Chasing Sunsets

by Karen Kingsbury

  Just like ten years ago.

  Either way, right now they didn’t have time to wonder about what went wrong. Jag had a job to do.

  He wanted Dwayne Davis behind bars. Where he belonged, according to man’s law. Where he could do no further harm to mankind.

  “Aspyn.” He looked straight at her. “You did the right thing. You saved Marcus. I’m the one who failed.”

  “No.” Aspyn’s eyes were damp with tears. “You did what you could. Police mean nothing to Dwayne.”

  Anger stirred in Jag’s heart again. “If it were up to me . . .”

  “Don’t.” She touched his shoulder. “We need to stay focused.” A tear slid down her cheek and she caught it with the back of her hand. “This feeling . . . the sadness. It’s the hardest part of being on mission. So much heartache here on earth.”

  “Exactly.” Jag willed the strength of God to settle his being.

  Across the street the teens were still milling about; Officer Kent seemed to have things under control. He was dispersing the young people, telling them to go home.

  Jag turned back to Aspyn. “We will ask the Father for a miracle where the child is concerned.”

  Aspyn nodded. “I didn’t see this coming. I thought the boy was out of the way. I thought—”

  “It’s okay. We don’t know all things.” This was the hardest part of being an angel. Having more knowledge than humans, more power. But not nearly the knowledge or power of the Father. God alone knew when someone would be called home, when a person’s time on earth ran out.

  But why allow angels to intervene if people were going to die anyway? Again Jag forced himself to relax. Stay controlled, Jag, he told himself. Keep the mission in mind. One day the answers would be clear, even to angels. For now they were to do their jobs, carry out their assignments.

  “I want to be at the hospital.” Aspyn straightened.

  “You should go.” Jag studied her. She looked stronger than before. She would come back and she would work as hard as possible to see the mission accomplished. Jag had no doubt.

  Aspyn looked at him, her eyes still filled with sorrow. “The most important thing is prayer. Always.”

  “You go. I have another matter to tend to.”

  “Jag.” Her voice held the familiar warning. “Be careful. Work in God’s strength. Don’t let human emotions guide you.”

  Her words hit their mark. He clenched his fists and relaxed them again. “I won’t.” He exhaled. “The mission is God’s. Not ours.”

  “Exactly.” She nodded to him. “See you soon. Stay low.”

  With that they were both gone. Jag felt the sense of purpose deep inside him. He needed to stay hidden better. Aspyn was right about that, too. Angels Walking had to stay invisible as much as possible. Sure, they had to materialize. That was part of the mission. And when they took on human form, sons and daughters of Adam might wonder. Christians familiar with God’s word knew that sometimes they would entertain angels unaware. But too many displays—like not being harmed by flying bullets—and people wouldn’t wonder. They would know. God sent His angels to clandestinely work as messengers and protectors among His people. So that He would get the glory. Otherwise humans might worship angels and miss the One who created them.

  Almost as soon as he left the spot in front of the youth center, Jag arrived two blocks away, invisible, just down the street from Dwayne and Lexy, who were standing on the sidewalk outside his car. Angels had keen hearing—so Jag could clearly hear Dwayne cursing Lexy, threatening her.

  Anger filled Jag again. He wouldn’t let the young man hurt the girl. She was important to the mission. He moved closer to Dwayne. Why so much hatred? How could one created in the very image of God be so full of evil? Jag heard a rush of movement in the air around him. A cold wind came with the sound and in a blur the street was filled with demons. Hissing. Laughing. Taunting him and pushing their way closer to Dwayne.

  Then suddenly—as if Dwayne could sense the dark support around him—he raised the gun and pointed it straight at Lexy’s head.

  JAG HAD TO act quickly. He instantly moved to the pay phone near the bar a block away. He slipped into a tight spot between two houses and materialized as the towering blond officer.

  Jag stepped up to the pay phone and dialed 911.

  The operator answered on the first ring. “What’s your emergency?”

  “I’m an officer. I know who tried to kill Marcus Dillinger.”

  “Identify yourself.”

  “I’ll give you the address. I’m in a hurry.” He quickly rattled off the information. “Send several squad cars. You don’t have long.” He hung up and stepped into the shadows, and instantly he was back on the street with Dwayne and Lexy, invisible. The entire phone call had taken mere seconds.

  The demons were closing in on Dwayne and Lexy. A team so murderous and dark. Treacherous and evil. The smell of death hung in the air. One of the demons dug its invisible claws into Dwayne’s back.

  Jag breathed deep. I need you, Jesus . . .

  Instantly he was in the midst of the demons. “Go!” He held both hands toward the evil spirits. “Go now!”

  One of them hissed and his spiky wings brushed up against Jag. “Fight us, mighty warrior. Our time is short. These two belong to us.”

  Again Jag felt the rush of anger. This wasn’t right. Nothing should stop an angel, not unless . . . What was he thinking? How could he forget?

  The name of Jesus.

  “In the name of Jesus, be gone!” The humans couldn’t hear him, but his voice boomed through another dimension. “Now!”

  At the sound of the name of Jesus, the demons withered in size, shrinking back, repulsed, wounded. And instantly the evil band disappeared. They would find someone else to torment tonight.

  He stepped out of hiding directly behind Dwayne and Lexy, this time as the police officer again. “Stop.” His voice pierced the night air. “Both of you! Police!”

  “What the—” Dwayne spun around and pulled his gun.

  Jag covered the ground between them in fractions of a second and grabbed the gun from Dwayne.

  Jag looked at the pistol in his hand and felt a surge of power. So this is what it’s like? he thought. He ran his thumb over the handle. He pointed the gun at the teenager. He could kill Dwayne now, but there would be eternal consequences.

  It wouldn’t take much. The slightest pull on the trigger and Dwayne would no longer be a threat. Jag was breathing harder. He ran his finger along the smooth metal at the center of the gun. One pull . . . just one.

  Suddenly Lexy cried out, “Jesus, help us!”

  Jesus.

  At the sound of His name, Jag instantly came to his senses. He felt a heavenly calm wash over him and he moved his finger from the trigger. He would not shoot. Not now. Not ever. The sound of sirens in the distance told him it wouldn’t be long. Help was on the way.

  “The punishment you’re about to receive, you have earned.” Jag kept the gun trained on the kid. “But it is nothing to what will come after this life.” Jag was within his bounds now. Eternal truths, life-altering messages—these were the job of angels.

  Dwayne glared at him. He grabbed Lexy by her hair and held her close.

  Before Jag could speak again, three police cars pulled up from different directions and skidded to a stop, their bright lights on Dwayne’s car. Six of them jumped out, guns drawn.

  Jag was invisible by then, the gun on the ground where he had been standing. He moved, unnoticed, to a place where the shadows were dark and the lights of the police cars could not reach. And like that he was gone.

  Immediately he was at the hospital, in the room where surgeons frantically worked on little Jalen. Aspyn stood nearby, praying. Constantly praying. Jag took his place beside her.

  He closed his eyes.

  That was clo
se back there. He could still feel the gun in his hand, feel the strange and powerful desire to kill. His anger had nearly consumed him. I’m sorry, Father. I was wrong. He would need to be more careful. Another moment like that could jeopardize the entire mission.

  Jag closed his eyes. Prayer. That’s what he needed. More time in prayer. He could not work successfully as an Angel Walking unless he stayed connected to God. His breathing slowed down and a deep peace came over him. He blinked his eyes open and stared at the injured child lying on the operating table. Yes, he would pray. For the child fighting for his life a few feet away and for himself.

  That human rage would never consume him again.

  14

  ON THE WAY TO Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, Mary Catherine sat in the back and prayed. Tyler was behind the wheel, Sami in the passenger seat beside him. The car stayed quiet except for the occasional sound of a whispered prayer. Mary Catherine stared out the window. How could this have happened?

  Of course the youth center was in a dangerous part of town. But none of them ever really thought the gangs would shoot at them. Why would they? Marcus was only trying to help.

  They turned into the parking lot and found a spot near the emergency room entrance. The ambulances were still there, parked close to the doors. Mary Catherine squeezed her eyes shut. Dear God, be with that child. Please.

  Tyler hurried out of the car and around to Sami’s door and then Mary Catherine’s.

  “Is the bullet still in Marcus’s leg?” Mary Catherine hadn’t wanted to ask until now. She had seen the blood on his jeans before the paramedics took him.

  “I couldn’t tell.” Tyler looked pale, worried. “I hope not.”

  Inside they checked in at the front desk and explained they were there for Marcus.

  “Come on back. He already has visitors, but we’re slow tonight.” The nurse opened a set of double doors and met them on the other side. “Can’t believe those gangs. Trying to kill Marcus Dillinger? Guy only wanted to do something good for the city.”

  Mary Catherine trailed after the group. Where was the little boy? Where was Jalen? Was he in one of the rooms with the curtains drawn?

  Her heart ached at the thought. Precious little child. He had only wanted to help bring in the pizza. She fought back tears as they walked. They reached Marcus’s room and stepped in.

  The Wayne family was already there, including Shelly. She was sitting next to Marcus’s bed, running her hand along his arm.

  “Hey.” He seemed to shake off Shelly’s touch. He looked at Tyler and Sami and then held Mary Catherine’s gaze. The fear in his eyes was tangible. “Any word on Jalen?”

  “We came here first.” Tyler reached out and clasped Marcus’s hand.

  “I’m fine.” His mouth sounded dry. “I need to know about that boy. The nurse won’t tell me.”

  Shelly slid her chair closer to his bed and ran her hand over his hair. “I’m sure he’s okay.”

  “He’s not okay.” Marcus shot her a harsh look.

  Shelly’s sad smile didn’t waver. She moved her hand to his shoulder. Meanwhile Coach Wayne and his wife were talking quietly, whispering a few feet away.

  Mary Catherine felt out of place. The cold, shrinking feeling deep inside her could only be jealousy. Which she hated. She focused her attention on Marcus’s injured leg.

  He lay stretched out on the bed, one leg of his jeans cut off. The bandage was halfway up his thigh and, if the wrap was any indication, the wound was serious. He had an IV in his arm, and he looked tired.

  Sami looked at Marcus’s leg. “Did they get the bullet out?”

  “It didn’t go in. Just grazed me.”

  “Poor baby.” Shelly was on her feet, hanging over the side of the bed like she wanted to crawl up next to Marcus.

  Mary Catherine had seen enough. “I’m going to go find Jalen’s mother. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  She didn’t wait for a response. Out in the hall she found the nurses’ station and asked how to get to the pediatric ICU. “Take the elevator to the fourth floor.” The woman hesitated. “Other than parents, patients are only allowed one visitor at a time.”

  “Thank you.” Mary Catherine was already on her way to the elevator. At the fourth floor she walked quietly to the nurses’ station, but before she could ask, she saw Jalen’s mother in the hallway outside one of the rooms. She was sitting on a chair, her head in her hands.

  Mary Catherine approached and took the seat beside her. “Shamika. It’s Mary Catherine. From the youth center.” She put her arm around Shamika’s shoulders. “How is he?”

  The woman lifted her head. Her eyes, which had shone with hope earlier today, were swollen from crying and dark with fear and defeat. “How did this happen?”

  She wasn’t looking for answers, so Mary Catherine let the moment pass. “Is he in surgery?”

  “Yes.” She sniffed and brushed the backs of her hands beneath her eyes. “They have to remove part of his skull. Because his brain was swelling.” She shook her head, bewildered. “They have to get the bullet out. It went from his head into his neck.”

  Mary Catherine didn’t want to ask any more questions. Especially when Shamika probably didn’t have answers. Like whether the boy would walk again or how much damage had been done to his brain or his spine . . . or if the doctors even expected him to live.

  All of it was one minute at a time. Mary Catherine took her arm from Shamika’s shoulders and reached for the woman’s hands. “Can I pray with you?”

  “Would it matter?” She probably wasn’t trying to be rude or difficult. Her question didn’t sound cynical. “I mean it. God could’ve protected my boy from that bullet. Why pray now?”

  Mary Catherine had spent a great deal of time on this issue. She had done a summer of Bible study on the power of prayer and the reasons bad things happen in the first place. She kept her tone even. “I’m not sure anyone knows exactly why certain things happen, but I know this. Evil doesn’t come from God.”

  Shamika thought about that for several seconds. Gradually she nodded her head. “I suppose.” She stared at her hands. “But really . . . why did this happen?” Fresh tears began to fall down her cheeks. “He was just being good.”

  For a long moment Mary Catherine said nothing.

  “I’m serious.” Shamika’s voice was sharper this time. “If you can tell me, then tell me.”

  Mary Catherine hadn’t planned on saying anything. She had no real answers. She took a deep breath. “The Bible says this place, this earth . . . it’s broken and fallen. God gives us a way out through Jesus. Even still, every one of us will die someday.” She paused. “This isn’t our home, Shamika.”

  She ran her right thumb over her empty left ring finger. “Jalen’s daddy left me when I was six weeks pregnant. I figured if he couldn’t love me, no one could. Not even God.”

  Mary Catherine put her hand alongside Shamika’s face. “That’s not true. God loves you so much. He has a plan for you and Jalen and whatever that plan is, it’s good. Even now.”

  Confusion lined Shamika’s face. “There’s nothing good about this.”

  “No.” Mary Catherine felt frustrated with herself. She wasn’t helping at all. “Of course not.”

  “So what does it mean?” Shamika’s eyes filled with tears again. “God loves us. He has plans for us. But here we are, sitting in this hospital while Jalen fights for every breath.”

  There were no simple answers. “I only know that God is great. If we choose Him, then one day we’ll have eternity together. No more tears, no sorrow, no pain. No shooting or gang violence. No lonely nights. Never again.”

  Her tears came harder. “I just want my baby back. I want him to live and laugh and be . . . like he was three hours ago.”

  Mary Catherine took hold of Shamika’s hands once more. “Then let’s pray. Let’
s ask God for that.”

  “Okay.” Shamika looked like a little girl, desperate and lost. She took tight hold of Mary Catherine’s fingers. “Please . . . go ahead.”

  Mary Catherine nodded. “Dear God . . .” Tears flooded her eyes and fell onto her lap. The little boy had been so happy, so trusting that all of life would stay the way it had been in that moment. Filled with love and joy and fun. She tried to find the words. “Lord, we don’t understand evil or why things like this happen. But we need Your help to get through it.” She struggled to keep her voice steady. “Father, we ask You for a miracle for Jalen. That he would live and laugh and that he would one day soon be just like he was a few hours ago. We ask this in Jesus’ powerful name, amen.”

  When she finished praying she hugged Shamika. “Let me give you my number. So you can update me on how he’s doing.”

  They exchanged information and Shamika was just starting to explain how Jalen’s birthday was coming up in a few weeks when the doctor opened the door at the end of the hallway and walked toward them.

  His face was taut, his expression deeply concerned. “We’ve done what we can. We removed the bullet. He’s resting now.”

  Shamika stood. “Is he . . . breathing on his own?”

  “No.” The doctor looked troubled. “He’s on life support.” He paused. “I have to be honest, Mrs. Johnson, Jalen may not make it through the night. He’s a fighter, but the damage . . . it’s considerable.”

  Quiet sobs came over Shamika. Mary Catherine stood next to her and turned her eyes to the doctor. “Will you bring him back here?”

  “Yes. In a few minutes.” He put his hand on Shamika’s arm. “He’s unconscious. Once he’s back in his room, you can talk to him. He may be able to hear you.”

  Mary Catherine helped Shamika into the room and again her tears came. The woman covered her face with her hands, stifling her sobs. “Not my boy, God . . . please . . . bring him back to me. I can’t do this.”