by Dijorn Moss
Tomorrow seems so far away and such a long shot. Demetrius needs medical attention, and I’m about to pass out from exhaustion.
“We’ll be okay for tonight,” Demetrius says.
That’s if we can survive this night. Right now, it doesn’t look good.
Chapter Sixteen
Darkness is not kept at bay on the island. It’s allowed to reign through the night unchallenged by anything except for the moon. I sat next to a tree, unable to see what’s in front of me. I’m starving and borderline dehydrated. I feel like there are bugs crawling all over me and my ears are playing tricks on me because I’m hearing all kinds of disturbing things go bump in the night.
A song starts to resonate within. I’m not much of a singer, but at this moment I feel compelled to sing. I also feel that part of me that would sound silly. Demetrius is close by, at least I think he’s close by. I can’t hear him snore, so I wonder what Demetrius is thinking. He almost died today, and now with an assassin running about, thoughts of mortality have to be weighing heavily. For me, I am grateful to be alive, and I sing a song of praise.
“There is none like you. No one else touches my heart like you do, and I can search for eternity, Lord, and find, there is no one like you.”
I must admit that of all the hymns and Christian songs, this does not rank as one of my personal favorites, but in the dark in a jungle, with a drug dealer beside me and a murderer on the loose, I feel compelled to express that there is no one like God who has kept me this whole time, and I consider myself grateful if I make it to see another day.
“Why do you to pray to a God that doesn’t exist?” Demetrius broke my cadence.
He must’ve not been impressed with my musical talents.
“How do you know that He doesn’t exist?”
“Do you know how many men have begged and prayed to God right before I killed them, and God did not answer?”
Demetrius now is completely comfortable to show me his dark passenger. He mustn’t think that we are going to survive this catastrophe; otherwise, he would remain silent.
“So, because God didn’t answer, that means He doesn’t exist?”
“I thought the whole point was to answer prayer.”
“The point is redemption, faith, hope, and trust. God does not answer every prayer, but the purpose of faith is trust that Jesus is your salvation and trust in God’s plan even when you come to the end of your life.”
Demetrius laughs, and given our current set of circumstances, his laugh is between cynical and demonic.
“You laugh, but it’s my faith that caused me to pull you out of a sinking truck when most people would have let you drown.”
“You saved me because you’re afraid of what my men would do if they thought you were responsible for killing me.”
“I think your men would give me a fist bump if I did. Fear and love can’t coexist. You rule through fear, but the Bible shows that people will do more out of love than fear.”
“I take care of their families.”
“How many families do you destroy in the process?” My question went unanswered.
“Thank you,” Demetrius says.
I don’t need to ask what he is thanking me for because I already know. He’s thanking me for saving his life. God is a great teacher, because in most people’s book, Demetrius deserves to die, but God believes that all men and women deserve a chance at redemption.
“Don’t mention it,” I say.
“If you want to go to sleep, I can take first watch. You can sleep,” Demetrius says.
“No, I’m good. I’ll stay up first,” I say.
“Have you way then.”
I hear movements, and though I can’t make anything out. I figure it’s Demetrius positioning himself to try to get some sleep. I close my eyes with the tune still stuck in my head.
“I can search for all eternity, Lord, and find there is no one like you. No one else can do my heart like you do.”
This time the song didn’t come from me, but from Demetrius. I get the sense that his parents did take him to church at one point, and while his beliefs may remain unchanged, at least for the moment he finds comfort in this song. All I can do is join in.
God gave Demetrius and me a beautiful gift. He allowed us to see another sunrise, and I know that the fact that this sunrise was not promised is what makes me welcome the warmth of the sun.
“Thank you, Jesus.”
Demetrius didn’t say anything. He just stands up with his eyes closed and embraced a sun that we have experienced a million times, but on this day, the sun felt new.
“I don’t know how I would’ve made it without you,” Demetrius says.
“I don’t know how I would’ve made it without Him.” I point upward.
Demetrius didn’t make a sly remark. He just glanced at the sun one more time, and then he looked forward. “This is the way home.”
It took several more hours of no food and water. The sun that embraced us earlier now beat on us. I keep wondering when the moment will arrive when I can’t walk anymore and I will finally collapsed, but that moment did not come.
“You go ahead,” Demetrius says, leaning against a tree. “Go and get help. The main road is just over that hill.”
“Are you kidding me? I didn’t drag you out of a lagoon to leave you.”
Again, the easier thing to do would be to leave Demetrius and head on home. But the scriptures say in Matthew that whatever permits you to go one mile with a man, go with them two. With that bit of instruction, I walk over to Demetrius and place his arm around my shoulder. We start to walk, and my legs buckle from his weight.
“Come on, Demetrius, I need you to walk with me. We’re almost there.”
We walk; we stumble and fall; but we eventually arrive at the top of hill where I can see the back of Adele’s house at the bottom of the hill. I fall to my knees. “Thank you, Jesus.”
“Don’t thank Him just yet. We still have a hill to climb.”
I find the strength to climb down the hill and Demetrius follows me. He too finds renewed strength at almost being home. We walk down the hill, and my legs feel like they’ll give out on me at any minute.
When we get to the bottom of the hill, Demetrius and I just stand there on the main road trying to catch our breath. I also believe that he and I were in disbelief that we survived.
“I’m sorry for threatening you and your family,” Demetrius says in between long breaths.
What could I say to that? At this point I have to question Demetrius’s sincerity and pay close attention to his actions.
“I’m going to meet with Randall Knott and find out what he’s up to with the other preachers.”
“Better hurry. The conference is over in two days,” he says.
Then that means I have two days to wrap this up. I gather my last ounce of strength and walk toward Adele’s house. My home in Carson is thousands of miles away, but Adele’s place feels like home as I knock on the door.
“Where have you been?” Adele asks.
“It’s a long story that I don’t have time to tell.”
It takes her a moment, but she starts to smell me and backs away as she covers her nose.
“I’ll tell you once I have a shower. Where’s Victory?” I look around, but I don’t see her in sight.
Adele has a sad look in her eyes as if there is something she does not want to tell me. She doesn’t have to tell me because I already know. Victory is gone. She left because I broke the only real rule she had: Don’t promise too much. Promise only what you can deliver.
Chapter Seventeen
I’m convinced that Randall Knott has had a hand in Pastor Cole’s death. My time in the jungle with Demetrius tells me that he wouldn’t go as far as to kill an innocent man. He only kills those in the criminal world who cross him. All of his threats are hollow, and most of the locals are fooled. The real threat is Knott, and now I have to get to him, but I can’t focus on Randall Knott until I fir
st deal with the fact that Victory is gone. I shouldn’t be surprised, and Lord knows that a good woman would’ve left days ago. Victory is a rare and special woman with the gift of patience, but I now know that her patience has a limit. Whatever I hope to accomplish and all aspirations of a relationship have faded away. I now sit at the edge of my bed with a letter Victory wrote, too afraid to read it.
“Nic,” Adele says as she enters the room.
“Hey, Adele, I’m sorry if you were worried about my whereabouts.”
“Not as worried as Victory was. You darn near gave that girl a heart attack. Where were you?”
“I had to see Demetrius again,” I say.
“You’re not mixed up in the foolishness that he’s mixed up in?”
“No, nothing like that. I just had to see him.”
That pricks my heart to hear that Victory was worried about that until she finally decided that it’s better for her to leave then to wait for me to come home with a new excuse.
“There is something wrong with a man who can’t find rest, even when he’s on vacation. I think Victory understood that,” Adele says before she looks at my letter. “Read the letter. Lord willing, it will help set your mind at ease.”
I just look at the letter, still not motivated to actually read it. I imagine that I will feel worse after I have read it.
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Adele says as she leaves.
I sit there on my bed and finally open the letter.
Dear Nic,
I’m sorry that my departure from the island is abrupt, but I believe that it is necessary. I came to the island because I wanted to know what it would be like if you and I were to give us a shot. I now have my answer, and though I think you’re a great guy, I don’t think a relationship is the kind of thing you need right. I wish you all of the best and pray that you will blessed.
God bless,
Victory
I close the letter and think how on any other day I would agree with her, but not today. Today, I feel like I can be the man that Victory needs, and that I can have a life outside of the problem-solving business. But Victory is gone . . . but how far could she have gone?
I run downstairs into the kitchen where Adele and Sammy are having a conversation, and it appears that they are actually enjoying their conversation for once.
“What’s up, Doc?” Sammy asks.
“How long ago did Victory leave?”
“About this morning before you came back,” Adele replies.
“She hitched a ride with my son back to Miami.”
Miami is a two-hour flight; it’s possible that I can get to her in time. Forget about Pastor Cole and who murdered him. I’ll give Pastor Bryant back his money, but Victory is a once-in-a-lifetime woman, and I’m not going to let her go. I have to find a way to make things right with her.
“I need—” before I could even finish, Sammy tosses me the keys to his truck.
“You better hurry up, Romeo.”
I run out the door not sure of what I would say if I did catch up to Victory.
I arrive at the airport, and my heart sinks when I see several police cars surrounding Donny Moses’ plane. I see German shepherds go into his plane while Donny stands off to the side with his hands cuffed.
Two police officers emerge from Donny’s plane with two bags that have been duct taped. Drugs—yes, but were they Donny’s—no. Duct tape and plastic wrap, which makes it hard for the dogs to sniff. This is the circus, and the show has been planned from the beginning. Someone has planted the drugs on Donny’s plane, and the whole ordeal is not even to get to Donny but to get to me.
I get on the phone and call Sammy to tell him that his son is being hauled off to jail, but another call comes through from a number that I don’t recognize.
“Hello?” I say.
“Minister Nicodemus Dungy, this is Randall Knott. I would like to speak with you regarding an urgent matter.”
The devil has revealed himself and wants to have a conversation. This is one meeting that I can’t afford to miss.
Chapter Eighteen
In light of what has transpired today, I’m force to take a long hard look at how I ended up in this situation. Victory is gone, and Donny is in jail. I stand on the same tarmac where hours ago I watched an innocent man get carried off. Now I await a private plane to land and pick me up. I am off to see the wizard.
I see from a distance a Gulfstream jet descending onto the runway. That’s my ride. I wonder if Knott is on the plane or is this one expensive taxi ride. The plane lands and pulls to a stop. The door opens, and a man of Haitian descent disembarks.
“Mr. Dungy. Right this way,” he says.
I hate this fake act of chivalry, but I have to endure this charade until I can get back and get Donny out. I walk on board the plane and sure enough, Knott is not on it. He wants me to come to him.
I realize that my biggest error has been my approach to this whole situation. I have approached this situation as Nicodemus Dungy on vacation. I need to approach this situation as Nicodemus Dungy, the guy who’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.
The plane lands on the ground, and this time, there is a Mercedes truck waiting to take me to Randall Knott’s home. Cameron was also to the far right trying to wave me down.
“Tell Mr. Knott I will meet up with him.”
“My orders are to bring you straight to Mr. Knott’s residence.”
I am a freeman, and I won’t let any man push me around or tell me what to do. I don’t care. “Don’t worry; I didn’t hop on the plane to be a no-show. I just have to make a stop somewhere first, but I won’t keep Mr. Knott waiting.”
I don’t even wait for an answer, I just walk past the truck and toward Cameron. For once I’m glad to see him.
“What up, fam? Where can Cameron take you this fine day?”
“I need to buy a new suit, and I need to meet up with someone.”
“Not to worry, fam, Cameron got you.”
I couldn’t meet Randall Knott dressed like a member from Gilligan’s Island. I needed to get myself cleaned up for this meeting.
I am not a fan of buying off the rack. I don’t consider myself pretentious, I just have an appreciation for the feel of a tailor-made suit. At the suit shop on the island, I wasn’t able to find my traditional smoking gray suit, so I choose a black-on-black suit and shades. I felt like a new man cruising along the town as Cameron recklessly weaves in and out of traffic.
“You sure you know where you’re going?” I ask.
“Cameron knows where Mr. Knott lives; everybody knows, fam,” Cameron says over his shoulder.
Cameron guns his bike and starts to make his way up a steep hill. The higher Cameron climbs, the more an estate starts to come into view. I now know why Cameron didn’t need an address. The house is more like a Mediterranean palace with high Greek pillars. It’s clear from the house that only one man could live there, and that man is Randall Knott.
“That’s Mr. Knott’s house. One day, Cameron is going to live there. Just you wait and see.”
Faith is a very powerful tool. It runs counter to logic and reason. Those two entities are grounded in what is and what can be ascertained. Faith is ground in the possibilities of what could be. It takes faith for someone like Cameron, who is currently operating a taxi service, to believe that he can one day aspire to live on the top of the mountain.
It takes several minutes before we arrive at the top of the hill. Knott’s home is Greek inspired with two pillars standing in the entranceway. I’m surprised that there wasn’t a security gate put in place for Knott’s protection.
Moments later, several men emerged from the front door with weapons drawn. That explains the reason why he doesn’t need a security gate. He wants to enjoy his view of the island without it being obstructed by metal bars. He would rather hire a small mercenary team to greet any unwanted guest.
“Don’t worry, fam, Cameron got you.” Cameron flashes his .22 pistol.
> We would have a better chance with a paintball.
“That’s okay, Cameron, I got this.” I caution for Cameron to put his gun away to avoid escalating the situation.
The presence of the security is to prove a point to me; I can’t even get the notion of trying any funny business or that would be all she wrote.
“Boys, come on now, don’t scare away my guest,” Randall Knott says.
The security guards break away, and Randall Knott emerges with a cigar in his mouth. He’s much taller than I thought. Knott is in his late sixties, but he has a full head of hair, and it’s all silver.
“I’m sorry about that, Minister Dungy. My boys get bored easily, so they’ll jump at the first thing that moves.”
“Not a problem. I understand.”
“I tell you this much, it’s a lot easier to be a billionaire when you have former SEALs and black ops watching your back.”
If Randall Knott is trying to intimidate me with his money and influence, then I will say that this is an epic failure. In the last week, I have met with a witch doctor, been threatened, shot at, and dumped by my pseudo-girlfriend. I’m neither intimidated nor scared.
“Let’s go inside and cool down.” Knott pats me on the back.
I follow him into his home and was blown away by the décor. I’m not easily impressed. I despise opulence, but this house was designed for a Pharaoh.
Now the outside of the home may be influenced by early Greek architecture, but the inside of the home is pure Bohemian influence. With an impressive collection of seashells and ceiling fans, the home remained quite cool. I wonder how many times Knott visits this island during the course of the year. I’m sure he comes down whenever he’s tired of the cold weather.
“I know you’re a religious man, but can I offer you a drink?”
I see two glasses at the bar, one that Knott is pouring a single-malt scotch into, and the other glass is empty.
