The Masterpiece

by Francine Rivers

  The highway rose and snaked through the Tehachapis. Grace looked out at the mountains. He looked at her. He couldn’t bear her silence, but he’d never apologized to anyone. Especially when he believed what he’d said. “Everything okay?”

  She smiled at him. “I’ve driven this road a dozen times and every single time I see something new. I stopped once at Fort Tejon when the park was hosting a Civil War reenactment. Cannons firing, men shooting rifles, some screaming and falling to the ground as though they’d been shot. It was pretty terrifying.”

  Roman relaxed. She wasn’t mad at him. “A Renaissance faire might be more fun. There’s one in Irwindale. Maybe we should go.”

  “I can’t imagine you at a Renaissance faire.” Her smile lingered, her expression warm. “I’ve seen places over the last few days I’ve only dreamed of seeing, Roman. Thank you for insisting I come along. Even if it’s obvious you didn’t need me on this trip.”

  I need you more than you know.

  “Glad you enjoyed yourself. It’s been good for me, too.” He didn’t want the journey to end, but knew better than to try to prolong it. Grace wanted to spend the weekend with her baby boy. She’d probably invite that clean-cut pastor over for barbecue and maybe share another kiss, just to see if the second round turned out better than the first. What if it did?

  Get a grip, Roman. Grace Moore deserves the right kind of guy. Even if the wrong kind wants her.

  He’d put out a feeler with the idea of taking her to the Renaissance faire. Her answer came through loud and clear. Thanks, boss. See you Monday morning. I work for you, remember? Roman wanted to respect her boundaries. And he should be satisfied. He’d set out on this road trip for one purpose: getting to know Grace. The problem was the more he knew, the more he wanted to know; the closer he got, the closer he wanted to be. He had told her more about himself than he’d ever told anyone. He’d kept only one secret back, one he knew could ruin everything he had tried to make of his life.

  She broke the silence this time. “Did you see anything over the last few days that inspired you?”

  Oh, yeah. Plenty. “I took a few pictures.”

  “Carrizo Plain, Yosemite, Mono Lake, the Dardanelles. Enough to inspire a lifetime of painting.”

  Roman glanced at her. Every mile he drove put them closer to the end of whatever was happening in this car. “We should stop for supper.”

  “Oh, good. I’m starving.”

  He laughed. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “You seemed in a hurry to get back.” She grinned at him. “One hundred and ten miles an hour. I’ve never gone that fast before.”

  He’d forgotten the ticket in the door pocket. “Want to do it again?”

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  They passed a sign. “Santa Clarita is coming up. There should be a nice restaurant near Magic Mountain.” Roman took the exit, wishing he could see how she’d handle a roller-coaster ride. “Are you in the mood for seafood or Mexican?”

  “I love anything I haven’t cooked.”

  Pulling into a space beneath a shade tree, Roman told her to sit tight. He came around the car and opened her door. When he held out his hand, she hesitated briefly before accepting his assistance. Her hand trembled in his. Nice to see she wasn’t completely indifferent. He’d been on a roller-coaster ride this entire trip—highs and lows, that sudden drop in his stomach and the rush of his pulse when their eyes met. The feeling he was having right now. Off-balance.

  He stumbled slightly. His mind blanked. He felt suddenly weak.

  “Roman?” Grace gripped his arm. “Are you all right?”

  He thought he’d be fine once they got inside the air-conditioned restaurant, but he barely made it to the sidewalk before his legs turned to jelly. Grace cried out, trying to break his fall, and he took her down with him. He wanted to ask if she was okay. He wanted to say he was sorry if he hurt her. She was screaming for help and rolling him onto his back. He didn’t feel anything but a heavy pulling sensation.

  He barely heard Grace cry out. “Roman. Oh, God . . . Jesus, help him. Help us!”

  Her voice faded as he sank into a sea of darkness.

  Roman didn’t feel any pain. No need to breathe. The hot cement gave way beneath him and then flung him up, light and free. He saw a crowd around a body and Grace on her knees, doing CPR. A man appeared, gripped her shoulder, and knelt beside her. He took over. Others had their phones out, most taking pictures and texting, one or two talking. Roman looked at the dead man lying on the sidewalk. What the—? That was him! Was he hallucinating?

  Looking away from the scene on the sidewalk, he noticed two men standing on either side of him. Instinctively repelled, he shrank back. They looked ordinary, nondescript, but something about them scared him. One showed jagged teeth. “Time to go, Bobby Ray.”

  “Get away from me!” Roman stepped back.

  “You can’t run now.” Hollow black eyes stared at him as they advanced.

  “Who in hell are you?” Taking another step back, he raised his fists.

  They laughed. “You know what we are.” They moved fast, each grabbing hold of him with claw hands.

  Crying out in fear as much as in pain, Roman tried to break free. Why was he so weak, and they so strong? Terrified now, he thrashed. “Let go of me!” Rivers of fire spread through his body, and he screamed.

  The air shimmered like a mirage in a desert as he passed through a veil into another world. A dark tunnel opened ahead, and the demons dragged him in. The curved walls and ceiling were alive with creatures, their faces twisted and grotesque. They crawled above and around him, spewing foul names, writhing, grabbing at him, their mouths snapping like great white sharks hungry for flesh.

  Cringing, ducking, dodging, Roman tried to go back. Dragged forward by his captors, he saw darkness ahead and felt rising heat. He heard human shrieks and groans of agony.

  Pain exploded inside Roman’s chest. He arched, body stiffened, eyes opening to light and voices all around him.

  “Stop! Stop! He’s back!” Grace cried out.

  A stranger lifted his hands away and Roman tried to draw breath. He felt the darkness encroaching again. Terrified, he rasped, “Don’t stop. Don’t . . . stop.”

  Sucked back into the darkness, Roman kicked at his captors, struggled against their grasp. The demons laughed louder, still gripping him, dragging him further, deeper inside the pulsing mouth of hell. The morbid, decaying fiends in the walls and ceiling licked their lips and taunted him with vile names and horrific descriptions of what they intended to do to him. They reached out putrid fingers, the stench of rotting flesh pressing in like a suffocating fog. Roman could taste it.

  “No! Oh, God, no!” Roman tried to dig in his heels. He tried to yank free. He saw that he wasn’t alone. Thousands were in the tunnel, all screaming and fighting as they moved, as though on a huge, terrifying conveyor belt, toward the abyss. A cliff lay ahead, an endless black pit beyond. Humans spilled over, howling as they disappeared. Roman screamed. He looked for something, anything, to grab on to, but there was nothing but the lost souls with him and the loathsome creatures relishing their misery.

  Weightless and weak, Roman felt the cold wind blow at his back and the fiery heat of hell ahead. He screamed out the last thing he remembered. “Jesus!”

  Shrieks rippled through the cavernous tunnel.

  Roman cried out again. “Oh, God! Christ, help me!”

  Blinding light filled the darkness. Someone clasped his wrist, lifting him, and in the midst of hell’s cacophony, whispered, “I am.”

  Claws grabbed him from beneath, and a dark, hate-filled voice echoed. “He’s mine! Give him to me!” Roman screamed as the hand tightened and talons dug into his calf, sending shards of pain up his leg. He had no strength to kick loose.

  “Release him.” A quiet voice spoke from above, and the being from the pit fell away into darkness.

  Roman arched again. Fire riddled his body as the sh
ock of electricity spread through his nervous system. He opened his eyes and saw two men bending over him. “We’ve got him!” An EMT leaned in closer. “Hang on, buddy. We’re almost to the hospital.”

  Wild with fear, Roman looked around. He tried to move, but he was strapped down.

  “Easy now. Lie still.”

  White cabinets, yellow tubing, and green monitors surrounded him. A siren screamed overhead. The speed told him he was in an ambulance. His chest and ribs hurt so much he could hardly breathe, let alone talk. His body started to shake.

  “Grace . . .” The EMT didn’t hear him. He tried again. “I need Grace.”

  “Good thing your girlfriend knew CPR, buddy. Hang in there. We’re almost there.” The vehicle slowed and turned. It stopped. The doors opened.

  Two EMTs slid the gurney down a track, lowered the wheels, and locked them in place. Roman got a glimpse of blue sky and then white ceiling. An IV drip was attached to his right arm. He was wheeled into a corridor and heard voices. Thrashing, he tried to get free. “Oh, God.” He moaned, crying now. “Oh, Jesus, don’t let go of me.” The veil had been wisp-thin between life and death. All his strength hadn’t been enough to break free, but one soft word from Christ, and he was alive again.

  Grace tried to stay calm as she drove Roman’s car to the hospital. Thankfully, she’d remembered the fob before the ambulance left. One of the EMTs fished it out of Roman’s pocket. He gave her quick directions. Too shaken to take them in or to figure out the car’s computer system, she used the GPS on her phone. The calm, computerized voice helped steady her. She parked and ran into the emergency room. When she asked about Roman Velasco, the nurse wanted to know if she was his wife.

  “He’s my boss. We were on a business trip.”

  Consigned to a waiting area, Grace perched on the edge of the seat, praying, watching every movement of the medical personnel, listening for any slip of information. Others sat with her, upset and waiting for news of their loved ones. Apparently, Friday afternoons could be busy. Close to tears, she covered her face and prayed some more. She wanted to be doing something. Pulling out her phone, she texted Shanice. I’m in ER in Santa Clarita. Roman had a heart attack. Please pray.

  “Anyone here named Grace?”

  “Yes!” She surged to her feet. “I’m Grace.” Tucking her phone into her purse, she fell into step with the nurse.

  “He keeps asking for you. Try to calm him down. We want to prep him for surgery, but he’s convinced if he goes under anesthesia, he’ll end up in hell. He said the leg injury came from some demon—”

  “What leg injury?”

  The nurse frowned as he pushed the door open. “The doctor is on his way.”

  Roman’s skin was ashen. Hooked to machines, an IV in his arm, an oxygen mask covering his nose and mouth, he looked terrified as he jerked at the restraints. Fighting tears, Grace came closer. She had to stay calm for his sake. “Roman.” She put her hand on his arm. He looked at her, eyes wild, and said something she couldn’t understand. He yanked at the belts that held him. She leaned down. “These people know how to help you.” He didn’t take his eyes off her. “I’m here. Focus on me right now.” The nurse put medication into the IV. She squeezed Roman’s hand. “I’ll be in the waiting room, praying for you. I’m not leaving. I promise.”

  His eyes filled with tears as he tried to speak.

  “You’re going to be fine.” Please, God, make it so.

  The nurse touched her shoulder. “We’re good to go.”

  Grace called Selah and told her what had happened. “I promised him I’d stay here.”

  “As you should, chiquita. How is he doing?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Sammy is fine. Don’t worry about him. Stay with your boss, and keep us posted. We’ll be praying, too.”

  Grace phoned Brian to ask him to pray for Roman. She told him the situation and then said she needed to make another call.

  Shanice answered immediately. “Hey, girlfriend, what happened? Is Roman okay?”

  Grace started to cry. She’d held herself together as long as she could. Wrapping an arm around her middle, she rocked.

  “Grace, honey? Talk to me.”

  The words came, choked at first and then in a flood. “He went into cardiac arrest. He’s in surgery right now. Henry Mayo Newhall Hospital. Please get everyone praying. One minute he was standing, and the next he was dead. I couldn’t find a pulse and started CPR. A man took over, and Roman came back. I wanted to thank the man, but he was gone. And Roman—oh, Shanice, I’ve never seen anyone so scared. He looked like he’d seen hell.” She wiped tears away.

  Others in the waiting room stared at her. She got up and went into the hallway. “He might die. And he doesn’t believe in Jesus. I’m so scared for him.”

  “Don’t go down that road, honey. He’s alive. He’s in surgery. He has a chance. I’ll call Ashley. She’ll activate the church prayer chain and let Nicole know what’s happened. I’ve got my keys in hand right now. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just stay cool, Grace. God’s in charge. Remember that.”

  An hour passed. The waiting room emptied until she was the last person waiting for news. She wasn’t family, but who else did Roman have? Jasper! The Mastersons! Why hadn’t she thought to call them? Should she? They should know. She decided to wait until she had more definite news before calling Jasper. He would know how to reach Chet and Susan.

  Another hour passed. Grace paced. Would hospital staff allow her in recovery or ICU? What if Roman didn’t make it? What if he’d died and no one bothered to tell her? Maybe the shift had changed and those at the desk didn’t know she was still waiting. She was afraid to ask. No news was better than bad news.

  “Grace?”

  Gasping, Grace lifted her head. “Oh, Brian.” Bursting into tears, she flew into his arms.

  He held her closer, chin resting on top of her head. “I got here as soon as I could. How is he?”

  “I don’t know.” She drew back. When he pulled out a handkerchief, she took it. “I haven’t heard anything.”

  “Sit. I’ll go check and be right back.”

  Grace couldn’t read his expression when he returned. He sat beside her and took her hand. “He’ll be out of surgery soon. You won’t be able to see him for a while.” He squeezed her hand gently. “How long since you’ve eaten?”

  “I don’t remember. We were stopping for supper. I don’t want to leave. The doctor might come. Someone has to come sometime, don’t they?”

  “You need to eat something. I’ll be back.” He left the waiting room.

  Shanice arrived a few minutes later, looking harried. “Sorry it took so long. There was an accident. I thought I’d never get here. Oh, honey.” She hugged Grace. They sat on the sofa together. “The whole church is praying. You’re shaking. Try to breathe.”

  Brian came back with a vending machine sandwich and a bottle of orange juice. He stopped in the doorway. “Hello.” He stared at Shanice.

  “Hi, Brian. I know you from your picture. I set up the first date.”

  “Oh. A thank-you would be in order. And you are . . . ?”

  Grace remembered her manners. “This is Shanice. She’s my best friend. And you can give her the sandwich. I’m not very hungry.”

  Shanice held out her hand. “She’ll eat it if I have to stuff it down her throat. Ask the powers that be what’s happening, would you?”

  “He already did.” Grace glanced toward the door, wishing someone would come.

  Shanice looked at Brian. “No harm in checking again.”

  He left, and Shanice patted Grace’s knee. “Sometimes a pastor can get more information than a regular citizen.” She gave Grace an encouraging smile. “Eat up, honey. You won’t do Velasco any good if you go in looking like death warmed over.”

  Brian returned. “We should hear something soon.”

  A doctor came in half an hour later. “Grace?” She followed him into the hall. The surgery
had gone well. Roman now had an ICD, an implantable cardioverter defibrillator, a small computer that would regulate and monitor his heart. “He’s lucky to be alive. He’s probably had a few episodes and didn’t know what they were. Has he ever blacked out before today?”

  “I don’t know.” She remembered finding him sprawled across the bed once. She’d assumed he was sleeping.

  Before going into ICU, she cleaned her hands with antibacterial gel and put on a mask. The doctor opened the door for her and spoke softly. “We’ll keep him here for twenty-four hours and then move him into a room, barring complications. Good thing he’s in peak physical condition. Is he an athlete?”

  “An artist.”

  He looked relieved. “His heart was an easy fix. We have another doctor handling his leg.”

  “What’s wrong with his leg?”

  “Can’t say.”

  He couldn’t say, or he didn’t know? When could Roman have injured his leg?

  Though he was still clearly in pain, Roman’s color had improved. He was tethered to monitors beeping heart rate, oxygen levels, blood pressure. An IV drip stood beside the bed, the needle inserted in the top of his hand. A thin tube connected to a bag measuring urine. His eyes were open, wide-open. “Grace.” He breathed out her name, his body relaxing.

  Grace moved to the side of his bed and took his hand. “I told you I’d stay.” She managed to smile. “You’re doing better than the last time I saw you.”

  His hand tightened on hers.

  Her emotions tumbled one over another. She didn’t want to think about how much she cared about him, and what kind of complications that would bring to their working relationship—not now. “A lot of people are praying for you, Roman. I hope you don’t mind that I spread the word.”

  “No.”

  “Brian and Shanice are in the waiting room.”

  “He got me out.”

  Grace didn’t understand. “You don’t have to talk right now. Try to rest.”

  He squeezed her hand again. “I was in hell.”