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The professor crossed his arms and looked back out at Kevin, who was staring at a cloud formation now.
“I do believe that we all have Slater and Samantha living within us as part of our own nature,” he said. “You could call me Slater-John-Samantha.”
“Hmm. And I suppose that would make me Slater-Jennifer-Samantha.”
“Why not? We all struggle between good and evil. Kevin lived that struggle out in dramatic fashion, but we all live the same struggle. We all struggle with our own Slaters. With gossip and anger and jealousy. Kevin said his term paper was going to be a story—in more ways than one, I think he just lived his paper out.”
“Forgive my ignorance, Professor,” Jennifer said without looking at him, “but how is it that you, supposedly a ‘regenerated’ man, devoted servant of God, still struggle with evil?”
“Because I am a creature of free will,” Dr. Francis said. “I have the choice at any given moment how I will live. And if I choose to hide my evil in a basement, as Kevin did, it will grow. Those who populate America’s churches may not be blowing up buses and kidnapping, to be sure, but most hide their sin just the same. Slater lurks in their dungeons and they refuse to blow the lid off them, so to speak. Kevin, on the other hand, most certainly blew the lid off, no pun intended.”
“Unfortunately, he took half the city with him.”
“Did you hear what Samantha said in the basement?” the professor asked.
Jennifer had wondered if he would bring up Samantha’s words. “‘You are powerless on your own. But if you look to your Maker, you’ll find enough power to kill a thousand Slaters,’” she said. The words Samantha spoke to Kevin had haunted Jennifer for the last week. How had Kevin known to say that? Was it really as simple as his good nature crying out the truth?
“She was right. We are all powerless to deal with Slater on our own.”
He was talking about man’s dependence on God to find true freedom. He’d spent long hours with Kevin in his prison cell—Jennifer wondered what had passed between them.
“After seeing what I’ve seen down here, I’m not going to even try to argue with you, Professor.” She nodded at Kevin. “You think he’s . . . okay?”
“Okay?” Dr. Francis’s right eyebrow went up. He smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to hear the news you have, if that’s what you mean.”
Jennifer felt exposed. He could see more than she meant for him to see, couldn’t he?
“Take your time. I have some calls to make.” He walked for his study.
“Professor.”
He turned back. “Yes?”
“Thank you. He . . . we . . . We owe our lives to you.”
“Nonsense, dear. You owe me nothing. You may, however, have a debt to Samantha. And to Samantha’s Maker.” He grinned deliberately and entered his study.
Jennifer waited until his door closed. She slid the glass door open and stepped onto the patio. “Hello, Kevin.”
He turned, eyes bright. “Jennifer! I didn’t know you were here.”
“I had some time.” As much as she tried to ignore the fact, there was a unique bond between them. Whether it was her natural reaction to the sympathy he engendered or her own generous spirit or more, she didn’t know. Time would tell. The Riddle Killer was still at large, and yet she somehow felt she’d found herself for the first time since Roy’s death.
Kevin glanced back at the roses. His eyes couldn’t hold hers unwaveringly as they had before—he’d lost a certain innocence. But she preferred him this way.
“I’m taking a sabbatical,” she said.
“From the FBI? You are?”
“I am. I just came from a hearing with Judge Rosewood.” Jennifer couldn’t contain herself any longer. She smiled wide.
“What?” he asked. Her elation spread to him. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. She’s going to consider my request.”
“The judge? What request?”
“You do know that I’m a licensed psychotherapist, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Even if we win your acquittal, which I think we will, the court will insist on therapy. In fact, your treatment will likely begin much sooner. But I don’t think we can trust just any psychotherapist to pry around your head.”
“Psychobabble,” he said. “They . . .” His eyes widened. “You?”
Jennifer laughed. If the judge could see her now, she might reconsider. But she couldn’t. In fact, no one could. The professor had retired to his office.
She walked up to him, pulse quickening. “Not your psychotherapist, exactly. But I’ll be there, every step of the way, monitoring. I don’t intend to let anyone mess with your mind any more than they have to.”
He stared into her eyes. “I think I’d let you mess with my mind.”
Everything in Jennifer’s being wanted to reach out to him then. To touch his cheek and tell him that she cared for him more than anyone she’d cared for in a very long time. But she was an FBI agent, for heaven’s sake. The agent in charge of his case! She had to remember that.
“Do I really need a psychotherapist?” he asked.
“You need me.” That sounded a bit forward. “I mean you need someone like me. There are a lot of issues . . .”
Kevin suddenly leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. “No, I don’t need someone like you,” he said. “I need you.”
He pulled back, then looked away and blushed.
She couldn’t help herself anymore. She stepped forward and kissed him very lightly on his cheek.
“And I need you, Kevin. I need you too.”
I do not understand what I do. . . . It is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. . . . For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing. . . . I find this law at work: When I want to do good, evil is right there with me. . . . I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin. I myself in my mind am a slave to God’s law, but in the sinful nature a slave to the law of sin.
From a letter written by Saint Paul to the church in Rome, A.D. 57.
ROMANS 7:15–25
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