Shadow of the Storm

by Candle Sutton

  “It looked like everything was lost that day. His friends and family watched Him die and their hopes died with Him. But what none of them fully understood was that Sunday was coming.”

  Malachi’s quite a storyteller. I want him to continue.

  “On Sunday, everything changed. Jesus rose from the dead. An empty grave became the greatest symbol of hope that humanity has ever seen. With Jesus’ death, the price for our sins was paid and the relationship with God was made right. With Jesus’ resurrection, sin was beaten and death was defeated, giving everyone who believes in Jesus hope for eternal safety and security.”

  Safety and security. Two things I don’t have now but would give anything to possess.

  “Right now, you’re like Jesus’ friends and family on Friday. You’re looking at your situation and how hopeless it seems. You see only the devastation and what seems like random violence without realizing the purpose of God’s ultimate plan.”

  If God’s ultimate plan has been for me to go through the hell of this past week and a half, I’m not sure I want anything to do with Him.

  Especially given that He killed His Son. If He didn’t save Jesus, what hope is there for me?

  “Why would God allow His Son to be killed like that?” The question escapes my lips before I’ve really even processed all Malachi has said.

  “Love. He loves you, me, all of humanity. A perfect sacrifice was the only way to repair our broken relationship with God.”

  “Why?”

  “Sin. Humans are eternal beings. We were intended to live forever. Then we sinned and the consequence of sin is death. But that was never God’s desire, so He did what we couldn’t do. He made a way for us to enjoy a right relationship with Him, through the death of Jesus on the cross.”

  “But why did He have to die? If God wanted a relationship with us, why not just have one?”

  “Because He’s a holy God who can’t tolerate sin. There has to be a penalty.” Malachi plants his hands on his thighs and leans in. “Look at it this way. If someone walks in here, pulls out a gun, and shoots and kills me, wouldn’t you want him to pay for what he’s done?”

  Well that’s a stupid question. But Malachi is waiting for a response so I nod.

  “That’s justice. It’s ingrained in all of us because we are made in the image of God. But take our view of justice and multiply it by about a million and you’ll still only have a dim view of what God thinks of justice.” Malachi shakes his head slowly. “There has to be punishment for sin. It’s cause and effect.”

  “Okay, but a horrible death? That seems pretty extreme, don’t you think?”

  “He was covering all the sin of man for all of history. That’s a lot of years of punishment and penalties. He took it all on Himself on one Friday that stands out in history as being both horrible and beautiful at the same time.”

  Horrible and beautiful. A cross and an empty grave.

  “So no matter how awful things seem right now, remember that today is only Friday. Sunday is coming and with it, hope, life, and blessings you can’t even imagine.”

  I want to believe him.

  It’s an almost crazy story, but something about it resonates with me.

  I think it might be true.

  Or maybe I’m just too confused and lost right now to know which way is up.

  “So is this where we invite Jesus into our hearts?” Sam’s words drip with venom. “Because a God who could kill His own Son doesn’t sound any better than my father.”

  “Jesus chose to go. God didn’t make Him do it. The choice was His and He did it because He loves you.”

  Sam pushes up from his stool. “Well, thanks but no thanks. I’m sick of trying to please people who don’t love me as I am.”

  He storms away, fists clenched by his sides.

  “Oh, Sam.” Malachi’s words come out on a sigh. “God already loves you as you are.”

  I get Sam’s skepticism. He’s got a lot of baggage, maybe more than me.

  Drew comes over. “How’s Sam holding up?”

  Malachi shrugs. “He’s struggling. We were just talking about Jesus and he didn’t take it well.”

  Drew wipes up the tea I previously spilled on the bar. “Well, we’ll keep showing him the love of Christ. It’s all we can do.”

  “I think he’ll come around eventually.”

  Two days ago I would’ve disregarded a comment like that from Malachi, but after what happened with Carina, I’m not so sure. If Malachi has an inside track with God like he claims to, then he might know more than any of us can even dream.

  Even though it’s only eleven, the bar has emptied out. Drew collects Sam’s bottle, Malachi’s empty glass, and nods at my nearly empty glass. “All done?”

  I bet he’s going to close up early again. Thank goodness. I’m ready to go back to my room and crash.

  I nod.

  He picks up my glass. “Give me a few minutes to close up and I’ll drop you by your place.”

  “Thanks.”

  Malachi sets a few bills on the counter and looks at me. “See you tomorrow?”

  “Actually, I have the day off.”

  Malachi chuckles. “It’s Christmas. We all do.”

  Christmas is tomorrow? How did I miss that?

  “If we’re all off, why would you think you’d you see me?”

  “Aren’t you going to the party?”

  What is he talking about?

  Drew looks at me. “You’re coming, right? Because I’m not letting you say no.”

  “Party?”

  “The Midnight Lounge Christmas party.” Drew splays his hands across the counter. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about it. It’s a tradition. Every year dad and I invite the crew over to our house for Christmas dinner. So many of the people here are students or don’t have anyone so we like to give them a place to go.”

  This is news to me. Under what rock have I been living?

  Maybe I wasn’t invited on purpose. Maybe Charlie decided that having me there was too risky for everyone else. After all, even Malachi knew about the party and I’ve worked here a few days longer than he has.

  “There’s been a flyer up by the employee entrance for a week now. And there was a flyer distributed with our paychecks Monday.”

  A paycheck I never opened because I don’t know what to do with it.

  “Come on, Stormy. I’ll pick you up.”

  I meet Drew’s eyes and in them I see how much he wants me to say yes.

  Heck, I want to say yes. I want to spend more time with Drew, especially time that’s not hindered by work and responsibilities.

  Oh, man.

  Sam was right. I’ve got a thing for Drew.

  And unless I miss my guess, the feeling is mutual.

  So here’s hoping I’m not married. Or engaged. Or a criminal.

  “Sounds like fun.” I can’t seem to take my eyes off Drew. “What do I need to bring?”

  “Just yourself.” Drew drops the glasses into a bucket to take to the kitchen. “I’ll pick you up at eleven.”

  Fifteen

  “Hurry up! You don’t want to miss it.”

  A man throws the words at me as he sprints by. People are running on every side of me as though I’m not even here. My legs surge forward with the mob, almost as if they have a mind of their own.

  Whatever is going on, it must be something really good. The excitement in the air has a tangible presence.

  I run, one with the crowd, until my legs ache.

  “Where are we going?” My cry should be lost in the crowd, but a man nearby turns and looks at me.

  “The place of the skull.”

  We’re rushing to reach something called the place of the skull? Doesn’t sound like such a good thing to me.

  Even if I’d wanted to turn back, I can’t. The crowd presses in around me and something compels me onward.

  Suddenly, we stop. The crowd parts, leaving a clear view of the scene in front of me.

>   A small hill. Three crosses. On those crosses, three naked, bloodied men.

  My mouth dries out like the Nevada desert in July.

  I long to look away. My eyes refuse to blink, much less move.

  Blood flows from nails in the men’s wrists and feet. Even from here, I can hear the sound of their ragged, labored breathing.

  My gaze locks on the Man in the middle. By far, the bloodiest, most beaten Man I’ve ever seen. Thorns protrude from His skull, His flesh dangles in ribbons, and scarlet coats almost every inch of skin.

  How can anyone be so battered and still be alive?

  An animal sound, half-moan, half-cry, slips from His lips as His body tenses. He pushes himself up. His chest heaves for several seconds before He sags against the wooden beams again.

  I can’t tear my eyes away. Why, oh why, can’t I just look away!

  And then His eyes capture and hold mine.

  The world around me fades. The noises disappear. It’s as if no one exists but me and this dying Man.

  “Audra.”

  My name. Unlike the other times that I’ve heard it, this time I know it’s my name. Not Stormy or Maria or Annalisa.

  Audra.

  “Audra, I love you.”

  His lips never move, but I hear the voice as clearly as if they had.

  The words sear my heart like glowing coals. My tongue feels lame and incapable of movement.

  All I can do is stare at him.

  My own breath comes raggedly. Almost as ragged as the breath of the men hanging on the crosses.

  He loves me.

  I can see it in His eyes. Eyes that never leave my face. Pain and anguish haven’t extinguished His love.

  If anything, I get the feeling they’ve intensified it.

  There’s something magnetic about his gaze. I couldn’t look away, even if I wanted to.

  I don’t know how long we stay like that, gazes locked, His love communicated in a way that words could never convey. It might have been no more than a few seconds. It might have been hours.

  Finally, He raises His eyes skyward. “It is finished!”

  What’s finished? There’s victory in his voice, triumph etched across his face.

  “Father, into Your hands I commit My Spirit.”

  His head drops to His chest, His body offering one final, painful-looking heave before going limp.

  A wail pierces the silence.

  It takes me a second to realize that it’s coming from me.

  Tears run down my cheeks, but I don’t move to wipe them away, nor do I try to stop them.

  He didn’t deserve that. Any of it. But He did it.

  For me. Out of love.

  Why? Why!

  Thunder growls around me and lightning splits the sky, shadowing the cross in a ghastly silhouette. The clouds burst, dumping an ocean’s worth of rain, mixing with the blood and flowing toward me in a red stream.

  “Surely this man was the Son of God!” A man’s voice cries out behind me.

  I turn to find a soldier, face pale, sword shaking in his grasp.

  The earth beneath me roils. Slight at first, but quickly growing in intensity until my legs give out beneath me. The sun goes black and darkness like I’ve never known surrounds me.

  Then, as suddenly as it started, the rain stops. The thunder vanishes. The earthquake stills.

  Only the darkness remains.

  I feel around me. My fingers don’t meet mud or stone or dirt.

  Wood. Not rough or natural, but polished. Like flooring.

  Where am I?

  A hand clamps down on my shoulder and jerks me backward.

  “You thought you could hide from me?”

  That voice! I’d know it anywhere. It’s the first one in my limited bank of memories. The man who wants to kill me.

  Light floods us. Straight ahead of me, standing beside a light switch, is Zak.

  I whip my head from side to side.

  We’re at the Midnight Lounge! But… the cross… the Man… the love.

  My captor wraps his arm around my neck, plastering my back against his body. He’s sticky and hot, with breath that reeks of cigarette smoke.

  An arm extends past my head. A Glock, clenched in his fist, commands my attention.

  He points it at Zak’s chest.

  Zak stands there, perfectly calm, staring at us. Doesn’t he see the gun big enough to rip a hole through him that’s the size of a manhole cover?

  “No! Zak, run!”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Everything will be okay.”

  The finger tightens on the trigger. The explosion shatters the silence and the recoil travels from the man’s arm into me.

  Zak collapses. Crimson liquid spills from a hole in his chest, pooling onto the hardwood floor beneath his body.

  “No!”

  I elbow the man in the ribs. His arm loosens enough for me to slip away.

  “What’s going on?” Drew’s voice, impossibly casual, comes from my left.

  Doesn’t he see Zak’s body? The gun?

  I turn. The man with the gun has no face.

  Literally. No. Face.

  Where his face should be, there’s only darkness. Shaped like eyes, a nose, and a mouth, but no distinguishable features. No flesh. Like he’s a shadow with substance.

  “I want my money.” The man’s voice growls.

  Drew reaches behind the bar and grabs a duffel bag. It’s the same bag I took from the back of the car. The bag of money.

  Drew tosses it toward the man. “Take it.”

  The man doesn’t move. Instead, he aims the gun at Drew and pulls the trigger.

  The second shot sounds even louder than the first.

  “Drew!” My scream echoes as he falls to the floor, blood leaking from a single hole through his forehead. “No, please no!”

  I race toward him.

  Another gunshot. Then another.

  I look around. Malachi. Sam. Both dead.

  “Now it’s your turn.”

  The gun goes off. Something smashes into my chest, but it doesn’t hurt. And then I’m falling.

  My shoulder slams into the floor. Pain radiates up my arm and down my side. A gasp slides from my mouth and my eyes flip open.

  Carpet, not hardwood, stretches before me.

  I push up from the floor, my hand going to my chest. No blood.

  I scan the room. There’s no faceless gunman, no dead bodies. Just me, alone. In the hotel room that’s been home for as long as I can remember.

  It was all a dream.

  The tears streaking my cheeks, though, are very real.

  I draw my knees toward my chest and lean back against the bed. The dream, in all its disjointed craziness, replays through my head.

  How am I supposed to take a dream like that? Is it a warning? Is the killer coming after his money? Will my new friends be hurt because of me?

  Will Drew be hurt because of me?

  While it was hard seeing Zak, Malachi, and Sam dead, it was nothing compared to the crushing of my heart when it was Drew.

  I don’t care what it takes or what happens to me, I can’t let that happen. If my being here really puts them at risk, I’ll leave. I have no other choice. The first sign of trouble and I’m gone.

  Maybe I should go to Detective Evans. Tell him what I know.

  But what if that puts me in a worse position than I am now? What if I end up in jail? What if the men after me are somehow able to get to me there?

  You hear of people being murdered in prison all the time, right?

  Or maybe that’s in my imagination, too.

  I don’t know what to think or believe anymore.

  My mind drifts to the other part of the dream. To the man on the cross. Was there anything to that?

  I want there to be. I’ve never seen such love as I saw on His face. Never.

  I grab the corner of the sheet behind me and wipe my tears.

  I have to talk to someone about that dream. Drew.
Malachi.

  Someone.

  Anyone who might have answers.

  Malachi talked about the cross. Did my imagination go into overdrive after our conversation? Or was it really like that? If so, how could I possibly have known?

  I’m reasonably certain that I’m not religious, but maybe I know something about religion. Maybe it fed from some repressed memories.

  There are way too many maybes in my life right now.

  What I need is hard, solid answers and, on this issue at least, I know people who can provide them.

  I look at the clock. It’s a little after eight a.m.

  Three hours until Drew picks me up and I can get his take on that crazy dream.

  It’ll be the longest three hours of my remembered life.

  ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ ᴂ

  “Merry Christmas, Stormy.”

  I return Drew’s greeting as I slide into the passenger seat.

  “So how far away do you live?” The question is out of my mouth seconds after I close my door.

  Of course, what I really want to ask is if we have time to have a serious discussion about something that might be nothing more than a dream, but that seems like an awkward way to broach the subject.

  “About twenty minutes.”

  Man, he really came out of his way to get me. “I’m sorry. You should’ve said something. I could’ve taken a cab.”

  Or gotten a ride with Sam. He lives pretty close now.

  He grins. “I don’t mind. Really.”

  Silence lingers as he pulls into traffic. I’m not sure how to start this conversation.

  Maybe there isn’t really a good way.

  “So. I, um, had this dream and, well, I was hoping to get your take on it.”

  “That’s cryptic.” He shoots a quizzical glance my direction. “What’s up?”

  It’s hard to get started, but once I begin, the story flows from my lips like melted butter. Drew remains silent through the whole recounting. “I mean, that’s weird, right?”

  Part of me hopes he’ll laugh. Tell me it’s absolutely crazy.

  Because if it’s true, it requires a response. That kind of love and sacrifice can’t be ignored.

  “Not really.” He looks over at me for longer than he should since the car is in motion. “You had a dream about the crucifixion, probably brought on by talking with Malachi about it yesterday. It happens.”