Date:         Mon, 13 Jun 1994 02:36:35 -0400
 
 
Well, since it was left open to the general public, I thought I'd add my
contribution to the "put down the snake and we'll talk" anthology. :)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                      A Share of Darkness
 
                     by Robin Carroll-Mann
 
 
 
 
    "Look, put down the snake and we'll talk," Schanke coaxed.
    The man at center stage got a tighter grip on the motionless green-clad
form which was slung over his left shoulder.  "Don't move!  Don't come any
closer!"  He pointed his knife reprovingly at Schanke like an elderly
school-marm waggling her index finger at a naughty student.
    Schanke held out his empty hands in a placating gesture.  He remained
frozen in place, halfway down the center aisle, where he had been for the
past five minutes, or was it five hours?  "I'm not going anywhere, buddy,
OK?  Just put the kid down and--"
    "Stop saying that!" the man snapped.  "I told you, this no child!  This
is the Serpent himself -- Satan, the Prince of Darkness, Father of Lies."
His voice lowered, as if confiding a secret.  "He's deceived you all, taking
on the shape of innocence, but I see through his guiles."
    "Ok, ok," Schanke said placatingly.  "Then put down the snake, so we can
discuss this like reasonable people.  It's just you and me, now."  Thank God
that the fruitcake had let the others go.  The last thing he needed in a
hostage situation was a roomful of hysterical civilians.
    It was the panicked exodus from the church that had first alerted them
to trouble.  Parishioners, young and old, and white-robed choir members had
fled into the refuge of the night.  They had been followed by Reverend
Fordham escorting the cast of the year-end Sunday School pageant: a
diminutive Adam and Eve in leotards and green felt fig-leaves; a tearful
Angel of the Lord, clutching a plastic sword; and the Benson twins in their
Cain and Abel costumes, clasping each others' hands tightly as they called
out for their mother.
    Nick had pulled the Caddy to a screeching halt.  "Metro Police.  What's
going on?"
    They were greeted by a babble of voices.  "Just one of you!" Schanke
bellowed.  He scanned the crowd, looking for a person in authority, and
spotted Rev. Fordham at the top of the entrance steps.  Before Schanke could
move towards the pastor, a young woman intercepted him.  Her eyes were wild,
her face tear-stained.
    "My Joey!  He's got my Joey!  He's in there--" she stabbed a finger at
the church door, "I didn't want to leave my baby alone with him, but he said
he'd hurt him if we didn't go.  You have to save my Joey!"
    Nick had made a hasty decision.  "Schank -- you go inside. I'll call for
the hostage negotiation team.  Keep him talking as long as you can."
     And now here he was, in a deserted church auditorium, alone except for
a nutcase with a knife and Satan, Prince of Darkness, aka seven-year-old
Joey Bradshaw, wearing the snake costume his mother had lovingly sewn
for him.
    Joey was still motionless, as he had been ever since Schanke had
entered the room.  Only the blinking of his eyes revealed that he was still
alive.  Too scared to move, Schanke concluded.  *Poor little kid*  He
thought about his Jenny -- only a little older than Joey, after all -- in
the arms of this fruitcake, and a cold rage began to fill him. *Let this
yo-yo slip up once, just once,* he prayed.  *I'll take it from there, God.*
Pushing down his anger so that it wouldn't show in his voice, he addressed
the man with the knife again.  "Why don't you tell me all about it, ok?
Start from the beginning."
    Detective Nick Knight walked through the corridors of the church
school as softly as a hunting cat, and with the same grim earnestness.  He
paused to study a fire exit diagram hanging on a wall.  There it was!
Around the corner, second door on the left.  Backstage access to the
auditorium.  He nodded with satisfaction.
    Nick pulled open the stage door and paused.  He could hear an unfamiliar
man's voice, sharp-edged and angry, and then Schanke's calm, flat tones.
*Now what?*  He had no doubt that he could rush the man before he had time
to use the knife, but only at the cost of revealing himself to Schanke.
Maybe he should wait for Hostage Negotiation.  They were trained for
this; they knew all the tricks of extricating a victim safely.  Then he
heard the madman's voice again, harsher and more strident now.  No time!
There had to be another way.
    Nick stepped into the wings, judging distances.  Two steps more would
take him to a spot where the man on the stage could see him, but Schanke
could not.  He took those steps now, at the same time letting all semblence
of mortality slip from him.  His fangs descended and his eyes burned with
golden flames.  "You were seeking me?" he called out.
    The man spun around seeking the source of the voice.  When he saw Nick,
a faint moan escaped his mouth.
    "You wanted to confront the Lord of Darkness," Nick said harshly.  "Here
I am before you -- not that sniveling brat in your arms.  You dare challenge
the Master of Hell?  Come then!  Slay me if you can -- if you dare!"
    With a loud, bestial cry, the madman dropped Joey Bradshaw and lunged at
Nick, knife extended.
    He never had a chance.  With one hand, Nick grabbed the man by the
collar and held him up like an errant kitten.  With the other, he slapped
the knife from the would-be killer's grip.  Only then did he let himself
resume a human appearance.  He lowered his captive to the ground.  "Metro
Police," he said, in an almost pleasant tone, "You're under arrest."
    Meanwhile, Schanke had leapt onto the stage to retrieve the little boy.
Joey had suffered nothing worse than bruises from being dropped onto the
floor.  The emotional damage, Schanke guessed, would be harder to assess.
    Within minutes, the prisoner had been whisked away by a patrol car, and
an effusive Mrs. Bradshaw had insisted on hugging Nick and Schanke several
times.  She was eventually pryed away from them and escorted home by a
friend
in the choir.
    Rev. Fordham stood in the doorway of the church and shook their
hands.  "I just don't know how to thank you both."
    "All part of a day's work," Schanke assured him.  He turned to
Nick, "Nice role-playing, partner."
    "Oh, I did a little acting when I was younger," Nick said truthfully.
    "Well, you sure seemed to do a convincing job on *this* role," Schanke
teased.  "Natural talent, huh?"
    "We all have our share of darkness," the minister interjected, "our
inheritance of evil from Adam's Fall."
    Schanke glanced back at the stage.  "Yeah, but any cop'll tell you --
some of us have a bit more evil than others, Reverend."  He glanced at Nick
for confirmation, but his partner remained silent.
    "But with God's help," Fordham continued, "all of us can be forgiven.
No one is so evil as to be beyond His forgiveness."
    Schanke glanced at the stage again and smirked, obviously repressing a
cynical comment, but Nick caught Fordham's eye.  "I hope you're right about
that, Reverend," he said quietly, "I hope you're right."
 
                             --- THE END ---