by Brenna Lyons
Her stomach turned at the thought. “Don’t suppose he’d make good fertilizer.”
“Only for roses or pine trees. He’s too acid for anything else.”
Kyla grinned at him. “I like roses.”
Eric laughed heartily. Joe extended a hand to her and helped her to her feet.
She regarded the pastor solemnly. “Now that we’ve exercised our imaginations, what are we really going to do with you?”
Joe wrapped an arm around her. “We could put him in jail. After all, he is trying to kill you.”
Kyla shook her head. “No, he’s too charismatic. He would keep sending his hired and inspired after us for years after he was locked up.”
“You know, we can prove he’s not just exercising his free speech. He gave specific orders, hired people, made plans, even provided weapons. He is the mind behind planning and contracting for a murder.”
Cole was petulant. “And just how do you intend to prove that?” he demanded.
Joe smiled at Simmons. “I’ll bet you have a really good lawyer, don’t you? A really good lawyer could cut you a deal. It’s not money, but it’s as good as gold. They would much rather get their hands on the high-profile instigator than, no offense, the hired help.”
“No offense taken.” Simmons glanced at Harris. “That your deal, too?” he asked.
Harris shrugged. “If needs be.”
“So, we take down the organized religions to cut a deal? That’s a damn good idea.”
Cole turned a sickly pale color. “You couldn’t. You wouldn’t dare.”
Simmons shot him a hard look that said he not only could but also fully intended to.
“Who do you think they’ll believe? A two bit hood or me?”
Kyla spoke up. “I guess that depends on how many people are telling the same story, doesn’t it? I don’t think a jury would really believe it was some conspiracy to discredit you. On the other hand, I still don’t think that’s the best way.”
Harris grinned at her from across the room. “You’re not suggesting that we kill him, are you? It would be such a shame if he died trying to kill you.” His expression announced that it wouldn’t be a shame at all.
“Yes, wouldn’t it just?” Kyla responded.
Cole blanched at her cold sarcasm.
“No, I really don’t know what I mean. I just know there’s a better way.”
* * *
Cory made his way toward the east corridor. For this to work, he had to take out that man as quietly as possible. He had to assume there were still three against him on the inside. If Cory could drop that number to two, he stood a chance.
He crept up the stairs. Thankfully, they weren’t wooden stairs, which might have creaked under his weight. Rather, they were made of worn marble. The stone was cool and smooth under his hand. He took a moment to rest and ran his hand in the dip etched into the stairs over the long years of the nuns moving over them, oblivious to the fact that they were marring the beauty of the ground beneath their feet. It was so very like the Catholic Church.
The man was halfway down the hallway. So far, he was unaware of Cory’s presence. Cory leaned a knee on the next step, sighting down the barrel where he had removed his scope. He felt the cold liquid through the knee of his pants a fraction of a second before he started to slide. Cory knew the body of the other man was there, but in sighting down the barrel, he had neglected to see the blood on the stairs.
The sudden motion and the sound of his rifle clattering against the top step as he slid alerted the other man to his presence. His gun came up, as Cory struggled to right himself.
The shots rang out almost simultaneously. Cory felt a tearing sensation in his left bicep, and he clattered down two or three steps in surprise. He found a handhold and scurried back up.
Cory brought his rifle up, but a glance told him that he needn’t have bothered. For all that the shot was clumsy and unprofessional, it was still a clean shot. He had a chance.
* * *
Two shots sounded from overhead. Eric and Harris scanned the ceiling, then glanced at each other. Simmons grinned. He knew as well as either of them what those shots meant. Things were getting interesting again.
Kyla looked up. “What’s wrong?”
Harris backed toward the door. “That wasn’t right. One of those shots was a handgun and the other was a rifle, but they both came from inside.”
“Your men?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Cason is dead. Timms wouldn’t be firing two separate weapons at the same time. Not to mention, he had a shotgun not a rifle. We have someone on the inside.”
Harris moved away to try Timms. Simmons could tell he knew it was no use, but Harris did it anyway, always a stickler for protocol. Harris knew as well as Simmons did that if a pro had killed someone inside, he would have radioed it in. It didn’t really surprise either man when Timms didn’t reply.
Harris holstered his radio. The move wasn’t lost on Simmons. Harris couldn’t contact any of Connor’s men on it. They had their own radios, and all of Harris’s were supposedly dead. Harris was a stickler for detail. If there was no one he could contact on that radio, he would have wiped and dropped it. He hadn’t.
That meant Harris was still in contact with someone on it. Simmons was sure of it. But, who was he? Where was he? And, most importantly, why didn’t Harris take him into account when the two shots were fired or try to contact him to see if he was all right?
* * *
Kyla looked to Joe. “Do we stay put or try to find him?” she asked.
“Stay put. We know he’s coming. We could call Liz in.”
“What about Jason?”
Joe looked at her sadly. “You don’t know. I’m sorry. You were asleep. I should have told you—”
Her face drained and Kyla flopped on the couch, sending a searing pain through her ribs that she barely noticed. She covered her face with her hands. Kyla could vaguely hear Eric and Harris begin discussing something heatedly. She stretched out her mind to Jason. She wasn’t afraid of what she would encounter if he were dead.
The warm light didn’t surround Jason. A mist of confusion surrounded him. Kyla found that his mind accepted hers enough for her to make an assessment of what had happened.
He was lying in the woods, semi-conscious. His radio was smashed. It took most of the force of the bullet that had knocked him off his perch. The Kevlar took the rest. Jason was winded, possibly sporting a concussion, and he had quite a few cuts and bruises.
“Jason, wake up. You and Liz have to move.”
He moved his head but didn’t wake. He could hear her, but she couldn’t make him snap out of it.
She needed Liz. “Liz.”
“What the—” Liz started. “How are you doing that?”
“Long story. Ask me later. Get Jason and pull out. We’ll find you soon.”
“Could you always do that?”
“Yes, Liz. Get Jason and move.”
“How? He’s a little heavy for me.” Her pain struck Kyla. She didn’t want to see Jason.
“Wake him up. He’s not dead. He’s just out. Now, move.”
“You’re sure?” Liz’s relief and hope surged across the link.
“Damn it, Liz! We’re running out of time.”
“Okay, you’re sure.” Liz paused.
Was that joy? Kyla smiled. Liz and Jason, huh? “Move.” Kyla raised her eyes and smiled at Joe.
He looked at her curiously. “What?”
“Jason’s alive, but he’s hurt. I’m sending him and Liz home.”
“What? Why? We need them.” His frustration surged across the link before he stamped it down.
“Trust me.”
“Implicitly.” Joe’s smile widened.
Eric and Harris were still at it. Harris was complaining in a stage whisper, “I’m just saying you should have prepared her for the fact that people were going to die.”
Eric shook his head. “Given enough time, we would have.
She was thrown into this mess with no warning.”
“Enough,” Kyla interrupted them. “Give it a rest. I’m fine.” She looked at Eric. “So is Jason.”
Eric smiled at her and nodded.
“We have a plan.” Kyla glanced at Joe, and he nodded his agreement even though she hadn’t told him the plan yet.
Harris looked back and forth between the two of them. “We do?”
Eric grinned widely. “If the lady says we do, we do.”
Kyla was triumphant. She knew she could make this work. That was when the final piece fell into place, and Kyla felt her first pang of unease.
She was breaking one of the cardinal rules, wasn’t she? She was speaking for God. All good intentions aside, Kyla wasn’t sure she should be doing this, but it was either this, make Cole a martyr to his cause, or have him after them for their entire lives. Kyla couldn’t do one of those two things in good conscience if she had another way, no matter how wrong it seemed.
She said a quick prayer to whatever deity was listening in. “Please, don’t hold this one against me. If you didn’t mean for me to do this, you really shouldn’t have let me find his frequency.”
* * *
Even before Kyla closed the adjoining door, Joe was fairly certain he knew what she had to do. There was no reason to come in here unless she had to do something Harris and the others didn’t know she could do. But who would Kyla be sending to for so long that her lapse would become obvious?
Kyla smiled and kissed his cheek. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she assured him.
She glanced around and grabbed a velvet pillow off an impossibly ornate settee. Kyla laid the pillow in the middle of the floor and lowered herself stiffly onto it. She laid down, facing up at the painted ceiling and stretched out flat on the plush rug beneath her.
Joe sat back against the settee with his legs crossed under him and the shotgun placed across his thighs.
Kyla took a deep breath and concentrated on the ceiling. The painting was beautifully done. It was a highly detailed forest scene with a white dove sitting on a branch. Joe thought back to his grade-school religion classes at Jean de Baptiste. The Holy Spirit was depicted as a white dove.
He watched as Kyla relaxed her battered body. The energy started moving off her in waves. Joe could feel it lapping over his body like warm water. Kyla closed her eyes. Joe watched, amazed. Whatever she was doing, it was like nothing he had ever seen before. He rubbed his eyes and decided that he was definitely overtired, but when Joe looked back, it was still there. Kyla was surrounded by an aura of blue light.
A sudden noise over his shoulder startled him, and Joe brought up the shotgun and wheeled around on his knees. “Stacie.” He sighed and lowered the weapon, but she didn’t seem to notice.
Stacie was staring over his shoulder at Kyla. She moved to the settee and sat down, and Joe pulled himself up beside her. She peeled her gaze off Kyla long enough to acknowledge his presence.
Stacie whispered, as if she were afraid of breaking whatever concentration Kyla had. “What is she doing?”
Joe shrugged. “Communicating.”
“With who?”
“I don’t know.”
“She really is— I mean, it’s all true, isn’t it?” Stacie stammered.
Joe nodded. “Yes, she is.”
* * *
Harris fumed. When the girl announced she had a plan, Harris had expected some discussion of what the plan was. Instead, she and Joe had disappeared into the main library without a word.
As the minutes passed, Harris felt his annoyance level rising. “So, what the hell is the plan?” he demanded.
Eric shrugged.
“Well, how are we supposed to pull it off if we don’t even know what it is?”
Eric pulled him further away from Simmons. “If she hasn’t told us, then we aren’t the ones doing it,” he explained, as if it should have been obvious.
“But shouldn’t we know what it is so we know what to expect?”
Eric grinned. “Don’t expect anything. Just guard her and let her do her work.”
“Which is?” he asked in a great deal of irritation.
“You said it.” Eric’s grin widened.
Harris waited for an explanation that wasn’t going to come. No matter how he turned the conversation over in his mind, it made no sense to him. “You’re not a fool, and you’re not ignorant of the situation. Why do you trust that inexperienced little girl to pull off something that could either get you killed or save your life, with no input from you or anyone else?”
“Because that’s what she does. That’s what she is.” Eric moved away again.
* * *
Steven Cole sighed. He was going to jail, and nothing could stop it. Why would God set him on this road only to abandon him short of the finish line? It had to be a test of faith. If Cole believed that God would show him the way, it would happen. But God also helped those who helped themselves. He moved his leg lazily against the small boot knife pushed down inside his hikers. It wasn’t much, but if Cole got the chance to use it, it would be enough.
Finally, the news he had been waiting for came to him. One of his men had made it inside. Cole had always believed one devout warrior was worth a dozen hired guns. Hired guns put a price tag on what they would do, and they could be bought off, but they did have their uses.
Cole envisioned his triumphant meeting, at his death, when his Savior lauded him for his devoted service in this, the darkest of hours. He was momentarily swept away in his daydreams while he was waiting for his devout to free him to follow his God-ordained path.
That was when the vision started.
It was beautiful. A garden lay before him, lush with fruit trees, warm sunlight, and a soft breeze caressing his face. Cole could feel the grass beneath his bare feet. A ray of light pierced the veil of trees to land on a white dove sitting on a low branch covered in dogwood flowers.
The bird raised his head and started speaking in a soothing voice. “My son. Why have you come?”
“I was brought here,” Cole managed.
“Were you? Do you know why?” If the bird were human, Cole would have sworn he was smiling.
“No. Is this Heaven?” Cole asked.
“No, my son. Heaven is so much more than this. It is everything...” The bird fluttered his wings in a motion that resembled a shrug. “It is impossible to put into words. Your heart sings to be there.”
Cole closed his eyes and sucked in the fresh air. “To be in such a place—”
“That would please you?” the bird asked curiously.
Cole looked at him. “Of course it would.”
The bird cocked his head and stared at him. Cole imagined that he saw the brow, if the bird had a brow, furrowing.
“Is that confusing? You’re looking at me so strangely.”
“Humans are strange. If you wish paradise, why do you choose roads that lead you away?”
“But...I go where I am directed to go?” Cole didn’t mean it to come out as a question, but he was confused by the dove’s words.
“You have the ability to work for peace, yet you strive for destruction, for discontent, for hate instead of love. Why do you choose that road?”
“I love my neighbors.”
“You love those who are like you. What about those who aren’t?”
“I have no prejudice,” Cole said weakly.
“Yes, my son, you do,” the dove corrected him.
“But some of my most trusted—” He stopped short as the dove laughed. It was a strange, childlike sound.
“I’m not speaking of race. How very narrow-minded you are,” he chided the reverend. “I am speaking of those who choose different life paths than you do, who worship in a way that you don’t worship, who worship a different face of God than you do, who love someone you don’t approve of—”
“But they don’t see the path. Isn’t it my duty to lead them home?”
“They know their
path. Their path is simply not your path. There are many paths. There are very few lost souls, very few wrong paths.”
“But the Bible says—”
That laughter again, pure and musical. “How sad that so pure and simple a message could be corrupted so completely at the hands of those with good intentions and personal whims.”
“Shouldn’t I be concerned about those lost souls?”
“Instruct those who will listen. Inspire those who have the heart for it. Those are the ones who need your help. The Bible tells you to walk away and knock the dirt from your feet when you are not welcome.”
“But so many would be lost.”
“No, we all have a path. We must learn certain things, reach certain goals before we can progress to peace.”
“And those who don’t learn these things? They are doomed to Hell?”
The dove ducked his head and shook it left and right, ruffling the feathers along its graceful neck. “No soul is lost unless he chooses never to be at peace.”
“Someone who rebuffs God?”
“This is a misconception. One’s idea of God is immaterial. God is so all-encompassing that any idea you have of Him probably has some small merit in the truth of Him. It’s how you live your life that matters. All good things not dedicated to God still glorify Him, just as a wrong done in His name or a bended knee with no love is an affront.”
“No. That cannot be true. The only road to God the father is through Jesus the son.” Cole blushed as the dove turned calm eyes on him, reminding him silently of where he stood.
“Jesus was a prized child of God, but he isn’t the only child of God.”
“I don’t understand. If there are others, why haven’t I heard of them? Why hasn’t anyone heard of them?”
“We are all children of God. Do you believe that?”
“Of course, but— Why anoint him and have him die?”
“For the Israelites.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The Israelites created a separation between themselves and God. They couldn’t see another way. Because of the indiscretions of Adam and Eve, they believed themselves incapable of reaching peace until their savior came. They created an artificial barrier.”