When Heaven Weeps

by Ted Dekker

“Virtually identical to the existing one. Like I said, they’re just interested in protecting their investment.”

  Karen nodded. “Well. Then I guess congratulations are in order, Tony. You’ve done us well.”

  The executive looked at Jan. “What do you think, Jan?”

  “I think Karen’s right. If they want to pay us three million dollars for what we would’ve done anyway, I won’t turn down their money. So we’re now at an eight-million-dollar deal? Isn’t that rather much?”

  “That, Jan,” Roald said, “is exceptional. And Karen’s right: Tony, you have done us very well. I think this calls for celebration.”

  Tony laughed. “We are celebrating, Roald. Can’t you tell?”

  It did become a celebration then, for another two hours, drinking and laughing and enjoying the benefits of wealth. In many ways the evening was like a mountain peak for Jan. Not only had God given him Helen, he had returned Jan’s favor with the world, it seemed. With Karen and Roald and The Dance of the Dead. Everything was going to return to normal now. And normal as a millionaire was something he was getting to like. Very much.

  HELEN PRIED her eyes open and stared at the clock by the bed. It was 10:00 A.M. Hazy memories from the night drifted through her mind. She’d called Glenn . . .

  Helen jerked up. She was in the Palace! And Jan . . . Jan was in New York. She collapsed, flooded with relief. But the sentiment left her within the minute.

  She rolled to her back and groaned. Rain still splattered on the window. Jan wasn’t scheduled to return until the next day, Sunday, but he would have called, no doubt. She would have to concoct a reasonable story for not answering the phone.

  Oh, dear Jan! What have I done? What have I gone and done? Helen put a hand over her eyes and fought the waves of desperation crashing through her chest. One of these days she would have to end this madness. Or maybe Glenn would do it for her. A notion to call out to God crossed her mind, but she dismissed it. This wasn’t some fanciful world filled with visions and martyrs and a God who spoke in the darkness. This was not Jan’s Dance of the Dead. This was the real world. Glenn’s world. Jan had grown up in a different land altogether. Jan and Ivena both—her husband and her mother. Mother Ivena . . .

  Ivena.

  Ivena!

  A chill spiked through her spine. Helen scrambled from the bed, squinting against a throbbing headache. She had imagined seeing the dear woman bound and gagged. Helen threw the closet door open.

  It was empty. Oh, thank you, God! Thank you! So then she had imagined it all. Drugs could do that easily enough. She wandered into the bathroom, splashed water on her face and brushed her teeth. She had to get home—to Jan’s home. To her home. It was crazy coming here! This is the last time.

  She stopped her brushing and stared at the mirror, her mouth foaming white. This is the last time, you understand? You understand that, Helen? Never again. She suddenly spit at the mirror, spraying it with toothpaste.

  “You make me sick!” she muttered and rinsed her mouth.

  Helen pulled on a pair of blue jeans and slunk from the apartment, headed for the bar and a cigarette. Maybe a drink. The large room lay in shadows, lightless except for the foreboding gray that made its way through the far windows. The room’s pillars stood like ghosts in the silence. She veered to her right and made for the bar.

  Helen had reached the counter and was bending over it when she heard the sound. A soft grunt. Or a moan of wind. No, a soft grunt!

  She spun around and faced the shadows.

  A form sat there, its white eyes staring at her from the gloom.

  Helen jumped, terrified. The form was human, bound to a chair, gagged. Helen could not move. She could only stare for the moment while her heart pounded in her ears and the woman drilled her with those white eyes.

  It was Ivena. Of course, it was Ivena, and that hadn’t been a dream last night. Glenn had taken the woman and . . .

  The horror of it brought a sudden nausea to Helen’s gut. She brought her hand to her mouth and fought for her composure. The injustice of it, the sickness of it—how could any human do this? And then in that moment Helen knew that she was staring at a mirror. Not a real mirror, because that was Ivena bound to the chair twenty feet off. But a mirror because she was no less bound than Ivena. Helen was looking at herself and the sight was making her nauseous. But unlike Ivena, she came here willingly. With desire, like a dog to its own vomit.

  A groan broke from Helen’s mouth and she stumbled forward, gripping her stomach with one hand. She couldn’t read Ivena’s expression because of the gag, but her eyes were wide. The ropes pressed into her flesh—the pink dress she wore was torn, Helen could see that as she neared. And yes, her face was badly bruised.

  A knot wedged in Helen’s throat, allowing only a soft moan. Tears blurred her vision. She had to get that gag off. Panicked, she rushed right up to Ivena and tore at the strip of sheet wrapped around her mouth. It took some wrenching, and Ivena winced in pain, but the gag came free, exposing Ivena’s face. The woman was crying with an open mouth and quivering lips.

  Helen grasped for the knots that held Ivena. She found one at her waist and tugged at it, whimpering in panic. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”

  Of course she was hurt.

  “Leave them, Helen,” Ivena said softly. “He’ll only hurt me more.”

  Helen yanked at the ropes, desperate to free her.

  “Helen, please. Please don’t.”

  Helen grunted in frustration and hit the chair with her palm. She sank to her knees, lowered her head to Ivena’s shoulder, and wept bitterly.

  For a full minute they did not speak. They shook with sobs and wet their faces with tears, Ivena bound to the chair and Helen kneeling beside her. Ivena was right: she couldn’t untie her; Glenn would kill them both.

  “Shshshshshsh . . . ,” Ivena whispered, gathering herself. “Be still, child.”

  “I’m sorry, Ivena! I’m so sorry.” There were no words for this.

  “I know, Helen. It will be all right.”

  Helen straightened and looked at the older woman. The gag made of sheet was still in her hand and she gently wiped Ivena’s face with it. “He’s a monster, Ivena.” Then she was crying again.

  “I know. He’s a beast.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Yesterday, I was attacked . . .” Ivena turned her face away.

  If I had called her to spend the weekend as Jan suggested, she would be safe, Helen thought. I’ve done this to her!

  Ivena seemed to gain some resolve. She set her chin and swallowed. “And why are you here, Helen?”

  Ivena didn’t know? She had not suspected! Helen lifted both hands to her face and hid her face, utterly shamed. She turned away and wept silently.

  “Come here, child.”

  Helen stood frozen.

  “Yes, it’s a terrible thing. But it’s done. Now you will be forgiven.”

  Helen turned to her. “How can you say that? How can anyone say that? Look at you. You’re tied to a chair, beaten and bloody, and you’re talking to me about forgiveness? That’s not right!”

  “No dear, you are wrong. Forgiveness is love; love takes us past the death. You must know something, Helen. You must listen to me and remember what I now tell you. Are you listening?”

  Helen nodded.

  “Blood is at the very center of man’s history. The shedding of blood, the giving of blood, the taking of blood. Without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness. Without the shedding of blood there is no need for forgiveness. It’s all about life and death, but the path to life runs through death. Does this make any sense?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Whoever will find his life must lose his life. If you want to live, you must die. It was what Christ did. He shed his blood. It sounds absurd, I know. But it’s only when you decide to give up yourself—to die—that you yourself will understand love. Hear this, Helen. You will never understand the love o
f Christ; you will never return Janjic’s love until you die.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “No. Trying to love without dying doesn’t make sense.”

  Helen looked at Ivena’s body, still bound like a hog. She fought to hold back the tears.

  “I’ve heard the laughter, Helen.”

  The door to their right suddenly thumped open and they stared at it as one. It was Glenn, standing in the light, hands on hips, grinning. He walked toward them, still dressed in those white polyester slacks, now smudged with dirt.

  “I see you’ve found your gift, Helen? You didn’t seem too interested last night so I wrapped her for you here.”

  Helen fought to contain her rage, but it boiled over. She shrieked and swung her right fist at Glenn. He caught her wrist easily. “Easy, princess.”

  “I hate this! I hate this, you pig!”

  Glenn twisted her arm until she winced with pain. “You watch your tongue, you filthy slug!”

  “She means nothing to you!”

  “She means everything to me. She’s going to work some magic for me, aren’t you, old woman?” He shoved Helen off and she held her arm, still glaring at him.

  “Yes, she is,” Glenn said.

  “What can you hope to gain by this?” Helen asked.

  “I hope to gain a little cooperation, princess.” His upper lip bunched up, revealing his large crooked teeth. “This bag of bones here will provide some motivation for you and your preacher.”

  Helen tensed. “Meaning what?”

  “It means that since you’ve had difficulty with your loyalty, I’m going to help you out a little, that’s what it means. That’s my gift to you. You might even think of it as a wedding present.”

  He was headed into dangerous waters with this tone of his, and Helen decided not to push him.

  “Don’t you want to know how it works, dear? Hmm? Operating instructions? Okay, let me tell you. First, you let this bag of bones free on the street. Let it wander back home or go shopping or whatever it does. Maybe clean it up a little first.” He took a deep breath and paced theatrically.

  “The point is to try to keep the bag of bones alive. A game really. If you and your preacher friend agree to separate, the bag of bones lives. If not, she dies. That’s the only rule. You like it?”

  Separate? Glenn was demanding that she and Jan separate?

  “Oh, and one more thing. You’ve got three days. Sort of like a resurrection thing. If you do the right thing, the tomb will be empty in three days. The tomb being the preacher’s house. Empty of you, Helen.”

  He couldn’t be serious, of course. It was insane! “Come on, Glenn. Don’t fool around. She’s not—”

  “I’m not fooling around!” he screamed.

  Helen jumped. Glenn’s face scowled, red.

  “I’m as serious as a heart attack, baby! You have three days, and if you want this bag of bones here to live through our little game, you’d better do some thinking.”

  Helen’s knees suddenly felt weak. He was insane! She spun her head to Ivena. The woman was looking at Glenn, her eyes still soft, absent of fear. Maybe smiling.

  “Now cut her ropes and turn her loose,” Glenn said. He flashed a smile. “Time to play.”

  With that he turned on his heels and strode from the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Suffering is an oxymoron. There is unfathomable peace and satisfaction in suffering for Christ. It is as though you have searched endlessly for your purpose in life, and now found it in the most unexpected place: in the death of your flesh. It is certainly a moment worthy of laughter and dance. And in the end it is not suffering at all. The apostle Paul recommended that we find joy in it. Was he mad?”

  The Dance of the Dead, 1959

  JAN APPROACHED his home’s entryway midafternoon Monday with a sense of déjà vu raging through his mind. He’d been here before: walking up to the sign that read In living we die; In dying we live, on a hot summer afternoon, surrounded by stifling silence, wondering what waited behind those doors.

  Helen had not answered his calls from New York.

  Father, you must save her, he prayed for the hundredth time since leaving her on Friday. You must protect her. He prayed it because she was slipping—he could feel it more than deduce it. Helen was in a fight for her life and the fact that he’d left her for three days now played like a horn in his mind. It was killing him.

  Jan unlocked the door and stepped in. The lights were off; the house appeared vacant. “Helen! Helen, dear, I’m home!”

  He set down his garment bag and tossed the keys on the entry table. “Helen!” Jan hurried into the kitchen. “Helen, are you here?” Only the ringing of silence answered his call. Where was she? Ivena! She would be with Ivena.

  “Hi, Jan.”

  He whirled to the hall. Helen stood by the basement stairs, dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, trying to smile and managing barely. Jan’s pulse spiked. He reached her and took her into his arms. There was something wrong here, but at least it was here, not there; not in some place of wickedness.

  “I missed you, Helen.” Her musky smell filled his senses and he closed his eyes. “Are you okay? I tried to call.”

  “Yes,” she said thinly. “Yes, I’m all right. How was your trip?”

  Jan stepped back. “Terrific. Correction, the meeting was terrific, the trip itself was dreadful. These trips are getting more difficult every time I take them. Maybe you should come with me next time.”

  “Jan, there’s been a . . . a problem.” If she’d even heard his last comment she didn’t show it. “Something’s happened.”

  “What is it? What problem?”

  She turned and walked into the living room, not responding. It was serious then. Serious enough to make Helen balk, which was not so easily accomplished

  “Helen, tell me.”

  “It’s Ivena.” She turned and her eyes glistened wet. “She’s . . . she’s not so good.”

  “What do you mean? What happened?” His tone was panicked and he swallowed. “What happened to Ivena, Helen?”

  She lowered her head into her hands and started to cry. Jan stepped up to her and smoothed her hair. “Shhh, it’s okay, dear. Everything will be okay. You’re more precious to me than anything I know. You remember that, don’t you?”

  The comment only added to her tears, he thought. “Tell me, Helen. Just tell me what’s happened.”

  “She’s hurt, Jan.”

  Now he stepped back in alarm. “Hurt? Where? Where is she?”

  “At home.”

  “Well . . . How did she get hurt?” he demanded, aware that he’d taken a harsh tone now. “Did she have a car accident?” A picture of that crazy gray Bug stuttered through his mind. He’d told her a hundred times to get something larger.

  “No. She was hurt.”

  “Yes, but how? How was she hurt?”

  “I think you should ask her that.”

  “You can’t tell me?” Now Jan was worried. She was making no sense. This was more than an accident. “Okay, then, if you won’t tell me, we’ll go there.”

  “No, Jan. You go.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! You’ll come with me. I’m not leaving here without you.”

  She shook her head and the tears were flowing free now. “No. I can’t. You have to go alone.”

  “Why? You’re my wife. How can I—”

  “Go, Jan! Just go,” she said. Then, with closed eyes, “I’ll be here when you return, I promise. Just go.”

  He stared at her, stunned. Something very bad had happened to Ivena. That much was now obvious. Not as clear was Helen’s behavior.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said. He kissed her on the cheek and ran for his car.

  JAN FOUND Ivena’s house unlocked and he stormed in, not thinking to knock. His imagination had already pushed him past such formalities.

  “Ivena . . .” He pulled up.

  She sat in her brown overstuffed
chair, humming and smiling and slowly rocking. The heavy scent of her roses filled the room; she must have strewn them everywhere. The distant sound of children laughing carried on the air.

  “Hello, Jan.” Her head rested on the cushion—making no effort to look at him.

  Jan shoved the door closed behind him. At first he didn’t see the bruising. But the discoloration beneath her makeup became obvious—black and blue at the base of her nose and on her right cheek.

  “Did you have a good trip?” she asked.

  “What happened?”

  She straightened her head. “My, we are demanding. Did you speak to Helen?”

  “Yes.”

  “And? She told you what?”

  “That you’d been hurt. That’s all. She refused to come. What’s going on?”

  She leaned her head back. “Sit, Janjic.” He sat opposite her. “First you tell me how your trip was, and then I’ll tell you why my head hurts.”

  “My trip was fine. They’re paying us more money. Now stop this nonsense and tell me what’s going on.”

  “More money? Goodness, you will be floating in the stuff.”

  “Ivena!”

  Ivena’s body ached, but her spirit was light. She might not be floating in money like Janjic, but she was still floating. “Okay, my dear Serb. Calm your voice; it hurts my head.”

  “Then tell me why your head hurts and why my wife will not come here with me.”

  Ivena took a deep breath and told him. Not everything, not yet. She told him how the big oaf, Glenn . . . how his men had taken her in the park, using chloroform, she thought. When she’d awoken she’d met the man behind Helen’s fears. Nothing less than a monster, ugly and smelly and no less brutal than the worst in Bosnia. He had bound her and spit on her and clubbed her with his huge fist.

  Janjic was out of his chair then, red in his face. “That’s . . . insane! We should call the police! Did you call the police?”

  “Yes, Janjic. Please sit.”

  He sat. “And what did they say?”

  “They asked me if I wanted to press charges.”

  “And?”

  “I said I would have to think about it. I wanted to talk to you first.”

  “That’s absurd! Of course you want to press charges. This man’s not someone to play with!”