Liberation Song

by Raelee May Carpenter

  Well, it couldn’t be.

  Unless I ask Matt— Alex silenced that particular line of questioning really fast. Except there was a little, teeny, tiny part of her that wanted to pack a bag for Aggie and give her to Matt and ask him to hit the road with her, to hide her somewhere while Alex stayed with Agent Beck and the two FBI clowns and waited for whatever was going to go down in the house on Orange Grove Avenue.

  She knew it probably wouldn’t work. And it would probably get Matt killed. And that really would be no fun at all.

  She could come up with some pretty crazy/stupid ideas when she was overtired and bored to tears and losing her mind.

  Beck moseyed over to the kitchen and sat down at the buffet. “How’s it going?”

  She wanted to throw the brick of black toast at his head. “Oh, I’m just lovely this morning. How are you?”

  “It’s rough. I know.”

  “Those two, they don’t really care about my daughter. She could be six feet under as long as they got the tiniest clue to Tokan’s whereabouts.”

  “That’s not true. Of course, they want to find Tokan, but they will protect your daughter too, if they can.”

  “But they wouldn’t kill for her, not if it meant losing a witness.”

  “Matthew Gold might.”

  “We’ve been over this, Beck. I’ve made up my mind.”

  “I know.” Beck took a bite of the burnt toast and tossed back half a cup of unsweetened black coffee with it.

  “Matt drinks sugarless black coffee too. It’s so gross.”

  “Speaking of Matt, I talked to him last night.”

  “You what?”

  “It’s not a big deal. I just gave him a quick call while you and Aggie were making that dinner for us.”

  “Benedict!”

  “I just wanted to see how he was and make sure he understood the situation. You did a good job of informing him, and he figured out a lot of the rest for himself. He said he told you that he didn’t trust us with Aggie because he knows how badly we want to make this case. He understands what we were fighting, but more than anything, he just wants his Aili and his little girl to be okay.”

  “How is he doing?” Alex asked. She managed to sound a lot calmer than she was, but she couldn’t help asking. She practically was dying to know.

  “Well, about what you would expect. He’s obviously concerned and said he’s been praying a lot. He desperately wants to see you and your daughter and asked me if there is anything, at all, that he could do to help you two.”

  Alex stiffened. “And what did you say?”

  “I told him that you would be extremely concerned about his safety if he was here and would be most at ease if he stayed away and looked after himself.”

  “Good.”

  “He said, ‘I’ve been with this woman for well over a year. I know all about her freak-outs. What do you think?’ He’s a sharp one, that fella of yours.”

  Alex looked down at her hands.

  “I just told him that I would talk with you. And that’s all I’m doing now—keeping my word.”

  “Well, then you’ve kept it. You are absolved. God bless you; go in peace.” Alex genuflected dramatically then waved him away with her hands.

  “There’s no reason you can’t answer his calls, MacIntire. It’s not like he can get shot through the mobile phone waves.”

  Alex shook her head. “I miss him, and he is smart, and if I talk to him, he’ll talk me into letting him come over.”

  Beck tsked. “And we can’t have that, can we?” He took another bite of her inedible toast and started to walk away, but over his shoulder, he said, “He’s a keeper, though. I tell ya. You should marry him. Shoot, I’d almost marry him. If I were single, and a lady, I would steal him from you in a heartbeat.”

  Alex didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she just rolled her eyes. “I don’t think you would make a particularly charming lady, Benedict Beck.”

  “Hey, now!” he retorted from across the living room. “There is no need to be uncivil here, no need a-tall.”

  Then she did laugh. Just a little.

  He was just so… so English.

  Matt’s eyes were blurry when he walked out of the cemetery, and that was probably why he walked into the jogger. Looking back he would note how something as simple as teary eyes could completely alter the course of a man’s life. But in this moment, he would only be concerned about the man he’d hit. The man was short-ish, about six inches shorter than Matt, so when Matt crashed into him, he kind of went sprawling.

  Matt felt terrible, of course. He lifted his glasses a bit and wiped his eyes quickly so he could see clearly to help the man to his feet. “I am so sorry.”

  The short man smiled in a friendly way and brushed himself off a bit. “Don’t worry about it, man. No blood, no foul, right? And I’m not bleeding.”

  Matt tried to chuckle. It didn’t sound right. It had been over a month since his laughs had sounded any kind of real at all. The jogger’s face took on a concerned look. He glanced at the cemetery gates then back at Matt. “Are you all right, man?”

  Instantly, Matt’s eyes filled with tears again. He dodged the jogger’s gaze, amazed that the other man didn’t feel uncomfortable watching him blubber. But he seemed so kind, and he had a quiet, comfortable air of confidence about him that was soothing. Matt cleared his throat and forced out the words. “My wife’s body is there.”

  The man nodded. “I hear ya. That’s rough. She must have been a wonderful woman.”

  Matt nodded and looked away.

  “You’re a good man to have loved her so much.”

  This time Matt shook his head, more tears. He took his glasses off and rubbed the lenses with the hem of his T-shirt, as if they were responsible for his current vision issues.

  When he put them back, the jogger was still gazing at him in that gentle, friendly way. “You wanna get some coffee?”

  Immediately, about a million excuses formed in Matt’s mind, but he couldn’t force a single one of them out of his mouth. “Okay,” he said, sounding a bit sheepish.

  “Great. There’s the most amazing little greasy spoon diner about a block down Escritorio. You can get some pancakes or something if you want too—my treat.” They started walking together in the direction the jogger had indicated.

  “Coffee’s fine. I haven’t had much of an appetite recently.”

  “Yeah, and no offense, man, but you look it.”

  Matt laughed then, and it actually sounded halfway okay.

  “I’m Levi O’Brien, by the way.”

  “Matt Gold.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, brother.”

  Several minutes later, sitting in a booth sipping a hot cup of coffee, Matt started to gather himself. He was more relaxed than he had been in weeks, since… well, you know.

  “So…Matityahu1?”

  Matt shook his head. “Actually, my Hebrew name is Asher2. My dad had an old friend he wanted to call me after.”

  “Asher. Meaning ‘happy, blessed.’”

  “A bit of a departure, I know.”

  “But a good name.”

  “I guess. I’m not really feeling it right now.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  They each took a drink of their coffee.

  “Your wife is really buried in that cemetery?” Levi asked then. “I’m only surprised, because… well, see, I live in the neighborhood and jog past there all the time. I’ve made friends with the caretaker, and as I understand it, it’s kind of a strict place…”

  Matt followed Levi’s gaze down to the tattoos all over his arms. “I went through a rebellious stage in my late teens and early twenties,” Matt explained. “And your supposition is accurate; I could never be buried there. Not unless the rules changed drastically, which… will not happen.”

  “Then why…?”

  “Sarah’s parents are a lot more strict than us, than we were, well, her and me. Anyway, it was a big deal t
o them. I didn’t care. I mean, that’s just her body. My Sarah left that behind five weeks ago.”

  “But what about your body?”

  “They could throw me to the dogs for all I care.”

  “Matthew, for someone of your faith, that’s a damning insult.3”

  “It’s about what I deserve. I’m the one who was too busy to save my wife’s life.”

  “We all make mistakes. And God forgives.”

  “I guess that depends on the God that you know.”

  “Last I checked, there was only One. I mean, we always try to make gods of other things: other people, stuff, chemicals, ourselves. But none of that can stand before the Eternal Creator, can it?”

  Matt sighed, didn’t respond. He looked away from Levi, glancing around the diner. An older woman nearby cut into a stack of pancakes, and Matt’s stomach growled. Levi signaled the waitress, and when she appeared, Matt pointed at the woman’s breakfast. “Could I have that?”

  She smiled, scribbled on her pad, and started to walk away.

  Levi stopped her. “Miss, hold the bacon, please.”

  She nodded and left.

  “Thanks,” Matt told him. “I didn’t even think about that.”

  “No prob.”

  They lapsed into silence, and while Levi seemed content enough to sit with it, Matt soon grew uncomfortable. Levi had a tattoo printed on the back of his right hand so that as the hand rested on the table, Matt read the text as upright. “You’ve got a bit of ink yourself,” he observed, just to make conversation.

  The other man nodded. “The characters on the left spell the Greek word ‘Abba,’ which is kind of like saying ‘Daddy’ or ‘Dada’ even. I’m sure you recognize the characters on the right.4”

  Matt nodded. “It’s HaShem, the Tetragrammaton5. It’s the Hebrew abbreviation for our God’s name.” The two words were joined in the middle by a small, simple heart. “It’s kind of strange to me to see the two words juxtaposed like that.”

  Levi sounded like he was quoting a poem or something. “‘For you did not receive a spirit that again enslaves you to fear, but you received a Holy Spirit, giving you sonship, and by it you cry, “Abba, Father.” The Spirit of God Himself witnesses to our spirits that we are children of God.’”

  Matt pursed his lips, turning the words over in his mind.

  “Have you heard those words before?” Levi asked.

  He shook his head.

  “They were written about two thousand years ago by a Pharisee named Saul. Do you know who the Pharisees were?”

  “They were like an old Jewish sect, right?”

  Levi nodded. “One of five sects that were important around that time, along with the Essenes, the Zealots, the Sadducees, and an upstart called The Way.”

  “How do you know about the writings of some Pharisee?” Matt asked.

  “Because I’m a follower of The Way.”

  “You’re Jewish?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  “Your last name is, like, Irish, isn’t it?”

  “I’m a convert, of course.”

  “Well, see, the names of the other groups sound kind of familiar to me. Why haven’t I heard of ‘The Way?’”

  Levi laughed. “They were a fringe group, to be sure. They were made up mostly of uneducated hicks, women, including prostitutes, and Roman collaborators. Their founder was a homeless charity case whose teachings were extreme. His own brothers thought he was crazy, and eventually he was executed by the Roman governor for treason and insurrection.”

  “And this is the sect you follow?” Matt’s eyebrows were raised, and he couldn’t keep all of the ridicule out of his tone.

  His new acquaintance smiled cheerfully, though. “I know, right?”

  Matt’s breakfast appeared in front of him then, and he was glad for the distraction, the time to think. He spread the butter and poured the syrup and took a few delicious bites. It was good to eat and to enjoy food for the first time in over a month.

  “Hit the spot?” Levi asked.

  Matt nodded. He gave Levi an awkward smile.

  “Go ahead, ask.”

  Matt chewed and swallowed. “Ask what?”

  The man raised his eyebrows. “Ask. I don’t mind. Not a bit.”

  “I don’t want to offend you, man. You seem like a nice guy, and I don’t want to be rude to you, because you have been so kind, and sitting here with you, I feel better than I have in a long time.”

  “There might be something to that, don’t you think?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can’t possibly offend me, Matthew Asher Gold. If I speak so frankly about my own faith, what do you think I expect from others?”

  “Okay, then. My question is ‘why?’”

  “Why…?”

  “Why, if the founder of your sect was a loser nut case and a criminal who taught crazy stuff, and his followers were all losers too, why would you ever choose that sect to follow?”

  “For the record, I’m a loser, too.”

  “Well, you’re a compassionate loser, Levi O’Brien.”

  “Thank you. And your saying all of that reminds me of something he said once: ‘Whoever would save his life will lose it. But whoever loses his life for my sake, finds it.’”

  Matt raised his eyebrows. “I see what you mean about extreme teachings.”

  “Well, in most cases, at least in countries like this one, it is more of a metaphorical loss of life. Though I have to admit, it can really sting sometimes.”

  Matt sighed impatiently.

  “Most of my life, I was with you, Matt. And with his brothers, before they changed their minds, of course.”

  “Well, what changed your mind?”

  “I met him.”

  Matt’s skepticism creeped up on his tone. “You met a dead guy?”

  “Not exactly. One word in your question is incorrect, but my argument is not with the word that you’d think.”

  “How did you meet him?”

  “It was something sort of like a dream, I guess. But suddenly all the extreme facts of his life and his message, they all made sense.”

  “How?”

  “In a word?”

  “I’m sure it would take more than one.”

  Levi shook his head. “Grace,” he said.

  “Grace.” As polite as he wanted to be to this kind (if deluded) man, Matt’s voice oozed incredulity.

  “Do you know what that is?”

  “Undeserved favor. Getting something good that you haven’t earned.”

  “There’s a lot more to it, actually. It’s not just a gift. It’s the power of God.”

  “God is omnipotent,” Matt parroted, without any concept of the weight of the words.

  “Of course He is. But not in the sense of its only being something you say. In God is the power to undo everything that went wrong in the Garden of Eden. The power to undo the separation between Him and us that the Original Rebellion caused. The power, my brother, to raise the dead. And Saul the Pharisee and his friends called that power Charis, in Greek, or Grace.”

  Matt watched his eyes. He wasn’t lying. And, surprisingly, he wasn’t crazy either. “You want to know why this crazy man’s brothers changed their minds about him?”

  Matt shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  “Because he was dead, and they knew he was dead. They had watched him die a most gruesome, barbaric death at the hands of the Roman occupiers. But then they saw him again, and he wasn’t dead anymore. They believed because he’s alive. And, if I remember correctly, at least one of them was eventually executed for saying so.”

  Matt thought about that. And he didn’t know what to think, but then something clicked in his head, and he asked Levi, “This man, the crazy one, the founder of your sect…what was his name?”

  “His name is Y’shua,” he answered.

  “Joshua,” Matt translated into English.

  Levi6 nodded and said, “In Greek, of course,
they called him Jesus. And I believe he is the Mashiyah. And I’m not just a member of some crazy, fringe sect. I live for what he left behind when he went home, because that Spirit of Grace made itself alive inside of me. I’m a cell, a microscopic piece of a living body, a body that is sick and selfish and broken and rude and misunderstood and sometimes crazy, yet as imperfect as it is right now, is what exists of the Messiah’s life here on earth.”

  Matt took another bite of his pancakes. He chewed slowly.

  He wasn’t sure what to think.

  Chapter Eleven

  Alex’s bare feet pounded over the dusty streets of Los Angeles.

  The city was bathed in the golden light that came from a sun that was either rising or setting. All the windows were unlit, the sunlight turning them into mirrors of the golden city around them. And there were no people. The streets were deserted, like some Old West ghost town or an abandoned Hollywood set.

  Deserted, except for Alex and the black-clad figure who pursued her. The hunter held a shiny silver handgun and wore a medieval executioner’s mask.

  Alex bolted past streets and through alleyways, looking for help but finding none. Of all the times in her life to find herself unarmed! She knew she had firearms stashed in at least six different places around her home, and she would have tried to go there to get one, but she didn’t know where she was, or where her home was. She’d lost her sense of direction, and that didn’t happen to her. She was so confused.

  She ran down a side street and found herself in the middle of Santa Monica Boulevard, and suddenly she hit a wall in her endurance. It was over. She could not run one more step. She stopped in the dead center of the intersection, gasping for breath. She gave up. She turned, faced her executioner, and fell to her knees.

  She thought of her daughter and Matt. She thought of Wendy, her family, and Grandma Gold. She even thought of her father, years in his lonely grave.

  As the accuser approached with gun pointed dead at her heart, Alex searched the mask for a glimpse of their eyes, the soul windows to which she could appeal for mercy, but she saw nothing human and nothing of compassion in the shrouded face.