Sometime in mid-February, Mitchell and Barzee got into a terrible fight. This wasn’t anything new. They fought literally every day. Heck, they fought almost every hour. But this one was different. It was the worst fight I had ever seen. It was screaming and cursing and threatening with things that I couldn’t even imagine. Finally, Barzee grabbed a kitchen knife and held it to her wrist. “I’m going to kill myself!” she screamed.
She had done this before, but this time I actually thought that she might do it. She pressed the knife against her skin. Mitchell didn’t seem to care.
“I’m going to do it! I’m going to kill myself. I just can’t take it any longer! You don’t deserve me! I don’t deserve this! I’m going to kill myself right now!”
Mitchell finally jumped toward her to pull the knife away. They tussled back and forth, and I wondered if one of them would stab the other. Finally, Mitchell emerged from the scrum, the knife in hand. But the fighting went on.
Listening to all of the screaming and ranting made me sick. It seemed to drive the very sunlight from the sky. It filled the camp with darkness and misery and a hateful, dreadful feeling that made me want to crawl away.
I crouched in the back of the tunnel tent. I didn’t want them to see me, for I knew that if they did, one or the other would turn their rage on me. So I huddled out of the way, listening to the screaming while keeping my head down and staying out of it.
In a final fit of rage, Barzee stormed off, cursing everything about Mitchell that she could think of, which turned out to be a lot. I listened to her voice fade away as she wandered off into the dark.
She was gone all night.
It wasn’t until late afternoon the next day that she came out of her hiding place in the rocks. As she stomped into camp, I could see that she was different. There was a renewed fire in her eyes. She was intense and animated. She was full of … I don’t know, an evil energy that seemed to give her more nerve than she had ever shown before.
“Satan and his hosts surrounded and tortured me last night,” she said.
For such a dramatic announcement, there was no drama or excitement in her voice. She said it matter-of-factly, as if she were announcing that it was cold or that it had rained.
Mitchell only looked at her. Devil or no, he wasn’t ready to forgive or forget.
“They came and tortured me all night,” Barzee went on. “Hours and hours of their taunting, their dark whispers, their rage and hate inside my ears. Then they tortured me. And I’m not imagining. It was very real. It was as if they placed a piercing laser at my feet and ran it up my body. It was pure agony. I’ve never felt anything even close to it before. Searing, burning pain. My body being cut in two. I can’t describe it. It is impossible. I was cut from feet to skull.”
I tried not to look at her. It was a horrible thing to say. Yet I almost believed her. If anyone could become a plaything for the devil, certainly she and Mitchell could.
Mitchell started to say something, but Barzee quickly cut him off. She was tired of him talking. She was tired of his preaching. She was tired of it all. It was her turn to talk and Mitchell was going to listen; that was clear from the fire in her eyes.
She swallowed, as if she were pondering her words. “I have something more to tell you. The fight is over for me now. My election to heaven has been made sure. It doesn’t matter what I do now. I have suffered and bled enough. I have been measured and I am worthy. My place in heaven is assured. I don’t have to follow you any longer, Immanuel. I no longer even have to follow in the footsteps of the Lord. I am going up to heaven. My place in the celestial world is guaranteed.”
That must be pretty cool, I thought. Do anything you want? Still get to heaven? You’re one of the few who gets that deal.
But of course I didn’t believe it. She was just a sick and evil soul. She and Mitchell were nothing more than two malicious and self-serving people who justified their own behavior by twisting the truth.
Barzee squared her shoulders. “But you, Immanuel, you are not following in God’s footsteps anymore.” Her voice was high and piercing. She was more than full of fury; she was a cat trapped in the corner and hissing at a wolf. “You certainly aren’t acting like the Davidic king. And worse, you’re not treating me like the Mother of Zion that I am. I am tired of it and you must stop it. I’m not going to put up with it anymore!”
She stopped to take a breath, waiting for Mitchell to answer.