Shadow of the Storm

by Candle Sutton

  “But the things in my dream didn’t really happen that way, did they?”

  “Actually, a lot of what you told me lines up with Biblical and historical accounts.”

  “But… the place of the skull?”

  “It’s where they crucified Christ.”

  “The darkness? The earthquake?”

  “Also true.”

  “Three crosses? The words He said? The soldier?”

  “Yes, yes, and yes. Well, except for talking to you. That didn’t actually happen back then, of course, since you weren’t even born yet, but I can tell you that He’s calling you by name right now.”

  “How would I know all that? I mean, I didn’t know any of that stuff before.”

  At least, I don’t think I did.

  He slows to make a left turn. “God used to talk to people in dreams all the time. A lot of people think He doesn’t do that anymore, but I believe He does it and does it often. We just rarely take the time to process or listen.”

  Okay. I didn’t see that one coming.

  Drew thinks I’m getting messages from God.

  I’m certainly not someone special. There’s no logical reason why God should talk to me. “Why me?”

  “He told you.” Drew’s tone is gentle, his eyes caring. “He loves you and will do whatever it takes to get your attention.”

  “Including wiping my memory clean and almost killing me?” I don’t know if the thought makes me angry or incredulous.

  A little of both, I’d say.

  A small, sympathetic smile curls his lips. “If that’s what it takes, maybe.”

  It seems so drastic. I mean, really, what does God care if I follow Him?

  Although if what Drew is saying, not to mention what I dreamed, can be believed, He wants me to follow Him because He loves me. What kind of love would go to such great lengths?

  The kind of love that would go to a cross.

  The answer is so obvious, but it still doesn’t address why my whole life had to be so violently stripped away.

  “There had to be another way to get my attention. Something other than all this.” I sweep my hand in a wide arc, as though my problems are written on Drew’s dash.

  “Or maybe not. We all tend to get pretty set in our ways. Sometimes it takes something major to get our attention, right? Take Sam for instance. His dad had to break his arm before he’d do what he needed to do.”

  There’s truth there, but I’m sure there was another option. There had to be.

  He clears his throat. “But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. I mean, I’m sorry it had to happen the way it did, but I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.”

  I guess that’s one upside to this whole mess.

  If I hadn’t lost my memory, I wouldn’t have come to Reno. I never would have met Drew. Or Zak, Malachi, or Sam. Maybe Sam would still be living with his father and fearing for his life. Malachi wouldn’t have prayed for Zak’s sister and she might still be in a coma–

  Wait. When did I start believing that prayer works?

  Now, evidently.

  “So if I decide this is all legit, what then? If God wants me, what do I have to do?”

  “God’s desire for each of us is to become Christ-followers. That means that you tell Him you’re wrong and He’s right, that you believe He died to set you free from sin, and that there is no way to earn salvation on your own. It’s only through faith in Jesus.”

  “That’s it? It’s way too easy.”

  “It is and it isn’t. I can tell you that it’s really hard to accept that there’s nothing I can do to earn God’s favor because I already have it. It’s easy to fall into some trap of trying to do enough good things to keep God happy when the truth is that He’s already happy with me because He loves me.”

  I guess I can see that.

  I’m sure Drew wants me to convert on the spot, but I’m just not ready to buy in. Not yet.

  Drew pulls into a driveway and shifts into park, but doesn’t kill the engine. “You know what I’d suggest? Ask Him. God can handle your questions, your frustration, and your anger. Give it all to Him and see what He does with it. You might be surprised.”

  Like it’s really that easy.

  But Drew’s been so kind and patient, I can’t hit him with my doubts. “Thanks. For the advice, for listening, and just for being there.”

  “Anytime. And if you have more questions…”

  It feels like all I have right now are questions. I offer a smile and reach for the door handle.

  Getting out of the car, I survey the area. Historic homes line the street on either side of the modest house in front of us. A single-level, older brick home, it glows with warmth. Multicolored lights ring the windows and a huge wreath hangs on the white front door.

  Drew pushes the door open and gestures for me to go inside.

  Even though we got out of his nice, warm car only a few seconds ago, cold has seeped into my skin. Warmth from a crackling fire envelopes me the second I step into the living room, chasing away the chill.

  Something tells me it’s not only the fire that warms me, though, but the sight of people who have become good friends.

  Malachi and Sam are here already, as are some of the other employees, but no sign of Zak yet.

  Then again, his sister just woke up. Maybe he’s planning to spend Christmas with her instead.

  Drew takes my jacket and hangs it in a closet behind the front door, then leads me further into the house. After a brief tour, he moves into the kitchen to help Charlie with dinner preparation.

  Lights twinkle on the Christmas tree, which might be real or might be fake, I can’t tell. Either way, the room smells like pine needles and cinnamon.

  It smells like Christmas.

  Garland drapes from the ceiling, a wreath dominates the wall above the fireplace, and two stockings hang from the mantle.

  Christmas is a big deal at my house, but it’s all superficial. Stuff, stuff, and more stuff, not warmth and family and quality time…

  Wait. I remember Christmas.

  Mom always makes roast beef. And scalloped potatoes. It’s about the only meal she cooks herself all year. While wearing a new apron, of course.

  I always secretly thought she made dinner solely for the purpose of buying a new apron.

  Like she ever needs an excuse to buy something new.

  Dad always manages to put in a jab or two about how disappointing my career path has been to him while simultaneously giving me a gift I’d only use if working in his office. Like a leather briefcase or designer suit.

  Uncle Saul usually spends way too much on a gift I’ll actually like. I’ve always thought he subconsciously overcompensates for Dad, but I’ve never asked him.

  Regardless of his motive, I appreciate the gesture.

  Malachi joins me. “So.” There’s a hint of mischief in his voice. “Any interesting dreams last night?”

  He knows! But how could he possibly know?

  Drew must have told him. Yet I haven’t seen Drew talking to him since we got here.

  “Did Drew tell you?”

  He laughs. “God did.”

  “You have God on speed dial or something?”

  “Sure. We all do. It’s called prayer. You could try it sometime.”

  Somehow, I doubt God really cares about my prayers.

  The love on the Man’s face flashes through my mind as vividly as if I were still dreaming. Then again, maybe God does care.

  “God wants you to know that He’s been calling you for a long time.”

  The words feel like a warm embrace. To know that Someone is pursuing me out of love, not some crazy desire to kill me, is amazing.

  But do I truly believe that Malachi knows what he’s talking about?

  He talks like he can really hear God. Not even Drew, the soon-to-be pastor, talks as vividly about God as Malachi does.

  There’s no reason for me to believe that Malachi hears God as clearly as he cl
aims to. After all, he’s a waiter with a perfect voice, not some religious bigwig.

  In fact, it sounds crazy. Institution level crazy.

  And yet, I do believe it. Not sure why, but I know I do.

  “So God gives you all these messages. Why doesn’t He do that for everyone else?”

  Malachi leans against the wall and studies me. “He does, but He interacts with each of us in different ways. Think about how you interact with Zak and Sam and Drew. Do you act exactly the same around each one?”

  Definitely not.

  With Zak, I feel free to say anything. With Sam, I try to be overly positive. And with Drew… well, I don’t really know how I’m acting around Drew these days, but it’s most certainly not the same.

  The idea that God would choose to interact with each person differently is fascinating. Could He really look at all the millions of people and not see a mass of bodies, but see us each as individuals?

  And if so, why interact with me? I’m not following Him or praying or anything. What could He possibly want with me?

  Well, I’ve got the man with the inside line to God right in front of me.

  “So if God is calling, what does He want?”

  “You. He loves you and wants you to choose to have a relationship with Him.”

  “What does a relationship with God even look like?”

  Malachi pauses. Possibly thinking. Maybe listening to this voice of God he claims to hear. “It’s complete assurance that you are loved, no matter what. It’s peace. Not the ‘life’s perfect’ kind of peace, but the kind of peace that lasts through any circumstance.”

  I’d love to have peace like that. To be able to face everything that’s happening without fear would be unspeakable.

  Combine that peace with unconditional love and… wow.

  It sounds too good to be true.

  But I’m tired. Tired of trying to do everything myself. Tired of trying to make it alone. Tired of fighting what I’m slowly feeling might be the truth.

  And if Jesus really loves me enough to suffer like I saw in the dream, then I don’t want to do anything but love Him back. Whatever that might look like.

  The door opens and Zak walks in, pushing a wheelchair with a frail ghost sitting in it.

  Wait. That’s not a ghost, it’s Carina! She’s out of the hospital?

  Evidently. Although I don’t think she should be. The poor girl is little more than a flesh-wrapped skeleton.

  But the smile on her face is very much alive.

  Zak wheels her chair next to the fire and readjusts the blankets draped across her, carefully tucking them around her legs as though she’s made of glass.

  Although I’m not sure why, I find myself moving toward her.

  Malachi evidently feels the same compulsion, for he’s right by my side.

  The glow from the fire is nothing compared to what I see on Zak’s face. He grins as we approach. “Carina, these are my friends. Stormy and Malachi.”

  I shake her hand, which feels like icicles in my fingers. “It’s so good to see you around already. Did the hospital release you?”

  She laughs, a slightly breathless sound that lacks the strength I suspect she once possessed. “Hardly. I have to go back in a few hours. But I told them I wasn’t spending another Christmas in that bed.”

  Her voice is barely above a whisper, but even at that, there’s life in it. In fact, she radiates life in a way that most healthy people fail to do.

  Instead of shaking her hand, Malachi envelops it between his own. “God is with you, Carina. He will give you strength.”

  “I know. He told me.”

  “Told you?” I can hardly believe those words came from someone other than Malachi, but they were clearly spoken in Carina’s soft voice.

  So what, now she’s hearing from God, too?

  A slight nod, that looks more like a tremor, moves her head. “I saw Him in a dream. Like you did.”

  Like I did?

  The words hit my stomach like a fist. How can she possibly know that? “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “Your dream.”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “God told me.”

  I look at Zak to find the same skepticism I’m feeling mirrored on his face. But neither of us contradict her.

  Besides, how can I when I know she’s right?

  Malachi places a hand on my shoulder. “Why is it so hard for you to believe?”

  A gentle smile curls her lips. “I remember you. You’re the man with the warm hands.”

  The what?

  I look at Zak, who shakes his head slowly. Evidently this isn’t the first time he’s heard about this.

  “How do you know Malachi?”

  Carina looks at me before transferring her attention back to him. “I remember him from the hospital. When he prayed for me. Heat came from his hands.”

  Must be the medications the hospital has her on because she sounds crazy.

  Then again, who’s to say how much people in comas can comprehend. Maybe she was aware the whole time.

  For her sake, I sure hope not. I can’t imagine spending years trapped inside your own head.

  But she was obviously aware that Malachi was there. Able to sense his hands. And conscious enough to think they were warm.

  I study her. Obviously I don’t know what she used to look like, but she’s several shades paler than Zak and her hair lacks luster. Her eyes, however, radiate a joy and peace that I’ve rarely seen. “How are you feeling?”

  “Amazing.”

  Zak slants his eyes at her. “She tires easily. She lost muscle and is looking at a long road to regain her strength. We’re looking at physical therapy options, and maybe some short-term in-home care if the insurance will cover it.”

  Carina waves a tiny hand at him. “Listen to the pessimist. I’m alive, I’m awake, and I’m with friends. What could be better?”

  Amazing.

  The woman just lost years of her life and she acts like it’s nothing. I’ve lost nothing but memories and I act like the world has stopped spinning.

  And you know what? In many ways, she’s right.

  I simply spend so much time feeling sorry for myself that I fail to see all the good things around me.

  I’m alive.

  I have my strength.

  I have enough money to live comfortably – and run, if I need to.

  Most of all, I’ve found people who care about me. Even if none of us knows much about me.

  What more do I need?

  Well, my memories would be nice.

  Drew told me to take my doubts to God. That God could handle them. Maybe I should try praying. It couldn’t hurt, right?

  As conversation moves around me, I let my thoughts take over.

  Okay, God. Drew, Malachi, and Carina all say You’re real and that You love me. If You’re really there, please help me to remember everything before it hurts someone I care about. Give me back my memories.

  Sixteen

  Parker Industries.

  I don’t think that sign has ever looked more welcoming. Even if I am seeing it through a haze of rain on one of the worst nights of my life, thanks to Ryan.

  Oh, I can’t wait to tell dad about him.

  A car door slams somewhere behind me.

  I whirl. Who would be here this late at night?

  No one good, that’s for sure. Business would’ve closed down hours ago. Not even dad would be here this late.

  I force my feet faster. I’d run, but in these heels, I might break an ankle.

  I hope I have my key. If not, I’ll bust out a window to get inside.

  Dad can afford to replace it. And he wouldn’t want me to spend the night hunched outside his office in the rain.

  Besides, breaking in will set off the alarm. Which will get dad down here to give me a ride home. He won’t be happy about the false alarm or late night trip, but he’ll get over it.

  Eventually.

  I still c
an’t believe I lost my phone in Ryan’s car. That I got out of his car in such a bad area of town.

  I should’ve been paying more attention to my surroundings, planned my confrontation better.

  This night has been one long series of bad decisions, but that ends now.

  As soon as I can get inside.

  Rounding the corner, I notice a light on. Third floor, executive offices. From the position, it looks like Uncle Saul’s office.

  But why would he be here?

  Maybe something’s wrong. Dad had mentioned a discrepancy in the books. Perhaps Uncle Saul is here trying to figure it out.

  I can ask him as soon as I get inside.

  And I must say, I’m glad it’s him and not Dad. He’s far less likely to lecture me.

  I reach the side entrance. The bright security light above the door bathes the area in a white glow.

  Standing under the light, I angle my purse to see inside.

  Okay, if I have my key, it should be in the little zippered pocket… there!

  For the first time all night, things are looking up.

  I twist the key in the lock and push inside.

  The door clicks shut behind me. I cross to the alarm panel, but it’s not active.

  Weird. Even if Uncle Saul is here working late, this place is always alarmed after dark. The neighborhood is too shady and the company secrets too valuable to take any chances.

  My feet slosh in my sodden shoes. I should stop by the bathroom. I can’t really dry off, but I can at least wring out my hair and pat my skin dry with paper towels.

  It’s better than nothing.

  I exit the ladies room five minutes later, feeling moderately better but still looking like a drenched Chihuahua.

  Well, I had expected to call a cab, but since Uncle Saul is here, I can probably hitch a ride home with him. Assuming he isn’t planning to stay all night or something crazy.

  The elevator dings softly when I push the button, then delivers me silently to the third floor.

  The reception area is lit by the emergency exit signs. My heels sink into the carpet dad replaced only a few weeks ago.

  I bypass the desk of dad’s administrative assistant and start down the hallway. The chief operating officer’s office is dark, as is dad’s office, but light creeps around the door to Uncle Saul’s office.

  The door is ajar. Voices murmur around the nearly closed door.