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Previously on Shades of Surrender

Corwin Creed dreamed of everything he had ever wanted: a packed church, thunderous applause, and a medal proclaiming him Pastor of the Year. Then a mysterious stranger appeared. A firecracker exploded and a chilling voice declared: “This is what God thinks of your reward.”

Corwin woke convinced it was only a nightmare. But all was not as he wanted it to be. He pushed the questions aside and carried on with his carefully constructed life. Yet he had no idea how close that life was to falling apart.

Chapter 2

The Gift

Greater is He that is in you, than he that is in the world
1 John 4:4

“Bacon and eggs?” Annabelle asked as Corwin appeared in the doorway. A cheerful lilt filled her voice as she gave her husband a fleeting glance. The sizzle of the bacon punctuated her words, and a savory smell filled the kitchen as she kept stirring in the frying pan. “I let you sleep in a bit, as you were up till late.” 

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Corwin replied, his tone heavy and somber as if he were reciting an eulogy. “I was praying.”

Liar! 

He hated lying. He should not do it. But he did. Often. 

“As you know,” he added, forcing a chipper tone into his voice. “I always pray in the morning.” 

Feigning nonchalance, he plucked at an imaginary hair on his shirt and adjusted his tie. The ease with which the lie emerged was disturbing. He cleared his throat and said, “Regardless, you should have called me. Don’t you remember I have the weekly board meeting?”

“I did call you,” Annabelle replied, a little surprised. “Twice, but you did not respond, so I thought you needed your sleep.”

“As I said, I was in deep meditation.”

“But I heard you scream. In your meditation? 

“You don’t believe me? I bumped my head on the bookcase.”

Annabelle just nodded. “So sorry, Corwin. But don’t worry. You’ll make it. Just sit down and let me pamper you, just a bit. I hardly ever get to see you. 

A vein throbbed in his temple and his eyes narrowed. He wasn’t in the mood to be pampered. Solitude was preferable. Rasputin… he was still there. And so was the repugnant face of Willy Menace. 

Fresh air would do more for him than breakfast.

He eyed Annabelle from the corner of his eye. She had that look… that look that told him he just needed to comply. 

“Sit, Corwin,” Annabelle stated firmly. “Surely, you have fifteen minutes,” Her eyes held a steely glint. 

Corwin sighed. She was right, of course. As always. But today it irritated him. Still, the breakfast smelled delicious and he noticed a growl in his belly. Reluctantly, he pulled out a dining chair and sat down. 

“Good boy,” Annabelle said, her voice seasoned with honey.

Corwin could not resist a scowl. 

Good boy? She always said that when she knew she was right. It grated. He wasn’t a boy, he was Pastor Corwin Creed. A man respected and admired, at least somewhat. And he was late.

Annabelle seemed oblivious to his predicament and placed a steaming plate of bacon and eggs before her husband, poured him a cup of coffee, and sat down next to him. 

Her gaze made him feel uncomfortable. It was almost as if she knew something troubled him. Should he tell her about the dream? Of course not. What good would that do?

“Are you alright?” she asked, after he took his second bite. “You seem a little … downcast.”

“Me? Of course I am not downcast,” Corwin said louder than he intended. “Couldn’t be better. Just a little nervous about the board meeting and … eh … well, frankly, that pan you dropped this morning… To be blunt, it gave me the wrong start.” He cut a stubborn piece of bacon with such vigour that it flew out of his plate and landed on the floor.

He felt his face getting red.

Stupid breakfast.

 “How many times have I told you to be more careful? You could have broken our expensive marble tiles.” 

“What pan?” Annabelle said as she got up to chuck the spilled piece of bacon in the bin.

Corwin looked up and put his fork down. “That metal pan you dropped while I was praying upstairs,” he said. “The clatter was just awful. Mind you, I was having this dream… I mean this vision. Beautiful and educational. Could only have come straight from the throne of God, but then …”, he hesitated, remembering the firecracker, “… Then you caused that terrible noise and the vision turned sour. Left a bitter taste in my mouth like spoiled fruit.”  

Once again, the knot of anxiety tightened in his chest. 

“I did no such thing,” Annabelle said, her voice holding a hint of surprise. Corwin could see a flicker of confusion in her gentle eyes.

He shrugged. “Maybe it wasn’t a pan, but something else. Whatever it was that caused that noise, it was horrible.”

“My dear Corwin,” Annabelle said, and her voice was soft. “I dropped nothing. Maybe you dozed off while praying and you dreamed it.”

“I did no such thing,” Corwin insisted, his voice strained and rising in pitch. He saw the furrow in Annabelle’s brow. The slight tremor in her hands betrayed her hurt.

He lowered his head and focused on another piece of bacon. He hated to hurt Annabelle. In some ways she was a better person than he was, but today she was just as annoying as that woman in the Bible who displeased Jesus. What was her name again? Marsha… Martha? He couldn’t remember. 

He narrowed his eyes and forced his voice into the sweet and holy voice he used on the brats in his Sunday school class. “My dear Annabelle, I know the difference between prayer and dozing off.”

Annabelle refused to argue. She gave him a gentle stare and asked, “Tell me about your beautiful vision. I’d love to hear.”

 “Y-you want to hear my… um… vision?”

“Of course, dear.”

Corwin put down his fork and gave Annabelle a serious look. He paused for a moment. “In my vision,” he began, “Everyone loved me. I was in church and they rewarded me for my years of service.” Even talking about it gave him a sense of joy again. He licked his lips and said, “They even pinned a medal to my chest and named me Pastor of the Year. But then…” his face darkened, “… then there was that sudden clatter… The beauty left and instead some imp showed up.”

“An imp?” Annabelle’s eyes widened. “What was he like? Anybody we know?”

“No!” Corwin groaned. “I have no idea.” His energy vanished; he felt deflated like a bicycle tire losing its pressure, leaving him stranded and immobile. This conversation was not going the right way. He just needed to go to the office.

With a grunt, he pushed his plate with a scattering of ham bits and egg yolk away, and finished his lukewarm coffee in a single, desperate swallow. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go.” 

Annabelle leaned back, more hurt flashing across her face. The sight caused Corwin’s already heavy heart to ache with a tinge of guilt. He loved Annabelle in his own clumsy way.

She loved him too. But what did she know about the pressures he was under? 

She was just a pastor’s wife. He was the one carrying the responsibility. If he’d share all his anxieties with her, including the rest of his dream, she’d surely cave in under the weight of it all. No, she just wouldn’t understand. 

“I don’t mean to be short,” he said as he got up and threw his napkin on the table, next to his plate. “It’s just the church and the work. Gotta go. We will talk tonight.”

He leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek. She smelled nice. The scent of his favorite perfume; a heady mix of roses and vanilla, clung to her. “I will see you later.”

“See you too,” Annabelle muttered. But her next sentence made him want to run away even faster. Her eyes were steady as she looked straight at him. 

 “But how can I help you if you never tell me what’s going on deep inside of you? And Corwin …,” she paused, “Just for the record … I did not drop anything. It just didn’t happen.”

Corwin groaned. Why was she arguing with him? No, he needed to get out of here fast before he blew his top. Hopefully, she would forget about it as soon as he stepped out. Her pile of laundry would take care of that. 

 “Whatever,” he said, and he stepped out without another word.

***

A brilliant blue sky stretched overhead; the sun was warm on his face. He loved early spring. At this time of year, all nature seemed in a conspiracy of beauty, and it did much to calm his heart. Tonight, he’d tell Annabelle he was sorry. He could bring her some flowers, perhaps, and then all would be well. She was easy to please. 

At last, some of the gloom that had held him in a grip seemed to fade. A happy tune filled his heart, and as he headed to his church office, he forced an old hymn to his lips.      

 “When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
the rivers of sorrow shall not overflow

Rounding the corner of Second Avenue, the imposing church came into view.

His fortress. The place of his dreams, where he truly belonged. But as he came closer, unease rose. His formerly joyful pace stopped.

Why? The church usually filled him with a sense of joy… of belonging. But not now. Almost as if something unpleasant waited there for him. 

 Just before he reached the massive wooden church door, lurking in the shadows, he saw a man. No, not a man… a beggar. And a strange one at that. Dressed in a shaggy cloak with a hood pulled over his face. The man’s tattered, mud-caked cloak suggested he’d been sleeping under a bridge. But not even a normal beggar would wear such a cloak. 

His heart pounded as he studied the fellow. The more he looked, the more he decided the man was not just an ordinary homeless fellow. Spooky. It was the only word he could use to describe him. 

In any case, he would have to pass him. There was no way around it.

The stranger had now seen him too. His mouth opened as he grinned, and Corwin could see a set of brown teeth.

Come on, Corwin… You are a pastor. 

This was no place to beg. Beggars belonged in the park or they should go to the train station. At First Avenue they could have a free cup of coffee provided by the mission, but not here.

Nearing the man, he felt his throat tighten. He knew he needed to be kind to strangers, but this fellow, proudly leaning against the smooth, cool stone of the church, was upsetting. It seemed to mock the ethereal beauty of God’s kingdom.

He swallowed hard and opened his mouth. “Excuse me, friend. What are you doing here?”

The man didn’t answer. He just stood there, almost like a statue in the shadow. Worse, he was still grinning as if he knew something… 

What now? 

Corwin still had a few coins in his pocket for the coffee machine at the church. That would be enough to tempt the stranger to take his misery elsewhere. “Friend,” he tried again, “I would like to offer…”

Suddenly, the beggar lifted his gaze.

Corwin jumped back.

The beggar’s eyes were dark, intense, and unnerving. A large, unkempt beard appeared, and Corwin could now see the long strings of greasy hair half hidden under the hood. Alarm rose. The fellow in his dream… There he was. Rasputin, just as he’d seen him in his nightmare.

Chilling clarity hit him and a shiver crawled through his body.

That just couldn’t be. Was he losing his mind?

“Y-You shouldn’t be here,” Corwin stammered, noticing the insecurity in his own voice. “This is a church.”

“That’s why I am here,” the beggar retorted, his eyes flashing with defiance. “Let me introduce myself. Call me Mr. Vane. Sable Vane.

“Va-Va-Vane?”

“You heard me.  I’ve come to set things right.”

“What things?” Corwin said, his voice trembling. He pinched himself to verify that he truly wasn’t dreaming. Maybe at any moment he’d awaken, with the cool silk sheets like a gentle embrace against his skin and the soft quiet of his bedroom a familiar sanctuary. 

“But when Sable Vane spoke, Corwin knew it was not a dream. When the fiend said, “I’ve got something to give you,” he knew this was real. Very real.

Oh, dear Lord … will he now pull out a fire cracker? 

Corwin felt his cheeks getting red. Something in him told him to turn and run. But something else made him stay. One thing was clear, he stood face to face with evil. This was a demon. And he didn’t like demons. 

The only other time he had ever stepped into this realm was that time the elders had asked him to pray for Babou Bah, the woman from the corner store with her problems with kleptomania. That time too, it had filled him with dread, but now he was alone. There were no elders here to support him. 

“I- I need nothing …,” Corwin croaked, hoping the weirdo would not sense his fear and insecurity. “… Everything is fine. Couldn’t be better.” 

“Is that true?” Vane hissed.

“Yes, truly. The Lord has already made all the crooked things straight in my life.” That was true. He had not come to this position by doing nothing. The thought gave him a flicker of courage. Another thought flashed by. He could always call the police. They would help and be quick to respond and take this fellow away.

Sable Vane did not immediately reply. Instead, he let out a laugh, although it sounded more like a cackle.

“What’s so funny?” Corwin asked. “You don’t believe me?”

Vane shook his head. “Of course I don’t believe you.”

“Well, I don’t care,” Corwin fired back, feeling irritation rise. “Go fly a kite for all I care. I am the successful pastor of this church. The Lord and I are tight, and I don’t like your tone. I want you to leave.” He felt in his pocket and pulled out his coins. “Here, this will help you buy some decent food; there’s a bakery just up the road.”

Sable Vane shook his head. “I don’t want your coins. I told you; I’ve got something to give you.”

Corwin instinctively took a few steps backward, expecting fire and brimstone.

“To set things straight,” the beggar whispered, “you’ll need this.” One of his claw-like hands disappeared beneath his cloak. A moment later, a delicate, ornately carved wooden box reappeared and balanced on the palm of his hand before Corwin. “W-What is that?” Corwin asked, relieved no explosion had come. The box was highly polished, with strange symbols etched into its surface. 

“Eyes you have, but they see not,” Sable Vane replied. “This will help you see.”

“My eyes are fine,” Corwin whimpered. “Whatever is in there is not for me. You can sell it in the antique shop and make a bit of cash. That would help you.”

“Take it,” Vane croaked. His head bowed low as he set it down on the pavement before Corwin’s feet. 

“I said, I don’t want it,” Corwin said, his voice barely a whisper. “G-Get away from here. I don’t like you.”

“I often get that,” Sable Vane replied with a chuckle, “but I am used to that.” 

Just then, the resonant clang of the church bells broke through the conversation.

Nine o’clock. 

Sable Vane didn’t like the sound, and with a sigh he pushed the box with his foot towards Corwin. “Savor my gift, Corwin Creed. I can’t stay a minute longer. You will not see me again unless you ask for me.”

He knows my name? 

How? Corwin’s brow furrowed in bafflement. Yet one fact pierced through the confusion: he never wanted to see this weirdo again.

Before Corwin could say more, Sable Vane shuffled past him, his threadbare cloak brushing Corwin’s arm as he walked away from the church. It caused an unpleasant shiver to ripple through Corwin’s body, and it left him staring in bewilderment at the box before his feet. After a few seconds, he turned and yelled, “Hey, you are forgetting something. I don’t want your box.”

But Sable Vane was gone. “H-Hello,” Corwin shouted in confusion. “Mister… eh …Vane…!” 

Nothing. Not a sign of the man remained. He had simply vanished.

_____

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