“Oh, thank God! I thought you’d been shot!”
“Well, it feels like it!” She coughed. “Ohhh! My head is exploding.” She tried to sit up but collapsed. Now, writhing on the bench, the sounds of the wounded filled her head — moaning, sobbing, vomiting, crying out. Cody had told her what hell sounded like. Now she had a small dose.
Why had this happened? Most people go through life only hearing about violence, but in one week, she and Cody had been in three life-threatening violent encounters. This time, countless others were suffering. Is this our fault?
Cody fumbled through Brandi’s purse and pulled out a handful of tissue which he gently held over her nose. She was still coughing, gasping.
"Brandi, can you sit up? Breathe through your mouth." He helped her rise to a sitting position and supported her head with his left hand. He looked around the room hoping to spot someone who could help Brandi, but he saw only chaos.
What had been the scene of tribute to Sasha’s life was now a disaster zone. The shuffling feet of emergency responders made a rustling sound along with sirens, the loud clopping of rotor blades echoing through the sky, and the rumbling of motorcycles on the church grounds. Motorcycles?
Cody checked two weapons he had taken from the first shooter. How much ammo was left? Would there be more shooting? More death? If only we had stayed in Pittsburgh.
A quick count revealed only four fatalities so far, not including both assailants. Fourteen additional worshippers had been wounded. Responders had their hands full with the seriously injured, so Brandi and Cody were on their own.
After several minutes, Johnny Williams, whose presentation had been interrupted, came and knelt next to Brandi. He had recognized Cody. “Ma’am, can you stand up? Please come to my office. My wife is a nurse. I’ll ask her to attend your injury.” They tried to help her up, but her knees were shaking, so Cody lifted and cradled her.
“Thanks for your help. Brandi’s really shook up. Just lead the way. I have two weapons in my belt. We may need ‘em.”
“No need for that. Just follow me.”
Johnny wove between the wounded and the emergency responders, working his way to his office. Cody followed and then carefully placed Brandi on a sofa next to the window. He winced. The flesh wound on his hip had reopened when he had leapt over Brandi. It felt like a wasp sting.
Johnny’s wife, Charlie, an ER nurse, introduced herself. Brandi’s nose and mouth were swollen and still bloody. Charlie cleaned her up and gave her a soft ice pack for the swelling. Cody held the ice to her face.
“Thank you for your kindness, Charlie. My head is spinning.” Brandi rubbed her temples.
“Lean back against this cushion, ma’am. My mother is a resident ER doctor at Hopper Memorial. She’s on her way. You could have a head injury. We should leave nothing to chance. Meanwhile, here are some clothes you can change into.”
They heard a soft knock. A uniformed police officer nudged the door open a few inches. “May I come in for a minute?” He quietly swung the door open. “Mr. Musket, I am Clarence Danforth of the Herronburg Police Department. Mind if I talk to you?”
Danforth had several questions but kept it brief. Afterward, Cody had several questions of his own.
“Officer Danforth, can you tell me who the shooters were and why they attacked? Did it have anything to do with Sasha? Were they after Brandi? Were they after me? Also, sir, would it be possible not to mention that I had any part in stopping these men? Give the credit to the others. I know it’s asking a lot, but I still have a hard time with —”
“Mr. Musket, I won’t even remember who you are after this meeting. As for motive, these guys were from a white supremacist clan that operates in the southeast part of the state. It had nothing to do with you or Sasha Williams. It was about hatred for all people with black skin. They want us all dead.”
“I guess you’ll be glad when I leave your state,” Cody muttered. “Since I showed up, I’ve been involved in an abduction attempt, a shootout, and a hate killing. I seem to attract violence.” He gave the two weapons to the officer.
“I take issue with that, Cody. If your security team hadn’t been here, the victims would have numbered more than — well, I hate to think about it. They attack a church because it’s a soft target. They weren’t expecting any resistance.”
The tall officer nodded to Brandi. “Ma’am, I’m sorry for your injury. I’ll leave so they can finish taking care of you and help you get changed. Hated to barge in, but it’s my job.”
As Danforth left, Charlie's mother arrived. “Hello, Ms. Barnes, I’m Dr. Brown. Just call me Sam. Hello, Mr. Musket. Are you injured?”
Cody subconsciously placed his hand over his injured hindquarter. “Uh, no, ma’am, but Brandi took an elbow in the nose — an elbow from me.”
“He was too busy saving my life to watch out for my nose.” Brandi was wobbly, but she hadn’t lost all sense of humor.
The doctor examined Brandi’s face. “Hmmm, eyes look fine, the nose does not show signs of a break, but when you get back to Pitt-Sinai Hospital this afternoon, have them run these tests. I’m writing them down for you.” Sam handed the list to Cody.
Charlie looked closely at one of Brandi’s arms. “What about these abrasions on your forearms ma’am? Do you have serious injuries elsewhere?”
“Oh, here and there, yes. And please, both of you, call me Brandi.” She reached down and pulled off her shoes. “These heels are hurting my feet.”
That prompted Sam. “Brandi, have you had a medical exam since your attack last Friday in that theater? Your feet and ankles are swollen and inflamed. If you have other injuries, you should be checked. The hematoma and skin abrasions do not look good.”
“Well,” Brandi said, glancing at Cody, “I have been treating them myself, doctor.” She blotted her eyes. “And we’ve been through so much this week.”
“Perhaps while Charlie and I help you change we could take a look at you if you don’t mind.”
“I’m not leaving you alone.” Cody placed his hands on her shoulders. “How secure is this office? It was my idea to come today. All my fault.”
Brandi’s voice was unsteady. “Um, is it okay if Cody stays? I mean I don’t mind.” Her face was puffy, her nose and right eye turning purple.
“I’ll just sit in the corner and look the other way,” Cody suggested. “You won’t even know I’m here.”
“Mr. Musket, Cody, your girlfriend will be in good hands. I promise we will not harm her, and this office is secure from outside entry. I would prefer you wait in the next room, please.”
Cody’s glowering eyes looked to Brandi. She nodded her approval.
“Okay, doctor,” he grumbled. “I suppose the last thing I wanna see right now is more blood and bruises.”
Cody looked back once more to make sure Brandi had not changed her mind and then limped out and closed the door behind him.
“He didn’t mean that like it sounded,” Brandi offered. “He just has a way with words now and then.”
Sam displayed a guarded smile. “Apologies not necessary. You didn’t see the tears in his eyes, child. He doesn’t want to let you out of his sight right now.”
A buoyant smile softened Brandi’s distended face. “Yes. I know. And he feels responsible for the bad that has happened, even though it wasn’t his fault.”
“Not unusual when one has lived through his experiences,” Sam said.
“Traitor. He called me a traitor.”
“Who did, ma’am?”
“The shooter. I remember now. He called me a traitor. I guess I looked like a white girl in a black church.” She shook her head.
With glistening eyes, Charlie and Sam somberly examined Brandi’s bruised ribs and other injuries.
“There are seriously injured people in the next room,” Brandi said. “Don’t they need you worse than I do? You both seem to be taking this in stride.”
“The injured have been evacuated to hospitals in th
e area, dear.” The doctor’s tone was calm. “And you mention taking it in stride? I know you have some African blood in you, Brandi, but you don’t live in the neighborhood I’m in. Here, in a black community, we live with the threat of this violence all the time. We fight a constant battle with hate.”
“How does this ever end?” Brandi picked up the ice pack again. “Cody and I have been hunted by organized traffickers. It is so hard to believe that we have been involved in another incident here, and it had nothing to do with trafficking. It was just pure hate for no reason.”
“Jesus said to love your enemies,” Sam pointed out. “Dr. King declared that hate does not defeat hate, and that only love can conquer hate. This church is called to lift up the light. When folks see the peace that Jesus gives, they run to Him. We see it every day.”
Love in The Dark
Cody stood in the sanctuary looking over the crime scene and waiting for Brandi.
Two police officers searched the floor for shell casings. A teenage girl worked hard to clean Brandi’s blood off the back pew. As Cody watched, his anger escalated again.
Would they reschedule a memorial service? No one had yet spoken of Sasha’s sweet, easy-riding demeanor. She had put him at ease, had honored him, and had transparently revealed her affection for Brandi, a woman she did not even know. He had known Sasha for only a moment, but that was long enough to realize she was a rare soul. Someone should have said so. The service had been interrupted way too early.
He wanted to take up arms and kill three men. Though they were in custody, he had already killed them in his mind a hundred times in a hundred different ways. Sasha must be avenged. He thought he was rid of the hatred, but with a new enemy came new challenges. Was it a test?
“Mister Musket?”
Cody turned around. It was the pastor, Dr. Jonathan Williams.
“Hello, Cody. I’m Jon Williams, Sasha’s uncle.”
The senior pastor, despite sad eyes and trouble, managed a keen and distinguished smile. He had removed his coat and tie.
“Hello, sir.” Cody paused. “I…I don’t know what to say to you right now.”
“Johnny, my own son, would have loved to visit with you, Cody, but he has left to be with the shooting victims in the hospital. I will be going there in a few minutes. When I found out you were here, I wanted to stay behind and take a minute to talk.”
The pastor paused and placed his left hand over his forehead. “I’m sorry. I hoped this wouldn’t happen.” His deep voice broke. “Sometimes I get so weary, Cody.”
During the previous seven days, Cody had seen plenty of tears — something to which he was not accustomed. But he was becoming more comfortable, even entertaining the notion that male tears might not always be a sign of weakness.
The man standing before him was struggling. Who could blame him? Two deranged individuals had attacked his beloved congregation. People were dead. Cody knew all too well what that felt like. He recognized the charisma this man carried along with the onus of command that had brought him to such sorrow.
Other people in the building had now departed. The two men stood alone in the sanctuary. It was an awkward moment.
“Pastor, is that your picture on the bulletin board riding that big Harley?” Cody hoped to kick-start the conversation again.
“Yes, Cody. That was six years ago when several of us took our message of redemption on the road to biker meetings in Pennsylvania, West Virginia, and Ohio. We saw miracle after miracle and — How ‘bout you? Do you ride?”
“Well, in Detroit, Tuesday night, I rode with a friend on the biggest bike I had ever seen.”
“Fun? Did you enjoy it?”
“Ha! Never been so scared in my life.”
The two men laughed briefly and then came to another pause.
“Cody, the first thing I want to say is…” He fought for his composure again and then continued with a steady voice. “I wanna thank you for giving me back my son. He is here ministering the Gospel with me. That would never have happened if you hadn’t…”
Cody lowered his head, shut his eyes briefly, and then opened them again.
“Johnny told us that when the chopper came to transport you to Kandahar, he and the seven other survivors moved up in front of the Navy guys, picked up the transport gurney themselves and lifted you on board. Nobody thought you would survive. I am so happy to see you here in my church. It’s an honor I thought I would never have.”
“The honor is mine, sir. Sasha told me about Johnny being on that Chinook.”
“So you knew her?”
“Only for a few minutes, but it was enough time to know that she was a beautiful person. I…I may have been partly responsible for her death.” Cody’s eyes began to burn with hot tears that quickly overflowed onto his face. “I know she was like a daughter to you. I seem to be really good at being in the wrong place at the wrong time, getting people killed — like today, for example.”
The patriarchal minister looked confused at first, and then his face completely reconfigured as though he knew every thought in Cody’s mind.
“Now you listen to me, son. You listen real good. What happened today was gonna happen with or without your being here. Your security men saved countless lives. You may think you’ve been in the wrong place on occasion, but today wasn’t one of those times.
“And about Sasha. Yesterday, Johnny and I went to the jail where the suspects are held. One came out to talk but spit in my face. The second one didn’t want to see us at all, but the third one — age seventeen — embraced the person of Jesus and asked Him to forgive his sin. He cried bitter tears. We cried happy tears. I know it’s what Sasha would have done and what she wanted. Who knows how much good that young man may do in the future. He might even save the world someday. We only know that the plans God has for us are good — plans for us to prosper and be in peace.”
Cody hung his head. His thirst for revenge had brought him to shame in the presence of such greatness.
Brandi emerged from Johnny’s office carrying her shoes. She walked gingerly toward the two men and then stopped about twenty feet away next to a grand piano. Her first thought was to turn back and wait, but something stopped her where she stood.
A Presence hovered. It was overwhelming, older than the earth, sweet, irresistible like waves of liquid love. It was infinitely more powerful than the monster that had seemed to invade their suite in Detroit when Cody had fleshed out his tale of child carnage and bloody sorrow. Brandi sat down on the piano bench and bowed her head, listening to the venerated pastor break open his heart and pour out its contents over her man.
“Cody, there is something else I must ask you.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“Do you know what thin line defines the difference between a hero and a murderer?”
Cody looked up. “Thin line? I always thought there was a huge difference.”
“Not as big a difference as you think. You see, a hero doesn’t want to hurt anyone but sometimes has to, while a murderer doesn’t have to hurt anybody but wants to. In every man there is a hero, and in every man there is a murderer. It only requires crossing that line. Mind that your heart doesn’t cross that line, son.”
Pastor Williams turned and headed toward the door. He paused to look back. “I have suffering people I must go to, Cody. Several of our church family are dead and many injured, including a pregnant teenager who is fighting for her life. Come back and see us, and bring your family next time.”
“Family?” Cody looked to his left and saw Brandi approaching.
She stopped a few steps away, a shoe in each hand, and opened her arms. With no hesitation, he walked right in. It was the first time they had held each other and wept together. It was not for shame, not for sorrow, but for the peace and the undoing of shackles. For the revelation that there is an empty place in the human heart that cries out to be occupied by the Ancient of Days — a union where only love hides in the shadows and where there is no
pit so deep that He is not deeper still.
As they prepared to leave the building, Stan met them in the doorway. “Don’t go out this front door. We need to move out through the side exit — too many reporters in the front. They’ve been looking for you. That cop in charge — Danforth — he’s standing guard out front. He won’t let the press into the building until I get you out. I’ve arranged for a chopper. It’s waiting on the south lawn.”
“So how many people are waiting for us on the south lawn? The helo is bound to attract everybody, and it’s quite a walk to the landing zone.”
“Roger that, Cody. It’s about thirty yards, but I took care of that too.”
Cody pushed the side exit door open a few inches to take a look. Filling up his view was a giant gray-haired man wearing a red bandana and a snaggletooth smile. When Cody swung the door fully open, he was promptly greeted with a salute.
“Hello, Lieutenant! Corporal K. Bob Braddock at your disposal, sir.”
The man standing before him looked to be about six four. He wore jeans cut off below the knees that appeared old enough to have been worn by Noah on the Ark. His combat boots looked brand new. With massive sun-freckled arms, a neck and face that resembled aged leather, and a long ponytail that was tangled and weather-beaten, he and his muscle shirt both had enough years to be considered relics.
Cody finished looking him over. “Well, Corporal, how’d you get fresh blood on your shirt?”
“Volunteered my services a few minutes ago to help with the wounded, Cody. Served as a medic with the 5th Cavalry in ‘Nam. I’m eighty and still goin’ strong.”
“Funny. You don’t look a day over seventy-nine.”
“Hahaha! I’ve never heard that one before, sir. Ma’am. So check this out.” He flexed his biceps. “See, the thing about getting old is, you know you still got it, ‘cept nobody wants to see it anymore!”
Braddock’s untamed humor was a welcome breeze clearing the air and did not seem out of place even after the tragedy. His deep laughter made the porch vibrate. Brandi, still carrying her shoes, could feel it in her toes, even though the pain medication Sam had given her was beginning to take effect.
No Pit So Deep: The Cody Musket Story Page 22