Battle for His Soul Read online

  “Zoe? I thought she broke up with you. I thought she said—”

  “She didn’t mean it.” Jarret sneered as he fumbled with a sandal strap. “She’s been through a lot. I’m gonna talk to her.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You should try to get over her.”

  “Who asked you?” Glaring, Jarret got up from the step, pushed past Keefe, and stomped down the hall. The hum of the vacuum cleaner grew louder.

  Keefe followed. “I want to talk to you for a minute.”

  Jarret cruised through the great room and into the family room. The suit of armor in the corner and the shield over the fireplace reflected the muted sunlight that streamed in through the tall windows on either side of the entertainment center. Couch cushions leaned against the coffee table and the sides of the couches. Their live-in housekeeper, Nanny, stooped over a stripped couch, vacuum cleaner hose in hand, singing “Barbara Ann” by the Beach Boys as she worked.

  “Come on. Just for a minute.” Keefe shouted over the noise and tried to walk alongside him as they passed the veranda.

  Jarret yanked open the door to the garage and pulled the car keys from his pocket. “About Zoe?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No.” He smacked the garage door opener and walked around to the driver’s side of his three-year-old cherry-red Chrysler 300. The sunlight creeping beneath the opening garage door made its custom paint job shine. He loved that car. He kept it clean, show room clean.

  “We can’t talk?” Keefe followed him around the car.

  “You got that right. Not since you became a holy roller.” He smirked at Keefe, swung open the car door, and dropped into the driver’s seat.

  Keefe grabbed the door before he could close it. “I know I don’t see things the way I used to, but I’m still your brother and I . . .”

  Jarret yanked the door but Keefe wouldn’t let go.

  “. . . I still care about you. And I think you’re about to make a big mistake.”

  Jarret shoved the key in the ignition and threw the car in reverse to back out.

  Keefe stumbled forward but had to let go.

  Once Jarret cleared the four-car garage, he slammed his door, cranked the steering wheel, and shifted into drive.

  Keefe jumped in front of the car. “I only want to talk,” he shouted.

  “I’ll talk to you all right.” Red flashed before his eyes. He shifted into park, flung the door open, and jumped out.

  Keefe stumbled back, his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Zoe wants to change the direction in her life. She told you that, right?” He backed off the driveway and into the yard. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about things. You’re not seeing things right, and not just about her.”

  Jarret admired Keefe’s uncharacteristic boldness in confronting him like this. Then again—

  He drew his hand back and formed a fist. “Oh yeah?” His sneer turned into a grimace. He lunged and swung at Keefe’s face.

  Keefe jerked to the side, Jarret’s fist only skimming his chin. “I’m just saying, I think you need to give her some space.” His voice was calm and concern oozed from his eyes, but he continued backing up. “You both need time to think.”

  “What do you know?” Jarret followed, lunged, and swung again, aiming for his brother’s gut.

  Keefe twisted, avoiding the full impact of the blow. “Man, what’s wrong with you lately? I just want to talk.” He latched onto Jarret’s arm and yanked.

  Jarret stumbled forward. Keefe’s shoe cracked against his shin with a jolt of pain. Keefe shoved his chest.

  Unable to break the momentum, Jarret toppled to the ground. He landed on his shoulder, and blood rushed to his face. Seething, he shot up and rammed his shoulder into Keefe’s chest.

  Keefe staggered back but didn’t fall. “Jarret, it’s me. What are you doing?”

  “What I should’ve done a long time ago.” The next move he would get right. He feigned a punch to the face.

  As Keefe dodged it, Jarret made his move, shoving him hard with his full body weight, knocking him off balance.

  Arms flailing and glasses flying, Keefe landed on his side and rolled to his back.

  Fire burning within, Jarret dove onto him.

  Ellechial

  Ellechial stood by, powerless to defend, powerless to join in the fight. He hadn’t the power even to draw near and so watched from a distance.

  Monettello’s armor gleamed as he fought the two attacking demons, Deth-kye and Hursk. Streaks of sky-blue and golden light followed his every graceful strike. Keefe’s faithfulness to prayer and acceptance of his daily cross had made his guardian angel, Monettello, strong, well-armed, and something to behold. No longer clad in the long robes of an angel without permission to battle, he wore the short tunic of a fighter, a tunic that allowed movements swift and fierce.

  Deth-kye, too, possessed weapons, strength, and armor. Armor with thin, razor-sharp plates! Jarret, having given rein to him since his youth, made him powerful and effective. While clutching a short dagger with one hand, he swung a blackened scythe with the other.

  Monettello brought up his shield, gold light flashing upon impact.

  Deth-kye stumbled back, laughing hideously. He had flung his dagger into Jarret’s back and pierced him to the soul. Curses erupted from Jarret as he pinned his struggling twin to the ground.

  The demon Hursk crawled to Keefe’s ear. While Keefe had once listened to Hursk’s lies, held captive under false compassion, he now recognized the truth. The demon grew weaker daily. His only weapons now were his ability to rile Keefe to justifiable anger and a three-inch shiv.

  “Be gone!” Monettello commanded.

  Hursk thrust the shiv, cracking it against Monettello’s plated boot. It had no effect.

  Monettello, sparing no glance for the little demon, kicked him and sent him sailing through the air. He hadn’t even broken rhythm in his exchanges with Deth-kye’s scythe.

  With a sudden twist of his body, Keefe flipped over and got up on all fours. Jarret clung to him, one arm around his chest, the other around his neck. The two often fought and wrestled with each other for fun and competition, but it grieved Ellechial to watch them now.

  Deth-kye slipped under Monettello’s shield and crouched by Jarret’s ear. He could incite anger like no other demon. He whispered fragments of Keefe’s past offenses and mistakes. As Jarret’s anger intensified and his attack grew rougher, Deth-kye’s chill laughter rang out.

  Monettello yanked Deth-kye back by his neck and cracked the shield against his head. Deth-kye spun around, poised to stab the angel with his dagger. Monettello met the blade with his own.

  The fighting, both human and spirit, lessened as Roland and his guardian Nadriel drew near, though only angels and demons knew of their approach. With wings held high and sword half-drawn, Nadriel swept onto the scene. Roland stopped and gawked, visibly troubled to see his brothers at war.

  “What have we here?” Nadriel said to Ellechial.

  Hursk, still a good ten feet away, skulked toward Keefe. He stopped when Nadriel spoke. Deth-kye, too, lessened his attack and perked his pointy ears.

  Jarret pinned Keefe, holding his arm behind his back and pressing his cheek to the ground.

  “Keefe wishes to dissuade Jarret from visiting Zoe,” Ellechial said. “We all do.”

  Nadriel nodded. “That could prove to be a spiritually destructive encounter.”

  “Stay outta my business,” Jarret spat, his face an inch from Keefe’s. “I’m gonna do what I’m gonna do, and it ain’t no concern a-yours. Got it?” He lessened his grip.

  Chest heaving, Keefe stopped struggling and gave a single nod.

  Jarret stood and brushed off his shirt. “Look what you did to my clothes.” After giving Keefe a scathing glance, he headed to his car.

  Keefe stumbled to his feet and searched for his glasses.

  Roland came over to him, stooping along the way to pick up Keefe’s glasses. “What was that abou
t?” Concern troubled his cool gray eyes.

  “That brother of ours needs help.” Keefe took his glasses from Roland, put them on, and stared as Jarret dropped into the driver’s seat of his Chrysler 300 and slammed the door.

  “Help?” Roland watched Jarret too.

  “That’s your sign,” Nadriel whispered to Roland.

  Roland’s heart fluttered, though his expression showed uncertainty. He hadn’t accepted Keefe’s words as the sign he’d asked for to know that God wanted him to be part of the prayer group.

  Monettello gave Keefe a spiritual nudge. “Point your little brother to God.”

  “He needs help that we can’t give,” Keefe said to Roland.

  “Okay, Roland?” Nadriel smiled. “You’ve got your sign.”

  Keefe faced Roland. “You pray, don’t you?”

  Roland’s eyes opened wide. “Um, yeah.”

  Nadriel laughed, sharing the joy of the moment with the other two guardians. Then he raised a wing over Roland. “Got it, my boy? God wants you to help Jarret through your prayers.”

  “It’ll take more than prayer to help him.” Roland spoke so low that Keefe hadn’t heard him.

  Ellechial and Nadriel exchanged glances. It was strange how Roland sometimes seemed to hear them.

  “He is right,” Ellechial said. “Prayer will not be enough. It will take many more sacrifices.”

  “Roland is ready.” Nadriel’s gaze held deep love, perhaps for Roland, but more than likely from the word sacrifice. The attribute of God that gave him the greatest joy was sacrificial love. It sent him into ecstasy to ponder it. It occupied his every thought and prayer of praise. He loved to witness Roland, or any human, enter into and embrace sacrificial love. Unable to suffer like a human, an angel could only ponder and praise this mystery.

  As Keefe started for the house, Roland caught sight of his mountain bike. It lay on its side, dirt caking its bent rim and fork.

  “My Iron Horse!” Roland ran to it and fell to his knees. Anger, frustration, and sorrow showed in his face, his eyes, his posture. “What happened to my bike?” His gaze slid to Jarret, who sat fixing his hair in the rearview mirror of his car.

  “Roland is ready, is he?” Ellechial said. True, Roland had grown much in the past few months. But could he be ready? Keefe was ready. Ellechial had seen it in him. Yes, if Jarret remained home with Keefe, he would find help. Unless his visit with Zoe changed things.

  Jarret revved his engine, drawing the attention of men and angels. Then he sped off down the driveway. Ellechial moved at once, he and Deth-kye passing with equal speed into the car with Jarret.

  Deth-kye rode shotgun.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE PAST IS PAST

  Jarret

  Jarret pressed the pedal to the floor, speeding down Forest Road.

  He hated the emptiness inside him. Loneliness gnawed at his soul, deep, painful loneliness. Why did he feel this way? Why the driving need to have certain people in his life? He had unbeatable skills and plenty of things to do. He knew how to have fun. Why wasn’t that enough?

  Roland was a loner. He had friends now, but he was a loner at heart, perfectly satisfied to be alone for days on end. His happiness didn’t depend on anyone else.

  He hated that about Roland, almost as much as he hated that Papa favored him.

  Then there was Keefe. Keefe didn’t seem all that troubled about losing Jarret’s friendship or the close relationship they once shared. Sure, he wanted to talk, but only so he could push his new beliefs on him. He didn’t miss the bond they’d known growing up.

  Jarret sneered. He gripped the steering wheel and pumped the pedal, his gaze fixed on the two-lane road, trees whizzing by on his left, houses on his right. He passed a van, a car, and a tractor. The dude in the car honked and waved a fist.

  He hated that he needed others in order to feel secure and in control. Alone, he felt like half a man. Maybe if he hadn’t been a twin, connected to someone else from the first moment of his existence, he wouldn’t feel this way today. Hardly a day had passed without Keefe by his side.

  What would it take to find happiness and peace on his own? What was the secret? He couldn’t look at or even think about Keefe without wishing things could go back to the way they were.

  Why had Keefe turned into a psycho-Christian convert? Everything held deep spiritual meaning to him now. Every choice had moral considerations. They couldn’t just talk and have fun anymore. They couldn’t do what they wanted simply because they wanted to do it. Consequences. Keefe considered consequences.

  Keefe made him sick. Keefe judged everything he did or suggested and tried to talk him out of—

  A siren blared behind him. Blue and red lights flashed in the rearview mirror.

  Easing off the gas and tapping the brakes, Jarret slowed and pulled over to let the police car pass.

  The cop did not pass. He stopped inches from the Chrysler’s rear bumper.

  Jarret cussed and smacked the steering wheel. His chest tightened. Nothing went his way anymore. The whole world hated him.

  After getting a lecture and his first speeding ticket, he pulled back onto the road. In a couple of minutes, he’d arrive at the McGowan’s house. He couldn’t wait to see Zoe.

  Zoe once filled Keefe’s place, not entirely but enough. He liked having her in his life. She understood him, accepted him, and made him happy. He never knew loneliness with her.

  Last Thanksgiving, he’d had a revelation. The Brandts had invited Papa for dinner, and so he and Zoe agreed to go too. She’d made him angrier than ever that day, but she also made him realize that he loved her.

  The month before, when he’d learned of her pregnancy, he’d told her to take care of it. In the Brandts’ driveway, he’d found out she hadn’t. He’d blown up, taken it out on the steering wheel and the driver’s seat, then told her to walk home. She got out of the car.

  Watching her walk away, he’d realized, no matter what, he couldn’t let her go. He needed her. That’s when he knew he loved her, and he told her so. She’d said she loved him too.

  How could she stop loving him?

  He had changed his mind about the abortion and stayed by her throughout her pregnancy. After the baby, she’d dumped him. Said she had to figure out her life.

  Giving up their baby had hurt him, too, but that was history. Now they both needed to heal. She needed him as much as he needed her. Maybe when she saw him, she’d know it. She’d see it in his eyes. He’d see it in hers. She’d come back to him.

  Papa and Roland could go to Arizona. Keefe could . . . do whatever the heck he wanted, so long as he kept his distance. Then he and Zoe could spend the summer together.

  He turned down Zoe’s street. As he neared her two-story house, he smiled.

  Yeah, he and Zoe could spend the summer together. If her father didn’t like it, they could sneak. He’d be careful this time and take it slow. In no time, she’d want him as badly as he wanted her.

  He pulled into the empty driveway and shut off the engine. Her parents usually parked in the garage. Closed living room curtains, letters peeking out of the mailbox by the front door . . . Maybe no one was home. Maybe she was home alone.

  Pressing his lips together, he remembered her kiss. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Her scent, fruit trees in the country, came to mind. Her skin, smooth as rose petals . . . Her hair, like a black silk scarf . . . He ached to hold her.

  He squared his shoulders and focused on the door as he got out of the car and strutted up the drive. He lifted a fist to knock but then hesitated. Why? She’d be happy to see him. She’d probably been waiting for him.

  He knocked and, not wanting to appear desperate, turned away from the door. Sunlight gleamed on the chrome and the sparkling, cherry-red paint of his Chrysler 300. A couple of kids squealed as they chased each other through the front yard of a house across the street. An airplane flew silently in the blue stratosphere.

  The door opened and his heart skip
ped a beat.

  “Jarret?”

  Zoe’s voice drained all tension from his body but set his heart to pounding. He turned around and wanted to pull her into his arms. “Hey.”

  Beautiful and composed, she leaned on the edge of the half-open door. She wore white jeans and a graphic t-shirt, her shiny black hair falling over one shoulder. She offered no smile, but her dark eyes sparkled as she looked him over. “What’re you doing here?”

  It took all his strength to keep from touching her. He wished she’d step outside. “I miss you.” His face muscles tightened. “Can we talk?”

  She glanced over her shoulder, not making eye contact when she turned back. “I don’t think so.”

  He winced. Then his hands nearly shot out— he wanted to hold her so badly—but he stuffed them into the front pockets of his shorts. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  Still not stepping outside to talk with him, she rested her head against the edge of the door. Finally, she lifted her thick-lashed eyelids and sunlight danced in her honey-brown eyes.

  “Aren’t you gonna tell me that you miss me, too?” He hated that he hadn’t been able to control his tone, that he sounded hurt.

  Her lips tightened and she lowered her gaze. She looked like she might cry.

  He stepped into the house and stroked her cheek with his fingertips. “Take a ride with me. I wanna talk to you.”

  She pressed her cheek to his hand, her chin trembling. “I can’t.”

  He pushed his hand through her hair and touched her neck, moving closer so he could whisper in her ear, wanting to remind her of how they used to make each other feel. He was certain her heart hadn’t changed. “Yes, you can. Take a ride with me.”

  She met his gaze, her eyes turning hard. She pulled back and said in an unwavering voice, “No. I told you what I need right now. I need to figure things out. And I need to do it alone.”

  Her words cut him to the quick. Scowling, he backed off. “How long do you need? Are you gonna see me after that?” He paused and then spit out, “Or are we through?”

  “I don’t know. I—”