“Ah, I bet you could handle it. You’re a pretty tough mom.”
Her smile was sad. “There are just some things I can’t do. Sports, fishing, and surfing, and I have a feeling one of these days, when he is taller than me, he will stop listening to what I have to say.”
“Really?” Daniel shook his head. “I doubt it. You’re raising him right. He respects and loves you, and that counts for something.”
She finally looked at him. Curiously at first, but then something flashed in her eyes that resembled thankfulness. “I hope you’re right.”
Daniel longed to slip his hand into hers, to start back up where they’d left off on the beach two nights ago. But something had changed. He could sense it. A distance she was putting between them. Or maybe it was him. He was having trouble shaking the argument he’d had with Thomas. If anything, it had made him realize something he’d been trying to deny.
He loved Angel.
And he wanted her back. Even after she had walked out on him all those years ago. Back then, he’d been willing to give up everything for her. But what he didn’t know—what had been nagging him ever since she’d walked back into his life—was if it came to it, was he willing to do the same thing now? This time around, he had much more to lose. And he was no longer a kid with foolish dreams.
A breeze stirred her hair over her bare shoulder, her tan skin sparkling like glitter in the sun. A whiff of baby powder tickled his nose, making him smile. Always baby powder, sweet and innocent just like her. Thomas had called her a whore. Daniel should have slugged him for that, for nothing could be farther from the truth. She wore the most modest swimsuit on the beach. And on top of that she wore shorts. If not for her loose past and her present involvement in a cult, he’d get on bended knee right there and ask for her hand.
At least one of those impediments he had a chance of destroying.
“I’m glad to see you and your church have stopped beach evangelism,” he said to break the silence between them.
She released a long sigh and drew a handful of sand. “I’m not. We were really helping people.”
“Maybe, but you can’t help anyone in prison.”
“Really? This coming from a preacher?” She gave him a look of reprimand that must send Isaac dashing for his bedroom. “Does the story of Paul and Silas in prison ring a bell? The jailer who got saved along with his entire household?”
Shame heated Daniel. How did this woman know more about the Bible than he did? “I can’t seem to make any headway with you.”
She tilted her head. “Then why bother trying?”
Daniel laughed. “Ever my sassy Angel.”
Finally, he got a genuine smile that even reached her eyes with a sparkle. She gazed at him for a moment as if she wanted to say something, but then glanced back out to sea.
Isaac waved at them from the shallows where he’d just rode a wave to shore with two of his friends.
Angel waved back and so did Daniel as a cloud obscured the sun and a breeze whipped over them.
“Must be tough being a single parent these days.”
Planting her hands behind her on the towel, she leaned back, her eyes still on Isaac. “I won’t deny it. He’s growing up way too fast, and they are teaching him horrible things in school. Plus, money is always tight.”
“Listen, Angel, I want to help.” He truly did, but for all his eloquence, he suddenly could not find the words to proceed. “I want…well I want us to be more than friends. I’m begging you to stop going to that home church. If you get arrested again, I may not be able to help you.”
She slid hair behind her ear and looked at him with those jade green eyes of hers, full of more strength than he ever remembered. “If God wills that, I will endure it.”
“For what? Why are you so stubborn?” Daniel dug his foot into the sand.
“Why is it so important to you? We can still be friends, right? Oh, I get it.” She flattened her lips. “You’re afraid if I get arrested, it will affect your career.”
“No, that’s not it. Well, maybe part of it. But honestly, I’m more worried about you.” That piece of honest truth shocked him. “Besides, when you kissed me the other night, I could tell you still have feelings for me.” He slid his hand in hers.
Instead of facing him with that alluring smile of hers and admitting she did, she withdrew her hand and shouted for Isaac to come. Then leaping to her feet, she grabbed her towel, showering him with sand.
“You’re leaving?” Heart plunging into the deep, Daniel rose and brushed sand from his chest and arms.
She folded her towel and plucked her bag from the sand. “I’m sorry, Daniel. That kiss was a mistake. I am never going to leave my church. I’m never going to abandon the truth. And if you can’t accept that, we can never be friends.”
♦♦♦
Three days passed, and Angelica had not heard from Daniel. Apparently, her last brush-off had finally penetrated his thick skull. Good. One less thing to worry about for Isaac’s sake. And hers. She should be thrilled, right? Then why did it feel like someone had poked her heart with a hot skewer?
Never mind. She had other problems to deal with, more important problems—her son’s upbringing and protection, putting food on the table and a roof over his head, and sharing the love of God in a world that hated Him. Which brought her thoughts to Greg. He hadn’t been at work the past two nights, and when she’d asked Sal, he told her Greg had called in sick. Of course, Sal also called Greg a few colorful names and threatened to fire the man if he didn’t show up soon. But it wasn’t like Greg to miss work, at least not for more than a day, and Angelica couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong.
Pepper spray in hand, she dragged her sore feet up the stairs to her apartment, longing for nothing more than to sink into her mattress and sleep forever. But it would be light in four hours and it was her turn to take the kids to school. Afterward, she hoped to catch a few more hours of much-needed sleep before she had to pick them up and run several errands. Thankfully, she had the next two days off to recuperate—both her body and her wounded soul.
Inserting the key, she opened the bottom lock, then the top, and finally entered her beloved home. Darkness created dragons out of the furniture, but a beam of moonlight—bright and silvery—speared the shadows through the window. Light and dark. The endless battle between good and evil, between the truth and lies, between God and Satan. But no, not endless. The way things were looking, this war in the spirit realm would soon come to an end. The light would win and this present darkness would disappear. Forever.
Oh, how she longed for that day! Reminding her that, above all else, she needed to spend time with her Father.
Dropping her things on the table, she plodded toward her room, undressed, tossed her nightshirt on, and dropped into bed. Before a minute passed, her mind drifted into unconsciousness.
But her spirit didn’t.
Scenes invaded, flashing through her mind—a man, handsome with penetrating eyes, speaking behind a podium to a crowd of people so large they would fill a city. Behind him, strange alien-like creatures glared over the throng with elongated heads and slitted eyes. Whenever he spoke, the crowds cheered with such exuberance they had to be quieted so he could continue. Then the scene switched to a war-torn field, desolate, smoking—twisted pieces of metal and human remains scattered about in a bloody stew. Massive tanks rolled over bones, crushing them to pieces. Drones buzzed overhead, searching for survivors.
Then Greg appeared, lying on a carpet in the middle of a room. Alone and in the dark. He held something in his hand. A container of some sort. His eyes were open, staring into the distance, empty and forlorn. A host of dark shadows slithered about him, tugging on his hand and whispering in his ear.
Angelica sat up with a start, her breath coming fast. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she grabbed her cell, found Greg’s number, and called.
A man’s groggy voice answered. “What?”
“Yup.”
“It’s Angelica.”
Moaning sounded. “Do you know what time it is?”
She glanced at the clock. 5:00 a.m. “Are you okay?” she asked, the vision of him still stark in her mind.
“Yeah. What’s up?”
How could she tell him what she saw? “Sal said you were sick. Just checking on you.”
“At five in the morning?” Anger laced his tone.
“Yeah. Sorry. Just worried.”
“I’m fine. Just a cold…” But he didn’t sound like he had a cold. He paused for a moment, and she sensed he wanted to say something. “Thanks Angelica. You’ve always been a good friend.”
“Listen, let me come by tonight. I’ll bring you some chicken soup.”
“No. I’m good. I’ll be back at work soon. Gotta go. ”
The line went dead before she could answer.
Setting down her phone, Angelica rubbed her eyes. He sounded okay, like himself, maybe a little down, but he’d been depressed lately. Yet, there was something—something she couldn’t put her finger on.
“What are you trying to tell me, Father? Should I go to him?” And what about those other horrible visions? Instead of going back to sleep, she turned on a lamp, grabbed her Bible and spent the next hour taking in the holy words, allowing them to soak into her depleted soul.
At first light, she tossed on shorts and a T-shirt, grabbed her pepper spray, and crossed the street. No one was at the beach this early except a few homeless people the police hadn’t scattered, and it gave her a chance to talk with God as she paced up and down the shore.
The sun peeked over the horizon, shoving back the darkness and painting ribbons of gold and orange across the sky. The glorious sight reminded her that God was pure light and pure love and in control. And that all she needed to do was lay her worries, fears, and problems before Him and they would dissipate like fog before the sun. How could she do anything but worship Him, her Creator, her Father, the One who would never leave her? So, she did just that, along with offering her prayers for those in need. An hour later, so saturated with God’s Spirit, she longed to stay on the beach, talking to Him forever, but instead dragged herself back home.
After breakfast, Leigh went off to work. Angelica dropped the kids off at school and ran some errands, trying her best to keep that heavenly euphoria. But the world had a way of bringing her down. Especially when the food lines at the GIFP centers seemed to have doubled in a week’s time, not to mention the zombie apocalypse of homeless wandering the streets.
She switched on the radio, trying to find some music to cheer her up when a news report blared that China had fired a missile at a Japanese ship, sinking it and killing all on board. The two nations had just declared war. At the news, the stock market plummeted—nearly tanked, and North Korea threatened to use their nuclear weapons on anyone who challenged them. In the midst of all that, NASA declared with great excitement that they had found intelligent extraterrestrial life and would soon make a worldwide announcement.
Angelica could hear people chattering excitedly about the news of alien life as she stopped at various stores to pick up necessities. She wasn’t so sure that was a good thing. Aliens? Had God created life on other planets? If so, how did they factor into His plan for earth? And why was this information coming to light now? It seemed too convenient when the world was in chaos and people looked for a savior—eager to follow anyone who would rescue them and solve all their problems. Which reminded her of the powerful, charismatic man she’d seen in her dream and the strange creatures behind him.
How ripe this world was for such a leader.
Despite the frightening news, Angelica’s thoughts remained occupied by two men—Daniel and Greg. She quickly shoved thoughts of Daniel aside, along with the pain they caused, and focused her prayers on Greg. But every time she prayed for him, a sinking fear gnawed at her soul.
Finally, toward the end of the day as Isaac was doing his homework and Joel was playing on Leigh’s tablet, Angelica took a moment to stare out the window onto the beach and ask God what He wanted her to do.
Go to him. The voice came from inside—strong, commanding, yet full of love. The voice of her Father.
So, after Leigh came home, Angelica drove to Greg’s tiny apartment on the west side of town. Whether he liked it or not, she was going to make sure he was all right. Even if she made a fool of herself.
Her knock on the door brought no sound from the other side. She knocked again. And again. And then shouted his name. Still nothing.
Fear rising, she grabbed her cell and tried calling him. No answer.
She peered through the window, but the drapes were drawn. Neighbors stared at her strangely, most refusing to answer her questions. One elderly lady said she hadn’t seen him in days.
Finally, Angelica tried the door. Unlocked. Whispering her thanks to God, she opened it and crept inside. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. A sour smell pinched her nose. A form lay on the carpet in the center of the room. Her heart lurched. Groping for a light switch, she found one and turned it on.
Greg lay on the floor, an empty bottle of pills in his hand.
Chapter 23
And these signs will follow those who believe: In My name they will cast out demons; they will speak with new tongues;
Mark 16:17 (NKJV)
“Oh, no! Oh no, Father!” Angelica dropped to her knees beside Greg and laid two fingers on his neck. Barely a pulse, low and sporadic. Her own pulse was racing as she leaned her ear to his mouth. Still breathing. Thank God. Hands trembling, she punched 9-1-1 on her phone while grabbing the empty pill bottle. The words blurred in her vision as the phone rang and rang and rang. Finally, an answering machine picked up, informing her all lines were busy and her call would be answered in the order in which it was received and—
She hung up and called Scottie.
No answer. Where would he be? She jiggled Greg. No movement. No sound, not even a moan. Rushing to find the bathroom, she grabbed a washcloth and saturated it with water then laid it on Greg’s forehead. Stupid thing to do, she supposed, but she needed time to think.
She dialed Robert and Anna. No answer. She shoved Greg. “Wake up! Wake up, Greg, Please!” A sob stuck in her throat. Father, please help!
Ring…ring…ring… Pick up, Robert!
His voicemail answered. Pacing, she waited for the beep then shouted into her cell. “Robert, I need you! Come to Greg’s house. I think he’s committed suicide. I don’t know what to do. Please help!” She gave him the address and hung up. Then punched in 9-1-1 again.
Setting it on speaker, she laid the phone on the floor and shook Greg again, then wiped his face with the wet cloth.
Each unanswered ring sent a stronger wave of alarm through her.
Finally, a voice came through the speaker. “9-1-1, what is your emergency?”
“It’s my friend Greg. I...I just found him in his apartment. I think he took a bunch of pills. He’s unconscious.”
“Okay, ma’am. Does he have a pulse?”
“Yes, faint.”
“What pills, ma’am? Can you read the label?”
Grabbing the container, Angelica moved to hold it under the lamp.
“Xanax,“ she said. “And there’s an empty bottle of bourbon here too. Please send an ambulance.”
“One is already on the way, ma’am. Keep calm. They should be there in half an hour.”
“Half an hour? Are you kidding me? He could die!”
“Sorry, ma’am. We’ve got lots of emergencies tonight. They’ll be there as soon as they can.”
Stunned, Angelica could only stare at the phone.
“Listen, ma’am, try to get him up. He needs to remain conscious. Get him up and walking. That will help.” The phone went dead.
“Walking?” Angelica glanced back at Greg. No way she could lift him, let alone walk him around. “Father, what do I do?”
♦♦♦
Pesha stood at Greg’s feet, jaw tight, sword drawn, staring at his ward. Baliel stood by his side, having only recently arrived with Angelica.
“I failed him,” Pesha said as he stared at the host of demons—at least twenty—filling Greg’s body and the dozen or so hovering about his head, gloating in their victory.
“You did all you could,” Baliel said. “He wanted this. It was his choice.”
“He didn’t want it. He fought it. But there are so many of them. And their lies erected a wall of deception around him so thick, the Father’s voice couldn’t get through.”
One of the demons faced Pesha. As tall as the ceiling, his body was thin, emaciated, yet dark and shifting, like a column of black smoke. No, not black—an emptiness of light. His teeth were iron spikes, his eyes wide and cold, and he gave such a maniacal laugh, Pesha longed to drive his sword through him.
Baliel eyed the monster as well, bored with his theatrics. “Suicide celebrates a premature victory.”
Pesha raised his sword. “If only I could—”
“You can’t.” Baliel lowered it with his hand. “Greg was overwhelmed. He kept allowing them in, one after the other, kept listening to their lies.”
Pesha nodded toward Angelica. “It started when she tried to tell him about the Father.”
“Indeed. But in truth, it began only when he considered listening. That was when the dragon sent his warriors to attack. They knew his weaknesses and went straight for them.”
Pesha sighed. “And I was helpless to stop them.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Baliel widened his stance, preparing to fight. “You did all you could. You stood by him, fought off those he did not invite, and whispered wisdom in his ears.”
Pesha hung his head. “And now his body will die, and they will drag him to hell. See how Death and the Warden await.”
The two angels glanced in the corner where Death stood, fangs dripping in anticipation, beside the Warden who was jotting something down in a large book open in his lap.
When Angels Cry Page 20