In the Shadows of Freedom

by C

  “But it was so unlike you. I mean, not even to say goodbye?”

  “Please believe me: I never meant to hurt you. I realized that your chance at safety depended on making that 1:00 a.m. train. When I placed the money in your hand and yelled for you to leave, I knew that any further dialogue between us would condemn you to waiting in that station for a train that would never come. I didn’t say goodbye because I knew I’d say hello once again … soon. Besides, we were never truly apart. I think you realize that now.” He gave her a meaningful look. “You’ve changed.”

  “Well, if I’ve changed at all, it’s only because I’ve lost everyone and everything I had in life. That has a way of dramatically altering your perspective.”

  Morgan clasped his hands together. “For some, it’s only when they are stripped of all they have that they realize the one thing that remains—that cannot be taken away—is all they truly need: God. I believe that you were meant to come here to this cabin, that He has a purpose for all of this. Sometimes the only way to safety is through the fire. For those whom God loves, He disciplines.”

  “I’ll admit that I’m grateful to be here … especially now that you’ve joined us.”

  “And I’m not leaving. I’m here for you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, a warm hug full of assurance: security, friendship, familiarity. He was her touchstone: her link to the past, to Academy days when things were simpler. He was part of her transformation: not the corrupting pollution of the city, but the conversion that had begun there through their conversations. Now he was part of her future, a future unknown, but at least together.

  “Thank you, Morgan.” She took a deep breath. “And now it’s time to hear Nasir’s news.”

  She and Morgan reentered the cabin. The glass had been swept off the floor and everyone was silent, listening with rapt attention as Nasir spoke.

  “I took the laptop Amanda gave me to the leadership of the opposition party. Some of our computer programmers successfully gained access to the NCP’s internal network.”

  Ken rubbed his hands together. “I hope we hit those jerks where it really hurts.”

  Nasir nodded. “We acquired vast amounts of highly sensitive information, including the critical intelligence we needed about access points to the retention center. That was our priority, and we decided to strike immediately, before the NCP became aware of the leak.”

  Bethany fingered her wedding band, her face white. Amanda wanted to speak but couldn’t. Thankfully, Mark asked the question she couldn’t get out: “And you attacked the retention center?”

  “Yes, three days ago. We had a group of about fifty armed members of the opposition. They surprised the JPD officers guarding the site. We took most of the officers as prisoners themselves. Our losses were small in number, though not without great pain in parting. We lost a good comrade of ours. Michael Williams died in the attack.”

  Amanda gasped. “Michael … Williams? Do you mean the art professor at the Masters Academy of Fine Art?”

  “Yes.” Nasir nodded with a frown. “You knew him as well?”

  “Yeah. He was my professor.”

  “Then I am sorry for your loss. Inna Lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un. To Allah we surely belong and to Him we shall return.”

  Nasir continued, but Amanda turned to Morgan, speaking in a whisper: “Michael assigned me the art project to sketch Portrait of a Mother. Through that painting, I confronted my own mother’s death. Only by doing it did I reconnect with you. And that isn’t to mention the painting itself, the mystery of its meaning. … It’s like he somehow knew I needed to do that sketch.”

  Morgan nodded. “There are no coincidences. God weaves a pathway of seemingly disjointed events, leading you down a road that you never anticipated and perhaps even resisted, but in the end becomes exactly what you need.”

  “… and about eighty captives escaped.” Nasir proceeded with his narrative, and he at once reclaimed Amanda’s attention.

  “Do you … Do you know who was there … who escaped after the attack?” Bethany’s voice trembled.

  “Was Daddy there?” Rachel turned two brown eyes, full of hopeful appeal, in Nasir’s direction.

  Nasir spoke thick with emotion: “Yes … yes, he was. Your father is safe and well.”

  Bethany burst into sobs, her shoulders shaking. Rachel stared at her mother, then began crying herself.

  Mark picked her up. “It’s okay! Your mom is just happy. They found your dad!”

  “He’s waiting for you.” Nasir knelt down beside Bethany, placing a hand on her knee. “I personally gave David your love and told him that you will be on your way to him shortly.”

  Shouts of congratulations and thrill filled the room, and the residents crowded around Bethany. Mark threw a now smiling Rachel up into the air, spinning her around.

  Amanda backed into a corner, her stomach a heavy pit. She wanted to share Bethany and Rachel’s joy, but Nasir hadn’t said anything about her family. Maybe he didn’t know anything about them. Maybe they weren’t there. Maybe they weren’t even …

  She turned and began going up the stairs, unable to stand there a moment longer.

  A hand on her shoulder stopped her. “Amanda, wait. There is more good news.” Nasir spoke loudly, trying to make his voice heard over the rest of the noise. “Your father and sister are also safe.”

  Amanda’s breath caught, then she half gasped, half cried, “They’re okay? Really? Are you positive?”

  Nasir nodded. “I saw them myself. I told them you are coming to them.”

  Her legs buckled and she sank to the floor, covering her face with her hands. She cried, heavy sobs racking her body, but joy poured out with the tears. They were alive! She could be with them again—soon. Her longing for her family, if even possible, became more intense. But at least they were out of danger.

  Could they really have a happy ending to this nightmarish fate? Dare she hope for that?

  A gentle touch helped her up: Morgan, smiling, gave her a hug. Soon everyone, Father Voloshin included, began embracing her and comforting her. Hands clapped her back or squeezed her shoulders; arms pulled her close. Joe gave her a fist bump. A long time passed before everyone became collected enough to bombard Nasir with questions.

  Amanda asked hers first: “Where’s my family now?”

  “They and the other escapees are in Canada.”

  Amanda furrowed her brow. “Won’t the JPD pursue them?”

  “No, the NCP has their hands full at the moment. Once the opposition accessed all the information available, we determined that we needed to cause a complication for the NCP, to buy some time and distract the party so we could unfold further attacks. So our computer programmers went to work.”

  Ken burst out laughing. “They tore the crap out of that network, didn’t they?”

  “Indeed. The NCP experienced a complete breakdown of its digital systems. They won’t be concerned with recapturing escapees right now; they are worrying about restoring their data and infrastructure.”

  “So what’s the holdup?” Joe threw his hands up as he paced about. “We’ve got the location. Let’s beeline it to Canada!”

  Nasir gave a small nod. “I couldn’t agree more, Joseph, but the trip must wait yet.”

  “Why? What’s wrong now?” Linda sulked, her head resting on her palm.

  Nasir glanced out the window. “It would be most imprudent to travel now. As we speak, a severe snowstorm is approaching the Northeast, with heavy accumulations predicted. There is no possible way for us to travel and navigate through those conditions. No, we must delay our escape for a bit longer. We will plan to leave two days from now, at daybreak.”

  The room broke out in chatter and excitement at the news, and once Nasir had completed his reporting, Bethany proposed a way to celebrate. She brought out a large chocolate bar that she had stashed away for a moment like this, much to Rachel’s delight.

  With the others occupied, Amanda drew Nasi
r to the side and asked, “Does anyone in the NCP know how the opposition destroyed their internal network?”

  “In other words, do they know that it was through the laptop you stole?”

  “Right. … Can they trace the breach back to Ethan’s computer?”

  “I am no IT specialist, but I am almost certain that they can. Even so, you should not worry, my friend. In three days’ time, you will be gone from here and reunited with your family.”

  She began to bite her nails, goosebumps running along her back. She wanted to believe Nasir. But the image of Ethan—goading the NCP on after learning how his computer had led to the biggest attack against his precious party—struck fear in her. He would want revenge, and as he once warned her, she had to be prepared for him to win.

  Amanda turned to Morgan. “Every time I think of Ethan and the way he made me feel—the powerlessness, the addictive nature of my relationship with him, the things I did when following his suggestions—it terrifies me. He was ruthless in the pursuit of his desires. He never cared about me at all; he only ‘loved me’ in order to use me. What could he be capable of now, when his anger has been stirred so much and his precious political party attacked? Ethan participated in the bombing of St. Patrick’s—he doesn’t shy away from murder. I can only imagine what he justifies in the name of greater freedom. He knows I stole his laptop. He will come after me.”

  “Those with faith need not fear. Someone greater is in command.”

  She nodded and then smiled shyly at him. “And you’re helping me too.”

  “I’m nothing without God.”

  Mark invited her to join them for prayers that evening. He had been inviting her every night, in fact, but for the first time, she agreed. She closed her eyes and listened to Bethany’s heartfelt petitions and generous thanksgiving. Amanda had no lofty words to proclaim or memorized scripture to recite; she silently chanted the one phrase that dominated her mind and inflamed her heart:

  Thank You!

  God had answered her prayer: her family had escaped from the JPD. She wanted to give credit where credit was due.

  It was interesting, though, the way it happened. He didn’t rescue her dad and Chiara in a theatrical flash of miraculous intervention, but through the very people He’d placed around her. She had spent so much of her life—ever since her mom’s death—in isolation. Even with Ethan and his friends, she was alone while together. Now she understood and began to internalize the beauty, grace, and gift of community.

  In the tense and triumphant moments of the past weeks, these individuals surrounding her had become much more than mere strangers and fellow refugees. Under these bizarre and unlikely conditions, she had found her place. Besides with her family, she belonged here more than anywhere else—more than with her “friends” at Valor Academy or with the diabolical crowd at Little Pete’s.

  The refugees had taken her in and cared for her—starving, penniless, a drug abuser, and a dropout. To them, she had nothing obvious to offer except further peril. In short, she had become “unfit.” Now she understood firsthand: the boundary line between “fit” and “unfit” didn’t exist. Just half a step separated the two groups. It didn’t take much for anyone to become poor or disabled or helpless. This community had looked past her outward condition and recognized her inner worth—a worth not measured by her contribution to society. They had helped her live with dignity.

  And then there was Morgan. Amanda looked at his face, humble and true, the light from the surrounding candles falling upon his soft features. He was with her again. He had never rejected or abandoned her. As in the city, she could still consistently turn to him, regardless of the struggle or worry. He never failed to offer her the word of hope or guidance she sought. She needed him, more than she needed anyone else before.

  This community in which she found herself was real and genuine: people offering themselves for the good of the other. This was real friendship, and now she was finally a part of it.

  The next day arrived, the sky thick with clouds. The snowstorm continued to approach.

  After breakfast, Morgan surprised her with a request: “Paint my portrait.”

  She had been watching Ken and Joe play a game of Rummy and looked up at Morgan, who stood beside her. “Paint your portrait? What’s that going to accomplish?”

  “Isn’t painting your favorite pastime? And we all need good ways of passing time until Nasir returns.”

  “That’s true. … I suppose I could sketch you …”

  “I don’t mean just a basic sketch. I want you to paint my portrait in detail.”

  She gave a pained frown. “My last experience painting wasn’t a good one. I’m actually scared to open myself up to that again.”

  “You don’t need to fear opening yourself up—as long as you are welcoming the right influence. I think this will be good for you. Come on!” He grabbed her hand and helped her up. “Where’s the best place for you to work?”

  “As if there are many options.” Her gaze floated around the room.

  Rachel, squealing with delight, chased Mark in circles. Nearby, Ken shuffled the deck of cards, about to deal the next hand to Joe. Linda and Bethany sat together, talking, while Father Voloshin occupied the back corner with his pile of books.

  “We can pull a chair over there.” Amanda pointed toward a window. “There’s some light there at least. I’ll go get my supplies.”

  She soon returned. Morgan sat in position, his back straight, a serious look on his face.

  “You can relax a little, you know,” she said, then pulled the supplies from her bag, grateful she had never gotten around to putting them away. She lacked a canvas, so a sheet of paper would have to suffice for watercolors.

  It had been so long since she’d last painted in earnest. Had it not been such a crux of her previous life, painting now would have almost seemed foreign. Like smoothly diving underwater, she entered that world where everything else around her stood still. Her paintbrush began creating strokes she did not foresee. She followed her intuition, bringing to the paper the composition of Morgan’s inner being. If there were conversations happening around her, she didn’t hear them. If people came over to observe her progress, she didn’t notice them.

  She and Morgan stayed like that for the rest of the morning. He never complained and hardly even moved. She shifted often, not cognizant of the discomfort of the crate on which she sat. Only the portrait taking form before her mattered.

  At last, she relaxed, resurfacing to the present moment, and they both stared at the image lying between them. Bright, intense light filled the entire sheet, top to bottom, corner to corner. Countless shades of yellow, intermixed with white, created the sensation of moving beams of radiance. Ever so subtly, in the center of the picture, was the faintest outline of a person. Certain waves of luminance curved together to form an almost invisible figure, hardly discernible from the surrounding dancing rays of light.

  His face turned to her, awash in admiration. “You did it! You painted me.”

  “Really? It’s that clear to you?”

  “Undeniably. Just think about it! Tell me what you see.”

  “I was supposed to paint you. Don’t ask me what I ended up doing.”

  “But you did paint me. You painted me more clearly than anyone else could.”

  “I painted …” She examined her work, struggling to find the right words. “It’s a person of light.”

  His face beamed with a smile, animated with excitement.

  She held up her hands in exasperation. “What does that even mean?”

  Morgan opened his mouth to respond, but Mark called for everyone’s attention: “Hey, listen up, folks. We need some firewood for our final night here. Should we draw straws, or do I have any volunteers?” Mark surveyed the room, rubbing his hands together—maybe in expectation or just to keep his fingers warm.

  “I’ll go.” Amanda stood up, stretching. She needed to give Boots some exercise anyway.

 
“Well, since Amanda’s going, that means we can count Morgan in too.” Ken smiled wryly. “And I might as well go. I’ve stared at these four walls long enough.”

  Amanda followed Morgan and Ken over to the front door.

  Mark watched them put on their coats, his eyebrows creasing together. “You guys be careful out there, okay?”

  “I’ll try not to get any splinters.” Ken opened the door and left.

  Amanda waved to Mark and walked outside, Morgan at her heels.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  She Ought to Be Loved

  “Why don’t you two lovebirds go off on your own and I’ll track eastward?” Ken jerked his thumb to indicate the woods behind him.

  Amanda fidgeted with her coat zipper. “Shouldn’t we all stay together? Safety in numbers, right?”

  “Nah, three’s a crowd. Besides, I’m not walking around defenseless.” Ken lifted up his coat, revealing a black holster and the grip of a handgun. “Happy scavenging.” With that, he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and strode off.

  She began to saddle Boots. Overhead, billowy, dark clouds covered the entire sky, blocking any sunshine. The barren landscape surrounding them added to the day’s bleakness. Everything had died or become dormant. It would be months until life returned to these woods. She shivered inside her coat. Something in the air seemed different: the storm was imminent.

  Amanda finished and then Morgan untied the reins as he said, “We’ll have to ride or else we won’t get there in time. Here, you go up first.”

  Seemingly without any effort, Morgan hoisted her into the saddle. He vaulted himself up onto the horse as well, wrapping his arms around her and grabbing the reins.

  “Let’s go!” he said.

  Boots began an eager trot. Amanda smiled, grateful to be riding in the expanse of wilderness instead of being stuck in the claustrophobic cabin. Having Morgan here with her made it even more wonderful.

  She turned her head, calling back to him, “What do you mean by ‘we won’t get there in time’?”

  “You’ll see.”