Easter 2013 is behind us, and now that we’ve celebrated Jesus’ resurrection, my thoughts are taking me to the Apostles. It is, after all, the next stage in the Biblical chronology. This year I have been pondering the change that came over the Apostles after the ascension of Jesus. There’s no one who can deny that what came over these men and women was of such significance that that there was a complete metamorphosis. The Bible tells us that when Jesus comes into our lives, we are a new creation. Our old selves pass away and we become new.

One has to wonder if any of these men ever experienced their lives in the same way. Did being hungry or tired or in pain ever have the same meaning as it had before they had met Jesus? I can’t imagine how anything could have looked or felt the same. If you compare what happened after Jesus was murdered, to after Jesus ascended, you already see an astonishing change.

After Jesus’ murder and before the resurrection, the Bible tells us the disciples were together in a locked room “for fear of the Jewish Leaders”.

They knew that if they were found, they’d be the next to be arrested and crucified. They were afraid, but in just a few short days, after the ascension, they were in an upper room, but no longer afraid. Then the Spirit of the Lord came upon them and they became even more changed than before. Each of these men went from fear to fearless and began to proclaim the truth of Jesus as the Messiah. They were ridiculed, beaten, thrown into prison and in due time most of them were murdered as well. And yet, they were excited about sharing the persecution that Jesus had suffered because they wanted more to identify with their Savior.

We have to wonder how did this happen? And the only answer to that is because the transforming power of the Holy Spirit made it happen. Only through him can we hope to reach the potential each of us can reach; and each of us has the potential to be Kings and Queens in God’s Kingdom.

Only through him can we face the possibility of death. None of us, not even the apostles, could ever do anything for God on our own.

So my question now is, how do we get to this point? How do we come to the point where we are willing to go through suffering for the sake of knowing Jesus better? Dietrich Bonhoeffer came to that place and so did Rachel Scott.

  I have to ask myself, “Am I there?”

I’m afraid my answer to myself is no, not yet.

How do I get there?

One day, not too long ago, I was walking with a friend, discussing this very subject. How do we get to the point where we’re so in love with Jesus we, like the apostles, “count it all joy” to suffer like Jesus did?

Jesus himself said we’d be blessed when we are cursed.

When I think of that I wonder if I’ll be able to stand up bravely in the face of death like Rachel did, or walk with purpose toward the gallows knowing that on the other side I will find myself experiencing inexpressible joy like Dietrich did.

My friend and I came to the conclusion that the Lord has promised he would give us the strength we need when we need it. Our job right now is to strengthen our relationship with Jesus now, while the “forest is green” so that in the time of drought, we will have that well of living water within us, giving us the strength we need to end our lives with strength.

So, while my days are quiet, I am seeking the Lord with all my heart and soul. When there is turmoil he will be there with me. I have come to believe that the Lamb’s Book of Life not only has our names written in it, but our whole life story. And so, I will echo what John said at the end of his account of Jesus’ life: the whole world will not be able to contain all the books that will be written.

Thank you, Lord, that we can trust you to provide what we need, when we need it. In Jesus Name, Amen.

Chapter 16

The morning was cold, foggy and damp. Yellow and brown leftovers from the last snow sat in melting puddles along the streets. As far as Johnson was concerned, the weather was perfect. Low visibility could be a card against him, but that was fine. A little more of a challenge was always good, and the low visibility was more of a benefit than liability in any case.

Jazz was forced to sit tied and blindfolded in a car between two men. She shuddered as each man had a hand on her leg, wandering up and down. She knew their intentions, even if she didn’t know Johnson’s. Fortunately the trip didn’t last long, and soon she was made to get out and walk. She was cold and could feel icy mists on her face.

Walking blindfolded was difficult. She stumbled frequently in spite of each arm being held securely by the men on either side of her. They walked in silence.

Soon she was forced to sit on something cold and wet that felt like cement and quickly soaked her clothes. She was tied again. As she tried hopelessly to escape, one of the men chuckled just loud enough for her to hear, he patted her leg.

The time seemed to go slowly for Jazz, sitting in the cold, getting colder as nothing seemed to happen. It was terrible sitting there with that blindfold, not knowing if she sat out there alone, if someone would come up behind her and slit her throat, or put a bullet in her back. Her heart pounded in her ears as she strained to listen for a footstep, or feel the cold blade of a knife on her neck. Every nerve in her back prickled. She wondered if she’d feel a lot of pain dying from a gunshot.

She shook herself, trying to think of other things. Victor came to mind many times.

After securing Jazz, Johnson left one man to hide, watching her while he and others slipped into the trees; a few were with him. Not long after, Johnson and his men saw Monroe arrive with his men. Johnson snorted, but was pleased. It was predicable. Monroe thought to bring some men, but didn’t think to come sooner. Johnson looked at his watch. It was 7:20; the light was just beginning to penetrate the forest fog. He smiled. It seemed an appropriate place for Monroe’s demise. The cemetery was always good for death.

He whispered to the men with him. They slunk off into the trees. They’d take care of Monroe’s men, he’d take care of Monroe. Later he’d take care of Victor. Johnson tugged on his glove, tightening the fingers in the leather. A habit he’d picked up in his early days. How many times had he been glad of this little check?

He crept back to view the headstone on which Jazz sat. Patiently he waited for Monroe to appear.

At 6:45 Victor, Jim and Buck got out of the car and walked to the gravestone Johnson had indicated to Victor on the phone.

 “It’s there,” Victor whispered and pointed, “let’s go back and watch the road. I want to see when Johnson arrives.”

Jim shivered, wishing he’d brought a heavier coat. The three men sat beneath the trees, not far from Victor’s car. Of the three, Victor was most at ease, doing the job he’d done for ninety percent of his adult life: watching, waiting and looking for the right time.

Diffused light began to shine through the clouds when Johnson arrived with Jazz.

Jim pointed with an agitated whisper, “There she is, let’s get her,” but Victor put his hand on Jim arm, Buck, his other arm.

“Not yet, Jim. We have to wait.”

“Why?”

“Because there are too many. They’re experienced, and they’re alert. You’re not experienced, and that’s not the way I do things. We have to take our time. It’s never a good idea to rush.”

“He’s right Pastor. What are we going to do next, Victor?”

Victor put his hand to his lips and indicated they should follow.

Duncan watched while Johnson and his men led Jazz down among the tombstones.  He picked up his radio to order reinforcements and followed Johnson at a distance, realizing he must be the man that Victor had referred to. So there was a Phineas Johnson and he did have Jazz. This part of Victor’s story was true, but he was sure he couldn’t believe anything else.

He quietly followed Johnson and his men, knowing Victor, Jim and the third man were somewhere nearby in the trees.

At 7:30 Monroe was on the path, openly curious at the shivering girl. Johnson appeared,

When he saw Johnson and Monroe talking on the path, Victor quietly slipped from his companions. Carefully he made his way amongst the trees, and behind Jazz. He refrained from whispering to her. It was good to see her, but what had they done to her while she was a prisoner? He corrected himself. She was still a prisoner. He refocused on Johnson and Monroe, putting Jazz’s discomfort out of his mind.

“Well, for once I’m on time and you’re late, Johnson.” Monroe laughed. Gesturing toward the girl, he asked, “What’s up with this?”

“I hired a hit man to do a job for me, but he refused. Since he knows so much abut our operation, I thought we’d better get rid of him and dump them both in the river. This is his girlfriend.”

Monroe smiled. Johnson was always so clever. He’d let him do the job, then he’d have his gunman shoot Johnson from the trees. This would serve Monroe well. Yes, Johnson was clever, but it would be the last clever thing he did. Monroe reached his hand out to shake Johnson’s who grabbed his hand enthusiastically. Suddenly Monroe gasped, feeling the cold, sharp bite of a blade in his gut.

Johnson thrust the dagger he’d been holding so far up and into Monroe’s massive chest, just under the breastbone that he lost the blade, pulling his fingers out of the squelching mass. Monroe fell to the ground, just short of falling on Johnson. Just as Phineas had calculated, the blade thrust a hole in a lung, making it impossible for Monroe to cry out.

Victor could see the look of satisfaction on Johnson’s face. He watched the man reach down and wipe Monroe’s blood off his glove with the dead man’s shirt. Then Johnson sat beside Jazz. She struggled against her bonds and tried to put distance between her and the unknown man beside her, but he threw his arm around her shoulders and forced her closer to him.

“Victor,” Johnson called out loudly, ‘I have your little lamb. She’s cold, maybe I could warm her up.” He began to kiss her neck. Jazz struggled even harder to get away, but she was unable to escape.

Watching from their vantage point, Jim was startled when Monroe fell over. He turned to whisper to Victor, but found he was gone, “Buck, where’d Victor go?”

Buck shrugged his shoulders. By this time Johnson was pawing his captive and calling out to Victor. Victor had been watching, waiting for the opportunity to get Jazz away, but none had come. He expected Johnson to do something about Monroe and was not surprised when the large man fell over.

While Johnson was occupied with Jazz, Victor crept silently closer to the back of the tombstone. Slowly pulling his belt from his pants, and then winding one end and then the other around his black gloved hand, he quietly crept until he was just behind Johnson.

Suddenly, expertly, Victor had the belt around his adversary’s neck. Johnson’s hands instinctively began pulling it away from his windpipe, while Victor pulled in opposition. Immediately several things happened at once; Jim rushed to help Jazz, Buck rushed to stop Jim, and three shots rang out, startling everyone and wounding Victor in the shoulder. Jim and Buck were thrown to the ground from the impact of a bullet each. Victor lost his grip on Johnson, who whipped his pistol out and leveled it at Victor. He smiled a cruel smile, “I knew I could bait you. Monroe’s men met my men, and the advantage is all on my side. Well, well, Victor. Now you’re really in a jam.” Johnson smiled as he rubbed Jazz’s face and neck, “You know, it’s been a very long time. I’ve forgotten how enjoyable a woman can be; and when I’m done, I’ve promised my wolves that they can have her. There’ll be plenty of her left for them, but not much after they’ve finished.”

When the reinforcements arrived, Duncan had them search the grounds for Johnson’s men, and anyone else they might find. He warned them to be silent. Duncan had been following the scene before him. There was the miserable Monroe talking with Johnson, he could hear every word of their exchange. So Victor was telling the truth. What of it? He’s still an assassin and needed to be punished for his crimes. Duncan bit his lip. He could sense the Almighty’s presence, and almost before his still, small, but omnipotent voice spoke he knew there would be an argument.

“No, Lord. He’s a criminal. He has to pay for his crimes.”

“Has to?”

“He deserves to go to jail, at the very least.”

“Deserves?”

“Lord if you weren’t the Almighty I’d be angry at these one word arguments.”

“But I Am.”

What could Duncan say to that? He’d said it to Moses, Jesus had said it, and now God was repeating himself again. So how many times does humanity have to hear it?

“It’s wrong. I have to do my job.”

“So do your job.”

That was an answer Duncan didn’t expect. He shot a wordless question to the Voice, but before he could comprehend an answer, Monroe was falling to the ground. Duncan’s question left his mind without a returning answer. He saw Jim and Buck rush out, heard three shots and saw both Jim and Buck fall and then Victor take the hit. Johnson had his gun leveled at Victor; Duncan brought his weapon down, aimed at Johnson, and pulled the trigger. Instantly the man fell, landing on top of Monroe.

Watching from the trees Johnson’s bodyguard observed the scene below him. He’d waited for Monroe to fall, and then aimed his gun in the direction of his master, waiting for Victor to show up. He’d not expected Jim or Buck, but was a quick enough thinker to bing them both before wounding Victor as his boss had ordered. When he saw his boss fall from another gunshot, he didn’t waste time worrying about where this shot came from but jumped out of his tree and ran. A police officer saw him, fired off a shot at the big man and hit him in the chest. He was knocked back on the path dead.

Victor turned to help Jazz out of her ropes. By now she was freezing and shivering uncontrollably from fear as well as the cold. Victor gave her his coat and wrapped her in his arms. She was having trouble comprehending the miracle of her safety.

Jim sat up. He’d been hit in the shoulder. Applying pressure to stop the bleeding, he turned to Buck. Buck blinked up at him, smiled and whispered, “It’s okay Pastor. I understand now.” He was gone. Duncan came limping down from the trees, with his men.

“Jim, are you okay?” Victor asked, holding Jazz.

“Buck’s gone.” He stood up unsteadily, wiping the tears away. Seeing Duncan, he smiled a weak smile and held out his hand, “Great to see you. That limp gives your walk character.”

“Thanks a lot preacher.” Duncan replied with a grin, shaking his hand.  “So here we all are. Isn’t this nice?”

“Hey Capt,” one of the officers yelled to Duncan, he had a wallet in his hand, “What was the name of that guy you’ve been following?”

“Kevin Frye.”

“I think we’ve found him, look.”

The officer handed Duncan the wallet, and Kevin Frye’s license.

Duncan looked at Jazz and Victor, his expression was difficult to read. “This looks like the guy I’ve been looking for. He’s been linked to several killings.”

Victor did not show the surprise he felt.

“We’ll have to take a statement from all three of you, but let’s get you to the hospital first. You could bleed to death if we don’t get that looked at. Afterwards maybe we can talk about the future.” Duncan said, handing the wallet back to the cop.

Victor laughed to himself. So God does work things out. Inwardly he shrugged to the Voice. It was the only job he knew. Maybe he needed to start working for the law, instead of against it.


Chapter 17

The spaghetti strap pearl-white satin dress flowed like clouds behind Jazz as she walked down the aisle toward Victor, her Dad beside her. The dress shimmered with a hint of rainbow colors. With Duncan beside him as best man, Victor smiled as he watched Jazz come toward him.

“Who gives this woman away?” Pastor Jim asked with a smile.

“Her mother and I.” Mike repeated the words hundreds of fathers have echoed through the years. He gave Jazz’s hand to Victor and took his place beside his wife.

Chapter 15

A nurse had just bandaged Duncan’s leg and was leaving the house. Duncan listened to the instructions she gave his wife. When Meg shut the door, he got up, limped to his desk and began filling his pockets with his badge, wallet, and keys.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Meg came in, firmly prepared to stop him by force if she had to. They’d been married thirty years, how could Duncan not know she would try to stop him?

“Meg, Jazz is missing. I know Victor has something to do with it, and I mean to see him put away. I’m not sure what his game is, but if Jazz is alive she doesn’t have much time. She can’t wait until my leg is healed.”

“Duncan, you can’t go out like this. You can call one of the other guys. You need to stay home.”

“Meg, look at me.” Duncan pulled his wife to face him. “How would you feel if our daughter was kidnapped?”

“But you’re not going to do Jazz any good if you get yourself shot again.”

“I’m sorry Meg, I’m going out. I have to, besides Stan’s killer has to be brought to justice. No one else knows this case as well as I do and he was my friend.”

“Duncan, I love you. I wish I could stop you, but maybe that’s one of the reasons I do love you.”

Duncan kissed his wife, “You pray for me everyday. Pray for me now. I need the Lord to see this through for me, I need to go.”

Hating to see him go, she nodded. This wouldn’t be the first time he went out before he should have. It wouldn’t be the last. “Okay you crazy old man, just be careful.”

“I will. Right now I’m just going to Jim’s. Somehow Victor’s got Jim convinced he’s a Christian now. I don’t understand it, because Jim’s usually pretty level headed. He’s way out of his league; I don’t know how Victor got around him. Whether he knows it or not, he’s at risk too. The only way I’m going to help them is to stake out Jim’s place.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah, alone. You know we’re Lone Rangers most of the time anyway.”

“Except in dangerous situations. Besides, the Lone Ranger had Tonto and Jim West had Artemis Gordon.”

Duncan smiled. She knew him so well. “That’s not fair.”

Meg returned her husband’s smile with a kiss on the cheek, “You started it, and that’s what wives are for.”

“That and so many other things.”

Meg giggled.

“I’ll see you later. I love you.”

She watched him walk to the car and drive out in the street, disappearing down the dark road. She tried to keep it light with him, but when he left like this she let the tears flow once the door was closed.

Duncan sat outside Jim’s house in the same parking lot that Buck had found so useful. Soon a man dressed in black with a dark stocking cap got out of a black car, apparently locking it before leaving. Furtively he made his way to Pastor Jim’s front door, and knocked. The door opened and he slipped in.

Johnson had spent every night with Jazz since the night she tried to escape in much the same way as the first evening after the attempt. They conversed for a few sentences, and then he fell into a drunken daze, drinking his liquor of choice.  The man seemed to enjoy terrorizing her with his presence.

That night Johnson walked into the room in his robe as usual, with bottle and glass in hand. He sat down and prepared himself a drink, “Ms Phelps, I have to tell you that I have been having dreams about you and me together,” He picked up his bottle, already half empty, “You’ve no idea the dreams la Fée Verte gives. But you will discover the joy she gives to those who worship her. Yes, as soon as Victor does his job, I will take care of him and introduce you to the Green Fairy when I have you all to myself. It will be you and me and Absinthe.

 “Your God isn’t much of a god if he let me take you. Why are you so insistent to believe?

“I grow tired of waiting for Victor. He’s taking too long. We must think of a way to hurry him along. I might have to send him one of your fingers or something, even supposing he cares about you.”

The coolness with which Johnson spoke froze Jazz’s blood. And what of Victor? Did he care, or did he disappear, glad to be safely away from this menace? No, she made herself stop thinking that. No, she had to hold on to hope or she would die. Die. Perhaps she should try that escape. She shook her emotional head, “No!” she screamed inwardly, “Stop! Stop! Stop!” Concentrating, she prayed, “Father, please help Victor and me. We’re in a lot of trouble.”

While Jazz inwardly struggled with her thoughts, Johnson sat at the desk drinking and looking far away, but Jazz knew his mind was not blank. He was thinking about her. Those glassy vacant eyes were seeing them together in an appalling vision brought on by the Absinthe. Why didn’t he act on his visions now? She wondered.

“Sleep,” she heard the Voice speak again. By now she was more inclined to obey without the argument that she’d given that first night. 

The next evening, Johnson sat in his study, staring out the window. His visions were driving him further into madness than he was already, seeing them in his conscious mind as well as his dreams. He needed Jazz to remain intact for just a little while longer. He wanted to be rid of Monroe, but now he was also impatient to act on his imaginations as well.

Calculating thought quickly presented a solution. Immediately, but coolly, Johnson acted on it. He dialed his phone, “Monroe, we need to meet. Let’s say, 7:30 tomorrow morning.” After the arrangements were made, and Johnson hung the phone up, he smiled. Monroe didn’t even ask the reason for the meeting. He dialed Victor’s cell phone.

 “I’ve set up a time for Monroe to meet me at our rendezvous at 7:30 tomorrow. I expect you to be there. Your little lamb will be. You know what happens to lambs when the wolves are watching.”  Johnson hung up the phone, picked up his bottle of Absinthe and went to her room. Tonight he would allow himself to stay with her only a few minutes, then he would go to his own bed in preparation for tomorrow. Tomorrow night would be the night he promised her. He closed his eyes.

Early in the morning Johnson dressed and then rang a bell. The man who’d brought Jazz to his house walked in, “Get the girl.”

Duncan glanced at his watch. It was 5 a.m. Jims’ door opened, and three men walked out. Wondering who the third guy was, Duncan watched as they walked past several houses to Victor’s Interceptor parked under the trees. As soon as Victor’s car left the parking spot, Duncan put the car in gear and followed at a distance.

“Someone’s seems to be following us,” Victor remarked to the two men in the car with him. “Do either of you recognize the car?”

“I don’t,” Jim said after glancing in the mirror on his side of the car, “but I can’t tell in this light.”

“What about you Buck? Look like anyone you know?”

“No, but I can’t tell either.”

“Jim, do you think it’s Duncan?”

“He drives a light colored car, but I don’t think that’s him. I think he’s still in the hospital.”

“I guess we can’t worry about it. If it is Duncan, having the police isn’t such a bad idea. I just hope your friend knows that we’re on the same side.”

Jim grimaced. He hoped so too.

Chapter 14

Jazz sat in the room flipping through a book. What was going on with Victor? Were both Duncan and the other guy dead? Did anyone know where she was? All these questions swirled around in her head. Fear of her captors returned to her and tried to grab hold of her many times throughout these days. She clung to the only two Bible verses she had as if they were lifelines. “I know whom I have believed… I will bring you back from exile...” she’d repeat each time the fear threatened her.

It had been three days since she’d been taken, as near as she could guess. Time was only marked by a clock chiming down the hall, the light going off and on again under her door and the type of meal they brought her.

The book she held was an old pirate novel written in the twenties. She really wasn’t interested in reading about pirates, being more intent on figuring out a way to escape.  It was a thought that constantly repeated itself in her mind. She had no idea if there was a guard outside her door, or if there were cameras in the room or in the hall, but she had to try something.

Startling her out of her concentration, the door knob jiggled instead of clicked, and a man came in with her supper. She watched him set it down. As usual he said nothing to her, but turned and left shutting the door behind him. The door jiggled again. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed before. The door wasn’t locked with a key, it had a turn lock. She smiled. All she needed was something hard and thin. All she needed was a butter knife. She picked up the utensils provided for her meal and found exactly what she was looking for. Excitedly she hid it, hoping the guy who picked up her plate wouldn’t notice it missing.

She ate all her meal, not knowing when her next would be if she succeeded.  She had to plan this just right. If she tried it too early someone would find her in the hall. She would wait until the light in the hall turned off.

Not long after she finished dinner, her guard picked up her plate and left, again without a word. What a relief.

After almost falling asleep several times, the light underneath the door went out. She turned her light out too. Certainly if she could see the hall light under the door, they could see her light from the hall. Knife in hand, she began to work at the lock, trying to be quiet. The jiggling sound from the knife working the lock magnified in her ears. She couldn’t be caught. This was the first good idea she’d had and to be caught now would be a disaster. Were there occupied rooms near hers? She dropped her knife. Trying to catch it, she made more noise than if she’d let it fall on the carpeted floor. She waited a few minutes to make sure no one was coming. Her heart raced. One side of her brain told her to hurry but correcting the urging the other side of her brain told her she needed to be cautious and slow.

Finally the door unlocked and came open quietly. Jazz was glad Johnson seemed fastidious enough to want everything in perfect order, including the door hinges. What a contrast to Monroe! She shuddered. Just the thought of Monroe made her sick. Anxiously she crept out in the hall. Which way? She seemed to remember being brought in from the right. She went left. The hall seemed long and was completely dark.

To guide her in the darkness she walked with her hand gliding along the hall wall. It was an eerie walk in an alien world with unfamiliar aromas and textures. Soon she came to a break in the hall wall, and could only guess it was a door. She adjusted her hand to follow the door jam, and found a door knob. She hesitated, not knowing whether to try this door, or continue. How would she know which one to choose?

She decided against opening this door with a feeling she shouldn’t open the first door she came to. About fifty feet later, she came to another door, and passed over that one. Another fifty feet, another door; she decided she’d open the next one. As she suspected, after another fifty feet she came to a third door. This one is it, she told herself.

Jazz slowly turned the handle, hoping and praying it wouldn’t make a loud click. It turned easily, but she took her time, which seemed an agony of minutes. Her palms sweated and the door knob often slipped. When she was able to turn it completely, it opened quietly. Not opening it wide, she slipped in the semi-dark room. She could see French doors ahead of her, opening to what looked like a patio.

The night seemed unusually bright, but she didn’t think about why. Quietly she made her way to the doors, opened them and stepped outside. With no coat on, the icy wind cut through her clothing and her heart sank. Examining her surroundings, she realized she wasn’t on a patio at all, but on a balcony overlooking a snow covered courtyard surrounded by the walls of the house. She could see no way out, and there seemed no way off the balcony. Disappointment overwhelmed her. Tears blurred her vision, but a sudden rush of warm air from behind stopped the tears from flowing. She held her breath.

Someone began moving hands up her arms, across her shoulders and up her neck, then back down the path they’d followed. A cold shudder oozed down her spine as she smelled the anise aroma and felt Johnson press his body against her back. With his mouth close to her ear he whispered lazily, “Are you here to keep me company tonight?”

Of all the rooms she could have stumbled into, why did it have to be his? Johnson licked her neck, sending shock waves of repulsion through her body. She tried to fight him off, but he was much too strong for her. He turned her around and forced her to kiss his lips, holding her head firmly in his hands as he thrust his tongue between her teeth. His breath was foul and the residual absinthe on his tongue left an unpleasant taste of the liquor in her mouth.  She gagged knowing that if she got through this she’d never enjoy another licorice again. He released her with a cold smile spreading across his evil face, “You’ll be nice, but I must save you for another time. Don’t worry though. That time will come soon enough my love. It’s been so long, but I can wait.”

With a firm grip on her arm, he dragged her struggling back into her room, and violently shoved her onto the bed. Before she could regain herself, he was on top of her, “You’re a surprising and resourceful young woman, but I told you there’s no way to leave me right now. Be assured you’ll have the pleasure of my company when I take care of Victor.” Johnson gave her another evil smile, rose and left. Fear, exhaustion and disappointment overwhelmed her. She sobbed herself to sleep.

It was light when she awakened at the sound of the door jiggling. She sat up in her bed and watched as the man who brought her breakfast set her food down, and walked out. Immediately after, another man carrying a large package wrapped in paper came in with Johnson following behind.

“Good morning Miss Phelps. After our visit last night, I thought you might enjoy a drawing of mine. It’s in pencil. I wish I’d had time to paint it in color like I wanted, but I think you’ll find it interesting. I was inspired to draw it after you left and finished it just this morning. It will remind you of our meeting and help you look forward to the next time we’re alone in my rooms. Enjoy your breakfast.” Johnson paused and stared at her, smiling a blank smile with those terrible vacant eyes. Jazz shuddered; she’d just had a glimpse of hell.

The man with the art unwrapped it and hung it on the wall. When he finished his work, he turned and leered at Jazz, then walked out the door. She caught sight of the new guard. The door closed.

Jazz knew she didn’t want to look at the drawing, but the room was too small to avoid it. Nothing prepared her for this glimpse into the horrific imagination of a man addicted to absinthe, a drink she’d never heard of before she’d met Phineas Johnson.

Johnson had used crimson and orange pencil to scribble a hell’s impression. A drooling Minotaur, blurred and indistinct in many places was clothed in rags. His muscular arms carried a woman next to his massive chest; her face was filled with a terrified look of fear and pain. The terror distorted her features so much that Jazz almost missed the representation of herself. It didn’t take long for the shock to dawn on her at what Johnson seemed to have in mind when he sketched this monstrosity.

The monster seemed to ignore the woman in its arms, watching Jazz wherever she moved in the room. It had as intense a look of satisfaction and appalling pleasure on its bull face as the woman had of pain and terror. It was a dark and evil picture which almost paralyzed the young woman with fear.

The awfulness of having that thing hanging over her, staring down at her while she slept and when she awoke was more than she could stand. She ripped the fitted sheet off the bed, and threw it over the drawing even though she loathed touching it. The double sheet fit perfectly, but she knew it was still there. Its torturing image haunted her all day long. How was this going to end?

At lunch she could not eat, but by supper she was famished and quickly finished her meal. Feeling a little better, she decided to go ahead and shower since she intended on going to sleep early. Last night’s attempted escape and the emotional drain of the day left her exhausted and sleep would pass her time of captivity away better.

The shower felt good. She allowed herself the enjoyment of the hot water until it was almost gone. When she finished the shower, the bathroom was hot and steamy. She opened the door, just a crack to allow cool air to circulate while she spent some time washing her underwear. She hung them up on the shower curtain and finished dressing without them. As soon as she walked out the door, she stopped aghast.

The sheet was off the drawing and was folded neatly on the bed. Johnson sat at the desk dressed in a brown silk robe with gold trim. She could see his bare legs. A bottle of water and a bottle of Absinthe with its glass sat on the desktop. Johnson was just preparing himself a fresh drink. “Good evening Ms Phelps,” he said in mock politeness, “After last night I felt I did you a disservice by leaving you alone for so long. I decided that you should have the pleasure of my company on these evenings that you are a guest in my home.

“I’m very hurt that you don’t like my creation. I thought maybe we could discuss it and you might come to appreciate my creativity.”

The shock of seeing this loathsome man sitting in her room in just his bathrobe left her speechless for just a moment. She dared not let him know just how terrified she was. “I don’t know what the point is, Mr. Johnson,” she replied in equal cold politeness, “We don’t have that much in common.”

“We’ll find something I assure you. Perhaps you’d like to try a little Absinthe? No? Well, it’s okay for now. More for me.” He raised his glass to her.

“How are you doing tonight? Tell me. Why did you cover my art? I spent all night drawing it and dreaming about how much you would enjoy it.”

Not knowing what else to do, Jazz sat in another chair. Her one idea was to keep him talking. It might help him think only of the drink and keep other ideas out of his head. The more he drank, she hoped the more drunk he’d become. The more drunk he was, the more relaxed he’d be; or would he? She had no idea how Absinthe affected the mind.

“Mr. Johnson, I don’t like Greek mythology. I never have.”

“Ah, but this is special. Can you tell me why?” He watched her while sipping his drink.

Shaking inside and gulping, she whispered, “That’s me.”

He smiled, “Yes, you are a very intelligent woman. Who is the other?”

“You?”

“Ah, no wonder Victor loves you. It’s too bad really. You should never have gotten involved with him. Oh, but I almost forgot. He didn’t tell you; did he.”

She said nothing.

“Ms. Phelps, you really should be more careful who you get involved with. But I guess it’s too late for that now.” Johnson took another sip and grew quiet. His head seemed to droop. Glass after glass he filled and emptied, while his eyes looked more vacant with each drink as he just sat in her room.

At one point, Jazz got up and went to the bathroom. How long was he going to stay? She was so tired, but she dared not crawl into bed. What if he wasn’t as drunk as he seemed to be?

“Do not be afraid, and do not be dismayed,” a quiet voice whispered. Where did that come from? She knew the answer before she even asked. From somewhere in her past she’d heard it, but she didn’t’ know where and could only guess it was from the Bible.

“How can I not be afraid?” She cried out to the Voice.

“I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Sleep.”

“Sleep? With him here?”

“Sleep.”

She could not resist the Voice and she was tired to the point of falling down. Obeying the words she lay down and was almost asleep before her head hit the pillow.

 Andrea, stirring the hot stew in the kitchen smiled as she listened to the men talking in the dinning room while setting the table. Guests were always a little surprised, but willing when she gave them tasks to do. She could hear Jim telling Buck that her meals were internationally known. She shook her head. He said this to everyone, along with the next line. She mouthed the words she’d heard him say a million times, “Well, okay, I’m just counting the missionaries who stay with us once in awhile. What do you expect from a preacher who drives a racy orange Mustang?”

Satisfied that the potatoes were done, she turned the stew off, and took the dinner rolls out from the oven. She cocked her head, the voices were quiet. Curiosity put the rolls down, their dinner was forgotten for the moment. She walked into the dinning room.

Buck and Jim were staring at Mark’s photo, “What’s going on, Jim?” she asked, realizing something had just happened between them.

“Buck knows about Mark.”

“What?”

Jim gulped, leaned against the wall, “Buck shot Mark.”

Andrea, not understanding what Jim just said, looked at her husband who’d pulled a chair out from the table and was sitting in it, sobbing. Slowly Jim’s revelation sunk into the stunned woman who also sat down. So many years behind them not knowing who killed their son and why; now here was the man who’d shot him, standing in front of them.

If husband and wife had both known it, they would have been surprised at the very same question with the very same words directed urgently to God, “You brought our son’s killer to eat with us? Why?”

The loaded silence from above gently broke in answer to both Jim and Andrea’s pain filled anguish, “Be merciful for I am merciful.”

Mercy? Mark was their only son. A son who came to them late, after they’d given up hope of ever having any children at all. He’d been a son of promise, a son of miracles. Now he was gone. To show mercy to the thief who took his life was an impossibility! How could God ask it of them and expect obedience?

“With God nothing is impossible.”

“No, Father, I can’t,” man and wife cried in unknown unison.

Buck just stood in front of these who’d invited him in their home for a meal. They’d been ready to sit him down in the place their son should have been sitting but for his bullet. He’d never intended on killing that kid. It was an accident. The guilt he felt, the guilt that had been haunting him for ten years, guilt he’d been trying to hide from himself since that shot hammered in his ears, was a guilt that ate away at his soul. Over and again he’d asked himself why it bothered him. He’d killed other guys.

Time seemed to freeze the three in their places at the dinner table. Finally Jim brought himself to ask the next question, a question he could barely whisper out, the question that had been most on their mind since that horrible day at the hospital.

“Why?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose. It was an accident. That shot was intended for someone else. It was an accident. He surprised me. I didn’t see him until it was too late.”

“Why are you here?”

 “I was sent to watch you and report to Mr. Monroe everything you did, and when a certain person came in and out.”

“Victor?”

“Yeah.”

“Why were you supposed to watch us?”

“I think Mr. Monroe was going to have me kill you if Victor doesn’t do as he’s told.”

“Why us?”

“Because the girl we were watching has disappeared, and Mr. Monroe needed something to hold over Victor. He’s said he was going to have you taken care of when Victor’s job is done anyway.”

“Why?”

“When I went into your church the first time I was tailing Victor I heard your sermon and it made me want to change. Mr. Monroe doesn’t want me to change. He wants me just the way I am.

 “I’m tired of living this life. I’ve done a lot of bad things. I need to change” Buck began to weep.

A soft knock came to the door. Wanting to escape, not believing they were suddenly thrown into turmoil, Andrea quickly slipped out the dinning room to answer. It was Victor.

“Andrea, where’s Jim?” Victor demanded immediately seeing her red eyes.

She pointed.

Almost running over Andrea to get past her, Victor rushed in. With one look he brought Buck in his sights. All of the fear and anguish from loosing Jazz erupted, threatening to engulf Buck. Jim could clearly see murderous rage in Victor’s face and eyes as he rushed the other man who was preparing himself for the onslaught. His natural pastor instincts kicked in; terrified, but determined, Jim tackled Victor with a full body slam. Both men landed on the floor with Andrea’s “STOP!” reverberating in their ears.  Victor pulled Jim to his feet and slugged him in the face, sending the preacher sprawling back against the wall, knocking a hole in the sheet rock and pictures to the floor. Realizing what he’d just done, Victor backed off from both Buck and Jim.

Andrea lunged toward Jim, “How dare you strike my husband in our own home? What more do we have to expect Victor, especially after taking you in?”

“Andrea, I...” Victor looked at Buck then at Andrea sobbing, and then at Jim.

“I’m alright Victor.” he said shakily standing up straight, rubbing his jaw. A black bruise was already forming. “You have quite a swing.”

“Why did you get in my way? Do you know who this man is?”

“Yes, I know. This is Buck. He’s one of Monroe’s men. He’s just confessed to us that Monroe has sent him and his intention is probably to have Buck kill us. Victor, you’ve got to calm down. Nothing good will come of your anger. We still don’t know what Buck’s intentions are.”

Victor paused a moment, collecting himself. He needed his head clear. “I’m okay now, but I want to know why he’s here.”

 “I don’t have to answer to you. I’d not intended to tell them anything, but I’m glad they know. I don’t want to hurt them any more than I already have.”

”What have you already done?”

“Buck is the reason we don’t have Mark anymore,” Andrea sobbed.

Jim put his arm around his wife and held her for a few moments while she cried.

“Leave the room.” He told the other men.

Victor and Buck walked into the living room. Quiet fury returned to Victor, “I got a call from your boss a few minutes ago. He told me you were watching Jim and Andrea. I want you to back off, or you’ll find yourself in my sights. I don’t miss.”

“You’d better not threaten me...”

Jim walked into the room feeling the tension charging the air; silently he asked his Lord if this is what he intended. His jaw still throbbed; he glared at the other two men in the room.

“Andrea and I are having a tough time with this and we’re not quite sure what we should do. My first inclination is to call the police, but something tells me that’s not what the Lord wants us to do. We need to find a solution to these problems. Let’s sit down.”

Reluctantly Buck followed Jim’s example, but Victor remained where he was. Fear threatened to freeze Jim’s blood at Victor’s menace, but the calm reassurance promised in difficult times brought new courage to the preacher.

“Victor, I believe God is telling me to give Buck a chance. After all, I know a man who claimed he wanted to change, and even went so far as to tell me that he has become a Christian.  Not many people would believe him, given his career of choice, but nothing has happened to cause me not to believe him. Don’t you think I should extend the same trust in the Lord toward someone else?”

Buck looked at Victor, “You’re a Christian now?”

Relaxing only a little, Victor nodded, “It happened when Jazz came up missing.”

“You didn’t hide her?” Buck exclaimed.

“Victor tells us that your boss, and Johnson both want the other killed and they’ve both hired him.”

“Preacher, don’t tell him anything else. You’ve already put Jazz in more danger.”

 “But Buck might be able to give some insight to a solution.” Jim replied.

Silence hung heavily in the room. No one really knew what was to be said next or by whom. Then Buck knew. He pulled a handgun out of his jacket, paused a moment scowling at Victor. He raised the barrel to the air. Andrea walked into the room, everyone held their breath. What was Buck was going to do next? He flipped out the clip and handed the gun to Jim. Conflicted, Jim received Buck’s gun in his hand. Was this the gun that robbed him of his only son? He didn’t want to ask.

His only son. The words came crashing in his brain to a brand new meaning, the contrast and similarity both so frightening that he would have fallen down if he hadn’t been sitting down. He wasn’t sure if he could breathe another breath without the rending, stabbing pain to his heart. As forceful as Victor’s hard right to his jaw, the hit man’s question came hammering back to Jim, “How sad could God have really been if God knew he was going to come back alive?”

Mark had been a strong Christian, even at fifteen. He’d brought several of his friends to know Jesus, and had heard the same call to be a preacher that his dad heard. Jim and Andrea knew without doubt that he was with Jesus at that very moment and was victorious, even in his early death. That knowledge did not lessen their pain. Now their son was delivering a message to his Mom and Dad fulfilling his vision to preach even after his life. Jim looked at Victor, “The other night you asked me how God could know sorrow at Jesus’ death.” Victor nodded, wondering why his friend was bringing that up now.

 “God the Father had declared to the people multiple times that Jesus was His Son and He was well pleased with Him. Yet the people turned on Jesus. They beat, mocked and tortured him to death. That was bad enough, but then all the evil that had ever been committed before Jesus’ death and after lay on the shoulders of His Son, separating them to the agony of the Father and the horror of the Son while he hung on that cruel cross. Separation from the Father is what killed Jesus.

“‘Father forgive them,’ the beloved Son had prayed.”

Jim took Andrea’s hand, kissed it and got out of the chair. Jim gave a hug, heavy with manly affection, to each of the two men, surprising both.

“The knowledge God the Father had that Jesus would be victorious didn’t lessen his pain. Yes God knew, but the pain was still there. Yes Jesus knew, but the sacrifice was no less because of the knowledge. And we’re to forgive just as Jesus asked God to forgive us.” He looked up at Andrea “All this time we’ve had a small taste of what God must have gone through when Jesus died, and yet, Jesus is the path of forgiveness. How can we not forgive Buck?”

Victor and Buck looked at each other confused.

“I don’t see where you think anything you could have done was as bad as the terrible thing I’ve done. How can you say you forgive me?” Buck responded.

“We can’t forgive you, but God can help us know how.”

For the first time in his life Buck was hearing exactly what he most wanted to hear, even before the death of the boy Mark. God is a loving, forgiving God. Forgiveness he knew he didn’t deserve.

“This is more than I can understand. How can you extend love to this…” Victor struggled for the word he could use in front of Jim and Andrea, “..this man who killed your son. I don’t think I can believe in a God like that.”

“Victor, Buck didn’t do it on purpose.” Andrea said gently, surprising her husband. “You’ve killed too. You and he are a lot alike. And you know,” Andrea put her hand on Victor’s shoulder, “Jim and I have killed too, in our own way. Don’t look at me like that. It’s true. Anytime we’ve ever hurt someone with our words, we’ve killed part of that person. We’re no different than you and Buck. You…”

Victor’s cell phone suddenly rang. He put it to his ear, “Hello?”

The three waited to hear Victor’s part of the conversation, but he wasn’t saying anything. Finally he pushed a button, ending the call, “Its Johnson. He wants a meeting.”

Victor positioned himself outside Monroe’s place. Since he no longer had his guns, he felt somewhat lost as to what to do next.  Suddenly his cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Where did you hide that delicious girl?” Monroe demanded.

Victor wondered if he knew how close he was. What was he supposed to do now? “She’s in a safe place.” He answered carefully, “I’ll do the job you’ve asked me to do, but I can’t do it properly unless I know she’s safe.  There are too many distractions, and you know Johnson is an intelligent man. This job needs all my concentration.”

“Fine, fine.  It doesn’t matter anyway. I have one of my men watching your new preacher friends. I told you I’d have to deal with him sooner or later. I guess you’ve made it sooner, since you’ve hidden that delicious little girl. If you don’t do the job I’m paying you for, you’ll have to find two more friends. Then when I’m done with them, I’ll come after you and the girl. You can’t hide her from me forever.” Monroe hung up.

He smiled cruelly. He’d get the girl sooner or later, and keeping tabs on the preacher and his wife was the next best thing to the girl. He hoped they had kids. His insurance would be a lot more secure if they had a couple of kids. He squinted his eyes momentarily. The thought of the preacher’s wife was intriguing. It didn’t matter what she looked like, he had to admit, but he hoped she was pretty.

Victor drove from Monroe’s back to Prairie Oak feeling hopeless. He and Jazz expected this threat toward Jim and Andrea, but Victor did not expect Monroe to make a move against them until after he thought Johnson was taken care of. And now how was he going to deal with Monroe, Johnson and Duncan all at the same time? Skimming just beneath the surface of his consciousness, Victor realized he was loosing control of his edge. To bring Jazz through this he would need it now more than ever.

He slammed his fist on the steering wheel. After all this he couldn’t bear to lose Jazz or even the preacher and his wife. If Duncan had his way he’d be sent to prison without ever having an opportunity for parole. No matter which way he turned, all he could see was losing Jazz.

He could leave Jazz after she was safe, never to return... no, he knew he couldn’t leave her now. The thought of living the rest of his life alone was more than he could take. Wiping tears away with his gloved hand, he pulled over on the lonely, little traveled road.

“God,” he prayed aloud, “I’m feeling hopeless and lost. You’ve seemed so near so often, but now you seem a million miles away. I thought that would be over after talking with Jim. Aren’t Christians supposed to have you with them all the time? I truly want to believe. What am I going to do, and how am I going to share a life with Jazz? I can’t live alone like this anymore. I just can’t.”

Somehow he felt compelled to turn the radio on. An old familiar tune came over the speakers, “I love you, oh how I love you.” The words seemed to take on a brand new meaning. It was as if he was hearing the voice of God in a song, obviously not the intent of the singer. He continued to Prairie Oak, his hope and strength returned.

Wednesday afternoon, Jim was alone at the church. The secretary had just left for her usual Wednesday afternoon off and the youth pastor was playing basketball with some of the kids. Pastor Jim was preparing for his Sunday service when he heard the doorbell ring. He got up from his desk and looked out of his office, down the hall and out through the front door. A man stood at the door. Jim squinted. Even with the tinted glass doors, the glare from the snow made it hard to see much else but the silhouette of the man.

He walked to the door, and opened it, “Come in, its cold outside. Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah. I was wondering if you had any odd jobs I could do. I just lost my job and need cash for my rent.”

Jim eyed the young man, “Didn’t I see you in service a couple of Sundays ago?”

The young man looked sheepish, “Do you remember everyone that comes to your services?”

“No, but you sort of stand out.”

The man passed his hand over his hair and laughed. “Yeah, I guess I don’t really look like the church crowd.”

Jim laughed, “No, you don’t, but we welcome everyone. So, what’s your story?”

“Like I said, I lost my job last week and need cash for some rent. I was hoping to do some odd job around the church.”

“Well, we don’t really need anything done around here.”

“I’m a great handy man. I won’t need much, just a little help to get me back on my feet.”

Common sense told Jim not to trust this young man. He couldn’t look the pastor in the eye and Jim knew that indicated storm warnings. Equally as strong as human reasoning was a voice telling him to bring the man home for dinner. “Really? Take him home?” Jim seemed to hear a similar argument someone else had about a man who had caused much harm. “Okay, Lord.” Jim prayed, squelching the screaming warnings.

“What’s your name?” Jim asked the man.

“Buck,”

“When was the last time you ate Buck?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“Why don’t you come home with me? You can have dinner with us and then we can discuss what to do to help you out.”

Taken aback, Buck hesitated, he knew this is what Monroe wanted, but he wasn’t sure this is what he wanted.  Suddenly he decided, “Sure; hey, I appreciate this.”

“No problem, just give me a minute and I’ll call my wife to let her know. I don’t like surprising Andrea with guests at the door. She gets a little upset at me.”

Jim disappeared into his office, and came out soon afterwards, “Andrea will set an extra plate. I’m all done here. Why don’t you follow me and I’ll lead you to my house.”

Buck got into his car and followed Jim’s Mustang as he started out of the driveway.

 

 

 Duncan lay in the hospital bed in pain. He’d sent Meg home after the nurse had given him a pain killer, and it seemed to be taking it’s time getting into his blood stream.  He watched the IV bag slowly drip the medication into the tube that had been inserted in the back of his hand.

He wished he was in bed with Meg now instead of this hospital bed. His wife had been waiting for him after his surgery early this morning. He thanked God that he’d not made her a widow last night. It could have easily worked the other way. Stan's wife was a widow now. Before he could feel sorrow, a soft knock came at the door; Jim popped his head in, “Are you up for some visitors?”

 “Sure, but I have to warn you, the nurse just gave me some medication. I won’t be much good after it kicks in.” Jim walked in and sat down.

“You got here awfully fast.” Duncan observed, “Were you visiting someone else when Meg called?”

“I haven’t talked to Meg. How’s she doing?”

Duncan shrugged, “She’s a cop’s wife. Late last night she got the call every cop’s wife dreads, ‘you’re husband is in the hospital. He’s been shot’. The doctor said I was fortunate. Besides loosing a lot of blood, he said I was close to subacute hypothermia. Fortunately the bullet wound wasn’t that bad. The doctor said I’d be out in a week. If Meg didn’t call you, how did you know I was here?”

“What happened?” Jim asked, avoiding the question.

 “I’ve been on the trail of a killer. He’s been dating Jazz.” Duncan stopped a minute and shook his head, still puzzled. “Anyway, my partner and I were keeping an eye out on her apartment when we saw this guy come to her door. He started banging on the door, and pushed his way in before we could stop him. Then we heard a gunshot and thought he must have killed her. About the time we got to the bottom of the stairs he was dragging Jazz out the door. Her hands were tied behind her back. I couldn't get a clear shot. He killed my partner, and shot me in the leg.”

“Was it the guy you were tailing?”

“No. He was someone I’d not seen before. He grabbed her, and started down the stairs. When he shot me I think I fell and must have knocked my head on the cement because I really don’t remember much until I was at the hospital.”

 “How did you get in your car?”

“I vaguely remember someone helping me. How did you know I was in my car?”

Jim smiled. Duncan was too good at his job to miss much.

 “Are you up for a story?”

“I guess,” Duncan shrugged his shoulders. Jim was a good friend besides being his pastor, but he wasn’t really in the mood for a story.

“Early this morning I was awakened with the feeling that I needed to pray. I started to pray at home, but I realized I was supposed to go to the church to pray. I argued a little bit, but you know there’s no point in arguing with the Holy Spirit. I don’t know why we even try.”

Duncan was silent, wishing Jim would get on with the story.

“I went to the church, but decided to go to the bathroom before going to my office. I got in, did my business and was washing my hands when I heard the window being jimmied open. We’re going to have to fix that window. I turned around. A man I know was breaking in.”

“You know better than to confront a thief by yourself. What happened?”

“Calm down. All he wanted was a safe place to sleep.”

“What?”

“It was Victor. You know him.”

“Pastor Jim, you need to tell me where he is. The police have some questions. I want you to call them right now.” Duncan reached for his phone, but Jim wrenched it from his hand.

“There’s a lot you need to know.” Jim grinned. The pain in Duncan’s leg throbbed. He wished his medication would kick in. He wasn’t up for games. He glared at Jim, who was saying something to someone outside. The preacher walked out as Victor walked in.

“Do you know me?” Victor asked with ice in his hazel eyes, a cold chill in his voice.

“I know you.” Duncan snarled, “The name you’ve been using here is Victor Young. I suppose I ought to thank you. So why are you here? I’m sure it’s not to look after my welfare.”

“I don’t know why I’m here. I’m supposed to be here. I guess to talk.”

“Not to kill me this time?” What was really bothering Duncan was that he couldn’t figure out why this guy had not killed him last night as he’d obviously intended.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have either shot you or left you. You wouldn’t have lasted ‘til morning.” Victor said blandly.

“Okay, so why didn’t you kill me?”

Victor pulled up a chair sitting next to a window and placed it at the side of Duncan’s bed.

“Someone told me not to.”

  “What?”
 “I don’t understand it, and I know I’m not crazy. Last year, after my last job, I started wanting to make a change.” Victor looked down at the invisible blood stains on his gloved hands. “I can’t keep this up, but when I first found you last night my intention was to put you out of my misery.”

“I hope you don’t expect gratitude. You’re a criminal and I probably need to arrest you now.”

“While you’re in a hospital bed?”

Duncan glinted, “Yes, while I’m in this bed. I can certainly arrest you if I had a mind.”

“Yeah, I think you’d find a way, but I can’t let you do that.”

“What about this change you seemed so sincere about a minute ago?”

“Johnson has Jazz. Do you know Phineas Johnson?”

“No, I’ve never heard of him.”

“How about Carl Monroe?”

 “Yeah, he’s been a problem in this area for a long time. He’s a leech, but he always manages to get away, just like you.”

“Let me tell you a few things, Officer Ray. Johnson is the reason Monroe gets off, Monroe is the reason you’ve never heard of Johnson. Now they both want the other dead, and they’ve hired me to do it. I told them I don’t do that anymore. They weren’t happy about it.

“Then you showed up, and Johnson decided his insurance needed to be kept safe in his custody. He thinks we called the police. If you’d stayed out of this, Jazz might still be safe in her apartment. Listen Ray, Jazz is in a bad situation. Johnson is crazy, but he’s not going to do anything to her until she serves her purpose. Johnson doesn’t kill without a need and he needs Jazz alive and unharmed. He’ll use Jazz as bait to catch me, then he’ll kill both of us. I’m sure that’s his plan.”

“How do you know what he’s going to do?”

“I know Phineas Johnson. He’s a conservative. He bides his time and saves his assets. When the time is right, he invests.”

“You talk about Jazz as if she’s something to sell. What’s your game with her?”

Victor said nothing, but stared at the cop steadily.

“Fine, have it your way,” Duncan said exasperated, “I’m going to have to arrest you sooner or later.”

“Make it later.”

Duncan thought for a moment, beginning to feel dizzy. Suddenly a voice whispered in his consciousness. “My arm is not too short to save.”

That wasn’t fair. That was a promise given to him about his son. Surely God didn’t intend to use that same verse for this guy, too?

“Yes,” the voice responded, “Victor is the same age as your son. I gave my Son; couldn’t you share this verse with your son and Victor? You’ve always known your son was mine as much as yours and Meg’s. Victor is mine too.”

Experience reminded Duncan that there was no point in arguing with the Lord.  Jim was right.

“Okay, okay.” Duncan said aloud, more to the voice than to Victor. He couldn’t help feeling frustrated, “I won’t arrest you now. Do you have some kind of plan to get Jazz to safety?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Well you need to think of something soon. I won’t be out of the hospital for the rest of this week.  I can’t really do anything about it until then.

“I don’t think you should do anything about it. Just stay out of it, you’ve almost got yourself killed as it is.”

“Hazards of the job. You’ve got hazards too.”

“Hey,” Jim peeked around the door, “You guys haven’t killed each other yet; have you?”

“No, we’re having a nice friendly talk,” Duncan replied grimly.

“That’s great,” Jim teased, “Well, you need to get your rest. I think we ought to leave now.”

Victor nodded his head. Leaving was exactly what he’d wanted to do long before. If Duncan didn’t remember what Victor looked like from last night, he certainly would remember now.

Victor was silent as they drove back to Jim’ house. Jim, not knowing what to say next, let him be silent. When they arrived at the house, Victor started toward his car.

“Where are you going?”

“Jim, you aren’t safe as long as I’m here. I have to do something about Monroe so that I can help Jazz get away from Johnson. As long as he thinks I’m doing his job for him, I think she’ll be safe. I don’t know what else to do.

“Have faith.”

“I’m trying Preacher. It’s not easy.”

“It never is. Come back here again to sleep.”

“Thanks, but I don’t know.”

Jim watched Victor get in his car and drive away. Buck was watching too.

  “Well, hello Victor. This is a surprise.” Jim blurted out.

Victor, just as surprised at seeing Jim in the bathroom, wasn’t quite sure what to say.

“I suppose you have a good reason for climbing in the bathroom at … what time is it?” Jim looked at his watch, “12:47? Maybe you’re the reason I was called here.”

“Called?” Victor was confused. He’d not been followed, he knew, and even if someone had followed him, no one would have called Jim to the church to meet him.

Jim laughed with a twinkle in his humored eyes.  “Yeah, I was dead asleep in my nice warm comfortable bed, next to my nice warm comfortable wife, when I was awakened by a call. I was told I needed to come to the church, I assumed to pray, so I asked if I couldn’t just pray at home. The answer was no.  I guess it was a divine appointment.”

“What is a divine appointment?”

“It’s when a person meets someone unexpectedly in circumstances that would be highly improbable, like a chance meeting in a church bathroom just after midnight. So, there’s a story here. Since I’m the Pastor of this church, I think I have the right to know why you’re breaking in at this hour.”

Victor said nothing at first. Pastor Jim could see the struggle. A patient man, he could wait until Victor was ready to talk although curiosity made his insides squirm. “This is so out of character,” he thought, but he checked himself. “Victor’s very guarded, not the sort to let just anyone know who he really is.”

“By the way,” Jim said, “we really don’t have any valuables here. How about something hot to drink? I could go for some hot chocolate right now. I don’t think coffee is a good idea at this time of night.”

Victor followed Jim into the kitchen. Jim pulled hot chocolate and two mugs from the cabinets. He heated it in the microwave, and led Victor to his office. 

“Sit down, here.” Jim handed him the mug of chocolate, sat and waited.

It had been years since Victor had anything this tame, but it brought back troublesome memories that he didn’t realize he had. He rubbed his hand over his face and chin. “This is good. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I suppose I do owe you an explanation. The fact is that I need a place to sleep. This seemed the safest place.”

“Safest? What happened at your apartment?”

Victor couldn’t think of anything to say in response, he’d not intended to give that sort of explanation. Physically and emotionally weary, Victor could not recoup the strength he usually felt. He heard that voice again, whispering to his heart. He took a deep breath, “You said someone called you to come to the church to pray. Who called you?”

“The Holy Spirit.”

“He spoke to you?”

“Yeah, but not with a voice anyone else could hear. And it isn’t like I’m hearing voices either. It’s more a feeling that I get. It’s hard to explain the unexplainable, unless you’ve experienced what I’m talking about.”

Victor replied thoughtfully after a few minutes. “I think I’m getting your meaning.” He quietly sipped the hot chocolate, staring at the floor. He was struggling again, arguing.

When he finally spoke, Jim could barely hear him, “Jazz is in trouble.” He waited, expecting an explosion of some kind, but all he got was silence. How was he going to tell this man what he was? He looked up, “I guess there could be a lot of interpretations to being in trouble. Preacher, I’m a hit man.”

“What?” Jim asked, not quite comprehending.

“You know, an assassin, a killer, whatever you want to call it. That’s what I do for a living.”

“How did Jazz get involved with you? Does she know?”

“She knows now, but she didn’t before New Year’s Eve. Unfortunately I was not able to be the one to tell her.”

“Where is Jazz now?” Jim demanded, suddenly afraid of the man coolly sitting in front of him.

As if Victor read Jim’s thoughts, he lifted his jacket. The preacher could clearly see the empty holster, “Let me explain from the beginning....”

“Maybe you better. I’d really like to know why I shouldn’t call the police right now.”

“Because if you call the police, something might happen to Jazz. Please, give me a chance.

“Last year while I was in Houston, I saw Jazz at a bank and wanted to meet her. I followed her here and got the job at the magazine so I could be near her.”

The hit man told Jim of all that had been happening up to that night. Jim’s eyebrows raised, he leaned forward intrigued by Victor’s story. When Victor was finished he said, “Jim, I couldn’t help myself. She didn’t know it, but I would find ways to touch her when I followed her in crowds. I couldn’t stay away from her.”

“You mean you’ve been stalking her?”

“No, it’s really not like that at all. I wouldn’t intentionally do anything to hurt her. Jim, I want to marry her.”

Jim almost choked on the chocolate.

“Is that everything?”

“Yeah, everything. You’re the first person I’ve told everything to.”

“How does it feel?”

“A little frightening.”

“Victor, I don’t believe in coincidences. Now we have to decide what to do. Do you mind if I pray? This is beyond either of us alone.”

“No, I don’t mind.” But Victor really had been afraid this might happen. He prepared himself for a mini sermon in a prayer. He hoped he could stay awake.

“Father,” Jim began, “please help Victor and me know what to do next. Keep Jazz safe. In Jesus’ Name Amen.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, that’s all you are going to ask for?”

Jim smiled, “I don’t know what the answers are. I don’t know what to ask for except what I prayed. What more should I pray? God knows what we need and he’s ready to help us.”

“He hasn’t given Jazz and me much help. I don’t know why I should believe he’ll help us now. I certainly don’t deserve any help.”

“No, you don’t. None of us deserves anything he could do for us. We just have to believe he wants to help us.”

“It doesn’t really seem fair. I mean, after all I’ve done.”

“It isn’t fair, but he loves us.”

“I don’t know preacher. I have so many questions, but you Christians don’t seem to have the answers to the questions I ask.”

“Like what?”

“You say God is all knowing, but also say that he was sad when Christ was killed. You say Christ came back to life. How sad could God have really been if God knew he was going to come back alive?”

 “Victor, I can’t pretend to have the answers for you either. That’s where faith kicks in.”

“Blind faith. Yeah, I know. I can’t understand how you can sit there and say we just have to have faith. Faith discounts intellect completely. You can’t have both.”

“I have to disagree. God gave us our intellect, but he didn’t make us as intelligent as he is. Many things will always be a mystery to us. We’re not all knowing, but the intellect we do have should go hand in hand with our faith. Without intellect, faith is no longer faith but superstition. Superstition is synonymous with fear.”

 Jim picked up a Bible that was lying on his desk, “Have you ever read it?”

“I can’t say that I have. I’ve never seen a need.”

“That’s what most people say. ‘What good is reading the Bible today?’”

“Exactly.”

“But through the reading and understanding of the Bible we use our intellect. God opens up windows of understanding that help us see why we believe what we do. Through God’s Word, God speaks to our hearts and brings together our faith and intellect.

“It’s like turning on the light switch. With your intellect you turn on the light. Faith tells you it will illuminate the room.

“True faith acknowledges our weakness. True faith asks God questions and asks him for the wisdom to understand the answers.”

“Now, back to your question: How could God know pain if he knew Jesus would be victorious? I’ll admit to you right now that I’ve wondered that myself. I finally came to the conclusion that I just have to accept with faith that he did experience sorrow and pain. I can also accept, with faith, that God will help me see the answer to this question in his own good time.”

“Wait and see?”

“Exactly. Some day God will give me the answer to this question. Every time I read His Word, I get a little closer to understanding the mysteries of a life of faith. I will never understand it all, but I will understand what the Lord knows I need to know. The rest is up to me to leave with him... in faith.”

 “You know Preacher, this is all well and good, but it doesn’t have much to do with me and Jazz. That was hundreds of years ago…”

“Thousands…”

“Okay, thousands of years ago. It proves my point. I need to do something about Jazz now.”

“The effect of what Jesus did thousands of years ago is still being felt, giving Christians strength in every situation. Right now what you need is rest. God knows Jazz is in danger, but he also knows you need rest. When was the last time you slept?”

“I actually slept last night… or rather yesterday night. I’ve been sleeping at Jazz’s… on the couch.” Victor added after Jim eyebrows raised again, “I felt she’d be safer if I was there at night. It turns out I was wrong. I should never have left.”

“Why did you?”

Victor glanced quickly into the other man’s eyes, but all he saw was curiosity.

“Ray was watching her. I figured she’d be safe with the police watching. I was looking for an opportunity to complete my task with Monroe.”

“Why him instead of Johnson?”

“Because Johnson contacted me first. Besides, I had a good reason for going after Monroe first.”

“Did you get him?”

“No, he wasn’t at his house. When I saw that no one was there, I came back. It was late. Jazz was gone. Ray got himself shot.”

Jim was silent a moment, wondering what Victor’s other reason was to go after Monroe first.  Then he rose, “I think the Lord kept you from killing again.  He’s calling you to himself Victor. You need to think about letting Jesus take control of your life. He’s the only one who can help in this impossible situation.”

“Actually Preacher, I asked Jesus to help me while I was sitting with Duncan. It probably really happened a couple of days before that. I was at Jazz’s apartment and saw a note she’d written about some words she learned in Vacation Bible School. ” Victor scowled a moment in thought. He wanted to get the words right, “’Trust in the Lord with all your heart...” he faltered.

“...’and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths.’” Jim finished for him.

“Yeah, that’s it. I think that was what helped me decide to let Jesus take care of this, but Preacher, I feel like I’m a little lost.”

“No, Victor, you’ve been found. The first thing we need to get you is some rest. I want you to come to my house. This won’t be a good place to sleep.”

Jim rose from his chair. Victor was tired, and wanted a safe place. He wasn’t in the mood to argue. The two men walked out a back door to Victor’s car, and got in. Victor drove Jim to his car in the front of the church.

“Nice car preacher.”

“You should see it in the daylight. It looks like a glittering sunset. The people in my church laugh at me, but I can’t help loving this Mustang. “

“It sure doesn’t fit the preacher image,” Victor said wryly.

“There are lots of ways I don’t fit the preacher image.”

“So I’ve already noticed.”

Jim got in his car and led Victor to his house. When they walked in, Andrea greeted them at the door. She was dressed in a terrycloth red robe.

“What are you doing up?” Jim asked as he kissed her.

“You weren’t in bed or in the house. I was worried.”

“Do you remember Victor?”

“Jazz’s friend?”

“Yeah, he needs a place to stay.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Andrea extended her hand, which Victor took, “You can sleep in Mark’s room.”

“That’s what I was thinking,”

“I wouldn’t want to take anyone’s bed.” Victor protested.

“Don’t worry about it. Mark isn’t using it anymore.”

Something told Victor that it was better not to ask any questions. He followed them to a room decorated in sport blue and yellow. Scattered on the walls and dresser were photographs of a tow headed boy at different ages, but none older than fifteen.

“Good night. And don’t worry. We’ll figure out what to do next. After we get up, I’m going to go to the hospital and see Duncan. Do you want to come with me?”

“I don’t know Preacher. Going to visit a cop in the hospital isn’t my idea of a very wise move, especially if that cop was looking for me in the first place.”

“You’d be surprised about what is wisdom.”

Victor paused a moment, not sure what to make of that statement. “You talk about the cop as if you know him.”

“I do know him. He’s an old friend and his family used to come to our church. Unless I’m mistaken, he knows Jazz’s folks too, but we’ll talk about it later. See you tomorrow. Visiting hours start at 9:00. I’d like to be there as soon as I can.”

Jim smiled as he shut the door, then crawled into bed next to Andrea. He pulled his wife close to himself, “Andrea, I love you. Victor became a Christian tonight.”

“You led him to the Lord?”

“Nope. The Holy Spirit took care of that before I saw him tonight. It’s really strange. One minute Victor was arguing with me about blind faith, the next he was telling me he asked Jesus to help him. I’ll tell you about it, but not now. I’ve got to get some sleep.”

They snuggled deep in the blankets, glad of the warmth the covers brought, glad of the warmth each brought to the other. Soon they were asleep.

“What?” Monroe raged. Buck had just arrived to give him an update early on Tuesday morning.

 “Sir, we found a dead man outside the girl’s apartment. I don’t know who he was.” Buck repeated softly, knowing what his boss’ anger was like.

“You idiot! Why didn’t you watch what Victor was doing? What’s he thinking? He’s supposed to be gunning for Johnson.” A grin spread across his broad face, “Well, we’ll have to do something about this. Go pick up the girl. Victor is going to have to realize what it means to be in my employ. I’m going to enjoy this. The girl’s gonna be nice.”

“Mr. Monroe, the girl is gone too.”

Monroe exploded grabbing a stack of magazines, and throwing them at Buck; his face turned an angry dark red. He glared at the man quietly standing on the other side of his desk

 “What are you doing here still?” he demanded.

“Sir, there was another guy who was shot. I saw him in his car.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know, but he looked dead too. We didn’t wait to find out. We heard sirens coming toward us, so we left.”

“Hmmm. Curious. Let me think about this.” Monroe leaned back in his chair. He pulled out his switchblade and flicked it open.

 “What was the name of that church Victor went to?” he asked leaning forward.

“Prairie Oak Baptist.” Buck replied wondering where Monroe was headed.

“Is it a big church?”

“No, not really, it’s a small building but a lot of people go there.”  

“What’s the preacher-man’s name?”

“I don’t know. I think its Jim, something.”

“Get me the name of that preacher.  Does he have a wife? Kids? I want everything you can find out about him.”

“Do you want me to pick them up?”

“No, not yet. This will be good, for now.” Monroe sat back in his chair and laughed softly.

Buck left Monroe’s office, got into his red sports car and left Derrick for Prairie Oak. His eyebrows furrowed, his face grim and without realizing it he ground his teeth and clenched the wheel.

He arrived at the church around 10:00, but found it empty and locked. Mumbling something about bankers’ hours to himself, he noticed the church phone number listed on the sign. He dialed and waited as the phone rang. A message machine picked up and a pleasant female recording played, “This is Prairie Oak Baptist church. On Sunday we have first morning worship at 9:00 to 10:00, Sunday school from 10:10 a.m. to 10:55 and our second worship service from 11:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m. If you need assistance, call Pastor Jim Foster at 712-3473. Please come and share our joy.” Buck hung up without leaving a message. He wrote Pastor Jim’s phone number in a small notebook and drove to the nearest convenience store where he acquired the use of a phone book. After writing the address down in his notebook, he drove slowly up and down the street, checking for observation points. It was just like any other street in town, but for Buck, an added feature was the small apartment complex about four houses down.  He drove in the parking lot and chose a spot in full view of the Pastor’s house.

Soon he saw a burnt orange metallic Mustang pull into the driveway. Two men got out. One was Pastor Jim, the other was Victor.  He watched them shake hands. Victor got in the black car and drove away.

Buck dialed Monroe on his cell, “Mr. Monroe, Victor just left the Pastor’s house.”

“Victor just left? Was the girl with him?”

“No sir.”

“Wonder where she is and what he was doing there? Why did he leave? Do you know the preacher’s name?”

“Yeah, it’s Jim Foster.”

“Is he married, does he have kids?”

“I think he’s married, but I haven’t seen any kids yet. It’s still early, they could be at school.”

“Keep your eye on them, and let me know if Victor shows up again.”

“Yes sir,”