Sweet Sanctuary

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  She glanced at Micah. “This is where my Nicky lives?”

  Micah’s lips formed a grim line. “He won’t be here for long.”

  They climbed the steps, one on either side of the crack, and entered the dark, foul-smelling building. Lydia bounced the flashlight beam across the walls, illuminating numbers and slots holding little paper cards with names scrawled in faded black ink on every door. She nearly sighed in relief. If those names indicated each apartment’s occupant, they’d be able to locate the one belonging to Nic without knocking on doors.

  After checking all eight doors on the first floor, Micah nudged Lydia to the stairs. Their feet moved in unison, the light slap of their soles on the wooden risers echoing in the narrow staircase. A slight turn awaited at the top, and Lydia aimed the flashlight’s beam at the first door. Before she could read the name, however, a familiar voice, raised in anger, erupted from behind the second door and sent her stomach into spasms of fear.

  “Listen, boy, I’ve had it. Stop that snivelin’ an’ let me sleep!”

  Her heart lodged in her throat. Nic was such an intimidating man, and to holler so—Nicky must be terrified. But at least she knew Nicky was still with his father.

  She thrust the flashlight at Micah and darted on quivering legs to the door bearing the little card that read “Pankin.” Unconcerned about other occupants in the building, she banged her fist against the unpainted wood as hard as she could. The bam! bam! bam! bam! bam! reverberated in the hallway, and up and down the corridor mutters rose from behind closed doors.

  One bellowed above the others. “Go away!” Nic’s voice again, somewhat slurred. Was he drunk? Sobs also carried from the apartment. Fear made Lydia queasy, and she pounded a second time as Micah stepped up behind her, his warm palm on the small of her back a reassuring pressure. Footsteps thumped, drawing near. Then the door swung wide.

  Nic, wild-eyed and red-faced, gripped the doorjamb and glared out at them. When his gaze fell on Lydia, he shook his head and grimaced. “You. Shoulda known you’d show up.”

  “Where’s Nicky?” Lydia nearly danced in place, eagerness to hold her son making her light-headed. “Is he all right?”

  Nic growled. “Yeah, yeah, he’s fine. Stubborn cuss. Won’t eat nothin’. But he’s got enough wherewithal to keep me awake with his waah-waah. All he does is cry.”

  The thought of her ever-happy little boy reduced to constant tears crushed what was left of Lydia’s injured heart. Tears clouded her vision. “May I see him?”

  Nic grimaced again, sweat beading across his forehead. “Might as well. Maybe you can shut him up. He doesn’t listen to me.” He stepped aside and allowed Lydia and Micah to enter.

  Lydia’s gaze swept the gloomy, grimy room. Nicky crouched on a tattered, bare mattress in the corner. He sat with his knees pulled under his chin and his hands covering his ears, his eyes squeezed tight. His tear-stained face appeared chalk-white in the dim light. She rushed over and knelt before him. Her voice broke as she touched his arm. “Nicky?”

  The little boy cracked open one eye, then both eyes flew wide and he catapulted into her arms. “Mama! I prayed to Jesus to bring you an’ He did it!”

  From the middle of the room, Nic stood with his weight on one hip, his expression dour. “All that kid does is whimper an’ talk to Jesus. Startin’ to think he’s half-witted.” The muscle in his left cheek twitched.

  “This child is far from half-witted, Nic.” Lydia sat on the mattress and cradled Nicky. He clung to her as though he’d never let go. She swallowed her agony and addressed Nic. “He needs care beyond what you’re giving. You can’t keep a child locked up in a room like this and expect him to be happy.” Her stomach writhed in disgust at the stained furniture, the food rotting on the counter, and the trash littering the scuffed wood floor. “You can’t holler at him and expect him to listen. How would you like to be treated that way?”

  “Well, I’m his daddy!” Nic staggered across the room and pointed an accusing finger at Nicky, who burrowed deeper into Lydia’s neck. “I don’t much care for bein’ treated like he hates me!”

  Micah stepped between Nic and Lydia, his hand resting on the handle of the pistol. He spoke in a reasonable tone. “We all realize you are Nicky’s . . . daddy.” It appeared to take some effort for Micah to say the word. “But since Nicky has grown up not knowing you, it will take some time for him to accept that relationship. He can’t know you any better than you know him right now.”

  Nic turned his narrowed gaze on Micah. “Who’re you?”

  Micah smiled and held out his hand as if he were at a social event making the rounds. “I’m Micah Hatcher, a friend of Lydia and Nicky’s. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Nic looked at the hand, hesitated, then finally gave it two pumps before pulling away. He turned back to Lydia, swaying slightly with the motion. “Kid’s gonna hafta accept it. First, I figured on stickin’ him with a family. I got connections.” He smiled, but it looked more like a sneer. “Had folks interested—willin’ to give me five thousand dollars to adopt him.” He jammed his open hand in the air, wonder blooming across his face. “Five thousand dollars. Can you believe that? Coulda got myself outta this dump and into somethin’ nice with that kind of money.”

  He shook his head, scratching his whiskery chin. “Every day, been puttin’ the kid in the truck, headin’ out to make the deal”—Lydia cringed at the way he equated the sale of a child with a simple business deal—“but he kept lookin’ at me with Eleanor’s eyes. An’ I kept thinkin’ about Eleanor . . . what she’d want me to do.” Nic’s voice softened, a tenderness creeping in. “An’ I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t make the deal. So I brought him back here.” The tenderness disappeared as he straightened and blustered, “But I can’t do nothin’ to please him. So tomorrow, I’m gonna follow through.” Nic’s swaying became more pronounced, and sweat beaded on his forehead and temples.

  Micah’s brow creased in concern. “Are you okay, Nic? You don’t look so well.”

  Nic snorted with humorless laughter. “I’ll be okay. Just need some o’ my . . . candy. Been waitin’ for the boy to go to sleep before I took care o’ myself.” Lydia clutched Nicky tighter as Nic stumbled to a decrepit table and reached into a rumpled paper bag. He turned with a small square packet in his hand. “I’ll be fine an’ dandy here in no time.” Micah followed and reached for the packet, but Nic pulled it back, his expression fierce. “Whadda ya think you’re doin’?”

  Micah shrugged. “Just curious. What kind of candy makes you feel better?”

  Nic grinned and shook the packet in Micah’s face. A small amount of white powder drifted downward. “This kind. An’ I need it now.”

  “Is that morphine?”

  Nic drew back, his brows coming down in a sharp V. “You some kind of cop?”

  Micah chuckled. “Nah. Not even close.”

  Nic scowled at Micah for a moment, as if measuring him. Then he released another snort. “Yeah. It’s morphine. Now get outta my way so I can take it. Already got the sweats an’ shakes. I gotta get this in my gut.” Nic started to push past Micah, heading for the sink.

  Micah took one step, blocking Nic’s pathway. “No. You don’t have to take it.”

  Nic gawked at Micah, his jaw hanging slack. “Are you trying to be funny, mister? ’Course I gotta take it.” Nic grimaced, rubbing his withered shoulder. “You don’t know the pain that comes when I don’t take it. I got no other choice.”

  Micah inched closer to Nic. “Listen, I’m a doctor, and—”

  Nic swore. “Oh, just what I need. Another doctor. It was a doctor got me hooked on this stuff! Said, ‘Take it, Nic, it’ll ease your pain.’ So I done what he said, an’ I been battlin’ pain ever since!”

  Micah nodded, his expression kind. “You’ve had a rough go, there’s no denying it, but I can help you beat this addiction if you’ll let me.”

  Nic sank against the edge of the counter, the little packet pinched between his fingers. He
stared at it with watery eyes, his face drooping. “What’s the use? I ain’t worth nothin’. Even my old man told me so—what good’s a one-armed farmhand? Tried to prove him wrong, but I can’t get beyond needin’ this stuff to get through the weeks. All I do anymore is find ways to get it. It’s no life, but it’s all I got. . . .”

  “It can be better, Nic.” Micah’s voice grew more intense. “If you want it to be better, then we can make it so. We’ll work together to help you beat this addiction.”

  “The only way I’ll ever beat it is to die.”

  The words emerged on a strangled groan. Despite the man’s deplorable behavior, sympathy rose in Lydia’s chest. How awful to be held in such tight clutches. Nic was in prison—a prison of his own making. She struggled upright, carrying Nicky, and crossed to the men. Although everything within her desired to race out the door with Nicky and never come back, she knew they’d never be free of Nic unless they did what they could to help him beat his addiction.

  Gathering up every bit of gumption she possessed, she spoke directly into Nic’s drawn, whisker-dotted, hateful face. “Listen to me, Nic Pankin, you said you wanted to be Nicky’s daddy. You chose not to sell him so you’d have the chance to be his daddy. But you know Eleanor wouldn’t want Nicky’s daddy to be addicted to that . . . that foul drug. So get yourself clean! Trust yourself to Micah. He’s a fine doctor, and he can help you because he has a Higher Power on his side.”

  “Higher power?” Nic’s bleary gaze roved in Micah’s direction, then swerved back. “You mean opium?”

  “No, I mean God.”

  Nic threw back his head and laughed, ending with a vicious cough that doubled him over. “God? Did you say God?”

  Lydia held her chin high, refusing to be cowed by his ridicule. “Yes. God. Don’t for one minute question His power. Micah and I prayed to find you, and we did—before you could do something stupid.” With a burst of bravado she snatched the packet out of Nic’s hand. “God knows exactly where you are, and He knows what you need. He sent Micah here to help you. So stop being so disagreeable and let him help you.”

  Nic stared at Lydia, and even Micah gazed at her in openmouthed surprise. She took a step backward, replaying her statements in her mind. Had she really demanded Nic accept Micah’s assistance? How many times in the past week had she wished ill on the despicable man? Yet in those minutes she realized that even more than she wanted him to suffer, she wanted him to live, to find freedom from the chains that had held him in bondage for so many years, and for him to find his way to God. How different his life would be—Nicky’s life would be—if Nic changed.

  Her body quivering in hopefulness, she repeated, “Let Micah help you.” She held her breath, waiting for Nic’s response.

  Nic’s face was deathly white, the sweat causing his pale flesh to glisten as if he ran a high fever. His cheek twitched, and he brought up his trembling hand to press against the quivering muscle. His watery gaze darted from Lydia, to Micah, and then settled on Nicky. For a few brief seconds, Lydia glimpsed a tenderness in his eyes, and her heart expanded. Somewhere underneath this hard, unyielding man was a kind heart trying to break free. For Nicky’s sake, Lydia prayed Nic’s kind side would finally emerge.

  “What do you say, Nic?” Micah took Nicky from Lydia’s arms. He held the boy on one broad arm, angling Nicky toward his father. “Will you try, for Nicky?”

  Nic locked eyes on Nicky, and it seemed he drew strength from the little boy’s presence. After a long, tension-filled moment, he finally gave one brief nod of his head, his shaggy hair flopping. “I’ll try.” He released a shuddering breath, his body slumping forward. “I’ll try.”

  Lydia reached for Nicky, and the little boy tumbled against her. She spoke quietly to Micah. “I’ll take Nicky to the house, gather up some decent food and clean sheets, then—”

  Nic lurched upright. “You ain’t takin’ him nowhere. I never said that.”

  Lydia started to argue, but Micah’s hand on her back stopped her. “Nic, what you’re going to face in the next few days is a battle. It won’t be easy. You’re a strong man—you can face it without crumbling. But Nicky is just a little boy. He shouldn’t have to watch. Let Lydia’s parents take care of him for a few days. As soon as you’re better, you ask for him, and I promise I’ll bring him.”

  Nic pressed his lips together, his narrowed gaze pinned on Micah’s face. Then he shuddered as if struck with a chill. Fresh sweat broke out across his forehead. “Okay. Okay, take him outta here.” He swung on Lydia. “But he promised!” He waved his hand at Micah. “You heard him. He promised to bring ’im back.”

  “And Micah keeps his promises.” Her gaze collided with Micah’s, and Micah’s warm smile embraced her as tenderly as the gentlest hug.

  Nic spun and propped his hand on the filthy counter. “Go now before I change my mind.”

  With one last look at Micah, Lydia scurried out the door, carrying Nicky. Not until she put Nicky on the seat did she realize she still clutched Nic’s packet of morphine. She wouldn’t bring that vile substance into her vehicle. Tearing the packet open, she emptied the contents into a puddle of dirty water along the curb. She watched the powder dissolve in the murky water and then, satisfied it could bring harm to no one, she slid behind the steering wheel next to Nicky. She took his small hand. The sight of his pale, thin cheeks pained her. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  Nicky nodded, the familiar lock of hair falling across his forehead. He tugged at the corner of his mouth with a grimy finger. “I didn’t like it there, Mama. Do I have to come back?”

  There was a very good chance, unless a judge acted quickly on her motion to assume legal custody of Nicky, he would have to return to Nic’s apartment. Emotion clogged her throat as she answered truthfully. “Yes, Nicky, but hopefully not for long. Mama is trying to arrange it so you can live with Mama and Grammy and Poppy again. We’ll have to pray real hard.”

  Nicky nodded, his eyes solemn. “I prayed while I was with . . . him. I prayed you would come and get me.” A small smile crept up his cheek, one dimple appearing. “And you came.”

  Lydia leaned forward to kiss the end of his nose. “Yes, I did. I prayed I’d find you, and I did. Jesus answered both of us.”

  “Then I’m gonna pray that I can live with you forever and ever. And Jesus will answer.” Nicky’s confidence increased Lydia’s belief.

  “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.” She started the engine, and as she pulled into the empty street, an unpleasant thought struck. They were counting on a morphine addict being seen as an unfit parent. If Nic was clean, would the judge side with him?

  26

  Micah sat in one of the kitchen chairs and watched Nic pace the room, restless as a caged tiger. The tall man hadn’t ceased his erratic movements since Lydia and Nicky’s departure nearly three hours ago. “How many days has it been since you had a hit, Nic?”

  Nic’s foot swung out to kick at discarded clothing and trash in the way. He shrugged his good shoulder. “Not sure. Kinda lost track of time. No job to go to messes the days up in my mind. I know I’ve had a couple hits since I got the boy.”

  Micah nodded. “Must’ve been hard to get when you had Nicky to take care of.”

  Nic spun, his eyes narrowing. “Everything’s harder when you got a kid around.” He resumed pacing, muttering almost to himself. “But there’s somethin’ about that kid . . . Couldn’t go through on the deal . . .”

  Micah sat quietly and allowed Nic to pace. He knew in time Nic wouldn’t have the energy or the desire to be on his feet. Might as well allow him the luxury of storming around the room while he still could. He was encouraged by the fact that Nic was taken by Nicky. Especially since it sounded like Nicky’d been weepy rather than friendly. Nic’s inability to discard his son indicated an element of goodness buried deep in the man’s soul. Micah sincerely hoped they’d be able to unearth that goodness when he was freed from his desire for morphine.

  A light
knock sounded on the door. Nic looked toward it but made no move in its direction, so Micah crossed the floor and opened it. Lydia stood in the hallway, her arms filled with several bundles. Micah took all but one and she followed him into the room. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she placed her bag on the grime-encrusted counter. Micah hid a smile. No doubt somewhere in these bundles were cleaning supplies that would soon be put to use.

  “I brought everything I could think of that we might need for the next few days.” Lydia kept her voice low, speaking only to Micah as they untied bundles. She began unloading items and organizing them on the table. Micah was glad he had run a rag over the table earlier so they had one clean surface to use. She named the items as she unloaded. “Clean sheets. Food staples—I’ll shop for fresh vegetables and meat each day since Nic doesn’t have an icebox. Towels and washrags. Aspirin.” She turned and watched Nic in his frenetic pacing for a moment, then brought her gaze back to Micah. “Is he all right?”

  Micah shrugged. “He’s in the restless stage. It will be much worse than this before it gets better.”

  Lydia shivered. “It makes me nervous, having him march around this way.”

  Nic suddenly stormed to the table. His scowl swept across the items Lydia had brought, and he turned to her with a sneer curling his lip. “You think I’m some kind of charity case?”

  “Not at all.” Lydia maintained a calm, even tone. “If Micah is going to stay here, he’ll need these things to see him through the week. He’s got to eat, and he’ll need something on which to sleep.”

  Nic scratched his chin. His scowl faded. “Okay. Okay. I gotcha.” He swiped his hand across his brow to remove the perspiration, then resumed his pacing. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and he repeatedly rubbed the spot.