Without Faith (24 page)

“You always have choices. Everyone has choices.” I thought about my situation and thought about hers. “Look, you asked me last time I saw you why God let so many bad things happen to you over your life. I don't have the answers, but I do know that God lets people have choices, and too many people choose wrongly. Sin is the issue, and God loves us so much, that's why he sent His Son to address sin, because He knows how much sin hurts us. He gave us freewill, and provided a solution for when our wills don't match His.”

The car continued bumping along the dirt road and Silver said nothing.

“God gave us all choices,” I continued, desperately praying for the right words to say, “and I imagine that it hurts His heart to see us hurt each other. But when we choose to seek Him, to love, to forgive, to do good—and it takes faith to do all these things—then all of us have a chance to live whole lives. Maybe the situations that hurt us the most are the perfect situations that make us seek God the most. Sometimes things happen that
force
us to seek Him, that force us to learn a new fact or dimension about Him, about His ability to love and care for us, that we would not have known otherwise.”

I didn't know if Silver was listening to a word I was saying, but I needed my own sermon right now.

Jesus, I am seeking you, your protection, your help. I am not afraid because I trust you. Mother Spriggs said not to lose my faith. A little bit of faith can move mountains. This here is a mountain with a valley of the shadow of death beside it. I will not be afraid because you are with me and you love me and perfect love casts out fear. The opposite of fear is power, love, and a sound mind
.
Power. Love. Sound mind.

“You're saying that I need to help you?” Silver sounded irritated, seeming to ignore everything else I had said. “I need help finding my sister!”

Peace. Love. Sound mind.
I took a deep breath, letting those words fill me, calm me.
Sound mind. Think, Sienna.

She was pulling to a stop. We were deep in the woods. There were overgrown trees and shrubs, tall grasses.

And what looked like a deep, bubbling creek.

“I'm sorry, Ms. St. James.” Silver cut the motor, got out of the car, and opened my door. She looked at the detective, still slumped over in the space and floor next to me. Then her attention turned back to me. “This will be painless, like you're going to sleep. You won't even feel yourself drowning.” She looked over at the creek, then down at the tranquilizer gun, which was back in her hand.

“It's not too late for you, Silver.”

She closed her eyes, raised the tranquilizer, aimed.

“Wait!” I shouted as a thought came to mind, clear as day. “I can help you! I think I know where your sister is! The necklace, Silver!”

The tranquilizer gun was still raised, but her hands were shaking. “What are you talking about?”

“Back there, when I was with your mother and them, David held up a necklace with a broken butterfly. I had assumed that it was the one you gave me and that he had gotten it out of my car when he took it, but that's impossible,” I spoke quickly, in one breath. “I put the necklace you gave me in my purse, dropped it down right next to the lion's head ring, which means nothing to you, but your necklace is in my purse, and my purse is at home! I left my purse in the foyer at my house yesterday morning.” I recalled how I had not been able to charge my phone, get gas, or do anything else because my purse was home. “You said your sister gave you the necklace and kept the other half of the butterfly on a chain of her own, so the one David has—”

“Is hers,” she interrupted, the gun slowly going down. “But that doesn't tell me where she is.” She stared at me intensely, raising the gun again.

“I overheard a phone conversation between them.” I recalled the two men talking on the phone.
She's still on the property. There's no way she's getting away, even if she broke free.
I'd assumed they were talking about me, but what if... “Silver,” I spoke quickly, “I honestly believe that your sister is somewhere at La Chambre Rouge. Find my car. David had it last and he was the one with her necklace. Maybe she's in there. Maybe she broke free like me. We need to go back up the hill to find her. Find my car! We have to hurry though, and
get back up that hill!
”

Silver looked at me, looked at the tranquilizer still in her hands, the detective, the creek. Then she ran around the car, jumped back in, and pressed the gas like her sister's life depended on it.

It probably did—if it wasn't already too late.

I exhaled, grateful for at least a few more moments of living. I had no idea what was happening at the top of the hill. I thought of the chef lying dead on the kitchen floor and the other two men who Jenellis was deciding on how to finish off.

But going up that hill was the only way both Silver and I could literally continue with our lives. Without a hill, without a mountain to move, faith would not have a chance to shine. I thought about being afraid, but I decided that wasn't an option. At that moment, fear didn't stand a chance against me; my faith was ready to move mountains.

We were back at the main property in less than three minutes. Silver sped up the driveway, skidded on the gravel, and jumped out the car before it fully came to a stop, running back toward the restaurant, the tranquilizer still in her hand. The motor was still running, the keys in the ignition; a groan sounded from the floor.

“Detective Fields!” I yelled. “Detective Fields, wake up, wake up!” I remembered how woozy and off-centered I'd felt when I came out of sedation. It was going to take awhile for him to come fully to his senses.

But we did not have that kind of time.

“Please, it's Sienna St. James. We're in danger. Please, please wake up,” I hollered and carried on.

Agonizing seconds passed by, but within moments the older gentleman slowly came to attention, sat up, stared at me, confused.

“The key, the keys to the cuffs,” I shouted, shaking the links that had my feet and hands bound. I hoped the cuffs had been his, that Silver had taken them off his person once he was unconscious.

I was right.

With much and continued coaxing, the detective slowly pulled some keys out of the inside of his coat pocket and rattled them, as if trying to still wake himself up. He finally freed my hands. I snatched the key from him and freed my ankles and let loose the seat belts.

“Everyone in there is trying to kill each other,” I gave as an explanation as I opened the car door, ran to the driver's seat. “I've got to get back to finding my son.” I put the car in drive, readied myself to slam down on the accelerator, much harder than Silver had done.

“Wait!” Detective Fields yelled clearly. He got out of the car. “Pop the trunk.”

I obeyed and grew wide-eyed at the assortment of rifles, shotguns, and other weaponry he pulled out of it, strapped on, and clicked together.

He was a one-man SWAT team.

Good thing Silver hadn't rummaged through his trunk or nobody would have ever had a chance to make it out alive, I was sure of it.

Last thing he did was pull out an earpiece, an old-fashioned walkie-talkie, and a cigarette. “Get out of here,” he shouted. “I'll be in touch to get the background details, but for now, go somewhere safe. I've got it from here.”

Didn't have to tell me twice and I didn't have time to stay for any debriefing.

I was halfway down the hill when I heard the first siren, and was turning back onto the main road when an army of flashing lights, emergency vehicles, and helicopters whizzed by me.

I had no idea where I was, but saw a sign indicating that Interstate 95 was five miles ahead.

I had done all I could for Silver, Jenellis, Brayden, and their disasters. Now I was heading home to mine.

The car dashboard said 12:11 p.m. It had been nearly twelve hours since I'd left Mother Sprigg's home—the longest morning of my life. I followed I-95 to 695 to Route 40 to Rossville Boulevard, a total of an hour-and-fifteen-minute trip. Though I had said I would not go back into my house without my son, I needed my charger. I needed my purse. My purse held the lifelines to the rest of my world.

When I pulled onto my street, all manner of television trucks and cameras were flowing out of my cul-de-sac. I had to park Detective Fields's car a block away and start walking. I remembered that I had told Laz to get Leon to let him in so that he could tell Roman's story.

I guessed he had been successful. I hurried my pace. Anxious, desperate, yearning for an update, for good news.

I was three houses away when a shout rang out. “There she is!”

The prayer party had moved to my residence, I realized, as my mother, Yvette, Skee-Gee, and several church members came bursting out of my front door.

“Oh, my God, girl!” Yvette marched up to me. “Where on earth have you been? This ain't the time for you to go rogue, trying to do your own thing without telling us a single word of where you are!” She looked ready to slap me right across the face.

I looked at her, too tired, exhausted, and traumatized to even begin explaining to her the horror I'd survived. Where would I even begin or end?

Besides, only one thought, one name, one question filled my mind.

“Roman.” I needed to know something, anything. No, not just anything. I needed to know that he was okay, that he was at home or on his way home right now!

Yvette took my hand, rubbed it with both of hers, sighed, and shook her head. “There is some news.”

“What is it? Tell me now!” I tried to read her face, but before she could open her mouth again, Leon came jogging down the steps.

“Sienna.” He smiled, an encouraging sign, as he wrapped long, warm arms around me. “I can only imagine where you've been, how you've felt over the past twenty-four hours. I'm just glad to see you.”

And then he stepped back, the smile gone. “Look, I don't know how much Yvette has told you—”

“Nothing,” I said, breathless.

“Well, we found out who this Croix is.”

My chest suddenly felt like a thousand horses were stampeding across it. He paused again and both he and Yvette looked at each other. She nodded her head, encouraging him to continue.

“His last name is St. James.”

I was glad that my mother forced me to eat before I left for the airport. She'd prepared a simple meal—chili, cornbread, garden salad—and had not left me alone until I had cleared my bowl, finished my plate, sopped up every crumb. Good thing I listened to her. I had no idea when I'd be able to eat again.

My nerves.

“We'll be landing soon.” Laz spoke in a hushed voice, as if a single wrong word would make me crumble. I almost laughed. All I had been through this week? All that I had faced? In the past few hours alone, I had been bound up, tied down, threatened, seen a dead man, nearly tranquilized and thrown in a creek to drown. If I could go through all that and not go crazy, then surely I could get off this plane and keep my composure.

I realized that I was laughing out loud.

Maybe I was a little off.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our final descent into the San Diego area.” The pilot came on the loud speaker, making this journey, this destination real. I was on another red-eye flight to California; the last one I'd taken had been when Roman was an infant and I was trying to track down RiChard.

Same story. Different year. Had I really been on the same hamster's wheel? Bubbles began filling my stomach and I was afraid of what might come out of me.

“It's seventy degrees and sunny. Please keep off all electrical devices until we have arrived at the gate. We will be at the gate in twenty minutes.”

I'd turned my cell phone off for the entire flight, but I did not need it on to remember the single text that had been waiting for me the moment I'd plugged it up back home.

Roman.

He'd apparently sent it after seeing himself on TV, around the same time that Jenellis had snatched me from the gas station. That boy didn't realize he'd almost lost his mother while I was worried about losing him.

I shut my eyes, willed my nerves to calm down, prayed that God would help me in time to forgive.

That would be another story.

For today, I was reuniting with my son, who had plenty of reasons to be ready to come home.

Taking no chances, I was flying out to meet him, to escort him myself from San Diego back to Baltimore. Laz, wanting to have the exclusive report of our reunion to air on TV, flew with me. He was giddy with excitement, buzzed about his extended report about Roman's disappearance getting airtime on national cable networks. With access to Roman's room, he'd been able to offer a compelling portrait of a young man on a quest to find his father—complete with a photo of the lion's head ring—and then give information about teens and Internet safety.

This was a career-changing moment for him.

And a life-changing moment for me.

I braced myself for the landing, still not believing the secrets my self-proclaimed “warrior prince” son had uncovered.

They were waiting at the gate, specially escorted by TSA officers through the terminal to meet us as we got off the plane. I had no intentions of going anywhere but back on a plane to home.

Laz stuck to his part of the deal, making sure that only Roman and I made it in his camera shot. The others I would address only after I held my son.

“Mom.” Roman stood still as I approached him, braced himself as I reached up to hug him.

I guess he was expecting to be choked instead of embraced. I didn't blame him for his initial hesitation.

There were a million and one things I wanted to say to my son, and I would say them eventually; but for the moment, I just wanted to hold him, praise God that he was okay.

I looked up into his face, saw the tears in his eyes, understood why he was crying.

Devastation.

We both felt it.

“Okay, cut the camera.” I turned to Laz. He immediately complied. He would have to get his exclusive later.

I turned to the small crowd of people who had accompanied Roman to the airport, and immediately identified Croix.

He was nearly sixteen himself, a few months younger than Roman. Same height, same build.

Same look of hurt, betrayal, in his eyes.

He could have been Roman's twin, except that he was several shades darker, a beautiful, rich and clear shade of pure cocoa. Plus, he wore glasses.

“Hello, Sienna.” Croix's mother stepped forward to greet me, her beauty, poise, and grace the same as it was when I first met her over a decade and a half ago.

“Hi, Mbali.” I tried to smile and nod at her, at Croix, at the twelve-year-old girl and twin five-year-old boys standing beside her. All four children were beautiful blends of Zulu, the Caribbean, and Italy—the cultures and countries that made up their DNAs.

The twelve-year-old had RiChard's green eyes.

I turned away, grabbed Roman's hand, deciding that I did not want to hear her story after all. But she followed me.

“Sienna.” Her accent made my name sound exotic. “Please let me explain.” She touched my shoulder. I tightened under her touch, but turned around to face her. “I never loved Kisu.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “My father only wanted me to marry him because it would have helped my family. RiChard told me that it was unjust the way I was being treated, and he promised he would help me. I did not know until years later that he had faked Kisu's death. He had convinced Kisu to go along with his plot, telling him our village would be more willing to fight for the causes in which he and Kisu believed if they had a martyr. Kisu did not know until years later that RiChard and I had wed.”

“You married him?”
But he was married to me!
I wanted to scream, but I knew there was no big database somewhere that flagged marriage license requests.

“We married in my village,” she explained.

There definitely wasn't an international database to keep track of polygamy, I knew. I tried to breathe.

Roman squeezed my hand.

“When you left KwaZulu-Natal back then,” she continued, “he told me that you had left him permanently. I believed him. He said he would return to the States and build a home for me to come to and I could resume my studies. Against my father's wishes, I left my home, and I came here. I did not know you were still married. I did not know he had given you a son. I am so sorry.” She glanced at Roman. “RiChard lied to all of us.”

“So his trips over all these years?” My voice stumbled.

“What trips?” Mbali looked confused. “I do not know of what trips you are talking.”

“The gifts?” I whispered.

She shook her head. “I don't know what gifts you are talking about.”

“RiChard used to send Roman and me gifts, handmade crafts from all over the world. He said he got them during his travels . . .” I let go of Roman's hand, collapsed into an airport seat next to me, winded.

Mbali shrugged her shoulders. “I do not know of these travels. He opened an art and gift shop right here in San Diego featuring imports from all over the globe. He obtained his doctorate in world history and culture, and used to give lectures on the most unique of his merchandise. He probably was sending you the overstock.”

I was shaking. Roman wrapped his arm around me.

“The lion's head ring.” I could not stop shivering. “That was not overstock. That was real. I was there when Kisu's father gave it to him.”

“Yes, the ring.” Mbali's face darkened. “I'd forgotten all about it until I found it while cleaning one day. That was the cause of our divorce. I came across the ring wrapped up with all these letters to RiChard from Kisu. I could tell from the content of his letters that RiChard was giving him stories about our progress in our village to make it seem as though Kisu's sacrifice had not been in vain. I approached RiChard about it, and he finally told me the truth about Kisu—but not about you.”

“Divorce?” The only word I heard.

“Yes, that was three years ago. He promised that he would still take care of me and the children, but he left on the morning of March third that year with nothing but his wallet and his bag lunch and we never heard from or saw him again.”

“That was my thirteenth birthday,” Roman said softly, “the last time he contacted us, when he called me a warrior.”

“I waited a year to see if he would return,” Mbali continued, “if he would keep his promise of still helping to provide for our four children, and when he didn't I sold all he had left behind, including the ring, in a divorce estate sale to settle all our debts and bills.”

“So . . .” I shook my head, still trying to find a way to absorb the shock. “RiChard's not dead?”

“Maybe he is, maybe he isn't. I don't know where he is, and I don't care.” Mbali spoke flatly. “I have no room or time in my life or my heart for a liar.”

The five-year-olds were getting restless. Our flight back to Baltimore was boarding. She saw me check the time.

“We must stay in touch, Sienna. Our sons are brothers. All my children are Roman's blood, and therefore yours as well.”

Red is the color of love and blood.
I thought of the Chinese sword that had been framed in Jenellis's living room, understood why she would want to use it, keep it.

I don't remember how the conversation with Mbali ended. I don't remember getting on the plane. I can't recall the flight back home. Laz may have said something. Roman may have grabbed hold of my hand again. I don't remember landing or how I got back to my townhome.

What I do remember is waking up in my own bed, walking to my kitchen, and seeing my son chomping down an entire box of cold cereal poured into a mixing bowl.

It was a dream come true and a nightmare from hell all at once.