“Hey, who’s that you’re talking to about love?” Lynn asked, walking around to where Chance stood.
“Now, who’s that!” Jucinda spat, pointing a trembling finger at Lynn. “Uh-huh . . . I knew it. I figured you must’ve had another woman. That’s why you brainwashed Nina’s mind, so you could get rid of her and—”
“Jucinda, now that’s enough. Talk like that is crazy.”
“No,” Jucinda retorted. “Talk is crazy, and I’m through talking with you. Kneeling down, she opened a backpack at her feet. When she stood back up, a compact 9 mm pistol rested in her trembling hands. And it was pointed directly at Chance.
Chapter Forty
TRAVIS HAD CLEARED OUT a stakeout spot in some thick shrubbery to the right of the space where Jacqueline was kept moored. He’d learned from talking with a local fisherman that every boat had a registered spot, and that Bennett Howard had “parked” his boat in the first spot for a number of years, since he usually was the earliest out on the water.
That’s perfect, Travis had thought, downright giddy because it meant that he was now certain to get Chance’s picture.
He’d been waiting in the bushes ever since half past ten, so he’d seen the middle-aged woman who’d walked right up to Jacqueline’sregistered spot and started pacing back and forth for ten minutes before finally leaning against a signpost. Travis had thought her behavior strange, especially after she’d smoked through a half pack of cigarettes and checked her watch every few minutes. He’d taken a few pictures of her, just for good measure. No telling what interesting angle she would provide for his story.
The Jacqueline appeared around a bend in the water a few minutes after eleven, its golden-yellow hull shimmering and sparkling in the sunlight. Travis pulled his cap down lower on his head to shield his eyes from glare and steadied his camera. His right index finger twitched spasmodically over the camera’s red button, like a gunslinger’s finger might twitch against a trigger during showdown at high noon.
Showtime, mystery man . . . you’re gonna make me a star . . .
Chance Howard stood alone at the steering wheel, guiding the boat into its spot. Travis furiously worked his tiny digital camera, like he was orchestrating a silent photo shoot.
You’re making me a star! I’m gonna be a star . . .
And that’s when the nervous-acting woman began talking, and Travis quickly realized just how big a star he was about to become.
Chapter Forty-one
JUCINDA, THERE’S NO NEED for that,” Chance began calmly, raising his hands defensively, the way most people react when staring down the barrel of a gun.
“You ain’t in any position to tell me what I need or don’t need to do,” Jucinda retorted, her hands still trembling around the gun.
“Oh my God,” Lynn whispered, slowly retreating to the other side of the boat.
“No, you stay right there!” Jucinda ordered. Lynn immediately froze.
“Jucinda, will you think about what you’re doing?” Chance asked. “It’s broad daylight and you’re standing there with a gun for the entire world to see.”
“You think I care? Didn’t I tell you not to come back here, Chance Howard? Didn’t I warn you what would happen if I ever saw you back in this town?”
“Jucinda, be reasonable. My pop is sick, and I—”
“My daughter was sick, too!” Jucinda cried. “She was sick, and she needed help. But you . . .” She pointed a trembling finger at Chance. “You wouldn’t help her, you country son of a—”
“Jucinda, I tried to help her. Couldn’t you see how much I loved your daughter? Couldn’t you see how I’d have gladly traded my life for hers? I told her several times to listen to the doctor’s advice and undergo the chemotherapy.”
Jucinda shook her head back and forth wildly. “I don’t believe you—you just saying whatever you want to now to shift the blame, just like you did two years ago.”
“Jucinda, I know you’re still upset over Nina’s death. I’m upset, too . . . and I will be for the rest of my life. But what is shooting me going to prove? How is that going to help anything?”
“It’s my justice . . . it’s my only justice. I had dreams for my beautiful Nina. She was so smart—she was ten times smarter than you—and she had such a future to live for.”
“I know that, Jucinda. I—”
“Liar! You shut up and let me talk!” She waved the gun around in her still trembling hands. “You just let me do all the talking now. You see, I knew you were no good for Nina . . . I used to have bad dreams about you, but I couldn’t do anything about them because Nina blocked me out of that part of her life.”
“That’s because . . .” Chance began, before quickly closing his mouth as Jucinda raised the gun and took a step toward him. It was then that he became aware of movement to his right, in the shrubbery. The glare of the sun off the boat’s hull partially blinded his view, but he could make out what looked like a moving . . . paw?
Jucinda began talking again, verbally attacking his character once more, but Chance’s attention was now diverted by the movement to his right. The paw moved again, and this time Chance could see that it was not a real animal paw. It was an orange paw plastered on the white background canvas of a . . . baseball cap. But what kind of cap had an orange paw on a—
And then he remembered. He’d been at that train station in Columbia and seen a similar type cap, worn by a teenage boy. The boy had been wearing a matching T-shirt that read, “Clemson Tigers.” So the person in the bushes was wearing a Clemson Tigers cap. Which meant he or she was probably from South Carolina. But who else from there besides Lynn knew about—
It’s the reporter, he thought, in a sudden burst of realization. But why wasn’t this guy doing anything to help him? Couldn’t he tell that this woman was crazy? Couldn’t he see that she was bound to hurt somebody?
“. . . gonna make sure you get what’s coming to you,” Jucinda was now saying. From the way she was handling the gun, Chance was fairly confident she wasn’t steady with her aim. And knowing that, he would’ve tried ducking underneath the steering wheel or diving into the water, if not for Lynn standing in harm’s way beside him.
Stay calm . . . keep your cool . . . “Jucinda, if you shoot me, what’s going to happen to you? Have you thought about that? You can’t plead self-defense or temporary insanity. If you kill me, you’re looking at a premeditated murder rap. And this isn’t Ruston, where you think you have so much influence. We’re in Shreveport. The police here don’t—”
“I said, shut up!” Jucinda screamed. “You are not in control, here! Do you understand? I—am—in—control!”
The next few surreal seconds unfolded in slow motion for Chance, as if in a dream. A tree branch snapped loudly, diverting Jucinda’s attention away from him. In that split second, he knew what he had to do.
Spinning on his heel, he pushed Lynn hard to the deck. She cried out in surprise, causing Jucinda to turn back toward Chance, who was now clambering atop the boat’s railing and preparing to jump overboard.
The 9 mm pistol fired once, twice.
Still perceiving everything in slow motion, Chance could almost see the first bullet flying toward him.
I must be dreaming . . .
He did not feel that first slug pierce his shoulder, twisting his body further sideways. Neither did he feel the next bullet slam into his lower back, sending him toppling over the boat’s railing. He did, however, feel the warm Louisiana water as it enveloped him, slowly swallowing him within its murky depths. The last thought in his mind made no sense to him whatsoever.
Why is the water . . . so . . . red?
Chapter Forty-two
THE SENSATION OF WEIGHTLESSNESS was horrifying, and yet wonderful at the same time. Floating in a bluish darkness where everything was so serene, Chance tried to move his head and body, but it felt like he was not in a body at all.
This is it . . . I’m dying . . .
He wasn’t sure if he was st
ill underwater, because the darkness clouded his visibility. In the distance, he could see faint lights, or at least he imagined that he could.
There’s supposed to be bright lights, right? Because I’m dying, right?
It was more of a thought to convince himself of this reality than a prayer to God. Of course he was dying. He’d been shot by Jucinda, he had fallen overboard, and he’d hit his head against a rock. These kinds of tragic incidents usually preceded the termination of life. But if there was any comfort, it was that he knew Jesus Christ as his Savior, and therefore had the peace to know he would forever spend eternity with Him.
And Nina, too! I’ll soon see Nina again!
Death, then, was a comforting thought, and he welcomed it as one embraces a long-lost friend. Still, something nagged at him.
This is my life? Twenty-eight years of living, blessed with a wonderful wife but a disappointingly short marriage? To be given an incredible gift of healing but always be unable to help the people I loved most? That’s all the life I’m ever going to know?
He half expected God to answer him, being so close to death and all. But amidst the silence, there was no answer. Chance wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed since he’d hit his head against that rock and now, but . . . shouldn’t something be happening? Shouldn’t there be angels escorting him to Jesus, who would then welcome him into the joy of the Father?
Maybe this isn’t it . . . maybe I’m not dying . . .
Chapter Forty-three
TRAVIS HAD NOT WANTED to stand, but his legs had been severely cramping. He’d thought he could stand and quickly stretch them without Chance and the gun-toting woman noticing him, but he’d grossly underestimated the pressure of his 250-pound frame easing off the tree branch. When the branch had snapped, he’d quickly ducked back down again, but not before he’d been spotted by both Chance and Jucinda. Five seconds later, as he was scrambling back through the bushes, as far away from the Jacqueline as his large feet could take him, he heard two loud gunshots.
My God—has she shot him?
He wanted to stop and turn around—but a quick glance at his watch showed that he had only ten minutes to e-mail his story, complete with corresponding picture, back to Ryman Wells. There was no time to go back and see what had happened. At his pickup truck now, he opened his backpack and booted up his laptop. Scrolling through the seventeen pictures stored in his digital camera, he finally settled on a close headshot of Chance in which Chance appeared to be directly staring into the camera.
Perfect . . . I’m gonna be the number one newspaper reporter in South Carolina . . .
He uploaded the file as an attachment to his eight-hundred-word follow-up story on the mystery healing man and clicked the send button.
LYNN HAD CRAWLEDBEHIND the steering column for cover once she’d heard the gunshots, and now she slowly peered from around it, ready to bolt at the sign of more trouble. But Jucinda was nowhere to be seen.
Chance! Oh my God . . .
The images of the two bullets tearing into Chance’s flesh and how he’d toppled overboard would forever be burned in her mind.
“Lynn, you alright?” she heard Pop calling out behind her, but she ignored him as she scrambled to the spot where Chance had fallen overboard.
She had never been much of a swimmer; her mom had enrolled her in a swimming class when she was five, but Lynn had lasted all of a week there. Her greatest fear then and now was of being completely submerged. Her swim instructor had been patient with her, repeatedly assuring her that putting one’s head underwater was as natural as breathing. But Lynn had kicked, screamed, and practically dared someone to put her head under the water.
But this was not the time for fear. By her estimation, Chance had been underwater for at least thirty seconds—and he surely had been in no shape to hold his breath.
God has not given me a spirit of fear, but of love, power, and of a sound mind, she thought, kicking off her shoes and stepping onto the boat’s railing. The blue water was tainted with streaks of red—Chance’s blood—and if she had needed any more motivation for diving in after him, that was it. After all, this was the man whose faith (coupled with hers) had touched heaven and opened her blinded eyes. She took a deep breath and dived into the warm water. It stung at her eyes, and she blinked rapidly to adjust to the murky darkness as she swam toward the bottom of the lake.
Chance, where are you? Lord Jesus, help me . . .
Frantically, she looked to her right and left, but saw nothing except inky blackness the farther down she traveled from the surface. She could not believe how . . . dark . . . everything seemed. Once she felt her feet touch the bottom, she tentatively took one weightless step, then another. After a few seconds, not only could she not see anything, but her lungs were beginning to burn. How far was it back to the surface? And more important, could she make it back to the surface?
Feeling like crying after being unable to find Chance, she began scissor-kicking her feet, pushing upward. After what seemed like forever, her head finally broke through.
“Lynn!” she heard Pop calling from the boat, about twenty feet to her right. “Lynn, are you alright? I’ve called for help—help is on the way!”
For a few seconds, Lynn treaded water with her legs, sucking in precious mouthfuls of air. Air had never . . . tasted so good in her life. She was glad that Pop had called for help, but with each passing second, Chance was down there . . . dying.
Oh, God . . . oh, Jesus . . . no!
She had to try one more time. She gave a thumbs-up sign to Pop and inhaled deeply. Then, pushing every childhood fear of being submerged underwater to the far corners of her brain, she went back under. This time, she adjusted quickly to the darkness as she swam downward. After she remembered where the boat had been docked, her orientation was much better now. She kicked her legs furiously and stroked with her arms, swimming faster now. Her heart leaped when she saw what looked like a white tennis shoe resting on the lake’s bottom.
That’s Chance’s shoe!
She swam over to see Chance’s body wedged in between two rocks, then wrapped her arms around his torso, attempting to wrest him out. But he was like a dead weight, and Lynn’s lungs were beginning to burn again.
No! God, help me!
Straining with every muscle in her body, she tugged on Chance’s upper body once more. His waist suddenly twisted, and he was soon free from the rocks.
Yes!
Lynn’s joy was short-lived, however. The exertion of freeing Chance from the rocks had sapped virtually all of her energy, causing her lungs to strain against her chest. She didn’t know if she had the strength to swim to the surface herself, much less carry the body of a man weighing roughly 180 pounds.
It’s not supposed to end like this, she thought, feeling an overwhelming sense of despair. Had God not healed her blinded eyes to be a testimony to His power? Had He not spoken awesome prophecies into her spirit that should now go unfulfilled? And what about Chance Howard—a man in whom God had vested a healing gift the likes of which most Christians had never before witnessed? Was he supposed to die like this, too?
God, are we supposed to die here? Alone at the bottom of some lake? That can’t be . . . Your will . . .”
If there was an answer from God, Lynn was not in a position to hear it. Her lungs felt like they would collapse any second. Slumping forward, she rested her head on Chance’s chest, ready to let her spirit slip away to heaven.
Suddenly, she felt two arms powerfully encircle her and begin to lift her up.
Too little, too late, she thought, just before everything went black.
Chapter Forty-four
THE FINAL REHEARSAL for Faith Community’s fall choral concert was a rousing success for all those blessed to be in attendance. Choir representatives from churches throughout the area and from as far away as Charleston came to finalize color arrangements, discuss song selection changes, and deal with any last-minute glitches. The hired video production crew from Ra
leigh had also come down to coordinate lighting and camera placement and to work alongside the church’s audio technicians. The concert would be recorded live, in digital format, with the CD and DVD sets to be available just in time for the upcoming holiday season.
Arlene had walked through the entire program with Pastor Gentry, who was duly impressed with the scope of planning and preparation. He agreed this would be the finest fall concert yet.
“Sister Arlene, you simply amaze me,” Pastor Gentry now said as they sat in the sanctuary, listening to a guest soloist from Winston-Salem sing “Mercy Said No.” “Your anointing for directing is so strong, you could probably take four off-key cats sitting on a fence and form a first-rate quartet.”
Arlene laughed. “Is that a special request? Songs in the key of meow?”
Pastor Gentry laughed along with her. “The Bible does say, let everything that has breath praise the Lord, right? No, seriously, what you’ve done in the past few years with the choir has been nothing short of tremendous. God has always designed music to be an integral component of worship, and you’ve always embraced that revelation. That makes pastoring so much easier, let me tell you.”
“Thank you, Pastor. And it’s blessed me so much to be under leadership that doesn’t stifle the creative flow of the music ministry.”
“It’s a two-way street, isn’t it?”
“Amen to that!”
As the guest soloist finished her selection, Sister Margie hurriedly burst through the sanctuary’s side doors, making a beeline toward her pastor.
“Pastor Gentry,” she began, nearly out of breath. “Three of us—on the intercessory team—we’ve all just had the same vision.”
Pastor Gentry straightened up in the pew, sensing Sister Margie’s alarm. He’d long since learned to take the combined visions of his intercessory team seriously. Charged with praying for Faith Community’s members, they prayed six to eight hours a day and walked in a heightened level of sensitivity to the Holy Spirit.
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