by Nancy Mehl
But he wasn’t fine. Some nights were so cold he shivered and shook all night long. His legs ached so badly he would lie in bed and cry. Oftentimes he would grab his blankets and bring them downstairs. His mother slept on the couch while his sisters shared the only real bedroom in the house. Snuggled on the floor, not far from his mom, he’d felt safe. Since his mother kept the thermostat set low, it was still chilly in the living room, but it was a lot better than the drafty attic. Later, when he was twelve, his mother told him he couldn’t come downstairs at night anymore.
“I might have company,” she said. “We’d keep you up. Best if you stay in your room, son. I’ll go to the thrift store this week and look for another blanket.”
Sometimes Mama’s company was a woman everyone called Sister Lilly. Sister was a deacon in the church down the street and was always telling his mother how much she needed Jesus. Mama seemed more peaceful after her meetings with Sister. But other nights Tally heard a man’s voice coming from downstairs. Mama wouldn’t tell him who the man was, but the next morning that hopeless look was back. Yet after the man’s visits, things seemed to go better for a while. There was enough food, and Mama even bought candy for him and his sisters. Even now, as an adult, Tally wouldn’t allow himself to think about what his mother might have been doing to keep them eating. He wouldn’t even discuss it with Annie. It was a closed subject.
“Son, you need to stay awake.” His mother’s voice shook him out of his brief visit to the past.
“I can’t, Mama. I’m freezing,” he whispered.
“I know, Tally. Everything will be okay. You just stay awake. It’s not time to sleep yet.”
Tally found his mother’s last sentence slightly disturbing. The minister at Sister Lilly’s church used similar words when he preached at the funerals of young men and women killed by violence in their community. He even said it when Paul died.
“They’ve earned their reward,” he’d say. “Now it’s time for them to sleep.” As a young boy, there was a time when Tally refused to close his eyes at night—afraid he’d end up in a coffin with people crying and carrying on at his funeral. What kind of reward was that? It didn’t make sense. Tally grew to loathe Reverend Timmons. And God too.
He and Annie had been married for a few years when she started going to church. After a while she’d asked him to go with her, and he’d refused. He told her he couldn’t worship a God who might arbitrarily decide to take his life, or the lives of the people he loved. Annie had explained that people have free will. They can make decisions. Some of them will turn out for their good, while others lead to destruction. The kid who shot Tally’s brother made a choice. It wasn’t God’s will. Annie believed the world was full of evil, and sometimes things just went wrong. Even for good people. Even for innocent people.
“But, Tally, if we live under the shadow of His wings, we can have His protection. I pray over our children and you every night, thanking God that His angels have charge over us, that they will keep us from harm. I believe that, and I’ll keep believing it so long as I draw breath.”
Little by little, Annie’s view of God began to soften Tally’s heart, and eventually he started going to church with his family. Pastor Arthur was totally different from Reverend Timmons. What he said made sense, and Tally was beginning to see a different God from the one presented by the reverend. He was much more like the God Sister Lilly believed in.
His mind drifted to Paul’s funeral, when Sister had pulled him aside. “Your mother tells me you want to become a police officer when you grow up,” she’d said with a smile. “I believe the Lord wants you to know that He will give you the desire of your heart. That you will be an excellent policeman and protect and save many people.” She’d tapped her bony finger on his chest. “You keep that dream alive, boy. It’s your calling.”
Had he made a difference? Sometimes he wondered. He tried so hard to warn the young people away from gangs. He’d held the hands of gang members as the life drained from their eyes, and he’d stared at the bodies of innocent people caught in the gangs’ crossfire, lying dead in the street. So many of them were young men. A lot of them being raised by grandmothers because the parents were either caught up in drugs or were already dead. Killed by addiction or violence.
When he first joined the force, he’d hated gangbangers. Their stupidity and violence enraged him. It was difficult not to deal with them harshly when they were arrested. The pain and misery they spread throughout their community made them not much more than an evil that needed to be extinguished. But after listening to more than one brokenhearted mother or grandmother wonder what happened to that happy little boy who used to love life—and her—Tally’s heart began to soften. Every single gang member had once been a child with hopes and dreams. Then the gangs lured them with promises of money, power, and family. The kind of family that would never let them down. Of course, that was a lie. Gangs only provided the kind of family that could get you killed. And the truth was, loyalty was a myth. One wrong move—one mistake—and you’d probably be found lying in the middle of a vacant lot. Just like Darius Johnson. Executed and alone.
His thoughts drifted back to his mother. Now she lived in a nice little house in a decent neighborhood. Tally and Annie bought it when the owner died. It needed a lot of work, so Tally spent almost every moment off duty remodeling the house and making it a home for his mother. She’d finally taken Sister Lilly’s advice and joined a church. Even though Sister passed away years ago, her influence on Tally and his mom lived on. When things looked impossible, Tally remembered her words: “You will be an excellent policeman and protect and save many people. You keep that dream alive, boy. It’s your calling.”
More than anything he wanted to talk to Annie. Tell her how much he loved her. Beg her to ask those angels she told him about to help him now so he could get back to her and their children. Annie had been after him to “make Jesus his Lord and Savior” now for weeks. But he’d been putting off that decision. All in all, he did pretty well on his own.
“Son, I told you to stay awake. Now you wake up, Tally. Right now!”
“Okay, Mama, but I’m so cold. Can you bring me another blanket?” Tally’s eyes popped open. It took a minute for him to remember where he was. Tied to a tree, clothed only in his underwear. Left to die in the cold without any hope of rescue. Even if Mercy and Mark could get away from Angel Vargas, they’d never find him in time. He could be miles away from the house. Elias had told him about Angel before leaving him alone out here. Tally was shocked. He’d swallowed Angel’s story about being an LA detective hook, line, and sinker. He was angry with himself for not seeing through his charade. Now Mark and Mercy were in terrible danger. He loved Mercy as if she were his own sister. Knowing she was in trouble and that he had no way to help her grieved him to the very center of his soul.
The wind blew past him, driving the bitter cold deeper into his muscles and joints. He was going to die—in the worst way possible. He looked around, trying to figure out some way to save himself, but all he could see were trees, snow, and ice. There was something in the top of a tree not far from him, but he couldn’t tell what it was. A piece of trash caught by tree limbs when the wind blew, he guessed. Nothing that could help him.
He’d lost all feeling in his extremities. He tried to figure out what his kidnappers had used to bind his hands. If he were to free himself, he’d have to tear up his hands, possibly even lose at least one of them. Could he do it? Would he do it for his family?
Tally closed his eyes. “Lord Jesus . . .” he whispered through frozen lips.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
“What does this mean?” Mercy asked. “Why would his clothes be here? And what about the blood?”
Had she lost Tally? Was he really dead? Mercy felt herself sway. She grabbed a nearby bale of hay. She was glad that Mark didn’t seem to notice.
He was bent down, carefully examining the pole smeared with blood. “I think he was tied up
here,” he said. He turned to look up at Mercy. “There’s not that much blood, Merce. I’m fairly sure he’s okay.”
“Okay? What about his clothes? How can he be okay without his clothes?”
Mark rose to his feet. “Do you remember what Angel said?”
“You mean that we can’t save Tally without their help?”
“Yeah.” He came over and put his hand on Mercy’s shoulder. “I’m not sure, but I think he’s out there somewhere. In the cold. Unless we give them what they want, he’ll freeze to death.”
“Tally hates the cold,” she said quietly. “We can’t let that happen.”
“I know,” Mark said, “but how do we find him?”
“We follow the tracks. They’ll lead us right to him.”
Mark looked away for several seconds, as if thinking about what she’d said. When he turned his attention back to her, she saw something in his face that gripped her heart with fear.
“What?” she asked.
“Do you really think they’d leave us such obvious clues as to where they took him? I mean, I realize no one counted on this weather, but if you wanted to hide something, would you leave clear tracks in the snow?”
She frowned at him. “But they couldn’t help it. How would they . . . ?”
“They might be trying to lead us to them, not to Tally. They could be waiting for us somewhere along the way. If so, I seriously doubt Tally is with them.” Mark shook his head. “Mercy, I hate to say it, but we might be too late to save Tally.”
She moved back, pushing his hand away. “No. I don’t believe that.”
Mark’s eyebrows arched. “You’re not facing facts.”
“Yes, I am. That’s the point,” she said sharply. “If Tally is dead, how could they use him to manipulate me? They’re smart enough to know I’d never give them what they want if I thought Tally was already dead. They have to keep him alive if they want the flash drive.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said. “But they could lie to you and tell you he’s alive—even if he isn’t.”
“Then I’ll demand proof that he’s alive.”
“That might work, but once we’re captured they’ll find the flash drive, Merce. You have it on you, right?”
She nodded. “We’ve got to hide it someplace where they’ll never find it. I’ve got to have something to bargain with.”
“Right.” Mark began looking around the barn.
“I don’t think this is a good place,” Mercy said. “If they know we’ve been here, they’ll tear this building apart trying to find it.”
Mark stared at her. “Any ideas?”
“Yeah. One place they’d never think to look.”
She pulled the hood of her parka down and removed her wool hat, careful not to touch the bump on the back of her head. She took the flash drive out of the bag in her pocket and worked it into her hair, which she’d swept up on the top of her head after her shower. It was secured with an elastic hair tie.
“Are you sure about that?”
Mercy nodded. “I don’t know what else to do, Mark. They might pat me down and check my clothing, but most people never think to check someone’s hair. Besides, with my hood, the flash drive will be protected from the elements. If you have a better idea, I’d be happy to hear it.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, obviously not convinced. “So now what?”
Mark wasn’t going to like what she said next, but she couldn’t think of anything else to do. “We let them capture us.”
“You’re joking.”
“No. It’s the only way we can save Tally. We need to negotiate for his release. They have him; we have the flash drive.”
Mark shook his head. “And once they have the flash drive, they’ll kill us all. You know that, right? They can’t leave us alive, Mercy—we know too much.”
“Not necessarily. We can’t prove anything without the video. Once they have what they want, maybe they’ll just let us go.”
Mark’s face twisted with exasperation. “Sure, because Mexican cartels are known for their humanity. Maybe they’ll also give us massages and bathrobes as parting gifts.” He snorted. “Trust me, they plan to kill us.” He frowned at her. She was a well-trained agent who knew the risks. The idea that the cartel would let them go was not only naïve, it bordered on insanity. What was wrong with her?
“Then we’ll have to find a way to keep ourselves alive.”
“Maybe if we had an army behind us,” he said sarcastically.
“But we do,” Mercy insisted. “We just need to stall long enough to give Batterson a chance to reach us.”
“If he can figure out where we are,” Mark said. “If he can’t, our goose is cooked.”
“Quit saying that. Where is this faith of yours? I thought God was supposed to help you in times of trouble. Or is that just another fairy tale?”
Mark fell silent. Finally he smiled at her and said, “Sorry. Not sure why you’re the one challenging me to trust God. If this isn’t one of those times we need faith, I don’t know what is.”
“I’m not trying to bust your chops, Mark, but we need to have some positive energy here. Telling me what won’t work doesn’t help. Tell me what will work.”
Mark walked over to a wooden chair sitting against the wall. “We need to talk about realities here. We’re exhausted, and before long we’re going to need to eat and sleep.”
“We’ll sleep after we find Tally.”
Mark nodded. “I agree. That means we need to find him soon—without walking into a trap. So how do we locate him? Do you really want to follow those tracks outside and see where they lead us?”
Mercy walked over and stood in front of him. “No. You’re right, we can’t take the chance. All I know is that we need to get warm. This small heater isn’t enough, and the batteries won’t last long. Staying out in the cold too long could cost us our lives. We can’t help Tally if we’re dead. Let’s go back to the house. Hopefully the cartel hasn’t moved in. I’m thinking that if they can use Tally for leverage, we can use Ephraim Vargas’s son the same way.”
“It could work—so long as we find a way to contact them.”
“They’ll show up. Eventually. And so will our people. Our target should be the house . . . for everyone. We shouldn’t be here in the barn. We have to go back.” She shook her head. “We should have stayed in the house. We’ve given away the one place where we were safe.”
Mark shrugged. “We had to find out if Tally was here, Mercy. I know you. I couldn’t have talked you out of checking.”
“I’m sorry. Hopefully I haven’t put us in even more danger.”
“I was right there with you. You have nothing to apologize for.” He paused for a moment before saying, “We could still try to reach one of those farmhouses.”
“They’re miles away. Frankly I’m surprised we made it this far.”
“What about the other direction? Away from the house?”
“We’re out in the country,” Mercy said impatiently. “There might not be another house for miles. We can’t take the chance. If we’re wrong . . .”
Mark didn’t need to hear the end of that sentence. It was obvious. They might not be able to get back. They could die of exposure—and Tally would certainly be lost.
He checked his watch again. Though the face was still frosty, Mark was able to wipe it off and read the time. It was ten o’clock.
It had taken them much longer to reach the barn than he’d first estimated. “Okay, let’s go back. I think it’s our best chance.” He looked around the large structure. “I was right about the horses. They were never here.”
“I hope the horses at the real house are all right,” Mercy said. “I mean, if the real Jess Medina is dead, who’s taking care of them?”
Mark sighed. Only Mercy would be worried about horses when her own life was in danger. “I’m sure they’ll be fine. As soon as we’re rescued we’ll make sure someone goes there to check on them. Okay?”
&
nbsp; “Okay.” Mercy took out her cellphone and tried it again. “Still not working,” she said with anger. “What’s the point of these things if you can’t use them when the weather gets a little rough?”
“A little rough? A major storm is more than ‘a little rough.’” Mark pulled out his own cellphone and tried it too, but then shook his head when he couldn’t get a signal. As he slid the phone back in his pocket, a strange look came over his face.
“What are you thinking?” Mercy asked.
“The landline in the house . . . did you try it?”
“No. Did you?”
“No. Jess . . . I mean, Angel, told us it wasn’t working,” Mark said. “What if he was lying?”
Mercy considered the possibility. “We should have double-checked that phone.”
“At the time we thought Angel was a detective from LA. Why would we doubt his word?”
“We’ve got to get back to the house,” Mercy said. “Now.”
The trip back was a lot easier than their original trek to the barn. Mark simply followed the path in the snow he’d dug earlier. He was worried, though. Was this really the best thing to do? Even though Mercy was prepared to be captured, the cartels were known for their cruelty. Shouldn’t they be running away from Vargas and his minions? But no matter what scenario he played out in his head, he couldn’t come up with a better solution. They wouldn’t last much longer out here.
He was growing more and more concerned about Mercy. They were both cold and under stress, but he wondered if there was something else going on. He wavered between wanting to protect her and a commitment to treat her as his equal. Balancing his feelings was getting tougher because he was so desperately in love with her.
Mark found himself bargaining with God. Telling Him how hard he’d work at being a good Christian if He would just take care of the woman he loved. He’d lost Audrey, and it had taken him years to recover.
How could he lose Mercy now? But even though he was a new believer, he knew God wouldn’t be moved by his manipulation. Really trusting God meant letting go and believing He was in control, that He had a plan. Mark also had to trust God with Mercy. It was hard for him to give up the management of his life, and he was ashamed of that. He recalled the story of a man in the Bible who had been in the same place Mark was now. “God, I believe,” he prayed quietly. “Please help my unbelief.”