His captain was a great man, but he knew how much Dave hated technology. “Bring ’em over.”
“We haven’t been able to decipher what’s on them yet, sir. But the guys said to tell you they were working on it.”
“Thanks, Riley.” He studied the bag. Macrochips. How much information could be on one of those things anyway? They looked similar to the micro SD card that was in his phone for the camera. Amazed him that the little thing could hold so many pics and was a help during investigations.
One of his sergeants leaned halfway in the door and tapped the wall. “We’ve got a problem. Those chips hold some top secret encrypted military intelligence. Captain wants you to call the FBI that worked on the Gray case. He’s on the horn with the state troopers.”
The Gray case? That meant . . .
He blew out a big breath and dialed. “Agent Philips? Seems we are in need of your assistance . . .”
* * *
ZOYA
January 16
North Pole Community Church
11:10 a.m.
“Paul said in the book of Philippians, ‘Not that I have already obtained it or have already become perfect, but I press on so that I may lay hold of that for which also I was laid hold of by Christ Jesus. Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.’”
The new pastor, Brian Jamison, stood at the pulpit preaching. More like yelling.
His sermon was long. Too long. I couldn’t stand listening to him say over and over that God was love, that God was waiting for me to return to Him, that God had given me gifts, that God wanted me to run the race. God, God, God.
It was as if he was trying to tell me, and only me, that I was doing something wrong.
Well, I wasn’t. It wasn’t my fault. It was His.
Wasn’t it?
Yeah.
He abandoned me, not the other way around.
I turned my head to look out the window, letting the little voice argue away in my mind.
Why had Mom made me come anyway? I told her I didn’t feel very good. It wasn’t a lie. Not exactly.
My Bible sat open on my lap. I turned and glared at the tiny book. And I thought I’d never have to look into you again. Andie coughed from where she sat with Auntie Jenna and Cole a few pews in front of us. I hoped I wouldn’t have to talk to them. Maybe Andie was getting smart and knew I wouldn’t want to see her. At least, I didn’t want to talk to her . . .
Mom grabbed my hand.
I pulled away.
Hurt touched her face, and she looked back to the preacher.
I don’t care. I just want to be alone.
The congregation stood and we started singing “Victory in Jesus.”
Yeah, right. Whatever.
As soon as the pastor dismissed us, a loud murmur of voices filled the room. My ears rang with all the noise, however little it may have been.
Finally, we could get out of there.
“Zoya, how nice it is to see you up and around. We all prayed for you after the accident, and it looks like God has answered our prayers abundantly, no?” Mrs. What’s-her-name smiled down at me as her head bobbed.
Please, just go away. The tears were about ready to spill. I held them back. Held my emotions in the bottle . . . the bottle that wanted to break so I could lash these things out.
The voice grew louder. “Don’t listen to that preacher . . . don’t let them see your anger . . . this is God’s fault . . . don’t believe what they tell you . . .”
“Yes. Thank you for your prayers, Mrs. Appuglies.” Mom grabbed my hand and dragged me toward Auntie Jenna and Andie.
I’d rather listen to Mrs. Apple-whatever gab for hours than talk to Andie. She was my best friend. She knew. I shook my head and tried to swallow back the urge to yell. Just let me die and get it over with. “Mom, can I go to the car?”
“No, we’re gonna go see Andie and Jenna.”
“But Mom—”
“Jenna, Andie, Cole.” Mom nodded to the three of them and pulled me up to her side.
Andie’s and my gazes locked for a split second—
No, I wouldn’t let her read me like a book. I turned away.
The voice . . .
Act natural . . . Act natural . . .
“Hey, girl.” Auntie Jenna smiled. “How’re you guys doin’ today?”
I stood there as Mom and Auntie talked of the new guy, of the dogs, of blah, blah, blah. For goodness sake, stop talking and let’s go!
“How’s it going with Sean?” Auntie dug for something in her purse.
“Well, he’ll certainly take some getting used to.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Andie staring at me. I couldn’t engage in conversation . . . I knew what would happen. I’d blow my top. And that was the last thing I wanted to do. Especially in church.
I turned my head away.
Mr. Howe smiled down at his two-year-old daughter, Emma, then with one swift movement placed her on his shoulders. Even from where I stood, I could hear her giggles and see her smiles.
Familiar feelings somewhere deep inside me cried out.
Why couldn’t my dad be here for me? Nobody ever lifted me onto their shoulders . . . everybody knew that was a father thing.
But I had no father.
I blinked.
End of story.
Why did he have to die? The anger boiled. My eyes scrunched. Head started to hurt. But I couldn’t let the anger explode. Not here. Not now.
I let them open. Again Emma’s giggles invaded my mind.
Andie stared at me.
I looked away. Blinked. The tears hurt, wanting to be let out of their bondage. Wanting to fall. And never stop falling.
Why did we have to be here? Why couldn’t I just run home and stay locked up in my room forever? There wasn’t anything for me to see out here. There wasn’t—
The realization hit me.
There was no dad to comfort me.
Was that why I was so angry? Was that what I wanted? At this point, I didn’t know.
I didn’t want to go down there. Into the black. Into the mire. Into the nothingness. But then again, where else was there to go?
Again the tears threatened. Where were these thoughts coming from and why couldn’t I get rid of them?
“Zoya? Zoya, are you okay?”
Mom was staring at me.
Just let me go home, please!
“Let’s go home, sweetie. I think you’ve overdone it today.”
I nodded and walked beside her as we headed out the side door.
Leave me alone . . . Leave me alone . . . Leave me alone . . .
Who I was talking to, I didn’t know. But I was done.
With church. With murders. With life.
With everything.
I sat in our red Nissan Xterra staring out the window. The drive home was silent. All except the humming of the car’s engine. Thoughts flittered back and forth about this and that.
The dark thoughts scared me. But then again, everything did. Why was God putting me through all this torture?
“What’s wrong, sweetie?”
Oh, brother. How many times could I hear that in a week? I ignored the obnoxious question. What good would it do to reply?
“Zoya Sabiile’ Naltsiine, why aren’t you talking? You’re not telling me anything. You mope around the house all day and don’t do anything but pet the dogs and sit on the couch. You don’t want to talk to, or even see, Andie or Jenna. Ever since the accident you’ve changed. What’s going on?”
“
Accident.” I grunted. Stop calling it that. “Why does everybody call it an accident?” Don’t do it Zoya. Don’t. Let. Her. See. Your. Anger.
“What do you mean?”
Whatever!
I turned to Mom and glared. “It wasn’t an accident.” My heart tensed as the scenes replayed.
Stop it!
“It was a murder. Why do people have to assume that if they call it a murder I’ll get all wound-up and hysterical? I’m fine! I don’t need anybody’s sympathy, I don’t need anybody’s care, I don’t need anybody telling me what’s wrong with me!”
It wasn’t true . . . I wanted somebody to care.
I wanted Dad to care. To be here with me. I wanted to know him. To love him. To have him love me.
But no. He was dead. Dead.
Get over it, Zoya!
“Zoya, we do not think—”
My eyes closed again. “And why can’t people just leave me alone? All I hear is ‘what’s wrong’ and ‘talk to me’ and ‘you’ve changed’ and ‘you haven’t been yourself’ and—”
Tears started to slide down my cheeks. How long would I have to put up with all this nagging?
“Zoya, stop it!” Mom’s stern voice filled the car. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d think she was talking to a three-year-old.
My head jerked back to the window and I sniffed.
Mom got quiet again. The silence made me want to squirm in my seat. Mom never yelled at me. Then again, I never yelled at her. I wanted to open up. Wanted her to hold me, comfort me. Wanted it all to go away.
The guilt engulfed me. But it was better than the dark cloud that threatened to squash everything I’d ever known.
God, why do You keep messing everything up?
I tried to swallow back the sobs.
Just get out of my life.
I didn’t need Him. Didn’t need anyone.
Get out and never come back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ANESIA
11:27 a.m.
The rest of the drive back from church was too quiet. What was it going to take to break through Zoya’s shell? It seemed to harden more every day.
Anesia gripped the steering wheel. She couldn’t believe she just yelled at her daughter like that. But it was starting to really frighten her. Zoya seemed to be getting lost in the darkness surrounding her. Maybe a little normalcy was in order. “Wanna eat at the Country Café?”
Her daughter shrugged.
That was it. She was tired of the unresponsive shrugs. Some parents might be able to do all the calm-collected-wait-patiently- for-the-kid-to-open-up routine, but not her. Their world contained the two of them. That’s all they had. Communication had been the key all these years to their close relationship. And she refused to allow anyone or anything to snatch that away. Her daughter was hurting and she intended to solve the puzzle.
Right now.
She pulled off the road, put the truck in park, and turned to face her daughter. “All right, girlfriend. I’ve had enough.”
Zoya’s head snapped up and her eyes widened.
“You know that I don’t like to raise my voice to you, but this has got to stop. And I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you from disappearing into this black hole that seems to be sucking you in.”
Tears pooled in her daughter’s eyes. Her bottom lip trembled.
Anesia grabbed Zoya’s hand. “It’s always been you and me. We’re family. We’re a team. And we promised each other that we would always be open and honest with one another. So I’m going to hold you to that promise.”
No response. Anesia could feel the tension oozing out through her teenager’s fingers.
“Honey, talk to me. Whatever it is, it’s tearing you up, and I would be a horrible mom if I just sat here and allowed it to get worse. I love you too much for that.”
“I know.” The quiet words tumbled out as tears streamed down her cheeks.
At least she was talking. “Okay, so we’ve got plenty of time. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
Zoya grabbed a Kleenex from the console. She sniffed and wiped her face.
A minute passed.
“Zoya?”
“I’m angry.”
“At who?”
“God. That’s who.” The steely voice was so unlike the quiet, sweet one that always came out of Zoya’s mouth. Uh oh. Anesia felt like someone dark and raging had swapped places with her daughter. Whatever had hold of her . . .
Deep breath. This was worse than she imagined. “You’re angry at God? Why?”
“Because He let it happen, that’s why. He let me be on that trail. Allowed those men to be there. Allowed them to shoot that guy. Allowed me to get shot. To see the murder. And the images won’t go away.”
Anesia’s jaw dropped. No words would come.
“I think every sound is a gunshot. I keep feeling the numbing zing of that bullet. How I thought I was gonna die. And now, because I’m a witness to a murder, God took my dream away. The one thing I loved to do.” Her daughter turned her face away. “I’ll lose my best friend. And I’ll lose you. I’ll never win the championship, and never make Dad proud of me. ’Cause you’ll never let me race again!” Zoya flung the door open, jumped out of the vehicle, and ran to the edge of the woods.
“Zoya!” Her scream didn’t deter the progress her daughter made across the snow-encrusted terrain. Anesia watched her daughter collapse at the treeline. A knife in the stomach couldn’t have hurt worse.
Zoya knew.
Anesia had decided it wasn’t safe to let her daughter race anymore. At least for a while. She’d wanted to protect her only child. But her kid was smart. They could read each other like books.
Zoya knew her mother would do everything in her power to keep her safe. Anesia hadn’t voiced her concerns yet, but there wasn’t a need. Zoya knew.
As she reached for the driver door, Anesia wrestled in her mind to figure out a solution. The door creaked open, and she jumped out, thoughts tumbling in her head. How could she fix this? Zoya said she was angry at God and if Anesia kept her from racing, would her sweet daughter turn that anger toward her as well?
Each step felt like a mile. Oh God, give me the words. Give me wisdom. I don’t know what to do. And I’m afraid. Afraid for Zoya, afraid to lose her. Afraid of her anger and what this could do to her.
She reached the balled-up form. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything.” Zoya’s words were muffled by her sleeve. “You’re just trying to protect me. I know that. But I don’t have to like it.”
“No. You don’t have to like it.”
Zoya finally looked up. “I hate it. Hate that one minute everything is fine and then the next freaky minute my whole world is changed. And I didn’t want it to change.”
Anesia opened her arms. Zoya moved into them. Her once quiet daughter was dealing with more than she’d ever imagined.
“I’m so sorry, honey.” She grappled for words. “As your mom, I want to take all the pain away and fix it. But I can’t.”
“I know, Mom. I hate it. It’s eating me up. I’ve never felt so black and ugly and gross on the inside. I’m so mad, I could spit. I want to bite everyone’s head off. I don’t want anyone to talk to me. Don’t want anyone to care.”
“Well, that’s where you can do something about it. You’ve got to let go of this anger, Zoya. You’ve got to give it to God.”
“No!” The word was half anger, half wail.
“He could’ve stopped it from happening, Mom. Could’ve protected me from it. My life was fine before all this happened. He’ll just let me down again. What if He makes more junk happen?”
“Zoya Sabiile’! God did not let you down. Those men who committ
ed the crime are the ones who did wrong. Not you. Not God. He loves you. And whether you want to admit it or not, ‘junk’—like you put it—happens to all of us. To good people. All the time. And you know good and well that God never promised us an easy life on this earth. Remember what we studied in history? Remember the Roman Empire? Can you imagine what it was like to be a Christian then? To know that you could be crucified at any moment because of your faith? Could be sent to lions in the Coliseum? Or forced into slavery? Are you blaming God for all the bad things in history as well?”
Zoya squeezed harder.
“And what about Andie? Look at all she’s been through. Her nerve disorder, all the doctor’s appointments, hospital visits, MRIs, CT scans . . . never being considered a ‘normal’ kid. Brain surgery.”
Zoya looked at the ground.
Anesia couldn’t give up now. “Well? You think God made it happen to her?”
Her daughter shrugged.
“And look at what God has done through those circumstances. Look at what He’s done in my life and in yours—just because we know them and love them.”
A sniff was her only response.
Anesia sighed. Long and hard. “I’m no great theologian. You know that. But”—she held her daughter at arm’s length and looked straight into her eyes—“I see a beautiful young woman in front of me who loves the Lord. And I see all the wonderful things He’s done in you and through you, and I see that He’s got a mighty plan for you. Don’t you think that the enemy wants you to be angry? He wants to keep you from giving God the glory. He wants to keep you from focusing on the Lord. His goal is to keep you from everyone and everything, and to keep you in this black hole. ’Cause personally, I think he knows your potential. Your potential to live for God and be a shining light through all this darkness. And that scares him.”
Zoya’s eyes widened again. She walked a few steps away.
Anesia waited. Oh God, bring her back to me. Please.
Zoya turned. Her face an unreadable mask. Hands clenching and unclenching.
For a few moments Anesia couldn’t breathe. Time stood still as her heart cried out to God. She felt the spiritual battle going on around her. In her desire to break through to Zoya, she’d hit the nail on the head. God had given Zoya incredible gifts. Anesia knew that. And now with a clarity she’d never before had, she saw that what she’d said was so true. Zoya’s precious life could touch so many.
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