Three Nights In Mannford

by Cynthia Conner Goyang

  On the opposite side of the police barricades stood Deacon Harold Nunnely and the other members of the Mannford Christian Fellowship. “Our pastor is in there, and he needs our prayers,” Nunnely stated solemnly. “We need to pray like we haven’t prayed before, my brothers and sisters!” He closed his eyes tightly and lifted his face toward heaven. Before he uttered a word, he felt a strong sense of God’s presence flow over him, giving him power in his desperation. “Oh, God, we come before you as one people, one body of Christ — united!”

  Many voices and numerous faces of every hue stood united as one. They lifted their hands heavenward in surrender, in adoration, ready to receive heaven’s blessings.

  “Yes, Lord! Hear us, Lord!” a Hispanic teenage boy shouted.

  “Help, oh God. Keep everyone safe in there,” cried an elderly black woman.

  “Free those who are captive,” a middle-aged white lady said. “Set them free!”

  “Don’t let any blood be shed,” prayed a black twenty-something man. “Save everyone in there.”

  Many called on the Lord fervently. Their prayers rose steadily, a holy chorus of people shouting out to God. They desperately needed Him to move on their behalf.

  Al felt a deep sense of warmth and peace flow over him. Someone’s praying for us, he thought and thanked God for whoever it was. Clasping hands with Misty and looking at Marquise, he somehow knew that they had felt the same peace — lovely and perfect peace, totally beyond understanding. Even though their enormous crisis seemed unbearable, this exquisite peace quieted Al’s mind and soothed his soul. “The Lord is right here with us,” Al whispered to Misty and Marquise. Both nodded, and Misty squeezed his hand. “We give You glory, dear God, no matter what,” Al prayed.

  “Amen,” Misty and Marquise responded, confirming that they had joined him in his prayer.

  “You best be prayin’,” Deshaun taunted them. “If things don’t work out with us up here . . . Then pop, pop, pop.” Deshaun said, lifting his gun to direct a “pop” at each hostage in turn. He threw his head back and laughed. “If they run up on Deshaun, I’ll tell you what! None of you three gon’ get outta here.”

  “I don’t know whether God will save us, but I do know that He is more than able to do it,” Marquise said.

  Al’s heart burst with pride at Marquise’s words. Turning to look at Marquise, Al noticed tears in his eyes. A holy boldness had arisen in Marquise. Something life changing was occurring before Al’s eyes.

  “I put my life in the Lord’s hands, right now,” Marquise said to Al and Misty. “Today, I put my life in His hands.” Then he closed his eyes, completely ignoring everything going on around him. “Thank You, Lord. Thank You.”

  Al was in awe at God’s marvelous working. He thought back to God’s nudge to come to the church building to pray. And look where that had brought them. They might not survive, but God’s Kingdom had gained another soul. Praise God! he thought, blinking back a tear.

  Deshaun lifted his gun in a fury and aimed it at Marquise again. “Nigga, I done about had it wit you!” he shouted. “In a New York minute, I’m gon’ pop a cap in yo’ butt!”

  He’d pointed the gun at them over and over, but this time, Deshaun actually put his finger on the trigger.

  “What are you doing?” Jonathon shouted. “Are you going crazy, man?” He rushed to stop Deshaun and pushed the other man’s shooting hand up just as he pulled the trigger. The bullet ricocheted off metal on the ceiling and blew out a light in the back of the sanctuary.

  At the same time, Jonathon grabbed wildly for the gun. Deshaun, the shorter of the two, held the weapon low and backed away hurriedly. He struggled to position the gun and take aim at the frenzied officer, but Jonathon struck Deshaun’s arm with force just as he pulled the trigger again. The gun dropped from Deshaun’s hand and fell to the podium as it discharged once again. The bullet whizzed past Al, missing him by mere inches and blowing through the sanctuary door. All three hostages dropped to the floor and crawled quickly behind the front pew for refuge, but Al then peered under the pew to watch the chaos erupting between the two men.

  Now in an all-out battle, Deshaun lunged in a wild fury toward Jonathon. He, in turn, backed away and grabbed for his own gun. Just as he jerked it up to fire, Deshaun jammed him mid-chest. Both men tumbled over and fell to the floor. Jonathon’s weapon flew from his hand to land a few feet away. At that, the two men wrestled ferociously to gain control of Jonathon’s gun.

  Bang! Bang!

  Ear-shattering gunshots tore through the sanctuary. Both blasts missed Deshaun and Jonathon by inches but did serve to stop their fighting immediately. As one, they scrambled backward in an all-out effort to avoid another barrage of bullets. When no shots followed, the two stood and threw up their hands in surrender, clearly realizing they had no place to run or hide.

  Al glanced wide-eyed toward Misty and Marquise, who looked as shocked as he felt. Hopeful that the police had broken in, he began to lift himself from the floor. But then he stopped. Something felt off. Hearing movement near him, he turned and stared at Mayor Henderson who was now standing just a few feet shy of where they’d taken cover. He was holding a Glock .45 caliber and pointing it at Jonathon and Deshaun.

  “Now then!” he said and cocked the gun. “Now then!” he repeated. “We’re all going to play nice together. Johnnie, would you mind telling these people what MOS — what job— I had in the Iraq war?”

  “He was a sharpshooter,” Jonathon said, swallowing hard. “Mayor Henderson was a sharpshooter.”

  “You got that, Deshaun?” the mayor bellowed. “You got that!? The ball’s in my court now!”

  Al didn’t know whether to be relieved or even more troubled.

  Chapter

  27

  “Shots fired! Shots fired!” screamed one of the SWAT officers.

  “Oh, crap!” Tyler said, looking at Commander Holfield and the others. “What is happening in there?”

  “I don’t know!” Commander Holfield said, hitting the desk with his fist. “Only God knows. Dang it! I was hoping to get everyone outta there without a drop of blood.” He scratched his head in deep thought then abruptly rushed out of his command unit. Without a second thought, Tyler followed. The two men entered the SWAT’s mobile-command unit. Several SWAT officers stood near and ready in full body armor.

  “Commander Manley,” Holfield said, his words coming quickly. “Tell your officers to stand down.”

  “What did you say? You’ve got to be kiddin’ me, Holfield.” The jowl-cheeked, barrel-chested, gray-headed Commander Manley swiveled around in his chair and glared angrily at Tyler’s commanding officer. “Dadgumit, Holfield. There’s ain’t a thing else y’all can do. We’re ready to move in.”

  “No disrespect, Manley, but I beg to differ. As you know, one of my officers is in there. Collins may have gone haywire, but I don’t think he would really put himself or the mayor in that kind of jeopardy. I feel that I’ve made some inroads with him.”

  “Clearly, you didn’t! Y’all heard them gunshots just like we did.”

  Commander Holfield nodded, lifting his hand in concession. “True, but we don’t know for certain that the gun was fired at anyone. Give me a few minutes more. Let me see if I can reestablish communication with him.”

  “Well, that’s all well and good that you had a nice talk and a cup of tea with your little rogue cop, Holfield, but it looks like we got a different party goin’ on here now.”

  Holfield took a more defensive stance as he put his hands on his hips and glared. “Now look, Manley —”

  The SWAT commander shook his head no. “I already got my sharpshooters positioned on the roof of that old building across the street, and my battering-ram officers are ready, too. Fact is, neither you, me, or anybody else out here knows if everyone is okay or one of those hostages is lying on the floor bleeding out. I say we sho
ot gas in there and go in after ’em ASAP.”

  Marquise and the others are in trouble. Tyler thought. They don’t need two officers out here, wasting time in a peeing match. He knew he was going to get into a lot of trouble for jumping in, but he had to do something.

  “Now look here,” Holfield started, but Tyler took that moment to step out from behind his commander and interrupt.

  “Commander Manley — ” he said.

  At that moment Chris Haney stuck his head inside, his face red and flushed. “Commander Holfield! Tyler! Come quick!” Chris waved them out and then turned and rushed back toward the police mobile-command unit. Tyler and his commander turned abruptly and rushed to follow Officer Haney.

  “Commander Holfield,” Chris whispered and pointed at Lieutenant Dana Rogers who was talking on the phone. “Another call just came in. It’s showing Officer Collins’s number.”

  “Johnnie, rethink what you’re doing,” Lieutenant Rogers, Collins’s former patrol partner was saying. “I know you, Johnnie. You’re a better officer than this.” As soon as she saw Commander Holfield, she made a motion as if to return the phone to him, but he shook his head vigorously. Tyler smiled. Considering their previous partnership, Dana would be the best choice they had to persuade Collins.

  She gave her commander and cohorts a thumbs up, popped a Nicorette in her mouth, and spoke into the mouthpiece.

  On the edge of the couch, Laura sat — trembling. Her stomach was tied up in knots as she viewed the intense coverage coming live through her television screen. Nervously flipping from one channel to another, she saw that nearly every station was reporting it.

  “Breaking News, Breaking News: Shots fired!” suddenly scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

  “Oh my God, help!” she gasped. She picked up her phone and again called her mother-in-law.

  “Mom,” Laura said. “Let’s pray!”

  “Yes, of course, dear,” Jan replied. The two bowed their heads and went to work.

  Keiana sat rigid in disbelief as she watched the live updates. She felt numb, disembodied. Did the crisis intervention people really call Marquise a hostage? Had she really heard that reporter just say, “Shots fired”?

  “Oh, Marquise!” All this stuff had to be just a bad dream. She looked around at the sound of Jackie talking over the cell phone with the people from the crisis intervention unit. The words coming out of her mouth might as well have been white noise for any sense they made to Keiana. She sat holding tightly to baby Nisha who was whimpering softly. Her baby daughter seemed to sense that something was amiss.

  Pray for Marquise.

  Once again the words came to Keiana. So once again, she began to pray — quietly and fervently.

  Deacon Harold Nunnely, the Mannford Christian Fellowship members, and many other believers of every race and denomination — drawn by the Lord to that place — gathered as near to the crime scene as they were allowed. Amid curious bystanders, hordes of media, and law enforcement barricades, they stood together as one and continued to sing loud songs of praise. After they’d finished a rousing chorus of “Shout to the Lord,” Harold raised his hand to quiet the crowd and get their attention.

  “Second Chronicles 7:14 (KJV) tells us that the Lord says, ‘If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.’ We need to humble ourselves and seek His face! It’s time for us to get serious about our city and about our country. This has to stop, now! And the only way we can do that — the only way we can heal our land —”

  “Oh Lord, forgive us!” came from a woman Harold didn’t know as tears ran down her face.

  One by one, the crowd began to drop to their knees and yell out for God’s forgiveness. “Save us, O God! Bring healing, deliverance, and restoration. Forgive us, Father. May it be on earth as it is in heaven. Visit us with Your love, peace, and power! Not by might, not by our power, but by Your Spirit, Lord. Send Your Spirit!”

  Through the dark of night, their voices rose above the din of the media, the overhead whir of helicopters, and the marshaling of law-enforcement. For they had joined together — beseeching God to send healing.

  “May it be! May it be!” they shouted and prayed. “Amen! Amen!”

  Chapter

  28

  Tyler sat on the edge of the desk alongside Commander Holfield and Chris Haney. With his arms crossed, he listened in as Lieutenant Dana Rogers spoke. “Johnnie? Go on. I’m listening . . . Johnnie?” When no answer came, she furrowed her brow. “Johnnie? You there? Johnnie?” Abruptly the phone went dead. Dana looked around incredulous, mystified, frustrated.

  “Geez,” Commander Holfield said and looked around at his team, “It looks like SWAT may have to step in now. We’ve lost communications again.” He pounded his fist on the desk next to him.

  When Tyler stared intently at Chris and Dana, he saw that their eyes were glued on their commander.

  Holfield pursed his lips in frustration and rubbed his forehead. He finally nodded in resignation. “Yeah, it looks like that’s the deal. Guess, I gotta go shoot the breeze with Manley again.” The commander grimaced and turned to step out to the SWAT crew’s mobile-command unit.

  “Commander Holfield, wait,” Rogers spoke up. “Let’s try calling back. One more time. Just one more time.” The pleading in her voice made Tyler ache.

  “Lieutenant’s right, Commander,” Tyler added. “Can we give it another try?”

  Holfield sighed loudly and hesitated at the door to the mobile-command unit.

  “Wouldn’t hurt to try once more,” Chris added.

  Tyler, Dana, and Chris nodded their heads in agreement and looked pleadingly at Commander Holfield.

  “All right, but time is of the essence here, Lieutenant. Let’s go!” Commander Holfield barked.

  “Yes!” Tyler said, pumping his fist.

  Dana quickly punched in Officer Jonathon Collins’s cell phone number and put it on speaker once again. It rang again and again.

  “Hello, this is Mayor Henderson.”

  Tyler sensed that all eyes in the command unit were as wide in shock as his were. Their original plan was for Lieutenant Rogers to negotiate with Officer Collins, her former patrol mate, but this changed everything.

  Commander Holfield urged her to continue by waving his hand in a circle, as if to say, Keep him talking.

  “Mayor Henderson? Lieutenant Dana Rogers here. Glad to hear your voice, sir. What’s going on in there?”

  Tyler’s heart pounded as he glanced around at Dana, Chris, and Commander Holfield. He was sure each felt the same surge of adrenaline. After a long moment, the mayor continued.

  “Th-they thought I had passed out,” Mayor Henderson said, “bu-but I’ve just been lying here on the carpet listening and — and thinking.”

  “Is everyone safe, Mayor Henderson?” Rogers queried. “Is everyone alive?” In disbelief, she looked around at the others.

  “Yes,” the mayor responded. “They are all safe. The kind people — th–the hostages — and me, Jonathon, and Deshaun.”

  “Mayor Henderson, why do you have Officer Collins’s cell phone? What’s going on in there?” Rogers asked.

  Tyler’s head jerked up as Dusty Manley, the SWAT commander, entered the police-command unit and stood next to Tyler. He had obviously been listening in with the SWAT unit.

  Holfield nodded his acknowledgment to the other commander but said nothing.

  “Well, here we are,” Mayor Henderson slurred. “Johnnie and Deshaun are up on the podium. Those two idiots were fighting. Can you imagine those two in a fistfight? Like fools, they were fighting each other. They both lost hold of their guns. They didn’t know I had a firearm. Once I was in charge, I told Johnnie to throw me this fine cell
phone.” Mayor Henderson chuckled sardonically. “My real fine firearm is by my side, and I’ll use it if I need to.”

  “No! Don’t do that, Mayor Henderson. We will —”

  “Pipe down, Rogers! Hear me out!” Mayor Henderson said.

  “Hey up there,” Mayor Henderson yelled suddenly. “If either of you moves an inch, you will regret it. Don’t try me.”

  The four men stood near the Lieutenant, watching her. As she looked around at them, especially at Tyler, her eyes seemed to plead for encouragement. He’d never seen her so nervous. But then, this was the mayor. They were in uncharted territory.

  “Mayor Henderson, Rogers said quietly, trying to calm the man.

  At this point, the only sound that could be heard was the mayor’s breathing in and out in shallow, rapid whiffs.

  “Mayor Henderson, are you there?” Rogers asked.

  Silence.

  Tyler massaged his forehead and shared concerned looks with his cohorts. Just when he thought the mayor had hung up, Henderson spoke up again. “Hear me out, Rogers. Hear me out!”

  “I’m all ears, Mayor Henderson,” she answered, relieved, and then fist-bumped her comrades.

  “I-I just want you and the whole city of Mannford to know how sorry I am for all that’s happened.” His tone grew despondent. “I never thought that my life would end up a mess like this.”

  “I hear you, Mayor,” she answered gently.

  “When Mother passed away a few years ago, I tried a hit of cocaine. At the time, I thought I was just having a lovely evening. Summer party at a friend’s lake house. It all seemed harmless— then little was I to know . . .” He paused to clear his throat. “Little was I to know what sort of creature cocaine would become.” He chuckled sardonically. “— what sort of creature I would become.”