It was night. Samson, now dressed in jeans and with his locks combed straight down his back, moved a dresser up against the broken door. "Ain't the first time I dealt with broken hinges," he said. Delilah shook as she found an electric terror being replaced by a milder, despondent terror that came with the realization she was Samson's hostage.
"Hey, honey, cheer up," Samson chided, then took a slam of whiskey from a bottle. "I been in worse jams than this. Here. Have some."
Delilah took the bottle and drank. "What are you going to do to me?"
Samson looked incredulous. "Do to you? Baby, I ain't going to DO nothing to you. I'm full of the love of the Lord. I just want to have some fun like we was going before we was so rudely interrupted."
Delilah began to cry. "How can you say that? God, how could this be happening? Why did I get into this mess?"
"I know, honey," Samson said as he inspected the action of a pistol. He let the slide click shut. "I know. A class act like you ought to at some Dead Sea resort soaking up rays, not a care in the world. Here you are with some poor boy from down home who don't know caviar from sardines." He turned to look at her with his close-set, piercing eyes atop a mountain of muscle and framed by that long, black hair. He smiled and lay the pistol on the nightstand. "Honey, I ain't got nothing but love, and that's all the class anyone needs."
"But you... killed those men. And I'm... I'm a Philistine, too."
Samson rose and moved next to her on the floor where she had sat since the violence. Her body curled in fear. Samson put a hefty arm gently around her. "Honey, my first girlfriend was a Philistine," he said in a soft tone. "She's dead now." Delilah's body spasmed tighter. "But," Samson continued wistfully, "it was all part of the Lord's big plan. And," he whispered, "it wasn't me who killed her. It was her own kin."
The last words turned in her mind. What would police do with her if she got out of this room alive? Would they thank her for her work, even if it was a botch, or would they brand her as a conspirator with this outlaw? Was there really a way for her to leave this stinking pit with a life worth living?
Samson abruptly rose and fetched a book from the nightstand. "You ever read this?" he said holding the thin book up so she could read the cover.
"It's a Bible. I read a little bit," she said, some annoyance piquing through the fear.
"Look at the last page. Go on. Just open the back cover and see what it says there."
She had to force herself to concentrate on the words printed on the last page. She read out loud from it, shaking. "Coming soon is the next installment of this biblical epic: The Book of Judges." She looked up from the book to her captor, not knowing what she was supposed to make of this publishing teaser. He grinned. His eyebrows arched in pulses. "I don't understand," she said.
"The Book of Judges. It ain't in the Bible yet cause it's happening now. I'm Samson the Nazarite. Hero of Judah. Judge of Israel. King of Rock'n'Roll, baby! It's all coming to pass and being written in God's living history. I'm part of it. You're part of it. Course, they'll cut out the really fun stuff for the final version, but they'll leave enough in so you can get the gist."
Delilah felt the terror in her ebb, felt the dominatrix in her come back a little. She managed to object, "But this book, it's all just stories. It's rebel propaganda. It isn't real."
"Oh, honey," Samson said sadly, "It's real. Yes, ma'am, it's the real low-down. And I'm God's judge on this earth." He sniffed and scratched himself. "Yeah, well, I gotta get me some pizza and something to drink." He picked up some of the broken thongs from earlier in the day and began to bind Delilah with them. "I don't appreciate this reversal of roles any more than you do," he apologized, "but the situation calls for it. You need anything when I go out?"
"You're going? Aren't you afraid?" Delilah asked, surprised to feel some concern for the ruffian.
"I don't expect any more trouble for a while. Philistines always act all high and mighty, but they never got their shit together. No offense, hun. But even if they''re out there, I can handle them. I've got the strength of the Lord upon me, and ain't no one going to touch me as long as that's true. Here. Take the remote. Watch some TV. Won't be long. And don't try to mess none with the guns if you get loose. They're dangerous."
He slipped the pistol in his pants and then a wad of cash. He moved the dresser from the door as if it were a toy. When he left, Delilah realized that anyone could come through the wrecked door now that it wasn't blocked. What if police came for her as a traitor and not as their agent? Samson the mad rebel would not be there to fight them off. Then she wondered just how many kinds of bad she could learn about in one day.