Broken is the Grave

by Candle Sutton

  Zeke was way too good for her. She was fooling herself to think that maybe he’d want to be with someone like her, a single mom whose husband hadn’t even stuck around, who came with so much baggage she could fill a baggage cart?

  A sob bubbled up.

  She wished there was someplace she could go to be alone, but with six other people living on the boat and her sharing a room with Becca, privacy was a rare commodity.

  She whipped around a corner and slammed into someone, staggering back a step.

  A hand reached out to steady her. “Whoa, Bethany. Are you okay?”

  Josiah.

  Brushing at her tears, she forced a smile. “Of course.”

  Her estranged husband had been murdered, his killers were targeting her, her apartment had been violated, and she was falling for someone who shouldn’t even give her the time of day. Why wouldn’t she be okay?

  Not that she’d tell Josiah – or anyone else – all that.

  Josiah said nothing. Instead, he stared at her, violet eyes practically glowing.

  Again, without her art supplies.

  He’d make one heck of a charcoal sketch, especially if she added color to the eyes.

  She committed his image to memory for later, simultaneously working not to squirm under the intensity of his presence.

  Maybe he’d lighten up if she owned the truth. Or part of the truth, anyway.

  She sighed. “It’s been a rough week, but I’ll survive.”

  A second more passed before he blinked. “That’s not all of it. You’re buying into the lies of the world.”

  What was he talking about?

  “Your heavenly Father, who loves you so much, wants you to shift your focus. You’re not who the world thinks you are. The world says you are abandoned. Your Father says you have been chosen. The world says you are poor. Your Father says you are rich. The world says you are worthless. Your Father says you are more precious than gold. The world would keep you down, but your Father wants to lift you up.”

  All saliva evaporated from her mouth. How… how could he so perfectly read her thoughts?

  “Remember who you are. You are His child. You are part of the redeemed. Embrace your real identity and the security that comes with it.”

  She struggled to think, to breathe.

  The words, tenderly spoken, were so wonderful. If only she could believe them.

  “And you.” All tenderness slipped away, replaced by a firmness that surprised her. Her focus sharpened on Josiah, but he wasn’t looking at her. In fact, his eyes were fixed above her head.

  Was someone there?

  She looked behind her. No one.

  Well, there couldn’t be anyone above her.

  She looked up anyway. Nope, no one there. Naturally.

  “You are not welcome here.” The words carried an authority with which she wouldn’t dare argue. “In the name of Jesus Christ, the sinless Son of God, I command you to leave this daughter of the King alone. She belongs to Him.”

  A chill washed over her.

  He wasn’t speaking to her. So who was he talking to?

  “Go. Now.”

  A weight lifted. The tears, which had been just below the surface a moment ago, dried up.

  Weird. “Who were you talking to?”

  Josiah shifted his focus downward and grinned. “The enemy, but the name of Jesus sent him running.”

  Enemy? There’d been no one there.

  “Bethany.”

  She locked on those violet eyes and waited.

  “I see the supernatural forces at work around us. It’s one of my spiritual gifts.”

  Supernatural forces? What was he…?

  Understanding crashed against reality. “Are you talking about angels and demons?”

  He nodded solemnly.

  Did he seriously expect her to believe she’d had a demon? “Are you saying I was possessed?”

  How dare he! Accuse her of being possessed. It was ludicrous!

  “Not possessed. The Holy Spirit in you prevents that. But there was a deceiver following you around, whispering lies. Unless I miss my guess, you were even buying into those lies. Don’t you feel lighter now?”

  She wanted to deny it, but he was right. She gave a tight nod.

  “If you want to continue to feel free, fill your mind with scripture. I think the promises of God would be especially helpful to you right now. That and your identity in Christ. If you don’t fill your mind with God, the enemy will take His place.”

  She’d spent her entire childhood in church, yet no one had ever spoken so frankly about demons. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

  Josiah placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a soft squeeze. “I can see you need time to process all this. You know where to find me if you have any questions.”

  After saying a brief prayer for her, he turned for the hallway, but paused after two steps.

  Facing her again, he grinned. “Oh, I hear you want to see this.”

  He angled his head and pulled back his dreadlocks.

  The skin behind his ears looked funny. It was hard to see amidst the hair, but there appeared to be several flaps of skin.

  Like gills.

  Her breath left her in a puff. It was just as Zander had said.

  “This is how we…” His smile faltered. “How I breathe underwater.”

  He dropped the dreadlocks, gave her a mischievous grin, and headed down the hall, disappearing into the bedroom he and Zeke shared.

  As she got ready for bed, her mind bounced between Zeke and the conversation with Josiah. And gills, there was no forgetting the gills.

  There was no question that she felt lighter now. Feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy had abated, but was it really because a demon had hounded her? Could she really believe that?

  Why not?

  Weren’t there numerous examples of demonic activity in scripture? Was it really so hard to believe that demons were still active today?

  She climbed into bed and stared into the blackness, the steady sound of Becca’s breathing filling the tiny space.

  The day flashed through her mind in vivid images. Knife Man going after Zeke. The kids clinging to her. Kissing Zeke. Angels and demons. Josiah praying.

  Could the Knife Man have been possessed? What about the man who’d attacked her twice? What if demons were involved in that, too?

  And if they were, how did she stop them? Could she even survive?

  Twelve

  “Sister. Do you know this man?”

  The young woman in skimpy clothes studied the sketch Bethany had created that morning, the sketch of the man who’d attacked them, then shook her head. “Haven’t seen him, hon.”

  It was the exact same response Zeke had gotten from the last twenty people to whom he’d spoken. He pulled out another sketch. “What about this man? His name is Willie.”

  She glanced at it. “Yeah, seen him around a few times.”

  Finally. “Have you ever seen him with someone?”

  Pulling back, she landed a hand on her bony hip and stared with narrowed eyes. “Why you asking? You a cop or somethin’?”

  He held up his hands and shook his head. “Not a cop. I work down at the mission and Willie attacked someone there yesterday. I’m trying to figure out why and who put him up to it.”

  Her expression softened. “The mission, huh? You guys do good work down there. Helped me out a time or two when things weren’t goin’ my way.”

  “That’s what we’re there for.”

  “Seen Willie with his dealer a time or two. Big dude, goes by the name of Tank.”

  Street names weren’t going to be much help, but she likely didn’t know anything more than that. “Do you know where I can find Tank?”

  “Usually hangs by the old church on Cathedral Ave.”

  A church. Now that was ironic. “I’ll see if I can find him.”

  “You do that. Just don’t tell him it was me that told you.”

  �
�Not a word.” He smiled. “One more thing. You familiar with someone named Tobias? He’d be an associate of Willie’s.”

  “Not like Willie ‘n me are friends.”

  Hmm. Was she avoiding the question? “Do you know anyone named Tobias?”

  “Nah. Then ‘gain, don’t get lots a names from guys, you know what I mean?”

  Unfortunately, he did know. “You deserve better than that. If you ever need help, come on down to the mission. We’re there for you.”

  A brittle smile crossed her face. “Ain’t no hope for me.”

  “There’s always hope.” A gentle nudge inside told him that he’d given her enough to think on for one day. “I’m praying for you, sister. Thank you for your help.”

  Now to find a man named Tank who sold drugs by a church.

  A bus was just slowing up the street and he jogged to catch it. Only half the seats were full, so he found an unoccupied one and settled in, his mind filling with thoughts of all that had happened the last few days.

  It was hard to believe it’d been two days since Willie had tried to kill him.

  Reuben had been released from the hospital yesterday and, as much as he wanted to invite the man to stay on the boat until he recovered fully, there simply wasn’t adequate room. Instead, he was staying at the mission.

  Which might not be such a bad thing. Maybe it’d make him more favorably disposed to seeking help.

  At the very least, it’d help keep the wound from getting infected while it healed.

  After the craziness on Saturday, they’d all voted to go to church, then spend a quiet day on the boat Sunday.

  He, Josiah, and Elly had gone swimming in the bay with the kids. Bethany had dipped her foot in the water, declared it was too cold for her, and had watched from the deck.

  It had been a little on the cool side.

  But from what he’d heard, that was typical for September.

  The bus turned onto Cathedral Avenue, the brakes squealing as it eased up to the curb by the bus stop.

  Zeke exited the bus and started toward the ancient stone church up the street.

  Cracks zigzagged the steps leading up to the ornately carved wood doors. Narrow stained-glass windows flanked the doors and a massive half-circle window depicting the empty tomb filled the space above them.

  No one lingered on the steps or in front of the building.

  Then again, he wouldn’t expect someone to sell drugs from the front steps.

  He looked around. The church sat on the corner of the block, sandwiched between an alley on the left and a lightly trafficked side street on the right.

  No place to park that he could see, but maybe there was a lot behind the building.

  Would he also find Tank there? What if Tank wasn’t here?

  Might as well check down either side of the building. He’d come this far.

  The putrid scent of human waste assaulted him as he moved from the sunlight into the filtered gloom of the alley on the left of the church. The alley appeared to be empty, save for a dumpster about three quarters of the way down.

  He was almost to the dumpster when the Lord spoke.

  No further.

  His steps slowed. Why, Father?

  Turn back.

  His gaze sharpened on the dumpster. Was someone hiding behind or inside it?

  It didn’t matter. The Father was never arbitrary in His instructions. If He said no further, Zeke would go no further.

  Zeke turned abruptly and strode toward the mouth of the alley.

  A noise sounded behind him.

  He looked back.

  No sign that anyone was there.

  An urgency settled in his spirit. The Father was prodding him on.

  Another scuff.

  His steps increased.

  Only a little further.

  Was he imagining the sound of breathing behind him?

  Sunlight hit him as he stepped onto the sidewalk running in front of the church. Phew. He’d made it without incident.

  He looked back.

  Still no sign anyone was there, but he’d felt a presence. Whether human or spiritual, he wasn’t sure. The only thing he did know was the presence had been dark, oppressive, and with intentions he didn’t even want to try to guess.

  Thank you, Father.

  Well, the alley was out. He could check the street running down the other side of the church, though.

  He crossed in front of the church and rounded the corner.

  No one down this side of the building, either.

  He reached the back corner of the church. A parking lot stretched before him. A small grassy area with three picnic tables and a few trees separated the parking lot from the street beyond.

  Weeds grew from the cracks littering the lot. Four cars dotted the area. Three were close to the building, but the fourth was parked in the far corner.

  That fourth car would’ve drawn his attention even if it hadn’t been parked by itself.

  The shiny black car gleamed in the sunlight. Pearl highlights shimmered across the hood and chrome wheels reflected the brightness of the day. It sat so low to the ground that he couldn’t see underneath it.

  A few feet beyond the car, a broad white man sat on top of a picnic table, taking advantage of the meager shade provided by a scraggly tree.

  That had to be Tank.

  He sat on the table, legs on a bench, forearms resting on top of his knees. Interlaced fingers gave him the appearance of ease, but Zeke doubted he was relaxed.

  Selling drugs carried too many risks to relax.

  A man with black hair stood facing Tank, his back to Zeke.

  Money changed hands. Tank handed something to the black-haired man, which disappeared into the man’s pocket too quickly for Zeke to see.

  Then again, he probably didn’t have to see it. Tank dealt drugs. What else would it be?

  Tank lifted his head as Zeke approached. Mirrored sunglasses hid the man’s eyes but Zeke knew those eyes were watching him.

  “Tank?”

  The black-haired man spun to face him.

  Unkempt hair brushed the man’s defined cheekbones. Dark eyes landed on Zeke, eyes that widened slightly at the sight of him.

  Zeke’s steps faltered. “Rafe?”

  “Hey.” Rafe scuffed his dirty sneaker across the blacktop, his gaze avoiding Zeke’s eyes.

  The man didn’t look well. Zeke hadn’t noticed at the mission two days ago, but Rafe looked sick. Hollowed cheeks, bony arms… had Rafe been this gaunt two weeks ago?

  He didn’t think so.

  “Yeah, uh, well I gotta get moving.” Rafe darted a glance up at Zeke. “Do me a solid, huh? Don’t tell Zander you saw me.”

  “How come?”

  Rafe shook his head, the movements short and jerky. “I’m just dealin’ with some stuff. Don’t need him butting in.”

  “He’s your friend.”

  “That’s why I gotta deal with this on my own.” Rafe turned back to Tank. “Later, man.”

  Rafe stumbled away on foot, disappearing down an alley across the street.

  Should he tell Zander how much trouble Rafe was in? Or honor Rafe’s request to leave it alone?

  “How do you know Rafe?” The gravelly voice rumbled from Tank’s clean-shaven face.

  Zeke turned to face Tank head-on. “His friend is dating my sister. We met after they both had a run-in with the Alma Negra.”

  A slight lift to Tank’s eyebrows showed surprise, but he said nothing.

  “I’m Zeke. I wanted to ask–”

  “You a cop?”

  Two people who thought he must be a cop because he was asking questions. Then again, he knew from working with the homeless that no one on the street was too trusting of people in uniforms. “No. Just trying to figure out why Willie attacked someone at the mission yesterday. I was told you know him.”

  “Know lots of people.” Tank stretched his legs down to the grassy area in front of him and rose to his full height, which made
him tower over Zeke. Crossing his arms over his burly chest, he stared down a wide nose and remained silent.

  Zeke fixed his gaze on Tank’s eyes, even though he couldn’t see them. “Do you know Willie?”

  “Nunya business.” Tank’s lips set firmly.

  “Please.” Zeke held Tank’s gaze. “I’m no threat to you or your business.”

  Tank cursed loudly. “Got that right, bub. Now get outta here ‘fore I prove you ain’t no threat.”

  Should he leave?

  He listened for the Father’s voice. No discernable answer, yet he distinctly did not feel called to leave.

  Several seconds passed. A truck rumbled by on the street behind Tank.

  Father, please loosen his tongue.

  Finally Tank chuckled. “You got guts, I’ll give you that. What do you care about all this anyway?”

  “Willie put a friend of mine in the hospital. He would’ve put me in the ground if he hadn’t been stopped.”

  Tank assessed him. “You don’t look homeless.”

  “I’m a volunteer at the shelter. Willie’s been in a time or two but we’ve never had a problem with him. I think he was following orders.”

  Tank scanned the surrounding area before looking back at him. “Don’t know nothin’ about that.”

  “But you do know Willie.”

  Tank shifted his bulk to sit back on the table. “Yeah, I know ‘im. Dude’s like a cockroach. Always turnin’ up at the wrong time.”

  “Does he report to anyone?”

  A noncommittal shrug rolled across Tank’s broad shoulders. “Well, he ain’t much uv a leader, but I don’t know nothing ‘bout who he rolls with.”

  “How do you know Willie?”

  “I gots somethin’ he needs.” Tank’s eyes widened momentarily. “Can’t believe I’m tellin’ you this. You put some kinda voodoo on me, man?”

  Zeke stuffed his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts and grinned. “No voodoo. That’s the power of God, my brother.”

  Tank snorted. “Whatever. You tell anyone ‘bout what I said and we’re gonna have trouble. You don’t want that.”

  Tank flexed his hand, which was larger than Zeke’s by several inches.

  No, he didn’t want trouble. Zeke gave a small nod. “This is just between us. What about someone named Tobias? Does he come around here?”