Vengeance is Mine: A Jorja Rose Christian Suspense Thriller (Valley of Death Book 1)

by Urcelia Teixeira

  "I was working late, alone, on the arrangements for the fair. Next thing I know, I am choked from behind. I didn't see who it was or how many there were. I must have blacked out or something when I couldn't breathe because all I remember seeing was Ewan rushing toward me. There was a gunshot and Ewan fell forward onto me. That is it. I woke up with him bleeding out on top of me and immediately called 999. That's all I can remember right now."

  "That's good, a start, at least. So, let's assume they were burglars. I left Ewan at the station earlier this evening. Perhaps they tripped an alarm?"

  "I don't know how, I was inside and I didn't have the alarm on. I didn't even hear him come in."

  "So there was one person. You said him, not them."

  "I don't know for sure. I think so."

  "Okay, if it was a burglar, why did he choose to break into your gallery? Were there any paintings of value in the shop?"

  She paused to think, then answered.

  "No, not really, at least not anymore."

  Chapter Nine

  Charlie's eyes said it all, even in the dark confines of his car.

  "What do you mean 'not anymore'?"

  She hesitated briefly, then answered.

  "Most of the paintings in my shop were by local artists or cheap replicas of famous paintings. But I have been helping Myles acquire a small collection of paintings by Monet. That's why he was in my shop, to collect one of the paintings in the series. I had acquired it for him through Mullers in London about a year ago—we’d arranged that he would buy one piece per month over a year. There were twelve paintings altogether. The one he’d just bought was the tenth one in Monet's Charing Cross Bridge series, painted between 1899 and 1902 when Monet spent time in London."

  "And these paintings were valuable?"

  "If they were originals, yes, upward of twenty-seven million dollars. But these were replicas, exceptionally good ones, but replicas, nonetheless, done by another French artist who near perfected Monet's techniques. These paintings increase in value the higher the quality of the replica. Myles paid five hundred quid for them."

  "Each?" Charlie could not hide the shock in his voice.

  She nodded, figuring it was okay to divulge the price her client had paid considering how Myles had died. Perhaps Charlie was onto something and she was just paranoid.

  “I would imagine that, in the wrong hands, something like this could create an opportunity for fraud.”

  "I'm not in the business of defrauding people, Charlie."

  He had touched a nerve.

  "I didn't mean to insinuate that, Jorja, sorry. I just don't understand why someone would willingly pay that much money for fake paintings."

  "The value lies in the pleasure of seeing a piece like that hang on your wall, Charlie, especially if it's an entire collection of one of the most famous artists of all time. Myles loved Monet's work."

  Charlie suddenly fell silent.

  "And you say he had intentions of buying the entire collection."

  "Yes, sort of."

  Charlie looked confused so she explained.

  "Monet painted thirty-seven paintings in total but he only completed twelve while living in London. This was one of the most prolific periods of Monet's career, so there is definite value in these paintings. Even replicas."

  Charlie digested the art lesson then finally spoke again.

  "Is it possible to mistake Myles' paintings for the real thing?"

  "I suppose it is to the normal man on the street, yes, but most art collectors would have them appraised before entering into any transactions worth that kind of money."

  "But to someone who doesn't know, someone who might have been told they were real, they could be sold off for twenty-seven million dollars."

  Jorja felt a jolt in the pit of her stomach. Charlie's words evoked something that she had buried and hidden away for decades now.

  "Anything is possible, Charlie. Why are you asking me this?" She sounded defensive. It caught her off guard. Who was she so desperate to defend, she thought, then changed the tone of her voice.

  "Myles would have never sold them off as originals, Charlie. He didn't have it in him." Trust me, I would know, she added in her head.

  "I agree, Jorja, but something doesn't add up. We've been through Myles' house, turned it upside down trying to find anything that might have caused him to be killed, and I can't recall seeing any paintings of Charing Cross Bridge at his house."

  "Perhaps he stored them somewhere else? Maybe the bank?"

  "I thought you said the pleasure was seeing them hang on your walls."

  He was right. She had said that.

  "What are you saying then, Charlie?"

  "I'm not saying anything. It's just a theory, but what if that was the reason he got killed? What if Myles was robbed and the thieves thought you had the rest of the paintings at your gallery? They would need the full set, right? So, what if they broke into his house first to get the first ten, then finished the job breaking into the gallery for the remaining two. Perhaps you being there took them by surprise and Ewan drove by, saw the lights on, and got in the way of the robbery."

  Oh, how she would love that to be the truth, she thought.

  The car pulled up behind the ambulance at the hospital.

  "I don't know, Charlie. All I care about right now is Ewan."

  Charlie leaned over and opened the car door for her.

  "You go ahead and stay with him. I’ll check in with you in a bit. I think I’m onto something so I would like to run it past the chief inspector. From what I know of the man, he is most likely burning the midnight oil at the station."

  She said goodbye and followed the paramedics into the hospital. Ewan's face was sallow and tubes ran from his arm into an IV bag a nurse snatched from the paramedic as soon as they rolled him through the doors. Within seconds, several doctors and nurses swarmed around him and pushed her out of their way as they wheeled him off.

  "How's he doing? Is he okay?" she yelled at them but was ignored.

  A friendly voice came up from behind and gently told Jorja that it was best she took a seat in the waiting area until the doctor came to talk with her. She had no choice but to comply and allowed the nurse she didn't recognize to usher her to a large open area to her right.

  "There's a coffee machine over there, not the best but it does the trick, and a chapel down the hall to your right." She paused briefly then continued. "It might be a while before I have any news so feel free to spend some time in the chapel. I'll come find you when the doctor's ready."

  She smiled affectionately then turned and darted back behind her station. The look in the effervescent nurse's eyes stayed with Jorja where she now stood staring through the glass of a tall window to a large terrarium. Filled with plants, a small fountain and a few large rocks that looked like a snake was going to crawl out of it at any moment, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the windowpane. Her hands were still covered in blood, so was her powder-blue blouse. If Ewan died it would be her fault. Maybe the residents of St. Ives were right all those years ago when they assumed she was nothing but trouble. Maybe they’d seen straight through her. She had tried to create a new life for herself, thought that she could do it there, in St. Ives but no matter how far she tried to run, to hide from her past, it was clear it would always haunt her. Because that person from her past was who she really was and who she would always be.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when the female nurse's gentle voice suddenly spoke behind her.

  "I thought you could do with this. There's a bathroom down that way." She handed Jorja a white tee shirt with the hospital logo on.

  "Sorry, it's all I had, leftovers from our recent charity Fun Run. The gift shop on the second floor should have something warmer for sale if you want to pop up and have a look. They open in a little while."

  "Thank you, this shirt is perfect."

  "You know, dearie, the chapel is nice and quiet this time of night. You might w
ant to swing by on your way back, just saying." She squeezed Jorja's arm gently and scuttled back to her post.

  The nurse's suggestion left her feeling annoyed. It seemed everyone she knew or met constantly felt the need to tell her to turn to God, as if he would even want her. Like they were so certain he was the answer to all that troubled her, someone who could magically fix all she had done wrong in her life. From what she had heard, he was a God who easily forgave, but what if she didn't want him to forgive her? What then? Why could they not just let her be? Let her wallow in her regrets, pay for it the way she should, the way she deserved.

  Fueled by her troubled emotions she set off toward the restroom. As the water washed the blood away from her hands, she watched the dark red change to a soft shade of pink before it swirled its way down the drain, disappearing as if it had never been there. If only it was that easy, she thought.

  Not being able to stand the sight of her reflection in the mirror in front of her, she turned her back to it and hastily switched shirts, eager to get out of there. When she was done, she tossed her blood-stained blouse into the rubbish bin on her way out and stormed off to get a coffee.

  But, as she passed the small chapel, it was as if a magnet pulled her body toward it. Perhaps it was the rebel in her, wanting to prove that she was right, wanting to test God's forgiveness and if it would extend to her. She felt her freshly cleansed hand reach for the door handle, hubris firm in her heart as she entered and took a seat in one of the narrow wooden pews of the small hospital chapel.

  Chapter Ten

  The nurse wasn't lying when she said the chapel was quiet before sunrise—too quiet Jorja had to admit. But she soon realized that her discomfort was because the solitude forced her to face herself. So, she sat there, staring at the large white cross as if she was waiting for something to happen. Maybe a preacher would sneak in from behind a hidden door, or a choir would start singing, or perhaps she waited for God to strike her, punish her once and for all and get it over with so she could move on with her life. But nothing happened.

  She leaned over to pick up one of the Bibles from a little cradle behind the pew in front of her. She flipped through the thin pages in search of Leviticus, then gave up when she couldn't find it and flipped back to the index in the front of the Bible. When she eventually found the page number that sent her to the third book, she paged to chapter nineteen then scanned down to verse eighteen. She read the words:

  'Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against one of your people,

  but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the LORD.'

  She read it twice; it still didn't make any sense to her. Her eyes lingered on the cross again as she wondered why Ewan had told her to read this scripture. He’d also told her to leave her anger to God. None of it meant anything to her, so she slammed the Bible shut and put it back where she’d found it.

  With the same hubris she’d come in with now slowly multiplying, she was just about ready to get up when she heard a man's voice from somewhere behind her. It startled her, more so because once again she’d dropped her guard and hadn't heard him come in.

  "Well, you must be desperate to come in here this early," he said sounding smug and amused.

  She ignored him and got up to leave.

  "Sorry, the meds are making me grumpy," he immediately apologized, draping his masculine arms over the pew in front of him.

  She sat back down, not sure why she was so relieved to have found a reason not to have to go yet.

  "I'm usually in here alone this time of the day. Early bird catches the worm and all that. The doctors will be passing through here when they change shifts in a few hours—that's when God is at his busiest, I reckon." He smiled and Jorja couldn't help noticing how attractive he was. Roughly her age, tanned skin, dark hair, and the bluest of blue eyes one could ever imagine. He looked her up and down.

  "So, what's your story? I'm usually good at guessing but I will admit, I cannot decide if you are a patient or a visitor. It's a bit early for visitors but then you don't look like you are sick either, hence my conundrum," he winked.

  "My friend got hurt, I'm waiting to hear." She suddenly felt acutely conscious of how she looked and she tucked her hair behind her ear.

  "So you've come to pray for him, that's nice."

  "No, I didn't come here to pray, and what makes you think it's a man?"

  "Because women like you aren't the single type," he flashed his handsome smile again.

  "Well, I am single." Why was she telling him this?

  "Great to know. So why are you here then if you're not praying?"

  She didn't know, so she didn't answer.

  "Ah, now I've got it. You're blaming yourself, aren't you? What did you do, huh?"

  "What? No, nothing, it's none of your business." She still didn't move to get up, found herself not wanting to for some strange reason.

  "So you do feel guilty. Told you I'm good at this. I bet you're here looking for absolution. Except, you think you aren’t worthy of God's forgiveness. That whatever you did will be too big a sin for the man upstairs to forgive you." He studied her face. "Yeah, there it is. You're wondering why God's let you get away with it, why he's not punishing you instead of your friend."

  He smiled then moved to sit next to her in the pew.

  She wondered how it was that this stranger knew what she hadn't even fully come to understand yet. As he slipped in next to her, she noticed for the first time that he was wearing a dressing gown. He caught her eyes glancing at the hospital bracelet on his wrist.

  "Yep, I'm a patient in case you're wondering. Been here on and off for almost four years now. AIDS." He waited for her to react the way most people did when they found out. Except she didn't. He looked puzzled.

  "You're not shocked, that's a first."

  "Should I be?"

  "Most people are, thinking I must be homosexual and such."

  "Sorry."

  "Don't be. I guess this was what it took to find my own absolution. It's what finally brought me to my knees."

  He looked pensive as if recalling the past.

  Her brows pulled into a slight frown but she waited for him to tell her more.

  "You're not the only one who has something to be ashamed of, you know. We all have regrets over the choices we make in life. I looked for absolution too, didn't think I was worthy of God's forgiveness either. My life was a mess before I eventually came face-to-face with God. Addiction is the devil's secret weapon of choice. Drugs, food, alcohol, sex, you name it. I lost a lot of friends along the way, most of them my fault."

  He fell silent then turned to study her face again.

  "But you don't strike me as an addict, so which is it, huh? I'm guessing fame or fortune, the only two left in the box."

  Jorja didn't say anything and he turned to face the front of the chapel. They sat quietly staring at the white cross before he eventually spoke again.

  "Here's what I do know about absolution. You're never going to get it until you forgive yourself first. Sometimes you make it easy for God to get you to that point of forgiveness, but judging from the pain in your eyes, I'm guessing you have been fighting it for a while. So here you are, in the dead of night, alone in a hospital chapel facing your demons while your friend is fighting for his life. Maybe you had something to do with him being here, maybe you didn't. But you are going to have to face your afflictions and stop trying to run away from whatever it is that's haunting you, before it destroys you and all those around you. Take it from me. No sin is too big for God to wash away and correct our paths, and for the record, he's not in the business of punishing people just so he gets his way. He's waiting for you to make the first move. In order to heal, you have to stop pretending it isn't there and face it head on. Sometimes the very thing that brought you here tonight is God's way of nudging you to face your demons. The more you run, the harder God has to fight to get your attention. I waited too long. Don't let staring death in the face be the last resort."


  He got to his feet then glided toward the door.

  "I'll leave you be. I think you need the chapel more than I do today."

  And as suddenly as he had sneaked up on her, he disappeared.

  She must have sat there staring at the white cross for at least another thirty minutes, alone in the chapel, trying to digest what the stranger had told her; figure out how he knew what she was going through. Perhaps the man with the piercing blue eyes was dead on and that the time had come to stop hiding. If God was waiting for her to make the first move toward turning her life around once and for all, then that's what she would do. She would face her past, her fears, and her enemies head on. Perhaps if she found closure she could forgive herself. Perhaps God would then forgive her.

  She found herself whispering her intentions to God and asking him to help her, even if she thought she wasn't worthy. And as she sat unknowingly praying, the friendly nurse barged through the chapel doors behind her.

  "The doctor is ready to talk to you now, Ms. Rose. Come, I will take you to see him.” She smiled and beckoned for Jorja to follow her.

  Chapter Eleven

  It felt like an eternity before Jorja found herself buzzed into the ICU and she followed the nurse to one of the rooms. Ewan lay in the only bed in the room. A thick tube ran from his mouth into a nearby machine. She couldn't help noticing how peaceful he looked. She recognized the doctor. He was a local St. Ives resident, one of her less regular clients with a passion for abstracts. Paying attention to his body language, she watched as he stood deep in thought at the foot of the bed making notes on a medical chart on a metal clipboard. When he spotted her, he quickly pressed it against his chest as if he needed to keep its contents a secret before his arms crossed over it. Extra security, she thought.

  "Miss Rose, I understand you were the one who brought Detective Reid in."

  His eyes told the friendly nurse to stay. It sent a bolt of panic into the pit of Jorja's stomach.