Author: Johnathan Embers

BLACK SABBATH – CHAPTER 10

Posted on by Johnathan Embers

BLACK SABBATH

CHAPTER 10

SEVEN SALLIE

  WE OUGHT TO OBEY GOD RATHER THAN MEN (Acts 5:29)

            When it rains it pours! As I sat in a holding cell at the county jail, this idea had never applied to me more than now. First Inga Cognito’s sister was found murdered down by the river. The next day an arsonist burned our house to the ground. Three days after that I was charged with civil disobedience and therefore arrested.

            I was given one phone call and chose my lawyer. He was not only a good friend, but a brother in Christ. He was also very astute. Just as the prophet Daniel purposed in his heart that he would not defile himself with the king’s delicacies (Daniel 1:8), Roger Maxwell refrained from all artificial stimulants and ate whole foods rather than junk foods. His daily exercise routine also kept him in better shape than most twenty year olds, despite being sixty something.

            This fitness coupled with an unwavering faith in God made him, in my opinion, the most honest attorney on the planet. Those of us that were close to him affectionately called him Mad Max. Obviously his name was part of the reason we referred to him by this moniker. But there was something else.

            The other reason was an ironic twist of Roger Maxwell being just the opposite of angry. Even in heated court battles, Roger never lost control. As a matter of fact, his friendly countenance garnered him a second nickname, Mr. Roger. This one after the legendary host Fred Rogers of the children’s program ‘Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood’. He even looked a little similar to Fred.

            The first time I was arrested, an officer escorted Roger to my cell. So that’s what I was expecting the second time. But before he arrived, Lieutenant Louis Lewis entered with two officers. I found this curious.

            I was getting the feeling that his sympathies lay with our cause. But now he appeared to be coming to talk with me accompanied by two uniforms. But it only appeared that way. The trio went past my cell to the empty one next door. But it wasn’t empty for long. As Triple Lou entered my neighboring cell, one of the escorting officers, clearly the younger of the two, said, “Sorry to have to do this, Lieutenant.”

            “You’re just doing your job, son,” Triple Lou replied.

            “You don’t need to apologize,” the older uniform said. “He’s essentially our former Lieutenant. Didn’t earn the rank either, got it for another reason.”

            “Is that right, Hanover?” Triple Lou said testily. “What would that be?”

            “I think you know. You’re the one that busted me from sergeant for getting rough with one of your kind.”

            “What’s my kind, Hanover?”

            “This…” Hanover was beginning to say a racial slur but stopped himself. “This lowlife was resisting arrest, and I put the poor little angel in the squad car too rough.”

            “The poor little angel was knocked unconscious and had to get a dozen stiches, because my undisciplined officer slammed his head into edge of the car’s roof. I wanted to fire you, not just demote you, but I got overruled.”

            “Jail duty on top of it,” Hanover complained. “I’d have been better off fired. Do you know how many low life’s I’ve had to see drop their drawers and bend over?”

            “Don’t lie, you probably enjoy that, Hanover,” Triple Lou said testily.

            The young officer looked like a deer in the headlights. I’m sure I looked a little stunned myself. I had gotten to know Lieutenant Louis Lewis a little over the previous weeks, and he was one of the most even keeled people I had ever met. So to see him lose control, if that’s what his comment suggested, I was a little surprised.

            Hanover turned and began to walk away. As he did so, he said, “I better get out of here before I get another charge of police brutality.”

            Triple Lou snorted, shook his head, and folded his arms across his hefty chest.

            In a voice like a 1930’s gangster, I asked, “Hey pal, what cha ya in for?”

            He glared at me, his dark eyes looking like burning coals in their sockets. “Why did our lives have to cross paths?”

            His comment took me by surprise. When that happens, my mouth often cracks wise before my brain can stop it. “Well, I’m quite fond of you too, Lou.”

            He snorted, sat down hard on his cot and glared at me. I sat on my cot and raised my eyebrows at him. “Please Lou, I don’t mean to be flippant. But how on earth did you end up in a jail cell?”

            “For defending your fool mouth.”

            “My foul mouth? What do you mean? I don’t swear or talk crude.”

            “Your fool mouth, fool.”

            “Oh, fool, as in foolish.”

            “Ding, ding, ding, give the man a prize.”

            “Now you’re calling me a ding bat?”

            Triple Lou dragged a hand over his weary hound dog face. I truly thought he said foul rather than fool. But now I was being facetious with ding bat. Thinking better of it, I got us back on track.

            “Listen, Lieutenant…”

            “Former Lieutenant,” he interrupted.

            “Okay, listen, Lou…Is. I’m sorry if you got in trouble over me, but…”

            “No if about it,” he interrupted again.

            “Like I said, sorry. But if you wouldn’t mind, tell me how this came about.”

            He sighed. “It started with Agent Medora. She and I got into a debate about the Sabbath. I was defending your position. Long story short, she threatened to tell my superiors that I was rebelling against the Sunday laws. She followed through, and as I was sitting in your church the other day, I got notified by my Captain that I was suspended. When I went in to talk with him and the chief, they were not happy with my position. Then today they decided to fire me. I cleaned out my desk, and when I exited the station, low and behold, the press was there. After I explained my getting fired, they asked me about you and your latest arrest. They said you were inciting people to disobey mandatory worship. They asked if I agreed with you, and I said your dog gone tootin. Then I expanded on the topic. Next thing I know, I’m cuffed and stuffed.”

            “Dog gone it, Lou, you shouldn’t have sworn at ‘em.”

            “I didn’t swear… Sallie, I don’t know about you.”

            “Sorry, sometimes my mouth speaks before my brain can stop it.”

            “Sometimes? How about most times. Your mouth is why you’re sitting in lock up.”

            “I guess you’d know,” I said and then winced. “Sorry, there I go again. But so much for free speech. I guess it’s a thing of the past. Huh?”

            “Yeah,” he sighed. “But it is confusing.”

            “What is?”

            “I mean all of the revivals and miracles that have taken place seem to have combated crime and violence better than law enforcement. I can see why there has been a call to worship. I do question whether I made the right stand.”

            “This was prophesied to happen.”

            He snorted. “What, me ending up in a neighboring jail cell with you?”

            “No, that right before Christ returns there would be a controversy over the law of God. The Sabbath aspect of the Ten Commandments in particular. Obviously the Sabbath was instituted at Creation (Genesis 2:2,3). So I find it fascinating that Revelation 14:7 instructs us to worship Him who made heaven and earth. Then in verse 12, it says here are they who keep the commandments of God. Which obviously includes the fourth.”

            “At this point you’re preaching to the choir. I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t have a basic understanding of the prophesies.”

            “You’re the one that said you were confused.”

            “I know, I know,” he said waving a hand. “But it’s one thing to be sitting in my study reading about it. It’s another thing to lose my job and get arrested in a protest.”

            “Remember that you’re gaining treasure in heaven,” I reassured him. (Matthew 6:20) “All things are possible to him who believes.” (Mark 9:23)

            He nodded but said, “Lord I believe help me with my unbelief.” (Mark 9:24)

            The main door opened and the young officer that was with Hanover escorted a bedraggled looking man with a scraggly gray beard into a cell. Then he stopped in front of me and said, “I’ll be coming back in a few minutes to take you before the judge. Your lawyer is here as well.”

            “Thank you, officer,” I replied.

            He grinned at me. “I don’t get thanked by the inmates very often.”

            After the officer left, I said, “I should be home by supper then.”

            “I wouldn’t count on that,” Triple Lou said.

            “What do you mean?”

            “This is your second misdemeanor. Two together equals a felony. You’ll be transferred to the main jail indefinitely awaiting trial.”

            My whole body electrified, and I numbly said, “You’re kidding?”

            With a deadpan expression he said, “Yes I am.”

            His face was so utterly serious, I repeated, “You are kidding, right?”

            For the first time in our short relationship, I saw him not only smile but laugh. Then he said, “How does it feel, Mr. Jokester?”

            I felt relief wash over me as I grinned back at him. It was an odd place to be sharing a bit mirth with each other. Especially for the first time in what was actually becoming a friendship. It made me think of when Paul and Silas prayed and sang hymns in prison. (Acts 16:25)

            (Writer’s note: I would just like to reiterate that this is a work of fiction, and my imagined scenario of future prophetic events is simply what I’ve been envisioning could happen, not what will happen. Just as no one knows the day or hour of our Lord’s return (Matthew 24:36), no one knows the exact circumstances that will bring about the final events and test for humanity and God’s people. Only that it will center on the law of God vs. the law of man. In other words a combined religious/political system in the future will institute a system where you will not be allowed to buy or sell unless you have this mark of the beast (Revelation 13:16,17).

            I personally believe the particular test point will be over the  Biblical Seventh Day Sabbath, opposed to Sunday. Sunday as a sabbath really took flight when Constantine made Christianity a legal religion in the fourth century. A side effect of this legal religion was many pagan rites were brought into this church/state religion. One crucial aspect had to do with sun worship and the venerable day of the Sun. So Sunday quickly evolved into the day most of Christianity recognized as the Sabbath.

            If you would like a more concise study on prophetic issues that go much deeper than my little story, issues like America in prophecy, who is the antichrist, what is the mark of the beast, I have a couple suggestions which I have mentioned before. Amazing Facts Ministry has excellent study materials. You can also find their main speaker, Doug Batchelor, on YouTube. Also on YouTube, and maybe my favorite prophecy series, is David Asscherick’s ‘Five Good Reasons.’

            One more thing I would like to reiterate while I am here. I do this because I love to write, but these stories are rough manuscripts. My wife is my first reader, and although I am very pleased with her work, she is not a professional editor. So there will be errors and inconsistencies from time to time. That said, thank you for your interest! May God richly bless you and yours!)

BLACK SABBATH – CHAPTER 9

Posted on by Johnathan Embers

BLACK SABBATH

CHAPTER 9

LIEUTENANT LOUIS LEWIS

TO GIVE THEM BEAUTY FOR ASHES (Isaiah 61:3)

            The Sallie’s home was a total loss. But all was not lost. In a large fire proof safe covered in ashes, they retrieved family heirlooms, pictures and financial records. Most importantly, they had their health. They also had the support of friends and family. In particular, Seven’s cousin Brock Storm and his lovely wife Destiny Knight-Storm.

            The Storm’s lived in an old renovated eight bedroom farmhouse on about a dozen acres way out in the boondocks. Brock had been a high level body guard, protecting celebrities and those of great financial wealth. I had first become aware of him when a big city gangster sent several of his goons to our area to seek revenge on the couple.

            Many moons ago, Brock’s wife Destiny had been an exotic dancer. In other words, she was a stripper. Brock had been a bouncer at the so called gentleman’s club where she performed. He had gotten wind that a certain notorious gangster was going to follow his future wife home. So Brock followed her home as well.

            Just as the said gangster was about to consummate a sexual assault, Brock ran interference, knocking the gangster out with a round house kick to the noggin. When the gangster regained consciousness, the first thing he saw were several police officers with guns drawn. When all was said and done, he ended up doing ten years in the pen.

            After the skirmish, the future spouses went their separate ways. Fortunately, being nearly raped, the episode convinced Destiny to put an end to her dancing career. Unfortunately, she turned to nude modeling and porn instead. Brock on the other hand was offered a job with the high end security company where Inga Cognito’s brother was currently employed.

            A decade later, Brock began to experience a Christian conversion. After reading a book authored by Pastor Kirk Samson, a retired Army Chaplain who was affectionately known as Captain Kirk by his congregation, Brock stopped to visit the country church the former Army Captain pastored and never left the area.

            About a year after he began attending, low and behold, Destiny showed up. The pair couldn’t have been more surprised by their reunion, especially given the circumstances of their association. Who would have thought they would meet again at a country church in Iowa? Coincidence? More like providence.

            Although sparks flew between the couple, Brock was in a complicated relationship with a woman named Nora Medora. This is the same Nora Medora that became an agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The same agent I had briefly worked with monitoring Seven Sallie’s podcast. We met up again in the aftermath of the Sallie’s housefire.

            Agent Medora’s involvement with the enforcement of national Sunday laws had increased, whereas mine had decreased. One of her tasks was to still keep tabs on Seven Sallie’s podcast. She was keeping an eye out for anything deemed hate speech. Also she was monitoring if he was encouraging defiance of the ever increasing push for mandatory worship, which could lead to a charge of civil disobedience.

            I had just finished talking to the chief fire inspector when Agent Medora arrived. The inspector confirmed what we already suspected. Arson. In black spandex pants and orange spandex shirt with florescent orange running shoes, she looked more ready to run a race rather than do detective work.

            I reflexively sucked in my gut as she approached me. But I had made a covenant with my eyes (Job 31:1) and kept them trained on hers rather than her painted on clothes that clung to her like a second skin.

            “Lieutenant Lewis,” she greeted.

            “Agent Medora.”

            “Any clues on who did this or how it started?” she asked.

            “I don’t believe this is a federal investigation.”

            “I beg to differ. Seven Sallie is of national interest.”

            “So are you building a case against him?”

            “Let’s just say we’re watching. Seven walks a fine line with his rhetoric.”

            “So free speech has become a thing of the past.”

            She frowned. “Whose side are you on, Lieutenant? You were once in charge of Sunday ordinances in this neck of the woods. What happened?”

            I shrugged. “I guess I’m desiring truth in the inward parts.” (Psalm 51:6)

            Her frown deepened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “It means I’ve been studying out this Sabbath issue from both sides, and I’ve come to believe that those pointing to scripture after scripture advocating the Seventh Day Sabbath are correct. God established it at creation, and He wrote it in the middle of the Decalogue with his own finger.”

            “What’s the Decalogue?”

            I don’t think I was trying to crack wise. But I arched an eyebrow. “Agent Medora. You seem to be rapidly gaining rank enforcing the national Sunday laws, yet you don’t know what the Decalogue is?”

            Her gaze was cool as we had a several second stare down. Then she asked, “Is it the Ten Commandments?”

            “Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner.” Okay, that was cracking a bit wise. But it was spontaneous, and I was trying to make a point. “Do you see the problem? We have all these leaders making and enforcing moral law, and they don’t even fully understand the issue.”

            She abruptly folded her arms under her chest, cocked her hips to the right, and jutted her left leg so her foot was arched at an angle. The sudden movement caused my gaze to divert down her body. She was in phenomenal shape and the clothing that seemed like a second skin only enhanced her physique. My eyes wanted to linger, but I silently told myself, “Covenant with the eyes, fool.”

            “For my part, I enforce what’s made into law,” she defended.

            “Whether you believe in it or not?”

            “Who said I don’t believe in it?”

            “You told me yourself that you are an agnostic that leans toward atheist.”

            “People evolve. Now I’m an agnostic that leans toward the spiritual. These are volatile times. The revivals across the country are doing a good job combating civil unrest. Something you need to ask yourself, Lieutenant, is can all these religious leaders uniting and coming together for the common good be wrong?”

            “Of course they can. When has the majority ever been right in spiritual matters? Did the majority get on the ark? Did the majority refuse to bow down to Nebuchadnezzar’s golden image? Did the majority welcome Jesus at his birth?”

            “You’re missing the point. You believe the few radicals bucking the system are correct and the leaders of the prominent churches are wrong?”

            “When the whole world is running toward a cliff, he who is running in the opposite direction appears to have lost his mind.”

            “Really? You see these Sunday laws as running toward a cliff? Look, I admit that I’m not religious. But I have to admit that after the installment of the Sunday laws, crime has been  decreasing. I believe that when, and not if, mandatory worship is put in place, crime will not only continue to decease but dramatically decrease.”

            “I see. So you being, admittedly not religious, will have no problem being forced to go to church every Sunday?”

            “Am I forced to pay my taxes? I think giving an hour of my time once a week will be much easier than being forced to hand over almost a third of my income every year. Plus it will benefit me. I otherwise might not try to get in touch with my higher power.”

            “Your higher power? Right off the bat there’s a problem. You can’t love God without freewill. Mandatory worship will just be the amalgamation of all these different beliefs. God is not the author of confusion.” (1 Corinthians 14:33)

            She shrugged. “You see the glass half empty. I see it as half full. These Sunday laws are helping the world unite. All of us have our own truth, but now we are all uniting under the Sabbath banner.”

            “Sunday is not Sabbath. Even in other languages, for instance Sabado is Saturday in Spanish. Even if it was the Biblical Sabbath being enforced by law, that would still be wrong. Forced worship is not true worship.”

            “Like I said, you have your truth, and I have mine.”

            “Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”

            “That’s nice for you. But my destiny is to be a law officer. To use your religious term, I was called to fight evil,” she told me, using air quotes for called. “The revivals that have gone on across the land have led to the Sunday laws. Now that the powers that be have decided on that, that’s where I come in. They were designed to bring about peace, and I’m a spoke in the great wheel to see that they do.”

            “When they say peace and safety then sudden destruction comes.” (1 Thessalonians 5:3)

            Her eyes narrowed. “You know, Lieutenant, if an officer of the law doesn’t like the law, maybe they should resign.”

            I felt a chill go up my spine. She was cold! “Gonna tell my Captain to keep an eye on me again?”

            She didn’t flinch. “No, this time I’m gonna recommend you either change your tune or be discharged.”

            I felt numb. I didn’t know what to say, but something seemingly outside of myself caused my head to nod and mouth to say, “You’re probably right. If I don’t agree with laws being instituted, I have no business being in a position to enforce them.”

            Nora Medora was a hard no nonsense woman. But with my non combative response, I noticed her eyebrows raise a little. “Look, for the time being you have a murder to investigate and now we both have this arson situation that might involve cases we are working on. So back to the beginning. Do you have any clues?”

            “The gentleman that lives across from the Sallie’s said he noticed a Ryder sprinter van in their driveway about ten minutes before he noticed smoke and flames coming from the backside. Thinking it was Amazon making a delivery, he didn’t think anything of it. I had some officers canvas the area and we actually got a better description of the suspect.”

            “Good,” she replied, vigorously writing in a note pad. I wondered where it materialized from given her skin tight clothing.

            “That’s all I know,” I said.

            “Very well, thank you,” she said and began to briskly walk away.

            “Off to see my Captain?”

            She stopped and turned. “Why, do you want me to?”

            “You do what you gotta do.”

            “Just to be straight, the next time I talk to your Captain, I am gonna voice my concern. However, I do not intend on giving any recommendations. Obviously that’s up to him anyway.”

            “That’s very big of you.”

            I honestly didn’t mean to sound flippant, but I’m afraid it came across that way. She seemed to glare at me for a couple seconds, and then without another word, she turned and left.

            As I started to watch her walk away, I diverted my gaze and told myself, “Covenant with the eyes, fool.”

            The next day was the Sabbath. I was driving around, my head churning with a multitude of topics. I honestly had no destiny in mind but eventually found myself in the parking lot of Cotton Creek Cove. It was the Sallie’s church, made from a renovated barn.

            The service was already underway when I took a seat in the back. I was just in time to hear Seven give a testimonial. I was impressed by his relationship with his personal Savior. With the gratitude he expressed, you would have never guessed his house had just burned to the ground. He was thankful for everyone’s safety. He was grateful to Brock and Destiny Knight-Storm for taking them in. He quoted scriptures written by the Apostle Paul which addressed enduring hardships. He ended by praying for strength to press forward.

            After the service, my cousin Zella greeted me warmly, peace radiating from her face as she expressed pleasure at my presence. Inga too seemed glad to see me. I wanted what these people had! By the world’s standards they had lost almost everything. Yet to watch them, they seemingly had everything. I was now truly convinced. And it came just in time.

            My phone whistled like a choo, choo train indicating an incoming call. “Hey, Captain.”

            “Hey, Lou,” he responded. Then I heard him sigh. “I was just in the chief’s office, and he wanted me to contact you right away.”

            “News on the case?” I asked.

            “No,” he replied. Then thinking of my conversation with Agent Nora Medora the previous day, my gut twisted. “Lou, I’m afraid you’re being suspended indefinitely.”

BLACK SABBATH – CHAPTER 8

Posted on by Johnathan Embers

BLACK SABBATH

CHAPTER 8

ZELLA LaSTELLA-SALLIE

IN ME (JESUS) YOU MAY HAVE PEACE. IN THE WORLD YOU WILL HAVE TRIBULATION, BUT BE OF GOOD CHEER, I HAVE OVERCOME THE WORLD. (John 16:33)

            As we all stared at the bedraggled, trembling man in handcuffs, Inga began to shake her head emphatically. She looked at Triple Lou. “Lieutenant, there’s no way Don killed our sister.”

            “Do you know this man then?” he asked.

            “I just know he went by Donny. We were acquainted in the homeless community. He can barely tie his shoes, let alone… Well, you know what happened. Besides, like I told you before, very few people here knew me as Inga Cognito. Just the Sallie’s and some of your officers.”

            “What’s this about Inga Cognito?” Brent asked. “You often called yourself that when we were kids.”

            The Lieutenant pulled her brother aside and spoke in a low voice so Inga wouldn’t have to hear the description of their deceased sister again. Then he explained to Brent about the words carved into Paloma’s flesh, ‘Inga Cognito is a fake.’

            Brent’s jaw clenched as he looked at his sister. His gaze was fierce but softened as he took in the sight of Inga meekly chewing her lower lip. Her arctic blue eyes were wide and frightened as she perceived what Triple Lou had told her brother.

            “I’m taking a leave of absence and staying with you, Sis,” Brent told her.

            Inga looked at me and then my husband. “But I’m living, I mean staying with the Sallies”

            “I’ll get an extended stay hotel or something,” he told her.

            “You’re welcome to stay with us,” I offered.

            “I don’t want to impose.”

            “It’s no imposition.”

            Seven stepped next to me and whispered like a ventriloquist. “Honey, he doesn’t want to impose.”

            “I insist,” I told Brent. In the Biblical parable of the two sons, Seven was very much like the son who initially said no but went. So now I whispered like a ventriloquist into my husband’s ear. “Inga’s sister was murdered; she needs her brother. She needs the stability of our home.”

            “We insist Brent,” Seven said.

            “Are you sure?” Brent asked.

            “Absolutely,” my husband reassured him. Then he spoke as if it were his own idea. “She’s been staying with us for a couple weeks, and could use the stability and familiarity she’s found in our home.”

            He grinned at me. Suspicious of possible smugness, I stepped on his foot and ground my heel in just a little. He grunted, groaned, and then frowned at me. I gave him a sweet smile. “Oops, sorry, Honey.”

            A uniformed officer entered the room escorting a fifty something year old man with a long gray beard and a long gray ponytail. His gray eyes were intense. By his side was a tall red haired young lady who appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties.

            They were an odd pair. He looked like an old hippie stoner in his faded jean jacket and jeans. She was rather goth in appearance. Two small rings adorned her lower lip. She wore a black t-shirt with little red skulls all over the front and back. Black jeans that were ripped and torn with red tights underneath, and motorcycle boots.

            “Lou,” the officer said. “This young lady and gentleman say they may have information on the murder of Paloma Likas.”

            “Little Priscilly!” Inga exclaimed as the two women embraced. “Only you’re not so little anymore.”

            Priscilly appeared to be all of six feet tall, compared to Inga’s five foot six. Then she and Brent exchanged greetings, only they shook hands rather than hugged.

            “I’m so sorry about Pal,” Priscilla Rosenwinkle told the siblings. Inga nodded, and both women wept as Brent looked solemnly at his shoes.

            Triple Lou gave them a minute and then spoke to the old stoner. “You say you have information regarding the murder of Paloma Likas?”

            “I do,” the man replied and handed the lieutenant some type of credentials.

            Triple Lou frowned as he read, then his eyebrows raised as he looked at the stoner. “Agent Jeffery Tull, FBI?”

            “At your service,” the federal agent acknowledged with a little bow.

            “Any relation to the musician Jethro Tull?” Seven asked with a little grin.

            I rolled my eyes. Why did my husband always have to think he was funny?

            “Haven’t heard that one before,” Jeffry Tull responded with a straight face. “You do know Jethro Tull is the name of a band, not a person. Well, I mean, he was person, but he was a British agriculturist or something, not the writer of ‘Locomotive Breath’.”

            “I knew that,” Seven said, waving a dismissive hand. “I was just…”

            “Thinking he was funny,” I interrupted.

            “Trying to be light hearted during a tense situation,” Seven said looking at me with such a serious expression I had to purse my lips to keep from giggling.

            Triple Lou waved a commanding hand. “Okay, enough with rock history. What’s your story, Agent Tull?”

            “I’ve been undercover at Bryson Bronx’s compound for quite some time. I can’t give any details on what for, that’s confidential. Pricilla here is an informant of mine. Long story short, one of Bronx’s hench men fancied her, so she got close to him to help me out.”

            “You could say I prostituted myself for justice,” Priscilla cut in.

            Agent Tull eyed her for several seconds. Whether his gaze held scorn or admiration, I couldn’t tell.

            “Anyway, I’ve been there for going on a year and I got nothing. But then about a month ago Priscilla was able to get a tap on her lover’s phone.”

            Priscilla scrunched up her face. “Don’t call him my lover!”

            “Sorry. He goes by the nickname Buzz. Anyway, Priscilla’s sister got word that Bryson heard that Inga was part of a homeless community here in Iowa. Then low and behold, an hour after Priscilla gets word that Bryson knows Inga’s whereabouts, Bryson gets an assignment to come to Iowa. Coincidence? I think not.”

            “But I couldn’t get a hold of Jeffery,” Priscilla cut in. “He always told me if I found something out to only go to him. But I needed to do something, I didn’t know how to get a hold of Inga. So I told Paloma, thinking she would know what to do. I didn’t realize she would come out here and get herself…”

            She looked at Inga guiltily. Inga hugged her again. “It’s not your fault.”

            “Talk about bad timing. I was on a three day retreat looking for UFO’s,” Agent Tull said with a look on his face that said he thought such a thing ridiculous. “No phones allowed, and we also fasted. Talk about a long three days. But I couldn’t say no, or my cover would have been blown.”

            “As soon as I told Jeffery, we took a red eye out here,” Priscilla said.

            “My cover is likely blown now,” Agent Tull shrugged. “But here’s the thing. They know they killed the wrong sister. They sent Bryson a picture and his reply was twofold. He told them, ‘look at the eyes you idiots! That’s Paloma, not Inga. And if Inga’s out there your phones have been bugged.’ They obviously ditched them. Before we came here to the police station, I traced Buzz’s phone to the Cedar River.”

            “So you think they’re still around?” Brent asked Agent Tull.

            “At this point I can only speculate,” he replied. “But yes, that’d be my best guess.”

            “How in the world will we find them?” Brent asked.

            Inga stared at her brother. Like me, she probably noticed he said ‘we.’ She boldly declared, “I need to be a decoy.”

            “Oh no, you’re not,” Triple Lou responded, shaking his head and waving his arms like a football official signaling no catch or missed field goal. “I can not put a citizen in harm’s way like that.”

            “You also can’t deny a citizen their freedom to walk the streets,” Inga said.

            Giving her a hard look, the Lieutenant said, “As long as the citizen abides by the law and doesn’t, say, shop lift.”

            Inga gave her brother a nervous glance and then looked away, ashamed. I stepped to her, put my arm around her shoulder, and tugged her into myself. She looked at me and I gave her a reassuring smile. My whole gesture implying the Apostle John’s beautiful words from 1 John 1:9. ‘If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.’

            She forced a smile in recognition. Then she added her own spiritual reassurance, saying, “Be still and know that I am God?” (Psalm 46:10)

            “Right,” I responded, still smiling.

            Little did I know that I would need to completely rely on her admonition in the coming days. About ten seconds after her words of encouragement, a uniformed officer burst into the room. With a voice filled with urgency, he declared, “Lou, there’s a four alarm fire! It’s Sallie’s home, Sir, and it’s fully engulfed!”

BLACK SABBATH – CHAPTER 7

Posted on by Johnathan Embers

BLACK SABBATH

CHAPTER 7

SEVEN SALLIE

TRUST IN THE LORD WITH ALL YOUR HEART AND LEAN NOT ON YOUR OWN UNDERSTANDING (Proverbs 3:5)

            We had just found out that Inga’s brother was at the police station. After Triple Lou informed us that Inga’s brother was in town, she practically sprinted toward my car.

            “Why don’t you all ride with me?” Lieutenant Louis Lewis offered.

            This caused Inga to do an about face and she boogied to the lieutenant’s car instead.

            “But how will we get home?” I asked.

            “I’ll bring you back,” he shrugged. “If you ride with me, it will give us a chance to talk and for me to ask more questions.”

            The three of us, Inga, Zella, and myself began to get into the back seat of the Lieutenant’s unmarked police car. Triple Lou shook his head impatiently. “You all don’t need to get in the backseat; you’re not under arrest. Inga, why don’t you sit up front?”

            Inga had a look on her face like a child being punished, but she slowly removed her foot from the back seat of the car and went to the front. The main thing we learned from listening in on Triple Lou’s interrogation was that the other lady she came to Iowa with also had been a resident of the alien cult’s compound. This would prove to be a key factor with Inga’s sister turning up in the Midwest from the west coast.

            Inga’s reunion with her brother was odd. Both had a look of fascination on their faces when they saw each other. Yet when they hugged, there was more formality in the embrace rather than warmth. They also didn’t look like brother and sister. Did the three siblings all have different fathers?

            Brent’s black hair was slicked back. His close set, dark eyes looked hard. He was wearing a black shirt with a grey tie, black slacks, and shiny black cowboy boots. His appearance made me think of a mafia hit man. His deep voice was California cool. “Well little sis, you just kind of fell off the map. I was starting to think I’d never see you again.”

            “What about you? You joined the Marines and closed the door on us.”

            “No I didn’t. Pal wrote to me, but you didn’t.”

            Inga shrugged. “I guess I was mad at you for leaving us. I suppose you know she’s… Gone, our Pal, Pal?”

            I noticed his jaw clench and he stoically said, “Yeah.”

            “Pal, Pal,” she croaked. Then Brent pulled her into another embrace. This time there was more warmth, and he kissed the top of her head as she cried into his left pectoral. He looked rather fit when his biceps pressed against the fabric of his shirt as he held his sister in his arms.

            “How did you know to come here?” Inga asked after she pushed away from him. “From wherever it is you’re living?”

            “I’ve been in Miami for the last year or so,” he replied. “When my hitch was up in the Corps, I started working for a high end security firm.”

            I broke in and asked if the name of his firm was such and such.

            “Yeah,” he replied with raised eyebrows. “How did you know?”

            “I took a guess,” I said with a shrug. “My cousin Brock worked for a high end security company with an office in Miami. That would have been before your time though. But I got to know one of his coworkers who is still there. Do you know a Benito Bonanno?”

            He smirked. “I certainly I do; he’s my supervisor.”

            “Good guy,” I added.

            “Benny’s the best. I was ready to rejoin the Marines after a few months. I was working for a real (Expletive) in LA and was gonna quit. Benny happened to be out there at the time on an assignment and took a liking to me. He talked me into staying with the firm and moving to Miami and for working for him. Man, I never thought I would run into somebody here who knows Benito Bonanno. Small world.”

            “Speaking of small worlds,” Inga cut in. “How did you end up out here when Paloma was only discovered hours ago?”

            “Pal called me two days ago and said you were in trouble.”

            “What made her think I was in trouble?”

            “Did you come out here with Jane Joplin?”

            “I did.”

            “Well apparently she went to Bryson Bronx and told him where you were. I imagine she got a handsome reward.”

            “That traitor,” Inga said quietly. “So how did Pal find out?”

            “Do you remember a girl by the name of Priscilla Rosenwinkle?”

            “Of course I do,” Inga smiled. “Silly Priscilly. She was a little redhaired pistol. She always reminded me of Pippi Longstocking.”

            “Well she’s all grown up and living in Las Vegas, and it turns out she and Paloma got together occasionally.  Her sister, who still lives on the compound, got wind of Jane’s agenda. She heard that Bronx was sending two of his guys to Iowa. She also heard that she gave him your phone number and had it tapped. That’s why she came out here in person without giving you a heads up.”

            “So she died trying to save me,” Inga said quietly, staring at the floor in contemplation.

            “Yeah, I suppose so,” he said gently. “But don’t you dare think this was your fault.”

            “Pal and me, we had a falling out, you know,” Inga said quietly, wiping a leaked tear with a finger.

            “No I didn’t know.”

            “You know what she was doing in Vegas, right?”

            “Working at a casino,” Brent replied with a little shrug.

            “Hardly,” Inga snorted. “She took up the trade that is only legal in Nevada.”

            Brent gazed at his sister in disbelief. “No way.”

            “Yes way,” Inga responded. “That’s why I came out here with Jane. She said she knew someone, said we’d get jobs. Neither happened. She couldn’t find her supposed friend, and we got no jobs. We ended up in a homeless camp, and not long after that, she bailed on me. Eventually I ended up getting busted for shop lifting at a grocery store. That’s how I met Mr. and Mrs. Sallie here.”

            Inga waved an open hand at Zella and me.

            “So you’re what, a lawyer?” Brent asked. “I assumed you were a cop.”

            I opened my mouth to explain, but Inga spoke first. “He’s a windbag.”

            I closed my mouth, pursed my lips in exasperation, and looked at Inga with hooded eyes. My wife put her mouth to my ear. “Honey, you look like Daffy Duck when he’s exasperated with Bugs Bunny.”

            I relaxed my expression. Inga stepped to me and put an arm around my lower back. Looking at her brother, she said, “I didn’t mean that. There’s just something about Seven that makes me want to tease him all the time. Truth is, he and Zella took me in. They’re saintly people.”

            Inga sniffed and wiped a tear with the hand that wasn’t clutching my waist. What range of emotions the poor girl was enduring. I put my arm around her and gave her an affectionate hug.

            “Hey, wait, you’re Seven Sallie,” Brent replied with a frown.

            “Yes sir, I am he,” I acknowledged with mock nobility.

            He nodded. “Okay, I see what Inga meant by windbag.”

            I felt the Daffy Duck expression return to my face. Brent must have noticed and immediately corrected himself. “No, no! I didn’t mean it that way. Just that her joke, windbag, you talk for a living. On your podcast. I’m sure you’ve heard of Josiah Brimstone?”

            “Of course,” I replied. “He’s one my biggest detractors.”

            Brent nodded. Josiah Brimstone had been known as one of the foremost, so called, prosperity gospel preachers. But over the last year or so, he became a champion for Sunday laws, evangelizing their importance. He had also, very publicly, criticized me and my podcast. So I publicly offered to open the scriptures with him on his own program. On that point he was yet to respond, and I guessed he probably wouldn’t.

            “Well, until I took this emergency leave, he was the latest client I have been assigned to,” Brent explained. “Another colleague and myself have been traveling the country with him the last month on his speaking tour.”

            I lifted my hands in surrender. “For my part, I don’t hold that against you.”

            “Hey, just to be clear, there’s nothing to hold against. I am not an admirer or follower of his at all. As a matter of fact, my association with him has only made me more ensconced in atheism.”

            “I’m an atheist too,” I told him.

            He looked at me like I had two heads. Then he snorted and shook his head. “Figures, another religious phony.”

            “I’m no phony, I believe everything I espouse on my podcast.”

            “Then how on earth can you be an atheist?”

            “How about you tell me about the God you don’t believe in?”

            For the next minute or two it sounded like he was reading from a Josiah Brimstone script. But he quoted disparagingly, especially the concept of an eternally burning hell. With a look on his face like he bit into a lemon, he said, “What kind of God would burn people for eternity just because they choose not to believe in him?”

            “See, I told you I was an atheist. I don’t believe in that God either.”

            I went on to explain that a thorough study of the scriptures concerning hellfire and the state of the dead proved that hell, so to speak, was an event at the end of time, and not a place of eternal torment. (You can obtain free study guides on these subjects from Amazing Facts. Simply ask for study guide #11 ‘Is the Devil in Charge of Hell?’ and/or #10 ‘Are the Dead Really Dead?’)

            The timing might have been odd for an impromptu Bible study. But we were soon to be distracted from it. Two uniformed officers entered with a bedraggled looking man in handcuffs. He was shaking violently, whether from some type of drug withdrawal or fear I didn’t know. But when one of the officers spoke, it sent a chill up my spine.

            “Lou, we found Paloma Likas’s cell phone and purse in a grocery cart full of this man’s belongings.”

BLACK SABBATH – CHAPTER 6

Posted on by Johnathan Embers

BLACK SABBATH

CHAPTER 6

LIEUTENANT LOUIS LEWIS

HE REVEALS DEEP AND SECRET THINGS; HE KNOWS WHAT IS IN THE DARKNESS, AND LIGHT DWELLS WITH HIM (Daniel 2:22)

            “Is that shrug a yes or no?” I had asked Inga Likas, also known as Inga Cognito. The question was whether or not she had supernatural powers. Just to be clear, I did not believe that she had supernatural powers. But I was looking for was whether she thought she did.

            “Maybe,” she replied with another shrug.

            “How do you maybe have supernatural powers? Either you do or you don’t. Let me rephrase that. Either you think that you do, or you don’t. Yes or no?”

            “Yes, we all can have supernatural powers. And I mean you as well, Lieutenant.”

            “What are you talking about?”

            “I mean if you have faith as a mustard seed, you can move mountains,” she declared. (Matthew 17:20) “Do you not believe that?”

            “I’m not here to discuss my faith. I’m…”

            “Or lack thereof,” Inga interrupted.

            “Now listen here,” I began to defend. Then I paused, regained my composure, and calmly said, “We need to stay on the task at hand. And that task is for me to investigate the death of your sister.”

            “You’re the one that asked if I had supernatural powers.”

            I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Why did my detectives have to be overworked, compelling the Captain to assign me personally to this homicide case? He had a twofold reason for doing so. For one thing, he put a lesser value on the murder of a seemingly homeless person. For another thing, I could tell he was not pleased when I requested to withdraw from overseeing the ever increasing Sunday laws.

            “Ms. Likas, tell me about this former fiancée. Why do you think he was behind it and not someone, say, from the homeless community?”

            “Because of what you said was carved into her flesh,” she replied. Then she paused as she choked on a sob. “Nobody here knows I sometimes went by Inga Cognito other than members of your police department, and my friends, Zella and Seven Sallie. Do you think one of your officers may have done it?”

            “Absolutely not!”

            “Well, I say the Sallie’s absolutely did not do it either.”

            “Okay, tell me about this former fiancée.”

            “Before I do, let me make this statement. In my thinking, I wasn’t his fiancée. I was being forced into a marriage that wasn’t legitimate, since he had multiple wives and I was only sixteen years old.”

            “Can you tell me who he is and where he is?”

            “His name is Bryson Bronx, and the last I knew he lived on a compound in the California desert. He’s very wealthy, I’m sure he’s a billionaire. He’s also the leader of a wacko alien cult. There were more than two hundred of us living on the compound. My sister, Paloma, who you found… Who…”

            Inga put a fist over her mouth and began to cry. My cousin Zella put an arm around her. I gave her space to grieve.

            “So tell me, Inga,” I began gently after she calmed. “If this Bryson Bronx is a very wealthy man way out in California, how do you think he tracked you here to a homeless camp in Iowa?”

            “Oh, I don’t believe he did it himself. But I do believe it was one of his hench men, bodyguards, thugs, whatever you want to call them.”

            “What can you tell me about these hench men?”

            “He had seven of them. He was obsessed with seven.”

            “I assume you mean the number and not this gentleman sitting at the table with us?”

            A smirk played at Inga’s lips. “Did you mean Seven Sallie?”

            “I did.”

            “Okay. The gentleman part confused me.”

            “Hey, that’s hurtful even if it might be true,” Seven replied with self-deprecation.

            Inga burst out with a laugh. Then it instantly morphed into sobs. She croaked, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be joking at a time like this. The truth is, Seven’s the most wonderful man I have ever met. If it hadn’t been for him and Zella taking me in, I most likely would have been killed with my sister.”

            I took in the scene for a moment. My cousin Zella with her arm protectively around Inga on one side, and Seven giving her hand an affectionate squeeze on the other. I had judged Seven and his zeal over the Sabbath vs. Sunday issue as Pharisaical. I felt he was knit picking, and disrupting community unity by rebelling against the Sunday laws. But their taking in this homeless girl was living out Christianity at its core.

            I had seen Inga Likas, also known as Inga Cognito, two or three weeks earlier at the station. Let me tell you, she was rough, dirty, and weathered. But now after only a couple of weeks with the Sallie’s she looked clean and healthy. This despite red rimmed eyes caused by grief.

            Getting back on task, I inquired, “Please tell me what you meant by Bryson and the number seven.”

            “He felt seven was the Biblical number of perfection,” Inga replied with a shrug.

            “I can’t argue with that,” I added.

            “Really?” Seven asked with an arched eyebrow.

            I didn’t know if he was inferring about the seventh day Sabbath or himself. But I knew I had walked into it, so I walked right back out of it by moving forward. “You were to be his seventh wife. Is there anything else regarding Bryson and seven?”

            She shrugged. “He had his seven hench men, seven house keepers and butlers, seven cars, stuff like that. But here’s the thing about his seven wives. When I was to become his seventh wife, it was more like his, I don’t know, eleventh or twelfth at least.”

            “What does that mean?”

            “It means when he finds an interesting prospect for another wife, his least favorite of the seven mysteriously disappears,” she explained, using air quotes while saying ‘disappears.’

            “So you’re saying he has them killed?”

            “All I know is they disappeared. Having them killed would be my guess. Or maybe he really is in communication with aliens.”

            “So let me get this straight. He’s into Biblical things, but has people murdered? His so called wives no less?”

            “I didn’t say he was a Christian, but he is interested in aspects of the Bible. But more  like secret Bible codes rather than, say, the Gospels.”

            “I see. So did you witness any of these disappearances?”

            “From the standpoint of hearsay. You know, like, oh Brenda’s gone. Then a month or two later, there was a new wife for Bryson from among our ranks. Then around a year later, oh Jenny’s gone. Then a month or two after, there’s was a new wife for Bryson. And Jenny was the vacancy that was supposed to pave the way for me.”

            “How long did you live on this compound?”

            “I was twelve when we moved there, so about four years. My mom got intrigued by the cult, divorced my dad and married one of Bryson’s seven hench men. Most of the followers on the compound lived in dorm type quarters. But because my stepdad had rank, we lived in a pretty decent apartment.”

            “Is your mom still there?”

            “I’m not sure. When Paloma and I ran away, Bryson was not happy at all. I wouldn’t be surprised if she disappeared,” she said, again using air quotes for ‘disappeared.’

            “Have you been in contact with your mother since you left the compound?”

            “Nope.”

            “So you were sixteen when you left the compound?”

            “I was days away from turning sixteen and Pal was eighteen.”

            “What about your father?”

            “I haven’t seen him since I was twelve.”

            “He didn’t have joint custody or anything?”

            “He couldn’t. He had a couple domestic violence charges against him. Besides, he always doubted whether he was actually our father. And with good reason. One of his domestic violence charges came after he caught our mom in bed with a friend of his.”

            “Is he a possibility in the death of your sister?”

            “I don’t know, I suppose. But it’s been so long since I’d seen him, it didn’t really occur to me. It was Bryson’s men who tried to hunt us down after we left. Like I said my dad wanted nothing to do with Paloma and me. The only one of us three he liked was Brent.”

            “Who’s Brent?”

            “Our brother. He’s two years older than Paloma, and four years older than me.”

            “Do you know his whereabouts?”

            “He joined the Marines as soon as he turned eighteen. I haven’t seen him since and only talked to him twice.”

            “Were you and your brother ever close?”

            She shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, for growing up in a dysfunctional environment, we got along quite well. My dad liked me the least. Brent protected me from our dad’s wrath. You see, the friend he caught in bed with my mother had unusually light blue eyes like me.”

            Inga’s eyes were indeed striking. So arctic blue, they sometimes seemed to glow.

            “My eyes are the reason Bryson chose me to be his wife,” she continued. “Even though Paloma is prettier than me. He felt like because of my eyes I was some type of gateway to other worlds. He thought I could make, how do I put this? Contact.”

            “You mean contacting aliens.”

            “Yeah, something like that.”

            “How old is Bryson?”

            “By now he would be in his mid-fifties.”

            Paloma’s face was beaten beyond recognition. When Inga said her sister was prettier, I thought it would be good to see how much the siblings resembled each other. “Do you have any pictures of Paloma?”

            Inga pulled out her phone and pulled up some pictures of Paloma. The two women definitely looked like siblings. Inga was also being humble in declaring her sister prettier. Although Paloma had a more curvy, voluptuous body, Inga’s arctic blue eyes made her face more striking, compared to Paloma’s darker blue-gray eyes. Would the killer have noticed the difference?

            As I held Inga’s phone in my left hand, I pulled my own ringing phone out of my pocket with my right. It was my desk sergeant.

            “Hey Jeff, what’s up?”

            “Hey Lou. There’s a man here who says his name is Brent Likas. Says he’s the brother of the murdered woman from the homeless camp.”

BLACK SABBATH – CHAPTER 5

Posted on by Johnathan Embers

BLACK SABBATH

CHAPTER 5

ZELLA LaSTELLA-SALLIE

HE HEALS THE BROKENHEARTED AND BINDS UP THEIR WOUNDS (Psalm 147:3)

            I felt a wave of anxiety when I saw Lieutenant Louis Lewis’s unmarked police car in our driveway. Then it transformed into anger. I had been paying close attention to my husband’s podcast and knew for a fact he said nothing amiss about the national Sunday laws.

            The worst, according to officials and authorities anyway, would be his explaining the Holy Scriptures rather than the traditions of men (Mark 7:8, 9) and for teaching the Biblical Sabbath rather than the commandments of men (Matthew 15:9). But it seemed we were rapidly losing the right to free speech.

            My jaw was clenched as I made my way to the front door of our home, so I tried to think positive. Maybe my cousin, the lieutenant, had shown up to make amends for the rift between him, his family, and me. They had judged me for the way I lived my life in my teens and early twenties. Fair enough, I can see how I might have brought shame to my conservative family.

            But even when I experienced a spiritual conversion, when I accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Savior, it still wasn’t good enough because I worshiped on a different day from them. This only caused more disapproval from them when national Sunday laws were established. Yet not one of them opened the Word of God to show me my error from Bible.

            I was barely through the door when Seven pulled me into an embrace. This felt odd because I could see Triple Lou sitting at our kitchen table watching us. Nonetheless, I took the opportunity to inquire about my cousin’s visit. Placing my lips a quarter inch from my husband’s ear, I asked, “Are you in trouble again?”

            In a low voice and looking me in the eyes, his own gaze as intense as I had ever seen it, he said, “Don’t panic, Inga is alright. Physically anyway. So, your cousin had reason to believe she was murdered. But it turned out to be, possibly, a relative of Inga’s. But she became distraught and ran into her room. Maybe you should go to her.”

            “I will,” I replied as I dashed off. Inga hadn’t closed the door, so I peeked in. She was lying face down on the bed with her forehead resting on her crossed forearms. She was whimpering and I softly spoke her name. “Inga, honey?”

            Her head popped up and she turned to look at me. Then she rolled off the bed and took a couple quick steps toward me. For the second time in only a minute, I found myself in a tight embrace. Only this time the hugger buried her face in my neck and sobbed.

            “Ssshh,”  I soothed as I stroked her hair.

            “My Pal, Pal is gone,” she croaked when she calmed a bit. “The only person I truly ever loved.”

            “Was she your best friend, Honey?”

            “Yes. Not only that, she’s my sister… Was my sister.”

            Saying ‘was my sister’ brought on another round of hard sobs into my neck. I could feel the wetness on my skin, but I didn’t care whether it was tears, slobber, or even snot. Apparently, she became aware of the moisture she was expelling onto me as well. She quickly separated from me and grabbed at a tissue box on the nightstand.

            “I’m so sorry,” she said, and with trembling fingers she pressed the Kleenex to my neck and shoulder.

            I put my hand gently over hers. “It’s okay, Honey. Why don’t you sit down.”

            “I don’t know what to do,” Inga croaked as she plopped hard onto the bed.

            “I didn’t know you had a sister,” I told my friend of only about two weeks as I crouched in front of her. “We could have put her up as well.”

            “I didn’t know she was in town,” Inga replied as if guilty of something.

            “Where did you think she was?”

            “In Nevada, probably Las Vegas.”

            “Can I ask why you weren’t with her?”

            “Because she was employed by the oldest profession, and I’d rather be homeless than do that, or even be supported by that.”

            “Why are you homeless, Honey? Where did you grow up?”

            Her grief turned to a look of alarm, but then she calmly said, “I better go talk to Triple Lou. I do not want to go over my life twice.”

            “I’m sorry, Honey, I shouldn’t pry.”

            She fiddled nervously with her fingers as new tears leaked from her eyes. With quivering lips, she said, “I’m so sorry, Zella.”

            “Honey, for what?” I replied, incredulous. “You just found out that your sister was… You know… So why would you need to apologize?”

            “Because you took a chance on a homeless woman, and what do I do? I bring this… This trouble to your home.”

            “It’s not your fault.”

            “Does God hate me?” she squeaked.

            “Oh Honey, no!” I told her as I sat on the bed next to her, putting my arm around her. She leaned her head into the crook of my neck. I almost asked why she would say that. But obviously she had just found out that her sister had been murdered. I prayed silently. “Lord, what do I say?”

            “Honey,” I began. “It seems to me God put you in our path for such a time as this. You might have been killed with her. You weren’t. Not only that, you have us to help you get through this crisis.”

            “You mean you’re not gonna kick me out?”

            “Oh course not! Why would you think that?”

            “Well, Triple Lou is gonna want to know where we came from. Once you hear… I don’t know… I won’t hold it against you if you decide differently.”

            I opened my mouth to protest. But then I closed it. Although I didn’t believe the worst about Inga, did I really know her? Yet I trusted the Holy Spirit when He urged us to take her in. However, when I opened my mouth a second time, I said, “Do you feel up to talking to the Lieutenant now?”

            “I guess so,” she replied, but eyed me curiously. “Do you see him more as Lieutenant Louis Lewis or Cousin Louis Lewis?”

            “Right now as Lieutenant.”

            “Because of my sister?”

            “No, because I’m mostly estranged from my family.”

            “May I ask why?”

            “First because I got involved with racy things.”

            “You mean by marrying Seven?”

            “No, not race as in ethnic background, but racy as in lewd. I was a nude model.”

            “So you did porn?”

            “No, it was, um, erotica.”

            “What’s the difference?”

            “I didn’t have sex on film. Well, very minimal anyway.”

            “What do you mean by minimal?”

            “Honey, this doesn’t seem to be a good time for this discussion.”

            “You’re right, I know. I guess I’m both stalling and trying to understand how much I can trust Triple Lou.”

            “With this, I’d say you can trust him.”

            “Just not with the Sabbath inquisition.”

            “Yeah,” I smiled sadly. “It is weird that my family has shown more hostility at me not following the mainstream on the Sunday laws than they were for me being a centerfold. I thought when I repented, reformed, and accepted Christ and Christianity it would put me back in good graces with them. But apparently it wasn’t the right kind of Christianity. So instead the wedge in our relationships became deeper and, well, more wedged.”

            I stood and offered my hand to Inga. She sighed, stood, and put a limp hand in mine. “My head is swirling with so many things, Zella. Mostly grief and fear.”

            “I know, Honey. But trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” (Proverbs 3:5)

            “I will,” she said as her grip on my hand tightened. She eyed me earnestly for a few seconds. “Because the Lord put you and Seven in my life for such a time as this, right?”

            “Right, Sweety.”

            Inga and I walked hand in hand toward Lieutenant Louis Lewis and sat at the kitchen table with him. The first thing he said to Inga was, “I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Likas.”

            “Thank you,” she replied meekly.

            With an odd mixture of stern and gentle, he asked, “Do you have any idea who might have killed your sister?”

            Inga took a deep breath. “My best guess would be my former fiancée.”

            I felt myself tense. Inga had a former fiancée?

            “And do you have any idea why this former fiancée would want your sister, and maybe even you, dead?”

            “He was a wealthy and polygamous cult leader. When I turned sixteen he chose me to be his seventh wife. My sister helped me escape.”

            “You’re now, what? Twenty four?”

            “Yes.”

            “So that was eight years ago. What makes you think he would still be after you all these years later?”

            “I have my reasons. But the short answer is, he’s demonic and vindictive. He also thinks I have supernatural powers he can somehow harness.”

            “Do you think you have supernatural powers?” Triple Lou asked with an arched eyebrow.

            Inga just shrugged. I was puzzled by this response.  Triple Lou frowned and seemed to peer into her unique arctic blue eyes. Then knowing Seven and I didn’t flow with the mainstream, he glanced dubiously at my husband and then me. My cousin Lou and I got along great as children. What happened that as adults we seemed to regard each other with suspicion and disapproval?

BLACK SABBATH – CHAPTER 4

Posted on by Johnathan Embers

BLACK SABBATH

CHAPTER 4

SEVEN SALLIE

WHEREAS YOU DO NOT KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN TOMORROW. FOR WHAT IS YOUR LIFE? IT IS EVEN A VAPOR THAT APPEARS FOR A LITTLE TIME AND THEN VANISHES AWAY (James 4:14)

            A knock at my front door revealed Lieutenant Louis Lewis standing on my stoop. It had been a couple weeks since he and FBI Agent Nora Medora had stopped by to threaten me. Oh, they called it a warning, but I clearly saw restrained hostility in their demeanors.

            “Good afternoon, Lieutenant,” I greeted, I hoped cheerfully. I could feel my blood pressure spike a bit. There is no fear in love, I reminded myself (1 John 4:18). Followed by love your enemies (Matthew 5:44).

            “Afternoon,” he responded, eyeing me cooly.

            No fear in love, love your enemies, my mind repeated. “I’d like to say to what do I owe the pleasure, but I can’t help wondering what I said on podcast that made you show up. I’ve tried to be, shall I say, cautious, since you and Nora were kind enough to warn me.”

            What I didn’t acknowledge to the police officer was that I was choosing my battles wisely. And hopefully it was not as a wise guy, which was my sinful tendency. I needed to seek the Holy Spirit’s guidance with timing in what to say and do. I needed to follow the example of Jesus when He said things like, ‘Tell no one,’ and ‘My time is not yet.’

            “This has nothing to do with your podcast, Sallie,” Triple Lou said. “I need to ask you a few questions about Inga Likas. Also known as Inga Cognito.”

            “Did she get into some trouble?”

            “Yeah, I’d say she did.” He sighed and ran a hand over his face. Then his tired looking dark brown eyes met mine. “I’m afraid she’s been murdered.”

            “What!”

            “I’m sorry. There was no easy way to break it to you.”

            “That can’t be!”

            “I’m afraid it is. Her body was found down by the river in a patch of woods off of first street. Now I know she had been staying with you, so there are a couple things I need to know.”

            “You don’t understand, she…”

            “Once again,” he interrupted. “I’m sorry to break it to you like this, but…”

            “Lieutenant,” I interrupted. “You…”

            “Maybe we should sit,” he interrupted. “How about at the kitchen table?”

            “Yeah, that would be fine,” I said and then sighed. “Can I get you something to drink? Relaxed Mind tea? Sparkling water?”

            “No thanks. Now, Mr. Sallie, when was the last time you saw her?”

            “Please, call me Seven.”

            “Now, Mr. Sallie, when was the last time you saw her?”

            “About fifteen minutes ago.”

            “Fifteen minutes ago? That’s not possible.”

            Inga walked up to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “Do you have any leads on who killed me?”

            Triple Lou stared at Inga in astonishment. It was as if he had lived two thousand years ago and witnessed Jesus raise Lazarus from the dead.

            “It.. It’s you,” Lieutenant Louis Lewis stammered.

            “It’s me,” Inga said with a shrug. She was amazingly calm for having just found out that she had been murdered. Yet I noticed her fingers were trembling slightly. Then her lower lip developed a bit of a quiver as she asked, “So what makes you think I’ve been murdered?”

            “I swear, I thought for sure it was you,” Triple Lou said mildly, still looking at Inga in disbelief. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

            Now I noticed Inga’s eyes were becoming watery, so I spoke up. “Lieutenant, can you tell us why you thought Inga had been murdered?”

            “I saw her for myself,” he replied, as he turned his gaze onto me.

            “What did you see?” I asked.

            He looked back to Inga. “I don’t know if you want to hear this.”

            “Give it to me straight, Triple Lou,” Inga said flatly.

            Now I am obnoxious by nature. But by the grace of God, I no longer purposely try to get a rise out of people since giving my life to Christ. The old me would have smiled at Inga’s disrespectful tone. But the new creature inside my flesh cringed at the use of the flippant name she used for the gruff police officer. Yet it seemed to roll off his shoulders as if she had called him sir, officer, or lieutenant.

            “Well, for one thing, it looked like your hair,” he told us. “But I see you got it cut.”

            Inga’s dread locks were gone, and her dark brown hair was cut into a pixie style.

            Being rather dense I said, “Didn’t you recognize the face?”

            “It was beaten beyond recognition.”

            “What else?” Inga asked stoically.

            “Carved in her flesh, on her torse to be exact, were the words, ‘Inga Cognito is a fake.’ Also on her person was a Nevada ID that called her Inga Marie Likas… So I hope you can see why I was confident that the… Why I thought it was you.”

            “Did she have any tattoos?” Inga asked hesitantly.

            “Why yes, she did. On the back side of her wrist. A banner that said love conquers all, surrounded by flowers and…”

            “1 Corinthians 13:4-8 under the flowers,” Inga interrupted.

            “Yes,” Triple Lou said solemnly and then paused. “Who is she, Inga?”

            But instead of replying, Inga’s chin began to quiver, and tears seemed to pop out of her eye socks. She coughed out a sob, covered her mouth with her hand and ran to the bedroom.

            “Must be a relative of hers,” the Lieutenant said quietly.

            I shook off the shock I felt and said, “I better go comfort her… Or something.”

            I got up slowly from the table. Although my heart broke for Inga, I selfishly longed for my wife. I mumbled, “Zella, you should have been home a half hour ago, where are you?”

            Low and behold the front door popped open and my beautiful wife stepped into our home. I stepped quickly to her, and we embraced. Having noticed the Lieutenant’s car in the driveway, she whispered into my ear, “Are you in trouble again?”

            I explained the reason for Triple Lou’s presence. My wife is mentally tough because she is spiritually grounded in the love of Christ. She pushed away from me and briskly walked toward Inga. I slowly walked back to the table, sat, and then sighed as I eased into a chair.

            Triple Lou and I sat in silence for a couple minutes. Then I said, “Maybe you could come back later, or we could come down to the station later.”

            “I really need to talk to her as soon as possible. If we don’t catch the perpetrator within the first forty eight hours, the odds of ever finding him drop dramatically.”

            “So you think it’s a him?”

            “In most cases of a brutal murder it’s a him,” he told me sternly. “But to be fair how about I change it to ‘them.’”

            “Them? So you think it’s more than one person?”

            “Sallie, why do you always have to be so difficult?”

            “I don’t mean to be, Sir. I just like to explore every detail of a subject.”

            “Ya know, even when you’re being respectful, I somehow feel that you’re mocking.”

            “I’m sorry you feel that way. On the other hand, we live in a dog eat dog world. Your paranoia could be looked at as just being cautious.”

            “I’m not paranoid,” he said testily. Then he forced a smile and said with eerie calmness, “I’m not paranoid.”

            He glanced at the door that concealed Inga and my wife. Then his eyes shifted to me. Then he looked back at the door. Then he looked back at me. Then he muttered to himself, “Oh nuts.”

            “So Lieutenant, do you have time to investigate a murder while at the same time enforcing Sunday laws?”

            His eyes narrowed with distaste, and I put up my hands in a surrender gesture. “I’m sorry how that came across. When I’m under stress, it gets hard to control my natural bent for flippancy.”

            “Be careful Sallie, you do realize you’re a suspect?”

            “What! Surly you don’t think I killed… Whoever it is that was killed?”

            He sighed. “At this point everybody is a suspect. But no, I don’t think you did it.”

            “Well, good.”

            “Yet,” he added cooly.

            After a minute of awkward silence, Triple Lou said without looking at me, “I am off of overseeing Sunday ordinances though.”

            “Yeah? How come?”

            “Conflict of interest.”

            “May I ask what the conflict of interest is?”

            “You may,” he replied but then remained silent.

            “Well?”

            “I just said you could ask, I didn’t say I would answer.”

            Despite the violent death of somebody seemingly related to Inga somehow, I laughed. “It sure can be hard to like somebody that’s flippant.”

            “Tell me about it,” he said.

            “Well, I wanted to understand your conflict of interest, and I found it annoying when you responded with flippancy instead.”

            He still eyed me with narrow eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “’Tell me about it’ was a figure of speech, not a request. You’re something else, Sallie.”

            “That’s what my wife always tells me.”

            “I bet she does,” he said, sighed and rose from the table. He began to slowly do laps around the kitchen table. “I’ve been studying out this Sabbath issue with my Bible and concordance. Now I was believer that we kept Sunday in honor of the resurrection. But then I discovered in the book of Acts, in particular chapters thirteen and seventeen, that they kept the Sabbath. Jesus had been long risen from the dead by then.

            “Then I looked up Constantine and how he mandated on March 7, AD 321, dies solis meaning ‘The Day of the Sun’ in latin, making Sunday the official day of rest.”

            “Lieutenant, that’s awesome!”

            “Yeah, well, truth is truth. I also got to thinking about the first scripture I read on the Sabbath. Genesis 2:3 says God sanctified it. I couldn’t find anywhere in scripture where God sanctified or made holy, the first day of the week.”

            “That’s because He didn’t.”

            “Right,” he replied as if he didn’t want to admit it. But then he acknowledged, “So, I told the Captain I didn’t want to oversee the Sunday laws anymore.”

            “How’d that go over?”

            “Okay, but now he regards me with suspicion.”

            “Ya mean he didn’t before?”

            “Sallie, do you always have to…” He grinned, shook his head and said, “No, he didn’t.”

            The bedroom door opened, and Inga and Zella came out walking hand in hand. Inga’s arctic blue eyes were red rimmed as she said in a childlike voice, “I’m ready to talk, Lieutenant. I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I want you to find who did this.”

            “Okay,” Triple Lou said with surprising gentleness. “Let’s start with this. Do you know who she is?”

            “Her name is Paloma, she’s my sister.”

BLACK SABBATH – CHAPTER 3

Posted on by Johnathan Embers

BLACK SABBATH

CHAPTER 3

LIEUTENANT LOUIS LEWIS

JESUS SAID, “I AM THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE. NO ONE COMES TO THE FATHER EXCEPT THROUGH ME.” (John 14:6)

            “Hey look, it’s Steve Harvey and Selena Gomez,” the feral looking woman sitting at the Sallie’s kitchen table said as FBI agent Nora Medora and I stepped into their home. Seven had invited us in after we told him we had just come to talk, and not to arrest him.

            I recognized the woman immediately. I had seen her singing on the downtown streets several times. I knew she was homeless, so what was she doing in the Sallie’s home? How did they know her? She had a beautiful voice; I’ll give her that. The songs emanating from her gifted vocal cords were usually hymns as well.

            Considering myself a devout Christian, I really wanted to throw the book at her when she was brought in for shoplifting the other day. I couldn’t stand hypocrites; they gave Christianity a bad name. I just didn’t realize back then that I was one myself. Who knows, maybe I still am. For the heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked, who can know it? (Jeremiah 17:9)

            Rather than become angry at what might have been considered a slight, Agent Medora and I glanced at each other with arched eyebrows. I’m sure we were both thinking, ‘yeah, she kinda does, yeah he kinda does.’ However, Nora Medora’s black hair was short, and she was very fit and muscular, sort of like a female bodybuilder. As a result I tended to suck in my stomach while around her, which became quite tiring.

            Seven’s wife Zella was my cousin, but we were estranged. First when she shamed the family by becoming an erotic model, and second when she started practicing as a so called psychic. Third, ironically, because of a religious conversion. Yet we thought her style of Christianity was odd, fanatical, and it flowed the opposite way of the mainstream.

            But eventually I would experience the biggest paradox of my life. I was put in charge of enforcing Sunday laws. And considering myself a devout Christian I went about it with great zeal. I saw Seven Sallie as my main adversary, because he was foremost, via his podcast, at encouraging people to disobey the particular laws I was in charge of.

            However, it was through attempting to keep him in line, and hopefully finding a reason to arrest him, that I began to discover what the Bible actually taught. I came to realize that as a Christian zealot and law officer, who was enforcing moral legislation, I was behaving contrary to The Word of God.

            “We’ll give you some privacy,” my cousin offered.

            “No need,” Agent Medora declared. “It would do well for you two to hear what we have to say. After all, Mr. Sallie has spread his poison very publicly.”

            “Poison?” Seven inquired calmly with an arched eyebrow. “Teaching history is spreading poison?”

            “Today you all but called, arguably, the most revered spiritual leader in the world the beast of Revelation,” Agent Medora continued.

            “I did no such thing,” Seven defended. “I simply spoke about the dark ages. I said that the persecuting power that put millions to death over more than a thousand years would receive a deadly wound and that deadly wound would be healed. And all the world marveled and followed the beast.” (Revelation 13:3)

            Agent Medora folded her arms abruptly. “You also said that this figure received the deadly wound by Napoleon through his General Berthier. So it was pretty easy to figure out who you were talking about through the internet. My point is, you can’t blame who currently holds that position for those who held it hundreds of years ago.”

            “I’m not. But I am warning that persecution will happen again. You can’t make worship mandatory. And the Bible predicts it will happen again before the end of time. The only thing we don’t know is exactly when and how long.”

            “Nobody in our state is making worship mandatory,” I barked. “The Sunday ordinances are so workers can be guaranteed time with their families. Also a day to give the planet a rest from pollution.”

            Agent Medora looked at me with a contrite expression. Then she said, “To be fair, there is talk on the federal level of mandatory worship. That’s why I was sent to work with you on the Seven Sallie file in particular. He is the foremost voice protesting our government.”

            “Ooooh, I have a file,” Seven said. “Ya know, Nora, I happen to know one of the reasons you and Brock broke up was due to his Christian conversion. Did that change?”

            “It did not,” she replied defiantly. “I’m still somewhere between atheist and agnostic.”

            “So how can you be a defender of moral legislation?”

            “My job is to enforce law, not make them. Just so you know, I asked for this assignment so I could come reason with you as a friend. To keep you out of trouble.”

            “Are we friends? I hope we are, but we hardly know each other. Brock and I weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy back then.”

            She was about to say something on the side of emotional, and I could tell it was making her uncomfortable. “I almost married your cousin, and he still holds a special place in my heart.”

            Seven nodded and bit his lip. I figured he was metaphorically biting his tongue from saying, ‘You have a heart?’

            “The truth is, Sallie,” I said. “You’re just trying to regain the spotlight you lost.”

            “What would you know about truth?” the feral woman at the table spit.

            I glared at her and her name came back to me. One of the arresting officers showed me two different IDs she had on her person when they searched her. A California ID, which proved to be legitimate, had her as Inga Marie Likas. An Arizona ID, which proved to be fake, called her Inga Cognito. “What would a shoplifting liar know about truth?”

            “I know you wear a cross around your neck, yet you do the opposite of what Jesus taught.”

            “Oh, is that right? I’m doing the opposite of what Jesus taught by keeping the public safe?”

            “Safe from what?”

            “Enough!” Agent Medora ordered. “Let’s make this short and sweet. Our little visit is just a friendly warning that you are being watched. So as a friend, Seven, I’m telling you to be careful.”

            “The majority like these Sunday laws,” I added diplomatically. “The majority want these Sunday laws.”

            “When has the majority ever been right?” Zella spoke up. “The greater the number, the more certain the lie.”

            “The numerical is the most ridiculous parody of the truth,” Inga added.

            Continuing diplomacy, I calmly said, “Look, nobody is stopping you from keeping the Jewish Sabbath. But the majority of us keep Sunday, so that’s the one designated for national rest.”

            Seven grabbed a Bible from a coffee table. He opened it, flipped through pages, settled on one and handed me the open book. “Would you read Mark 2:27?”

            “And He said to them, The Sabbath was made for man and not man for the Sabbath.”

            “Did Jesus say the Sabbath was for the Jews or mankind?”

            “That’s not the point. We keep Sunday in honor of the resurrection.”

            “We get baptized in honor of the resurrection,” Seven responded. “With all due respect, Lieutenant, God wrote the ten suggestions with his own finger.”

            “You mean Ten Commandments,” I spontaneously interrupted. Then I felt my face flush at being tricked.

            “Right, my bad. Right in the middle is the Sabbath, the only one that starts with remember. Yet most of the Christianity is purposely forgetting. It’s the one commandment that recognizes God as our Creator, and as it’s worded in Deuteronomy chapter five, our Deliverer and Redeemer, if you please. In Malachi, the last book in the Old Testament, chapter three and verse six declares the Lord does not change.”

            I was speechless, I had no argument. And the reason I had no argument was it rang true. Another reason this man I used to think obnoxious, wasn’t trying to argue. He was reasoning, as with a friend.

            “Lieutenant, once again with all due respect, I suggest you get out your concordance and study the scriptures that refer to the Sabbath.”

            As Agent Medora and I rode back to the station in my unmarked police car, I called my wife. When I looked Seven in the eye as he suggested a concordance, I felt ashamed of not knowing if we had one. But in front of Agent Medora, an unbeliever, I didn’t care. “Honey, do we have a concordance?”

            “You mean a Bible concordance?” Her voice emanated from the speakers.

            “Yes.”

            “I’m sure we do, but I’ll have to look for it.”

            “Could you?”

            “Sure thing.”

            “Thanks, love you.”

            Agent Medora looked at me with curiosity. “You’re not actually gonna do what Seven told you to do?”

            “He didn’t tell me, he suggested. The way I see it, I wasn’t able to answer him back there. If enforcing Sunday laws are part of my responsibility, I need to understand the issue more than I do.”

            She gave her shoulder a half shrug as if to say whatever. Ten minutes after Agent Medora left the station, my Captain called me into his office. “Have a seat, Lou.”

            Captain Stubing was about a year from tiring and looked ready. He was fifty pounds overweight with seemingly constant circles under his hound dog eyes. He said, “Agent Medora warned me to keep an eye on you.”

            I felt my jaw tighten with anger, betrayal even. Agent Medora and I had been in communication even before Seven had been arrested the other day. A few hours ago, she and I had listened to Seven’s podcast together in my office. Although in different branches of law enforcement, she gave me the impression that we were not only colleagues, but teammates. “I see.”

            “I think she wanted me to keep it to myself, Lou. But you and I have been friends a long time, and I’m not gonna let no uppity Fed come between us. So she says as a long time investigator, her gut tells her that this Seven Sallie character is influencing you. Says you’re gonna read material he told you about.”

            “All that happened, Cap, was he suggested I get a Bible concordance and study this Sabbath issue out for myself. As much as I dislike the man, he’s right. If part of my responsibilities are Sunday laws, I need to understand every angle.”

            “Good thinking, Lou, I couldn’t agree more. I knew I had nothing to worry about, but communication is key to a tight ship.”

            “Thank you, Sir.”

            Before she left, Agent Medora had given me a firm handshake and a warm smile. This only minutes after telling my immediate superior to keep an eye on me. It made me recall one brief element of Seven’s podcast that really resonated with me. It kept echoing in my mind, especially after Agent Medora tried to throw me under the bus.

            I know I’m comparing apples with oranges with what Agent Medora did. But this is what he said, “It is so heartbreaking that Christ, the teacher of love, who is not only loving but Is Love. That He should be betrayed with a kiss. Such is the nature of sin.”

BLACK SABBATH – CHAPTER 2

Posted on by Johnathan Embers

BLACK SABBATH

CHAPTER 2

ZELLA LaSTELLA-SALLIE

HERE IS THE PATIENCE OF THE SAINTS; HERE ARE THOSE WHO KEEP THE COMMANDMENTS OF GOD AND THE FAITH OF JESUS (Revelation 14:12)

            I laid in bed thinking about Inga for a long time before I fell asleep. By all appearances she was world hardened and tough. Yet as she climbed into the bed I had prepared for her, her demeanor became meek and childlike. Her large, lovely eyes that gazed up at me were arctic blue, like the sky at the North Pole on a sunny day. That color only made the brown circles underneath them stand out all the more.

            In my mind I kept hearing her tell me the bed was the most comfortable thing after four years in her sleeping roll. I was delighted to be bringing her such joy, yet my heart also ached for what her life must have been like. I prayed earnestly for wisdom in dealing with the broken young woman on the other side of the bedroom wall.

            Another element that brought mixed emotions was food. I smiled at the remembrance of her shoveling in the lasagna last evening and stuffing bite after bite of garlic bread into her mouth. It was as if it were the last decent meal she would ever have. And in her mind it very well could have been.

            She slept for more than eleven hours, and I wasn’t surprised. I had been listening to my husband’s daily podcast when just before ten in the morning I heard a low strum coming from my son’s guitar. I walked to the bedroom door and heard Inga quietly singing ‘Amazing Grace.’ My jaw dropped. She had the voice of an angel! I couldn’t help knocking on her door.

            It went completely quiet, and I couldn’t help giggling. Seven loved watching ‘Andy Griffith Show’ reruns and this moment reminded me of the first episode featuring the hillbilly family ‘The Darlings.’ The family played old time country music. When the father checked into the local hotel, he registered as the only occupant. But then the clerk heard the sound of several instruments. When he and Sherrif Taylor knocked on the door, the music stopped except for the hoots coming from Briscoe Darling’s jug.

            That scene is what made me giggle. When there was a prolonged silence, I imagined a jug beginning to hoot. I knocked again and then I could hear Inga pad to the door. She opened it about six inches, and those arctic blue eyes peered out at me. She meekly said, “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

            “No, no, Sweety,” I smiled. “I just heard you playing guitar and singing, and came to say good morning.”

            “Oh, good morning,” she replied cheerfully.

            “You sing beautifully.”

            She shrugged modestly but then added truthfully. “Yeah, thankfully my voice has filled my cup with change many, many times.”

            I knew she referred to singing on the streets with a tip jar. I also recalled her reason for shop lifting; she hadn’t eaten in two days.

            “Are you hungry, do you want some breakfast?”

            “I’m starving,” she declared happily. “I’d love some.”

            I couldn’t help laughing as I recalled how much she ate last night. “How did you sleep?”

            “Wonderful! Thank you for letting me stay here last night.”

            I read between the lines. “You know, like we said told you yesterday, you’re welcome here until you get on your feet.”

            Given what she had told us yesterday, I made sure not to say back on your feet. She looked at me with a baffled expression. “I don’t even know how to go about that.”

            “We’ll help you figure it out.”

            Her countenance became anxious, and this triggered anxiety in me. I bit my lip and offered up a silent prayer. Then cautiously I tried, “Honey, can I ask how you ended up homeless?”

            She looked away from me as if ashamed. “It’s complicated, and a long story.”

            “That’s okay. I’ve got time.”

            “No, it’s not okay,” she spit, turning her eyes back to me with fire in them. Then as fast as the blaze in her gaze came up, it faded away and her countenance softened. “I’m sorry, it’s just… Let’s just say I grew up under bizarre circumstances. I don’t think I can fit into the real world.”

            “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

            She looked at me curiously. “You mean how you and Seven don’t really fit into the real world either?”

            I tilted my head with a curious expression. “What do you mean?”

            “I mean touting Saturday as the sabbath when most of the Christian world is all gung ho over those Sunday laws. Seven was even arrested over the issue. Plus you invited a homeless girl into your home while a large portion of the religious world just don’t want us uglifying their streets. I fear for you guys.”

            “You fear for us?” Said the homeless girl? I frowned.

            “Yeah, I mean, when God became a human being, the powers that be put him to death for rebelling against the religious, political agenda. Now with Sunday laws, we have religion mixing with politics. I see Christ’s Sermon on the Mount as not just a way to live and think, but also a political statement. You know, like, these are the rules in God’s kingdom vs. the rules of earthly kingdoms. Jesus’s own followers wanted Him to be an earthly king, but He said, My kingdom is not of this world.”

            My mouth was agape as I stared at Inga. This young woman was bright! Why did she feel she couldn’t get a job and a more substantial place to live than a tent? She giggled at my astonished expression. “I may be homeless, but I’m not necessarily an idiot.”

            “No, I should say not.”

            “On the other hand, I don’t understand why it’s that big of a deal for you guys. I mean, isn’t shutting down one day of the week good for the environment? And also ensuring workers time with their families?”

            “That’s all well and good, but where the problems come in is with its progression. I assume you didn’t listen to the podcast that got Seven in trouble?”

            “No, I didn’t.”

            “He didn’t necessarily get in trouble for teaching the Biblical Sabbath. He got in trouble for pushing back on the talk of mandatory worship on Sunday. When he called it the mark of the beast, the powers that be called it hate speech.”

            “I thought the mark of the beast was a computer chip in your hand and even your forehead.”

            “A computer chip might play a role when it comes to the aspect of buying and selling. But the main characteristic of the mark of the beast has to do with worship. The mark in your hand represents what you do, and the forehead is in what you think. The test is over the ten commandments. A key verse is in Revelation 14:12. And the key commandment that is being disputed is the fourth, right in the middle of the Decalogue.”

            “What’s the Decalogue?”

            “It’s another word for the Ten Commandments.”

            “Weird. So you’re saying this whole issue with Sunday ordinances is the mark of the beast?”

            “Not just yet. That’s why Seven has been issuing warnings on his podcast. The business closures, limited travel, and suggestions of going to worship services was just the start. But now there are more and more calls by political and religious leaders to make Sunday worship mandatory. Capitulating to this is the mark of the beast in the fullest sense.”

            “What do you mean by ‘capitulating?’”

            “You know, giving in, surrendering to the demands. There are already several states on the verge of making, so called, worship of your choice mandatory, for the good of society, they say.”

            “Did this all start back when several states started putting the Ten Commandments back in schools?”

            “Good question! That did play a subtle roll in my opinion.”

            “I still don’t get it. The majority of Christians view Sunday as the Sabbath. How could so many be wrong?”

            “Biblically speaking, when has the majority ever been right? Were they right in Noah’s day? Were they right when Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego refused to fall down and worship Nebuchadnezzar’s golden image? Were they right at Christ’s first advent, when there was no room at the in, and Jesus was born in a stable? Were they right when He was crucified?”

            “I see,” she said thoughtfully as she pondered these things.

            “Sunday posing as the sabbath really took off in the fourth century when Constantine made Christianity a legal religion. This church and state combination brought a lot of paganism into the church. Hence, the ‘Venerable Day of the Sun’ became prominent as the Christian sabbath. Just google venerable day of the sun or look up Sabbath truth. com.”

            I heard Inga’s stomach growl and recalled her say she was starving. She blushed because it was rather noticeable. “Oh, Honey, I’m sorry. Let’s get you some breakfast.”

            “No worries,” she said with a meek smile. “I’m used to being hungry.”

            As we made our way to the kitchen, I felt a lump in my throat, once again, at how her life must have been. As I made pancakes, I tried to extract some details about her life, but she did a masterful job of side stepping the questions with vague answers.

            When I put a tall pile of flapjacks onto the table, Seven emerged from the basement. He had a studio down there where he broadcasted his daily podcast. He declared, “Something smells good. Oh wow, pancakes for lunch?” “

            “It’s called brunch if it’s before eleven,” I said before giving him a quick kiss.

            “Suit yourself. But if it’s before eleven, but you get up before five, I call it lunch. So did you listen to my podcast?”

            “I started to,” I told him. “But then Inga and I got to talking.”

            He winced. “I think I might have pushed things with the thought police.”

            A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. As Seven aimed a fork full of pancake toward his mouth, he said, “I’ll get it.”

            I chuckled. “I’ll get it.”

            My heart skipped a beat, and my smile fell when I saw the two people standing on our stoop. One was Lieutenant Louis Lewis, and the other was Seven’s cousin Brock’s ex-girlfriend, FBI agent Nora Medora. Her face was blank, but her dark eyes cold. Triple Lou wore a stern expression as he said, “May we speak with Seven Sallie, please?”

BLACK SABBATH – CHAPTER 1

Posted on by Johnathan Embers

BLACK SABBATH

CHAPTER 1

SEVEN SALLIE

NOW THE LORD IS THE SPIRIT; AND WHERE THE SPIRIT OF THE LORD IS, THERE IS LIBERTY (2 Corinthians 3:17)

            As I exited the courtroom, a young lady that had been ahead of me for shoplifting stepped up next to me. She said, “I’m surprised they let you go.”

            She appeared to be in her thirties. I’m not good at guessing ages, but my wife is. Her shoulder length dark brown hair was dread locked and grungy looking. Her jeans were dirty, her black converse sneakers had seen better days, and her faded flannel shirt was frayed at the cuffs. My first impression was homeless, and I wasn’t wrong.

            “Why do say that?” I asked cheerily with an arched eyebrow.

            “Triple Lou brought you in himself,” she said as if this delighted her.

            “Triple Lou?” I inquired, arching my eyebrow a little higher.

            “You know, Lieutenant Louis Lewis,” she said, separating lieutenant and making it sound like two separate words. Lou tenant. “So what did you do? The plaintiff wouldn’t let me stay in the courtroom to hear you go before the judge.”

            “The official charge was inciting civil disobedience.”

            “Wow!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening. They were the brightest blue I had ever seen in a pair of peepers. I even wondered if she wore colored contacts. “What kind?”

            “On my podcast I encouraged people to keep the Biblical Sabbath. The Sunday ordinance will lead to mandatory worship and that would be unconstitutional.”

            “That’s pretty lame,” she said dejectedly.

            “Yeah, thankfully the judge thought it was a pretty lame charge as well.”

            “No, what I meant by lame, was when you said civil disobedience, I assumed you organized a riot or something.”

            “Sorry to disappoint you.”

            She eyed me thoughtfully, putting a finger on her chin. Then her eyes widened again. “Hey, didn’t you used to be Seven Sallie?”

            “Actually I still am.”

            “No you’re not.”

            “What do you mean ‘no I’m not?’”

            “I mean you used to be crazy popular. Somewhere between Rush Limbaugh and Bill Maher. Then you just suddenly fell off the map. What’d you do, have a sex scandal or something? Or are you some kind of pervert?”

            I liked this girl; she was spunky. However, my hands did feel the slight urge to go around her neck. “My name is still Seven Sallie, regardless of a drop in popularity. What’s your name?”

            “Inga,” she replied.

            “Inga what?”

            “Cognito.”

            I smiled. “Your name is Inga Cognito?”

            “Your name is really Seven?”

            “It’s my actual middle name,” I told her, pulling out my driver’s license and handing it to her. Her eyebrows arched in surprise. I suppose because I trusted her enough to hand over my personal ID.

            “Sebastion is your first name?” she asked with a look on her face as if she bit into something sour.

            “It is.”

            “No wonder you go by Seven. Why is your middle name Seven?”

            “I was the seventh of seven kids. My twin brother’s middle name is Six.”

            “So are your other sibling’s middle names one, two, three, four, and five?”

            “No,” I replied. “So what is your real name?”

            She handed me back my license and pulled a book bag off her shoulders. She dug into it and pulled out an ID. It wasn’t a driver’s license; just an official state issued ID from California. If it wasn’t a fake, she was only twenty four. What kind of life had she lived that she looked like she could be in her thirties? My hands no longer wanted to go around her skinny neck. I felt more inclined hug to her.

            “Inga Marie Likus,” I said.

            “That’s my name, don’t wear it out,” she said casually. “So you didn’t tell me. How did you fall off the map from your popular radio show?”

            “I simply changed my main broadcast topic from politics to teaching the Bible and religious history. Most of my sponsors let me go, so I was forced to start my own podcast, losing most of my listeners in the process.”

            “So it was becoming a Christian, rather than being a perv?”

            “Sorry to disappoint you.”

            “I’m not disappointed at all,” she said, and pulled a pocket size Bible from her flannel shirt. “I’m a believer too.”

            “That’s good!” I told her. I paused, and very gently asked, “So why did you shop lift then?”

            She looked me square in the eyes. “Because I hadn’t eaten in two days.”

            Although it was she that broke the eighth commandment, it was me that felt a sense of shame. Meekly, I replied, “I see.”

            I looked at my shoes in the bustling courthouse hall. I was relieved when my wife stepped to my side. “Inga, this is my wife, Zella. Zella, Inga Cognito.”

            “Inga Cognito?” My wife frowned.

            “Oh, he’s crazy. My name is Inga Likus.”

            My wife looked rather puzzled about me conversing with this wild looking young lady. But then she smiled warmly at her when Inga declared, “Wow, what are you an African princess?”

            “No, I’m afraid not.”

            “You look like Karrueche Tran.”

            “I assume that’s a complement, so thank you.”

            “It is, she’s lovely. So what are you doing with this very pale radio has been?”

            The urge to put my hands around her neck was returning.

            “I don’t know,” Zella said, looking at me with a frown. Then she grinned and winked.

            “Inga here is shop lifter,” I said, then instantly regretted it. “Sorry, that was low.”

            Inga simply shrugged. “Only when I’m hungry or otherwise need something to survive.”

            “Where do you live?” Zella asked.

            “In a tent, if it’s still where I left it.”

            “Hey,” Zella said, her face lighting up. “Our son is up in Minnesota for the summer at his grandparents farm. You could stay in his room for a while to get back on your feet.”

            I looked at my wife, stunned. Then realized I was shaking my head. I turned my gaze onto Inga, and she was looking at me with a sad countenance. “That’s okay, I’ve never had solid footing to get my feet back onto.”

            Jesus’s words flashed through my mind. “Whatever you have done to one of the least of these My brothers and sisters, you’ve done for me.” (Matthew 25:40, 45)

            “Zella is right,” I told Inga. “Please come and stay with us, and we’ll help you get your feet on solid ground.”

            “Why would you invite me into your home?” she asked meekly. “One of the only things you know about me is that I’m a thief.”

            I felt my toes curl. Was this a warning? Oh well, anything she might steal from us was replaceable. But the Holy Spirit, also known as The Comforter, comforted me by giving me these words. “Another thing I know about you is you carry a pocket size New Testament with you.”

            Zella happily took hold of one of Inga’s hands. Inga pulled back, a little startled. But then she let my lovely wife hold her hand. “Inga, come have supper with us. I made a lasagna and there’s plenty. Then take a long shower while I prepare your bed for you.”

            Inga had a look of awe and gratitude on her face, like we were offering a great gift. It occurred to me how often we take for granted everyday blessings. She croaked, “Okay, thank you.”

            Over dinner, Inga was reluctant to say much about herself. When I asked how she ended up in Iowa, clear from the west coast, all she said was a girl she knew was coming here and that there were more jobs to be had than in California. Inga had now been in Iowa six weeks and had not found a job. She shrugged and said, “Kind of hard when you have no address to put down on an application.”

            Inga certainly took Zella up on a long shower. I heard the water running for almost a half an hour. I think the only reason she stopped was she ran out of hot water. When she was done, Zella helped her get settled in the bedroom. I’m ashamed to say, I stood outside the closed door and eavesdropped.

            “Oooooh, this is so comfortable.” I heard Inga purr.

            “I’m glad you like it,” Zella enthused.

            “I love it! Thank you so much!”

            “You’re very welcome.”

            “I haven’t slept in something softer than my sleeping bag in four years.”

            My mind’s eye saw the tattered sleeping bag as she carried it into our house.

            “I’m so glad you like it, goodnight.”

            I heard the door handle jiggle and quickly tiptoed the short distance to our living room. I sat down on the couch and picked up a book. Zella walked briskly toward me with what appeared to be a stern expression. My first thought was that she was gonna scold me for eavesdropping. But how could she know?

            Instead, my wife sat down hard next to me on the sofa, grabbed a decorative pillow, pressed it to her face and sobbed.