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Previously on Shades of Surrender

Corwin Creed found himself trapped in a strange, monochrome world under the influence of the mysterious Sable Vane. His luxurious home had gone up in flames, and everything familiar had disappeared. But then he found something precious: Annabelle’s diary. With Demetrius, his unlikely canine companion, at his side, a flicker of hope returned.

Desperate for answers, Corwin encountered a man who looked remarkably like his church custodian, Hemingway, but insisted his name was Steinbeck. Worse still, the man had never heard of churches, Jesus, or the cross. In this strange world, there was only one place of gathering: S.I.N. Armed with little more than Annabelle’s diary and a reluctant determination to trust his newfound faith, Corwin followed Demetrius towards the ominous building.

What awaited him behind those gates?

Chapter 7

The Bitter Truth.

 Trust in the Lord with all thine heart;
and lean not unto thine own understanding
Proverbs 3:5

Corwin studied the heavy, ornate metal gate. How was he supposed to enter? There was no bell, no intercom, nothing. Should he call out?

Bad idea. After having met Steinbeck, he preferred to stay as unnoticed as possible. Perhaps he should see if the gate was unlocked.

He gently pushed on the cold metal, and to his surprise, the iron bars creaked open with a groan. He could just walk in.

Perhaps, Steinbeck, as unpleasant as the fellow was, had been right. The S.I.N. building was the only place open to the public where he could enter without a S.I.N. card. What a weird place this was. As he stood in front of the gate, he again considered his options. He was cold, and he needed answers. Where else could he go?

Cautiously, he pushed the gate open all the way and stepped inside. Demetrius followed suit.

A long stone path, shaded by tall trees, led to the large, imposing two-story building some fifty yards ahead, beckoning him forward. The snow became more intense and rapidly covered the ground. Yet, path to the main entry remained curiously clear of snow. The building itself had somewhat of a Roman feel, with imposing marble pillars; two embedded in the ground’s wall floor and two on the second floor. Two old-fashioned lampposts on either side cast a faint light to illuminate the entrance.

And then to think this was the very spot where his beloved church had been.

He glanced at Demetrius, secretly wishing the dog would realize this wasn’t a suitable place to visit. However, Demetrius seemed to have his own ideas. The dog seemed unafraid and walked on while Corwin followed with trepidation. Soon, they reached the marble pillars, ascended the small staircase and found themselves at the porch in the glow of the lampposts.

The front door, a massive wooden structure intricately carved with a snarling dragon’s head, was the next obstacle. Would this door also open if he pushed it?

Corwin tried, but this time, he had no such luck. The door didn’t move.

It was then he noticed the large metal cowbell with a rope attached to a heavy clapper that promised lots of noise. He swallowed hard.

Really? That would make a terrible noise.

Once more, he considered running away. He glanced at Demetrius/ The dog glanced back and instantly another short poem welled up.

Never fear, but step out by faith
even at S.I.N.’s dark gate.
God is with you even there
and helps with every care.

It was all the encouragement he needed.

He grabbed the rope and swung the clapper. The sound resonated loudly and through the stillness. It was as bad as Corwin had feared, and he waited with bated breath to see what would happen.

It wasn’t long before he heard footsteps on the other side of the door. A metallic scrape announced the moving of an iron pin. Then, a chain rattled free. A heavy key ground in the lock, and the heavy oak door opened.

The face of a man appeared. He was as shabby and colorless as was the rest of the world. Corwin stared at him in bewilderment. He knew that man too, much as he’d thought he knew Hemingway, only to find out it was Steinbeck.

There, in the door opening, stood Ebony Parnaby, the assistant pastor. Same hairstyle, same sharp features, but his eyes were different. While they were usually twinkling with merriness, they were now dark and suspicious, like pools of stagnant water.

Just in time, Corwin remembered the unpleasant conversation he’d had with Steinbeck. Surely, this fellow wasn’t really Ebony Parnaby, but some unholy, black and white version of the man. It would do him no good to cry out in joy and relief.

He would be met with the same disdain.

“Yeah?” the doorkeeper asked. “What’s up?”

Corwin cleared his throat. “My name is Corwin Creed, and eh … well, I was told I could rest my weary feet here, get warm and read some books about… eh … the need for self-elevation.”

Though Corwin had zero interest in reading such books, he hoped his answer would sound like the sort of thing a place like this would approve of.

He was right.

The face of the doorkeeper relaxed somewhat, and the door opened further. “My name is Drecks,” he rasped in a voice that sounded like nails were being scratched over a chalkboard. “I take it you are a seeker?”

Drecks?

Corwin had to push his surprise down. He could not show his emotions. Would Ebony ever believe him if he’d told him his name was Drecks in this weird dimension? Perhaps some things should not be shared.

“I am,” Corwin replied honestly. After all, he was a seeker. He was desperately seeking a way out of the black and white mess he’d gotten himself into.

“And I take it you don’t have a S.I.N. card yet?” Drecks asked.

“I don’t,” Corwin said, striving for a steady, confident tone, though he doubted whether he was successful. “I was told I would be welcome here.”

“You are,” Drecks replied with a pleased nod, and with a beckoning gesture, he urged Corwin to follow him.

With a pounding heart, Corwin entered the learning center, grateful that Demetrius was right behind him, although it appeared. For some strange reason, the dog chose to remain unnoticed.

Was Demetrius scared after all?

As Corwin stepped inside, a wave of sterile brightness washed over him. It was too clean to be natural, and it deepened Corwin’s dislike for the place. The air carried the distinct scent of a hospital. Clean and yet immensely unpleasant: a polished hell. A seemingly endless marble floor spread out before him and vanished into a misty, limitless void of nothingness. A harsh, unfamiliar white light that left hardly any shadows and no place to hide illuminated everything here. It was a place scrubbed so clean that even grace would’ve had to leave its shoes at the door.

At one point, Drecks stopped and turned, his face carrying a sleazy grin. “Here”, he said as he pointed to a large table Corwin had not seen before. “Study all you want.”

A dozen large leather-bound books, their rich grey covers heavy with the weight of time, sat in stacks on the table. Facing them was an enormous cushioned chair of dark wood with the same striking dragon-head carvings he’d seen on the front door. The eyes of the dragon-head gleamed in the bright light.

“T-Thank you,” Corwin stammered. “W-Wonderful.”

Drecks nodded. “When you need a word of advice or an explanation, you just call me.”

“I- I will,” Corwin said, noticing that Demetrius was clearly hiding himself behind the large chair. What was wrong with Demetrius, who had been so courageous all throughout this horrible ordeal? Clearly, the dog didn’t like it here, and neither did Corwin.

“Anything else?” Drecks asked. “A cup of one of our refreshing herb teas like Surrender Brew or the Bitter Truth with a bit of sweetening? Perhaps a bite to eat? Our Kelpie Pud is on special today.”

“Thank you.” Corwin could hardly get the words out. “I am not hungry or in need of tea.” Not now and not in a thousand years. Not here.

“Suit yourself,” Drecks said, eyeing Corwin with suspicion. “I’ll bring you some tea, anyway.” He turned and just sort of vanished without a trace.

“This is so weird, Demetrius,” Corwin whispered, feeling relieved the caretaker was gone, at least for the moment. “I don’t like it here one bit. Do we really need to be here?”

Demetrius stayed behind the seat. Corwin hoped a new poem would come up in his mind, but nothing came. Maybe it wasn’t necessary. Perhaps, Demetrius had been clear enough in the last poem: Explore, don’t be afraid.

Since neither the table nor the chair budged, he had to wedge himself into the space. The task was difficult, made harder by his unwillingness to touch the unusual books sitting on the desk. He eyed them with disdain and made sure not to even touch them. He came here for the diary of Annabelle.

At last, he sat; his breath catching in his throat, and with shaking hands, he pulled out the diary from under his coat. Placing it on the desk in front of him, he opened it.

***

A faint but familiar scent of vanilla and rose wafted up from the paper as his fingers slid over its smooth, yellow surface. Annabelle occasionally sprayed the book with her perfume to counteract the smell of aging paper. It caused his heart to skip a beat. He recognized Annabelle’s dashing and artful handwriting, and he had to fight to not let a tear fall.

This was more difficult than he had expected. He clasped the book in his fingers and swallowed as he read.

November 2010

Dear Jesus,
Corwin is in remarkably good spirits lately; his eyes twinkle with happiness, and he carries a joyful energy. Thank you for giving me such a kind husband. He took me to Schnappies, that all-you-can-eat buffet, and I laughed as he dropped his plate of tender steak, only to have the owner’s dog snatch it up and bolt. Corwin doesn’t like dogs. Too bad. I wouldn’t mind having a dog.

Corwin had to chuckle. He remembered the incident at Schnappies, and as he pictured the scene in his mind, something strange happened. The familiar surroundings of S.I.N. seemed to fade, and suddenly, he found himself somewhere else. The world around him shifted. The vast, empty marble floor, which had seemed to stretch out forever, was gone. Gone too was the impersonal bright light. The mouthwatering aroma of roasted meat replaced the harsh, chemical smell of artificial cleaners, and the oppressive silence of the S.I.N. building gave way to the comforting murmur of conversation and the clinking of cutlery in a bustling restaurant.

And best of all, Corwin was surrounded by full colour. He was back in Schnappies. Annabelle sat at his side with that gorgeous smile of hers, and Corwin saw the wretched dog of the owner run off with his steak. All around him, people were cheering and clapping, grateful for the unexpected show. The owner of Schnappies, a portly Italian named Leonardo, came running up, his arms a blur of apology and the scent of garlic and oregano clinging to his sweat-dampened shirt. “Don’t worry, Pastor. I’ll get you another steak, even bigger than the one my dog snatched.”

Corwin stared, wide-eyed. The mural of the Adriatic coastline was still on the wall. The red rooftops of the fishing village, the turquoise water of the sea, and the colours of the golden rays of the sun almost warmed his chest. How was it possible he was suddenly back here? This had happened years ago, and yet this was not just a vision, but he was actually there. Annabelle, smiling gently, kept her hand on his. The warmth of her touch was the calming presence it always had been. He wondered how long it had been since he’d experienced such gentle warmth from her. She was just so beautiful, dressed in the yellow evening gown he had bought her at Lilly’s clothing store. The realization that this too could not possibly be real pierced his heart. How good life was in those days! As he listened, vaguely aware of Leonardo’s frustrated shouts about his dog’s antics, he stared deep into Annabelle’s mesmerizing blue eyes. Her message to him was clear. “I love you, Corwin Creed. I am so grateful to be married to you.”

His response was the same. Whole-heartedly. How he loved this woman. He took her hand in his, squeezed it affectionately and whispered, “We are, of all people, most blessed.”

But this had happened years ago. How could he possibly experience this night again in such incredible detail? All the elements were in place. There was the scent of her lovely perfume, the taste of the wine, the low murmur of conversations at the other tables… Everything so vivid.

His breath halted. That meant that something not so good was to come as well…

He remembered. Things would take a turn for the worse.

And indeed, just as it had happened years earlier, Annabelle leaned closer, gave him a gentle kiss and then whispered softly in his ear: “You know what, Corwin…”

She paused and looked deep into his eyes.

Corwin gritted his teeth. He knew what would come, but he just had to endure it all. “What is it, Annabelle?”

“I have prayed, Corwin…”

“Sure,” he replied. “That’s good. For the church?”

She shook her head. “For a child, Corwin. I think a child would make our life just about perfect.”

A child? 

He had not known how to react. Not then and not now. Just like that first time, confusion ran through his veins. He wanted to change the conversation. Force back the course of history, but he could not.

He wanted to say that he would love a child.

Anything to be good and escape this weirdness. Anything to leave the curse of Sable Vane behind. But he could not. He could not change the past and saw that he knew what he would say. He opened his mouth and stated in angry tones, “A child is an enormous responsibility, and I am already so busy as it is. My recent appointment as senior pastor demands all my time, leaving little for anything other than my work.”

Oh God, why am I this way? He knew how Annabelle would react.

She would spot his hesitation.

“Children are a blessing, Corwin,” she whispered. “The Bible says the fruit of the womb is His reward. I would love a child.”

He leaned back, almost knocking over his glass of red wine. “A child changes everything, Annabelle. You know that. I’m barely holding things together now. A child is a grave responsibility.”

“It is,” she agreed, but then a tender smile appeared. “But instead of presenting God with our meticulously crafted plans, shouldn’t we humbly surrender to His will and trust Him to bring us what’s best for all of us?”

Classic Annabelle. Seeking God’s guidance and consistently placing His will above her own. He should be that way too, but he wasn’t. He just had too much to do. Too many responsibilities.

He opened his mouth, desperate to say something real, but all that came out was a tight breath and the old script he’d repeated a hundred times. “I-I’d love a child. But I can’t. Not now. You know… it’s my career?”

Instead of offering support, he heard his unhelpful words tumbling out, a clumsy cascade of platitudes that lacked sincerity and stung more than they soothed. “I am the senior pastor now. I need to take care of the widows, the orphans and the poor and needy.”

He knew that his words would cause her pain. A shadow flashed over her gentle face as she said, “I thought you wanted children, too?”

“I do, Annabelle. I really do.”

Liar.

How strange that he was forced to relive this entire conversation, each word a painful echo, but now viewed with the cold objectivity of an outsider looking in. He saw the pathetic, transparent nature of his own attempts to juggle his plans for fame and success and still please Annabelle at the same time. A hollow charade. Not good. Not good at all.

He stared at Annabelle. She was an angel, truly. He’d secretly envied her spiritual depth, a quiet strength he’d always felt was missing in himself, even though he outwardly resisted her influence.

Leonardo had somehow gotten hold of his dog and chided the beast, who let out a yelp. Upon hearing the dog, instantly, the entire vision ended, and suddenly Corwin found himself back at the desk in the S.I.N. building.

Demetrius had been yelping and had somehow put an end to the vision. Sweat trickled down Corwin’s forehead, and his heart was pounding. The vision had been so intense. Demetrius appeared to smile. Nonsense, of course, but another rhyme sparked in Corwin’s head.

The past may leave a wound that stings,
And tears may fall for painful things.
But God is near, His love is sure,
His grace will help your heart endure.
So turn the page, and do not fear,
For God will guide you, ever near.

Corwin hesitated to read further in the diary, fearing another vision from his past. He wasn’t so sure he wanted to see more of his past. Maybe the legendary glory he’d always described wasn’t as magnificent as he’d painted it.

But what else could he do?

He could do nothing but read on and face the wounds of the past.

He sighed and turned the page in the diary.

____

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