Lock Up

Gregory pulled into the empty church parking lot just as it was getting dark. He passed the black windows, shining and clean, perfect mirrors and perfect abysses at the same time, and made his way to the double glass doors. There is a distinctive smell that all LDS meetinghouses share and, for some reason, Gregory was particularly impressed by it as he entered the deserted hallway on this evening.

As he walked past the bishop's office and into the foyer he noticed a different smell. Flowers. Across the lobby there were two easels with wreaths flanking the double door entrance to the chapel.

There must be a funeral tomorrow.

On the table next to the entrance lay a stack of folded tan papers.

They even printed the programs already.

Gregory got this assignment more than anyone else in the Elder's Quorum. But he wasn't going to murmur about it tonight. He just wanted to get done quickly. Something about the empty chapel gave him the creeps.

He was always a little high strung as he walked through the mostly dark halls and classrooms by himself. The giant black and white portraits of the past presidents of the church that hung in the main hall seemed to be looking down on him. Following him with their condemning eyes. Eyes that held a knowing menace of who he really was and what he had done.

At the end of the opposite hall was a life sized statue of Joseph Smith. Several times while doing lock up before, he had been startled by its dark silhouette as he turned the corner, forgetting for a moment that it was there and thinking that it was an intruder. Gregory was often impressed when he saw the statue by how tall the prophet was, how broad his shoulders were, how masculine his form was, how “large in stature” he was. Joseph Smith was a big man, in more ways than one. He would hate to run into a guy built like that alone in the chapel at night.

Knowing that “Joseph Smith” was in the building with Gregory was at the same time both reassuring and a little creepy. Then there was the noose. When Gregory was fourteen, he and a few of the other teachers would often sneak away from mutual to climb up into the attic space above the chapel. There was a whole unseen world of rooms and corridors up there to explore. One time, they made their way all the way over to the interior of the steeple. They followed a narrow crawl space that opened up into a 12 by 12 foot room where the interior steeple walls towered above them. There was a ladder on the far side that they used to climb fifteen feet up to a foot and a half ledge about a third the way up the steeple, forming a ring around the dark abyss below. The three of them spread out around the ledge, careful not to drop their flash lights. Something in the void caught Gregory’s eye. Not far above their heads a beam spanned from one side of the steeple to another. Something dangled from it at eye level. A noose. It just hung there all by itself, gathering dust in the darkness.

The three of them joked about how weird it was to find an noose up there and who could have put it there. But the sight of it profoundly disturbed Gregory. He did not know why. It was just the image.

Even though he had never been back up there since, he could feel its presence taunting him, sometimes even when the church was full of people and daylight, as he sat in sacrament meeting or bored in Gospel Doctrine. All the more when he patrolled the empty corridors alone in the twilight.

He still wondered how it got there, and why, as he checked the windows down the next hall. There was this one story that went around about some guy that committed suicide and whose ghost haunted the basement of the building. But that all happened in the boiler room-not the steeple-according to the stories.

Besides, the story wasn't true. Even if it was, there was no connection.

He always tried not to think of that noose as he made his rounds through the unlit chapel, which, of course, meant that he always did think about it. Singing hymns never seemed to work. He tried to force his mind to wander somewhere else. But tonight his mind was set on reenacting the time that they discovered it. Jason and Mark had had moved out of the ward a few years after their missions, married, had kids, and were successful. They were probably bishops or something. The other young men, usually led by Jason, used to tease Gregory for how good he was. How he didn't skip Sunday school to hide out in the bathroom with them. How he never got their frequent jokes about drugs and sex and stuff. Sure, it was ironic that other Mormons teased him for being too good while at church, and tormented him on scout campouts for being “righteous,” but the fact was, Gregory was not good, even back then. He wasn't really righteous. Sure he stayed away from drugs, didn't get into trouble with girls, and everyone always talked about how worthy he was. Only Gregory knew his secret. He was the most unworthy of them all.

Gregory started making his way through the classrooms of the side hall, making sure each of the windows were closed and locked shut. He made his way room by room around the outside of the building until he rounded the corner into the far hall. There, silhouetted against the blue light, translucent through the curtains, stood the dark imposing figure of Joseph Smith.

You didn't get me this time.

He made his way past the kitchen, towards the statue, and around the next corner. He tried not to think of that stupid noose.

It's probably not even there anymore.

Gregory went down the stairs into the basement. This was always the part that he dreaded most. This was the area of the church that was the darkest, except for the windowless cultural hall, but he didn't need to go in there. The few windows that were down in the basement were only along the top of the scout room walls. And he still felt a rush of fear, for some reason, when he passed by the boiler room door.

Gregory's thoughts wandered from that trip up to the steeple and how the other boys treated him. He though of the campouts they went on together, the time one of them got lost, the time that they put dry ice bombs in the latrines at scout camp. And Havusapai.

Why, tonight, am I thinking about Havasupai?

On the second day of the campout, the troop hiked down to Beaver Falls. The whole way down the other scouts talked about how awesome the cliff jumping was going to be. Every time this was mentioned, Gregory felt a rush of dread.

Everyone is going to do it. Am I really going to be the only one to wimp out?

Gregory checked the door that led to the outside stairwell to make sure that it was locked and made his way back down the hall.

By the time they reached the falls the day was hot. At least 90 degrees. Gregory wanted to swim in the blue-green water so bad. Perhaps if I just swim in it, no will will notice that I never actually jumped.

He was disappointed. Once they got to the top of the falls, it soon became clear that the only way down to the water-besides jumping-was a precarious and conspicuous down-climb. It was probably more dangerous than jumping and there was no way to climb down there without drawing attention to the fact that he was doing it.

Mark jumped first, speeding down the 60 foot drop into the churning water at the base of the falls. Jason followed with a back flip.

“Dude, that was so bad!” Everyone was laughing.

Before long, everyone had jumped and climbed back up, some two or three times.

Gregory just needed to do it. Not think about it and do it.

The basement was done. Now he just needed to make his way back towards the stairs. Once he got up to the main floor, there was only one side of the building left. Then he could go home.

The glare of the desert sun was blinding as Gregory peered over the cliff to the churning water below. The Arizona air almost burned his lung as he inhaled nervously.

Ok, not yet.

His fear was actually causing Gregory to laugh.

Didn't even know that was possible.

Another deep breath.

He took two large steeps to the edge and then he was falling. He was so surprised and disoriented as he plummeted that he didn't even think to keep his arms tight against his body. They hung out like wings as he crashed into the water. It didn't even hurt. The foam of the bubbles pushed him back up to the surface almost instantly.

Gregory swam to the sandstone shore and climbed up out of the water. All the other scouts were back up at the top of the cliff. Gregory started to make his way back up to the top. The climb was surprisingly difficult. His legs shook as he made a few of the moves. About 40 feet up there was a crude ladder, fashioned from a log. The rungs were wet and slippery from the boys who just climbed up.

Gregory clasped the third rung from the bottom and carefully balanced both feet on the bottom board. His leg started to shake.

Sewing machine leg.

I need to get off this fast.

He stretched out his right arm, reaching desperately for the rock above. He was too far over. The little log ladder slipped out from under him.

Nothing to grab.

He fell at least 20 feet until he smacked shoulder first into the ledge below, rolling on to the side of his face and grinding it into the sandstone. His legs flailed above him in the air, hanging over the ledge. His high center of gravity pulled Gregory away from the ledge and he fell the rest of the way, crashing into the water.

Gregory had no clue which way was up. His arms instinctively reached to fight against the current. The pain was instant and and shot from his shoulder down his right side. He tried to move his arm again. The same pain.

I can't move my arm!

Gregory still did not know up and down. He tried a third time. He wanted to scream out in pain, but his lungs were completely empty.

I can't move my arm!

I'm going to die.

In the basement, Gregory approached the dark stairs and made his way up to the landing. Turned and walked up to the main floor. He sprinted up the last few steps, as he always did, as if some unseen being was following him.

In the water, Gregory kicked his legs and flailed his left arm in frantic desperation. He didn't know which direction he needed to go.

His instinct took him to prayer.

I'm not even worthy to ask for help.

His lungs were crying for air. Inhale! INHALE!

Gregory fought the urge but he was loosing the will power.

Heavenly Father, I know I'm not worthy of your help, but if I can just live, I promise I will change. I will repent for real this time.

Change seemed so easy at that moment. Of course he would change.

I promise I will change!

Please God. Please! I WILL be better!

He could tell he would not be able to hold back the urge to breath much longer.

PLEASE! I WILL CHANGE!

It just happened. His mouth opened and he sucked the water into his lungs. His entire body convulsed with excruciating pain. Gregory could actually feel himself slip away. It was over.

Suddenly, Gregory's entire consciousness was filled with the most searing brilliant light he had ever seen. Someone was calling his name. No, they were shouting it.

The light began to gradually come into focus as the brilliant blue high desert sky. The voice was his Priest Quorum adviser. “Gregory! ANSWER ME!”

Another voice shouted, “he's alive!”

Everything started to come into focus. He lay on wet warm sandstone. The pain in his lungs. He could barely breath. But, he could breath. Next he felt the pain in his shoulder. Blood poured from his head and mixed into the puddle of water around his body.

“Freak dude! Are you ok?”

He tried to speak, couldn't, just felt the pain as he tried to draw the breath into his lungs.

I'm OK.

He really didn't remember much of the aftermath. It seemed like they waited there a long time for the helicopter. And he remembered waking up in the hospital in Kingman. One thing that Gregory could clearly remember was that the first thing that he thought of when he woke up in that hospital bed was his promise and how he was so certain that he would keep it.

That was my chance.

Gregory reached the top of the stairs, turned, and started making his way back along the hall.

I'm almost done.

Suddenly, he was overcome by an eerie sense of unease. Something about the hall felt different. It dawned on him. The statute of Joseph Smith was missing. It just wasn't there.

Someone else must be in the building.

Thieves? Someone pulling a prank?

It's not funny.

He rushed towards the lobby to the nearest door.

The doorway was not there. The long curtains that normally flanked the sides covered the entire entry way.

Forget that. That's probably where they are. There's another door on the other side of the chapel.

He rushed though the double doors to the chapel, not even noticing the programs and flower displays that stood by the chapel entrance, and started running along side the tall green felt curtains that separated the chapel from the cultural hall. towards the opposite pair of double doors.

For some reason he felt the need to look to his left in the direction of the pulpit as he cut accords the room. His eyes were immediately drawn to it. A coffin right up there in front.

They already left the body in here!?

Gregory quickened his pace as he pushed through the other set of double doors and into the opposite lobby. He banked left to the set of glass doors. Same thing. Just more curtains. This time he decided to just push them aside and get out of there. He would feel safer outside, thieves or no thieves. He parted the curtains, but could not see the door. Gregory moved his arms back and forth through the curtains, but all that he could feel was carpeted wall.

I must have gotten turned around. I must be in the wrong hall. I'm just really, really disoriented.

He made his way back down the all towards the cultural hall. No, he was in the right place. He was sure of it. Turning around, he made his way back to the doors. They were definitely not there.

He though of cutting back through the cultural hall to the other side of the building but there were no windows or doors in there. It would be too dark to see.

He was right next to the Relief Society Room. Gregory ran though the door and approached the window. He tried the metal latch on the first window. It was stuck.

I'm not turning around. I'm not going back in there.

They will think it was so silly that I broke a window.

What will tell them? I got spooked?

Who cares? I've gotta get out.

He thought of that corpse lying there in the same building.

All along the wall, stacks of metal folding chairs leaned against the wall. “LDS torture devices.” He picked one up, holding it by the pairs of cold metal legs with his his trembling hands.

Alright.

He swung it with a steady arc right at the bumpy opaque glass window. The frosted glass shattered leaving a dark whole in its place. He used the rounded top of the chair to break off the remaining shards that protruded from the bottom of the frame.

Once he got out of the hospital it was only a matter of weeks before that new sense of purpose that he committed to so strongly as he struggled in the river began to wane.

You just can't keep up that kind of intensity forever.

Pretty soon he was his same old self.

When he looked back at the at moment, that was really his one best chance. Never had his desire to change been so sincere. He was convinced that he would repent. He had known it with a certainty. He would never be so motivated, never have such a clear chance to change again.

If I couldn't change my life after that, after I wanted to so badly, after I was so sure that I could, then I will never change.

Sure, Christ will forgive all sins. But what good will that do me if I can't ever even make the changes myself in the first place? Part of repenting is turning away. And I just can't turn away.

Gregory felt a little silly as he finished breaking off the shards that protruded from the bottom of the window.

I must be confused about the doors. I'm clearly not thinking straight.

But at least I can get out now.

He crawled, arms and head first, into the darkness outside. He could not see if there were hedges under the window. Most of the building had hedges around it, if he was remembering correctly. His hands touched the solid bottom and the rest of his body followed, sliding to the solid ground in an awkward collapse.

Gregory stood up and walked out into the parking lot. His eyes had still not adjusted. It was pitch black. He had to get his bearings.

Based on where I came out, the car must be on the far side of the building.

He turned perpendicular to the building and started making his way east through the parking lot.

My eyes will adjust soon.

Why is it so dark out here? Was I really in there that long? And why aren't the parking lot lights on?

His eyes still would not adjust.

It must be pitch black out here.

He had no frame of reference to determine were he was going.

The Priests' Quorum adviser that saved his life that day was the bishop now. It had been over ten years since he made that promise. Too many years of breaking it.

As he groped around in total darkness, Gregory thought of the weeks and months and years following the incident.

I really became pathetic. It didn't take long.

Sometimes over the intervening years, he had thought about that noose, when he contemplated ways to end it. He could climb up there and hang himself and no one would ever find him. People would just think he disappeared. They would never know what a pathetic coward he was. They would never know what he had done. But he would never really do it. Gregory knew exactly what it was like not to breathe. He would never put himself through that again. Never.

Gregory’s eyes still had not adjusted to the darkness outside. He wondered if he should turn back, so that he could at least feel the side of the building and get his bearings.

As he considered it, something caught his attention. The sound of his own footsteps. They didn't sound right. There was a strange empty echo to them. He stopped and began to pay attention to the surface of the ground for the first time. It was hard and smooth. Like a basketball court.

I'm in the cultural hall.

It was impossible, but he was sure of it. The smell, the feel the, way the sound echoed.

He walked forward until his hands reached out and touched the fabric wall of the curtains that partitioned off the chapel. When he was a kid, Gregory and his brothers would chase each other and hide between the two layers. He felt his way following the curtains until he came to the seam and passed though the two halves into the chapel.

Gregory froze. He directly faced the coffin, lying there on the far side of the pews. He turned right and ran to the double doors, frantically passing through them and fell to the side knocking over a table.

A stack of folded papers fell to the floor, scattering all around him. As he scrambled to get back up on his feet, he looked down at the mess of programs between is hands. There was a dark oval shaped portrait in the center with his own face staring up at him at him.

Gregory spread the program open. He didn't notice the speakers or musical number or who gave the invocation. His eyes were drawn to the very bottom right-hand side.

“In lieu of flowers please send donations to The American Society for Suicide Prevention.”

Gregory scrambled frantically on all fours, his hands and feet slipping on the scattered programs.

I have to get out of here now!

He regained his balance, his fluttering feet finally finding purchase on the solid carpet, and he sprinted down the hall towards the bishop's office.

He remembered. There's another exit down that hall.

Gregory stopped as he came up to the door a the end of the hall. The solid black pane made a perfect mirror. He tried to avoid looking at his pathetic, desperate image, tried to not to look at his reflected face. This is something that he usually did when looking at mirrors. Gregory had a habit of avoiding eye contact with himself.

Gregory reached down for the push bar. His reflection reached down, as if to stop him. Gregory stepped back and, without thinking, looked up to his mirrored face. His eyes stared back with an independent menace of their own. The reflection lifted its arm and gestured back towards the inside of the building. It then brought its left arm to its neck and raised the other arm above its head, making a gesture simulation hanging.

Gregory screamed out and kicked at his refection. The glass shattered, giving way to an opaque blackness. He cautiously stepped though the frame, careful not to cut himself on any lingering shards.

As he passed through, he caught himself with a sudden start. Even though he could not see it, Gregory could sense the presence of a void. He could sense the ledge at his feet. The air was stale and dusty. Straight in front, he could just make out the shape in the darkness. The noose hung in perfect solitude, just within his reach.

This is how it is supposed to end, isn't it?

He had the strongest urge to get away. Before he could even think about it, Gregory jumped out into the darkness, brushing the noose as he passed by. He crashed into the floor, which instantly gave way in a torrent of sheet-rock and foam. He was falling sideways, looking down he could make out the shape of pews far bellow him.

Gregory crashed into a pew landing on his face and shoulder. The pain of his old wounds came screaming back at him as they were torn open anew. He lay there dazed for a moment before propping himself up within the shattered pew. His right shoulder had re-dislocated and he could feel the warm blood pouring down his face and down the side of his neck.

There in front of him lay the coffin. He had to do it. He had to finally face it. If this was real, or hell, or spirit prison, or outer darkness, or whatever, he had to know. He stood up, limped towards the box and ran his left hand along it, finding the seam beneath the mahogany lid. It was heavy, but he was able to lift it with one arm.

His pale white likeness lay inside, eyes closed, in an almost peaceful repose. He looked happy, content, satisfied; a stark contrast to his malicious reflection.

Suddenly, the eyes opened. It turned its head to directly face him.

The eyes looked at him with the same menace of his reflection. Two arms shot out, grabbed Gregory, and pulled him into the coffin. It held him backwards against its cold stiff body. The lid shut with a gentle thud above him.

The corpse held him tightly in the coffin. Its cold smooth hands grasped his neck. The dry brittle fingers had the feel of stiff coarse rope. Gregory struggled instinctively to free himself for just one breath. As he struggled, a sensation came over him; like he was sinking down. The coffin was being lowered, slowly lowered down. He could faintly hear speaking outside the coffin. It was the voice of his bishop. The voice was too muffled to make out anything beyond a few bits: “...plot as the resting... hallowed and protected... the Resurrection.”

The coffin roof jolted with a fistful of falling dirt. Gregory's clawing at the coffin lid automatically became more frantic. The corpse calmly released on hand from his heck and confidently wrapped it arm around Gregory's arms to hold him back. He could feel the air becoming heavy and oppressive. His oxygen starved brain sent him into a dizzy confusion.

“...bless his loved one's with reassurance...”

His lungs screamed for air.

“...name of Jesus Christ....”

Jesus. Gregory could not think clearly, but his brain was fixated on that one word.

“Why do you not have faith that I can change you?”

Gregory could finally see just how inconsequential his shortcomings, flaws, and sins were. Christ overcame them all.

Jesus is my Savior. It is not about me changing. It is not about me doing better. It is about Jesus changing me.

He knew this was it. There was no more time to repent. The Lord would not prolong the days of his probation. He'd had his chance. But, it didn't matter. There was no more time. It was the darkness when no man could work and it was too late. Still Gregory felt a calm and a peace knowing that if he could have more time, if he could do it all again, Christ would give him the power to change.

Or rather, Christ would change me.

It is not up to me.

As he thought this last proposition, he felt himself begin to die.

…

Suddenly he was pierced with a blinding light. The brightness was completely overwhelming.

“Gregory”

“Gregory.”

The voice kept calling out. Gregory could not speak. He coughed up what felt like water. His lungs instantly sucked in a deep breath. The air was sharp and dry. It stung in a million places all at once as it filled his throat and lungs. Out of the blinding light an intense pure blue gradually came into focus. He was soaking wet.

“Gregory! Answer me!”

“Dude, you ok, man?”

He lay on the flat red rock beside the churning water, the familiar walls of Havasupi Canyon towering above him.

Yeah... I'm ok.