Death Dance

By J. Michael Koppen

The crusted pool of blood below the passenger door was her first indication of the carnage. The sirens were screaming as uniforms of various colors performed on a stage of horror. Three bodies lay on the sidewalk, two were attended by EMTs with frantic pace. The smeared blood on the plastic covering the third body relayed its finality. A disturbance to her left demanded Lainee's attention. Four police officers struggled to hold a wildman.

As if in a scene from a nightmare, he broke free running straight for her. It was all in slow motion. He grabbed her as he ran by, nearly knocking her to the ground. The strap of her Coach purse caught his hand. He seized the opportunity, spinning around behind her. He grabbed her by the throat, her body directly between the officers and his. Lainee had little time. Alone with this animal was not an option. She stomped with all her weight on his right foot, then slammed her head backward feeling it connect with his cheek. She allowed herself to fall straight to the ground.

The noise was deafening as the guns exploded. The man sighed and sagged to the earth behind her. She noticed a slight twitching of his legs as his body accepted death.

Death Dance is a voyage into the supernatural.

When a deranged meth addict empties his gun into a car waiting at a red light, the death of a young woman and ultimately the gunman's demise launches them on a journey neither could have imagined. Death Dance penetrates an existence a breath away for all of us. It challenges all we suppose about influences in human life. This unlikely duo is offered a choice of final judgment or accepting a calling from the king of glory. Their choice finds them on a battlefield hunted by an enemy far stronger than imagined. The seeming impossibility of completing their task tests faith, trust, and belief. Each obvious weakness intensifies doubt, skepticism, and suspicion, challenging every assurance of what lies within.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9798886163001

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Death Dance

J. Michael Koppen

ISBN 979-8-88616-299-8 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88751-401-7 (hardcover)

ISBN 979-8-88616-300-1 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by J. Michael Koppen

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 1

The crusted pool of blood below the passenger door was her first indication of the carnage. The sirens were screaming as uniforms of various colors performed on a stage of horror. Lainee Harmon, rookie news reporter for the Star and Tribune, held her emotions in check as she surveyed the scene. Three bodies lay on the sidewalk, two were attended by EMTs with frantic pace. The smeared blood on the plastic covering the third body relayed its finality. A disturbance to her left demanded Lainee's attention. Four police officers struggled to hold a wildman. He spit out his words in a fevered voice resonating over the existing clamor.

I told her to drop the phone! he screamed. They knew too much… I had to kill them. I ain't goin' down for nobody! He twisted and writhed, wild eyes scanning the scene. She was callin' the cops, I tell you, and laughin' the whole time!

He kicked and punched as he screamed. Lainee shivered at his piercing tone.

As if in a scene from a nightmare, he broke free running straight for her. It was all in slow motion. He grabbed her as he ran by, nearly knocking her to the ground. The strap of her Coach purse caught his hand. He seized the opportunity, spinning around behind her. He grabbed her by the throat, her body directly between the officers and his. She could smell his filth and sweat. She felt his hot breath beside her right ear. His left arm was around her waist. His hand rested just below her right breast. She could feel his body against her back as he pulled her closer. His right hand tightened on her throat.

He whispered, We're walkin' out of here…you and me. They ain't about to shoot no lady…but I'll do you in a blink. You understand?

Lainee nodded, now living one moment at a time.

I'm going to let up on your throat, but I ain't puttin' my hand down. You try anything, and you're dead… Understand? Dead. He clamped once tighter, for effect.

Put down the guns and back away. We're walking out of here, her and me. He nodded his head at her. His eyes darted from side to side… His head couldn't seem to keep up. Drop 'em and everything's going to be all right, but you push me, she dies…

Lainee had little time. Alone with this animal was not an option. She stomped with all her weight on his right foot, then slammed her head backward feeling it connect with his cheek. She allowed herself to fall straight to the ground.

The noise was deafening as the guns exploded. The man sighed and sagged to the earth behind her. She noticed a slight twitching of his legs as his body accepted death.

Chapter 2

Lauren Chandler got the call at 9:30 p.m. It was late for the phone to ring. She expected it to be Gray explaining why he would be late. Monday night was mission night for her husband. He spent the evening in a Bible study in the inner city. Sometimes one of the students needed personal attention, and he was happy to comply…but he always called to alert her so she would not worry. The woman's voice on the phone was calm, almost clinical.

I am calling for Lauren Chandler? She paused.

This is she, Lauren replied.

I am sorry to inform you there has been a shooting. Your husband has been taken to Abbott Northwestern Hospital Emergency Room. He is stable, but they asked me to call before he enters surgery, she continued.

Surgery? My husband was…shot? Lauren bit her lip as questions screamed through her mind. What about the others? she stammered. Are the girls okay?

I'm afraid I have no more details, the flat voice droned. Mr. Chandler just went into surgery. It will be at least two hours before he is in recovery. He is not conscious, but his condition is stable. She hesitated as a muffled voice in the background interrupted. Mrs. Chandler, will you be coming to the hospital this evening?

Of course! I will be there in forty minutes, Lauren nearly shouted as she grabbed for her coat.

I will alert the police. Someone will be here to brief you when you arrive. Again some irritating mumble caused hesitation. I am sorry about the bad news.

Lauren did not know how to respond…she didn't.

***

The light sent needles into Gray's brain. The room was fuzzy and unfamiliar. The pain in his chest and the silver pole with a plastic bag got his attention. He surveyed the room, his mind struggling to catch up with his eyes. The television directly across from him was off. The blue high-backed chair to his left was empty, but the unfolded blanket and rumpled pillow hinted a visitor. The partially opened curtain allowed him a view of the hallway. He glanced again at his wounds trying desperately to remember. There was movement to his left. He turned his eyes as a young nurse entered.

How wonderful to have you back, Mr. Chandler. This has been quite an ordeal.

Where am I? He groaned through a gravelly voice.

This is Abbott Northwestern Hospital. I must get your wife. She's been here the entire time. She just stepped down the hall for a cup of coffee… I'll alert her.

Gray didn't have the strength to argue. Some of it had started to return. He remembered gunshots…lots of gunshots.

Gray…oh, Gray I was afraid I'd never see those eyes again. Thank God you're back.

I'm still a little gone… It hurts to talk…

Don't talk! she whispered as she leaned over him. Just rest, I'm here.

Gray fought his heavy eyelids. He had to have some answers. He lifted his head. The pain streaked through him like fire in a windstorm. The nurse was standing on his right.

Pain? How bad? She leaned forward.

Gray couldn't answer. Tears rolled from the corners of his eyes as agony ripped into his existence. Speaking was impossible, breathing unbearable.

On a scale of one to ten…how bad? the nurse continued.

Gray did not acknowledge.

Four?… Six?…

Still nothing.

"Eight?… Nine?…

He squinted to acknowledge the number and to fight the pain.

"Nine?… It's a nine? I'll be right back."

Streaks of red and yellow flashed through the darkness behind his eyelids. Gray feared he would pass out. He heard the nurse enter. He felt a slight tug on the tube extending from his left arm as magically the pain began to subside.

That should make things better, but we need to get on top of this pain. You must tell us when it begins to come back so we can chart it and set a dosing schedule. It is difficult to control if it gets ahead of us.

Gray wasn't certain if she was talking to him or to Lauren. He didn't care. In the background of relief, her voice continued.

This works fast, but not for long. We will be adding another one or two that last longer. Healing is quicker if there is no pain. You will probably sleep with this med.

Those were the last words Gray would hear.

Chapter 3

Rhett Taylor had a chemical problem. It had cost him dearly. Looking back was a blur…looking ahead seemed a waste of time. He did neither. His thirty-ninth birthday celebration lasted fourteen days—336 hours of pain relief. He awoke on a gurney at Abbott Northwest Hospital watching the lights go by every two seconds. The attendant ignored him as he pushed the cart into the elevator. Rhett heard the sliding of the doors. He felt the movement of the car. He again was on his way to some form of torture at the hands of a gown and mask.

As they reached the lower floor, the door opened, and the light counting resumed. Rhett tried desperately to formulate a plan. His mind refused. Just when all seemed lost, the cart stopped. He waited until the orderly sauntered into the room to his left. He turned his head slightly to the right—a wall—not good! He looked left and noticed he was not alone. She was a beauty, red hair, blue eyes, and a great smile. He leaned out and whispered.

He winked. How long you in for?

Just got here… Don't know?

Are you sick?

Beats me, I don't feel bad. Again, that smile.

I'm walking out. You want to go with?

Are you serious? She scowled.

…as a heart attack! Believe me, I'm going.

Rhett sat up slowly. Then slid off the gurney without so much as a squeak. He scrutinized the young woman.

There doesn't seem to be a mark on you—give it a try.

She rolled onto her left shoulder then sat up. The brakes kept the gurney still and their exit silent. Rhett moved calmly down the corridor…the beauty only a breath behind. He found a laundry cart with scrubs in the adjoining hallway and two maintenance workers jackets in a dark closet. They turned their backs to one another and changed. He tried to get a peek, but she somehow put on the scrubs before she took off her gown. They left the closet, took the elevator to Floor One, pushed the door forward and walked from captivity.

The dingy sky added to the chill in the air. Rhett moved easily through the traffic, heading in the direction of his apartment. He glanced over his shoulder and gave a confident smile to his companion. She looked worried.

Where are you taking me?

I ain't taking you anywhere. I'm just leavin' here. You can follow if you like.

Can we slow down a little? I'm not feeling so well. Something's different.

Rhett hated to admit it, but he too had a strange sensation. It was as if something was missing—well, not really missing, but something was not normal. He turned into the lobby of the next bank building and stopped.

What's wrong?

I keep looking at my feet when I walk. They don't seem to be moving the same speed as my body. And I don't know how to explain it, but people don't seem to be seeing us.

Well, you seem to be keeping up with me okay, if your feet aren't working.

Yours aren't really walking either. Look how far we just came. We're already downtown all the way from Abbott. How can that be?

Rhett looked down at his feet. The Nike's were still there just like always. He moved toward the street slowly. She was right. The sidewalk passed beneath him like he was floating.

What the hell is this? He gave her an anxious glance. He moved back into the lobby and stared into her face.

What were you in the hospital for? He moved closer. Think, do you remember anything?"

What I remember couldn't be true. If it was, I would be dead.

Neither spoke as her words hung between them.

Chapter 4

Michael bowed before the throne. The clamor of his armor signaled the last of the invited had arrived. He moved in silence to his place. He removed his sword and shield before taking his seat. The king rose and spread his arms. All present bowed their heads as he blessed them.

Mighty warriors, the time has come to consider the events of the Prophecy. You have come from all corners of the creation this day. Speak now. He sat.

One by one, the archangels spoke of their battles. The news was disheartening to the king. He realized the inevitability.

Michael bowed before he spoke.

I have just come from North America. We are losing thousands each day to darkness. We must build an army to fight.

It is a dangerous time for men. They know no truth because they will not seek it. They accept disappointment and disillusionment. They do not fight. They recognize no battle. It is lost before it is begun. The king did not display emotion.

Angel's heads sagged. They had watched from the edge of many a lost battle.

The king stood and walked to the throne of each warrior. He touched each shoulder and lifted each chin until eyes met. Finally, he spoke. We will begin a new battle.

Eyes fixed on him as he continued.

I will call the hearts of two into the fight.

Will they stand? asked Michael. Will they join us?

They must choose, but I expect it.

Who are these that they can be trusted? Michael stared into the face of his king.

They have left their world and enter Estralia. I have not sent them to their judgment. They will be called from the middle world.

They then are not flesh, nor spirit. How can they fight either?

We shall see, Michael. We shall see.

***

Dracor marched down the dark alley to the massive ebony door. He removed his helmet and ran his bony fingers through black, knotted hair. He was a giant in the world of darkness, yet he felt minute in this place. The door swung wide. He inhaled deeply as he awaited the announcement.

Dracor, commander of the Armies of the North, echoed from the inner chamber.

Come forward and report your progress, a thunderous voice demanded.

Dracor dropped his head averting his gaze from the throne. He cradled his helmet with his right arm as he entered the assembly hall. He could feel the eyes from the peripheral darkness as he made his way toward the dim glow. At the edge of the red and black carpet, he knelt, head still bent low.

I have come to give you excellent news, Master. We are making great strides in the North. Hearts are being taken by the thousands each day, and the armies of God fall back…

Silence! The floor shook as the voice bellowed.

The hand moved like a striking viper and clamped around the throat of the warrior. He was lifted from the floor like an empty feedbag.

You will never speak that name in this chamber again, the voice thundered. The throne pulsated like a beating heart. Dracor saw no face in the darkness. His eyes filled with tears as he tried to breathe.

Never!

He dropped like a stone, his armor resounding on the rock floor. When Dracor was able to right himself and regain his voice, his words hissed from his throat. Forgive me, Master. I am only a soldier. I forget my tongue.

Another slip, and you will have no tongue.

The silence was deafening as Dracor considered his speech carefully.

We continue to push back the enemy. Certainly victory is within our grasp.

What hear you from Estralia?

The dungeons fill as we speak. Our forces guard the fortress. None come or go without our knowledge.

I do not speak of the fortress…

But, my lord, the fortress is Estralia, Dracor stated.

Fool! The hand appeared before Dracor but did not touch him. Estralia is the middle world! All souls pass through it from death. Our dungeons lie on the very edge protected by the chasm and the terrain.

But, Lord, we guard the entire mountain from above and below. Our armies would not allow a whisper to pass without our knowledge.

There is talk that the enemy is sending two souls to set the hearts of the chosen free.

We know every soul that leaves the world and passes through. Many of them belong to us, Dracor wondered as he spoke.

They belong to us when they reach judgment—these two, we believe will not pass through but will assault your forces from this plane.

That is impossible, Master! No man has ever entered Estralia. They cannot live there. The flesh of man cannot exist in such a place.

"Idiot! You are not listening!"

Dracor dropped his head to the floor at the outburst. He was certain it would be his last movement.

These are neither flesh nor heart. They are souls before judgment, the voice continued from the darkness of the throne. What do we keep in the dungeons, Commander Dracor?

All was silent.

Speak, Commander of the Armies of the North! I await your answer.

Hearts, Master—the forsaken hearts of men, Dracor whispered.

So you see the problem?

Yes, Lord. What would you have me do?

You must hunt them down. Our sources tell us they are still vulnerable. Bring me their souls, or I will have your head.

The hand pulled back into the darkness.

Dismissed.

Chapter 5

A bad day was getting worse. Nothing made sense. Rhett sat on the curb looking at the girl. He was uncertain of his next move.

What's your name?

Merideth Logan. That I do remember clearly.

You said you ain't sure what happened, but it seemed impossible. At the risk of sounding critical, I ain't touching the ground when I walk. Can anything be impossible?

You're the one who wanted to leave the hospital. I would probably still be there if you hadn't happened along. This isn't my fault.

You didn't answer the question—what happened to you?

I think I got shot.

With a gun?

No, with a water hose. Of course with a gun. She glared. We were downtown sharing the gospel when some guy just opened up on the car. He shot me—I think several times.

So…you're some kind of Bible thumper or something? Rhett's mind was spinning like a roulette wheel. Things weren't adding up.

We try to help others find a different road.

So were you hasslin' the guy or what?

I'd never seen the guy before! She scowled. We'd just finished and headed home. We stopped the car at a light. My friend Carmen was on the phone to her boyfriend. She stopped to think. The guy came from out of nowhere. He just opened fire on us. I don't know if anybody else was hit, but I'm pretty sure I was.

Merideth pushed her curly red hair behind her ears and looked down at the floor.

That's a great story. Why ain't there a mark on you?

I don't know. She lifted her head. But I don't think gliding when I walk is normal either…do you?

Rhett didn't acknowledge the question. He stood slowly and turned toward Merideth. I got it! We'll head back to the hospital. The clue has to be there. I know we walked out of that place with their clothes and off their gurneys—something had to happen between there and here.

What if they catch us?

That might be good—cause I ain't quite sure they can even see us. He turned to leave.

I'll go, but I'd like some answers first. Meredith's grim face made him roll his eyes. I don't even know your name yet?

It's RT.

That's not a name, that's letters. What's your name?

"Rhett Taylor. My mom loved Gone with the Wind."

That's a great name—Rhett. Why do you go by RT?

"I hate chick flicks, and I hate Clark Gable! Listen, I didn't have anything to say about the name, so I don't have to use it!

So, Rhett Taylor, why were you on that cart?

Rhett bristled. I haven't a clue. Actually unless I OD'd on something, I can't think of a single reason.

You're an addict?

Hell no, I ain't no addict, but I like to party! That's why I ain't really sure what's up. He moved his face close to hers and mimicked her voice. But I am pretty sure it ain't 'cause I was shot by somebody.

But you're not certain? She moved her head away a little. Are memory lapses commonplace with your lifestyle?

You might say they are welcome in my lifestyle. Now can we head out and get some answers? Rhett brushed back the bushy shoulder length hair with his left hand and offered his other to Merideth.

You can trust me. I'm harmless. But it might be a good idea to go together—kinda watch each other's backs.

***

The lower floor of Abbott Northwestern was a maze of tunnels and rooms. Rhett was having a great deal of trouble remembering their escape route. He found the linen closet and then the maintenance room. Nothing was missing in either.

They must have replaced the stuff, cause you can't even tell we were here.

Merideth's eyes began to water as she looked at the coats. Look, Rhett, the grease spot on the right elbow of the jacket.

What about it. It's a maintenance man's coat. They're s'pposed to be dirty.

Look at your right elbow. They are exact. The same pen is in the pocket. Everything is the same. She began to cry. What is happening? Everything is still here. I'm frightened more now than before.

There has got to be an answer to this. Lighten up. We'll find it.

They moved down the hallway looking into doorways—behind curtains—nothing. They heard footsteps.

What are you doing down here? This corridor is off limits to maintenance.

They froze. The voice continued to move closer. Rhett was about to speak when a voice behind them interrupted.

The mopping has to get done by someone. I gots a pass to be here if you need to see it. Rhett turned to see a black janitor holding out a badge.

That would help. The man in the white coat moved past them toward the voice without acknowledgment of their existence. Seconds later, the maintenance man continued mopping, and the white coat moved on down the hallway.

Blood everywhere. Like trying to mop up glue. I gots to get a different job. The old man wrung the filthy mop into the bucket. Rhett and Merideth waited until the cleanup was finished, and the old man left. They moved closer to the double door labeled Morgue.

Rhett swung the door open and peeked inside. There was a slight bluish hue from the lamps on the sidewall. The upper lights were switched off and the room was quiet. A stainless steel wall with handled compartments met his gaze. He turned his head and motioned for Merideth to follow. Two silver operating tables emitted an eerie glow from the wall light reflecting on the powder blue walls. The room was spotless. The old man had done quite a job. The fragrance of lemon and ammonia was heavy in the dank air. They moved closer to the wall and saw the labels on the two-foot square doors. Third door from the left on the bottom right had M. Logan printed in black ink. Merideth backed away and turned, leaning against the wall.

That's me, Rhett. I think the body in that case is mine. But how can I be out here if I'm in there.

We aren't sure about any of this. It's just a sign. But there's one way to find out.

I can't do it. I'm scared just looking at the label. I could never open that door. She banged her head lightly against the chrome behind her.

I'll open it, but I gotta know if you want me to. This could be real bad for you if what you remember is true. He hesitated and looked around. But if we're going to do it, we gotta do it now before somebody comes by… I ain't quite sure what folks can see and what they can't.

You open it. I'll just keep my back turned until you tell me what you see.

If you're sure, I'll do it. Are you sure?

She gritted her teeth. Just get it open and tell me what you see.

The silver handle was cold to the touch. Rhett pulled downward. He heard the seal release, and the door swung wide. It opened left blocking Merideth's view. A faint sweet smell wafted over them as Rhett rolled the platform out of its crypt. The body was covered with a heavy canvas sheeting so the form was difficult to identify, but Rhett knew it was a woman. Some things are obvious. He moved around the right side of the body to the head and held his breath as he lifted the cover.

I'm sorry, Merideth, but it's you.

She sighed from behind the door. I knew it would be. Somehow I knew I was dead. She stepped around the platform. Let me see.

The body of the young woman was blue gray. The sunken eyes and drawn features had none of the vibrancy Rhett saw before him, but the face was a definite match.

Leave me alone a minute, Rhett. I need a little time here.

No problem. I totally understand. He turned away and left her.

The tears rolled down her cheeks as she touched the body. It was cold and felt like clay. She pulled the sheet back exposing the upper torso and nearly fainted. There was no blood, but the exit wounds of the bullets had riddled the body. The left breast was obliterated. There were four other bluish holes, two in the upper abdomen, one in the sternum area and one almost center in the stomach.

Why? she whispered as she covered the body.

Oh shit!

Merideth turned.

Rhett was standing two-thirds of the wall away looking at the nametag on another door. R. Taylor!

"What did you