by Bob DeMoss
Kat shrugged. “Guess so.”
“Hey, I brought these for you,” Jodi said, and then placed the flowers on the bed stand.
“Flowers? For me? How sweet!” Kat admired the arrangement. “Listen, there’s something I wanted to talk about—”
“Actually, me first. I owe you an apology.” Jodi took a seat by Kat’s bed and then fidgeted with a ring on her finger.
“For what?” Kat took a sip from her juice cup.
“I misjudged you, Kat.” Jodi looked up. “All this time I was so mad at you . . . see, I thought you had taken those drugs at the rave. I couldn’t believe you’d betray me like that, you know?”
“What makes you think I didn’t take them?” Kat leaned her head back against the pillow.
“Your doctor told me a minute ago,” Jodi pulled her hair back. “He said your blood work didn’t show any signs of drugs. So, give me details. What happened? I mean, I found the syringe, right next to you.”
Kat nodded. “I know. Talk about crazy. I was dancing with that guy—”
“Todd Rice.”
“Uh-huh. Well, we went upstairs to chill,” Kat said. “Next thing I knew, he was shooting up. I tried to talk him out of it, even yanked a needle away from him, but I was too late.”
Jodi thought about that for a moment. “You mean, he used both needles?”
Kat nodded. “Funny thing is, before I met you that would’ve been me.”
“Then why was your body freaking out?” Jodi asked. “You looked like you were on the doorstep of death when we found you?”
“Doctor says I started to reject your kidney,” Kat said. “Nothing personal, mind you.”
They both laughed.
“What a coincidence, huh?” Kat said. “But thanks to you and Bruce, I got here in time. Got me some super-duper antirejection drugs.”
“So will you forgive me?” Jodi hooked her hair behind her ears.
“Of course I will,” Kat said with a smile. “But Jodi, tell me this. Am I gonna, you know, make it?” Kat searched her eyes.
“Hey, what kind of question is that?”
“Come on, level with me,” Kat said. “I’m a big girl.”
Jodi wasn’t sure it was her place to say. On the other hand, Jodi realized she was, in some ways, the only family Kat had right now. Kat’s heart monitor ticked away in the silence.
“Well, the doctor seems to think your chances are better than fifty-fifty,” Jodi said. “And I’m praying for you every day.” Jodi reached forward and gave Kat a reassuring pat.
Kat folded her hands. “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk about. See, I’ve been thinking . . . about stuff. I’ve really got to get a handle on my life, you know? And I think you know the way.”
“You mean—” Jodi wasn’t expecting this.
Kat nodded. “I want what you have.”
Jodi’s heart jumped so hard, she wondered if Kat had heard it pound. “Well . . . it’s like we talked about before . . . at Young Life, you know? That Jesus gave His life so we’d have true peace . . . that our sin keeps us from God and, when we ask Him into our hearts, He makes us brand new.”
“I know. I remember hearing that, but I guess I just don’t get it,” Kat said. “Why me? Why would Jesus want to rescue a used-up druggie like me? I mean, what’s in it for Him?”
“Kat, listen to me,” Jodi said, fighting back tears of joy. “Jesus said that a doctor comes to heal those who are sick—not those who have it all together. Jesus loves us so much that He died for all of us.”
“Yeah, maybe for someone like you, but how can you be so sure He loves me?” Kat searched Jodi’s eyes.
Jodi didn’t need to open her Bible. Instead, she closed her eyes and softly repeated the words she knew so well. “‘For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.’”
When Jodi opened her eyes, Kat reached over and extended her hand to Jodi. “Help me pray . . . would you?”
“Are you serious? In a heartbeat!” Jodi took her hand and leaned forward. “Maybe you could just repeat this prayer in your heart, okay?”
Kat nodded.
“Dear Jesus,” Jodi began, remembering the prayer she prayed years ago. “I need You . . . I know my sin keeps me from You . . . but You died on the cross in my place. I want to live for You, now. I believe You are the way, the truth, and the life. Please come into my heart today. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen,” Kat said.
Jodi opened her eyes and saw a smile filling Kat’s face. Jodi stood up and leaned over the bed to embrace Kat. They laughed and cried for a long minute.
“What did I miss?” Bruce said, bursting into the room without knocking.
Jodi looked over at him.
“It’s a God thing, Bruce,” Jodi said, wiping away her tears.
“Whoa! That’s some shiner, Jodi!” Bruce held up the newspaper. “Hey, you guys see this story? Right on the front page. I can’t believe everything that’s happened. Check it out, Jodi. Looks like you’ve got your first really big scoop!”
“All that’s happened? What’s happened?” Kat said, drying her tears, too.
“How much time to you have?” Jodi said with a laugh. “Let’s see. Where to start? I was there when Reverend Bud almost died but thankfully he’s gonna make it. I was almost killed by some crazy Russian hit men . . . and, best of all, the police busted Dr. Blackstone for trading in human organs with the Russian mob.”
“Wait, what? Who’s Dr. Blackstone and Reverend Bud? What Russians are you talking about?” Kat reached over and clasped Jodi’s arm. “Tell me!”
Jodi smiled. “Guess we do have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Hold on a second,” Bruce said, suddenly serious. He walked over to Jodi’s side. “Did you hear the police released Dr. Blackstone this morning?” He unfolded the newspaper and handed it to Jodi as he spoke.
Jodi felt the blood rush to her face as she started to search for the headline.
“I’m just kidding . . .”
“Bruce!” Jodi said. She punched him in the arm.
“Feel free to hit him once for me, too!” Kat said.
Jodi loved to see the sparkle in Kat’s eyes.
Prologue from The Last Dance
It was Tuesday night and the Philadelphia Memorial Public Library closed in fifteen minutes. The array of five iMac Pro computers arranged on a large wooden table sat idle. At precisely 9:45, a man wearing a loose denim jacket with a knapsack in his right hand entered the old, brick library. He passed by the checkout desk, careful to avoid eye contact with the librarian, and then made his way to the computer station at the rear of the facility.
He took his usual spot behind the computer that faced away from public scrutiny. He placed his bag on the floor at his feet. He cracked his knuckles and then logged on to the Internet, thankful that the head librarian refused to install filtering software. He connected to his personal VPN server to mask his digital identity. The glow of the computer screen cast a pale, bluish white light on his unshaven face as he worked.
Seconds later, he opened his knapsack, retrieved an 8-gigabite USB thumb drive, reached around behind the monitor and jammed it into the port on the back of the computer which—just his luck—had an available port for accessories and peripherals. Within several minute the compressed contents would be uploaded to his website.
As he worked, a voice from the overhead intercom softly informed all patrons to make their final selections and proceed to the checkout. The library would close in seven minutes. He checked his watch. No problem. He needed just four minutes more for the files to complete their upload.
He continued his routine in silence, his fingers dancing across the keyboard with purpose as he updated the Instagram account with several images to tease his followers with an upcoming live streaming event.
The transfer of data from the disk to the web now complete, he initiated a reverse transfer
of financial information to the thumb drive. A smile eased across his face as he reviewed the last in a long string of numbers. This is what they had worked so hard for over the last year. All of the risks they had taken were now paying off big time. He read the number again.
One million dollars.
His eyes narrowed as he stared at the number. With his damp left hand he stroked his chin for a long moment before logging off. He removed the thumb drive and placed it in his bag, then retrieved a lint-free washcloth and a small spray bottle from a side pocket. He sprayed a gentle mist of the special solution onto the cloth and then wiped off the keyboard and the body of the computer where he had inserted the drive. Satisfied, he replaced the items in the knapsack.
As he stood to leave, he glanced at the clock on the wall: 9:58. He flung the knapsack over one shoulder and then took his time as he walked past the stacks of reference materials, careful not to touch anything as he departed. When the librarian offered a good night, he managed a grunt—and no eye contact.
Outside the library, he paused to withdraw his vape pen from within his denim jacket. He inhaled deeply, filling his lungs as he lingered at the top of the concrete steps leading to the parking lot. He began to descend the dozen steps, but stopped when his cellphone played a distinct melody. He had specifically assigned this tune to help him identify the caller before he answered it.
Although he half expected the call, his heart still jumped. His nerves always seemed to be on heightened sensitivity during his trips to the library. He took another puff, slipped the pipe into his jacket pocket, then looked around to ensure his conversation wouldn’t be heard before answering. “Yo.”
“What’s the good word?”
He gripped the phone and spoke just above a whisper. “We just hit the magic number: fifty thousand monthly subscribers. Hold on . . .” He looked over his shoulder as two teens left the building. He waited for them to pass. “At twenty bucks a pop that’s, what, a million bucks. I’m talking every month. Gotta love it, right?” He could hear a whistle on the other end of the line. “And this is just the beginning.”
“You the man,” the voice said. “Come see me as soon as you can. Maybe tomorrow, okay?”
“I’ll try. Hang in there, bro.” That said, he signed off. He stuffed his phone into the front pocket of his jeans and then headed to his vehicle.
About the Author
Bob DeMoss is a five-time New York Times and Wall Street Journal bestselling author and collaborator of more than 45 books, including the ECPA Bronze bestseller, The Devil in Pew Number 7, which was featured on the Dr. Phil Show and The Duck Commander Bible with Duck Dynasty’s Phil Robertson.
He’s worked as an Associate Publisher for HarperCollins Christian Publishing, and Vice President of Content and Product Development at Focus on the Family. His media appearances include Good Morning America, CNN, MSNBC and FOX.
Visit bobdemoss.com to learn more.
