When Heaven Weeps

by Ted Dekker

  “Save yourself,” he said. “Renounce him.”

  She inhaled sharply and settled slowly against the ropes. She looked directly into his eyes and Karadzic swallowed. There was a new woman behind those eyes and she was stronger than he’d thought.

  “You know I can’t do that,” she said quietly. “Kill me. I’ll die for him—it’s long overdue.”

  The tremble started at Karadzic’s head and worked its way down to his heels. If he hadn’t been immobilized on the spot, he might have lifted his pistol and shot her then.

  Vahda was not so paralyzed. She shrieked and flew past Karadzic with claws extended. Her fingers dug into Helen’s neck and she raked them down her chest, leaving trails of blood.

  Karadzic stepped forward and brought a heavy hand across Vahda’s head. The woman sprawled to the floor. “She’s mine!” he shouted. “Did I tell you to do this?”

  He stepped back, trying desperately to gather himself. He was losing control of the situation, the one thing no good commander could allow. His breathing came thick and slow. White spots floated in his vision. Vahda pushed herself to her feet.

  Karadzic faced Helen. “So. You think you are smart. Choosing your death. Well, I will kill you. And I will allow Vahda to break your bones. But you won’t die until you’ve witnessed the death of your lover. Would you like that?”

  The woman did not react.

  He screamed it. “I said, would you like that?”

  She blinked. But otherwise she only peered at him. Her neck was bleeding badly from Vahda’s fingernails.

  “Get the prisoner,” Karadzic snapped.

  Two guards quickly left the room for Janjic.

  “Vahda, dear. Remember, this is my game, not yours. You must remember that.” She didn’t acknowledge him. “So now you may break two of her fingers, but only two,” he said.

  She turned to him with a glint in her eyes.

  “Yes, darling. You may. And her knees.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  THE FIRST thing Jan saw when the two guards dragged him into the room was a tall woman in red with long black hair. She was facing the wall. He saw Karadzic to the left, wearing a sinister grin by candlelight. Then the woman moved aside and he saw Helen.

  She’d been tied to a thick wooden cross. Her head lolled to one side, and she stared out into the room, expressionless. She hadn’t seen him.

  There was blood on her neck. And her knees . . . Oh, dear God! Her knees were a bloody mess. Jan panicked then. He growled and flung himself forward.

  His attempt was rewarded with a stiff blow to the side of his head. He slumped between the guards and Helen’s image swam in his vision. She was looking at him now. Slowly a thin smile formed on her mouth. Dear Helen! My poor Helen!

  Her index fingers were oddly disjointed. Nausea swept through his stomach. He turned from her and saw the body folded over itself in the shadows. It was a woman, lifeless, dressed in . . .

  It was Ivena! That was Ivena lying in the corner with her head bloodied. Oh, dear God! Dear God!

  Jan closed his eyes and lowered his head. The sorrow rose through his chest and rushed from his eyes, as if a dam had broken deep in him. He hung from his arms between the guards and he wept.

  “Do you like what you see, Janjic?” Karadzic asked quietly.

  Shut up! Shut up, you devil from hell!

  “Don’t listen to him, Jan. Listen to me.” It was Helen’s voice!

  He lifted his head and blinked.

  “Shut up!” Karadzic said.

  But Jan was looking into Helen’s eyes, and he saw something there. Something new. Something that reached into his chest and squeezed his heart. It was the way he’d felt in the restaurant on their first date, the same feeling that had given him weak knees in the garden under a full moon. It was the same beating of his heart that had pounded in his ears while she leaned over his shoulder looking at the coffee machine.

  And yet it was coming from her heart, not just his. He could see the love in her eyes and in the lines around her lips. She seemed hardly aware of her broken bones. She was swimming in a new dimension.

  He began to cry, and the guards shifted awkwardly on their feet.

  “Jan.” It was Helen again, weak yet speaking his name. His body trembled.

  “Jan, I love you.”

  He lifted his head to the ceiling and began to wail out loud. Waves of joy washed through his bones.

  The guards released him suddenly and he crashed to the ground. He hardly felt the force of the fall. She loved him! Dear God, Helen was loving him!

  He wanted to look up at her and tell her that he loved her too. That he would give anything to hear her say those words again! That he would die for her.

  Jan’s lips pressed against the stone ground and his tears pooled. He rolled to his side and tried to push himself up. He couldn’t. But he had to. He had to stand and rush over to Helen and kiss her face and her feet and her wounded knees and tell her how terribly much he loved her.

  Karadzic was screaming something. Jan opened his eyes and saw that the man had thrust a pistol in Helen’s cheek. But Helen’s eyes were on Jan.

  She didn’t seem to care about the gun. And it occurred to Jan that he didn’t either. In fact, it all seemed rather absurd; this big man shoving his black weapon at Helen, as if doing so should bring her to her knees. She was tied up, how could she possibly fall to her knees? She was strapped to the cross, bleeding, and she was smiling.

  A bubble of laughter escaped Jan’s lips.

  For a long, awkward moment the room fell to silence. Karadzic and his woman stood shaking, glaring at Jan, at a loss. Helen looked into Jan’s eyes.

  Karadzic suddenly spun, gripped the pistol in both hands, and squeezed the trigger. A deafening report boomed through the room.

  The slug tore into Jan’s side, burning as if someone had jabbed him with a branding iron. He gasped and clutched his side.

  “Dear Father, save us,” Helen’s trembling voice whispered. Her chin rested on her chest. “Love us. Let us hear your laughter.”

  “Silence!” Karadzic screamed.

  The door suddenly banged open and a ghost from the past stood there, huge and white and round-eyed. It was Glenn. And a moment later Jan knew that he was in the flesh. Glenn Lutz was here!

  Helen had looked up and was staring directly at Glenn. “Show your hand. Show the power of your love. Let us hear your laughter. We’ve died already, now let us live.” She was praying for the laughter.

  Karadzic had spun to Glenn, who stood dumbfounded, glaring at Helen on the cross.

  The room fell to an eerie silence.

  “Kill her,” Glenn said in a breathy voice. His face suddenly contorted with hate, and he stepped up between Karadzic and Vahda. “Kill her.” His voice rose in pitch and he began to shake. “Kill her!” he screamed.

  Karadzic stood rooted to the ground.

  The sound came like bubbling spring, gushing from the rock. It was laughter. It was the same laughter from the vision. But it wasn’t from the vision. It was from Helen. Helen had lifted her head and was laughing open-mouthed.

  “He, he, he, he, he, ha, ha ha ha ha ha!”

  Jan held his breath with the suddenness of it. It was the picture from the cover of The Dance of the Dead, only here, painted on Helen.

  If Glenn’s senses hadn’t already snapped, they did in that moment. He roared and swung a huge fist at Karadzic’s face. Bone smashed bone with a sickening thud and Karadzic staggered backward. Like an unleashed tiger, Glenn sprang at Karadzic while the commander was still off balance. But Karadzic set himself and the two large men collided.

  Glenn shook like a leaf now, his lips pressed white with desperation. With a thundering roar, he ripped the gun from Karadzic’s grasp and jumped back.

  Helen’s laughter echoed through the room, and Glenn jerked the pistol toward her in a blind fury.

  The reprieve was what Karadzic needed. He snatched another gun from behind his back an
d jerked it up in line with Glenn. But the American’s gun was already steadied.

  A boom crashed through the room. Jan’s heart stopped its beating. Oh, God! He clenched his eyes shut. Oh, dear God!

  Laughter pealed about him. Helen’s laughter. In death? She had joined Ivena and—

  Jan snapped his eyes open and stared at Helen. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open and she was still laughing.

  Then Glenn’s huge body fell, like a side of beef. His head bounced off the concrete a foot from Jan’s. His eyes were open and there was a hole in his right temple.

  Helen was still laughing, seemingly oblivious to the struggle around her. Her mouth was open with delight and tears wet her cheeks.

  Karadzic faced her, sweat pouring from his skin. He took a step back and his eyes skipped around. It occurred to Jan that he was terrified. The big man opened his mouth in a moan.

  Jan looked at Glenn’s torso again, and this time he saw the black handle wedged under his shoulder. The gun!

  Jan glanced up at Karadzic. The man trained his wavering gun forward, as if struggling against an unseen force. They had been here before. Only this time it wasn’t the priest’s laughter Karadzic would silence. This time it was Jan’s wife’s. The realization passed through his mind and he thought his chest would explode. Still Helen did not stop her laughing.

  Jan reached out his right hand and grabbed for the gun under Lutz’s body, keeping his eyes on Karadzic all the while. The man was transfixed by the sight of Helen. At any instant the gun in his hand would buck.

  Cold steel filled Jan’s hand. His world swam. He found the trigger and pulled the pistol out in one quick motion. A groan broke from his throat and he heaved the gun up in Karadzic’s direction. He yanked the trigger.

  Boom!

  The slug hit his old commander somewhere below the waist, but Jan kept jerking on the trigger. Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Click. The gun was empty.

  Karadzic staggered back, wide-eyed, his own weapon unfired. He stared at Jan, wavering on his feet. Several blotches of red spread on his shirt. His nose was twisted and bleeding.

  The man fell face forward on the concrete and lay still.

  The room grew quiet.

  Karadzic’s woman had gone white. She eased toward the door, glanced one last time at Karadzic’s lifeless form, and ran from the room. One of the guards ran out behind her, blinking in disbelief.

  Only then, with Helen hanging from the cross, Jan lying in a pool of his own blood, and the last guard cowering against the far wall, did it occur to Jan that they were alive.

  He dropped the gun and pushed himself to an elbow. He saw Helen looking at him in silence, and immediately collapsed to his side. Pain shot up his spine and he groaned.

  Helen looked at the remaining guard, who still stood trembling. “Please, please,” she begged. “Please help us.”

  The guard suddenly rushed across the room with a drawn knife and Jan’s pulse spiked with alarm. The man ran to the cross and his blade flashed. It severed the cords. Helen fell free. The guard caught her, quickly lowered her to the ground, and ran from the room.

  Jan’s world began to drift. The universe had been created for moments like these, he thought. It was an odd thought.

  Jan felt his head being lifted and he opened his eyes. She’d managed to crawl to him and lift his head in her arms. She was sobbing.

  “Forgive me! I’m so sorry, Jan. Forgive me! Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. I was so wrong. I was so, so wrong.”

  Her words floated in and out. She’d never said such things, but then she’d never been who she was now. Jan’s body trembled, but this time with an unspeakable joy. The fruits of love. The universe was indeed created for moments like these.

  He stared up at her, a dumb smile spreading across his face.

  Helen leaned over his face. He felt her hot tears fall on his cheek. Then her warm lips on his own. And on his nose.

  “I love you, Janjic.”

  She kissed him again, around his eyes.

  “I love you, Jan Jovic. I will love you forever. With Christ’s love, I love you.”

  She began to cry again and Jan lost consciousness, in the arms of an angel. In the embrace of true love.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Six Months Later

  A LIGHT New England breeze swept over the tall black cliffs that held the Atlantic Ocean at bay, and lifted Helen’s hair from her shoulders. Before her, as far as she could see, whitecaps dotted the blue sea. In either direction, green grass rolled with the hills. It was the ideal setting to convalesce, she thought. Beautiful and healthy and perfectly peaceful.

  She sat in the gazebo across the small glass table from Jan and breathed the salty air deep into her lungs. He sat in his wheelchair and stared at the ocean, wearing a loose cotton shirt and looking stunningly handsome.

  Fifty yards behind them, their white colonial house sat stoically on the lawn. She would be in there preparing supper for them about now if it weren’t for her knees. But they’d hired Emily to do more than nurse them to health, Jan insisted. On a day as bright as today Emily would probably serve them on the sprawling veranda.

  Helen faced Janjic. “I love you, Jan.”

  He turned to her and his hazel eyes reflected the sea’s green, smiling in their wrinkles. “And I’m mad about you, my dear.” He extended a hand and rubbed her pregnant stomach. “And you, Gloria.”

  They’d already decided it would be a girl and they would call her Gloria, because of the glory that had set them free.

  Helen smiled. “Thank you for bringing me back.”

  “What, to America?” He chuckled. “Did I have a choice?”

  “Sure. We could have stuck it out in Bosnia.” She looked out to sea. “Of course, you wouldn’t have gotten the new book deal for When Heaven Weeps. Nor the movie.” She smiled.

  “And I wouldn’t have the luxury of living my life in peace with my bride and my child,” he added. “Like I said; did I have a choice?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “My only regret is that you’re not well enough to serve me hand and foot.” He smiled wide. “A celebrity deserves no less, don’t you think?”

  “Jan Jovic, how could you say such a thing? Don’t worry, my knees are better by the day. I’ll be at your beck and call before you know it.” They laughed.

  Helen stood and walked behind him. Ivena’s red-and-white flowers cascaded over the thatchwork, spreading their sweet, musky scent. They’d brought a shoot with them six months ago and planted it along the south wall of the house and here, by the gazebo. Only Joey’s Garden of Eden also featured the new species of lily and there it had nearly taken over the botanical garden’s east wall.

  Helen drew Jan’s hair back, bent over and kissed behind his ear. “It’s you I worry about, my dear. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  “Then let’s make sure you don’t have to live without me,” he said. “I’ve lived through worse. You think a hole in my liver will hold me back?”

  He said it with courage and she smiled.

  Helen leaned over and kissed his other ear. “Well, I promise that I will love my wounded solider until the day that I die. And I have no intention of going anytime soon.”

  She laid her head on his hair and closed her eyes. How could she have possibly betrayed this man? The memory of her treachery sat like a distant pain at the back of her mind—always there but incomprehensible. An insatiable love for this man had replaced her addiction in whole.

  The details of the last few months were written in black-and-white for the world to read in Jan’s new book. The fact that Glenn’s estate owned the legal rights to The Dance of the Dead was now irrelevant. His old book wasn’t the complete story—he’d told them clearly enough at the news conference. When Heaven Weeps was. And as a new property it wasn’t under the restrictions of the old contract he’d signed with Glenn’s company.

  Neither Roald nor the c
ouncil could argue with that. Jan had graciously omitted their most ugly moments from the story. But not the woman that they had scorned. Not Helen. Jan had put her on nearly every page, both her ugliness and her beauty. Mostly her beauty, Helen thought.

  She kissed the crown of his head.

  He pulled her hand. “Come here.”

  She walked around the chair and sat in his lap.

  He took her chin and looked into her eyes. “You’re everything to me. You’re my bride. You make my heart pitter and my knees weak. You think I would leave that for the grave?”

  “No. But maybe for the laughter.”

  “I have the laughter already. I carry it in my heart, and it’s for you.”

  Helen smiled and leaned forward. “You’re very sweet, my prince.” She kissed him lightly on the lips and then pulled back. His eyes were on fire with love.

  “I love you. More than life,” he said.

  “And I love you. More than death.”

  She kissed his lips once again. She could not help herself. This love of theirs— this love of Christ’s—was that kind of love.

  SHOWDOWN

  Just keep telling yourself.

  “IT'S ONLY A BOOK.”

  Of all the novels Ted Dekker has ever written.

  this one

  TAKES YOU FURTHER . . .

  CUTS DEEPER . . .

  PLAYER FOR KEEPS.

  From the mind of Ted Dekker.

  the ultimate Showdown

  HAS BEGUN.