Truth Runner

by Jerel Law

  “Remember, we are looking for a black four-door sedan with two men and Jeremiah. I know there are a lot of those cars in this city, but with the help of Elohim, we will no doubt find him,” Marcus instructed.

  His confidence inspired the quarterlings, and they were itching to hit the streets with their teams.

  “Eliza,” Sister Patricia said, sticking her head just inside the door. “The police are here.”

  She walked into the hallway and past the prayer room, which was full of nuns already on their knees, calling out to Elohim. She heard Jeremiah’s name over and over, and she knew that if she were in the hidden realm, she would see tendrils of light joining those that were praying together and pouring as one upward.

  Two police officers stood in the doorway, along with a woman dressed in a sharp-fitting navy suit. They were speaking with a couple of the nuns as Eliza walked up.

  “Eliza,” the woman said, extending her hand and looking at her seriously. “I’m Officer Kelly, and I’m sorry to hear about your brother. These are officers Anderson and Reilly. We’d like to know as much as you can tell us about what happened.”

  They sat down in some chairs in the lobby, and Eliza took a deep breath to tell the story again. But she hesitated before launching in. What could she tell them about their first visit down to the factory? About Jeremiah thinking he saw his mom? About the attacks? She couldn’t just come out and say, “Well, we were being attacked by fallen angels because my brother thought he saw our dead mother, so we had to escape, and we jumped into a moving truck.” She silently prayed that she would be able to figure out a way to tell the story without lying.

  Officer Kelly asked her to detail exactly what happened, and Eliza offered everything she could think of. She spent most of the time trying to describe as much as she could about the men she saw take Jeremiah. She’d seen them for only a second or two at the most, but she could remember certain things. One had curly gray hair, and the other was wearing a black stocking cap. Both had black trench coats on. She had seen one shoe, worn by the gray-haired man—a light brown boot.

  Kelly was impressed. “You have a remarkable memory, Eliza,” she said, making notes in a spiral-bound notebook resting on her knee. “So tell me what you saw the first time you two were there that made him want to come back.”

  “Well, I was looking for him, because he had wandered off, which Jeremiah is prone to do,” she said. “He thought he’d seen our mother. She . . . passed away last year.”

  Kelly glanced up from her notes and blinked. “I’m so sorry, Eliza.”

  Eliza continued, “We ended up going into this factory by accident. We got out by going downstairs into the parking deck.”

  She decided to skip the part about riding in the yellow truck.

  Officer Kelly chewed on her pen for a minute and seemed to want to say something else, but then closed her notebook. “We’re going to put as many people as we can on this. Hopefully we can have some news for you soon.” She looked around the hallway for a minute. “What kind of school is this again?”

  “It’s a Christian boarding school for international students,” Eliza answered, hoping that answer would satisfy her. Kelly shrugged and handed Eliza her card. “Call me if you think of anything else. I’ll be back in touch.”

  She turned to go with the other two officers. Eliza wondered how much help they would really be, but then she remembered that they were looking for real people and vehicles in the physical world, and the more help, the better.

  Eliza stepped into the prayer room, sinking to her knees beside the women already praying. Silently, she entered the hidden realm, watching for a few seconds as the white glowing ropes moved through them and into the ceiling, alive, pulsating, coming from the heartfelt prayers that were being offered.

  “Elohim,” she whispered. “Please, if You will, please let us find my little brother. Please help guide us in the right direction. I know You have a plan. You have a purpose in all of this. Nothing happens without You knowing about it first. Whatever happens, I want to ask that he please be returned safely here. Let him know that You’re with him right now.”

  She stayed another minute, listening to the others pray. Then quietly she stood, throwing up one more quick prayer.

  “Please . . . the last thing our family needs is to lose someone else.”

  SIXTEEN

  IN THE RAVINE

  Jonah sat up on his knees.

  “Help!” he screamed as loudly as his lungs could handle. “Help! Someone get me out of here!”

  He pushed against the walls as hard as he could. With all his angel strength, he pushed. But the sides wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t move them. He tried, again and again, hitting them with his fists, karate chopping them with his feet. It was like they were made of something quarterling resistant.

  Eliza’s text had caused something to break within him. All of his pretending, all the hiding, the running, and the acting as if he were someone that he wasn’t. All of it was stripped bare in the moment he realized his brother was in trouble and his sister needed him and he couldn’t do anything to help. He had neglected them, he had turned his back on them, and he knew it. He had let his anger and despair affect not only him but his family.

  Now they were in trouble, and he was on the other side of the world—at least it felt like that—so far away that he couldn’t do anything.

  “I can’t do anything for anyone,” he muttered. “I’m stuck here in this bus.”

  Another reality hit him just as hard, and just as fast, in the darkness of the prison he was in. Eliza and Jeremiah, and his father, for that matter, weren’t the only ones he had neglected.

  He fell again to his knees.

  “Elohim,” he whispered. Over and over, the name came from his lips, His name the only sound there in the night.

  “I’m done,” Jonah cried out. “I can’t do this anymore. Not on my own. You called to me, and I ran away. I tried to do everything on my own, everything. You chased after me, but I wouldn’t listen. You told me to go to New York, back with Eliza and Jeremiah . . . You told me to treat my dad differently than I have. And I didn’t do any of it. And look where I am. Right here, trapped in this bus at the bottom of a cliff.”

  The tears rose in waves, and he let them come. His chest heaved, and an image of his mother’s face sprang across his mind.

  “Mom . . . ,” he said, when his breathing finally slowed again. “I’ve been so upset, so mad about it all. You took her away, and I don’t get it. I don’t. But how I’ve been dealing with things, well, it obviously hasn’t helped. I don’t know what to do about all of that, about how much I miss her.” He stopped for a minute to gather his thoughts. “But I know that running from You isn’t the answer. I only ended up running from who I am, not running from You.”

  Jonah lay down on the floor. “I’m ready to go, Elohim,” he finally said. “Ready to do whatever it is You want me to do.”

  He fell asleep again, his head resting against a cushion, which was covered with his tears.

  He awoke to a light shining down from the sky, illuminating the trees outside.

  “Is that You?” Jonah asked sleepily, picking himself up from the floor.

  He heard voices, faint at first, but growing louder. They were shouting, and soon he could make out the words.

  “Hey! Is anyone down there? Anyone alive?”

  Jonah moved close to the side where he could see through a small crack the size of a basketball. He could hear a whirring sound and saw a couple of ropes dangling in a clearing beside the wreckage he was in.

  Several men were sliding down on ropes, which were attached to a helicopter, floating just above the tree line.

  “I’m here! Yes!” he shouted. “I’m in here!”

  The rescue didn’t take very long. Within minutes, the search-and-rescue team had cut through the side of the bus with their special tools, cracking it open like a coconut. Then they pulled Jonah back up to the road in a harness
.

  As Jonah sat with the medics a few minutes later, back at the top of the cliff, he could finally see where he had fallen.

  “Son, you are one lucky kid,” said the man placing bandages on a couple of scrapes on his arms and legs. He nodded in the direction of the cliff. “Never seen anyone go over anything like that before. And I’ve definitely never seen anyone come out alive. Somebody’s watching out for you.”

  Jonah nodded, and he knew that luck had nothing to do with it. And yes, more than ever, he was convinced that someone was indeed watching out for him.

  PART III

  CONFRONTATIONS

  What I have vowed I will make good. I will say, “Salvation comes from the LORD.”

  Jonah 2:9 NIV

  SEVENTEEN

  THE UN

  Yes,” Vitaly Cherkov said to his assistant as they strode down the marble hallway, expensive leather shoes clicking along at a fast pace. He nodded to another ambassador passing in the other direction with his entourage surrounding him. The halls of the United Nations building in New York City were sacred ground to most who served there. They were a symbol of the efforts of the world to bring unity and peace, to hammer out disagreements in a civilized manner—a triumph of freedom over tyranny.

  To Vitaly, though, all of this was old news from another era. He had been here a long, long time, and he knew how things really worked. There were people of passion, sacrifice, and service here, to be sure. But most of them were much younger than he and still had the audacity to think they could change the world with a little bit of effort and diplomacy. Vitaly played the game well, but experience and time had taught him differently.

  His mind wandered back to last night. The visit from the special aide to the United Nations had been unexpected, and at first, unwanted. But what he had seen in the man’s eyes had startled him. He had spent the next two hours lying in his bed, unable to go to sleep—craving what he’d seen. His hands had trembled so much he’d had to push them underneath his pillow to get them to stop.

  He was having trouble remembering the specifics, though. But he did know that he had seen himself in the future. And one thing was for sure—he was sitting on a throne.

  When he finally dozed off for a fitful hour of sleep, he had awful, unspeakable nightmares.

  In these morning hours, though, his rational side was kicking in. He would not be bought, let alone intimidated by this, or any, mere man. He had to be strong. The vision must have been some strange hallucination. Perhaps a bad batch of caviar he’d tasted the night before was responsible.

  “Sir, you have approximately three minutes until your morning briefing,” his aide said, walking a pace ahead as he glanced at his watch. Another young man helped him slide out of his overcoat, revealing an expensive Italian suit. “We don’t want to be late.”

  He glared at his aide. “Yes, yes,” was all he said, taking the folder from him and glancing through it.

  Mr. Prince was sitting on a bench in the hallway when they rounded the corner, sipping coffee out of a Styrofoam cup. Vitaly saw him and dropped the folder onto the floor.

  “Watch that,” Mr. Prince called out, sipping again. “Don’t want to get any of those important files mixed up.” He chuckled.

  Vitaly felt his hands trembling again and shoved them in his pockets. He tried not to acknowledge the comment, walking past the man on the bench as his aide picked up the file.

  “A minute of your time, if you please, sir,” Mr. Prince called out as Vitaly walked past.

  Vitaly hesitated, closing his eyes for a few seconds, but not turning back.

  His aide cut a glance toward Mr. Prince. “He is about to be late for a meeting, sir,” he said, continuing to walk ahead.

  “It’s okay. I won’t be long,” Mr. Prince said, standing up. “You can make a few minutes for me, can’t you, Vitaly?”

  Vitaly turned around, his mind back on the strange vision. “A few minutes, of course.”

  “But, sir, we’re going to be—”

  “It’s okay, Sergey!” he said, his voice rising. “It will only be a minute, no longer.”

  “What is it you want?” Vitaly hissed quietly. “He is right. I have an important meeting today.”

  Mr. Prince walked slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. “Now, Vitaly, you take that tone with me, after all I shared with you last night?” he said, placing his hand on his shoulder.

  Vitaly felt the weight of his grasp, although he couldn’t tell if the man was squeezing hard or if his arm just felt extraordinarily heavy. Another contingent of diplomats walked briskly by, and he managed to give them a nod and a strained smile as they greeted him.

  When they were alone again, he turned to Mr. Prince. “I am going to be late. But, yes, last night was quite . . . impressive.”

  “I know you are a busy man,” Mr. Prince said, eyes gleaming, “and I certainly don’t want to take up too much of your time. I hope you had some wonderful dreams last night.”

  Vitaly glared at him. If he only knew the awful nightmares he’d had. “Yes, yes, I did.”

  Prince grinned. “Just remember, I only gave you a taste last night of what’s to come. There is more. Much more.”

  He took a sip from the white cup, allowing his words to sink in.

  Vitaly couldn’t help it. He longed to look into the man’s eyes again. “More, you say?”

  Mr. Prince smiled, nodding. “That is what I’ll do for you, Vitaly. You have to trust me. But today, I need something from you.”

  Vitaly twitched, pushing his shaking hands into his pockets again. There was something about talking to this man. No one in the meeting room full of important people he was about to enter made him feel quite this nervous, and excited, all at once.

  “I just want a list of names, that’s all,” Mr. Prince said, locking eyes with the Russian. “A list of the people attending the party on your boat tomorrow night. The celebration of the year is what I’ve heard. Many dignitaries will be there to honor the recent accomplishments you’ve made in world peace. To toast the victories you have sustained all over the world. It’s been truly impressive, Vitaly. I’d like to know exactly who is going to be there.”

  Vitaly glanced back at his aides, who were waiting impatiently down the hall. He raised a finger to them signaling one more minute. “Why do you need such a list?”

  “Why I need it is not really anything you need to know,” he said. “I just need to know if you’re going to do this for me. Otherwise . . .”

  He let the word linger, and Vitaly thought of the consequences of losing the trust of this man—what he’d seen would never become reality.

  “Fine, fine,” he said. “I will get you the list. But that’s all, is that clear?”

  Mr. Prince laughed, and then drew very close to him so that Vitaly could see his yellowing teeth and smell his rancid breath. Prince squeezed his arm until Vitaly thought his bones might crack. “It will be all when I say it’s all, Mr. Ambassador. Is that clear?”

  Vitaly felt the pain shoot through his arm, and, trying not to squeal, he nodded silently.

  Mr. Prince straightened the ambassador’s jacket, his tone soothing once again. “Otherwise, things may not happen for you like they’re supposed to. Like I want them to.”

  “Is everything all right, Mr. Ambassador?” Sergey, Vitaly’s aide, asked, walking toward them slowly.

  Vitaly checked his tie. “Yes, everything is fine. Let’s go,” he said. He nodded to the man. “Mr. Prince.”

  Mr. Prince tipped his cap to the ambassador and winked at Sergey.

  “And now we are very late!” Sergey fretted. “What was all of that?”

  “None of your business!” Vitaly snapped, and then waved his hand at his assistant. “I’m sorry, Sergey. It was nothing. My notes, please.”

  Sergey handed him the folder, studying his boss.

  They were about to walk into the meeting room when Vitaly stopped, turning to his trusted aide. “One more thing. I nee
d a copy of the attendance list for the party.”

  Sergey eyed him narrowly. “Sir, you know that lists like that are not something we hand out to people, even someone like Mr. Prince.”

  “It’s not for him!” Vitaly declared. “Just get me a copy of the list. All right? That is all.”

  He nodded, dismissing his assistant as he closed the door behind him. Sergey stood in the hall for a few seconds, debating. Then he turned and scurried away, his leather shoes slapping furiously on the marble.

  EIGHTEEN

  SEARCHING THE STREETS

  All of the quarterlings had arrived at the street where Jeremiah was taken as fast as they could. They had agreed to move in different directions, staying in touch with each other through their cell phones. They would text one another if they saw something suspicious.

  Eliza hurried to catch up with her team, who had already begun the search while she spoke to the police. She noticed the angels overhead, flying slowly, dipping down every once in a while to check something out. They were looking for him too, which was at least a little bit comforting.

  Her stomach wrenched, though, as she thought about Jeremiah and what he might be going through. Was he safe? Where had they taken him? Who were these people? She tried to focus on the task at hand, but that was nearly impossible. She walked even faster, keeping her eyes alert for a black car or a yellow truck.

  There was one big problem with that strategy—practically every car that passed was a black sedan. Each time one of them came her direction, she tried to see in the windows. Most of the time she couldn’t see anything through tinted windows, but sometimes she caught a glimpse of a face or some eyes. Is that him? she found herself thinking with every passing car.

  Finally she caught up with Frederick, Andre, and Rupert. Rupert was staring into a black car waiting at a stoplight. The driver lowered the window and yelled something at him that sounded angry, and then sped off as the light changed.