by Karen Ball
But it was. His little girl, lying in the dirt, skin so white. So cold.
Understanding had fled at the first sight of her face; now it came surging back, raking every nerve. “God!”
He pulled her to him, willing the life to flow from his own heart into hers. “Shannon, please baby, please …”
But it was too late. He knew it, even as he cradled Shannon, her blood sticky on his hands.
How could this have happened? Agony sliced through his veins, turning his blood hot, boiling. Where was Aaron? He was supposed to watch his sister. They were supposed to stay together.
Dan went still.
They were supposed to stay together.
Oh, Jesus … no. You couldn’t. You couldn’t let that happen.
Easing Shannon back to the ground, he made his clutching fingers release her, made his trembling, stiff legs stand and walk back to the first body. It still lay there, facedown.
No … no … no …
But as he studied the form in front of him, he saw. Saw the jacket Aaron had begged for week after week. The jacket his son had been so sure he couldn’t live without. The jacket Dan finally broke down and bought him as an early birthday present.
Aaron’s jacket, ravaged by the bullet that pierced and destroyed.
Aaron’s favorite shoes and the jeans Shannon patched for him using hot pink thread because she knew it would make him crazy—both splattered with blood.
A soundless scream clawed up his throat, pried his mouth open, and exploded into the suffocating mist.
Suddenly he was on his knees, doubled over, fingers digging into the hard, unyielding gravel, as his life slowly but oh-so-surely unraveled.
“Dan?”
He heard the voice but didn’t move. Couldn’t.
A strong hand gripped his shoulder. “Dan? C’mon, man. It’s Tony. I’m here with the squad.”
Dan’s eyes opened but only a slit. The ghostly glare of the flares and strobes he’d put out had been joined by brighter colors. The EMTs. The ambulance. They were here.
But it was too late. Too late.
The pressure on his shoulder increased. “C’mon, buddy. I know it’s bad, but we need you with us here. How many vics are there?”
How many? Dan shook his head. His whole world. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t—”
Dan surged to his feet and spun to face the man beside him. “I. Don’t. Know.”
Tony backpedaled. “Whoa, okay, man. Don’t freak on me.”
A shocked cry split the air, and Dan and Tony turned. Jack, another EMT, was kneeling beside Aaron’s body. Jack’s day job was as a coach. A football coach.
Aaron’s football coach.
His stricken gaze went from Aaron to Dan. “I’m sorry. Oh, man. I’m so sorry.”
“What is going on?” Tony took a step toward Jack, then jerked to a halt. Stared. Dan watched the tumble of emotions paint his friend’s features: astonishment, dawning understanding, horror.
Tony turned back to Dan, his gaze sliding past Dan to Shannon’s still form. When he met Dan’s eyes, Dan just stared.
“Who did this?”
Dan felt his hands clench. “Brumby. James Brumby.”
Tony looked around them. “Is he here somewhere?”
“I don’t know.” His tone hardened. “But I’m going to find out.”
A hand closed on Dan’s arm. “No, you’re not.”
He stared at the man holding him, rage burning in his throat as he growled out a warning. “Let me go, Jack. Now.”
The EMT squared off with Dan. “I’m sorry, but you’re in no shape to go after Brumby.”
Dan jerked his arm free. “You think I’m going to just let him go? After he did this?”
“He’s not going to get away. We’ll call Sheriff Grayson. Get him and some other deputies up here to go after Brumby. But you’re not going by yourself.”
“You think I can’t get past you, Jack?”
“I think you can’t get past us both.”
Dan looked at Tony, who now stood beside his partner.
“This is bad, Dan. But Jack’s right. You can’t be the one to take Brumby.”
He considered rushing them, knocking them both out of his way, forcing his way into Brumby’s house, wrapping his fingers around the man’s scrawny neck …
He closed his eyes. Nodded. “Call the sheriff.”
Dan turned and walked back toward the place where his children lay. The place where their lives had ended.
And his along with them.
TWENTY-TWO
“There is eloquence in screaming.”
PATRICK JONES
“O God, you have ground me down
and devastated my family.”
JOB 16:7
SHELBY WAS JUST LEAVING CHURCH WHEN SHE HEARD her name being called.
She turned to find Jasmine standing there. “Hey, girlfriend. What are you—?” Her teasing smile faded when she saw the look on Jasmine’s face.
Something was very, very wrong.
Jasmine took her hand. “Shelby …” Jasmine’s voice broke.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Dan …”
Terror seized Shelby, and she thought her knees might give way. “Oh, Father, no! Is he?”
“No. No, I’m sorry. He’s fine.”
Shelby swatted Jasmine’s arm. “Don’t ever do that again! You scared the life out of me.”
Jasmine rubbed an unsteady hand over her eyes. “He’s fine, Shelby. But Aaron. And Shannon. They’re dead. Shot. James Brumby killed them.”
The words struck her but didn’t connect. Hit but didn’t make sense. Shelby frowned, and the meaning of what Jasmine was saying squeezed past her denial.
Aaron and Shannon, the lights of Dan’s life, were dead.
Dear God in heaven … She put her hand against the side of the church, steadying herself. Wasn’t it enough for him to lose Sarah? But the children? Lord, the children?
How is he going to survive this?
Dan’s blood surged through his veins with such force it made his head ache.
Hurry up …
He stood next to the cruiser, watching the sheriff and his men move in on Brumby’s place. They called out. Announced their intent. When no response came, they broke down the door.
Dan watched the officers flow into Brumby’s house, every ounce of control focused on keeping him where he was—where the sheriff told him to stay or he’d get fired.
He wanted to be there. To hear for himself what had happened.
To look his children’s killer in the face.
Within minutes, several officers came out of the house. One signaled to Dan, and he broke into a run. But the deputy stopped Dan before he entered. “It’s empty.”
Dan’s gut twisted. “Empty?”
“No one’s in there. No humans. No dogs. Nothing. The guy rabbited. But don’t worry, Dan. He’s on the run with a bunch of dogs. We’ll catch him.”
Dan went inside, saw for himself that what his friend told him was true.
Brumby was gone.
There would be no arrest. No answers.
And no justice. Not for you. Not for your kids.
The bitter words cut through Dan, and he turned, going back to his car. But before he reached it, Sheriff John Grayson was at his side.
“I’m gonna have Pete drive you home.”
Dan squared off with his boss. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. And I’m not letting you behind the wheel of a cruiser.” John nodded to a deputy standing nearby, then met Dan’s glare. “This isn’t a suggestion, Deputy. It’s an order.”
Dan spun, but John’s hand caught his arm. “We’ve notified your sisters, Dan. Annie’s at your house now. A friend of Kyla’s is flying her down from Portland. I just wanted you to know.”
He stared down at the ground, afraid if he looked at John, he’d lose it. “Thank you.”
John�
��s hand squeezed his arm then let go. Dan walked to the cruiser, slid in on the passenger side, and stared out the windshield. His gaze focused outside, and as realization assaulted him, he leaned forward, gripping the dashboard.
The fog was lifting.
He’d been so preoccupied he hadn’t noticed there was no longer anything blocking his sight. Blocking anyone’s sight.
God? You let it lift now? His fingers dug into the dashboard. Why didn’t You do that sooner? Why didn’t You let Brumby see who was out there?
“Dan?”
He spun and found himself facing Pete, one of the newer deputies, seated behind the steering wheel. Dan didn’t speak. Just sat there.
“Dan, you okay?” Pete glanced away. “Look, forget I said that. Stupid question.” He turned the key and the engine jumped to life.
Jumped to life …
Dan’s lip curled. Humorless laughter coursed through him. Everything was alive.
Everything but his wife. His children.
Pete’s discomfort was evident in his jerky actions, the glances he kept throwing at Dan. “Let’s get you home, buddy.”
Home. Dan sagged back against the seat.
What home?
No. Don’t. Don’t give in. Think. Focus:
On his sister. At least one, by now, if not both, were waiting for him.
On Pete and his driving. Clean. Crisp. Economy of movement.
On the sound of the tires on the road. Gravel crunching. Slight squeal as they turned onto the highway.
Focus. On anything and everything but the silent screaming filling his mind.
She couldn’t stop shaking.
Annie Justice sat at her brother’s kitchen table, sipping the cup of tea she just brewed. She stared at her hands, commanding them to be still. To stop trembling.
They wouldn’t listen.
Neither would the rest of her.
Because this can’t be real. Please, God … this just can’t be real.
With an impatient huff of air, she pushed the mug away and stood. Quick steps took her through the spacious kitchen and out into the great room. Annie recalled the first time she’d seen this house. Dan had asked her and Kyla to take a look at it with him, to see if she thought the kids would like it.
The moment Annie saw the house, she knew it was perfect. Large and warm, just the right home for a new start. Even the ever-practical Kyla had fallen in love with the place.
“Oh, Dan,” she’d said. “It’s a sanctuary within Sanctuary. It’s perfect for you and the kids.”
Dan and the kids.
Annie blinked back tears, walking through the living room, touching books, knickknacks, throw pillows … anything the kids might have touched.
For years she’d thought of her brother in terms of Dan and Sarah, like it was one word: DanandSarah. It only made sense, because they were so much a part of each other. It took Annie almost a year to finally start thinking of her brother as Danandthekids. Again, one word. All connected.
Now?
She jerked to a halt in the hallway and rested her forehead against the wall. Now what? How would Danny come back from this? He’d survived losing Sarah because of the kids. They pulled him out of grief’s abyss, back into life. They became his reason for going on. Reminded him there was still living to do.
She turned her head, and her forehead bumped against something. Opening her eyes, she pulled back, focused. And a small cry escaped her.
Dan, Sarah, Shannon, and Aaron. They all smiled at her from a family portrait, taken over three years ago. Annie laid her hand on the picture.
Jesus, how is he going to survive this?
“Annot?”
She spun on a gasp.
“Easy, little sister, it’s just me.”
Kyla. The sight of her brought the wash of tears Annie had managed to hold back, and she fell into her sister’s arms, weeping.
“Here, drink this.”
Kyla handed a warmed-up cup of tea to Annie, noting her younger sister’s drawn features. Annot was so sensitive. Such was the price of an artist’s temperament, she supposed. Thank heaven she didn’t suffer from the same quirks.
But there was no defense against this kind of news. Sarah’s death … that had been terrible. But she’d been an adult. Somehow, losing children …
It was crazy. Senseless.
Kyla didn’t do senseless. That was more Annot’s world. Ever since they were children, her little sister spent her time living in her imagination, seeing colors where there were none, singing songs she heard in her head.
Then there was Annot’s room. Chaos. That was the only way to describe it. Kyla’s room, by contrast, was clean and well ordered. A place for everything and everything in its place.
Until Annot came in, that was. Then Kyla spent all her time putting things back after her sister pulled them out and left them in the middle of the floor.
It drove Kyla nuts.
And yet, she loved Annot. Treasured her, probably for the very reasons she drove her nuts. For her free spirit and open heart. Both of which were breaking at this moment.
Kyla stepped over Kodi—the huge, black beast sprawled out on the floor in front of the couch—and sat next to her sister. Kyla tried twice to speak, but her voice wouldn’t work.
Annot nodded, patting her hand, and the understanding in that gesture was almost Kyla’s undoing.
Father, this isn’t right! You know how much those children loved You. How much Avidan loves you! How could this happen to them? How could You let those children die? And like this? She caught her breath. Oh, Father, not like this!
Annot took her hands, and Kyla forced herself to speak. “Do you know when Avidan will be here?”
“Soon. I got a call about fifteen minutes ago saying they were on their way.”
Kyla stared down into her coffee. “Are they sure? Both of the children …?” She couldn’t finish. She didn’t need to.
Annie looked down at their linked hands. When she could speak, the words came out ragged. “They’re both dead, Kylie.” She tightened her grip. “We have to pray. Now.”
“Of course—”
“No!” Annot pulled at their hands, the action as desperate as her cry. “You don’t understand! We have to beg God to help us. To give us the words. For Dan.” She clenched her teeth, fighting against a flood of emotion. “Because I’ll tell you something, Kylie, I don’t have any idea what to say to him. All I feel … all I know right now … is anger.”
Annot was gripping her hands so hard they hurt. Kyla eased her hands free and took hold of her sister’s shoulders. “I know this is crazy, but none of it—” she gave Annot a gentle shake—“none of it changes who God is.”
“How could He let this happen?”
Her sister’s wail broke her heart, and Kyla pulled Annot close, embracing her, letting her weep against her. The storm raged, then slowly, surely, subsided.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
The whispered words brought a flood of memories, of times Annot would come to Kyla’s room after a nightmare, seeking safety … when her younger sister came to her with a broken heart after some boy hurt her.… All their lives, Kyla knew, no matter how her little sister shone, she needed Kyla. For comfort. For security.
Hearing that long-ago little girl voice of Annie’s now … Kyla’s lip trembled. She choked on a sob. And tears streamed down her face.
At the first hint of her pain, Kodi was there, laying her snout on Kyla’s leg. Annot almost smiled.
Though it was beyond Kyla’s comprehension, Kodi absolutely adored her. Kyla sniffed back her tears, looking down her nose at the walking fur machine. “What’s this about?”
Annot allowed a smile. “You know what they say, ‘all creatures great and small.’ ” She shrugged. “Maybe Kodi wants to pray with us.”
Kyla dropped a hand on Kodi’s broad head—and she wasn’t sure who was most surprised at the action, Annot or herself. “ ‘Where two or three gather
…’ ” She took Annot’s hand again. “Well, it can’t hurt.”
“Exactly.”
Bowing their heads, the two went before God, crying out their pain.
“Father God—” Kyla gripped Annot’s hands tighter, needing her sister’s strength to get the words out—“we’re so lost. We want to help our brother, but don’t know how to do that in the face of this … insanity.”
“Lord,” Annot came in, “Dan has been through so much. Please, Father, please, put your hand on him. Even now as we’re praying, touch him with Your peace. Your presence.”
“Don’t let the enemy win in this, God. Don’t let him tear apart our brother, your son. Your warrior. Dan has fought for You, for others, all his life. Please, somehow help him endure this terrible loss. This …” Kyla struggled, seeking the right words. Suddenly they came to her. “This horrible injustice.”
Annot’s fingers gripped her hands even tighter. “Kylie’s right, Lord. This just isn’t right!” Her words broke, but she pushed on. “I don’t understand why this had to happen, but I know You, God. I know Your love. And somehow … somehow You’ll make things right. For Danny. For all of us. Because Your justice doesn’t fail.”
As the prayer went on, Kyla felt it. A cloak of calm, settling over them. As though it soaked up their tears, bound their broken hearts, and imparted God’s peace.
When their words ran out, and the amens were said, Kyla settled back. The tension pinching her temples eased. She even stroked Kodi’s ears. “It’s going to be all right.” As she spoke the words, she felt such … confidence. An almost reverent relief. As if the deep, unanswerable questions had been answered, though no words had come to them.
The sound of the front door opening brought both sisters to their feet. Annot told the dog to stay, then she took Kyla’s hand and they went to meet their brother.
At the door, they jerked to a stop.
Avidan stood there. Hands limp at his sides. Face ravaged by shock. Sorrow. Though he looked at them, his eyes were blank. As though he didn’t recognize them.
Or didn’t see them.
“Danny?”
Dan flinched, his head jerking. He blinked, and Kyla could almost see his eyes, his mind, come into focus. With a hoarse cry, he came toward them. They rushed forward, opening their arms. Kyla felt shaken to the core when, in the wake of this shattering sorrow, their big brother became a terrified, weeping child.