The Greatest Gift

by Michael John Sullivan

  He faced her. “He died.”

  Connie covered her mouth. Hewitt brushed past her and went downstairs. Kevin pressed a washcloth with ice in it against his right eye. “I have to go. I have a job to do,” Hewitt said.

  “Are you sure you’re doing the best job you can?” Kevin asked, removing the washcloth. “The way I see it, you’re a miserable failure. You’re a drunk, your wife left you and you’ve screwed up this case.”

  Connie walked over to Kevin, now standing in the hallway. “Please don’t tell anyone in your office about this. I need you. I need him. We all need each other to help find Michael and Elizabeth.”

  Kevin walked a few steps toward the front door and turned around. He pointed at Hewitt. “He doesn’t belong on this case anymore. I love my niece as much as you do. I can’t ignore the behavior.”

  “You were always after my job,” Hewitt said, approaching.

  “Okay, fellas,” said Connie, stepping between them. “We’re not going to have round two here.” She faced Kevin. “Give him a couple of days. Maybe we can all figure out something. Let me dig through his dresser drawer.”

  “We’ve already done that and I have his computer,” said Kevin.

  “He wouldn’t leave everything on it,” Connie said.

  “How would you know? You’re not even close to him.” Kevin gestured at Hewitt. “The only thing I can promise is that I’ll make sure this investigation isn’t compromised or conducted poorly.” He slammed the door behind him.

  Hewitt rubbed his eyes. “I’m going to get myself straightened out, and I’m going to pay some visits to Cathy Evans, Mrs. Farmer and your friend’s mom.”

  “What about the pastor?”

  “There’s nothing I can do about him now.”

  He grabbed a cup out of the sink, rinsed it, filled it with water and drank it all. “I’d better hurry before I’m taken off the case.”

  As he opened the front door, Susan stormed into the hallway. “Did you hear?”

  Hewitt walked away and out the door.

  “Stop. Please. I want to help,” Connie said, running behind him.

  Hewitt ran down the driveway and got into his car, racing away, leaving skid marks behind.

  “Wow, why was he in such a hurry?” asked Susan.

  Connie kept staring out the door.

  “Don’t you want to know what I heard?” Susan asked.

  “We know. Pastor Dennis died.”

  “What?” Susan asked. “When?”

  “You don’t know?” Connie asked, turning around.

  “No.” Susan went to the living room and sat on the couch. Connie sat beside Susan and let her mind drift to the horrific possibilities.

  Hewitt will be taken off the case. Kevin will run around like a madman trying to find Elizabeth and Michael. And now the pastor is dead. What if the pastor was right? What if he was the only one who knew how to find them? Connie shook her head and went back into the kitchen. Pulling a bottle of wine out of the cabinet, she uncorked it.

  Susan followed and grabbed her hand. “No. No more of this. Michael and Elizabeth need us. We have to help that agent.”

  Connie pushed the bottle away, saying, “He’s going over to your mom’s house.”

  “Why?”

  “I guess to get some answers from the pastor’s black book he’s been carrying around.”

  Susan ran to the door.

  “Now where are you going?” Connie asked.

  “My mother’s been sick the last couple of days. Her blood pressure has been bad. I’ve been spending my time helping her get things done around the house. I should be with her when he’s there.”

  “Wait, what was your news?” she yelled out the door. “Susan?”

  Chapter 33

  First-century Jerusalem

  Michael slung the bag over his shoulder and walked toward a light in the distance. It wouldn’t be long before he reached his destination and faced his biggest challenges. He began to consider things he had to remember in order to successfully retrieve Elizabeth. He knew he had to look away when around the Roman soldiers. He must give the impression he would obey their orders. He also had to blend in with the crowd and avoid any confrontation while on the streets. To call attention to himself would invite disaster.

  The horizon brightened, making it easier to see Caesarea. It looked massive compared to the other cities he was familiar with in the First Century.

  He forged ahead along the shoreline, mapping out his strategy in his mind. He took deep, invigorating breaths. Near the city’s edge, there was a small marketplace and staging area where boats were loaded with cargo. It was quiet, allowing his anxiety to ease. He came upon a man shouting instructions to five workers near a very large ship. The men were filling boxes with food and weapons.

  “Sir,” he said to the big, burly man, “I need to find a friend who is a Roman prisoner. Where might they keep him?”

  “Why would you want to find someone like that?” the man asked.

  “Captain, how many more boxes should we fill?” a worker said, interrupting their conversation.

  “Enough to fill the lower deck,” he answered. The captain turned and faced Michael. “The Romans are no friends of people like us. I suggest you leave if you can.”

  “I cannot. I need to find my friends and daughter. They are somewhere in this city.”

  The captain fingered his black beard and rubbed his eyes, stretching his back. “We sail soon. I need to organize my men. I wish I could help you. If you wish to seek your friends, you will find them in that building.” He pointed to his right. “It is where the Romans hold their prisoners.”

  Michael put his hands over his eyes, shielding it from the early morning sunrise.

  “Can you see it?” the captain asked.

  “Yes.” He turned back to the captain. “Where are you sailing to?”

  “Rome. We have expensive cargo to take there for the empire.”

  “The Romans trust you to do this?”

  “I am the best at this, and I am cheap for them.” He smiled. “I do not like them, but they pay with much silver. They help me feed my family so I do it.”

  “What is valuable about their cargo?”

  “They are taking a preacher to Rome for trial.”

  Michael’s eyes widened. “A preacher from Jerusalem named Paul?”

  “Yes.”

  Now what? I guess this is what Jesus meant. I needed to take a journey. Maybe this is where I am supposed to be heading with Paul. But I can’t wait for him when Elizabeth … He heard a commotion and watched four Roman soldiers escort Elizabeth, Leah and Aharon toward the boat. “Oh my God,” he muttered.

  “We have more cargo,” said a Roman soldier, stepping forward.

  “I will need more silver.”

  “You will get your share.”

  Michael looked at Elizabeth. Her head was drawn down. The Romans walked her onto the boat. “How much do I need to take this trip to Rome?”

  The captain frowned. “I thought you were looking for your friend.”

  “Paul is my friend. Those people are the friends and daughter I am seeking.”

  “Oh, I would not say that to any man walking around in this city,” the captain said, pointing to the boat.

  “I cannot walk with fear in my heart knowing my friend may give up his life for so many.”

  “That is a strange thought. Why is he giving up his life for others?”

  “I do not have the time to explain. I have silver.” He showed him four coins.

  “You will need more. I risk much when I bring aboard other travelers. The Romans are ruthless and will throw any man overboard if they think he is suspicious. I do not interfere with their prisoners. I need my crew to be safe.”

  Michael looked down at the ground and ki
cked dirt.

  “Do you understand?”

  “I do. I still need to get on your ship.”

  “You will need a handful of silver to do so. You will need to bribe the Romans. They are not as generous as I am.”

  Michael nodded. “I understand. When do you leave?”

  “As soon as the Romans tell us.”

  Michael turned and looked at the building. The captain walked past him and shouted to a worker to start transporting the carts onto the ship. He rejoined Michael. “My friend, the Romans move when they are ready. You should move soon.” He paused. “I hate them all.”

  Michael left and ran to the building where he was met by a Roman soldier. “What is your business here?”

  “I am here to speak to my friend, Paul,” he said, out of breath.

  The Roman lowered his spear to the ground. “I will see if he is allowed visitors. What is your name?”

  “Michael.”

  The Roman waited.

  “Michael from Jerusalem.”

  The Roman left and Michael gazed skyward at the structure. It stood about twenty feet high and extended many feet to the back and sides. This has to be where the Roman officials conduct their business. It makes perfect sense. This port provides easy access to the sea, and it would only take a week or so to sail to Rome from here. Horses pulled carts of fruit and fish so high some of the treats were tumbling to the ground. Beautiful women, clad in shoulder-less long white dresses traveled about in small groups.

  “This way,” said the Roman soldier. Michael was led through a maze of long hallways lit by tall candles. He was stunned when he saw Paul resting alone.

  “We will be sailing soon,” the Roman told Paul.

  “I will be prepared,” he replied.

  The Roman left.

  “Are you in good health?”

  “I am,” Paul said. “I am ready for my trip.”

  “Why must you leave now?”

  “It needs to be written.”

  Michael walked around the big room in a frantic pace.

  “You are worried. What troubles you?” Paul asked.

  “My daughter and our friends. They are on that boat. The one you are going on.”

  “Sometimes we need to take the journey to understand our purpose.”

  Michael knelt down beside him and held his hands. “She is my daughter,” he pleaded “She is going on trial. Do you know what they do to citizens like this? I am not a Roman citizen, so I do not have the same rights as you. I know Jesus told me to be here for one of the apostles. I do not remember if there is anything else I must do.”

  “Think, Michael. Think.”

  “I am.” He shook his head and waved his hands in the air. “I was in shock when I first saw Elizabeth alive. It is possible I did not hear everything.”

  “Go back to the boat. Let me think,” Paul said.

  “I need to find more silver. Do you have any?”

  A Roman soldier entered the room. “We are ready. We sail soon.”

  Paul handed Michael a bag. “Use this to free your daughter and friends.”

  Michael grabbed it and raced to the boat. He was met by two Roman soldiers. “I have silver to free my friends.”

  “Who?”

  “The women and man you brought aboard.” Michael emptied the bag and showed them the coins.

  “Go,” said one Roman to another. “Get two of them.”

  “No. There are three.”

  “This is not enough, especially for the murderer of a Roman soldier. We will need one to take the trip with us to face trial for Marcus’ death.”

  Three Roman soldiers escorted Leah and Aharon off the boat.

  “No. Please. Where’s the other woman?” Michael asked, shouting.

  The soldiers pushed him away from the dock. He struggled to fight his way onto the boat. The captain looked at him for a brief moment. “How long before we leave?” he asked the Roman soldiers.

  “Soon.”

  Chapter 34

  Modern-Day Long Island

  A lone cross hung from the top of a wooden door, shaking from the breeze that jettisoned off the Long Island Sound. The smell of the ocean tickled Hewitt’s nose as he walked around the house. A small playground lay dormant in the backyard, dirt covering a short blue slide.

  Disgusting. How do these people live like this? He noticed a shed in the corner of the yard, its door slightly ajar. Hewitt peeked in and opened it wider. He saw a huge plastic cover, pulled it up and saw old baseball bats and a deflated dirty basketball inside. Hewitt wiped the outside of the stroller with a handkerchief, picked up the doll and cleaned its face with slow, soft touches. Walking back and forth a few times, he began to do his own time traveling, thinking of Hailey.

  A brisk wind rattled the shed, shaking him out of his trance. He pushed the stroller back into the corner, covered it and closed the shed, making sure the door was secure from the ocean wind. Hewitt cleaned his hands off and knocked on the front door.

  A woman looked through a small window at the top. Her eyes pierced through his. “What do you want?”

  “I’m Special Agent Hewitt Paul. Are you Cathy Evans?” He showed his badge.

  “Yes, I am. What’s this in regard to?”

  “I want to ask you questions about your ex-husband.”

  “Go away. I have nothing to say about him.”

  “Do you care he’s been hurt?”

  “I know all about the shooting at the church.”

  Hewitt looked down, forced a deep breath from the salt-filled air. He steadied himself and stared at Cathy. “It’s worse than that.”

  “How much worse?”

  “Please let me come in,” he said.

  Cathy continued to glare and unlocked the door. “This way,” she said, leading him into the living room. “Sit down.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How bad is he hurt?”

  Hewitt fingered the side of the wooden chair. “He’s passed on.”

  Cathy didn’t give a reaction. “How?”

  “The injury from the shooting.”

  She faced him. “He was fine only a week ago. I know.”

  “I’m not sure what triggered the wound to regress,” Hewitt said, “but it did.”

  Cathy was silent and walked into the dining room, stopping at the table and holding onto a chair.

  Hewitt stood and noticed a nurse’s outfit lying on a dark, wooden table. “Are you okay, Ms. Evans?

  “It’s Mrs. Evans. And I’m fine.”

  “I know you must be in shock.”

  She stared at him. “I don’t believe it.”

  Hewitt took a few steps toward the dining room. “I understand. It’s hard to accept death at any time about anyone, especially a loved one.”

  “He didn’t die. Not from that wound. No. I don’t believe it.”

  This is going to be tougher than I expected, Hewitt thought. “I would like to ask you a few questions.”

  Cathy remained in the dining room, holding the chair. She was staring at pictures inside a credenza. Hewitt joined her. “You have a beautiful family,” he said.

  She removed one, a portrait of her, Dennis and two boys. “We have great kids,” she said, touching them. “They went through a rough time, especially when they were very young. Kids can be so mean to each other.”

  “How is that?”

  “When we divorced, kids teased my boys. It seemed like every day one of my boys came home upset. Dennis didn’t help matters.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s just not right.”

  “Not right? You know what’s not right? I’ll tell you. One night my husband is the greatest man in the world, my soul mate and all that lovey-dovey nonsense. Then he’s a drunk, telling me his world was ending and life was pointless.
Out of nowhere this happened.”

  Hewitt grimaced. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “He drank and drank until I had to tell him to leave. The guy fell off a mental cliff.”

  “Do you remember the night it started?”

  “Of course,” she said. “I don’t want to.” She paused. “Christmas. Christmas night.”

  She clenched the picture. “He shouldn’t have been working. But, people need their food for the holidays. So he was working overtime that night, making sure everybody else was taken care of for Christmas.”

  “He was a truck driver. Right?”

  “Yes. A good one for many years. Always made his deliveries on time. Never a day late for work. Wouldn’t call in sick even when he had a one-hundred-three-degree fever. Always made it home to help set the table … until that night.”

  “He lost his job, didn’t he?”

  She nodded and handed him the picture. “Our lives collapsed that Christmas night.”

  “What did he say after this all happened?”

  “He wouldn’t say. He was like a brick wall. I could never reach him again.”

  “How old are your boys now?” Hewitt asked.

  “Twenty and twenty-four.”

  “Do they still live at home?”

  “Yes. They have jobs. They’re doing well despite the last fifteen years or so. I also remarried and had a girl. She’s doing well in high school.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” He paused. “I saw the cross outside. Do you go to church?”

  “Why do you need to ask about that?” Cathy asked, taking back the picture.

  “I’m just trying to understand how you truly feel about your faith.”

  “What does an FBI agent care about faith?”

  Hewitt didn’t answer.

  She placed the picture inside the credenza. “So you want me to honestly express myself? Like I’m talking to some therapist sitting on a couch? Okay then, I will. I don’t go to that church. Why would I? To see Den talking about love and forgiveness? To see people smiling and shaking his hand, telling him how much they love him? Why must he choose to be a pastor in a church so close to the kids and me? Why?” She looked away. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s trying to torture me.”