Flee the Night

by Susan May Warren

  Lacey sat beside him, obviously lost in her own thoughts, staring at the Bible.

  “Read verse one aloud, Lace,” Micah said, suddenly needing God’s words like he needed his next breath. He had the passage memorized, had dissected it years ago.

  “‘Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good! His faithful love endures forever.’” She seemed to struggle with the words.

  “Okay, now go down to verse ten, I think.”

  She traced her finger down the page. “‘Some sat in darkness and deepest gloom, miserable prisoners in chains. They rebelled against the words of God, scorning the counsel of the Most High. That is why he broke them with hard labor; they fell, and no one helped them rise again. “Lord, help!” they cried in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress.’”

  “Stop there.”

  But she continued: “‘He led them from the darkness and deepest gloom; he snapped their chains. Let them praise the Lord for his great love and for all his wonderful deeds to them.’” Her voice broke on the last word. Micah glanced over at her, but her gaze was fixed on the Bible. “‘For he broke down their prison gates of bronze; he cut apart their bars of iron.’”

  She stopped, and silence filled the empty space.

  Micah stared ahead, praying for wisdom. This faithless Lacey he hadn’t expected. Maybe he thought she’d still be the woman who sparred with him over the gifts of the Spirit, who stood beside him, arms raised in worship at a summer revival meeting. Who took his hand and prayed for his safety at boot camp. He should have guessed that John’s self-atonement theology would rub off on her. That years of grieving her mistakes might scalp her faith down to a nub. Still, he hadn’t expected the anger, the despair, the cynicism. It hurt him worse than having her tie him up and leave him for the bad guys.

  “‘They rebelled against the words of God …,’” he started.

  “‘That is why he broke them with hard labor,’” she finished. “You’re trying to make a point here, aren’t you? About God letting a person struggle, letting a person drown in darkness.”

  “I am. You’re so sure that God can’t be in control of your mistakes. But this verse says that yes, you can make mistakes—free will—and God does put you in chains. It’s not about who does the shackling … it’s about who does the saving. The people cried out to the Lord in their trouble, and He saved them from their distress. Whether we have free will or God has it all planned out, there is only one way to be saved.”

  She frowned, and he could nearly see her chewing his words in her intelligent mind. “Keep reading. The next passage is about people becoming fools and suffering because of their iniquities. And the next, God stirs the waters, causes the storms, then brings the people to safety. There is constantly the paradox of free will versus an all-sovereign God. And the only answer is—both are right.”

  “Both?”

  “I know it’s impossible for our brains to wrap around that. We like to think in linear patterns. Especially people like you and me. We want to solve problems, whittle down the scenarios, and egress without casualties. But we’re not going to win this battle. Whenever our confusion and God’s Word go toe to toe, God’s Word will always win. Because it is from the mind of God. He is light and all knowledge. We see only darkly through the prism of ourselves and our experiences.”

  They turned off the country road and onto the highway. The sun had dropped below the horizon, and long shadows scraped the road.

  “So you and John were right.” There was something in her tone that made him smile. A sort of wonder.

  He felt it too, a resonating peace knowing that John had a place of purpose in her life. What, Micah didn’t want to speculate, but if God could use the last fifteen years and her marriage to John for good … “Yeah, I guess so,” Micah agreed.

  She closed the Bible, sat back. “I’m hungry.”

  He stifled a sigh, wishing that she’d allowed God’s Word—the only thing that could save and restore her life—to dig deeper, shine light into her dark soul. “We’ll stop at the next truck stop.”

  “Micah—” she touched his arm—“I know what you’re trying to do. I … I miss God. I do. But I can’t face Him. It hurts too much.”

  “He loves you, you know.”

  She went silent and backed away from him. His arm felt cold where her touch had been.

  Chapter 13

  MICAH FIDDLED WITH the radio, hitting Seek until he happened upon a country radio station. Lonestar’s beat filled the car, and he turned it down, lest the sound awaken Lacey. He’d like to drive in silence, but fatigue pressed on him and he had to have the noise and the window cracked slightly to keep his reflexes sharp.

  Good thing he’d helped her scarf down a bag of pork rinds. They tasted like cardboard—no, cardboard was probably better—but they were filling and just stomach-curdling enough to keep him uncomfortable and awake.

  As for Lacey, she had curled up against the seat and fallen asleep, her penny red hair in tangles, her jean jacket over her. She looked breathtaking, especially in slumber. Finally, perhaps, at peace. Except every once in a while she let out a little whimper of pain or grief. He wondered if she’d ever truly sleep in peace.

  He’d been fighting the nearly overpowering urge to pull over, wrap her in his arms, and let her sleep on his shoulder. Or in his embrace. Earlier, he’d nearly held her tight when he’d tracked her down the hill, through the bramble, and found her weeping at the base of a huge elm, as if her heart had shattered.

  Lacey had some kind of magic power over him. Just being around her, he seemed to forget that she belonged to another man. Even if he was dead, John had been her husband and part of God’s plan for her life. Micah had no right to her. He’d forfeited that on prom night of her senior year.

  He glanced at her now, resisted the urge to touch her hair. He wondered if it was still as soft and silky. If, when she piled it on her head like she had that night, tendrils wisping around her face, she’d look like a teenager.

  No, that night she’d looked pure princess. Ethereal. Regal. And off-limits.

  He still remembered sitting outside her house in his car, staring at the lighted porch, sweating in his dress blues. He’d been posted out there for a good half hour, running over the afternoon’s events in his mind. Focusing mainly, of course, on the kiss. The mind-blowing, heart-stopping, whoa-back-and-don’t-let-your-emotions-show kiss. And that had been on his side. He hadn’t expected the 110 percent response she’d given him. It scared him. Because since that moment, he’d dreamed, more times than he wanted to admit, of pulling her into the shadowed grounds behind the country club where they were holding prom and kissing her again. Just like he had in the creek.

  Only he wasn’t supposed to be holding her. At least not like that. She was John’s girl and had been for nearly two years. But whose fault was that? He leaned his head on the steering wheel, feeling the cool leather against his hot brow. He’d introduced Lacey to John. Fool. Fool!

  He’d been too stupid to say anything about his own feelings until it was too late. Almost overnight, she’d become John’s girl. And then what could he do?

  Somehow he summoned the courage to walk to her front steps. Ring the bell. Stand there until her father opened the door. Of course, her father trusted him. They’d attended the same church since he was a kid. Micah smiled, hoping Gerald Galloway couldn’t see inside him to the desires he battled.

  He knew he was a goner the second Lacey walked down the stairs. She wore a blue gown; he remembered that much because it turned her silver eyes the palest of blues. He could hardly breathe, let alone conjure up words as she took his hand and gazed into his eyes.

  “You look … great,” she said.

  He licked his lips. Swallowed. “Yeah. You too.” Oh, that didn’t even begin to touch what he felt. She looked incredible and deserved to be told that. But tonight was about subduing all those feelings and running back to his army base, to his new world, as soon as he could extricate h
imself from this mission.

  “I brought you a corsage.” Micah held up the box, saw that the white roses had wilted, just a little. The carnage from his battle in the car.

  She didn’t hint that she noticed and held still as he pinned it on. He grimaced when his hands shook. He’d been shot at, dropped out of an airplane, hiked for days without decent food, and bested a man in hand-to-hand combat, and yet pinning on these flowers had him nearly unhinged.

  “Thank you, Micah,” she said. “They’re beautiful.”

  “So are you, sis,” said Janie, wearing a UT sweatshirt and holding the hand of her fiancé, Dan. “Mom would have been so proud.”

  Micah noticed tears in Lacey’s eyes when she turned and hugged her older sister. “Thanks, Janie.” Then she walked over to Micah and slipped her gloved hand through his arm.

  “Don’t they look great together?” Janie asked.

  Gerald appeared with a camera. Lacey leaned into Micah as her father snapped the picture. “Now listen, you bring her home safely.” Gerald shook Micah’s hand, but caution edged his eyes. “She’s my little girl and I want her to have a wonderful night.”

  Micah nodded and changed his mind, now dead sure that this man could see right through him. “Yes, sir.”

  Lacey held his arm as they walked out to the car. In her high heels, she stood nearly to his shoulder. But he felt a thousand feet tall while he helped her in the car.

  The moon had risen, despite the early hour, and she pointed it out as they drove. He kept both hands on the steering wheel. She talked about others who would be at the prom, her sister’s upcoming wedding, the dirt bike her brother Sam had purchased, and her favorite new foal.

  He thought of John and prayed for self-control.

  The country club was lit up with Christmas lights, the beat of a country music band thumping through the breeze. The rose garden had already bloomed, the fragrance perfuming the air. Laughter and the hum of voices spilled out from the veranda. Micah pulled up, glad he’d taken his father’s Buick LeSabre rather than his on-its-last-legs VW Rabbit. He helped her out and then left to park.

  As he approached her, needles of anger pricked at his guilt. John should be here. But the guy had chosen to go on a pretraining camp vacation with his college pals rather than take his gal to prom. So he’d called Micah, who played it cool and let John talk him into it instead of falling all over the idea like a desperate man.

  John so didn’t deserve this girl—no, woman. And she had blossomed into a full-grown woman, with a brain and courage. That afternoon she’d told him that she’d landed a scholarship to MIT. She took his breath away in so many ways.

  She turned, apparently sensing his presence, and smiled.

  His throat tightened. No, John didn’t deserve her. But neither, probably, did he.

  She took his arm and they entered the dance. A hundred eyes turned and Micah raised his chin, glad that the army had added tone to his bulky football muscle. When Lacey looked up at him with pride, it made his chest swell to three times its size.

  He couldn’t remember what he ate, if anything. His knotted stomach wouldn’t handle it. And then they cleared the floor and the dance started.

  He stood at the sidelines, paralyzed.

  Lacey said nothing as the other partners took the floor, some line dancing, others two-stepping. He knew how to two-step, even knew a few Yankee twirls, but his polished shoes stuck to the floor.

  Lacey’s smile had vanished. She stared at the dancers, disappointment on her beautiful face.

  Oh, what was he thinking, standing in for John? He was in big, big trouble. Still, he heard himself say, “Wanna dance?”

  The world lit up with her smile. She nodded, and then they were on the dance floor, and he forgot all about John. Or feeling self-conscious in his uniform. Or even the fact that he was two years older than every other guy in the room and that the last time he’d been to a prom, it had been his senior prom and he’d sat in the corner, caught in a cloud of gloom as John twirled Lacey around the floor.

  His turn.

  They danced and laughed, and she felt perfect in his arms. She anticipated his moves, landed lightly in his arms, stepped smartly around him. They had rhythm and grace. During their final dance, he twirled her and she ended up in his arms in a last dip, her arms around his neck.

  He knew then that they had to leave.

  She didn’t protest, simply grabbed her little purse from the table, hugged a couple of girlfriends good-bye, and left, hugging his arm.

  The cool summer air whisked the sweat from his brow, snaked under his collar. He loosened it as he left her at the curb and walked out to the car. He would drive her straight home, say good night, and call it mission completed. Without casualties.

  Only they ended up at Lover’s Bluff, a ridge overlooking Ashleyville. The twinkle of lights and the moon overhead seemed to be blotting out all reasonable thought.

  “Thank you, Micah, for taking me to the prom. It was … wonderful.”

  He sat with both hands clamped on the steering wheel, calling himself an idiot. Why hadn’t he just taken her home?

  Because, deep inside, he was still hoping that she might love him, be more than a friend. That she might choose him instead of John.

  “It’s a pretty night.” She looked at him. “I wonder where John is right now.”

  He didn’t want to think about John at the moment. “I dunno,” he growled.

  She frowned at him. “Well, I don’t care. I had a magical night. You are a better date than he is.” Her eyes widened and she put a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, that wasn’t nice. I just remember that at your senior prom he danced with about ten other girls and then took me home early so he could go out with you.”

  That wasn’t how Micah remembered it. In fact, he’d harbored some pretty dark ideas of just why John had left early with Lacey, and it was only Lacey’s sweet innocence that following summer after John had left for boot camp that convinced Micah those musings couldn’t be true. Now he wondered if they’d only been misplaced.

  “Well, he missed out then,” he said, feeling suddenly empowered. John didn’t deserve this woman. He, Micah, would never deceive her like that.

  She had a smile that, even without the moonlight, could turn his words to paste in this mouth. The added boost of heavenly radiance, the sound of cicadas, and the warm and summery breeze through the car, tangled all rational thought. He moved toward her, wrapped a hand around her neck, and kissed her.

  Lacey touched his cheek, and he thought it might be to push him away. But she curled her gloved hand behind his neck, pulled him closer, and kissed him back. Her lips tasted of cherry punch, and her perfume reached out and obliterated the final shreds of common sense. He embraced her, fighting a rise of emotions.

  He loved her. He loved her adventurous spirit, her smile, her laughter, and her intelligence. He loved the way she rode a horse with abandon, the way she trusted him, and the way she lit up when he walked into the room. He loved the fact that she made him feel alive, tugged cloistered emotions from his heart, and wasn’t afraid to let her own feelings show. He loved her so much that when he lay in bivouac, staring at the stars during the hardest days of basic training, her pretty face had filled his brain and given him a smile before he fell into exhausted slumber. She didn’t belong to John. She was Micah’s. He deepened his kiss.

  “Oh!”

  He backed away, eyes wide, his breath caught.

  She swallowed, but pain etched her face. “The corsage.” She hunched her back to escape the needle piercing her skin. With a contorted expression, she reached up and eased the pin out of the flower. It had blood on the end.

  He stared at it in horror. What had he done? Like he’d been awakened out of an incredible dream by a reveille, he stared at her, his heart thumping. “Oh no, I did it again,” he said with a groan.

  “You did what?” She wore the same look she had at the creek. Shock. Fear.

  Of course she was
afraid. She was in love with John, and Micah had practically attacked her, not once but twice. He moved away, shaking. “I’m taking you home, Lacey.” He started the car, then backed out.

  “Micah, what’s the matter?”

  He glanced at her as he turned onto the road. “You know what the matter is. John. I’m his best friend. And you’re his girl. I feel sick.”

  She gazed straight ahead, but he thought he saw tears crest over her eyes. Then she said so quietly he barely heard it, “But John’s not here. You are.”

  He wanted to close his eyes, yell, or maybe just get out and run about thirty miles at a full sprint, just to feel anything but this fist squeezing his heart. John didn’t deserve her, but Micah couldn’t steal her. He wasn’t that kind of guy—or at least he thought he wasn’t that kind of guy until he’d gotten in the car and driven her purposely to a lovers’ lookout. Some friend, some trustworthy pal he was.

  He gritted his teeth, lest his emotions spill out and he tell her exactly how he felt about her dating the one guy who was headed for trouble. He knew John’s dreams. CIA. Covert operator. Glory and adventure and changing the world one corner at a time. And he’d drag Lacey—smart, talented Lacey—right along with him. Probably get her killed.

  Micah could barely see by the time he pulled up in front of her house.

  She sat in the car without moving.

  “I’m leaving in the morning, Lace. I’ll write.”

  She wiped her face. “No, you won’t. I won’t see you again. You’re going to get killed and then … it’ll break my heart.”

  He looked at her, pretty sure that his own heart was about to leap into her arms. Hold yourself together, buddy, just a minute longer. “No, it won’t. You’ll have John. That’s what you want, anyway.”

  She stared at him, a hard glint of anger in her eyes. She swallowed and her voice sounded cold. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Then she got out and slammed the door.

  His throat was thick, his eyes burning by the time he got home. He packed a bag that night and was back at base by morning.