The Maze The Lost Labyrinth - By Jason Brannon Page 0,34
suave. He was a salesman perhaps, or a politician wanting to shake hands, introduce himself, and leave a card with his name.
Darrell Gene wasn’t sure whether to open the door or not. The man knocked again before pushing his wire-framed glasses up on his nose. The visitor had a very casual demeanor that made Darrell Gene feel a little more at ease about the whole situation.
“Stop worrying,” the television whispered. “You’ve got at least sixty pounds on the guy.”
And it was true. Darrell Gene carried two-hundred and sixty solid pounds on a five-foot eight-inch frame. He wasn’t muscular by any stretch of the imagination, but he was imposing, beefy. Years spent in various sweatshops doing manual labor had made sure of that. If the man was here to make life hard, Darrell Gene knew he could straighten things out on his own.
It had been a while since he’d gotten into a fight of any sort, but, somehow he didn’t think that would be much of a problem.
After weighing his options and sizing up the man on the front porch, Darrell Gene decided to see what the visitor wanted, but only because he didn’t want to spend the next week wondering if the man had come with good news of some sort. It was unlikely, sure, but Darrell Gene was always hoping for a miracle, even if one never occurred.
Maybe this was one of those guys from Publisher’s Clearing House here to inform him that his name had been drawn at random as the winner of a multi-million dollar prize. Darrell Gene wondered if cameramen would swarm at him the minute he opened the door, if the doors of a van would open up to release hundreds of multi-colored balloons into the air, if a beautiful newswoman was waiting in the wings to interview him after the man on the porch presented him with his check.
He opened the door and the man smiled. It wasn’t a forced smile but rather one that seemed relaxed and at home on a jovial face. There were no cameramen, no balloons, no newswoman. Much to his chagrin, Darrell Gene didn’t see anything to suggest that a new life was waiting around the corner for him. He sighed with disappointment and then cleared his throat, wanting to cut to the chase. “Yeah? Can I help you?”
“Mr. Rankin?” The man extended his hand. “I’m Carl Beckett from the River of Life Baptist Church. I hope I’m not disturbing you. Do you have a minute?”
Darrell Gene froze, wondering how he could have been so stupid. This man was here to preach to him. His first instinct was to slam the door in the missionary’s face, but the man had taken a step forward, buying a few precious seconds of additional time with which to spread his propaganda. It was one of their tactics. He had dealt with this kind before.
“Um, I’m really kind of busy right now.” Darrell Gene stammered out an answer. “And church doesn’t interest me much.”
“I understand,” Carl said. “I don’t want to seem pushy. I just thought I’d stop by for a moment and see if you went to church anywhere.”
Darrell Gene thought back to that Sunday so many years ago when his mother left him and his father..
“I know all I need to know about the church.” He didn’t bother to hide his bitterness and resentment.
“I take it you’ve had a bad experience of some sort.”
“You could say that. My mother ran off when I was seven. She left my father and me for a deacon. They got married the day after the divorce was final.”
It was obvious from the look of shock on Carl Beckett’s face that he hadn’t been prepared for a curveball like that. “Um, I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
Carl shifted from foot to foot, a little nervous now. “This is going to sound strange,” he began, “but someone told me that I should visit you. It even sounded strange to me at the time.”
“Who?” Darrell Gene thrust both hands into his pockets and fingered the loose change that rested there. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of a loner. Not too many people care about me, and there aren’t too many people I care about in return.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure.” Carl forced a smile. “But it sure does seem like someone wants to see you saved. I found a note in my mailbox with your name on it and a message that said ‘Visit