Why Did You Hurt Me?

by Phylicia Joannis

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

  Visions

  Martin feels the walls closing in on him. He is going to suffocate if he doesn’t get out of here soon. Josh is insane. The proof is all around him.

  “Josh, you don’t know what you’re doing! Think this through!”

  Martin looks at Josh, but the faraway glint in his eyes is evidence enough. Mentally, at least, Josh is gone.

  “All my hopes went up in smoke, West,” Josh chuckles. “Up in smoke. Isn’t that funny?” Josh’s demented smile fades and he turns to leave.

  “No!” Martin calls after him. “Don’t do this!” He runs to the window but stops as a small fire licks the frame from the outside. Josh must have set the fire as he left. The window was his last hope. He’s going to be burned alive!

  A small whimper escapes Martin’s lips as he crumples to the floor in despair. How could this happen? Why is God letting this happen? Martin breaks into a fit of coughs. The smoke is unbearable. He feels himself slipping away, and he knows he is going to die. Before he loses consciousness, Martin hears himself whisper one final plea for help.

  “God, please save me...”

  •••

  Max knows where to find him; he just hopes it isn’t too late. He sprints past the trees, noting every landmark. Every detail from his dream is still vivid in his mind; it was the same dream he’s been having for the last few weeks. Max had fallen asleep on the couch. As soon as his eyes closed he was carried away to the woods.

  He knew something was different this time. It felt like he was really there. He could see the smoke as he walked through the trees. He could smell the burning wood – and something else. As he approached the house, the smell became more distinct. It was gasoline.

  Max could feel the heat of the fire as he ran to the window. In his other dreams he could only make out the form of a body. But in this dream, he saw that the body was a young man. He’d never moved past the window before, but this time he crossed over, through the walls, and arrived on the other side. The same body was curled into a ball near a large wooden door. The first thing Max noticed were the custom made Adidas on his feet.

  Those were Martin’s shoes.

  Max rushed over to the body and tried to move it, but he couldn’t touch it. He was like a ghost. Max couldn’t make out the face at first; his arms covered his head, forming a shield from the smoke. The boy groaned as Max stood over him, then finally moved his arms. Max’s fears were realized. It was Martin. In that moment, Max realized it was more than a dream. His friend was in trouble, and he needed Max to help him, somehow. Max heard a crack and turned in time to see the roof cave in over them. Before the boards reached them, Max jerked and felt himself falling.

  Pain struck in his left temple and he grabbed it, wincing. He opened his eyes in his living room and gave the glass table a suspicious look. Remembering the dream, he catapulted off the couch and out the door, grabbing his phone and his father’s car keys before leaving.

  •••

  Max picks up his pace, but each second that passes feels like an eternity. He has to help Martin! Finally, he finds the house.

  Smoke billows from the back of the house, just like it did in his dream. Max knows the only way in is through the basement door. He just hopes he isn’t too late.

  Max runs into the house and immediately covers his mouth. Though the flames haven’t reached this part of the house, the smoke has. Max coughs as he makes his way down the hallway.

  He finds the staircase leading to the basement and follows it to the bottom. A large wooden chair is wedged underneath the doorknob, and a thick rope is tied between the knob and the rail, blocking the door.

  Max blows out in exasperation as he bounces between untying the rope and removing the chair to pry open the door. Max hopes that removing the chair will be the easiest and quickest way to get the door open. He quickly knocks the chair out of place and tosses it onto the staircase. He turns the knob but it won't budge. He shakes it several times, but it only rattles in protest. It’s locked.

  “Aagh!” Max shouts in frustration as he runs his fingers through his hair. Beads of sweat trickle down his face and back, and he kicks the door with his left foot. It kicks him back, and Max squats to the floor, tendering his knee as the bones in his leg curse his stupidity.

  “Jesus, help me,” he exhales a prayer as he rubs away the pain in his leg. He can see smoke rising from underneath the door, and Max prays for an answer to come quickly.

  He looks down at his leg, willing himself to think despite the pain. Something shimmering catches his eye and he bends down further to get a closer look.

  There on the bottom step is a small key with a string attached to it. Max grabs it and jumps up, praying that it fits the door. His hand shakes as he tries to push the key in one way, but it won't go in.

  He tries it twice before turning it the other way, willing himself to move faster. His hands shake so badly that he drops the key. He breathes in slowly, praying for the peace of God, and picks up the key. He pushes it in the keyhole, and it fits. Excited, he turns the key to the left and his heart jumps as he hears the click of the lock releasing. He pulls the key out and turns the doorknob, thrusting it open two or three inches before the rope stretches taut. A cloud of smoke flies into the staircase, nearly overpowering Max with its intensity.

  Max closes the door quickly, catching his breath and searching for solutions. He looks at the wooden chair on the stairs and a thought strikes him. He grabs it quickly and bangs it against the doorknob. Nothing happens. Max slams it against the doorknob again.

  The sound of a slight crack encourages him to keep it up. He does it a third and fourth time until, finally, the chair splinters into three pieces. He grabs the largest piece and continues his work.

  After several more blows, the doorknob begins to separate from the wooden door. Max's tool splinters again, leaving just a small stub.

  Max throws the broken chair aside and begins kicking at the doorknob until the screws connecting the door to the knob separate. He tries opening the door again, pulling at it until the door opens an extra foot. The smoke makes his eyes burn, but Max ignores it. Too much time has already passed.

  He puts one leg, then the other, over the rope and maneuvers himself until he is between the door and the wall. He sticks both feet on the door and pushes. Max glances over to the other side of the door where he knows Martin is laying. Martin is curled in a fetal position with his arms covering his face. The flames around the room are steadily creeping up the walls. Max takes one final determined kick at the door and whoops as he hears the doorknob snap off. The door swings open limply and the doorknob falls to the floor with a loud chink.

  Max moves quickly, running to Martin and pulling him by his arms. With his arms wrapped underneath Martin's, Max drags his friend to the door. Martin is heavier than Max expected, and it’s a slow process.

  Just as he reaches the bottom step of the staircase, Max hears a crack and a loud groan as the roof of the basement collapses. Splintered wood and flames fly out towards them, and Max pulls with all his might until he and Martin are up the stairs. His back is soaked in sweat by the time they reach the top, and Max has to readjust his grip on Martin.

  Martin groans and coughs. His eyes open briefly, just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of Max before losing consciousness again. Max takes a deep breath and grabs Martin again.

  The fire is taking its toll on the rest of the house, and they need to get out. Fast. Max continues to drag Martin until they are out of the house, off the porch, and back in the clearing. Max falls on the grass with exhaustion and checks on Martin. He isn’t breathing.

  Max panics and begins shouting his name. “Martin, come on, wake up!” He checks his pulse. It’s faint. He places his ear close to Martin’s mouth, and breathes a prayer of thanks when he feels air come out of Martin’s mouth.

  He pulls out his cell phone, knowing he can’t take Martin any further, and they need hel
p. He flips open his phone, but it reads out of service. He nearly slings his phone into the woods out of frustration when a thought comes to him. He turns his phone off and then back on. He waits as the icon indicates it is searching for a signal. “Come on,” he whispers.

  The phone finally beeps and a small signal lights up in blue. Not taking for granted the strength of the signal, Max quickly makes a call.

  EPILOGUE

  At 10:00 pm, Johnny gets the call. Charles Reese is dead.

  He’d gone home after spending an hour with Jennifer, crying on her porch. His mother calls him from the hospital, pleading with him to come back. Johnny tells her he’ll think about it, but he’s really tired.

  Johnny sits in his room, despondent. He turns on his computer and emails Frank. After waiting a few minutes with no reply, he turns his computer off. He sits down on his bed, staring off into space for several minutes before anxiety forces him to move.

  He scans his bookshelf for some kind of distraction. He has several magazines, a few books, and a dozen or so comics. The small New Testament Jennifer gave him sticks out from all the other choices. He grabs it and sits back down on his bed.

  Something possesses him as he reads it. He turns to the back and flips through the concordance. Unhappy with the results of his search, he tosses the Testament aside and turns his computer back on.

  He has no idea what he is looking for; all he can remember are the first few words of the verse. “I the Lord search the heart.” It occurs him that he first heard the phrase when he attended bible study with Jennifer. Her youth pastor had been reading a passage of scripture. Where had it been?

  Johnny looks up concordances on the web and searches for the scripture by key words. After looking through several possible matches, he finds it in Jeremiah 17:10.

  “I the LORD search the heart, I try the reins, even to give every man according to his ways, and according to the fruit of his doings.”

  Johnny frowns and shuts off his computer again. He should be at the hospital, comforting his mother, not here at the house reading nonsense. He grabs his jacket and his keys and heads for the door. Johnny opens it just as two men in blue uniforms walk up.

  “Jonathan Reese?” the first man asks.

  “Yeah, that's me,” Johnny answers nervously.

  “I'm detective Lawson,” he points to his partner, “this is detective Gladden. We're placing you under arrest.”

  “Why, what’s happened?” Johnny asks, wide-eyed.

  “We're going to have to take you to the station for questioning,” the second officer answers as he pulls out a pair of handcuffs.

  “But what did I do?” Johnny begins slowly backing up into the house.

  “We can do this the hard way, or we can do this peacefully, kid.” Detective Lawson nods at his partner. “Run, and we do this the hard way.”

  Johnny blanches as the officer grabs his hands and cuffs him. Their voices barely register as he’s read his Miranda rights.

  “Do you have any weapons, illegal drugs or narcotics in your possession?” the officer asks sternly. Johnny shakes his head, though they search him anyway. As he is directed into the police car, Johnny makes a feeble attempt to pray. But no words come.

  ###

  For additional updates on books in the Logoria Series, visit the author’s website at

  https://www.phylicia.us