“How are you today?” Karen spoke to the girl in a singsong tone while simultaneously inspecting the area for black trench coats.
“Ta-ti.” The little girl nodded repeatedly. “Ta-ti.”
How adorable.
“Ta-ti is grandma,” the woman interpreted. “Grandma and Grandpa are coming for Christmas, and her birthday.”
“Ah,” Karen said in a tone that got the girl’s attention. “And what is your name? Can you tell me your name?”
“Say-wa.”
“Sarah? That’s my mother’s name. That’s a pretty name.”
The girl blinked and nodded her approval.
Karen turned back to the parents. “Is she your only child?”
“So far.” The woman laughed. “We hope to have more. What about you?”
Karen’s smile melted. “I don’t…we don’t have any—yet.”
“Well, enjoy it while you can,” the father advised. “They sure keep you busy.”
For that kind of busy, I’ll trade you any day.
Karen grinned at the father. “How old is she?”
“She’ll be twelve months Christmas dDy.”
“Oh, Sarah. You and Jesus have the same birthday. How special.”
“Silver Bells” played again. Karen excused herself and opened her phone. It was Madison.
“I’m so excited. We got Wesley registered at Horizons at Harbor View. The people are really friendly. And it’s like a resort, all decorated for Christmas, with a fire in the fireplace. Even has a view of Long Island Sound.”
“That’s great news.” Karen scanned the area again. “Is it far from you?”
Karen barely heard Madison describe the location of Horizons; she was more focused on searching out each piece of black clothing and its respective owner.
“Can you believe it?” Madison’s voice brought her back. “Aunt Karen?”
“I’m sorry.” Karen pressed her fingers to her forehead. “I missed that.”
“A girl! Wesley met a really sweet girl while we were getting him situated. Her name’s Cassidy, and she’s from Schenectady. She’s been there about ten days. I’ve never seen him take to anyone like that. We can’t see him or talk to him for at least a week. That means he’ll be alone for Christmas, maybe New Year’s, too.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Karen’s fears subsided momentarily as her gaze settled on little Sarah, who was half-eating, half-sucking Cheerios from a plastic yellow container clutched like a football in her tiny arm. “How did it go with your mom and dad?”
“Mom and I drove Wesley to Horizons. Dad drove separately. I hate it that they can’t even stand to be in the car together.”
“That is so hard,” Karen said. “I don’t know exactly how you’re feeling, sweetie, but God does. And I’ve been praying you’ll get to know Him.”
“Thanks. I’ve been reading the Bible you gave me.”
“Oh, Madi…” Karen lost her breath for a second. It was all the emotion—of everything—seeping over the top. “That makes my day.”
When Karen hung up, Sarah held out her tiny wet hand, offering a Cheerio. Karen put it up to her mouth and pretended to eat it. Then she glanced at her watch and decided to head over to the passenger arrival area.
After sharing a pleasant good-bye with the little girl and her parents, Karen tossed her empty cup in a trash can, then made the short walk toward a bright, open area where hundreds of people congregated beneath a line of glowing arrival screens, about forty feet from the escalators.
Karen watched the weary travelers emerging from the escalators: men and women in business suits, casually dressed people yakking on cell phones, young people wandering inquisitively wearing headphones, and old people clinging to each other for dear life.
Then she saw the gray ski cap. The long black trench coat. And the eyes. The penetrating eyes—sizing her up like a predator does its prey.
Her head dropped, staring at the scuffed floor. He was just another New Yorker there to pick up a friend. He had to be. She twisted her watch, adjusted the shoulder strap on her purse, and prayed she was just being obsessive.
Okay, just look around, calmly. She peered up at the array of arrival details on the board, then glanced back to the open space to the right of the escalators.
He leered at her with those little eyes and that cocky demeanor—a leg slung over the arm of a red vinyl chair.
Karen held his gaze as long as she could, but it was like holding her hand over a flame. When he eased his head back and grinned seductively, she spun completely around toward the restrooms. She squeezed her fingers and sought solace amid the sea of faces surrounding her but found none.
She checked her watch—2:40—then the arrival board; her parents’ flight was in. They’ll deplane, get the train…another ten minutes. She let her eyes drift back to the red chair.
Empty.
She froze, unable to turn her head. She was certain he’d be right there. She stared at the escalators, but the people pouring off were only a blur. Her mind whisked her back to Twin Streams—the splattered red snow…Millie’s blood-caked body…and the words You Die scrawled in burgundy.
“Excuse me,” came a male voice from behind, along with a tap on her arm. Her shoulders lurched. She clutched her purse and forced herself around. “I’m sorry.” A slight man of Middle Eastern descent smiled at her with brilliant white teeth. “Do you have the time, please?”
Karen heaved a sigh, gave him the time, and chuckled at herself.
It was times like these when she was glad no one but God knew her every thought. She relaxed in the security of the masses and swiveled to face the escalators.
There he was. Again.
Within six feet. Glaring.
She bumped into the woman next to her. Her mother’s red coat caught her eye first. Then her broad-shouldered father in his black leather jacket and assuring smile. Karen’s hand rose, and she heard herself squeal.
She was weak and dazed, but she kept going, excusing herself, weaving around bodies, bumping hard into several, frantically making her way into the opening. Into the warm embrace of those who’d always kept her safe.
22
WIND SWIRLED THE SNOW around outside the bay window at Twin Streams. After seeing the ghostlike reflection of headlights on the wall, Everett had passed through the busy kitchen and peered out at the night. By the time he got there, the headlights became taillights, gliding down Old Peninsula, over the hill and out of sight.
Ever since his disturbing phone conversation with Tony Badino, Everett couldn’t get the kid out of his head and was glad to finally be talking about it with Karen’s father, Jacob, who had become his spiritual mentor of sorts.
Karen’s dinner of baked chicken and mashed potatoes had garnered positive reviews from her parents. But something in their countenance—perhaps their quieter-than-normal manner—made Everett suspect they’d already spoken at length with Karen about her infertility on the way home from the airport. It hadn’t been mentioned during dinner.
Everett made coffee while Karen and Sarah tidied up the kitchen, gabbing like long-lost roommates while upbeat Christmas carols played over the home stereo system.
Jacob sat at the kitchen table, studying Everett’s Bible. “Is this it? ‘When the unclean spirit goes out of a man, it passes through waterless places, seeking rest, and does not find. Then it says, “I will return to my house from which I came”; and when it comes, it finds it unoccupied, swept, and put in order.’”
“That’s exactly what Badino quoted to me,” Everett said. “Keep going.”
Jacob looked back down and followed his finger. “‘Then it goes and takes along with it seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there; and the last state of that man becomes worse than the first.’”
“Okay, translate it for me.”
“Well, first of all, if he was implying this is going to happen to you, Ev, he’s wrong. Jesus was talking about people who try to
become morally reformed but not born again.”
“What’s it mean, about the unclean spirits?” Everett asked.
“Say a person cleans up his act. He gets rid of some of the bad things in his life, and what happens? The unclean spirit goes out of him. For a while, he does better. But Christ hasn’t been invited to live in that person, so he’s plagued much worse than before.”
Everett shuddered. Had unclean spirits haunted him at times and made him question his own salvation? His past—the women and drugs, the violence and vulgarity—seemed too despicable to be swept under God’s rug of forgiveness.
But Christ lives in me. I am forgiven. Why do I doubt?
In many ways, Everett was still at war—with temptations and feelings of inadequacy, like he wasn’t pure enough to wear the name Christian. But he was too embarrassed to share such things with Jacob.
Karen topped off their coffees. “I want to know how Tony Badino knows Scripture like that. He mentioned Job and dogs returning to their vomit. He knew God was called I Am; it’s just plain creepy.”
Sarah came over with a dish towel draped over her shoulder. She looked radiant, her blond hair short and shiny. She stood behind Jacob and rested a delicate hand on his big shoulder as they deferred to Everett.
“Don’t look at me.” He straightened his posture and held up both hands. “I have no clue. The guy sounds like some kind of antichrist to me.”
“He said his girlfriend was baptized before she died.” Jacob sipped his coffee. “Maybe that’s what got Tony interested in the Bible. Maybe he sought God afterward, or before, leading up to her conversion.”
Karen wiped the counter. “All I know is, nobody just knows Scriptures like the ones he mentioned unless they’ve spent time in the Word.”
“Well,” Sarah said, “I can’t imagine Dominic ‘Brain Picker’ Badino leading family devotions in front of the fireplace.”
The laughter cleared Everett’s head, and he was suddenly whole again. Indeed, most of the time he was sound and walked in the Spirit. It was the other times, those brief sieges, when he would momentarily be overcome by the lies of the flesh. He hated himself for those times and silently cursed Satan for ravaging him with feelings of guilt and inadequacy.
Being with Jacob and Sarah took him back to their comfortable home in Topeka and to his rental house in Bal Harbour, Florida, where he lived during the Endora Crystal murder trial. Wherever these people were was a bastion of love. They were the family he’d never known as a child, growing up in a dysfunctional home in the shadows of Cleveland’s refineries.
The soft shadow of headlights crept from one wall to the next, but Everett ignored it this time. Karen and Sarah wrapped Christmas presents on the floor by the fireplace in the family room, with Rosey nestled up next to them.
Everett showed Jacob the new recording studio in the basement. The cushy spread contained all the latest electronic equipment, with walls and ceiling made of state-of-the-art soundproofing materials.
“Karen seemed a little out of it when she picked us up today,” Jacob said as they stood over the massive soundboard.
“Out of it?”
“Kind of distraught. We thought it might be because of the doctor’s appointment and all that’s been going on around here lately.”
“We’ve been under the gun, no doubt. It’s been a stressful couple weeks.”
“I’m sorry Karen can’t conceive, Ev.” Jacob’s eyes met his. “You know it’s my fault.”
Everett looked up several inches into his father-in-law’s beaten eyes and shook his head. “It’s nobody’s fault, Jacob. It’s just God’s plan, I guess.”
“She’s always loved children. Well, you know that…” Jacob panned the studio, perhaps to avoid eye contact or to stop a tear from falling. “She used to help in the nursery when she was young, just loved those babies.” He peered through the polished glass into the recording studio at the various microphones and guitars, smoothing his thick brown mustache.
“Who knows? We may adopt,” Everett said. “But I’m not going to stop praying for our own.”
Jacob turned back to him. “We’re not either.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” Jacob crossed his thick arms and leaned back on the desk.
“Karen’s infertility.” Everett sat in the swivel chair, rolling it back several feet. “Millie. The stuff going on with my brother and Wesley. I just want to know, does God pay us back for our sins? The bad things we did before we were saved? I mean, you mentioned Karen’s infertility being your fault, but you’re the godliest dude I know.”
“What I meant was, I’m the one who drove her to get the abortion, to protect my image.” Jacob folded his arms and stroked his cheeks with a large hand. “I was a legalistic hypocrite. The abortion never should have happened.”
“But there’s no payback?”
“Ev, when Christ came, He did something that had never been done before. He forgave sin completely. You need to remember that.”
“What about when I sin now?”
A heavy crash thundered from above. Then barking.
“Evvv!” Karen’s shriek sent the men in motion.
Everett dashed to the stairs, took three at a time, and bound through the kitchen with Jacob right behind him to the family room. They found wrapping paper, ribbon, tissue, and packages, but not Karen or Sarah.
“Karen!”
“Here, Ev. Living room!”
Everett led the way but stopped cold at the beige carpet leading inside. The floor was covered with shards of sparkling glass as a frigid wind blew the white curtain sheers into the room.
Karen and Sarah ran to the men from their position in the foyer. “There’s a brick.” Karen pointed, out of breath. “It came through the window. We were wrapping—”
“Are you okay?” Jacob squeezed Sarah’s shoulder.
“We’re fine.” Karen was shaking, talking fast. “We let Rosey out, to keep her away from the glass. There’s something written on the brick.”
Everett released Karen and stepped through the broken glass, picked up the brick—which was lying on its side—and examined it.
“A cross.” He faced the large, white painted cross toward the other three, then looked on the back of the brick. “Abaddon.” He turned it again to show them how the word had been finger-painted, savagely, in white across the length of the brick.
Sarah looked at Jacob. “What’s it mean?”
“Destruction.” Jacob took the brick from Everett. “That’s Abaddon in Hebrew. Ruin.”
Everett pumped a fist. “When’s this gonna end?” He stomped to the window. “Why us? What the heck’s goin’ on?”
“Keep your cool, son.” Jacob eyed the brick. “Were you ladies able to see anything?”
“By the time we figured out where it had come from or what it was,” Sarah held up her hands, “there was no one out there.”
Everett stalked into the foyer, turned on an outside light, threw open the front door, and disappeared into the night. The wind was bitter cold. The ground was so frozen, he couldn’t see any footprints. Rosey was sniffing up a storm, but whoever had done the deed was gone.
“This looks like an inverted cross.” Jacob tossed the brick lightly in his hand as Everett came back in and bolted the door.
“What’s that mean?” Karen put her arms around Everett’s waist.
“It’s a symbol,” Jacob said, “ridiculing Christianity.”
“Tony Badino did this.” Everett pulled away from Karen and seethed through clenched teeth. “I’m gonna find that little whatever he is and deal with this!”
“Just calm down, Ev,” Jacob said. “You can’t go off half-cocked. We need to call the police, then get something to cover this window.”
I should have called them a long time ago. Everett took off for the garage. Two minutes later he rejoined the group in a huff, with his arms full.
“Here.” He stuffed a large piece of wadded bl
ue plastic in a chair in the foyer. Then he set down a hammer and a cardboard box of nails. “This is to cover the window. There’s a ladder in the garage.” He took off toward the master bedroom.
“Babe, don’t do this. Please!”
“You’re not going to solve anything tonight,” Jacob’s voice followed him. “Let’s just file a report and think this thing through, buddy. We’ll come up with a plan…”
When Everett emerged from the walk-in closet, Jacob stood there, staring at the black gun in his hands. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m leaving this for you, in case Badino comes back.”
“I didn’t think you’d ever own another gun—”
“It’s for protection. You don’t know how many threats we’ve had.” Everett held up the semiautomatic and its magazine in separate hands. “If you need it, it’ll be in the cupboard, up high, in the kitchen.”
Everett huffed past him, but Jacob followed. Once in the kitchen, Everett put the artillery up high in the cupboard without the girls knowing it.
“What do you think you’re going to accomplish? Where are you going?”
“Badino’s house.”
“Are you, crazy? After all that’s happened with Eddie? This is the Mafia we’re talking about.”
“I don’t care anymore.” Everett marched to the hall closet and got his coat. “I’ve let it go long enough. Millie’s dead. My wife’s scared to death. I’m goin’ after this guy.”
“No you’re not!” Karen rushed in, with Sarah five feet behind her. “Stop this, Everett! Don’t be like this. Vengeance isn’t yours to repay, it’s God’s. We’ll be okay. It’s a broken window…”
“And what will it be next?” Everett roared. “You—dead? I’m sorry, but I’m not gonna wait around for that.” He grabbed the keys from a wall hook near the door to the garage. “Call the police. File a report. Tell ’em who we think is responsible. But don’t mention where I am.”
As he hit the garage door button and strode to the car, Everett heard Karen wailing.
“This is not God’s way, son,” Jacob’s bold voice came toward him in the cold garage. “I know what you’re feeling, but striking out in anger isn’t going to accomplish anything good. You could get yourself thrown in jail, or worse.”
Full Tilt (Rock Star Chronicles) Page 18
