong was love me.
Sorry. So
sorry.
Please forgive me, Lord.
Please forgive me, Lori. | 