Broken Identity

by Ashley Williams

  “No, not one,” Andrew said through the silence. “Jesus isn’t keeping you out of Heaven. You are. You see the sin in your life, and that’s good, but your problem is you’re struggling to hold on to something that’s killing you. Yes, you’ve sinned, Drake, and so have I. We both recognize the sin in our lives, but the difference between you and me is that I gave it to God.

  “That doesn’t mean I’m free to do whatever I want to do. Thankfully, when Jesus came into my heart, I was ashamed of my sin and truly wanted to change. I still mess up, though, but I refuse to let my sin keep me from God. That’s why every day I ask Jesus for forgiveness. You can have forgiveness too, if you’ll just ask for it and accept what Jesus has already done for you.”

  Impossible. Nothing Andrew could say or do would make him see differently. Forgiveness was just another crutch of Christianity. Drake could barely manage walking with two crutches, so a third would only make him trip. “I can’t,” he said plainly. “After all He already went through, why should He do anything else for me? I had my chance, and I blew it. It’d be wrong to ask Jesus into a heart that’s filled with nothing but obscene thoughts and ugly desires. Why should Jesus carry my burden? It’s not His to carry.”

  Andrew took a deep breath. “But that’s why He died. Don’t let His death for you be in vain. You’re already so close. You’ve read the Bible, you recognize your sin, but you’re pushing salvation away when it’s the only thing that can save you.” Andrew moved over to the couch where Drake sat and chose the cushion on the end, purposefully leaving a space between them. Despite his obvious effort, he noticed Drake stiffen when he sat. Andrew was beginning to feel as if he couldn’t breathe in his own home without being accused of spreading the plague. God, I’m trying. And I still believe in miracles…hint, hint. You know I’d greatly appreciate the support right now.

  The ceiling fan rocked above them, cooling the room but not doing much for their heated argument. “I love you, Drake.” Had he said that out loud? It was meant to be a thought, not spoken audibly. He looked at Drake. Drake was staring back at him, just as startled to hear those words as he was.

  “Drake…” Andrew began. He had to say something now after those words. But what? Just speak from your heart. Honesty may be painful, but its motive is always love. He cleared his throat and listened for the Holy Spirit to help him begin. “It hurts me to hear us fight, but I love you enough to tell you the truth. If you die without Jesus, you will go to hell. I know you don’t feel worthy of Heaven, but neither do I. That’s the whole point. If we could somehow make it to Heaven on our own, what would be the purpose of Jesus’ death? Salvation is just as much for you as it is for me or Ronnie, but until you grasp that for yourself, you’ll always be living life the same way.”

  Drake gazed toward the other end of the room. “I’m tired of this merry-go-round conversation of ours. I told you, I have nothing more to say.”

  “Then I won’t make you.” Andrew picked up Ronnie’s picture from the table and smiled. The stick man that was supposed to be him had hips cocked sideways, as if frozen in a disco. That must have been caused when the car hit a pothole, since Ronnie had scolded him while they were driving to the hospital.

  Drake heard Andrew chuckling to himself and turned his head. “What’s so funny?”

  “This,” Andrew said, pointing to the disjointed figure on the picture.

  Drake suppressed a laugh. “Looks like a bad case of arthritis.”

  Andrew set the picture down and gazed up at him. “Hey, it did my heart good to hear all those things you said to Ronnie in the hospital room earlier.”

  So the conversation was changing again. Crank up the merry-goround. “I wasn’t doing it for you.”

  “I know. That’s what made it special.”

  Drake thought about that. “I don’t know. What he said made me feel different. Made me really feel sorry for all I put him through when he hugged me like that.”

  “Ronnie really does love you, Drake.” Andrew chuckled and said, “I just hope you’re prepared to stay up late with him tonight, ’cause he’ll be talking your ears off.”

  A smile crept across Drake’s lips. “Yeah, well, I’m kinda looking forward to it.”

  “Knock, knock!” Ronnie said for the quadrillionth time.

  Drake forced himself to keep from sighing. His eyelids were falling lower over his eyes with every lame joke, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out. The clock said one thirty. His body told him it was much later, especially when he heard Andrew’s snoring move into its second stage. Lucky him.

  “Drake!” Ronnie complained, slapping the side of the couch with the back of his hand. “I said, ‘knock, knock!’”

  “Yeah, yeah, I remember. Who’s there?”

  “Yul.”

  “Yul who?”

  “Yul never know!” Ronnie exclaimed, bursting out in laughter.

  “Ha, ha,” Drake said, trying his hardest to sound like he was having fun. Even if the jokes were incredibly corny, at least this was better than watching Ronnie play with his crutches—his legs kicking wildly in the air every time he took a running jump. He tucked his pillow under his head and said wearily, “Hey, I’ve got a joke, Ronnie.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Knock, knock.”

  “Who’s there?”

  “Justin.”

  “Justin who?”

  “Justin time to go to sleep.”

  Ronnie didn’t laugh. “Aw, c’mon, Drake. You don’t really mean it, do ya?”

  Drake covered a yawn. “I’m tired, buddy. Maybe we can finish this tomorrow, huh?”

  Ronnie heaved a sigh and squirmed into his makeshift sleeping bag. “There’s still a lot left on the list…”

  “We can tackle the Amazon jungle some other time.”

  Ronnie folded his arms. “Funny.”

  “You mean that’s not on your list?”

  “Now I’m gonna dream about lizards and tigers tonight. Thanks.”

  “Are tigers in the Amazon?”

  “How should I know? I’ll tell you what I find after I get done dreaming about ’em,” Ronnie said, flopping over on one side.

  Drake stretched his arm across the small end table beside him and flicked the lamp off. Then he turned over on his side and threw the covers over his shoulder. The couch wasn’t too bad to sleep on, except for the barely noticeable way the cushions curved toward the back of the couch. Drake buried his cold feet underneath the mound of covers and peeked at the clock one last time. All was quiet in the house except for the low hum of the AC running along with the refrigerator. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this tired.

  Except for the night he had murdered his dad. With all that had happened to him lately, he had somehow managed to push that thought out of his mind. Or so he thought. Now it all came back to him in one long, crashing wave of remembrance. Every little detail, every word spoken, every action taken, every gut-wrenching feeling on the inside of him after he realized what he had done.

  And on top of all that, he hadn’t allowed himself to grieve yet over the death of his mom. His whole world seemed to be spiraling faster and faster down a path of destruction, and crying almost didn’t seem worth the effort anymore because he knew it couldn’t change reality. Too bad there wasn’t an eraser for the past. Andrew had mentioned something called forgiveness, but Drake was beyond reach. Beyond hope.

  Drake lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. Jesus was probably up there somewhere looking down on him and shaking His head at the accident He had created. That’s how Drake viewed himself. An accident. He had crashed and burned, fallen for the world’s lies hook, line, and sinker. Now Andrew was trying to give him the false hope that there was still a chance for him. I wish he’d just leave me alone. It hurts enough to know what kind of a person I’ve turned out to be, but for someone to tell me that God still loves me only makes me more angry. I know he’s just trying to be nice, but it’s not helping.r />
  “Drake?” Ronnie said, pushing his covers down so he could see Drake’s face.

  “I told you, buddy, no more jokes,” Drake said, burying his face in his pillow.

  “This isn’t a joke. I wanted to tell you about a dream I had last night after we took you to the hospital.”

  “Was it a long dream, ’cause I ain’t—”

  “No, not too long. Maybe I dreamed it ’cause I cried all the way back home and it made my stomach hurt. I dunno.”

  “What were you crying for?”

  “I thought the doctors might not be able to fix you and you could die. Uncle Andy told me they shot you, and I thought you might die while I was sleeping.”

  “Ah, Ronnie, don’t worry about me. You know I’m fine.”

  “I know you are now, but I was scared then. Anyway, after I got home, I went straight to bed—after praying for you, of course.”

  Of course.

  “And then I dreamed a dream. I dunno, but it kinda felt different. Like I was really there. Know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Drake said, watching Ronnie tiredly through one drooping eyelid. “Just get to the dream.”

  “The dream. Right. Well…I sorta dreamed about Heaven.”

  “Heaven? Well, I guess that’s always a nice thing to dream about, right?”

  Ronnie was strangely silent before saying, “Drake…you wasn’t there.”

  Now it was Drake’s turn to be quiet. “What do you mean I wasn’t there?” he said slowly.

  Ronnie’s eyes were squinted as he said, “Uncle Andy and me was there, but I didn’t see you anywhere. I asked some people around, but they didn’t know either. So I started looking for you. I looked everywhere, and I kept looking for you, but you wasn’t there. Then I felt scared. Drake, if you wasn’t in Heaven, that meant you was in hell.”

  Drake couldn’t explain the sudden shakiness that had come over him. “Ronnie, that was just a dream,” he assured him. “A bad dream. You don’t have to be afraid for me.”

  “But I am afraid, Drake.” Ronnie’s voice had never sounded as grave as it did now. “I have to ask you this, or else I might have that dream again.” Nothing could have prepared Drake for what he heard next. “Drake, are you going to Heaven?”

  Drake looked away and drew in his blanket closer to his body. “I dunno, Ronnie. How would I know?”

  “I know that I am. And I know Uncle Andy’s gonna be there too, ’cause he believes in Jesus like I do. I just want to make sure you are gonna be there with us. I don’t wanna be up there one day looking for you forever. And I don’t want you to go to hell. I want us to be together in Heaven, not away from each other. If we aren’t, that means we’ll never see each other again. So are you going to Heaven, Drake? Are you?”

  “That isn’t up for me to decide.”

  “Yes it is. All you have to do is—”

  “No, it isn’t!” Drake snapped. “It’s not that easy.”

  “So…you don’t know if you’re going to Heaven or not?”

  “No, Ronnie, I don’t. I guess I’ll just have to find out when I’m dead, won’t I?” Drake turned and covered his face with his blanket. Gah, he wished religion would leave him alone.

  Chapter

  20

  PIERCED

  Drake Pearson was running. Faster. Faster. His heartbeat pounded like an echoing explosion. It was beating too quickly; he should be dead. His body was on the verge of collapse, and yet he kept running…

  A shadow overlapped his. Something was chasing him. Something big. Drake took a left and quickly peered behind him into the thick smoke.

  It disappeared.

  Drake panted as he pushed his legs to run harder. Sweat clung to his face like icy fingers. It wanted him; its breath on his neck felt like fire. What had happened to the world as he knew it? Everything was colorless—the sky was pitch-black and the world a murky gray. Suddenly, every building, street sign, person, and even the asphalt underneath his feet began to gradually melt and sink into the ground.

  And he was sinking.

  Drake tried running faster to escape.

  Thunder sound waves rippled through the sky. In a flash, the earth ruptured and swallowed him where he stood. Drake fell for only an instant before he smacked the ground. Bones shattered, and yet only a vague perception of pain told him he was dying.

  He lifted his dazed head and found he was in a small, empty room. The temperature was cold. Too cold for any human to survive. The goose bumps on his body felt like needles to his flesh. He had to get out of there but was no longer able to move his legs.

  Panting deeply, he lay there in terror, studying the room. It too was colorless, except for the words JUDGMENT DAY written on the floor in smeared red.

  Blood red.

  Drake looked down and studied his body as more cold chills ran up his arms and legs. His body was deteriorating in front of his eyes—flesh taking on the form of liquid and blood concreting to stone. He was dying. Fast.

  Without warning, two doors on both sides of him split open. One powerful hand reached through one door and another hand reached for him through the other.

  Both hands seized him at once and began pulling him in opposite directions. Drake could feel the blood rising to his head as he tried to fight back, but whatever strength he once had was worthless now.

  “Choose this day whom you will serve!” a voice boomed from above.

  “Guilty!” another voice shrieked from below. “Guilty! There is no other punishment but death!”

  Drake was being pulled harder. He knew that if he held out much longer, his entire body would be torn in two. He had to let go of one hand, but which one?

  Tears welled in his eyes at the excruciating pain. His body weakened as he felt himself going unconscious. With no strength left in him to fight back, he gave up and let his head fall to his chest.

  “Guilty!” the voice cried again. “He’s mine!”

  Drake’s head lolled to the right. The horrible noises and sights seemed to fade away as the beating of his heart came to an abrupt halt. His eyes fell on the hand that refused to let go.

  Pierced. With a nail.

  Jesus Christ.

  Drake sat up immediately, gasping for air. Beads of sweat clung to his wet hair and face. He pressed both hands against his chest and tried to control his breathing. Just a dream. Just a dream.

  He touched his face to make sure he was still alive. His hands were normal, feet were normal. Ronnie was still sleeping soundly beside him on the floor. Oh, thank God.

  His voice stopped short at those words. The running, the room, the doors, the voices…all seemed too real to be a dream.

  And the pierced hand. Even with his eyes open, Drake could still see it as he had in the dream. He held his trembling hand in front of his face. It was there. I saw it, holding onto mine. Jesus was holding my hand, pulling me toward Him. He forced his eyes shut, desperately trying to visualize the scene again. I felt it. It wasn’t a dream. It was real. I was there…at Judgment Day.

  It was all too much to take in. So it’s really real then. Judgment Day is the place you go when you die. Drake sat back and closed his eyes. He wasn’t ready for eternity, and he knew it. He wasn’t ready to be pulled into a place he knew nothing about. The thought of an endless afterlife petrified him.

  Drake stared at the door across the room. He could still faintly hear the railing words, “Guilty! Guilty!” stabbing at his soul, as if some sick creature were begging to take his life. He had wanted to scream, to tell the voice he wasn’t guilty, but how could he? He was guilty. Guilty of practically everything there was to be guilty of.

  So that raised the question: why had Jesus pulled him in His direction? Why hadn’t He just given him up to the place where he belonged? Why hadn’t He let go?

  “Forgiveness,” Drake said, just above a whisper. It was something Andrew had mentioned, saying that all he had to do was ask for it. Impossible. He had nothing to offer in
return, so trying to reach God was pointless. Still, the dream tormented him. The more he tried to reason against it, the more it burdened his heart.

  Ever since the day of the murder, he had wanted to tell someone—anyone—if only it meant being relieved a fraction from the corroding guilt that was steadily melting his life away. He had almost blurted out the truth to Andrew several times, but every time he had stopped himself just before opening his mouth. And every time he had hated himself all the more for keeping his dark secret locked inside.

  Drake quietly picked up his crutches and lifted himself up off the couch, careful not to wake Ronnie. It took him five minutes to maneuver around the bulky furniture—only to leave him half-tripping across the rest of the room after catching his foot on the hump in the rug. He caught his fingers around the television and regained his balance.

  Ronnie stirred, then rolled over on his stomach. Thank goodness, he was a deep sleeper.

  Drake gripped his crutches and headed toward the back door. His mind was on nothing but getting outside where he could be alone.

  The night air chilled Drake as he closed the screen door gently behind him. Two dogs were barking in the distance while an upset owl seemed to question their identities with a recurrent, “Who? Who?” He stopped to listen, wondering why he had decided to come out here.

  Chill bumps covered his exposed arms, and he considered going back inside and catching up on his sleep. Who am I kidding? I can’t go back to sleep. I don’t even wanna go back to sleep. How do I know I wouldn’t just have that dream again?

  Because there were only two steps down leading to the yard, Drake had no problem getting off the porch. The grass tickled his bare feet as he lowered his good foot to the soft ground below. The enchanting feeling of being almost invisible in the darkness took him back years to those rare nights of sneaking out his bedroom window as a child. He never went anywhere; he just wanted to climb a tree and listen to the crickets sing.