Heaven's Prey

by Janet Sketchley

  Shuffling footsteps, cursing, a dull crash nearby. Harry? What was he doing?

  Thump, crash. More expletives. She peered through her lashes, then opened her eyes wide. The afghan covered her field of vision. All she could spy through the little holes in the knitted panels was wreckage.

  He stumbled past her and hurled a painting to the floor. Ruth winced as the frame snapped. Another picture shattered before he stormed out of her line of sight. A torrent of profanity raged from his lips, punctuated by cracking wood and breaking glass.

  She tried to pray... for safety, for his soul. The stream of invectives slowly resolved in her thoughts. This wasn’t mindless swearing, nor was he cursing her as she’d first thought.

  Ruth gasped, then froze in fear he’d hear. All his hatred, poison, obscenities, were directed at God. No, Lord. Please, don’t hear his curses. Forgive him.

  Harry’s words came in raw screams now, with gaps between. “Leave... me... alone. Don’t... want... You.” Smash. Tinkle. Crash. Was that a lamp? “Took everyone... I... loved... Hate... You.” Bang. Scrape.

  Ruth tilted her head to peek through a different bit of afghan. Harry crouched on the edge of her sight, slamming his fists against the walls, the floor, panting curses. He pushed himself to his feet, legs shaking, and screamed, “Get out of my life. No... more.”

  He slumped against the wall and slid to the floor.

  Ruth’s tears wet the soft yarn over her face. “Please, Father, after all You’ve done to reach him—after all our prayers—don’t let him go.”

  Harry didn’t move. Ruth watched him for long minutes to be sure of him, then tumbled the afghan aside and tried to sit up. The living room was a shambles.

  The couch lay upturned across her legs. Wincing, she pulled them free. Her knee throbbed, but when she climbed to her feet, it held.

  Harry half sat, half lay against the wall, his hair matted, his dark tee shirt streaked with sweat.

  Ruth picked her way through the wreckage into the kitchen, her breath hissing at the pain in every second step. Her boots crunched on shards of the mug she’d thrown at him, and she trembled, remembering their mad chase. She grabbed the broom as a crutch. Definitely time to get out of here. Please let Denny and his buddies be sleeping and not watching the webcams.

  A low moan came from the living room as she reached for her coat. Should she see if he needed help? No way.

  Was he weak enough that she could tie him up before she went for the police, so he couldn’t crawl off to his friends?

  He didn’t have to do that. All he had to do was phone them. They’d be after her before she went very far, and this time—

  Ruth shook her head to clear it. Phone. Tie him up and take his phone. Call 9-1-1. She grabbed another knife, just in case, and picked up the ropes she’d cut away after Chris dumped her back in the kitchen. Cut like that, they were too short. She took them anyway. Tied together, they’d hold his hands or feet.

  She’d thrown the cords he’d bound her with in the bathroom garbage. After collecting those too, she limped through the mess to his side, the knife clenched in one hand.

  Harry’s face was ashen, his eyes wide and glassy. His breath came in shallow gasps. Ruth knelt beside him and waved a hand in front of his face. No response. Holding her breath, she laid the knife in her lap so she wouldn’t cut him, and pulled his hands together across his stomach.

  Sweaty fingers grasped her wrist.

  Ruth tore herself free. She grabbed the knife and held it up for him to see. “Don’t try anything. I will use this.”

  Harry moaned. The emptiness in his eyes pierced her soul.

  His lips moved. She leaned close to catch his mumbled words. “It’s over. I told Him to leave me alone, and He’s gone.”

  No, God, please. “What do you mean?”

  He blinked at her, as if surprised by the question. She wondered if he even recognized her. “He’s gone. I don’t have to... fight it... anymore.”

  Ruth shook him by the shoulder, her other hand still gripping the knife. “Is that what you want? What you really want?”

  His face contorted with hate. “Yes.”

  Ruth fought to breathe, to keep this agony from paralyzing her. She’d known all along there was no guarantee—it came down to his choice. Push him over, tie him like he tied you, and get that phone.

  Harry’s body tensed, and he tried to sit up.

  She shoved him back down, clutching the knife in her other hand.

  He caught her sleeve. “No, it’s not!” Desperation etched his face.

  Goosebumps prickled her flesh, and her mind flashed images of the tortured dream that had made her pray for him.

  His Adam’s apple jerked. Fear shone in his eyes now, and his voice trembled. “It’s not what I want. Help me—please.”

  Ruth stared at him. Everything inside her wanted to believe him. It might be a trick to get the knife, but would his hostility toward God let him fake something like this?

  God? Her spirit held no sense of warning, just a quiet assurance.

  She tossed her weapon out of reach and took his hands, remembering how Jesus always touched the outcasts He met. “Jesus loves you, Harry. Even now.”

  “How do I—? Will you pray for me?”

  She closed her eyes and drew a shaky breath. “Dear God, please... You made this man. His mother prayed for him. You told me to pray for him. Tony, John and others from church are praying for him. Thank You that You love him, even after all he’s done. Oh, Father, Harry knows he needs You now. Thank You for showing him the truth.”

  She gripped Harry’s hands tighter. “You are not a cruel God. If you’ve shown Harry his need, it’s because You want to meet it. Thank You that Jesus’ blood paid for Harry’s sins, and I pray now You will accept Harry’s prayer.”

  She looked at him. “You need to ask for forgiveness yourself.”

  “I—”

  “Come on.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “It has to be personal. He wants to hear it from you.”

  After a moment’s silence, Harry’s stumbling words came. “God, I need You... You know what I’ve done, what I’ve been. I deserve to be in hell. Please... if You will forgive me, I will belong to You. I can’t imagine why You want me, but here I am.”

  Ruth grabbed him in a bear hug. “Thank You, Jesus.” Slowly, Harry’s arms reached to encircle her.

  His breathing steadied, and he released her.

  She sat back on the floor and studied him. He was the same man, yet he was changed. Peace replaced the hate in his eyes, and the tautness had vanished from his jaw line.

  “Your name is Ruth?”

  She nodded.

  Harry looked down at his hands, palms up. His face darkened, as if he saw traces of his victims’ blood. Finally he raised his eyes to Ruth. “What you did—praying for me. Confronting me.” He swallowed hard. “Thank you. I don’t know why, or how you could do it. But thank you.”

  Ruth gave a wobbly grin.

  Harry sobered. “Can you forgive me?”

  Fresh tears burned her eyes. He’d brought her face to face with raw evil. “I don’t know how I’ll forget, but... how could I not forgive you when God has?”

  She had to change the subject, to wrench her mind away from the terrible things she’d heard. “And you aren’t the same man who did those things. God has made you new. I can see it in your face, hear it in your voice.”

  He nodded. “I feel different.” Then his face clouded. “I wish I could have let go of the garbage before I got in so deep. I can’t give those girls back to their families.”

  Ruth played with a loose bit of upholstery fabric that dangled from the side of the sofa. The weave was rough against her fingertips. “I know. But you can’t dwell on the past. God wants to do things in your life. Nothing would please the devil more than to cripple you with guilt.”

  Using the overturned sofa for balance, Harry struggled to his feet. He let out a long, low whistle as he stared around
the room. “I did all this?”

  He set the rocking chair upright. The back was smashed, and the whole thing creaked to one side as he let go. Then it collapsed. One of the leg supports rolled across the floor and bumped his foot. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “At the risk of being anticlimactic, I need something to eat. The room’s starting to swim again.”

  Ruth levered herself to her feet with the broom. “Bad knee.” She couldn’t catch him if he fell, but she stayed beside him until he sank onto a chair at the table.

  He fumbled a tissue from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead and neck.

  She pretended not to notice how much the walk from the living room had cost him. After what they’d just shared, they both needed some space.

  A few minutes later she set some weak tea and toast in front of him, then slid into the opposite seat in front of her own breakfast. As she bowed her head, the wonder of what happened resurfaced.

  She could share her prayer with this man. He wasn’t an enemy now. “Thank You, Father, for this food You’ve given us. But more than that, thank You for what You’ve done here today. Amen.”

  Harry’s eyes caught hers when she looked up. He reached for the little bottle of strawberry jam she’d found in the back of the fridge. “I haven’t heard grace said at a meal since I was a kid. And then only when my father was out.”

  Ruth sloshed milk onto her cereal. Watching Harry eat brought a smile to her face. He attacked his food with an enthusiasm that left no room for speech.

  She approached her own meal with a lot less eagerness. Cereal, tea and toast. She often ate the same things at home. But this wasn’t home. Ruth pushed her bowl away.

  “Tony—my husband—will be so relieved. I can’t wait to call him. Can I use your cell?”

  Harry set his mug down with a crack. “I can’t let you go.”

  Chapter 28

  “Excuse me?” Ruth’s words came out in a squeak. The kitchen walls loomed tighter around her.

  Harry looked down, one finger pushing his toast crumbs into a pile in the middle of his plate. “I can’t let you go. I won’t hurt you, but I need you to stay here until I’m gone.”

  “This is crazy.”

  He held out a hand, his eyes pleading. “If I let you go now, I’ll never get away. Just give me time to get out of Canadian waters.”

  Ruth pushed her fingers through her hair. He sat between her and the kitchen door. Could he catch her if she went for the one in the living room? Her knee hurt so much now. What if she blinded him with her tea first?

  She reached for the cup, then sighed. There was no danger to justify attacking him. And by now, Denny and crew would be watching the monitors. This wasn’t going to be easy.

  He frowned. “What’s the matter?”

  “My husband has suffered enough. I can’t make him worry any longer. Plus, staying would make me an accessory to your escape. I can’t do that. And I am not waiting around for those creeps to find me.”

  Harry jumped to his feet. His fist slammed against the tabletop. Ruth’s knife clattered to the floor, and tea sloshed over the rim of her cup. He didn’t apologize. “What do you expect me to do? Go back to prison?”

  He circled the tiny kitchen, a panther in a cage, then spun to face her. “Look at me. I’m thirty-two years old. I’ve been given a new life here, a new chance. I want to do something positive, not go back to spending my days with a bunch of criminals whose only goal is to get out on the streets and do it again.”

  He gripped the chair back with both hands to steady himself, then sat down. Ruth returned his gaze without flinching. She held her silence.

  “You know the length of sentence they gave me, and that was before I escaped. I don’t have a chance at parole, but even if I did, what then? There’s no future for me anywhere in North America. I’m too well-known. I’d never stand a chance of fitting back into society, or even getting a job. And no country worth living in is going to allow an ex-convict to immigrate.”

  He leaned toward her. “But with a new name in a new place, I can start over. I promise you, I’ll find a little church, get to know God better. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do, and after what He’s done for me, I can’t wait to begin.”

  Hope glowed in his eyes, his voice. Ruth searched for the right words. “Jesus didn’t wash away your actions—He forgave your sins. When you stand before His throne for judgment, you’ll stand clean. But here and now, you’re still under the Canadian justice system. Actions bring consequences, and I don’t think He wants you to hide from yours.”

  Harry’s expletive came fast, automatic.

  Ruth ignored it. “You told Him you’d belong to Him, and He took you at your word. Are you going to live your way, or His way?” She blotted the spilled tea with a paper napkin. “Look, you were talking in the living room about how being forgiven doesn’t give your victims back to their families. Those people are still hurting.

  “I know for myself, having lost Susan, seeing justice done and seeing her killer serve his sentence—that helped. It didn’t ease the grief, but it’s something. If you run away, you’ll be adding more pain to those families. Is that what you want? Is it what Jesus wants?”

  Harry’s scowl deepened. “I’m free, and you want me to walk back into prison?” He dropped his head into his hands. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  “I’m asking you to think about what Jesus wants you to do. Being saved isn’t a picnic. There’s work involved. Consider this your first assignment.”

  Ruth cleared away their breakfast things, and leaned against the counter to ease her knee while she washed the dishes. As if she owed anything to the guy who owned this place. But it gave Harry time to process what she’d said. She left the dishes on an orange checked tea towel on the counter to dry. Ruth dug the bag of frozen peas out of the freezer before returning to the table. She dragged a second chair around to hold her foot.

  Harry still sat with his head cradled in his hands. When her chair legs scraped the floor, he looked up.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re right. I have to go back.” His jaw muscle flickered an erratic beat. “Where will I find the strength?”

  Ruth touched his arm. “You can trust God with your fear. I’ll pray for you, if you want.”

  Hesitantly, he took her outstretched hands. They sat in silence for a moment, then Ruth began, “Father, You’ve asked Harry to do a hard thing. Be his anchor, his rock. You never fail, and You won’t forsake Your own. Please give him the assurance that You’re with him, and the courage to obey.

  “And, Father,” she added, “please help Harry grow in You even in prison, and to keep the faith. Don’t let him be weakened or led astray by those around him. Protect his body and his spirit.”

  Harry’s eyes glistened. “Thank you.” He pushed back from the table. “I want to grab a quick shower before we go. I feel pretty grungy.”

  Ruth nodded. Washing off the old vomit smell before getting in the car could only be a plus. “Go ahead. Could I use your phone, just to let Tony know I’m okay? I could call 9-1-1 too, and let them come to us.”

  Harry fished the phone from his back pocket. “Home, yes, but no police. If I go to them, it may count for something.”

  He thumbed the power button and frowned. “No battery.”

  Ruth bit her lip. She couldn’t cry over this like a spoiled little girl, but it was so unfair. All she wanted was to hear Tony’s voice.

  Harry studied her. “I only have a car charger. I’ll shower fast. You can phone on the road.”

  While the shower hissed, she stood and stretched. Of course she could wait, but she couldn’t sit still any longer, even with a hurt knee. It was a miracle. She was going home to Tony, alive and unhurt.

  Leaning on the broom, she wandered toward the living room. The sight of the chaos stopped her in the doorway. No wonder Harry collapsed. Even a healthy man would have been exhausted after all that. The s
cene bore mute testimony to the colossal struggle waging in Harry’s soul.

  Amazing grace, indeed.

  Verses of the old hymn played in her mind, and she sang softly as she picked her way through the wreckage. The coffee table was missing its legs and splintered across the middle. The rocking chair seat lay in a pile of kindling. The green and gold afghan that had hidden her lay in a heap beside the upturned couch.

  Ruth began collecting the broken pieces, piling them in the middle of the floor. She left the bigger things where they had landed. The television lay on its back, its shattered insides staring vacantly at the ceiling. She knelt to pick up the shards of her tea mug.

  The seascape she’d admired sagged against an overturned bookcase, frame cracked, a jagged tear through the canvas. As she brushed past it, her clothing snagged. She bent to free herself. Her skirt was caught on a frayed piece of wire that still clung to the back of the picture frame.

  Ruth froze, mesmerized by the wire she held. In Harry’s hands... She went cold. His litany of crimes flooded back like the angry sea in the painting.

  She couldn’t stop his voice in her mind, reliving his actions, sparing no detail, telling her about the picture hanging wire, what he had done with it to his first victim. She was there in the beach house, watching, feeling, screaming.

  She fell to her knees, sobbing, praying incoherently for it to stop. Time ceased, and she was powerless to break away.

  Hands grasped her arms and lifted her, holding her as her knees buckled. Someone spoke, but his words couldn’t penetrate her fog of terror.

  Fingers squeezed her arms, shaking her. The voice raised to a shout, and she strained to make out its meaning.

  “Ruth. What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

  What was wrong? Couldn’t he see what she saw?

  “Ruth!”

  Her eyes were shut. Then what she saw must be inside her head. It wasn’t real.

  She opened her eyes. She was free. But the face before her was—his. She screamed and fought to break his hold.

  “Ruth. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s over. You’re safe.”

  Safe? She gulped a mouthful of air. He still held her arms, but the soft pucker in his brow and the almost tentative way he watched her showed concern, not evil.