Bridge to Forever

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  Mickelle’s father dropped to the floor next to Bryan, but didn’t touch him, as though understanding his need to be apart. He explained the new situation to Bryan in a few succinct words. “We’re waiting to see who the flowers are from—if it’s flowers.” Bryan nodded, but didn’t speak. At last, the strange man she assumed was with the FBI returned to the room carrying a bouquet of dark yellow roses. Mickelle stiffened when she saw it, immediately recalling the flowers Colton had pretended to give her. Damon’s flowers.

  “This means something to you then?” he asked, seeing her reaction.

  “It could be him.”

  He sat on the leather chair between the couches and pulled on thin transparent gloves. Everyone crowded around as he carefully slit open the envelope with a small knife and drew out the card, holding it at an angle so they could see what was written.

  The girl is at an abandoned farmhouse with her uncle. Be careful, or you won’t get her out alive. He is armed. See map on back.

  Colton

  Mickelle shook her head in disbelief. “Why would Colton help us? I saw him driving the van.”

  The FBI Special Agent put the note and envelope in a plastic bag. “My guess is he’s having second thoughts. Either that or he wasn’t a willing participant from the beginning.”

  Damon grunted in disbelief. “Could be a trap.”

  “Could be. But I’d be surprised since they’re both amateurs—at least in kidnapping. We’ll take every precaution.”

  “Who brought it?” asked Tanner.

  The agent shook his head. “Florist. Stan is holding the delivery guy for the police to question—they’ll be here soon—but it’s unlikely the flower shop knew anything. Still, we might be able to trace the buyer.” He pulled out a phone. “I’m telling my partners. Do you have a fax machine? The sooner we get this map to the police station, the sooner we can have an exact location. Might take a while. It’s hand-drawn, and we don’t know how well he knew the area.”

  “I have one in my study,” Damon said, coming to his feet. Tanner hesitated a moment, and then followed them from the room.

  Time passed slowly and still they heard nothing. Mickelle’s worry for Jennie Anne increased. She knew that with each passing second the likelihood of finding the child decreased. As they waited, Damon called the hospital three times to check on Belle, but there was no change in her condition. Tanner and Bryan began yawning. “Why don’t you all go to bed?” Mickelle’s mother asked, tucking Jeremy’s blanket more securely around him. “I know it’s early to sleep, but you were up all night.”

  No one moved.

  “At least let’s get Jeremy into bed. He’ll wet the couch.”

  Mickelle hesitated, thinking of her small son upstairs alone. “He needs someone to stay with him, Mom.”

  “Your father and I will be there. Don’t worry.” Her mother laid a slender hand on Mickelle’s arm. “We won’t leave him alone for a minute.”

  Mickelle hugged her mother, feeling her ready tears come to the surface. “Thanks,” she whispered, blinking hard to clear her eyes.

  Terrell gently scooped Jeremy into his arms. “Bryan, how about you show us where he sleeps?” Bryan didn’t reply, but stared off into space.

  “I’ll show you,” Tanner volunteered.

  Mickelle carried her uneaten plate of food to the kitchen. When she glanced back, Damon was leaving. She followed him down the hall to his study. “Damon, are you okay?” Stupid question, she knew, but what else could she say?

  “I have to go back,” he said, turning to her. The tears she hadn’t yet seen him shed were falling rapidly, glistening over his cheeks. “I can’t bear to leave her to face this alone.”

  Mickelle held out her arms and he fell into them. “I keep asking myself, why them?” Damon muttered in her neck. “Why my precious Belle? Why little Jennie Anne, who hasn’t had a fair shake her whole life? Why now, when everything is going so well?”

  “I don’t know. But I do know that we must never give up hope—never! Despite what the doctor says. We are a people of miracles. Our God a God of miracles. I believe He can heal Belle.” This last she said because of the resignation in his eyes . . . and the terrible emptiness. Both frightened her.

  “This is my first real trial since my baptism,” he said slowly. “I have to tell you, Kelle, that despite my faith, this is so . . . hard.”

  She knew the word was a vast understatement. “I know.”

  “I have to go back to the hospital. You see that, don’t you?” He rubbed his chin hard. “I’ve been taking care of her since she was a baby.”

  “One hour then. We’ll go back in an hour.”

  “You should stay with the boys.”

  “My parents will be here. They’ll be okay.”

  She pushed him toward the black couch. “Now you lie right here and try to rest for a moment. I’m going to take a quick shower, check on Jeremy, and then we’ll go.” She kissed his brow gently as he clung to her in the dark.

  “I love you so much,” he whispered. “I don’t know how I could get through this without you.”

  “Please don’t give up! Don’t let your fear deprive you of hope and faith, the way I nearly let my fear deprive me of your love.” He didn’t reply, but after a while, his grip relaxed. Mickelle slipped from the study, hoping he would sleep.

  As she went back down the dimly lit hall and into the wide entryway, she caught sight of the huge oval wine glass that she had half-filled with water and left on the wall table in front of the elaborate gilt mirror. In it floated the flower she had rescued yesterday and saved to show Jennie Anne. Had it only been yesterday?

  Oh, Jennie Anne, my little rose! And Belle, my beauty!

  With a stifled sob she ran up the main staircase. Jeremy was still sleeping under the watchful eyes of her parents, so she headed toward her own suite. Instinctively, she stopped at the room the girls shared. Thanks to Mrs. Mertz, the castle room appeared as though no child had ever set foot inside. Not a toy was out of place, not a piece of clothing was on the floor. Mickelle remembered the flour mixture Belle had made and cleaned up earlier in the week. How she missed the mess now!

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she stumbled over to one of the twin beds and grabbed the pillow, then to the other bed for that pillow. Holding them against her breast, as she longed to hold the girls, she cried. Cried as she hadn’t been able to do with Damon because she had to be strong for him—because he had even more pain to deal with. As she cried, she prayed.

  * * *

  Damon wondered if Mickelle had been listening to the same doctor he had. The prognosis had not improved with the passing hours; if anything, it had grown worse. In the eyes of both the nurses and the young doctor, Damon saw that they didn’t expect Belle to live. What little hope they offered was only for the parents. For him and Mickelle.

  Damon stared at the dark ceiling, afraid to close his eyes. When he did, he saw Belle’s face as it had been over the years—laughing, crying, sleeping . . . and now dying. He could smell her, feel her touch.

  Hope. What had Mickelle meant?

  He hadn’t been able to give Belle a blessing.

  She’ll be happy in heaven with her mom.

  No! Oh, Charlotte, no! I know you would love to have her, but . . .

  What? What was it he was trying to say?

  His eyes closed, borne down by his deep weariness, one he felt in the very marrow of his bones.

  What had Mickelle meant?

  Hope. Faith. The evidence of things not seen.

  Was he giving up too soon? Was he playing the role of a martyr without reason?

  He slipped from the couch, twisting so he landed on his knees. Prayer. He wanted to pray, but the words tumbling around in his mind wouldn’t form sentences. There was too much emotion all at once, too many thoughts rushing for utterance. He had to funnel them, and the only way he could think of to do that was to state them aloud.

  “Dear Father,” he began. “De
ar Father.” His voice broke and for a time the emotions overcame him. When at last he could speak, he felt as though the words were ripped from his very soul. “I don’t know why this has happened, and I’m so scared I’ll lose my little Belle. Please don’t let that happen. Please.” He thought for a moment, and then continued because he knew his faith required more. “I accept Thy will. I will not accept the doctor’s words, or my own pragmatic view, but I will have faith in Thee. You can save Belle, or . . . or You may have other plans. I bow to Thy greater wisdom, while at the same time I plead with Thee for her life. I understand now that there is hope because You live.”

  There was more, much more. “And Jennie Anne. Please bring that special spirit back to us. Protect her from the man that would abuse her. Help her to be strong and to . . . to have . . . hope. Yes, hope.” He prayed more for Jennie Anne, letting the words rise silently from his soul.

  “And Bry, please bless Bry. I know he’s suffering, and I pray that I can comfort him, and that he will understand how much I love him and his brother . . . and Kelle.”

  He realized then that while much of what he loved hung in the balance, much that he loved rested safely in his home. He let his gratitude for these blessings rise to the God he felt so nearby.

  He had to return to the hospital now. He had to pray over his daughter there, to heal her if it was the Lord’s will, or to ease her transition to heaven.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “I love Mickelle. I want her to take care of me until I go back to heaven with my own mommy.”

  The words kept replaying in Bryan’s head. Did that mean Belle was going to die? He thought it did. She must have sensed her time was short.

  His mind rebelled. She was so bright and happy, and she loved him better than even her real brother, Tanner, who teased her constantly, and Jeremy who most times acted younger than she did. Bryan loved her, too. He loved the way she asked his advice, the way she always thought to include him, and the way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled. She was the best little sister he could ever imagine. Oh, sure, she got on his nerves, but not nearly as much as Jeremy, and she was so cute it was hard not to love her anyway.

  Now she would be gone. Gone. Just like his dad.

  Everyone had disappeared somewhere, and Bryan was alone in the family room. He hated being alone, though he couldn’t share his feelings with them. He felt too exposed, too betrayed. He wandered from the room, hoping to find his mother and feel her comfort.

  He heard her in the study, speaking in a low voice with Damon. What was she saying? Something about hope. Had Damon given up hope? Was Belle even worse off than he had been told? Was she perhaps already dead?

  “I love Mickelle. I want her to take care of me until I go back to heaven with my own mommy.”

  No! She couldn’t to heaven. He wouldn’t let her. God couldn’t take her.

  God had taken his dad.

  No, Dad made his own choice.

  He knew there was a difference, though it mostly felt the same to him.

  Someone was coming from the darkened room, and Bryan shrank into the shadows, glad it had grown dark enough for him to hide. He watched his mother disappear into the entryway, heard her going up the stairs—probably to the room she would soon share with Damon.

  The bitterness didn’t come to choke him as it usually did. Bryan knew Damon was suffering, but it didn’t make him happy. Belle was not something to use against Damon. Never.

  A mumbling took him by surprise. He recognized Damon’s voice, and edged closer to the partially open study door, more for the contact of another human than to eavesdrop.

  Damon was praying for Belle, and the words made the tears return to Bryan’s eyes. The prayer left Belle decidedly in the Lord’s hands, but Bryan wasn’t sure that was the best place for her. Couldn’t Damon just demand that God return Belle to them?

  No, that wasn’t how it worked.

  But Bryan couldn’t do the same thing. He couldn’t say “Thy will be done.” He could only repeat in his head, “Please don’t let her die. Please don’t let her die.”

  Damon continued his prayer, talking about Jennie Anne. The words he said aloud were short, but then he was silent for such a long time that Bryan thought he must still be praying. Or maybe he’d fallen asleep.

  Suddenly, he was surprised to hear Damon speaking his name, or at least the shortened version Damon always used—Bry. Praying for him! But there was nothing wrong with him—why would Damon waste his breath? He waited to see if Damon would pray for Jeremy and Tanner, too, but he didn’t.

  So why had Damon lumped him with Belle who was dying and with Jennie Anne who was missing?

  Sobs came from the room then, loud, raucous sobs that bit into Bryan’s heart. He felt compelled to enter the room. Almost immediately Damon became aware of his presence. His sobbing ceased.

  “She’s going to die, isn’t she?” Bryan said.

  Damon rubbed his hands over his face. “She may. But that doesn’t mean we give up hope. It’s in the Lord’s hands now.”

  Bryan said nothing for a moment as his eyes further adjusted to the room that was even darker than the hall. Damon was still on his knees. Bryan reached out a hand and clasped Damon’s shoulder as his grandfather had done earlier. It was a manly thing to do, but Damon starting crying again. Bryan lifted his other hand and found his own face wet.

  Damon stood and reached out to him, and Bryan let himself be pulled into a bear hug, reveling in the comfort, but not returning the hug. Bryan’s silent tears became sobs. “I don’t want her to die. Please don’t let her die.”

  “Will you pray with me, Bry?”

  Bryan nodded and felt regret when Damon pulled away. He kept hold of Bryan’s hand, though, which felt awkward and wonderful all at once. They knelt on the carpet and bowed their heads.

  My father never prayed with me, Bryan thought with bitterness.

  First Damon thanked the Lord for his blessings, from Bryan’s mother to Mrs. Mertz, the housekeeper. He was thankful for things Bryan had never thought about, like the sunset and the rain. Then he prayed with feeling about Belle and Jennie Anne, as though he had not already done so a few minutes earlier.

  When Damon finished, he said, “It’s your turn.”

  Bryan hadn’t expected that. He even resented it a little because it was God’s fault that Belle was hurt, wasn’t it? And that Jennie Anne was missing. Belatedly, Bryan felt a deep sadness for Jennie Anne. He didn’t know her well; he’d never really tried. But he liked her. I wish I’d played with her more. I wish I’d been nicer to her.

  So he prayed, asking for Jennie Anne to come home and for Belle to get better. In his heart he promised the Lord he would change. He would never hurt anyone again.

  “Thank you, Bry.” Damon’s voice was rough. He hugged him again, and this time Bryan hugged him back. It felt warm and good and right. He wanted to say he was sorry for how he acted but the words that came out were, “Did you really mean it when you thanked God for everything? Aren’t you mad at Him?”

  Damon didn’t answer right away, as though he was really considering the question. Bryan knew from experience that Damon wouldn’t answer lightly about something so serious, but all the same he was reassured to see Damon thinking about his response.

  “God doesn’t cause accidents, Bry. He allows them to happen. Maybe sometimes it’s because we’re not being faithful, but mostly it’s because we need the experience. We need to learn and grow. The Lord tests those He loves. Never forget that. But also never forget that He will be right there with you, that He will help you through.” Damon made a sound which vaguely resembled a wry chuckle. “I forgot that today. I almost gave up. But your mother helped me remember. Now I know that no matter what happens with Belle at the hospital, the Lord loves us and He will make it right if we turn to Him with our whole hearts. He will take our burdens, if we let Him.”

  That sounded good to Bryan, and miraculously, his heart did feel lighter, though that might
also be because of Damon himself, and the way they were talking. As though they were father and son. As though there was nothing wrong with Bryan at all. My father was wrong, he thought. I’m not stupid or dumb or lazy.

  “There’s something else,” Damon continued. “You and I may not always agree, but I will always be here for you. I’ll do my best to be fair.”

  “I know.” Suddenly Bryan did know.

  Damon climbed to his feet. “I need to get back to Belle.”

  Bryan’s anxiety returned, though not as heavily as before. “I want to go with you.” He ducked his head slightly, half expecting a negative answer, but after a moment, Damon nodded.

  “I’d be glad to have you come. Thank you.”

  A wonderful warmth entered Bryan’s heart. He smiled through his tears.

  * * *

  In the end, everyone returned to the hospital except Jeremy, who was still sleeping with Grandma and Grandpa close by. Bryan couldn’t wait to see Belle, to talk to her. On the drive over, his mother called the police station for news about Jennie Anne.

  “They’ve located the farm, they think,” she relayed. “They’re studying their options. They don’t want to endanger Jennie Anne.” She hesitated before adding, “Apparently, her uncle has a history of beating people up, including a few officers. They don’t want . . . well, they’re trying to do what’s best for Jennie Anne. If she’s still there. He might have moved her.”

  Bryan felt nervous as they arrived in the ICU waiting room. Everyone in sight seemed to be in a somber mood. He wondered if that was because the patients in this wing were so close to death.

  They couldn’t all visit Belle. In fact, visitors were still limited to Damon and Mickelle, or to Aunt Brionney if they had to leave. Bryan was upset that he wouldn’t be able to see Belle, but Damon talked to somebody, and Bryan and Tanner were given permission to go in one at a time with a parent. Tanner and Damon went first, and when they came out, Bryan and Mickelle went inside.