5 Friday Night Lights

“We gotta dig deep!”

“We gotta get tougher!”

Clichés, the usual one-liners that players yell at random as their teammates head to the locker room. Friday night, game night. A weekly Millersville tradition that showcases the volatile nature of our townsfolk. A week had passed since the investigation. Justin thought it would be best for me to take time and process all that had happened. “Go, be normal.” He said, which was next to impossible when you live in a clown factory.

Our football field was not considered school property. There was a whole legal battle several years ago. Miller field was built with money donated by, you guessed it, Sunny Miller. The Puritans claimed the land was unconsecrated and since Miller donated the land for public use, they had a legal right to "worship" on it as long as they didn't disturb others. A line frequently crossed and seldom enforced.

"The eleventh hour is upon us my flock. Repent now. Repent before it's too late and your soul is pulled down into the abyss that awaits all who go astray. Pulled down for all eternity!" Shouted a Puritan preacher addressing a small band of followers outside our locker room.

"Give it a rest, dude. Nobody wants to hear your narcissistic beliefs. You people keep spouting off about the 'end of times' but guess what, we're all still here." An Outsider fired back to the preacher.

"Cast the devil out with the swine. Rebuke his temptations and those of our disgraceful neighbors!" The preacher shouted directly at the Outsiders as a player from the opposing team walked by shaking his head.

"I bet other teams hate coming here to play us. It's such a damn embarrassment." I said to Randy, our quarterback, as we walked away from one verbal shouting match and into another.

“You'd all do well to pull your heads out your asses. O-Line, if you guys can't hold a damn block for more than two seconds we may as well not even go back out there." Coach began his halftime speech.

It was always the same monologue over and over again. Things might have been different if we'd actually ever won a game. It's been at least three seasons since the Millersville Wolverines tasted victory. Sports had never been popular in my town. We had good athletes, but unfortunately, they were either Puritan or Outsider. The Puritan kids were forbidden to engage in competitive sport and the Outsiders just didn't give a damn.

Like every other week, tonight’s game plan was not on my radar. Every synapse in my brain was firing without a leader. My head scrambled with unfocused intent. I should have told coach about my confusion after that hit in the first quarter, but I didn’t want to appear weak. I searched hard for a concrete thought, something solid to hang onto. The only image I could grip for more than a second was the charm dangling from the back of my locker.

The lack of mental synchronization opened a doorway to a mysterious realm where the lines of reality blurred like a dream. I was aware of the locker room and the environment around me, yet haunting images danced across my vision. I fought hard against the hallucinations. Another psychological disturbance would certainly break me. The images came faster and screamed louder with each attempt to push them away.

“No!” I screamed.

“What was that? You got a problem with the game plan Stark?” Coach yelled toward my direction momentarily snapping me back to reality.

“No, no sir. Sorry.”

A teammate leaned toward me. “Pull it together man.”

An image of a man lying motionless on a stone floor forced its way into my head. I recognized him as the same disarrayed man in the image I'd seen on Corbin's computer. He was lifeless and defeated, imprisoned by jagged moss and mud covered stone bricks. Darkness consumed the room other than a faint reddish glow coming through cracks in the wall.

The disheveled man sat up and scurried to the corner of the cell. Voices from beyond the walls grew louder as they approached. It was unclear what they were saying or what language they were speaking. The cell door creaked before swinging violently open. The man trembled in the corner as three beastlike creatures towered over him. He kept his face hidden. Their voices became clear. “You did it, brother. This is a time for rejoicing. Come with us. You can take part in the celebration. You can watch as we bind the soul to the darkness.”

The man remained silent, shaking in the corner. “Then you will suffer here for eternity. That’s our promise to you!” The creatures spewed vile anger as one of them fashioned a hangman's noose and wrapped it around the man's neck, dragging him across the room and throwing him like a ragdoll against the stone wall.

"You're no stranger to the feeling of a rope around your neck are ya boy!" The beast squealed. Bones crushed and broke as he bounced off the jagged stones and fell limp to the ground. “Get up and run!” The creatures taunted, opening the door and inviting him to escape. He struggled with all his strength to reach the door, the coarse stone ripping his fingernails out as he crawled, only to be grabbed and hurled back into the cell. The beatings came harder with each attempt to escape. I shivered.

To my astonishment the beasts seemed to just give up. Eventually growing tired they left, not even bothering to lock the door, daring the man to escape. Was this a game to them? A sport or amusing pastime? I shook. My heart broke for this man. Who was he?

Pray. The same mysterious voice I heard while Monika was in trance was speaking within my mind. Pray. It commanded. I hesitated and then closed my eyes. Please help this poor man. A faint, dull, ball of bluish-white light appeared and hovered above the broken man, trying to work its way inside of him. The light fought to gain entry before being blocked by a black barrier surrounding his body. The light never gave up. Hurling itself again and again towards the man as he released an agonizing moan and rolled over onto his back. The light persisted, breaking through the black barrier and entering the man’s chest. His face straining with intensified agony. The voice spoke. No prayer goes unanswered. The man gained a slight momentum as the light worked its way inside him. His eyes opened.

“Come on! Get Up!” I yelled.

“That’s the spirit Stark! Go get’em son!” Coach fired back before I realized I was still in the locker room.

My broken concentration caused the light to simmer and fade out. The man was unable to continue his forward momentum. I prayed again. Please help this man. Another ball of light floated through the ceiling of the cell towards the man on the ground. Each time my thoughts went out to him another ball of light entered the cell until the room was fully lit. Illumination lifting the man to his feet.

The beasts came running. Angry and hate-raged, they tried to enter the cell. One of them placed his foot inside releasing a shrill vile shriek. “It burns!” The beast cried. The light formed a wall of fire, protecting the man. Now's your chance. Get the hell out of there. The door is open.

The man stumbled forward, falling to his knees. He dragged himself to the cell door and stuck his head outside. The beasts were in his face, yet couldn’t get to him. Terror poured out of his eyes. He broke through the creature's defenses, hurling himself out of the cell and fading into the darkness.

***

“Alright, get out there and get your calisthenics done, let’s go, let’s move!” Coach barked. I hadn’t heard a word of what he said. I had no clue what the second half game plan was. We are only down 21-7, which wasn't impossible. We took the field for second half warm-ups. The image of the tormented man had carved its permanent residence in my mind and grinded my stomach into paste. Anxiety creates a desperate mind. I wanted to leave the field and calm my nerves. I could fake an injury but what would my coaches and teammates think? I searched for another way to cope, trying anything to block the image. I remembered Dr. Z. teaching me to put up a wall in my mind in which anxiety provoking thoughts could not penetrate. As lame as this sounded, it worked. A wave of tranquility ran through me as I released a deep breath.

The tranquility was strengthened by the sight of her, but only for a moment. Allison was in the stands. She was sitting in a group of unfamiliar people. I squinted to get a better look. They wore dark clothing. I hung my head and clenched my fists. “Hey, is that Allison in the stands next to those Outsiders?” I asked Randy, even though I already knew the truth.

“Looks like it. You don't see that every day.” Randy said as we jogged over to the sideline to prepare for the second half kickoff.

“What the hell is she doing? If her father finds out we'll be neck deep in Civil War.”

Randy stopped and looked me in the eye. “Put it aside, Will. You can deal with it after the game. Focus!” He ran off to speak with coach as I averted my eyes back to the field.

We played the entire second half with more intensity than the first, but I was miles from the game. I felt like one of coach’s clichés, just going through the motions. My headache subsided. I don’t think it was a concussion, just a major bell ringing. But that didn’t explain the vision that haunted me the rest of the night.

The lead was cut to 21-20 by the end of the third quarter, no thanks to my lackadaisical efforts. The game clock read 2:12 left in the fourth quarter as our opponents lined up in punt formation. Our Offense was poised to take the field. I had been playing tight end since the middle of the 3rd quarter. Our regular guy went down with a high ankle sprain. I found myself wide open when Randy hit me for a 12-yard gain. I forgot how sweet it was to catch a pass; I hadn’t caught one since freshman year.

“Run it again, Will!” Randy shouted into the ear hole of my helmet, spit landed in my ear, no time to remove it. We were in the hurry up offense. I ran across the middle, two defenders waited to greet me, timing the play perfectly. One knocked the ball away and the other knocked me hard to the ground.

"You OK man?" The defender stood over me looking down.

"Yeah, I think so. Thanks." I held my hand out to be helped up.

"Good, wouldn't want you to miss Sunday school this week." The defender laughed, slapping my hand away and leaving me to pick myself up.

“Shake it off, Will, looks like they’re not going to give us the middle anymore,” Randy said as we huddled up. “Coach thinks the sidelines are our best shot." We broke huddle and hurried to the line of scrimmage. After two quick unsuccessful plays it was 4th down ... our last hope.

Randy took the snap and a 5-step drop. He checked off the main receiver and his second option; both were covered. Randy's third option somehow managed to get behind the safety despite his lack of speed. The Hail Mary ball sailed and hung in the air, shooting itself like a comet. I dropped to the ground, watching from my knees. The receiver laid out as the ball skidded across his fingernails and fell to the grass, familiar failure stinging me. I glanced towards the stands to find comfort, hoping to see Allison alone ... she was gone.