The Last Soul

By Debra Clarke

the opponents:

god and satan

the crux:

mankind's free will

the battleground:

castle of hope

the goal:

the salvation of

heaven's final soul

the reward:

the rapture of the church

Emma's poor life choices and their consequences have pulled her deep into a pit of despair that has now left her in a coma, her soul hanging in the balance between heaven and hell.

and so begins the battle for the last soul.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685175276

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The Last Soul

Debra Clarke

ISBN 978-1-68517-526-9 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68517-527-6 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Debra Clarke

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to anyone is coincidental.

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 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

About the Author

In memory of my mother and father.

Choose you this day whom you will serve.

—Joshua 24:15

God created things which had free will. That means creatures which can go wrong or right. Some people think they can imagine a creature which was free but had no possibility of going wrong, but I can't. If a thing is free to be good it's also free to be bad. And free will is what has made evil possible. Why, then, did God give them free will? Because free will, though it makes evil possible, is also the only thing that makes possible any love or goodness or joy worth having. A world of automata—of creatures that work like machines—would hardly be worth creating. The happiness which God designs for His higher creatures is the happiness of being freely, voluntarily united to Him and to each other in an ecstasy of love and delight compared with which the most rapturous love between a man and a woman on this earth is mere milk and water. And for that, they've got to be free. Of course God knew what would happen if they used their freedom the wrong way: apparently, He thought it worth the risk… If God thinks this state of war in the universe a price worth paying for free will—that is, for making a real world in which creatures can do real good or harm and something of real importance can happen, instead of a toy world which only moves when He pulls the strings—then we may take it, it is worth paying.

—C. S. Lewis

So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus.

—Romans 8:1

Chapter 1

Molder stood alone now, tall and firm among the dense forest, his shadowy gaze on the castle. Satan, his commander in chief, had entrusted this job to him just moments before, and he didn't want to let him down. Destruction was always the desired outcome of any job given to him, but Molder wondered at his master's unusual agitation over this particular human. The prince of darkness seldom displayed such obsessive behavior.

What's so special about her?

I'm not sure, said Satan, his anxiety palpable as he paced around a tree, the edges of his long black coat catching air behind his legs, his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped and narrowed his eyes at the fourteenth-century castle, standing bold and regal on an adjoining hill, as if he could see the woman through its distant stone walls. He shook his head and bit at his lower lip. I don't know, but she needs to be dealt with and soon.

What's the rush? Molder asked, looking at the fortress and then back at his chief.

Satan, strikingly handsome, dressed in gray pants and shirt, sporting longish, thick black hair and a well-trimmed goatee, now stood still and looked at the castle. His expression darkened at Molder's question. There's something imminent about her, but she's in a coma and mine at the moment. As if a thought suddenly occurred to him, a sinister, half-lipped grin appeared, then he snorted. Humans can be so shallow and easily swayed, he said with equal parts disgust and triumph. He paused, still grinning. How about you become her dream come true and use your wiles on her? You're one of my best. That's why I gave you this assignment. Suck her in, mind, body, and soul. He sobered and added in a firm voice, Then destroy her before she succumbs to any divine influence. He paused. I don't want to lose this one.

But, sir, Molder, remembering his place, reminded with reluctance, you know I can't do anything until—

Yes, I know! shouted Satan, his dark eyes sweeping Molder; then taking a deep breath, he swiped a hand across his face. I know, he conceded with a growl. But the choice is still hers. Convince her.

Molder watched him a second then casually added, as an aside, Well—he glanced at the castle again—"these humans are born naturally drawn to you."

A full smile spread across Satan's face, and he pointed his index finger at the demon. There is that. He laughed, the sound deep and satisfied.

The demon waited a moment more then asked, What do you want me to do?

Sober again, Satan said, For now, get close to her. Get to know her. Do whatever you have to do to get her attention. Make her happy. Pull her in. That shouldn't be too hard. It's a castle. Make it happen. And keep an eye out for any heavenly warriors. Satan's eyes bore into his before they shifted and roamed around the woods. They're close. I can feel them.

Molder felt the twitch of being watched and looked up into those dark penetrating eyes of his master.

My dungeon of demons is massive. You have my permission to make use of as many as necessary. If you can't lie and deceive her into my realm, then literally scare her into hell. We cannot lose her. Understood?

Yes, sir. He watched his chief turn and disappear like a mist into the trees after a lingering, backward glance at the castle. As a top-ranked demon of destruction, this assignment shouldn't present much of a challenge, though part of him still wondered at Satan's adamant command. But true to his calling, he didn't question what ultimately needed to be done. He just had to wait for the King's release, and then the woman would die.

Chapter 2

Ellie, the daytime ICU nurse, stood by her hospital bed wondering how a person so physically damaged could still have a heartbeat. Oddly enough, the woman was breathing on her own, which was miracle enough, but the machines also indicated brain activity.

The nighttime nurse, whose name tag read Molly, stepped up beside her, ready to begin her shift. Oh my, she whispered. What is her story? she asked, looking down at the grotesquely swollen, bruised face and neck.

Ellie sighed deeply. Don't really know. Apparently someone beat her to a pulp, then cut her, and left her to die. She shook her head, more rattled than she should have been, considering her years as a nurse. Thankfully she's in a coma.

How bad is she cut?

All over. Even the soles of her feet, Ellie answered quietly, her gaze sweeping over the woman's bandage-covered body, making her petite frame appear doubled in size.

After a low moan, Molly asked, What is her name?

Emma.

After a quiet moment, she asked, Who does something like this to another person? She shook her head. I can't believe she didn't bleed out.

The ER nurse overheard one of the EMTs say it was one of the bloodiest calls he'd ever been on. Ellie took a deep breath and finally glanced at Molly. Guess it wasn't her time, she said and turned to leave the room.

Castle of Hope

Emma jerked awake. In panic mode, eyes huge, she scanned the room and instinctively slid her body back against the padded headboard, a self-defensive action she'd applied for as long as she could remember. If her back was against a wall, he couldn't sneak up behind her.

She sucked in several deep breaths, slowly descending from her habituated fight-or-flight stance. Taking a moment to rethink, her brow furrowed. Again, she scanned the unfamiliar and frankly strange room she found herself in, unaware of being watched.

Dark thoughts swept in. She closed her eyes, lifted her knees, and buried her face in her hands. The last thing she remembered was being cold, lying on her back in their bed in what felt like a shallow puddle, Levi sitting next to her, smirking as he cleaned his hunting knife with the edge of the bedsheet, the little scalloped seashell print disappearing in red. She tried to lift her hand, but couldn't; her head ached beyond belief, her body paralyzed. Even her vocal cords would not allow her relief, a scream begging for release.

Tears streamed as she sobbed through the memory, never believing Levi would go so far in his abuse but also shedding tears of relief, though not understanding where she was now. Allowing the memories to flood in, she remembered the argument, the latest and most violent of many. He slapped her across the face several times before grabbing her head and slamming it against the wall, screaming in her face the whole time. She fell to the floor, aware that he was stomping around the room, but not understanding what he was saying, her ears ringing. She watched him move close to her again and saw his knee bend back just before she felt the toe of his scuffed cowboy boot rip first into her cheek. Then, as her head rolled from the impact, she heard her nose snap before his boot tip drove into her other cheek. He was out of control.

He then grabbed her by the neck and lifted her off the floor. Feet dangling, she couldn't have stood if she'd tried. Stand up, he'd shrieked, lifting and dropping her full body weight by the base of her skull. When her legs refused to support her frame, he became angrier yet and squeezed her neck until she was on the brink of unconsciousness. Her hands beating on his arms, she fought for release. Levi, please, she squeaked.

Shut up, Emma! Just shut up!

Finally letting lose his grip, she collapsed in a heap onto the floor, looking like a rag doll tossed into a corner. Then she heard the snap on the scabbard hanging from the back of his belt and caught the flash of light on his hunting knife blade.

No, he won't go that far.

But he did.

She expected him to drive the blade point into her body, but to her horror, he grabbed her arm and sliced the thick blade across her forearm. In disbelief, she remembered the same action continuing all over her bikini-clad body, barely comprehending what she was experiencing. Strangely, there wasn't a lot of pain.

As he lifted her mutilated form off the floor, he dropped her back onto the bed. She bounced and caught a quick glimpse of the front of her body, seeing little more than red, only tiny snippets of her bright-yellow bathing suit shrinking away in the flood. The sight was so shocking she couldn't catch a breath.

As she lay bleeding to death, her eyes staring at the white wall above Levi's blond head, she wondered what would come next.

That moment felt like only a blink in time past, yet here she sat, in a large bed, in a room that looked like something out of a medieval movie. The floor and walls were stone. A fire burned in the wide, deep fireplace. A desk sat to its left. Several beautifully woven tapestries, strung through with gold filament, hung around the room. The ceiling was a play of thick wooden beams, arched to a center peak. Bright sun squeezed past the cracks in two large sets of wooden shutters, creating a series of long ribbons across the floor, one lighting up the exquisite velvet spread at the foot of her bed.

Stretching out her arms, she pulled up the sleeves of the sage-green pajamas she wore and ran her hands over her forearms, marveling at her healthy body. No bruises, no cuts, no blood. She'd been rescued, but how?

She reached for a tissue and wiped her eyes and runny nose. Flipping the covers back, she realized the bed was unusually high, at least for her petite frame. Moving to the edge, she slid to the floor via her backside, feet landing on a thick rug. Walking to the nearest set of shutters, digging her toes into the deep, lush piling, Emma reached up and released the shoulder-high latch and pulled them open. The window was outset by about eight inches and waist-high for her, the glass squiggly in places. Before her was a vista unlike any she had ever seen with her own eyes. She could see for miles, bright-green grass and flower gardens close, rolling hills of forest farther out, and high snowcapped mountains in the far distance. It looked like a magazine photo.

Turning back to the room, she walked to the open fireplace, finding the floor stones warmer there. Thinking through the last few minutes, she was baffled. She had no idea where she was, but wherever this was, she was grateful, because she was sure she couldn't have lived for long after what Levi had done to her.

As she rotated her body in front of the fire, trying to get warmer, she noticed something lying on the desk to her right. Walking over, she saw it was a journal, the leather cover distressed with age. Opening it, she found that the pages were old, rough parchment paper. They looked like they would crumble at her touch, yet were surprisingly sturdy. On the first page were scrawled the words,

When we come to the end of self, we come to the beginning of Christ. (C. H. Spurgeon)

She read the heavy yet oddly moving quote again. Considering the condition of the book and a tiny ink smear on the bottom corner, she figured the entry must be decades, if not centuries, old. As she fingered the soft cover, a noise reached her ears. She stopped and listened. It sounded like someone sniffing. Frowning, she laid the journal back on the desk and followed the sound to a large, arched wooden door across the room. Leaning close, she heard it again. Lifting the iron latch, she pulled the door open just an inch or so. Glancing out, she saw no one. Then her eyes dropped down, where she found an eager set of dark-brown eyes looking up at her. The animal stuck its nose into the crack she had created then sneezed a full-bodied, wet sneeze. She laughed, thoroughly enjoying this turn of events.

A second later, the large, muscular black body sat on its haunches and offered her a begging whine. She grinned and stepped back, opening the door wider. The Lab stayed where he was and seemed to be waiting on her to give a command.

Hey, there, she said with a smile, inviting him in by kneeling down and holding out her hand. He was instantly up and, with tail wagging, knocked her onto her behind and tried to climb into her lap. As she laughed and petted his shiny hide, he made her feel welcome and special. She'd always loved dogs for their unconditional love.

Winston. Emma heard a young voice call, but couldn't see the person for the large dog body that blocked her view. Winston, come. Instantly, the dog untangled himself from Emma and moved to stand next to the girl, whose command he clearly recognized. Good, boy, she said as she laid her hand across the base of his thick neck.

Emma guessed the child to be about seven or eight years old. She was pretty, with big blue eyes and long blonde braids. Since her delicate face was framed by wispy waves and corkscrew curls hung behind her earlobes, Emma assumed that her hair was naturally curly. She wore a simple midcalf linen dress, the light blue accentuating her eyes. Her feet were bare. Her expression was lit by a sweet smile, as if she had a secret.

Hello, my name is Elira. And this is Winston, she said as she glanced at the dog and rubbed the top of his head. We're here to help you. Emma caught the slight Irish tilt of her accent.

Help me?

Yes, ma'am. She bent in a slight curtsy. There are clothes that will fit you in the closet, including lady things and shoes. Winston and I will wait for you right here. She gestured over her shoulder to a green tapestry-covered love seat sitting across the wide hallway, a single candelabra stood to the side. There's no rush. Take your time. You are safe here.

Instantly, tears filled Emma's eyes. Thank you, she said, closing the door quickly. Leaning back against it, she let the tears flow. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt safe.

Wiping her cheeks, she walked across the room and through a door she thought might be the closet, but it turned out to be a well-appointed full bathroom. It was roomy and pleasantly warm. Even the floor stones felt like they were heated. She washed her face and dried it with the thick white hand towel she took from a hook next to the mirror. As she hung it back up and turned to find the closet, she noticed a piece of parchment paper lying on the counter. In the same bold script she'd seen in the journal, she read the words,

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. (John 3:16)

She recognized the verse from the Bible. Her grandma Eda had taught it to her as a child, but she had never been very God-minded, at least not since her grandma had died. And God, if He actually existed, certainly hadn't come to her rescue on the numerous occasions she had asked for help.

Feeling the need to hurry, she left it on the counter.

Finished in the bathroom, Emma went in search of clothes. True to Elira's words, she found a closet full of every possible article of clothing she could need; and to her surprise, flipping through the hangers, it did appear to all be her size. She decided to not even think about dealing with the hows of that question right now. Pulling off the flannel pajamas she woke up in, she found and began putting on the pretty, feminine underclothes, a soft pair of jeans, a coral sweater, and sable leather flats over matching socks.

She returned to the bathroom to fix her hair and realized it looked fine. In fact, it looked great. Her profusion of curls usually required more effort than she cared to give them, but today, thankfully, they looked nice. Pleased, Emma stepped in front of the floor mirror. Taking a deep breath, she looked at her slim, petite form and said in a singsong voice, Emma, where are we? Another deep breath and she walked to the bedroom door.

It opened quietly when she lifted the latch, and she saw Elira sitting patiently on the love seat, her bare feet swinging left and right, her hands demurely lying in her lap. Winston lay near her and heard the door open, sliding his chin across the stones. He watched Emma step into the hall. He didn't get up but raised his head as his tail began pounding the floor.

Still seated, Elira said, Oh, you look so pretty, Miss Emma.

Well, thank you, Elira. I was going to say the same thing to you.

The child slid down off the love seat. Thank you, she said absently as she reached for Emma's hand. Come, we'll take you to breakfast and you can meet Nadia and Basil. The castle isn't very big as castles go, but you still might get turned around at times. No worries though, you'll learn your way. Just in case, she said, turning halfway around and pointing behind them. Remember where the chapel is and you'll always be able to find your room. They're right next to each other. Looking behind her, Emma saw a set of closed, ornately carved doors at the end of the hall. Turning back, she felt Winston's head slide under her right hand as Elira walked on her left.

Ahead of them, she saw that the hallway continued on for a ways, several doors lining each side; but the threesome turned right a moment later and started down a large, wide, circular staircase. The stairs were well lit by a row of long, rectangular leaded-glass windows running along the top that were even with the second-story hallway. As they descended the stairs, Emma slowed, noticing an oddly located narrow but intricate door built into the right side of the staircase, halfway down. The words Ala Sud were carved into the wooden frame across the top of the sharp arch. Before she could ask about it, Elira pulled her hand and said, Stay away from that door. Don't even touch it.

Emma pulled back gently. Wait. What do the words mean? she asked, pointing at them over her shoulder.

Winston had stopped on the step directly in front of the door's short landing. He