Previously on Shades of Surrender
When Pastor Corwin Creed encountered the mysterious Sable Vane, he had no idea what he was getting himself into. After a confrontation with his board members, he stormed off to the park, where he opened the strange wooden box he had received from Sable. Inside lay a pair of black-rimmed glasses. He put them on, and suddenly, the world lost all its colour.
Worse still, the glasses wouldn’t come off.
And what had Sable meant when he promised the contents would help Corwin see?
Chapter 4
A Spot of Colour
Thou knowest not that thou art blind
Revelation 3:17
Corwin remained seated on the park bench, his fingers clenched into tight fists, his nails digging into his flesh. He didn’t care. All he cared about was colour.
His breath came in gasps, and no matter how many times he closed his eyes and opened them again, the world remained grey. The ducks, the grass, the trees… even the golden wedding ring on his finger, which usually shone so brightly, had turned a sickening shade of grey.
Had Sable Vane bewitched him?
But such things didn’t happen to pastors. Not to good ones, anyway.
He shook his head in anger and gritted his teeth. How could he have been so stupid? Any normal-thinking person would have smelled a rat the moment they saw Sable Vane. But he hadn’t.
He leaned back and closed his eyes one more time.
Maybe this time, the colour would return.
But it did not. When he opened his eyes again the world was a grey as his mood.
Just relax. Calm your breathing.
He remembered the breathing techniques he’d read about in his self-help book, Breathing Techniques for Dummies. Breathe in … Breathe out … That should restore some peace.
Calming his hammering heart proved challenging, but at last, he managed a deep, slow breath. A robin’s song, faint but sweet, reached his ears from afar, and he felt the touch of wind on his skin. That was good. Comforting. Not everything had changed.
But what now?
He could not possibly stay here. He had to find help. But where?
To the church? To Ebony and the other board members? But what would they say?
“Pastor, what are those weird glasses on your nose?”
He could already hear their mocking taunts.
“We told you there was something wrong with you, Pastor…”
No, he’d rather not face the board if he could help it. There had to be another solution.
The hospital, perhaps?
That was a good thought. Of course. A comforting feeling that could almost qualify as joy rose in his heart. These doctors dealt with such cases on an ongoing basis. There they would know what to do. They could fix him up before he could say Jack Robinson.
Perhaps they could even give him a pill or a vile-tasting potion that would cause his body to reject the glasses.
He paused one last moment to gather courage and wiped his eyes as best he could with his handkerchief. Nobody needed to see that he had been crying. He was strong, and not the crying type.
He glanced at his handkerchief. It had been a Christmas gift from Annabelle, a cloth with the vibrant colours of the American flag. But the monochrome fabric before him, devoid of all colour and vibrancy, only served to chase away the little joy he had just tasted.
He sighed and got up. The hospital was not too far, and if he did not stop on the way, he’d be there in fifteen minutes.
As he exited the park, he stopped for a moment and scratched his head.
The chestnut tree… the one he liked so much? Where had it gone?
He was certain it had been there when he came to the park. A giant chestnut tree near the entrance. But it was gone. In its place lay a festering pile of garbage, while the stench of rotting food filled his nostrils. Horror of horrors, a large, mean-looking rat stared at him defiantly from behind a pile of rubbish.
Of course, the foul rodent was as colourless as everything else.
And what had happened to the shiny metal gate that the caretaker locked every night after dark? The gate was still there, but now it was rusty and weathered, a far cry from the stately, gleaming entrance he remembered. One part of the gate hung half off its hinges, the metal covered in thick layers of mud and grime. Even a minor storm would easily topple the whole thing.
He wanted a closer look and tried to remove his glasses again, only to remember that they were stuck to his nose. A word he had never uttered before (he had heard it on a television show he should not have watched) surfaced in his thoughts. He choked it down, his head shaking in amazement.
For the first time, he realized what a joy colour was. Colour, in all its glorious hues, was an unspeakable gift from God, a gift he had taken for granted. Imagine if the world would always be black and white like this? Clearly, he had to get to the hospital as fast as he could.
But as he turned onto the road to the hospital, he stopped. This route would take him past the church once more. What if Susannah came out just as he passed by? Or Hemingway, or any of the other fellows? That would complicate things.
“Where are you going, Pastor? Come and finish the meeting …”
No, it would be safer to turn right onto Maple Street instead of going straight. It was a detour, but safer. He’d pass Elbert’s Garage, with its greasy scent in the air, and Lilly’s clothing store, where the mannequins stared at you with their unnervingly silent, accusing eyes.
Still, it was a good idea. He’d not only avoid the church but also the busy intersection at Second Avenue.
But when he turned right onto Maple Street, he stopped and stared. The condition of the road surprised him. He remembered Maple Street as lined with stately trees and a mix of homes and businesses with good pavement beneath them. Drivers often sped along that road to shave a few minutes off their journeys, and the sidewalk was wide and smooth.
But not today.
Corwin grunted. How was it possible that the road, once so smooth, had deteriorated into such a rutted, pothole-ridden mess, full of mud? There wasn’t even a proper sidewalk anymore.
Recently, he had been here on a house call, visiting Eleanor Brown. The old woman needed a gentle nudge because she had failed to bring in her tithe. The road to her house had been nicely paved, but not anymore.
With every step, mud and dust caked onto his finely pressed trousers; their once-sharp creases now dulled and soiled. If this continued, he would soon resemble a beggar like Sable Vane himself.
Ridiculous. These trousers were his favourite, and the thought of having to send them to the expensive dry cleaner made him cringe. Tomorrow, he’d complain to the proper authorities.
The further he walked, the stranger his surroundings became. Nothing was as it had been before. He looked around, and his heart rate increased again as he tried to soothe himself. He wasn’t very convincing.
Don’t worry, Corwin… It’s nothing. A minor issue. Just a glitch… somehow.
The doctors would help him, and soon everything would be all right.
Still, it felt as if he were choking, and his tongue was as dry as leather.
Perhaps he should stop at Elbert’s Garage, just around the corner. Elbert was a member of the church, and Elbert had one of those fancy, ice-cold drinking fountains where he could quench his thirst. Better yet, Elbert would know what was happening in this part of town.
But as Corwin turned around the corner, another shock awaited him.
The garage was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a pub had taken its place. Corwin squinted three times, no, four, and once again attempted to yank the wretched glasses from his nose.
It did not help.
The glasses, again, would not budge. All he accomplished was sending a searing pain shooting through his nose. For a moment, he staggered as if he were about to fall over, but with great effort, he steadied himself again.
Someone had transformed the modern garage, once boasting large windows and swooshing doors, into a rickety building on the verge of collapse. Two hefty beams braced one of the pub’s walls to keep it from falling over, and in the place of Elbert’s treasured parking lot, where he used to display his latest acquisitions, there was now a vacant lot full of mud and garbage.
As Corwin neared the wretched place, he read the crooked sign hanging above a sagging door: Drunken Doozy Bar.
The paint on the pub was peeling, and its wood looked rotten.
Should he go in? Someone should be able to tell him what was happening. But would he dare to step into such a place?
Only God would know what was inside. Surely, the place would be infested with germs. Dirty beer glasses, unholy music, filth on the floor… The idea alone of having to push his way through a crowd of sweaty people with unwashed bodies… No way. It was unlikely that anybody in that hellhole would ever be interested in crossing the threshold of a church… Not his church anyway.
As he stood there, debating with himself, the door of the pub opened with a loud creak, and two men emerged, singing a raucous, unintelligible tune, their voices thick with drink. A wave of warmth, mingled with the scent of beer, cigarette smoke, and cheap snacks, washed out with them. The clashing glasses and drunken revelry inside the pub settled the matter. He would look elsewhere for comfort.
Lilly’s clothing store?
Her store should be just around the next corner. But what if …?
The possibility that Lilly’s store might also be gone terrified him. He gritted his teeth and walked on. Another two hundred yards, a hundred yards, now only fifty…
It should be there.
Right there … but it wasn’t.
Lilly’s clothing store, the place where he had bought Annabelle’s yellow evening gown, was gone. Instead of the warm store with the friendly Lilly and her dear smile, there was now another store. Though not as decrepit as the Drunken Doozy, it wasn’t the type of place Corwin would readily visit.
A drab little building. Its large, dusty storefront looked like something out of a movie he’d seen. A flick about the slums of Chicago in the heyday of Al Capone and his mobsters. Poverty. Helplessness and dark crime.
Heart pounding, he stepped closer to peer through the grimy window. A part of him did not want to look.
O, Sable Vane… if ever I can get my hands on you.
Careful not to touch the grimy window with his nose, he peered inside.
Books.
A bookstore? Corwin narrowed his eyes and read the displayed titles.
How to Please Yourself. Ten Easy Steps for Self-Worship.
Selfishness, the Road to Stability.
Me First: The Freedom of Living for Yourself.
Disgust rose. These were nothing like the books lining the shelves of his own library, with their reassuring words on prayer and holy living. These titles seemed to turn everything he held dear upside down.
Twisted creatures leered at him from the covers, their grotesque forms rendered in shades of black and grey. Perhaps, for once, there was an advantage to seeing the world without colour.
He looked away and braced himself against the wall.
As he pondered his situation, a fearful thought struck him. The hospital?
Would it still be there? And … the church?
From here, he could usually see the church spire against the skyline and the great clock beneath its ancient belfry. He craned his neck, almost afraid to look.
Nothing.
Only grey trees beneath a sky heavy with clouds.
No, the church was gone, too.
And what about … What about his own home? And Annabelle? Would she be gone, too?
Something nudged his legs.
Corwin jumped and screamed. Looking down, he saw the stray dog he’d encountered earlier in the park. The flea-bitten mongrel with its matted fur. His eyes, brown when he’d first seen them, were now a strange shade of grey.
“Get away from me!”
Corwin lashed out with his foot, stopping inches short of the cowering animal. A pitiful yelp escaped its throat as it sprang away, tail tucked between its legs. Yet even as it retreated, the dog’s eyes remained fixed on him.
Corwin struggled to steady his breathing. He had to stay in control. He could not let panic get the better of him. As a pastor, he was supposed to have all the answers. He was the man who coloured other people’s worlds, who offered comfort to the weary and guidance to the lost. Yet he had just lashed out at a frightened stray dog. If he couldn’t even show compassion to a helpless animal, what made him think he could guide a sinner?
His legs threatened to buckle. He remembered feeling this way on the day he had gotten lost in Disneyland as a five-year-old. Upon arrival at the theme park, the smiling figures of Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck had been delightful. But all that joy was gone as soon as he found himself lost. He was alone in a terrifying place. The safety of Father’s hand had slipped away, and all his childhood heroes like Goofy and Pluto had instantly transformed into demons on the prowl.
But then, he had been a child. Now, he was a pastor. People looked up to him, not the other way around.
Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?
The hospital would have to wait. First, he needed to go home. Back to the arms of Annabelle. Find out if she was still there.
He wiped a tear from beneath his wretched glasses and tried his breathing techniques again.
The Lord is my Shepherd.
All the time. Even today.
The Lord is my Shepherd.
It scarcely worked.
Passing the Drunken Doozy Bar, he heard paws padding behind him. Was that dog following him?
“Shoo!” Corwin hissed, swinging his arms to scare off the little one. But the dog stayed put, looking up at him with a pitiful expression before sitting down.
“What?” Corwin stared at it. “What do you want?”
The dog’s ears shot up. A soft whine escaped its throat.
Corwin shook his head. He didn’t like dogs. Never had.
Still, he found himself softening towards the little mongrel. “I’m just as lost as you are, little one. Can’t help you,” he whispered. “Shoo! Shoo!”
The dog continued to stare at him. A fleabag, no doubt, but a nice fleabag.
Corwin sighed as he stared at the creature before him. At least, it was something normal and friendly in this strange, colourless world. He hesitated before asking, “You want to come with me?”
He half expected the dog to run off. Who would want to walk with him?
“I’m not on my best behaviour,” he continued. “I can’t promise you a roof over your head, but you’re welcome to come along. We can be friends.. at least for now.”
He gasped. The words had barely left his mouth when he saw it. Colour. Not in the world around him, but on the dog.
God be praised. I can still see colour.
Corwin squinted and bent down to touch the mutt. Its eyes were bright and friendly. Then a pink tongue darted out and licked his trembling hand.
In his normal world, Corwin would have been horrified at a dog licking his hand. But now, it was as if a heavenly elixir had been poured over him.
“Pink! Pink! You have a pink tongue!” Corwin exclaimed. He almost scooped the dog into his arms to hug it.
The dog held his gaze. A strange light glimmered in its eyes, and unfamiliar words formed in Corwin’s mind.
“Of course, my tongue is pink.
What other colour would it be, you think?
Have you no knowledge of the kind of me?
I grant you, stranger things you soon will see.
W-What was that?
Corwin gasped as he stared at the dog’s bright, curious eyes. Did that dog actually communicate with him? Impossible. He shook his head and chided himself for yielding to such a weird notion. Dogs did not communicate with people. He was just getting overexcited. The dog just sat there, a picture of canine indifference; his ears now drooped, and his body was still. Nothing suggested that the animal understood.
But O, the joy of seeing colour. In spite of the precarious situation, Corwin almost leaped up and down. Perhaps all was not as bad as he thought, and soon things would resolve themselves.
Before, the dog’s patches had been grey and black, but now Corwin saw they held a shade of deep brown, almost the colour of luscious chocolate milk. Two mismatched brown socks decorated its front paws. What a lovely dog this actually was.
“Please come with me. Will you?” Corwin whispered, as he stared in wonderment. The dog tilted his head, and Corwin was almost certain the little creature smiled in understanding. Another rhyme formed in his mind. Funny, as he had never been much of a creative person, let alone a poet. Maybe he discovered a hidden talent.
I’ll be your friend
I’ll walk with you to the very end.
In brown, in pink, in shades of grey
With you, I’ll gladly stay.
Doggie panted softly and trotted closer. With his lovely pink tongue lolling out, he took his place beside Corwin.
It almost brought tears to Corwin’s eyes again. Who would have thought he’d ever cherish the friendship of a dog? He hated dogs. Cats too. But no more.
He recalled the passage in Genesis that described how God had made the animals according to their kinds and had seen that it was good.
It was certainly good to have this dog around. A world of black and white debauchery surrounded him. Darkness pressed in, heavy with the stench of sin and the murmur of depraved laughter and bickering, but there was hope. Somehow, love and colour still existed, even if they only came through the presence of a dog he had ignored just minutes before.
Feeling slightly better, he walked on, hoping the dog would follow.
Oh, joy… he did.
Reaching the end of Maple Street and the dog still on his trail, he decided that the dog needed a name. Pausing, he cocked his head and thought. Several names came to mind.
Fluffy perhaps? Ridiculous. That dog was anything but fluffy.
Biscuit? Nah… it made him sound like a walking snack.
Mr. Tiddles? That sounded more like a cat. O Lord, what do I call this dog?
None of the names seemed to fit. He closed his eyes, thought hard, and there it was. The name shall be … Demetrius. Yes, that’s it.
He had read a novel about one of Alexander the Great’s personal guards, a man named Demetrius who had remained faithful to his master. Corwin had never felt much affinity with Alexander, who certainly hadn’t been known for believing in the God of love. But the name was perfect. The thought of having a faithful protector like Demetrius was oddly comforting.
Yet, he should not get too excited. The dog would probably run off at the first sign of trouble, but at least for the moment, it was a sign of colourful hope. That was of the utmost importance. And so Corwin settled on the name Demetrius.
The dog seemed pleased with his new name. At least, it looked that way. When Corwin spoke to the dog about their mission of going to look for Annabelle, Demetrius let out a soft bark as if to say, “Come on, don’t be tardy. What are you waiting for?”
Corwin couldn’t help smiling. And so it was that both Corwin and the dog strode off together in search of Annabelle.
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