“Yeah.” Marcus stood and shook the officer’s hand. Were the girls at the park Mary Catherine and Lexy? He tried to focus. “We’re giving blood, too. It’s something we can do.”
The officer shook Tyler’s hand next. “That’s how we all feel. Trying to make a difference best we can.” He tipped his hat. “See you tomorrow night for training.”
“Looking forward to it.” Marcus slowly sat back in his seat. His heart pounded so loud he thought it would break through his chest.
Tyler stared at him. “You okay?”
“Elysian Park.” Marcus couldn’t slow his heartbeat. “That’s where Mary Catherine took Lexy.”
Tyler let the pieces connect for a moment. “You think maybe the two girls were . . .”
“It’s possible.” He put his face in his hands for a few seconds and then looked up. “I should’ve gone with them. Forget that girl-bonding thing. The city isn’t safe.”
“Text Mary Catherine and ask her.”
Marcus didn’t want to wait that long. He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped Mary Catherine’s number. She answered after two rings.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?” His words sounded too loud, too intense. He forced himself to calm down. Wherever she was, at least she was okay.
“Leaving Lexy’s house.” Mary Catherine was clearly taken aback by his tone. “What’s wrong?”
Marcus put his head in his free hand and exhaled. Slow down, he told himself. “Did you take her to Elysian Park? Like you said?”
“I did. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. She’s tough.” Hesitancy still rang in Mary Catherine’s words. “You sound upset. What happened?”
“Did you see police there?”
“Actually, yes.” Mary Catherine paused. “Two officers arrested a man on the path just ahead of us. Kind of creepy.”
Marcus stood and paced the length of the waiting room and back. “He was a very dangerous guy. I just talked to Officer Kent and he said . . . the man might’ve been lying in wait.”
“For us?” It was the first time Mary Catherine sounded fearful.
“Possibly.” Marcus couldn’t believe it. Mary Catherine and Lexy had been in danger and if something had happened . . . He couldn’t finish the thought. “God was with you. Looking out for you.”
“The officers didn’t tell us.” Mary Catherine’s voice held a fear Marcus hadn’t heard from her before. “If Lexy had been hurt, I never could’ve forgiven myself. We had no idea.”
“It’s behind you now. Just . . . please, Mary Catherine, be careful. You should’ve let me come with you.” He sat down and leaned back hard. It felt so good to hear her voice, to know she was okay. His tone lightened some. “Remember that next time.”
“You’re right.” A warmth filled her voice. “Sorry. I was kind of quick to turn you down.”
“We’re in this together, this volunteer thing.” He leaned his elbows on his knees. “Let me help, okay?”
“Okay.” For the first time since she answered the phone he could hear her smile across the phone line. “Where are you?”
“At the hospital.” He wasn’t a fan of needles, but this was important. “Tyler and I are giving blood.”
“Nice.” Again her tone was softer. “How’s Jalen?”
“About the same.” Marcus felt the heaviness of the child’s situation. “We’re going to see him and Shamika next.”
“I’ll be there in a few hours.” She sounded like herself again. The fear from earlier gone. “I’ll probably miss you.”
“See, there you go again. Trying to avoid me.” He chuckled. “Just kidding.” He paused. “Be safe, Mary Catherine. Please.”
“I will.”
The call ended as Marcus and Tyler were called back. They took cots next to each other and in no time they were hooked up and watching bags fill with their blood.
“I hate needles.” Marcus looked away from the one in his arm. “I have to believe this is for kids like Jalen.”
“Really, though?” Tyler moved his arm and winced. “It’ll probably help the two gang guys just brought in.”
Marcus hadn’t thought about that. The possibility didn’t sit well with him. Give blood for guys caught up in gang violence for what? So they could get back out on the streets and shoot each other again? He gritted his teeth and tried not to think about it.
“You and Sami doing anything this weekend?” He put one arm behind his head so he could see Tyler better. “Besides the prison tour, obviously.”
Tyler laughed in a way that was more concerned than humorous. “That’ll probably leave us pretty worn out.”
“True.” Between donating blood and the prison tour, Tyler was right.
“Hey, I almost forgot.” Tyler faced him. “Tomorrow morning Sami and Mary Catherine are going to the beach. Supposed to be another warm day like last week.”
“Sounds fun.” He uttered a brief laugh. “Mary Catherine didn’t tell me about it.”
“Well, Sami did. She asked us both to come.”
“Really?” Marcus smiled. “Did she check with Mary Catherine?”
“Come on, Dillinger.” Tyler laughed. “You don’t really think MC’s trying to avoid you. I mean, she agreed to work with you on the prison program, right?”
“She didn’t really have a choice.” Marcus gave Tyler a wary look. “Remember? A police officer asked her to talk to me about it.”
“Well . . . don’t forget she could be a little leery, what with Shelly Wayne and all.”
Marcus sighed. “Yeah. About Shelly.” He looked out the window and thought about the situation. “I need to talk to Coach.”
“Why?” Tyler made a face. “He won’t be upset if things don’t work out with you and Shelly.”
“She’s his niece.” Marcus felt trapped. “I never should’ve agreed to call her.”
Tyler waited, a knowing look on his face. “Whatever you do, you need to figure it out. The other night was awful.”
They finished giving blood and Marcus gulped down the orange juice and crackers. He stayed close to the wall until he felt less light-headed. Tyler took it all in stride. “You live with your arm hanging halfway to your knee for a few months and giving blood’ll feel like a day at Disneyland.”
The two friends laughed as they left the unit. But as they reached the elevator and rode it up to the intensive care unit, they grew quiet. “I keep praying.” Tyler drew a tired breath as they walked down the hall toward the nurses’ station. “I just wish God would wake the boy up.”
Tyler had agreed to wait while Marcus visited the boy. Marcus felt the familiar ache in his heart as he reached the child’s room. The door was partly open and Shamika was inside, sitting close to her son, holding his hand and talking softly. She looked up as Marcus stood at the doorway.
“Please. Come in.” Shamika stood and hugged him. “Thank you for coming.”
“How is he?” Marcus walked up to the bed and put his hand over the boy’s much smaller one. He looked up at the machines, whirring and buzzing and clicking like before.
“He’s still in a coma.” Shamika’s face looked tearstained. “I’m begging God he might wake up today.” She paused and her voice fell. “Doctor says it needs to be soon. For Jalen’s brain to work right.”
The weight of the situation pressed in on Marcus’s shoulders and sucked the air from the room. Jalen had been so trusting, so willing to help that night.
“Is there anything I can do? Do you need help?”
“Ask people to pray. Please.” Her eyes grew watery. “I want God to know I’m not giving up.”
Marcus nodded. “I can do that. I’ll tell everyone.” He needed to do more of that. Of course he and his friends had been praying. But who else had he asked? More than half a million people followed him on Twitter
and he hadn’t said a word. He pursed his lips. “I promise you, Shamika. I’ll get people to pray for your boy.”
AS THEY LEFT the hospital, Marcus and Tyler were quiet. They didn’t talk until they were outside in the parking lot. The whole time Marcus thought about Twitter. All of Los Angeles knew he’d been shot at. The Times had run the news on the front page. So everyone who followed him on Twitter would’ve already heard that he’d been a victim of gang violence in his attempt to make the youth center a success.
Why hadn’t he asked anyone to pray for Jalen?
“I have an idea.” Marcus pulled out his phone. “You still on Twitter?”
“Yeah.” Tyler hadn’t started the car yet. He found his phone in his front pocket and looked at it. “I haven’t used social media since I came here.”
“Maybe now’s the time to start.” He opened his Twitter app. “You got a hundred forty characters to ask everyone listening to pray for Jalen. Let’s do this.”
Marcus’s tweet was simple.
There’s a little boy fighting for his life in an LA hospital. He took the bullet intended for me. Ask God for a miracle. #prayforJalen
Marcus reread his words and then looked out the window. Lord, forgive me for not thinking of asking them sooner. I’m new at this. And please . . . help Jalen. He needs You more than ever, God.
He sent the tweet and looked at Tyler. “Done.”
“Me, too.” Tyler slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Let’s see what happens.”
THEY WENT TO In-N-Out across the street for burgers and talked a little more about Jalen and Shamika and the youth center. And whether they were in over their heads.
Marcus thought maybe they were.
Halfway through the meal Marcus checked his Twitter. “This is crazy!” He couldn’t believe it. “Almost a hundred thousand people have retweeted it. And it’s only been twenty minutes.”
Tyler checked his and found a similarly high number of retweets. Marcus stared at his phone and blinked back tears. The gesture meant more than any of his followers could’ve known. Reading their comments, Marcus could see some of them were doing more than simply retweeting. They promised to pray. At a time when violence seemed the norm and kids didn’t seem to care about each other, clearly there were some who actually did.
It was a surge of hope Marcus needed—especially since he needed to go by the youth center later and see how things were going. He’d hired a full-time director a week ago, and today the guy had reported that things were calm.
Marcus wanted more than calm, of course. But in light of the events this week calm was an improvement.
As they walked to their separate vehicles, Tyler gave him a light punch in the arm. “You’re going with me tomorrow morning. To the beach.” He slid his phone back in his pocket. “No excuses.”
He still lived with Tyler, so it’d be easy to go. But Marcus wasn’t sure. “Someone should ask Mary Catherine.”
“Sami said she’d be fine.” Tyler held up his hands. “Really, man? You’re letting the girl intimidate you.”
“We’ll see.” Marcus tossed his keys in his hands. “I’ll think about it.”
“We’re all friends.” He pointed at Marcus. “See you at nine tomorrow.”
The discussion was over.
Marcus drove to the youth center, and the whole way he debated whether he should go. He thought about Mary Catherine all the time and found himself counting down the hours till the next time they would see each other. But going with Tyler to the beach felt a little intrusive. Mary Catherine hadn’t invited him, no matter what she told Sami.
He tried to put the thought from his mind. At the center he checked in with the new director. The report was mostly good. Kids were still coming for help with their homework, still showing up to play basketball every night around seven. Lots of them had asked if there would be pizza again this Tuesday.
“You’d think the shooting would keep them away.” Marcus still didn’t understand life on the streets.
“It has no effect at all.” The director used to be a football coach at an area high school. He was perfect to manage the youth center. “These kids think nothing of a shooting. Very different from the way you and I might see it.”
The futility stayed with Marcus as he left. He planned on going home and getting in another workout before turning in for the night. But there were too many thoughts battling for his attention.
Instead he drove to Dodger Stadium.
Spring training was coming fast. A couple of months at Camelback Ranch in Arizona, and then they’d be in full swing for the season. He was on the roster as their top pitcher again, so his time with Mary Catherine would be infrequent at best.
The stadium was empty, the way he expected for a Thursday night in early January. Marcus used his key to get into the back of the facility and then found a spot near the top of the bleachers. The sun was setting, spreading pink and blue across the sky.
Something about being here always helped him think. Helped him get his priorities right. He’d been reading his Bible now—ever since the walk with Mary Catherine. He’d bought the e-reader version of the Voice Bible—a new translation designed for people like him. People who had no real experience with Scripture. He could read it any time he wanted right on his phone.
This morning he’d read the book of James.
Don’t just be hearers of the Word of God. Be doers. The message stayed with him still.
The first chapter was the reason he’d asked Tyler to go with him to give blood today. It wasn’t enough to wish people well and offer a quick prayer. God’s people needed to act. Matthew West had a song about it. “Do Something.”
He rested his forearms on his thighs and stared out at the stadium. His surface wound from the bullet was healing. One day soon the place would be packed, people cheering on his team, screaming his name. But what did they know of Marcus Dillinger? Sure, he was clean-cut. He stayed away from drugs and drinking and he’d given a bunch of money to open a youth center for kids in the inner city.
But what about his faith?
The question had plagued Marcus many nights, even since he’d known for sure that God was working in his life, that God had answered his challenge back in October. Okay, so he believed. So he did a few good things for the community—if they actually were good.
Did that mean he was a Christian?
Marcus breathed in sharply through his nose and sat up straighter. God, I’m here . . . What do You want from me?
No answer whispered across his heart. But another Bible verse came to mind. The one he’d read yesterday in Romans, chapter ten. He pulled out his phone and read it again. Romans 10:9—So if you believe deep in your heart that God raised Jesus from the pit of death and if you voice your allegiance by confessing the truth that “Jesus is Lord,” then you will be saved!
He had heard people pray for salvation before, but sitting here, the winter breeze cool against his face, Marcus wasn’t sure he’d ever actually done that. He’d attended house church at the Waynes’ week after week. But even though he appreciated the stories and the teaching, he’d never made the message personal.
Never made that sort of a deal with Jesus.
Marcus lifted his eyes to the sky and like a parade, he could see all the girls. All the careless nights. The reason he could never stand before Mary Catherine as anything but her friend. Lord, I know I already apologized for those times. For who I was back then. But where do I go from here? What happens now? He thought about his anger toward the shooter, the futility and impatience that had consumed him most hours since Jalen had been shot. I guess sin can be more than sleeping around. I’m sorry for my attitude, too.
Suddenly, there in the quiet of the empty stadium, he could feel the presence of God. Marcus did the most natural thing he could do. He lifted his hands toward heaven and prayed.
The cool breeze picked up speed, sending a low whistling sound through the stadium.
Marcus wasn’t finished. “From the depth of my heart, Jesus, I believe You are God and that You died on the cross and were raised to life for me.” His words were quiet but powerful. “I want You to be with me. I want to be saved. I am nothing without You. I mean it.” Marcus felt tears on his cheeks. “Even if I were the only person on earth You would’ve died anyway. So here’s my confession, Father. Jesus is Lord. Now and forever.”
He lowered his hands and dragged them across his cheeks. There was no describing the feeling inside him. He felt whole and clean and full of light. Of course he would mess up again. He could never be perfect. But at least now he had assurance. If the bullet hit him next time, he’d go from life on earth to life in heaven.
Because the Bible said so.
But there was something else. He’d learned last week at the Waynes’ that the Book of Acts talked about times when people got baptized. He spent the next half hour searching for the word baptism in his Voice Bible app. Every time, it seemed like people made the decision to get baptized after they decided to believe in Jesus for salvation.
Believe and be baptized. That’s what the Bible said.
He remembered the beach trip in the morning. Could he be baptized then? Would that even be possible? Without hesitating he called Coach Wayne. “Coach. It’s Marcus.”
“Hey!” The man sounded happy, the way he usually sounded. “I’ve been meaning to call you. How’s the little boy doing?”
“Still hanging in there. No change.” Marcus felt a ripple of discouragement. “His mother’s asking everyone to pray.”
“I saw that on Twitter. Almost a hundred and fifty thousand people have retweeted it. That’s incredible.”
That many? Gratitude filled his heart. Who knew where the request would go from here? But he’d done what Shamika had asked and now—with so little effort—people were praying. Marcus drew a breath and tried to focus. “I’m calling you for a couple of reasons.”
Chasing Sunsets Page 15
