Phone Calls From God
Stephen W. Cote
Copyright Stephen W. Cote 1995
Published at Smashwords
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About the Author
Hello and thank you for reading. My name is Stephen W. Cote. I am a Software Engineer and Consultant, a United States Marine, a martial artist, and an author. You can find more information about my early creative writing and ongoing open source projects on whitefrost.com. I enjoy writing hard and whimsical science fiction, adult fantasy, and poetry. As an early advocate of Creative Commons licensing, many of my short stories and poems have been available online since 1996.
If you enjoy this story, or my other free stories, you may also be interested in my short story collections available on Smashwords, including Nothing Like Heaven., or my fantasy novel, Harlot's Eight.
If you would like to learn more about my writing, open source projects such as the Hemi JavaScript Framework, or inquire about unpublished manuscripts and shorts, please contact me at whitefrost.com.
Thank you for taking the time to read my work and I hope you enjoy it.
Phone Calls From God
With a saint's absolution and devil's resolve, Christine Wolfe committed herself to finding Tabitha, her youngest daughter, a better fiancé than that Craig Henry. Their first argument involved his rough-necked, sandy brown hair; only to be exchanged for more pressing concerns. In the delirium of a lovers quarrel, Tabitha confided that Craig spent all of his money on electronic gizmos and police paraphernalia. Perhaps commonplace in a detective's office or confiscated from a hoodlum, but completely impractical in her daughter’s home.
Did that Craig arm himself with a college degree? No. Could he even comprehend the instructions for the pieces of electric junk that occupied his every waking hour? Spiritually, that Craig earned an entry on Christine's black list. He wasn’t Catholic, and worse, he wasn’t anything else. She preferred anything else, a Jew or Protestant or Baptist, even an Atheist, to the nothingness inside that Craig. Of course, Pagan spin-offs such as Witchcraft, Satan Worship, or whatever damnation the youths of today broke their mothers’ backs with didn’t qualify.
That Craig distracted Christine from her peace at home. Jeromy, her late and dear husband, provided her with a comfortable home on the outskirts of Redmond, Washington, in unincorporated King County. When she aerobicized with her church group, aptly named The Divine Comment for their conservative views and published criticisms on contemporary censorship of pornography, that Craig flitted through her thoughts. How could she help others with such a distraction?
She flipped through a newspaper insert advertising televisions and felt tempted to buy another one. Anything to take her mind off that Craig. She never regretted donating her last television to Saint Vincent De Paul. Most of the programming had been rubbish, especially when youths spent their time watching sinful shows rather than the 700 Club, as she had done when their age. Could they even read? They never had a decent novel in hand.
Closing the advertisement, she focused instead on her double-barreled firearm, a multi-lined phone. Having spent the morning reading the newspaper over a bagel and an espresso, and reading a few chapters of a good book, she distracted herself from that Craig with the telephone.
Around two thirty, the phone rang and Christine switched the caller over to the speakerphone; the receiver rubbed the plate in her chin fixing her dentures in place. "Christine Wolfe's," she said, smiling, trusting the caller would hear her brightness even though they were unable to see it. "Jesus be with you."
Muffled sobs whispered through a layer of speakerphone static. "Mom," Tabitha's voice pleaded.
"Tabby? Whatever is wrong?" When Tabitha started to explain, Christine’s ears rang. That Craig. What else had her daughter said? "I'm sorry, honey, can you repeat that?"
"He didn't pay the power bill again. They're going to turn off everything tomorrow unless we give them fifty one dollars by ten in the morning."
Christine rolled her eyes and looked at her desktop calendar, counting the days. Sighing, she said, "Let's see. Today's Monday, the ninth. Didn't you get paid Friday, honey? Can you cover it this time?"
"Mom!" Tabitha wailed, "I had to buy groceries and pay the phone bill."
"Why don't you two come over for dinner tonight? I'll write a check and you can pay me back next week. I hope my insurance check or social security check came today. I’ll pray one of them did." Christine tried to put as much sympathy into her voice as she could. That Craig.
"Thanks mom," Tabitha sniffed. "I've gotta go right now, but is five okay?"
"That's fine, honey," Christine smiled to the speaker. "I'll talk with you then and maybe we can straighten that boy of yours out."
The receiver clicked and Christine sat back, rubbing her eyes. She had money in her savings account, but would not have time to finish her calls and fight rush hour traffic to arrive at the bank in time to transfer the funds to her checking account or withdraw any from savings. While gazing at the desk, the telephone rang again, and she answered it on speakerphone.
Before she spoke a proper word of greeting, an eerie voice said, "Both checking deposit statements are in the mail." The receiver clicked.
Christine smiled and stood up, walked to the front door, and only then stopped and glared at the phone. She did not recognize the voice, cool and lustrous, and infused with subtle harmonies. It didn't sound entirely human. And, how did they know her mail arrived and what had been delivered? A prank call. Perhaps Tabitha played a silly game. Such was her special brand of humor.
She walked outside and fetched the mail. The voice had spoken truth. She returned with assorted junk mail and advertisement packs, and the direct deposit statements. She wrote a check for Tabitha, placed it in the table drawer near the front door, and then sat down beside the phone.
For half an hour, she folded her hands, refolded them, and prayed to Jesus. At a quarter past three, the phone rang again. Christine felt her blood curdle when she reached for the speakerphone button. "Christine Wolfe's, Jesus be with you." She held her breath for a period of long silence. Ready to chide the obvious prankster, the caller spoke and a wave of relief passed over her.
"Mom," Tabitha said softly. "Can we make it six? Craig is going to work until six so he can get in more overtime tomorrow."
"That's fine honey. I'll see you at six then." Christine waited for Tabitha to say her goodbye and hang up. Then, she felt an unnerving sensation and stared at the phone. Moments later, it rang. She hesitated before touching the speaker phone button.
"Your daughter must not let her fiancé work late." The voice sounded different this time; hushed and dignified, perhaps with a mild British accent.
"Who is this?" Christine demanded. "I have caller identification and am writing down your number."
"This is a grave matter. Your daughter's fiancé must not work past five." The line went dead.
Christine touched the speakerphone button with a palsied hand and hang up her end. The voice - that seductive, strange, beautiful voice – brought her to prayer. She checked her caller ID box. Blank. Should I call the police? Perhaps it wouldn’t be so terrible, despite their financial crunch, if that Craig didn't work another hour. Besides, she owed him a sound scolding and she decided to call Tabby.
The speed dial rattled off Tabitha's number. Tabitha answered the phone, speaking hurriedly, "Hello? Tabitha speaking."
"Tabby, it's me," Christine said. "I'd sooner have you and that Craig over at five. Father Jay is having dinner with us and I'd rather not have you two walking in an hour late. Do you think that Craig could do that for me, honey?"
Father J. Archibald, a dear friend of the family, had married Christine and Jeromy more than thirty years prior, and baptized Tabitha and her other daughter, five years Tabitha's elder. It was fitting that he also laid Jeromy to his final resting place.
"Mother," Tabitha said, sighing. "I'll call him. He can work the extra hour tomorrow, but if he isn't able to get his pay tonight, we'll need gas money, too. "
"It's only thirty minutes at most, honey. And you have that economy car." Christine always suspected Tabitha considered her a shrew when it came to money.
"And my economy car is having an economy crisis." Tabitha then said, "Look, I'll call Craig."
"Thanks, honey." Before she hung up the phone, she heard Tabitha chortle in the background.
"And mom?"
"Yes, honey?"
"That gives you two hours to convince Father Jay to change his plans and eat with us."
Christine gaped. "How did you…?"
"Craig saw him today at the market shopping for his famous linguini. He's supposed to go to the Thompson's." Tabitha rang off.
Christine grimaced and folded her hands together. She had not accounted for that Craig knowing anyone from church. Nor had she anticipated Father Jay having any invitations to dinner. She couldn't shake the feeling that strange, mystic eyes watched her with more scrutiny than ever before.
Christine placed her finger on the button to speed dial Father Jay when the phone rang.
She heard an odd, though distinct sound in the background, and she recognized it as the same background noise from the prank calls. Nonetheless, she tried to be civil and said, "Christine Wolfe's, Jesus be with you."
"Tell my son to reread Isaiah one, four."
"Please stop this!" But the phone line went dead before her voice carried through her mouth.
Christine hung her head in her hands, licking her lips. She couldn't recall Isaiah one, four, and prayed for the prankster to stop harassing her. She speed dialed Father Jay.
"Only God's footsteps know the road to salvation." Father Jay sounded tired.
"Father?"
"Ah, Christine, my daughter. How may I be of service?"
"Yes.” She paused, struggling to remember Isaiah one, four. "Father, do you remember Isaiah one, four?" She hoped not to annoy him with a petty question. Then again, how could a question about the Good Book be petty? Before Father Jay answered, she said, "Tabitha mentioned you are visiting with the Thompsons."
"Ah, sinful nation, a people loaded with guilt, a brood of evildoers, children given to corruption! They have forsaken the Lord; they have spurned the Holy One of Israel and turned their backs on him." Father Jay fell quiet, and then said, "And yes, I am." He inhaled, "Oh, dear me, Christine. I should have known you'd be concerned. But they say that their son, Yuri, has reformed. He wrote me every week while he was incarcerated."
Christine had not forgotten that the Thompsons fraternized with a criminal element, and were given to wickedness. Especially their middle son, Yuri, dealing drugs and going to prison. "They are armed with bows and spears, they are cruel and without mercy."
"Jeremiah fifty, forty one. Dear child,” Father Jay laughed softly. "I don't think it is quite that bad. Yuri made a mistake and he made his amends."
"He dealt cocaine to fifth grade students right after they received communion," Christine argued. But, she didn't feel it was her argument, rather one from a higher and superior force. "And remember Revelations."
"Are you picking these at random or are you guided by a higher purpose?"
"Father Jay," Christine gave in, "I have had my own trials today. "
"Then pray with me, and remember the triumphs we made that day confessional."
The day was forever etched into her mind.
Jeromy's death was unexpected, but it wasn’t sudden. Right until the very end, they planned for his death and then, suddenly, he died in her arms. The doctors claimed it was a blood clot in the brain, although a second resident confided he thought the symptoms suggested tampered medication. Possibly poison. Christine chose to believe the first doctor, who hadn’t offered conspiracy theories.
His death had been a trial. Is death ever anything else? Father Jay helped reassemble the remaining pieces of her life. He encouraged her to establish the Divine Comment. He counseled her on Tabitha's absurd attraction to that Craig. But, the day in the confessional Father Jay referred to had nothing to do with Jeromy, Tabitha, that Craig, or herself. She left a dark secret there; a secret once safely tucked away until the pain of Jeromy's death washed over her and caused its memory to resurface.
Then, Christine wore an emerald green gown, kneeling on the plush bar jutting from the confessional wall, close enough so her body brushed against the wood. Father Jay's voice carried delicately - a fleeting sound of angels singing - through the screen.
"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are though amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death, Amen." Both Father Jay and Christine repeated the Hail Mary four more times.
"Has there been any significant change since last we spoke?" Although Father Jay held a formal demeanor through the screen, they both knew one another by voice alone. She had chosen him, and he only had to wait for her.
"Father," tears filled her eyes. Never before had she felt so lost, afraid and dirty. "I have done a terrible wrong, Father."
"Easy child. Ask and thou shall be forgiven."
"Please forgive me, Father," she begged. And how she had begged. Even though her beloved husband had died, she could not think of what tempted her down such a sinful path. The sin felt worse than the loss of her Jeromy.
"What is it you wish to confess, my daughter?"
"My daughter," she began, but faltered.
"Tabitha?" Father Jay asked.
"Alexis. She was dating that Jeffrey, the troublemaker from Bellevue. Pregnant at fifteen, and -"
"The weight of the sin has passed, my child. Let it travel beyond you, the ordeal is over. You have only to confess your sins to God and he shall forgive." Father Jay sounded agitated, quickly returning to a reverent tone.
"And I was so mad," Christine clenched her fists. "So very mad at the both of them. I made her -"
"An abortion?" Father Jay whispered.
"I made her have a -" Christine couldn’t say the word. The sin, as the Father had told her, tried to pass: There came a warm light-headedness of God's fingertips on her crown, reaching into the darkest places, trying to absolve those sins for which she was sincerely apologetic. But it wouldn’t budge.
"She did not make this decision? You made the choice?" Father Jay asked.
"Yes," she said. The thought, that filthy thought, brought her to shiver in the small cubicle as a gust of ethereal cold air passed through her. The sin.
"My child," he said. "My daughter."
"I'm so sorry!" Christine broke down in tears. How could there be salvation from murder?
Father Jay walked Christine through an old and unfamiliar penance.
"I am going to share something with you. You must never reveal what I’m about to say to anyone else." Father Jay waited for Christine to promise she wouldn't say anything. "I, too, have sinned. And, when I begged forgiveness under the guidance of the cardinal, God reached from the sky and touched me, giving me an angelic song to sing. It is from Psalms one fifty one."
Christine knew her bible well enough to know that was one more Psalm than any version she had read had.
Father Jay continued as if his gift from God was commonplace amongst clergy. Christine imagined that a man of the cloth, and one of his timber, might receive small gifts from God to help guide the flock. He recited a strange passage.
"I," Christine stammered. "I don't understand, Father, what does it mean?"
Father Jay laughed gently. "I did not question a gift from God. I accepted it. We must accept it. Its meaning will be unfathomable until God sheds his light on us."
Christine recited Psalm one fifty one with Father Jay over the phone. She opened her eyes, not aware she had kept them closed throughout the recital, and gazed at the LCD display of Father Jay's phone number.
"Father Jay, I know this is a lot to ask of you, but given the circumstances, could you postpone your dinner engagement with the Thompson's? I've been having a hard time with that Craig of Tabitha's. If we’re all together, maybe you could set him on a proper spiritual path." She inhaled and waited.
Father Jay hummed. "Are you sure there is no derision towards the Thompsons, Christine? I promised their son a dinner. But, I cannot water the thorns for sake of the rose, either."
"Of course not, Father.”
"I won't need to cook, will I? I'm not going to come prepared for it."
"That is fine, Father. I appreciate this. Jesus be with you." Christine waited for Father Jay to pass on a blessing and hung up.
With sinful thoughts on her brain, she called Ruby Tyler, her co-conspirator in the Divine Comment. A local bookstore prominently displayed the children’s book, Where’s Waldo, which included a topless female sunbather. Sinful! It needed to be banned! It wasn't until four thirty that she began cooking dinner and setting the table.
At five o'clock, Father Jay rang the doorbell. When she opened the door, the phone rang. Christine quickly invited Father Jay in and ran back to the phone. She hit the speaker button.
"Here I am! I stand at the door and knock." The line clicked.
"Revelations," Father Jay said.
"Three, twenty. Yes, I know."
"Rather strange call. I imagine one of the high school students doesn’t agree with your work in the Divine Comment."
Of course! She had not considered the culprit to be a teenaged hoodlum. They probably knew Tabitha and had conspired with her to concoct this demented joke. "Thank you for changing your plans. Would you like something to drink? Tabitha and Craig should be along anytime."
Father Jay walked into the front room, touching various things: The picture of Jeromy on the table near the couch, the statue of Mary on the fireplace mantle, and the top of the phone. "Do you have caller ID? "
"Yes.” Christine walked back to the phone. "It's from the church."
Father Jay frowned. "No one was there when I left, and the office is locked." He smiled and embraced Christine. "It’s probably nothing. May I have a glass of water? "
While Christine poured a glass of wine for herself and water for Father Jay, Tabitha, dressed in jeans and a white blouse, burst through the front door. "Mom!”
"Honey, where are your manners? Father Jay is here."
"Hi, Father Jay," Tabitha said. "Mom, you wouldn't believe what happened at the autoshop."
Christine returned from the kitchen and handed Father Jay his water. "Is that Craig of yours okay?"
"Yes, thank God. When he started to leave the hydraulic jack broke and a BMW crashed down right where he had been working. Luckily no one was hurt. But, if Craig had not left at five -” Mist collected around her eyes.
Father Jay offered Tabitha a comforting hug. "The Lord works in mysterious ways, Tabby."
Christine asked, "Where is that Craig of yours now?"
Tabitha pointed outside. "Still in the car. He is pretty shaken up. I'll be right back, I want to see if he is alright."
Tabitha left and Christine told Father Jay, "Earlier today, that stranger called and told me not to let Craig work past five." She held the wine glass in both hands.
Father Jay moved to the couch and beckoned Christine over to join him. "Some people say that modern technology makes it harder for God to work miracles. But I wonder-"
Christine laughed and shook her head. "No." She frowned. "No!" She set the wine glass down. "Father," she shook her head again, "Someone is coming dangerously close to murder. These practical jokes are going too far. "
Father Jay raised an eyebrow. "Christine -" He paused, and then nodded.
Tabitha returned, leading Craig through the front door by his hand. Craig greeted Christine and Father Jay, and Tabitha and he joined them in the front room.
"Oh, Tabby, I left an envelope for you in the stand near the door." Christine didn't need to tell her daughter the contents.
"How have you been, Craig?" Father Jay crossed his legs in a feminine fashion and folded his hands together, interlacing his fingers.
"Fine, thank you sir." Craig scratched his head.
"Any plans for the future, or are you content with the autoshop? " Father Jay asked.
Craig cocked his head. "I'm taking the physical for the Police Academy next Saturday. I don't think I’ll qualify on all the requirements, though, since I don’t have a college degree."
Father Jay nodded and offered a soft smile. "It's nice to see that you are pursuing what you are interested in. By the way you two," he looked at both Craig and Tabitha, "we should sit down sometime start making arrangements for your wedding."
Tabitha giggled. "We haven't planned that far yet, Father."
"So Craig," Christine said. "Tabby said you bough some new equipment. Would it be something you'd need to be a jail guard?"
Craig smiled. "No, ma'am. The Woodinville Police auctioned off some old computer parts. I bid on a see-mid. It’s really outdated, but it was a good buy since the cities aren’t supposed to sell those to the public."
Father Jay remained quiet, and Tabitha stared at Craig.
Christine, glancing at her daughter, asked, "What use is a 'see-mid'? What is it?" She reached over to Craig and touched his shoulder, "It sounds expensive. I don't want you and Tabby to buy yourselves into a financial problem."
Craig spoke in tongues, at least to Christine. "See-mid is an acronym for CMID. It means County Municipal Identification Device. It used to require a police radio, but any scanner nowadays will work. You can type in a name or a license plate number and it returns everything the county has on the vehicle or person. You can’t request any details without a valid code, and it doesn't let you change anything. And, it's really slow."
Tabitha and Christine stared at Craig, while Father Jay narrowed his eyes. Christine asked, "Curiosity is killing me, Craig. Why do you need such an appliance? It seems like a needless waste of money."
Tabitha cringed and Craig sat upright. He looked directly at Christine. "Respectfully, if I'd known tonight was an excuse to church me up, or rib me on my expenses, I'd rather have stayed at home."
Christine sighed and looked at Father Jay, who simply glanced away.
Tabitha hooked her arm around Craig's. "What's for dinner, mom?"
Christine stood up and smiled as if nothing had happened. "Why don't we go to the dining room?"
Father Jay escorted Christine to the dining room. Tabitha and Craig waited and spoke quietly with each other.
Christine watched Tabitha prod Craig’s shoulder, and heard her say, “What was that? She always does this to you. If you make it hard for her with Father Jay here, she is going to make it harder for you anytime you come over here from now on."
Craig put both arms around Tabitha's tiny frame, "I fell in love with you, Tabby, not your mother. But -"
"But what?" Tabby placed her head on his shoulder. "Craig, we've had this talk before. You're not living by yourself anymore. We need to watch our money until the both of us get better jobs."
Craig stepped away from Tabby. "Today has been really strange, that's all. It will be better tomorrow."
Tabitha looked towards the dining room. "I hope so. It sounds as if mom had a strange day, too. Listen to her going on in there."
Christine stepped away from the doorframe and pressed her lips together. Did Tabitha know she had eavesdropped? The phone rang. “I’ll get it.”
Although she called out she would answer it, Tabitha picked up the phone. Christine watched Tabitha nod and bite her lip, then turn and stare for a long moment at her mother. She asked, "Well, who was it?"
Tabitha walked to the dining room and shook her head. "Nobody." She sat at the table and gazed at Craig, her eyes misted over.
Christine served dinner: quickly prepared chicken, salad and garlic bread. No one spoke until everyone finished. Craig helped clear away the dishes.
Craig opened his mouth, began to speak, and then the telephone rang again. He reached to pick up the receiver, and Christine asked him to put it on the speaker.
"Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love. Remember the height from which you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first. If you do not repent, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place. But you have this in your favor: You hate the practices of the Nicolaitans, which I also hate." The phone line went dead.
"My God," Christine whispered.
"Revelations again," Father Jay said. "Two, four to six."
Tabitha asked, "Who the heck was that, mom?"
Craig read off the number from the caller ID display.
"The church again?" Christine asked.
Father Jay shook his head. "I -"
The front door opened, and a new voice said, “The sanitarium.”
Everyone turned. Blood rushed from Christine’s face. "Alexis," she whispered. "When did they -" She gazed at the sickly girl in the doorway, her gaunt eyes peering tangled brown hair. Her elder daughter bore a vague resemblance to Tabitha, and her recent trials were not kindly worn.
Father Jay swallowed and looked into his water glass.
Christine stood, and though she intended to approach her daughter, she could not. Something repelled her, polarized her from her daughter; Alexis reeked of evil and wickedness.
Tabitha placed both hands on the table. "Something happened today, and it is very, very wrong."
Alexis told Father Jay and Christine, "And, what happened years ago was worse.”
Tabitha's lips twitched. "Go on, Alexis." She took Craig's hand and held it tightly.
"You," Alexis said to neither in particular. "You left me to that hospital."
Christine closed her eyes and said, "What you did was wrong. A sin. You were so young. And you were so sick. A child could have killed you."
Alexis withdrew a wad of paper from her pocket and tossed it on the table. "When they released me, they gave me a copy of my file, including my birth certificate. My real birth certificate.”
"Child," Father Jay said softly. "This hostility is not necessary. Please, be at peace."
She touched the wad of paper and flicked it across the table towards Christine. “This says my father is J. John Archer.”
Christine touched the wad of paper. “Honey, are you sure that’s right? That’s my uncle John. He died in the war, years before you were born.”
“Strange, isn’t it?” She added a second wad of paper. “Being wrongfully committed, the hospital lawyers were thorough. They even paid for a DNA profile. Guess who,” she unwadded the paper, spread it open on the table cloth, “They found.” Reading along with her finger, she said, “Judas John Archibald.”
Father Jay leaned over the table and glanced at the crinkled paper. He sat back and said, "Alexis, don't do this to yourself. There is no relation between the name Archer and Archibald."
Christine said, "Please, honey, sit down. Does the hospital know you’re gone?" To Tabitha she asked, "Tabby, did you have anything to do with this? Did Alexis make those phone calls?"
Tabitha nodded and then shook her head, "I only knew about her being released. But, she’s not prank-calling you.”
Alexis opened a neatly folded document and set it atop the once wadded paper. “Misdiagnosed. For eight years, mother!”
"Please, sit,” Father Jay said. He put his arm around Christine’s shoulder. “Help us understand what you’re trying to prove.”
"Prove?” She pushed tangled hair from her face. “My biological father kept me locked up in an asylum, probably killed my dad, and, from what Tabby told me, I think he is planning on hurting you for murdering his unborn son."
Christine opened her mouth, tears rolling down her cheeks. But she found no words to describe her feelings, and placed her head in her hands.
"I’m not crazy. I'm clinical sane, mother, despite interference by my real father."
Craig looked from the second wad of paper at Father Jay. “You’re saying your real father is -?” He told Tabitha, “If anything she said is true, we should call the police.”
Father Jay pulled a knife from his pocket and held it against Christine's throat. She screamed, and then fell silent when he whispered vile suggestions in her ear.
"Father?" Alexis asked Christine. “The hospital lawyers think so.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. " I'm so sorry, Alexis. I didn't know. I don’t - don’t remember." To Father Jay she said, “This can’t be true. You couldn’t have been the baby’s father. God forgives, doesn’t He?”
The phone rang. Christine held her breath, feeling the hot blade against her throat. It rang a second time. Father Jay smirked. “Go ahead. Answer it.”
Craig swallowed and moved one arm from Tabitha's waist, and slowly plucked the receiver from the cradle.
Craig offered the receiver to Father Jay. “It’s for you.” When he didn’t accept the phone, Craig held the receiver to his ear and listened. After a moment, he set the receiver on the cradle. “If a man shuts his ears to the cry of the poor, he too will cry out and not be answered."
Father Jay said "Are you that much of a fool? Who do you think is making those calls?" He moved the knife against Christine’s neck. “There can be no salvation for killing my child of God.”
Christine gaped, the blade pressing further into her skin. “Him?”
“He raped me,” Alexis said. “Did he rape you too, mother?”
And the secret, that dark secret, stirred in the recess of memory. God could not forgive her for the sin she had buried. The sin never belonged to her.
Father Jay moved the knife away from Christine’s neck, gestured with the blade at the documents. “I can’t believe that you, both of you, turned your back on God. I tried to bring miracles and love into your lives. Instead, you blame God for your woes."
Craig stood, set his hand on Tabitha’s shoulder. "But, you're not God." Christine saw Tabitha rummage through her pocket and pass a black box behind Craig’s back. "Father," he said as his fingers slipped the object from Tabitha’s.
"What?" Father Jay asked.
"The voice on the phone also said: You shall have no other gods except me."
Father Jay looked at the phone, perplexed, and tipped the knife from Christine’s neck. “That recording wasn’t -”
Craig raised the object, and pressed a switch. The blunt end sparked and silver threads struck Father Jay’s chest and shoulder. Immediately, he began to convulse and collapsed from his chair. Craig pressed the switch again, sending another electric jolt into Father Jay.
As he lay twitching on the ground, Tabitha passed Craig a knotted jumble of objects from her purse. He fished a pair of handcuffs from a can of pepper spray and miniature airhorn, and ratcheted each cuff to Father Jay’s wrist. Then, he called the police.
Christine gasped, rubbed her neck, and wiped her eyes. “Alexis, Tabitha.” That, That Craig. “Tabitha, I -” She scooted away from Father Jay and stood. “Tabitha, why do you have handcuffs and this junk in your purse?”
“The police are on their way,” Craig said.
Christine walked around the table, away from Father Jay, and hugged both of her daughters. She beckoned that Craig to join her, and whispered a prayer. She sniffed, closed her eyes, clenching Alexis’ sleeve. Then, she glanced at the phone.
“And, what else did the recording say?”
Craig shook his head. “Nothing. I didn’t hear any voice at all on the phone.” Then, he touched his left ear, “But in this ear I heard someone whisper,
“Let there be light.”