Pieces of Light

by Julie Cave

  Dinah glanced around the little group as they opened the study in prayer. Ruth was the unofficial leader; Alicia was a young woman with an infectious laugh; Sara was a harried mother of four; and Deborah was a stately, well-dressed wife of a Washington dignitary. There were times she still couldn't believe that she was here, sharing her life and faith in an intimate setting. Dinah shied away from close human contact after the death of her husband and son, certain that it only led to heartbreak. She'd built effective barriers of sarcasm, alcoholism, and anger, designed to keep people at bay. It had taken the love and persistence of a Christian couple, Andy and Sandra Coleman, to start the process of dismantling the walls.

  Inch by inch, they came down. Where once she would have found the concept of a study group ludicrous, now she was participating in one and actually looked forward to it each week. Where once she hated talking about herself to anyone, she now found herself sharing her thoughts and problems with these ladies. Where once she hadn't cared if she lived or died, she now loved life fiercely and was beginning to think about what the future held for her.

  Most perplexing was the fact that she found Special Agent Aaron Sinclair attractive. She and her beloved husband Luke had been college sweethearts and they'd known, almost from the instant they met, that they were meant to be together. After his death, men could have been green aliens with six tentacles for all she cared: she wasn't interested and she couldn't imagine ever allowing herself to love again. Nor could she contemplate betraying Luke's memory by sharing her life with another.

  Now she wondered whether it was okay to feel attraction toward someone else. Did it mean that she would be disloyal to everything she and Luke had shared, including their precious son Sammy? What would Luke have wanted her to do?

  Then she started to think about what a new relationship might actually mean. She would have to explain the fight: the fateful night where she'd screamed at her husband and son, driven them out into the dark rain, where they'd lost their lives; her descent into depression and self-medication with alcohol; her deep yearning to end her own life. How could she explain her lifelong battle with addiction? What sort of man would want to start a relationship with her, knowing all of her history? He would have to be nothing short of a masochist. Any normal man would run screaming for the hills once he'd heard her story.

  It's just an attraction, Dinah decided. That's all it is. It'll never be anything more. I won't see him again after this case. Then I can forget all about his beautiful eyes and strong hands and deep voice and....

  "Dinah!"

  Suddenly she was aware of four pairs of eyes staring at her.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed, startled. "Sorry, I was on another planet!"

  "Is everything okay?" Ruth asked.

  "Yes," said Dinah, weighing up whether to tell the woman about Sinclair, her late husband, and the complex, twisted tale that involved them. "Everything's fine. I'm just a little preoccupied with the case I'm working."

  She might bring it up at a later date, she decided. She needed some time to sort out how she felt before she sought their counsel.

  The four women knew that they couldn't ask for details about the case, but Ruth seemed to sense that Dinah wasn't telling the whole truth.

  "How is everything with you personally?" she asked.

  "I'm doing well," said Dinah. "I feel like I'm on an even keel at the moment."

  "What can we pray about for you?"

  "Wisdom," said Dinah instantly. She had no idea why she said that but it seemed right. "I've made some stupid and selfish decisions in the past. I need God's help in making the right decisions now."

  Ruth nodded. Eager to turn the attention away from herself, Dinah asked, "What can we pray about for you?"

  Ruth began talking about her son, who was almost grown up but still involved in the usual teenager angst. Dinah relaxed slightly, thankful that she didn't have to talk about herself any further.

  When it was time to pray, Dinah quickly sent one for herself.

  Dear Heavenly Father, I am confused about how my past and my future will fit together. Am I supposed to be alone for the rest of my life? Should I think about re-marriage? What is Your will for me? Please give me Your wisdom in figuring this out. I don't trust my own judgment and I only want to do Your will. Thank You for Your everlasting mercy, grace, and love. Without You, I have nothing. Amen.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, the three investigators had decided to meet at the office of the FBI medical examiner. Dr. Paul Campion was the long-serving coroner for the Bureau, and embarrassingly, Dinah remembered turning up there during the Smithsonian case, still drunk or hung over. Dr. Campion had never said anything to her, but he would have known. It was just something else, thought Dinah, in a very long list of humiliating moments that she would have to forgive herself for and move on.

  Dinah was the first to arrive and waited in the parking lot for Ferguson and Sinclair. She had no desire to begin an awkward conversation with Dr. Campion and preferred to sit in the relentless heat.

  Sinclair arrived and Dinah felt her heart speed up a little when she saw him. He dressed sharply, and today wore a tie that was the same deep azure of his eyes. Dinah liked the way his eyes crinkled warmly when he smiled.

  "How are you?" he asked, striding over to her.

  "Great. How are you?"

  "Good. Did you work on the case last night, or take the night off?" Sinclair asked, turning his back to the sun.

  "I took the night off," said Dinah.

  "Yeah? What did you do?"

  "Nothing. Just chilled out at home." Dinah felt an instant flush of shame. Why was she lying to Sinclair about going to a Bible study group? Didn't she want him to know she was a Christian? Why was she trying to complicate her life?

  "What about you?" she asked after a stilted silence.

  "Oh, much the same," he said. "I lead a pretty boring life, to be honest."

  Dinah stole a glance at his left hand: no wedding ring. "Do you ... have a girlfriend?" she asked hesitantly.

  He glanced at her with a tiny smile. "No. Do you have a boyfriend?"

  "Uh ... no."

  Ferguson's car squealed into the lot and as he parked his car badly, Sinclair leaned his head closer to Dinah. "Well, perhaps we should talk more about that," he suggested. "Want to get a drink after work?"

  "Sure," agreed Dinah, before she thought it through properly. As Ferguson, already sweating in the hot sun, materialized before them, Dinah thought of all the issues she now faced, simply by agreeing to meet Sinclair after work. They were going for a drink, which she couldn't have, because she was an alcoholic. She'd have to explain that to him. Then she'd probably have to explain why she had become an alcoholic. No doubt he'd mention that she had been fired from the Bureau, and be curious about why. The painful topic of Luke and Sammy would eventually surface. What a disaster!

  This, thought Dinah, giving herself a mental slap, is why it is much easier just to be alone. Trying to have a relationship is going to be too difficult.

  With a sigh, Dinah tried to concentrate on the task at hand. Dr. Campion had wheeled out the bodies of the two victims of the church bombing. Julian Nolan was the junior priest who'd been helping run the service, and Melissa Cousins had been the parishioner who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  Dinah couldn't help but shiver in the cold, bare room as Dr. Campion uncovered the bodies on the steel trolleys.

  Dr. Campion began: "I have to start by saying that this was not a pretty job. You can see that both victims sustained significant injuries, typical of a bomb blast. Julian Nolan died almost instantly when a sheared part of the wooden window frame pierced his chest. You may also notice some minor burns and shrapnel wounds from flying debris."

  "I have to admit," said Ferguson, "I would have expected greater injury."

  Dr. Campion nodded. "You can't see it, but there certainly was greater injury. There was extensive internal bruising and bleeding that would ha
ve been fatal. This is what killed our second victim, Melissa Cousins."

  Cousins seemed to have borne the brunt of the blast. One of her arms had almost been torn from her body, and she had also suffered minor burns and shrapnel wounds.

  "As required, I completed a full body x-ray," continued Dr. Campion. "This will determine the composite of the shrapnel. Sometimes, the maker of the bomb will fill it with nails or ball bearings, to inflict greater damage."

  "We didn't find evidence of that at the scene," said Sinclair with a frown.

  "Nor did I," agreed Dr. Campion. "There was glass, brick, wood, and concrete, mainly from the construction of the building."

  "That seems to support one of our theories," mused Sinclair thoughtfully. "It seems the bomber didn't want to inflict the greatest damage. He built a relatively small bomb, used small amounts of primary explosive, and didn't fill it with nasty ingredients."

  "A morally conscientious bomber?" Dr. Campion smiled.

  Sinclair sighed. "Something like that!"

  "Well, I'm sorry I can't be more helpful." Dr. Campion gently re-covered the bodies.

  The three investigators stripped off their plastic protective clothing and left the building. Outside, the blinding sun seemed incongruous to the chilly, gloomy morgue.

  Squinting, Dinah waited for Ferguson to walk ahead of them before she said quickly to Sinclair, "I just remembered something; I can't do tonight."

  Sinclair looked surprised. "Oh. Okay. Maybe some other time?"

  "Yeah, maybe." Dinah couldn't look at him. She really wanted to spend time with him, but the complexities involved seemed to be too daunting.

  "Is everything okay?" Sinclair touched her arm lightly.

  Her skin burned and it spread to her face. "Yes, fine," she mumbled. "I just forgot I have plans for tonight."

  "Are you two coming?" yelled Ferguson impatiently.

  Almost running, Dinah headed for her old partner, desperate to leave the awkward conversation with Sinclair behind.

  * * * *

  It was Saturday, which meant Scott was home. When he was in a good mood, Isabelle enjoyed having him there, given they often didn't see much of each other during the week due to Scott's work schedule. When he was in a bad mood, she knew she had to keep out of his way.

  Unfortunately, today he was in a bad mood. And it got worse when he discovered Isabelle's brother would be visiting. "What is wrong with your family?" he demanded. "Do you have to live in each other's pockets? Can't you go one day without seeing them?"

  Isabelle decided not to point out that she'd only seen her mother twice since the funeral and that it had been almost a week since she'd seen Michael. Instead, she said, "Given the fact that my father just died, I think it's important to make sure Michael's okay."

  Scott narrowed his eyes. "I thought you were all happy that he's dead."

  "Relieved might be a better word," replied Isabelle. "It's not as simple as you think."

  "Whatever," said Scott. "I'm going to be in the study."

  Isabelle sighed. "I thought you were going to have lunch with us."

  "Listen," said Scott. "I can take your family in small doses. Michael creeps me out."

  "Creeps you out?" Isabelle was incredulous. "What do you mean?"

  "He's just so ... needy and damaged," said Scott. "He needs to get over it and move on."

  "That is a really insensitive thing to say," said Isabelle, trying to control her anger at his comment. Provoking Scott would only make things much worse. "You don't know what Michael has been through."

  "I wouldn't expect him to understand."

  Both Isabelle and Scott jumped. Michael had suddenly appeared in the kitchen, and had apparently heard every word. He stared at Scott with contempt.

  "Great, so you just let yourself into other people's houses now?" Scott snapped.

  "Scott, he's family," said Isabelle, feeling the tenuous control she had over the situation disintegrating. "It's not a big deal."

  "It's a big deal when it's my house!" said Scott. He hadn't taken his eyes from Michael.

  "Don't be so melodramatic," said Michael, knowing full well such a comment would enrage his brother-in-law.

  "Okay, that's enough," said Isabelle, quickly hoping to avoid an escalation.

  "What did you just say?" Scott took a step toward Michael.

  "You heard me."

  Isabelle wrung her hands. How had this gotten so out of control?

  "We've decided to go out for lunch," she announced. "Michael, let's go."

  "Just so you know," Michael added, for good measure, "you might be able to bully Isabelle because you're a coward, but you don't scare me."

  "If it weren't for your sister, I'd whip your butt out of here in five seconds flat," said Scott, lifting his chin belligerently. "Just like your dad did."

  That did it. Michael completely lost it and punched Scott right in the nose. Isabelle screamed, suddenly transported back in time to nights of violence, where her father was the aggressor and the victim his wife or children. The metallic smell of blood immediately brought back the fear, loathing, and confusion she felt for her father. She remembered cowering in fear in the corner, trying to protect Michael with her own body, listening to her mother cry softly. She remembered lying in bed, stiff with fear as her father made his way drunkenly up the stairs, looking to release his frustration on one smaller and weaker than himself. She recalled bruises, covered-up and lied about; broken limbs, explained away; shattered hearts, carefully hidden.

  Thankfully, Scott had gotten what he wanted and he smirked at Michael while wiping away blood. "I'm going to press charges for assault," he declared. "My wife saw everything and she'll testify against you."

  "Scott, come on," said Isabelle desperately. "There's no need to call the police. We're not going to press charges. I'm not going to testify against Michael."

  "You will do whatever I tell you to do," snapped Scott, glaring at her. Isabelle shrank back fearfully.

  "Go ahead," taunted Michael. "Tell the police you're a coward who won't fight back."

  "Michael," interjected Isabelle. "I think you should go. Scott, why don't you cool down and then make a decision about what you want to do."

  Michael finally wrenched his eyes away from Scott and nodded. He left the house as silently as he'd arrived.

  Isabelle tried to help Scott staunch the blood flow from his nose, but he shook her away. "Don't touch me!" he said coldly. "I see where your loyalties lie."

  "I'm not on anyone's side," insisted Isabelle. "I just don't want to fight."

  Scott pushed her away forcefully, and she almost stumbled. Shaking his head with disgust, he stalked away to his study and slammed the door. Moments later, Isabelle heard the lock slamming home. It was a clear message that she was not wanted.

  Anxiety seemed to replace the blood in her veins, pumping around her body, visiting upon her a crushing headache and a sick feeling in her stomach.

  She took the stairs two at a time and locked herself in the en-suite bathroom. There, she found her package of trusty razor blades. She sat in the empty bathtub and made the first incision on her left upper arm. The moment the blood oozed, Isabelle felt relief start to wash over her. She cut again and again, until it seemed the stress and fear inside her escaped with the blood and trickled down the drain.

  When she'd made enough cuts for the roaring sensation in her head to abate, she drew her legs up to her body and rested her head on her knees. One single sentence reverberated around her skull, bouncing like a ball, uttered by Michael only a few months ago: You married your father. You married your father. You married your father.

  * * * *

  The press had been notified. At the appointed time, a stunning woman in her early thirties appeared on the steps of the District of Columbia Federal Court. She was beautifully dressed in a knee-length black skirt, black high heels, and a gray and black striped shirt with gold cufflinks and diamond earrings. Her blond hair was mid-length, stylish,
and neat, and her makeup flawless.

  In one hand, she held an important-looking legal file. Next to her stood distinguished United States Senator David Winters, smiling beatifically as if what they were about to do would change the world.

  The woman, whose name was Elena Kasprowitz, waited for the media throng to settle down and then announced, "Today marks an important day in the social and political direction of our great nation. Our founding fathers sought to create a nation built on liberty, justice, and freedom for all. One of the most fundamental tenets of liberty and freedom is the separation of church and state, sanctioned in the First Amendment. Yet we still see the influence and power of religion in almost every facet of life, most regrettably in government."

  She paused, for dramatic effect. "Today, we're demanding more of those in power: we demand freedom from the religious agenda! We demand freedom from religious propaganda and indoctrination! We demand the freedom to choose where we hear religious instruction — we don't want it in public places but in churches where it belongs!"

  Her voice swelled impressively, captivating her audience. "Today, we file a lawsuit demanding that the government immediately withdraw financial support from religious organizations. Why should I, a taxpayer, fund organizations in which I have no personal belief? How can there be satisfactory separation of church and state when the state provides financial assistance to the church? This is a direct violation of the First Amendment and we demand that the government cease this activity immediately!"

  Her beautiful brown eyes implored the cameras. "Please support our cause. Do you want to live in a country where religion is forced upon you; where your freedom to live peaceably without religion is impinged? Then help us in our fight, for we have a lot of work ahead of us. Our adversaries are powerful and well-financed, make no mistake about that. Your government provides them with financial backing! Today, we fight for justice and freedom, and we will not be intimidated!"