Broken Identity (35 page)

“Guilty!” another voice shrieked from below. “Guilty! There is no other punishment but death!”

Drake was being pulled harder. He knew that if he held out much longer, his entire body would be torn in two. He had to let go of one hand, but which one?

Tears welled in his eyes at the excruciating pain. His body weakened as he felt himself going unconscious. With no strength left in him to fight back, he gave up and let his head fall to his chest.

“Guilty!” the voice cried again. “He’s mine!”

Drake’s head lolled to the right. The horrible noises and sights seemed to fade away as the beating of his heart came to an abrupt halt. His eyes fell on the hand that refused to let go.

Pierced. With a nail.

Jesus Christ.

Drake sat up immediately, gasping for air. Beads of sweat clung to his wet hair and face. He pressed both hands against his chest and tried to control his breathing.
Just a dream. Just a dream.

He touched his face to make sure he was still alive. His hands were normal, feet were normal. Ronnie was still sleeping soundly beside him on the floor.
Oh, thank God.

His voice stopped short at those words. The running, the room, the doors, the voices…all seemed too real to be a dream.

And the pierced hand. Even with his eyes open, Drake could still see it as he had in the dream. He held his trembling hand in front of his face.
It was there. I saw it, holding onto mine. Jesus was holding my hand, pulling me toward Him.
He forced his eyes shut, desperately trying to visualize the scene again.
I felt it. It wasn’t a dream. It was real. I was there…at Judgment Day.

It was all too much to take in.
So it’s really real then. Judgment Day is the place you go when you die.
Drake sat back and closed his eyes. He wasn’t ready for eternity, and he knew it. He wasn’t ready to be pulled into a place he knew nothing about. The thought of an endless afterlife petrified him.

Drake stared at the door across the room. He could still faintly hear the railing words, “Guilty! Guilty!” stabbing at his soul, as if some sick creature were begging to take his life. He had wanted to scream, to tell the voice he wasn’t guilty, but how could he? He
was
guilty. Guilty of practically everything there was to be guilty of.

So that raised the question: why had Jesus pulled him in His direction? Why hadn’t He just given him up to the place where he belonged? Why hadn’t He
let go
?

“Forgiveness,” Drake said, just above a whisper. It was something Andrew had mentioned, saying that all he had to do was ask for it. Impossible. He had nothing to offer in return, so trying to reach God was pointless. Still, the dream tormented him. The more he tried to reason against it, the more it burdened his heart.

Ever since the day of the murder, he had wanted to tell someone—anyone—if only it meant being relieved a fraction from the corroding guilt that was steadily melting his life away. He had almost blurted out the truth to Andrew several times, but every time he had stopped himself just before opening his mouth. And every time he had hated himself all the more for keeping his dark secret locked inside.

Drake quietly picked up his crutches and lifted himself up off the couch, careful not to wake Ronnie. It took him five minutes to maneuver around the bulky furniture—only to leave him half-tripping across the rest of the room after catching his foot on the hump in the rug. He caught his fingers around the television and regained his balance.

Ronnie stirred, then rolled over on his stomach. Thank goodness, he was a deep sleeper.

Drake gripped his crutches and headed toward the back door. His mind was on nothing but getting outside where he could be alone.

The night air chilled Drake as he closed the screen door gently behind him. Two dogs were barking in the distance while an upset owl seemed to question their identities with a recurrent, “Who? Who?” He stopped to listen, wondering why he had decided to come out here.

Chill bumps covered his exposed arms, and he considered going back inside and catching up on his sleep.
Who am I kidding? I can’t go back to sleep. I don’t even wanna go back to sleep. How do I know I wouldn’t just have that dream again?

Because there were only two steps down leading to the yard, Drake had no problem getting off the porch. The grass tickled his bare feet as he lowered his good foot to the soft ground below. The enchanting feeling of being almost invisible in the darkness took him back years to those rare nights of sneaking out his bedroom window as a child. He never went anywhere; he just wanted to climb a tree and listen to the crickets sing.

To him, the night was filled with not only sights and sounds, but also with smells. No one ever believed him when he told them that, but he knew it to be true. The distinct aroma of a dew-saturated fog, accompanied by the faint perfume of honeysuckle, and the rare scent the earth gives off when the ground releases its heat were all as alive and real to Drake as the layers of stars above.

Life had changed since then. The little boy climbing trees was now a self-convicted felon with a second-rate escape plan. Time was a good painkiller.

Drake hobbled toward a nearby maple and went around to the other side to make sure he wouldn’t be seen if Andrew happened to go to his window. He rested his back against the wide trunk and laid his crutches on the ground beside him. With all the darkness enclosing him, he almost felt as if he were in his dream again. But this time his senses were fully alert, and he felt a heaviness in his spirit that no dream could possibly convey.

Drake placed the palms of his hands against the cool dirt and breathed. If he were to die right now, what would the next seconds be like? Wasn’t it already too late for him?

Drake stared at the stars with moist eyes, so confused.
I didn’t ask for the dream. I didn’t ask for any of this…I’m not ready.

His lip quivered as he continued to stare up at patches of the night sky through the lacework of leaves and branches rustling above him. Someone had to be up there. Someone who loved him enough to keep holding on. “Jesus,” he started, not sure what he should say or how he should say it. “Jesus, my life is a wreck.”

That wasn’t the right way to talk to God, was it? It was time to get to the point of why he had come out here. “If You’re even listening…You shouldn’t waste Your time with me. The voice…what I heard in the dream…I really am guilty, so You can let go now.”

Drake sat still, not knowing if he was waiting for a response or going to add something else. Was that what he really wanted, for God to let him go? It was what he deserved. Sin had to be paid for. But it still wasn’t what he wanted deep down.

“I don’t really want You to let me go,” he added, feeling the need to talk again. “It’s just that I don’t think there’s a way out of it now. If I could come to You as a better person, I’d feel OK about it. But the fact is, I never wanted You in my life before now.” He bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair. It was a struggle just to get the words out.

“Jesus, I’ve wasted everything I have. I killed my father, I hurt Andrew and Ronnie in ways I never thought possible, and I’m afraid that I’ll hurt You too if You come into my life. I really want Your love and Your forgiveness, but I’d just be using You like I’ve used so many other people in the past for my own gain.”

Like a torrent, tears began streaming down his cheeks. “I don’t want You in my life because I’m so ashamed of it. My heart isn’t pure. It’s ugly. I have nothing to offer You in return.”

Drake broke down and cried, pounding his fist in the dirt softened by last night’s rain. “Say something!” he said loudly. “Anything! Just let me know You’re at least listening and I’m not talking to myself again!” He covered his face with his hands and sobbed. “God, show me You’re here. I want to believe.”

He reached out a hand and held the tree beside him to steady himself. He felt a deep indention where his fingers were, and wiped away the warm tears from his eyes to look. Carved into the bark were three greenish-brown words:
Andrew
,
Ronnie
,
Drak
. Drake’s name was spelled without an e.
Ronnie
, he thought. Carved to the left of Andrew and Ronnie’s names were tiny crosses.

Beside Drake’s name, however, there was nothing but bark.

Oh, Ronnie. I had no idea.
He turned and rested his back against the solid trunk. Instantly, he heard the sound of glass breaking beneath him. Drake pushed himself to the side, noticing for the first time that he had been sitting on a mound of recently removed dirt. He shoveled the dirt away with his hands and found a buried broken jar. Inside was a note. Drake carefully removed the large pieces of glass before pulling the note out.
Wonder what it says.
He unfolded the paper and recognized Ronnie’s handwriting.

Jesus, plees let my momy and dady be nise to me agin. I want to see them, but I’m still a litle skared.

Jesus, plees also help Drak. I love him alot. He needs to no you love him to, cuz I want him to go to heven with me one day.

Drake pressed the note to his heart and clenched his teeth. If someone was trying to get his attention, it was working. He had asked God to speak, and here was his answer.

Every feeling of worthlessness faded away as Drake fell to his knees despite the pain in his leg and lowered his face to the ground. “Jesus, I want You,” he cried, not caring anymore if the whole world heard him. “Forgive me of my sins. I need You tonight and for the rest of my life. Please, if You can somehow take this life and make something beautiful out of it, then I give it to You.”

The next thing Drake heard was the faint sound of someone calling his name. He lifted his head and saw Andrew running toward him in a wrinkled white tee and plaid pajama pants.

“Drake, Drake!” Andrew called, rushing to his side. “What happened? Did you fall? I heard you saying something out here and I—”

Drake hurriedly lifted himself off the ground and embraced Andrew. This man had given him so much and showed him incredible love at times when he least deserved it. “Thank you, Mr. Andrew,” he said, his tears soaking through the man’s thin shirt. “Thank you for everything.”

Andrew was caught off guard by this unexpected gesture. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around Drake’s shaking back. An indescribable emotion flooded his heart and the two held each other for a long time.
God, I don’t know what You did, but I thank You for doing it.
Andrew wasn’t concerned about asking questions or trying to get an explanation for the embrace. The only thing that mattered was that something had finally clicked in Drake’s head, and now it was all coming out at once. He was just glad he was there to receive it.

Drake gently pulled away and looked Andrew in the eyes. “I was wrong,” he said, steadying his voice. “I thought I was right, but I was so wrong.”

“Wrong about what, Drake?” Andrew quietly prodded.

“About God. Jesus. I never knew He really cared until now. I had a dream tonight…it was so real. It felt like I was dying, and then there He was, holding my hand, like He was trying to pull me back.”

“Jesus?”

“Yeah, now I finally know what it feels like to really hold His hand.” He inhaled a deep breath of chilled air and said, “I gave Him my life tonight. All of it. I know it may not seem like much, but it’s all I got.”

Andrew embraced Drake again as tears streamed from his eyes. “That’s all God ever asks for, Drake. I’m so happy for you. You don’t know how much I’ve prayed—even pleaded with God—for this day to come.” He let go of Drake and smiled. “And now it’s finally here.”

Drake tried to smile back, but a new fear swept over him, and he looked down. “Uh, there’s something else,” he said, darting his eyes away.

“Something else?”

Drake balled his hands in a fist and tried to keep from shaking again. He wasn’t ready for this. “That first day when you asked me why I came here…” He blinked twice and bit the inside of his cheek. “I lied to you.”