“Are you claimed?” the sonorous voice inquired, seeming to appear from thin air. She twitched, dropped her rake, and clutched her hands to her breast. “Holy crap on a cracker, you startled me,” she grumbled, glistening in the unexpected October warmth. She had been hunched over a pile of crunchy sycamore leaves, reaching down to pluck remnants from her rake, her back a bit sore. The subdivision was rife with pumpkins, hay bales, scarecrows, and assorted inflatable ghouls collapsed in yards waiting to be animated at dark. The Great Halloween Heatwave the evening news had dubbed it. She had found herself humming a once popular folk tune as the sun caressed her once lovely face, now faded yet still pleasant, the result of a life well lived. But now the tune had vanished, her nerves on edge. The man seemed uncomfortably close.
“Are you claimed?” he repeated.
“Pardon me?” she asked as her eyes adjusted to a striking young man in a mostly unbuttoned pure white Guayabera, his hair pulled back in a tight bun, his face stubbly but not bearded. She studied him for a moment. He clasped what looked like a bible to his toned chest. His smile would dazzle on a movie screen, his facial features like something an architect would design.
“If you mean baptized, yes, I am.”
“Did it take?” he moved very close. “I mean, lots of people have been baptized, claimed by a religion, but I find often they haven’t really lived up to it.”
“Young man, I’m not sure I appreciate your inference,” she scowled at him in reproach, her hand at her forehead to shield her eyes from the brilliant afternoon sun.
“No disrespect intended, ma’am. I’m Devin Masterson from New Covenant over on Canal Street,” he extended his hand.
“And you’re attempting to round up parishioners? No thank you.” They stood in awkward silence for a moment, his smile wholly winsome. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a New Covenant Church here in town before,” she pressed.
“We don’t really use the word ‘church’. I think of it as more than that. I prefer to think of it as a lifestyle, a philosophy, an…alternative. We just started up in the old Salvador’s Market building. I would really like it if you came by for a visit sometime. I think we have something more to offer than tired old sermons and obsolete prayers.”
“You are the pastor there I take it?”
“Again, I don’t really use such antiquated terms, but, yes, I am the leader, I guess. I believe you would find something exciting and new, something that will lift your spirits and carry away your troubles. Unlike at the local churches.”
“What’s wrong with the churches, may I ask?” She couldn’t believe she had taken the bait, that she was engaging this person, this handsome new-age preacher or whatever he was, in a religious discussion right here in her front yard when she had always dismissed such evangelists before, these strangers who pried into her faith, convinced theirs was somehow superior. But then, her life had changed so much lately and, if she was being honest with herself, her faith had been little comfort. She wondered if, maybe, this was a sign.
“I believe churches are outdated, trying to reach people in ways that no longer work, with words that no longer resonate, with ideas from dead generations,” his voice was melodic and powerful, somehow sexy.
“You mean the way Jesus did?” she challenged him.
“I want to reach people where they are, not from thousands of years ago. Speak to them with a message they not only understand but can embrace in today’s complicated world,” he gesticulated wildly as he spoke with passion and conviction, peeling off his dark sunglasses to reveal a pair of bright green orbs that bore through her so that she could feel their potency. “Churches are too bound to the notions of guilt and sin, that everything is evil, that the world is filled with despair. I want to spread joy and happiness, celebrate pleasure, not focus on misery. I believe I have been specifically called to this.”
“I admire your calling, I really do,” she felt drawn to him somehow. “My only daughter wants to be an actor, well, is an actor, I suppose. So, she moved to California, just like that. Says it’s the only thing she can imagine doing with her life. No matter the cost. She’s so driven, like you, so seduced by that life. When my husband died back in the spring, she came home for a couple of weeks but had to get back for an audition. ‘This could be my big break,’ she told me. ‘I have to follow my happiness,’ she says. And she was off. So, I understand your search for fulfillment, your passion.” She lowered her head as if ashamed then turned back to her rake, but he grabbed her arm.
“Look, you don’t understand. It’s more than that. I have been called,” his voice quickened with urgency. Realizing he was scaring her, he calmed himself and released her arm. “Listen, I used to live a meaningless life with no purpose, no direction. I was fired from nearly every job I had, just sitting around all day, all night, playing video games and eating Cheetos. I was a pathetic loser in every way. Then one day I was killing this game, Turbo Assassin and the game just shut down. It just quit. I was so fuc… pissed. Upset. I fiddled with the controller, the box, the cables. And suddenly, right as I was adjusting the power cord, it happened.”
“Oh my!” she gasped, “what happened?”
“I felt it. This surge of energy. This burst I can’t explain. That’s when I heard it. Not like some guy’s voice, not like James Earl Jones and ‘This is CNN’. It was unlike anything I’d ever heard or felt. It was guiding me, directing me to something, to be, I don’t know – powerful. I felt transformed! Suddenly it was all so clear. I knew I had to tell everyone, you know, spread the word. That voice brought me to you, ma’am.”
“That’s quite an amazing story, Devin. But I don’t know about…”
“Look, you’re a nice, attractive woman, but you’re clearly lonely and lost, looking for meaning in your life. Your husband is gone. Your daughter is gone. Your faith has abandoned you. My way can give you what you’re missing. I can help you find that spark, that excitement.”
She stood in her leafy yard, puzzled. Not confused so much as confounded. She dug one hand into her pants pocket and contemplated this sturdy young man who simply bubbled with enthusiasm and charisma. His spirit was aflame like no one she had ever met. She wanted that sensation, that effulgence, and grew worried.
“My, it’s hot out here today, isn’t it? I sure am thirsty,” he pulled his book to his chest and wiped his forehead, smeared with sweat, his shirt collar damp.
“Yes, yes. Well, let’s get you a glass of water. It’s the least I can do as you, um, follow your mission.”
She carried the rake and walked up a slight incline and onto her columned porch, Devin following, and leaned the implement against the house. “Allow me,” he held the door open as she entered the house, waving her hand.
“Just wait here a moment,” she said. “I don’t know that I’ve ever met anyone who’s had such a cathartic experience as yours. I must admit, it’s captivating.”
“It has changed me so completely. And I believe it can change you, if you let it.”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but I’ll be right back with your water,” she again dipped her hand into her khaki pocket, smiled, patted him on the sleeve like a mother, and moved into the foyer. As she disappeared down a hallway, he looked around and then stepped inside. He turned the lock on the door, placed his book on the entry table next to a porcelain angel, and moved into the living room, which opened up with a high, beamed ceiling and large, tall windows. He patted the blade in his front jeans pocket, quickly checked his cell phone, sliding it out then into his back pocket. He scanned the room, which was dominated by a baby grand piano and a white brick fireplace framed by a wall of bookshelves. He pressed his hands together, touching his fingertips to the bottom of his nose, rubbing his thumbs against his stubbled chin, an insurgent rush metastasizing.
She entered the room from a hallway and gasped when she realized him, almost spilling the glass of water in her hand. He stood comfortably among her belongings, his open shirt, hands on his hips, an impish smile developing.
“I…I thought you would wait on the porch,” she stammered.
“I wanted to see how you live. A person’s home reveals a great deal about them, I think.” He tilted his head a bit. “Thank you for the water,” he moved toward her. “Let’s just set it down here,” he grasped the glass and placed it on an end table. “Let’s just talk some more, get to know each other.”
“I think you’d better leave,” she tried to sound forceful but failed.
“This piano is beautiful,” he brushed his handsome fingers along the curve.
“My husband was with the symphony for thirty years.”
“I know you miss him, but life goes on, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t he want you to be happy, to enjoy yourself? I believe we were made to relish life, not simply endure it.”
She moved away from him, poking her hand into her pocket again. “Please go,” she began to grow fearful.
He advanced, hemming her between his body and the piano. “I don’t think you really want me to go. I think you find my presence here…exciting, thrilling.”
“No, you need to go,” she found her voice hidden somewhere in her being, trapped like an air bubble of courage.
“I think you really want me to stay. To keep you company. To share the secret I discovered about happiness. Others see you as a broken-down widow woman. But I see you as much more than that.” He advanced and she felt trapped physically, emotionally, verbally. Her mouth went dry and she heard herself muttering something, she did not know what.
“Let’s just sit down here on the sofa and talk,” he took her hand and tugged. “That’s right. Let’s have a chat about how I can help you stave off your loneliness, your uncertainty.” His other hand found the small of her back and directed her like a puppeteer. She moved away from the piano, a shaft of late day sun streaming across the room. She mumbled something familiar, unable to control her body. She should scream, she was aware, but she would not. She should shake him off and try to escape but could not.
They stood in the middle of the room, the sun filtering down through the windows and across their faces, hers upturned, him staring down at her, his smile vanished. He reached up and plucked a stray curl behind her ear. She winced at the thought of his next move, any woman’s greatest dread. She closed her eyes, the only way she could figure to stave him off.
Suddenly, a thud echoed from somewhere in the house. Devin’s hand fell away from her. A door opened and closed. “Nama, I’m home to rake leaves!” a voice called out. “Sorry, I’m late. Practice ran over.” A tall, lanky youth entered the living room, his hair sweeping into his eyes. He wore a tattered, sleeveless tee shirt slit down both sides as though a rag, a skull screened across the front with a tree growing out of one eye socket.
“Rex, you’re home, thank God!” she called as she moved toward his voice. She wished not to alarm her grandson saying, “This is Mr.… where’d he go?” she looked around the sundrenched room, but no trace of Devin Masterson existed.
“What are you talking about, Nama?” Rex sensed her angst. “Was someone here? Whoever it was, he left something.” He held out Devin’s book.
“Oh, no, he left his bible!” she exclaimed.
“This ain’t no bible,” Rex chuckled, thumbing through a few pages. “Nama, this is, like, devil worship stuff.”
“Oh my!” she gasped.
“What was he doing here?” Rex pressed.
“He saw me raking leaves and wanted me to come to something called the New Covenant, over on Canal Street. I thought he was evangelizing for his church. I gave him a glass of water but…”
“Not in Sal’s old market building?”
“Yes, that’s it. How did you know?”
Rex encircled her in a hug. “Let’s go to the kitchen and have some iced tea, okay?”
“I feel so stupid,” she pulled hard at composure.
“Just promise me you’ll be more careful. Don’t engage strangers like that. And please don’t let them into the house, okay?” he retrieved a pitcher from the refrigerator, poured her a glass, and patted her shoulder as he handed it to her.
She sipped her tea. “I know better. I mean, what was I thinking?” she laughed nervously.
“Hey, we both need to look out for each other. This is a crazy world filled with bad people.”
“But he was so nice and polite,” she rationalized, “and then he was so frightening.”
“Hey, are you alright? Did he hurt you?”
“No, no. I’m fine.”
“These sickos are everywhere. You have to be on constant alert, never let your guard down,” Rex cautioned.
“I don’t think I want to live in a world where I have to be afraid all the time,” she sighed.
“You don’t have to live in fear, just be a little more wary, not so trusting.” He looked into her soft, warm eyes, eyes that had once tucked him into bed, eyes that had fed him homemade oatmeal cookies, eyes that looked at him as though he was the center of the universe. Then those eyes winced, alarming him.
“What is it, Nama?”
She pulled a fisted hand from her pocket to the table and opened it. Her rosary lay in a puddle of blood, four tiny slices etched from the corners of the crucifix. “No, I need to be more trusting,” she replied.
