by Ted Dekker
If she only knew this—if she could only grasp her hold over his thoughts, if she too could feel, actually feel this same love for him—they could rule the world together. Never mind that she was from the street, it was nothing in the face of these emotions that swept through him.
But she didn’t know her own power, he thought. Not the way he knew it. Well, tonight that might change. And the thought of it made Jan’s stomach rise to his chest as he pulled the Cadillac along the deserted drive, toward the dead end.
“This is it?” Helen asked.
“What time is it?”
“Almost seven.”
“Let’s hope we are not late.”
A round white moon cast a perpetual twilight over a wall directly ahead, perhaps twelve feet in height, extending each way as far as Jan could see. Vines covered the barrier, thick and dark but still green by the bright moonlight. No other structures were in sight, only this tall fence. Jan stopped the car and turned off the ignition.
“This is it?”
He looked at her and winked. “Follow me, my dear.”
They climbed out. “This way.” He led her to a small gate buried in vines, cut from the wall, no more than five feet tall. Jan looked back and saw that she stepped lightly, her eyes wide and casting their spell without even looking at him. His heart was bucking already. Father, this is what you mean. Yes?
He rapped on a section of wood bared from vines. He glanced back and winked. “Jan Jovic is not a man without friends, my dear.”
A muffled call answered and the gate swung in. Jan stooped and walked through the entrance, followed by a hesitant Helen. The man who’d opened the gate stood to Jan’s shoulder and wore a smile that could have been stolen from a happy-face sticker. “Thank you, my friend. I won’t forget this.” He turned to Helen. “Helen, meet Joey, Atlanta’s premier expert on botany. He’s the gardener here. A friend of mine.”
She took his hand and gazed about. “Where are we?”
They stood at the edge of a sprawling garden—a botanical garden with flowering trees and rosebushes and perfectly groomed hedges as far as they could see. Flagstones surrounded by tiny white flowers led deeper and then branched in three directions within twenty paces. Tall shaped trees stood like guardians over the prize below them; gazebos spotted the paths, each laden with red and blue and yellow flowers glowing by moonlight. It was a paradise.
“You ever hear of the Garden of Eden?” Joey asked. “This is the closest you’ll find on earth today. Welcome to the Twelve Oaks Botanical Gardens, my friends. A gift from God with a little help from the taxpayers.”
They looked about without responding. They could not respond, Jan thought. It was a breathtaking sight in the moon’s surreal hue.
“You kids enjoy,” Joey said with a wink. “Lock up when you leave.” He walked down the path, around a bush and disappeared from their sight.
Jan stood there in the quiet and suddenly his heart was sounding loud in his ears. This was it. He prayed a silent prayer—Father, if it is your desire, make it so.
Then he grabbed her hand and ran onto the path. “Come on!” he cried breathlessly.
Giggling, she ran behind him. Her hand felt cool and soft in his. He was feeling everything. The breeze against his face, the flagstone underfoot, the sweet smell of flowers lifting through his nostrils. He released her hand and ran between two tall trees shaped like rockets poised for launch. A thick lawn opened before him and he veered to the right.
She chased him, squealing with delight now. “Jan! Don’t lose me. Where are we going?”
“Come on!” he cried. “Come on!”
They raced through the garden; he without direction, only acutely aware of her breathing just behind and to his left; she gaining on him and that was good. Catch me, my darling. Catch me and touch me.
Then she did. She reached out and touched his side, still giggling. Her finger sent a chill through his skin. Jan pulled up and swung to her. Helen ran full into his arms. He held her and twirled around as if they were on a dance floor and this was an embrace in motion. She laughed and threw her head back.
It was the first time he had held her without tears and he thought his heart would burst from the joy of it. He wanted to say something—something smart or romantic, but he forgot how to speak in that moment. The moon shone on her neck, and her small Adam’s apple bobbed barely as she laughed—it was this he saw and he couldn’t stand its power over him.
It is only a whisper of what I feel, Jan.
The voice spoke in his mind and he nearly stumbled, mid-twirl. So then Ivena was right. It was beyond him. But then he knew that already. I love you, Father.
Jan broke away, laughing with Helen now, feeling more alive than he thought possible. He jumped into the air like a child. I love you, Father! I love you, I love you, I love you! Then he faced Helen and his love for her and the Father were nearly the same.
He winked at her and ran farther into the garden.
She flew after him; they were two birds frolicking in flight. They tore through the garden, falling into a sort of hide-and-seek on the run. It was the finding that attracted them, and they did it as frequently as possible, at nearly every bush large enough to conceal whoever led the chase until the other caught up for an embrace.
Jan plucked a yellow flower and placed it in her hair above her ear. She found it funny and picked another for his hair. Time was lost. Man had been created for this. It was the kind of thing a man might sell everything he owned for, Jan thought. But it could not be bought.
Spare me, Father, or I will die looking at her. You’ve put a fire in my heart and I cannot tame it. But no, don’t quench it! Feed it. Feed it until it consumes me.
Robbed of breath from the run and aware for the first time that his wounds sent a slight ache through his chest, Jan swung into a gazebo and crashed back into a bench. She hopped into the seat opposite him and they sat sprawled, panting and laughing and looking at each other.
This is it, Jan thought. This is what I have waited my whole life for. This madness called love. He put his head back on the latticework, looked to the sky and groaned. “Oh, my dear God, it’s too much.”
He looked back at Helen. She was staring at him with a wide smile, catching her breath. “This is what I call a date, Jan Jovic.”
“You like?” he asked, mimicking her customary verbiage.
“I like. I most definitely like.”
“I couldn’t think of a place more suited for you.”
She sat up and leaned on both arms. “Meaning what, Wordsmith?”
“The flowers, the smell of sweet honey, the rich green grass, the moon— they’re nearly as beautiful as you.”
She blushed and turned to face the lawn. Goodness, that had been rather forward, hadn’t it! He followed her gaze. He had not noticed before, but the lawn sloped to a fountain, surrounded by a glimmering pool. It was a warm night and a breeze drifted over the water to cool them. The rich smell of a thousand musky flowers lining the gazebo filled the air. In this very private garden they had found a secret place, hidden from the bright moon’s direct glare but washed in its light.
“We’re not so different, you and I,” Jan said.
“We are very different. I could never measure up to you.” She had grown sober.
“Nor I you.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re a rich man,” she said. “A good man.”
“And your grace could not be bought with the wealth of kings.”
She turned to him, grinning. “My, we are a wordsmith, aren’t we?”
“There aren’t words for you, Helen. Not ones which tell with any clarity what should be told.”
Helen was staring at him now, her blue eyes swimming in the moonlight. She held him in her gaze for a long time before standing and walking to the gazebo’s arching entrance to face the moon with her back to him. “This can’t happen,” she said softly. “We’re from different worlds, Jan. You’ve got no idea who I am.”
“Don’t be crazy! It’s too much. I have no business being here with you.” The strain of tears had entered her voice. “I’m a drug addict.”
He stood and approached her from behind. “And I am desperate for you.” He couldn’t help himself. He could not bear to hear her speak like this. His heart was pounding in his chest and he wanted only to hold her. The madness was so very heavy.
“I’m sick,” she bit off bitterly. “I . . .”
And then she ran. She ran from the gazebo and around a row of short pines, crying in the night.
Oh, dear Father, no! This can’t happen! Jan bolted after her. “Helen!” His voice rang in the night, desperate, as if braying in death.
“Helen, please!” He caught sight of her fleeing around a bush ahead and he tore after her. “Helen, I beg you, stop! You must stop, I beg you. Please!” He was near panic. How could she have swung in his arms one moment and now fled so quickly?
He saw her ahead, running fast in the moonlight and then disappearing around a billowing hydrangea. “Helen!”
Jan reached the bush, but she was not in sight. He ran on, looking in all directions for her, but she had vanished. “Helen! Please, Helen!”
The night echoed his call and fell silent. Jan pulled up, panting hard. He clutched his gut against a sharp pain that had speared him there. His vision blurred with tears, and he mumbled, “Oh, God, my God, my God, what have you done?”
The sound of a soft cry drifted to him and he spun to a row of gardenia bushes. He released his stomach, the pain forgotten, and he stumbled forward. The sound carried on the night, a soft gulping sob.
He rounded the flowers and stopped. She sat on a bench, head planted in her hands, crying. Jan walked to the bench on shaking legs. He sat and swallowed.
“I am so sorry for your pain, Helen. I am so very sorry.”
“You don’t understand. I’m no good for you,” she said softly.
“I will decide what is good for me. You are good for me. You are perfect for me!” He placed a hand on her shoulder.
She pulled back. “I’m dirty. I’m—”
“You are clean and you have stolen my heart!” he blurted. “Helen, please look at me. Look into my eyes.” He shifted around and lifted a hand to her chin.
She looked up, her face wrinkled in shame, her eyes swimming in tears.
“What do you see, Helen?”
For a moment she didn’t speak.
“What do you see?”
She spoke very softly. “I see your eyes.”
“And what do they say to you?”
She wiped her face, breathing steadily, catching her breath. “They say you’re hurting.”
“And why? Why am I hurting?”
She hesitated. “Because your heart aches.”
He held her eyes in his stare, begging her to say more. To see more. A knot rose to his throat. My poor Helen, you are so wounded.
She had settled and she blinked. “Your heart aches for me,” she said.
Jan nodded. “Put your hand on mine,” he said, reaching his right hand out, palm up. She did so gently, without removing her gaze from his. Her touch seemed to run right up his bones and lock itself around his heart.
“Do you feel that?”
She didn’t respond, but she moved her hand slightly. Their breathing sounded loud in the night.
“What do you feel?”
She swallowed and he noted that both of their hands were trembling with the touch. Her eyes were pooling with tears again.
“How does it feel?”
“It feels nice.”
“And when I speak to you, when I say, ‘I am mad about you,’ what do you feel, Helen?” He was having difficulty speaking for the pounding of his own heart.
“I feel mad about you,” she said. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought she might have leaned forward slightly, and that made him dizzy.
Jan reached his free hand to her cheek and stroked it gently. He slid his other hand up her arm now, and every nerve in his body screamed out for her love. She was leaning forward! She was leaning forward and the tears were slipping silently down her cheek.
Jan could not hold himself any longer. He slid his arms around her shoulders and drew her against him. The tears flooded his eyes then. She pushed him back and for one terrible moment he wondered what she was doing. But her lips found his and they kissed. They held each other tenderly and they kissed deep.
It was as though he had been created for this moment, he thought. As though he were a man parched bone-dry in a desert, and now he had fallen upon a pool of sweet water. He drank deep from that pool, from her lips. From this deep reservoir of love. The moments stretched, but time had lost itself in their passion.
It is only a whisper of how I feel, Jan.
The voice again. Softly. Gently.
Jan released her and they played with each other’s fingers, lightheaded, shy. “It feels too good to be true,” Helen said. “I’ve never felt this kind of love.”
He did not respond but reached for her and kissed her lightly on her lips again. His heart was kicking madly against his chest; if he wasn’t careful he might fall over dead right here in Joey’s Garden of Eden.
Jan rose to his feet and pulled her up. “Come.”
They walked through the hedges, hand in hand, lovers numb from each other’s touch. Everything they saw now had a heavenly glow. The flowers seemed unnaturally bright by the moon’s light. Their senses ran sharp edges, feeling and tasting and smelling the air as if it were laden with a potion concocted to squeeze their hearts.
They walked laughing and giggling, stunned that such care had been taken for their benefit. Anyone watching might very well see them and think them drunk. And truth be told they were drunk. They had sipped from each other’s lips and were inebriated beyond their reason. It was a consuming love that swept them through the garden. They might have tried walking on the pond had it come to mind.
And yet for Jan, it was all just beginning. He had not brought her to the garden for this alone. Not at all. They reached a white metal pillar at the end of a long flowered archway and he knew it was time. If it was not now it might be never, and it definitely could not be never.
He gripped the pole and swung himself around to face her. She pulled up, surprised, with not an inch to spare between them. Her musky breath covered his nostrils. Her eyes flashed blue, and her lips impulsively reached forward and touched his. “I love you, Jan Jovic,” she whispered. “I love you.”
“Then marry me,” he said.
She froze and pulled back. Their eyes held each other, round and glazed. Jan pushed a strand of hair from her cheek with his thumb. “Marry me, Helen. We are meant to be one.”
Her mouth opened in shock, but she could not hide the smile. “Are you serious?”
“I’m madly in love with you. I’ve been madly in love with you from the time you walked up to me at the park. I can’t imagine spending my days without you. I am meant to be with you. Anything less would destroy me.”
She blinked and looked into his eyes. “I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes.”
“Yes.”
He kissed her. His world began to explode then, and he knew he could not contain the passion that racked his bones. He had to do something, so he stepped back and leaped into the air. He whooped and beat the air with his fist. Helen laughed and hopped on his back. He cried out in surprise and not a little pain, and then collapsed to the sod. They lay there panting, smiling up at the stars and then at each other.
It was the end of a long journey, Jan thought. A very long journey that began with the priest’s departure to heaven and now deposited him here, in a heaven of his own.
But it was also just the beginning. He knew that too, and a fleeting terror sliced through his mind. But the intoxicating lips of his new bride-to-be
smothered him with a kiss, and the terror was lost.
For now, the terror was lost.
THE PHONE rang five times before Ivena picked it up. “Hello.”
“Morning, Ivena.”
“Good morning, Joey.”
“How’s the garden?”
“Good. Very good.”
“And the flowers?”
“Growing.”
“The tests came back today, Ivena.”
She didn’t respond.
“It’s an unknown species.”
“Yes.”
“They’re . . . extraordinary, you know.” He cleared his throat. “I mean very unusual.”
“Yes, I know.”
“My flower has taken root.”
Silence filled the phone.
“Ivena?”
“Then guard it well, Joey. It’s not for everyone to see.”
“Yes, I think you’re right. Do you want to hear what I found?”
She hesitated. “Not now. Come over and explain it to me sometime. I have to go now, Joey.”
“You okay, Ivena?”
“I’ve never been better. Never.”
BOOK THREE
THE LOVER
“As a bridegroom rejoices over his bride,
so will your God rejoice over you.”
ISAIAH 62:5 NIV
“I remember the devotion of your youth, how as a bride you loved me . . .”
JEREMIAH 2:2 NIV
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Three Months later
GLENN LUTZ stormed through the walkway between the Twin Towers like a bull, panting from the exertion, his hands red with blood. The passage was not air-conditioned and Atlanta’s late-day heat pressed through his skin. He was slipping into the boiling waters of madness and there was no life preserver in sight. Even the violence he periodically delivered to some unsuspecting soul who crossed him no longer eased his fury. Detective Charlie Wilks had approached him three times in the last month, begging him to ease up. Well now he could expect another call, just as soon as the detective learned of the whipping he’d just administered. Beating the mayor’s third cousin to a pulp had a ring of absurdity to it, which was perhaps why Glenn had not been able to resist.
