Billy ran down the hall, his voice carrying the announcement in every corner of the house. Eventually, it floated outside to an ebullient crowd.
Ayo’s face peeked into the bathroom. “Congratulations, my man.”
Sophie pushed past the youth pastor then hugged them together, bouncing up and down. “I’m so happy!”
Tibo trotted behind, stretching his arms to include as much family as he could.
Vince tossled his hair and squeezed them all back. “Me too, Sophie.”
Cassandra couldn’t resist.“Me three.”
Tibo’s smile sparkled in his eyes as he looked up. “Four.”
They all laughed as one.
Epilogue
Dear Diary,
It’s been a while since I’ve written you, but boy do I need to put some things on paper. Maybe it will help me figure them out.
I now understand the meaning of the dream—the one with the beasts trying to carry me away. God was preparing me for a battle that would use me as its pawn. I was neither loser nor victor—not a soldier for either side. Just a girl in the middle as God made Himself known through those who rescued me.
I am okay with that, because I know the good that came from it. I guess Romans 8:28 is true—“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” God even made use of Pastor Vince’s criminal past. How crazy is that?
I met some of his old friends this week in church. They said they were there to meet “the girl who caused all the fuss,” but I think it was more. They had that look in their eyes that reminded me of someone tasting a rich dessert for the very first time. Like they’d just discovered they’d been denying themselves the indulgence far too long. I wonder if the tax collectors and sinners of Jesus’ day looked the same way.
When I sobbed my account of how Sky deceived and kidnapped me, and the conversations we had in that dark, smelly basement, Mom said she believed the story was not over, and my role had been critical—for Sky.
I don’t see it. I don’t think I even want to. He is a liar and a thief. And I will never trust him again. I told him I forgave him—because I know God wants me to—but do I really? I don’t have the answer to that. I don’t know that I ever will. They say we must forgive and forget. One thing is for sure—I will always remember.
I know what my father would do … he would act as though he forgave until his heart finally caught up. Even now, I taste the bitterness on my tongue thinking about doing such a thing. So … I will pray about it.
Thoughts of my father prompt another question. Was he really my dad? I mean biologically?
And what about Pastor Vince? Should I even call him that? After all, he’s going to marry my mom … and I suspect …
I can’t even write the words. I don’t know what to hope. I’d love for him to be my dad—even my real dad—but would that be a slight to the man who’d raised me? I can’t bear the thought of someone replacing him, and at the same time I long for Pastor Vince to fill that void.
Is that wrong?
I don’t know, but I do wish he and Mom would finally tell me the truth!
Until then, I’ll meditate on the verse Amit quoted to me the other day. Proverbs 10:25, “When the storm has swept by, the wicked are gone, but the righteous stand firm forever.”
Sophie
THE END
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed Vince and Cass’s story. As you can see, there are still questions that need to be answered, and wisdom that needs to unfold. I hope to discover them soon.
Until then, feel free to check out my author site www.ConnieAlmony.com and sign up for the newsletter. I offer scenes between novels to newsletter recipients, and will be sending out fun Shorts until my next novel is out.
If you haven’t tried my other books, check out the following pages to see what else is available now. There is also a list of questions for book clubs to use.
If you like either this or any of my other stories, don’t forget to review them on Amazon. This helps me to know what works for you, and helps others find the book as well. A win-win!
Until then, God bless!
Love,
Connie Almony
About the Author
Connie Almony is trained as a mental health therapist and likes to mix a little fun with the serious stuff of life. She was a 2012 semi-finalist in the Genesis Contest for Women’s Fiction and was awarded an Honorable Mention in the Winter 2012 WOW Flash Fiction Contest. She is also the author of One Among Men and An Insignificant Life, about women who run dormitories at a major state university, and At the Edge of a Dark Forest, a modern-day re-telling of Beauty and the Beast about a war-vet, amputee struggling with PTSD. Watch out for more books in each of these series, as well as a multi-author book anthology coming Summer 2016.
You can find Connie on the web at ConnieAlmony.com, where you can sign up for her newsletter, and hosting the following blogs: InfiniteCharacters.com and IndieChristianFictionSearch.Blogspot.com.
You can also meet her at these social media outlets:
https://twitter.com/ConnieAlmony
https://www.facebook.com/ConnieAlmony
http://www.pinterest.com/conniealmony/
Other Books by Connie Almony
Available NOW!
Click links to download …
One Among Men (The Maryland State University Series, Book 1)—December 2014
Samantha Hart’s job requires she live with 500, hard-partying, college guys, but it only takes one to lead her to danger. She must avert the pitfalls of a woman in her position running an all-male dorm, as well as the dangerous forces that threaten her life.
Chris Johnson, a rock guitarist, has come back to school as a music major, and finds himself in a business relationship with the ruthless supplier of an on-campus drug ring. He's intrigued by the lady RD who lives and works by her faith, while learning more about his musical gift and the God who gave it to him. Can he manage his two worlds without risking Samantha's life?
An Insignificant Life (The Maryland State University Series, Book 2) —June 2015
She is drawn to those who might bring meaning to her world, only to find her past choices could have destroyed the one man who would truly love her.
Tiffany Lundgren is looking for significance in the world of academia, beyond being a visual distraction for men to ogle. But something stands in her way. When she removes the impediment that threatens her professional career, her world spirals deeper, and she discovers the things she once believed brought her strength, have only hardened her on the outside, leaving her insides empty.
Adam Grant, the K-9 campus police officer, wants to be taken seriously in his profession. But after having been purposely left out of the previous undercover investigation, he wonders if his new relationship with the liaison from the Maryland Drug Task Force Initiative will be an open one. Especially since he once tried to date the man's wife. But as the drug trade heats up in the dorms, and lives are being threatened, Adam resolves to get to the bottom of the problem, even to the point of involving his former-drug-dealing pastor.
Will his deeper commitment endanger the woman he's come to love?
At the Edge of a Dark Forest—February 2014
Cole Harrison, an Iraq war veteran, wears his disfigurement like a barrier to those who might love him, shielding them from the ugliness inside. He agrees to try and potentially invest in, a prototype prosthetic with the goal of saving a hopeless man’s dreams.
Carly Rose contracts to live with Cole and train him to use his new limbs, only to discover the darkness that wars against the man he could become.
At the Edge of a Dark Forest is a modern-day retelling of Beauty and the Beast. Only it is not her love that will make him whole.
At the Edge of a Dark Forest
Chapter One
Cole hobbled up the snow-covered path, his metal crutch doing the work of his missing left leg. He turn
ed to climb the wooded hill to his favorite perch for one last look. Knowing it would take five times as long as it did when he was a kid—having two arms and two legs back then—he scrambled up the frozen incline, using his right arm stump and dragging the crutch along beside him. He’d been a Marine. He’d do this or die.
In fact, he was counting on the latter.
Cole could never take his own life. Somehow, the thought of his remaining manor staff finding his body didn’t set well with him. Most of them had been on the payroll since before he was born and were more family than his own parents had been. No, he wouldn’t leave his remains for them. But maybe he could challenge God—or at least the elements—enough to where one or the other would finally do the deed.
Was that what drove him to this climb during a blizzard in freezing temps? He’d told Mrs. Rivera, the housekeeper, he needed to go camping—a necessary means of transitioning from war to civilian life. Regardless of the fact he’d been transitioning for years now, and hadn’t bothered to pack any gear.
She knew not to stop him. Not that she couldn’t, given his current condition. But had she done that, it would have left him feeling more impotent than he did now. He suspected she knelt by her Baby Jesus statue, at this very moment, rolling beads through her fingers as she mouthed the Hail Mary over and over again.
Lotta good that would do.
Cole’s moments “transitioning” only doubled in frequency rather than dwindled. He’d started back when he still wore a prosthetic arm and leg, but after months subjecting them to the cold and rain, night and day, they rubbed against his skin, chafing and burning, making him feel more caged than free. He’d finally chucked them over a precipice one morning, vowing never to wear any fake parts again.
He’d kept that vow. This was who he was. Not just after the IED, but before. Half a man. He’d always been half a man, scarred and disfigured. Only now his outsides displayed what his insides always suspected. No one knew that better than Beckett. And still Beckett had …
He shook the thought from his mind as he scrambled higher to reach the perch that once made him feel king of the mountain. He could oversee his entire domain—the family’s wooded acreage that rose and fell at angles as far as he could see. Now his. Solely his. No one left to share it with—except those he paid.
Today he didn’t feel like a king. He made his way up the hill like a slithering beast, rustling through the powdery snow. The thump of the intact limb, then a pulling and dragging of the other through the slush. His body left a trail like a snake. That trail would soon be covered by the precipitation falling unceasingly on this night.
He reached the top and spied the mountain road that meandered far below. A snowplow’s headlights traveled its length as it temporarily cleared the ice. No other lights followed. No one dared.
Cole collapsed into the plush snow, face to the emptying black sky. Snowflakes enlarged as they fell from the darkness into his eyes. Maybe his limbs—those left—would go numb before he froze to death. Would it be painful? He didn’t know. He’d never experienced these kinds of elements in combat. He’d been more used to the heat—blistering heat. Heat so bad it made his vision blur, waves of air that crinkled ahead of him.
Boom!
He jolted at the vision of the IED bursting into flames. That had been real heat! In one instant Lance Corporal Beckett Forsythe had been beside him. The next—nothing but parts. And Cole had been left missing a few of his own.
Was that sweat dripping down his back in these frigid temps? More droplets formed icicles on his forehead. He struggled to slow his breaths, hoping his heartbeat would do the same. He lay back against the fluffy snow again. It wouldn’t take long. The fingers on his left hand were already growing numb. He’d read somewhere people often hallucinated before hypothermia set in. Nothing new.
Crash!
Cole bolted up, wishing the visions weren’t so real. But this didn’t come with a vision. He looked around, fully aware of the frozen forest beneath his body and the vibration that had emanated with the sound.
He scrambled upright, pulled at his metal crutch, and rose to standing. Down the steep slope of the hill, a gouge in the guardrail opened to a trench through the snow. At the bottom lay a car mangled against a tree—its headlights a beacon to whomever might pass by.
No one would. Not on this night. Many roads had already been closed and only emergency vehicles and snow removal trucks traveled the others.
The only chance the driver had was Cole. Some chance. But Cole would not sit back and do nothing. He had to at least try to help. He couldn’t let anyone else die just because he wanted to. Do or die trying. The latter still sounded best, but now he needed the former more.
He slid down the steep hill, using his crutch like a ski pole, guiding his trajectory toward the wreckage. Snow packed in under his jacket, melting into his skin. He shivered out the cold he had previously been inviting.
At the bottom he drove the crutch into the earth and pulled up. Under trees, the snow measured inches rather than feet. He could get to the disabled vehicle and check on the driver.
Flexing the fingers of his left hand, he worked out the numbness and cursed his luck. Why’d this jerk have to come out on this night, in this storm, on this mountain?
He trudged toward the car and peered inside. The driver blinked rapidly, his head swinging around as if coming out of a daze. He banged the deflated airbag at the wheel with his fist.
Cole pulled his wool cap lower against the scars running from his scalp into his face, and knocked on the window. The man jumped and turned, eyes white in their largeness.
“Let me help you.”
The man seemed to take long moments to process the words then popped the latch on his door. It squealed and crunched. Cole yanked it open with his good hand against the folded metal at the hinge. It gave.
The man scanned Cole’s length, no doubt assessing his missing limbs. His mouth dropped open. “You’re …” He slammed his fist against the steering wheel again and released a string of language Cole had only heard on the battlefield.
Yes. Cole was a beast. A slithering, angry beast. Uglier on the inside than on the out.
The man peered into the sky. “Lord! Must you continually remind me of my failings?”
Lord? Did this guy really think God would answer? “You comin’ or not?”
The man’s jaw jerked. He turned his white-cropped head away from Cole. “Not!”
Was Cole that ugly, that horrifying, the guy would rather die in the cold than trust Cole to bring him to safety?
“Look,” Cole almost spit fire, “Your cell won’t work up here and nobody’d come for you in this weather if it did.” He nodded over his shoulder. “My house is just down a path over there. If we help each other out, we could both get there safely.”
The man’s brows drew together. Cole could almost feel the guy’s gaze travel the length of him again, hovering at the stump below his right elbow and then the left thigh missing everything from what once had been a knee. Was that concern on his face? Cole steeled against the idiot’s pity. He turned.
“Wait.” The car door creaked as the man pushed it wider. “I’m coming with you.”
~*~
Cole poured Irish Cream into his coffee as Mrs. Rivera scurried to prepare hot chocolate and cake for their guest. Henry, the man from the vehicle, sat wordlessly by the fire in the living room, wrapped in a blanket.
Mrs. Rivera eyed Cole’s elixir. “You should lay off that poison,” she said in her thick Mexican accent that hadn’t lessened in the thirty years she’d lived in this country. “It’ll keel you.”
As if that would discourage him from using it. He took a long draw, the heat of the coffee thawing his body, the burn of the alcohol numbing his mind. He poured more coffee, then topped it off with Irish Cream. Mrs. Rivera tsked.
She rattled ahead of him, tray filled with goodies, to the living room where Henry waited. You’d think Henry was an angel sent by God
the way she had attended to him, having made a fire, wrapping him in a blanket and taking out the best china for his impromptu visit to the Mansion.
She placed the tray on a coffee table in front of him and poured hot chocolate from the pitcher. He accepted the cup and glanced to Cole before dropping his gaze to the liquid inside. “Thank you.”
“De nada.” Did she just curtsey? “Let me know if you need anything else. I will prepare a room for you to stay the night.”
Henry nodded and glanced at Cole in the archway between the rooms one more time. Did Henry fear him?
Mrs. Rivera took the coffee from Cole’s hand. “Let me get this for you.” She placed it on the table in front of Henry as if that were where Cole intended to sit. Hand free now, he grasped the metal crutch and hobbled over. Might as well not be a complete ogre to his uninvited guest—well, begrudgingly invited. Mrs. Rivera disappeared through the hall.
Henry turned to Cole and took him in, unflinchingly this time. His gaze traveled up the lonely leg, took in the right-arm stump, then hit on the scar from his upper lip that carved all the way up his left temple. Cole could almost feel the screech of brakes as the man’s eyes halted—no doubt at the ugly etching pooled at the end of the scar on his purposely bald head. “How’d you lose your limbs?” This guy got right to the point.
“Iraq. IED.”
Henry drew in a breath. “My younger brother lost his in Nam.”
Cole wondered what sort of device did the job, but decided not to ask. “Arm and a leg?”
“Both legs.”
“Oh.”
Did Henry think they were kindred spirits now? Not! “How old is he?”
“He committed suicide on the five-year anniversary of his return.” His brows drew together with a sense of anger and irony. What was he thinking? “I vowed to help others like him.” His words were strained. “So they wouldn’t feel …”
Flee From Evil Page 26