Discretion (33 page)

“He does, but I can’t see Him doing what I want.”

“Well, that probably is true. Do you have kids?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s a good example, anyway. Children are a perfect case. They want candy. Only candy. If you were to feed a child only what he wants, candy, say for example…do you think that would make you a good father?”

“No.”

“God is the same way. He gives us what we need, not always what we ask for. And this is because what we need and what we want…are two different things.”

“Sounds reasonable. But what about people who starve? Who are sick? How is God providing for them?”

“This world does not belong to my master, Colin. It belongs to the devil. And so with this world, his dominion, bad things happen to people. Death comes to us all at some point, and because of sin, we must die. People are sick because of sin.”

“Because of sin?”

He retells the story of Adam and Eve, in the garden, the fruit. The snake that tricked the woman and man. He told them they would be like God by eating the fruit, for they would know about good and evil—which was true, yet it was entirely deceitful. Ultimately, they sinned because they did not trust God.

“Why a snake?” I ask.

“Trustworthy, I suppose.”

I sigh and wish I didn’t have to make a decision. “I think it’s time I told you my story. Why I’m really here.”

I
spare no details. Christel. The lake. The abduction. The killing. My career. A life of grandeur. Marisa. Now Jamal. He listens without comment or question.

“I wish I could say I’ve never heard such a story before,” he says, his voice quiet, solemn.

“You mean there are others?”

“There are others who understand them and communicate intimately with them. They are always speaking, contaminating people, you see. Your situation is unique, but with all demons, they work everything to their advantage. So you must be…part of its larger plans. Hard to say what those are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Demons are evil and hate God. They resent Jesus saving humans, as they, being angels, were banished with no path of reconciliation to God. Because humans were given a path and they were not…they hate people and all things that honor God. Their mission is to defy God. So this demon that helps you is very unique. I must say, I wonder why and know that I shouldn’t. It’s a bad curiosity.” He shrugs and smiles a little. “I’m human, so I wonder.”

“That’s what doesn’t make sense. Why does it help me?”

“It must want something. You said you killed a man, years ago, and you were told to kill your friend. This is more like them. They are obsessed with death.”

“Obsessed?”

“Oh, yes. Obsessed. It is a reminder that this world belongs to them. As long as people suffer and die, they celebrate. When people are in pain, they are happy. Human pain is pleasure to them.”

“Because we were offered Jesus and not them?”

He nods and slides closer to me on the bench. “To be condemned and watch others being saved? To know that you’re destined to suffer for all eternity while others who don’t deserve it get a free pass?”

I nod, as this clicks. “I’d be pissed too.”

“More than that. They wish to destroy humanity. Anything that Christel does for another person, she does for her own purposes, which are evil. The decision you must make is, can you trust that God will be sufficient for your needs? Will you trust Him to be Lord of your life in place of Christel? In place of yourself?”

My head nods by will of its own.

God will not give you what I provide.

I understand.

Father Sal continues, “So, this young mom who’s come to me, she bears the tattoo on her wrist, just like the others, and may be of help to Jackson. I said this much to him. So he will meet with her when she’s ready to talk about it. From what I gather, you hope it’s soon.”

I nod quickly. “So…about this young woman.”

“Of course.”

We talk at length about the investigation Jackson is into and how I’m involved, to bring Father up to speed.

“So, how did you find this woman—or did she find you?” I say.

His lips tremble. “That’s just it. The young ladies who escape often have problems they are running from. When getting out, they are like you—people who want the past to go away because they committed crimes and are afraid of getting into trouble with the law. They fear being seen as common criminals, so they just want to bury the past and move on. The woman from last night, she wants to find her family. It’s been two years, she thinks, since she saw them last, but she’s not positive.”

“So what can you do?” I ask.

“I’ll locate her family. That’s how Jackson and I got paired up. I had a teenager, years ago, who was taken as a slave, bound and gagged for months at a motel in California. Horrifying, what they did to her.” He wipes a tear from his eye. “Jackson was a detective with the police back then and he helped me get her home to Indianapolis. She still breaks my heart.”

“It is terrible. So what happened to her?”

“That’s the most painful part. She said these girls at her high school sold her. It was a nice school, too, private for just girls. But Lexi…she wanted revenge. I think that’s what got her out. She had so much hate. She saw past any pain she had to endure in California to get away and I believe she killed two of her captors in her escape.” He pauses a moment, looking to the clear sky. “When she got home, she wasn’t the same girl her parents lost. All she wanted was to bring death to the girls at school who caused it…and then to herself.”

This is not what you want.

I can’t take much more of this. Jackson will meet with the young woman and hopefully, she will come forward to give the investigation a new, positive direction, away from me. The past needs to stay a secret.

“I’m sorry for what you’ve had to go through. But I’m sure there are good stories too,” I say.

He stands and suggests we walk the trail. I follow along at his side.

“The good ones keep me going, Colin. The successful ones. The stories of God’s mercy and grace filling a person who has nothing but reasons to hate people, to get revenge, or go back to the lifestyle they escaped from.”

He brushes a stone off the path with his foot in stride. Then his attention shifts to a family playing in the field. Two little girls—maybe three or four years old? It’s hard to imagine those girls in the horror Father describes—a circle of hell they can’t escape, save for grace and a love that destroys all boundaries and defies all elements of human logic or reason.

Natalie comes to mind and what she suffered through—how lucky she was. Walking along this path, my mind wanders on what good this meeting is for me. Jackson paired me with Sal, this priest, to get answers not just on the case, but on Christel, too. Ironic, I suppose, that a priest, of all people, would point me back on the right path.

“Answers will come, Colin. Give it time,” Father says. I laugh a little, as I feel burdened with an impossible decision. Then he continues, “Now…before you go…I want you to do something for me. Could you do that?”

My eyes narrow on their own, looking ahead at nature blowing in the wind. “Okay.”

“Pray that your eyes will be opened, and they will.” He draws a small leather book from his back pocket. “Here. This is a Bible. Start with the book of John. We’ll talk again. In the interim, spend some time in this book. It will do you good.”

I accept the offer and slide it in my suit jacket pocket, wondering whether I will ever read it. I thank him for his time and part company. He continues down the path, leaving only a fainting trail of dust behind him.

He may be right.

It’s a choice I have to make and Christel is trying to keep me from having all the facts. She is clouding the issue.

Then I remember her tattoo. Mila’s tattoo. A snake. That can’t be a coincidence.

I
skim through radio stations while sitting in the parking lot. A steady pounding at the front of my skull is becoming tiresome, but the cool air and few moments with my eyes closed in the car is helping. The day is fading into the evening.

My phone vibrates in my pocket; how many times it’s done that in the past hour I can’t count. The neglected device displays a dozen items: missed calls from Marisa, text messages from friends, and two guys at work who are going out for chicken wings tonight. A text from Joanna about making funeral arrangements, helping her out with the financials. The funeral is Monday morning.

I call Marisa and her voice brightens my mood. With all that weighs on me, I need a large serving of encouragement. She’s hungry—no surprise—and in the mood for my company, which I’m sure will be gloomier than normal. She’s craving Thai and it’s up to me to decide whether we are going out or if I want to pick up takeout and rendezvous at home. I tell her I’m not up for going out, that I’d see her at home and we hang up.

Modern Thai is close, about a mile away from the park at Forty-Forth. A short drive in modest traffic. The evening air is clear, the AC off, windows down. The cooler air carries a renewed optimism, like the arrival of spring after a long and harsh winter.

The Thai restaurant is an older brick building with ample parking, shared with a host of neighboring businesses. Two families with lots of kids gather outside the place, waiting and keeping the younglings out of trouble. The inside is updated with dark leather seats in a cozy waiting area, the cashier to the left and the hostess on the right from the doorway, toward the dining area. A bar at the opposite wall and wood floors all around. The lighting is low and the place is busy for a Tuesday evening. A short interaction with the cashier and I take a seat close to the door with a menu in hand.

Marisa doesn’t normally binge eat, but with Thai food, she could eat for six.

She’s pregnant.

I set the menu on my lap and look around at the patrons there. Two young men, seemingly not together, stand about, bored. A middle-aged mom, I gather from the size of her purse—the multicolored tote could carry a twenty-gauge and diapers.

“Fancy seeing you here.” I startle at the sound of Mila’s voice. My pace quickens and the beating drum in my head returns with vengeance. She is on the seat next to me. Did I see her come in?

“Calm down, Colin. I just want to talk,” Mila says.

“That’s fair. Happen to be in the neighborhood?” I say, watching the cashier work, hoping she will look my way so I can order.

“Always close by.” She is on the same bench as me, but keeps her distance. “After all we’ve been through…relax. It’s okay. The meeting with the priest was expected.”

A few moments pass. Patrons and staff move about, pay no attention to Mila or me. Her statement, of Marisa being pregnant and all that means, comes to life. A happy, joyous, terrifying upcoming event—if it’s true.

Fear is crippling. Like a cancer, it eats. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the woman near me. Is she for me, or against me? Perhaps she is just…misunderstood?

“Is it true?” I ask.

“She is pregnant, yes. Six weeks. And I worked out a little something special for you. Marisa will love it. Tomorrow morning, you will see.”

“What is it?”

“A surprise. Did you want to order your food?”

The host is standing idle with an inquisitive look in my direction. My feet shuffle her way and I order five entrees and three appetizers.

“Order the non-spicy,” Mila calls out from behind me.

Odd. Marisa loves spicy, but I follow Mila’s suggestion and the woman takes my payment, then assures me it’ll be ten minutes. Mila smiles at me on my return, like the girlfriend with an obedient whipping boy.

“I’m not sure that was a good move. Marisa loves it spicy,” I say.

“Of course. But with the heartburn she’s been having today, she will appreciate less heat.”

I just nod and accept her insight. “What did you want to talk about?”

“What you want most.”

Hmm. “I see. And what do I want?”

“You want to be significant. For your life to have meaning. A legacy. You, like anyone else, want to feel loved and be loved. This is only natural, these feelings you have. I can help you.”

“Help me?”

“As I have for many years, Colin. Since you were a teenager. Do you remember? How I helped you, when the world was against you?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“I’m at your service, Colin. To help you and guide you. What you want, I want to give you.”

“I want Jamal back.”

“I know. I’d like to bring him back, but I can’t. God took him from you. It wasn’t my decision.”

“But you love death. God creates life.”

“To presume I’m the same as all my kin is to suggest all people are the same, when we know they are not. Agreed?” I nod. “And to presume that God will give you what your heart desires is false.”

“True, but you could have kept Jamal alive. Prevented the accident. Put him somewhere else. Had him stop at McDonalds for a small fry. I don’t know. God gave Jamal life, so I have a hard time believing that God took it away.”

“People make their own choices, Colin, just as you decide what you will believe and what you won’t. Just as you chose to meet the priest, as I’d said not to. I’m trying to protect you. I know what people are capable of. What religion can do to people. How it can destroy lives.”

“Religion has nothing to do with what I want and I presume that’s why you wanted to prevent me from meeting Father Sal.”

“Don’t overthink the issue, Colin. What I want to give you is life, liberty, and happiness. Think about your job, Marisa, and your new unborn child. What I will give you, where I will take you, no one else can,” she says.

“Where are you taking me?”

The hostess emerges from the back and waves a hand at the men standing about. They pay and leave with heavy bags.

“I won’t spoil the whole surprise, Colin. Think…New York.”

I face her and our eyes meet. She scoots closer on the seat. “You’re thinking…hedge fund?”

She gives a short nod, her blue eyes focused, and a grin emerges. “It’s what you want and I see no reason to deny you. You’ve earned it.”