She belonged to Jesus Christ.
* * *
Chapter 24
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Mary took a long breath and looked at Emma. The young woman's eyes were teary, and Mary felt for her. "Are you okay?"
"I don't know." Emma pulled the blanket off the cot and tucked it in around her lap with her left hand. "I'm cold."
"It's a hard story."
Emma nodded. "I can feel every blow, Mary." She ran her fingers over her cast. "In a moment like that, all I can think about is dying, how Charlie's going to kill me, and what my girls will think when they find me."
"I thought that the first few times. What Grandma Peggy would think when she found out how I died." Mary looked up, and in that moment she saw Jesus, arms outstretched, the same way she'd seen Him in those horrible moments of abuse.
"That's why I know my rescue was a miracle." She touched her fingers to the place above her heart. "He rescued me here, on the inside, even when I had no idea how I was going to survive the next few minutes."
Emma blinked, and a trail of tears slid down her cheeks. "All because Nigel showed you the love of Jesus."
"Yes." Mary's heart stirred at the mention of Nigel's name. "Nigel loved me enough to tell me the truth." Talking about him made her miss him, more than she had in years. "No man has ever loved me the way Nigel did."
Emma tilted her head. She looked at Mary for a long time. "Then . . . you're still in love with him?"
"No." A sweet sadness stung at Mary's heart, the way it always would when she thought of Nigel. "It was never meant that I feel that way for him. Not then . . . and not now." Mary adjusted a pillow beneath her elbow and leaned onto the arm of the sofa. She pictured Nigel's eyes, remembered the tenderness in his voice. She missed him as much now as she did the day they said good-bye.
"But you love him." Emma sat unmoving, trying to understand.
"Yes, I love him." Mary felt the sting of tears. "Just not the way you're talking about. Not the way the world understands." She sat a little straighten "I'm almost done. At the end I'll tell you about Nigel, the two of us."
When Mary closed her eyes, she could see it all again, the front door of the center as she climbed out of the cab and ran toward it, an hour after Clayton left her that night. . . .
***
Mary looked like death—the mirror told her that much. But she didn't care. She had escaped with her life, and she wasn't ever going back. She had a shopping bag full of her things—a few clothes, some essentials, and her little red-beaded purse.
When she found Nigel in the kitchen she fell into his arms.
"Who did this to you?" He looked angrier than ever. Angry and protective and full of his Jesus kind of love all at the same time. "What's his name?" Nigel could barely contain himself, but he kept his voice even.
Mary looked away. "I left him. I won't go back."
His fingers made contact with her swollen eye, and she jerked. "Mary . . . you mentioned the name Clayton when we talked once." He steadied himself. "Is it Clayton Billings?"
She opened her mouth to deny it, to lie the way she'd done so much of her life. But the lie wouldn't come. She looked away, ashamed and terrified. "I can't talk about it."
"I know who he is."
"He does a lot of business in the city." She felt her head start to spin. If Clayton knew about this conversation . . .
Nigel frowned. "Clayton Billings is one of the most powerful men in DC. His name's been linked with organized crime for a decade." Righteous anger filled Nigel's tone. "He's on the board of the largest church in town."
Organized crime? And he was on the board of a church? The news hit Mary like another one of Clayton's blows. No wonder he'd told her she couldn't leave, that she knew too much. If people found out about her, his image would be shattered. "He'll kill me, Nigel. I'm not supposed to say anything." She bit her lip. "He'll kill me."
"He already tried." Nigel brought his fingers to her cheek. His eyes were damp, filled with horror at the damage Clayton had already wrought. "Mary ... I can't stand that he did this to you." He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath through his nose. Then he took a step back and turned toward the phone. "I'll call the police right now and set this whole thing straight before—"
"No!" Mary came after him. She grabbed his arm, shrieking. "No, Nigel, please! I'll be okay."
"Mary." He turned, broken. His hand soothed the worry lines on her forehead, her battered cheeks. "The police need to know about this."
"Not now. I'll report him after I get to New York."
Nigel waited a long time before he answered. His eyes told her what she already knew—he loved her. Not the way she had wanted to be loved by him, but with a love that was straight from heaven. A love that would fight for her, even die for her. But gradually his shoulders settled and resignation showed in his eyes. "Are you sure?"
"Yes." Her mind raced faster than her heart. "I need to hurry,- I know that. When he finds out I'm gone he'll come for me. But we can't. . . can't call the police now."
A long sigh left Nigel's lips, and he held out his arms.
She came to him, the way she'd come the other night. With an understanding that Christ's love could sometimes best be felt in human arms. "Thank you." She pulled back and marveled at the emotions building in her heart, her soul. Boundless joy at finding freedom, great victory in knowing she would see Grandma Peggy again. But sorrow because her time with Nigel was short.
He studied her for a long time, and a smile tugged at his lips. "You're glowing. Despite everything."
She took his hands. "That's what I wanted to tell you. Can you believe it, Nigel? I've done it." Her smile bunched up the swollen skin beneath her puffy eyes and made it hard for her to see. "I stopped running and gave my life to Jesus!"
Tears filled her eyes and glistened in the glow of the overhead kitchen lights. "Jesus has done so much for me. He's . . . He's changed me. And He used you to do it." A few sobs sounded from deep inside her, from a place that had never felt so loved in all her life.
She sniffed, searching for control. "Jesus loves me. He loves me like I've never been loved in all my life." She placed her hand over her heart. "He talks to me and holds me, and I'm never alone. Never."
"God is faithful." Nigel was quieter than usual. "He answered all of my prayers but. . ." He brought his finger to her face and touched the swollen areas near her eyes. "How could this happen to you? How could he do this?"
"Shhh." Mary took hold of his wrists and brought his hands down to his sides. "We can talk about that later. The important thing is I understand now. Jesus really, truly set me free. Now I have just one thing I can do for Him." The tears became tiny rivers, like so much melted ice streaming from her eyes. "I'll give Him my life. Every day I have left."
Nigel sighed. "Clayton Billings needs to pay for what he's done."
"He will one day. For now ... 1 can't have him finding out about you. He'd kill you, Nigel. I know he would."
Nigel didn't blink. "I'm not afraid of him."
"I know." Mary hugged him again. For all the ways she'd fallen for Nigel, for the days when she would've given anything to be in his arms this way, the feelings now were different. She was still attracted to him, and a part of her wanted to dream that somehow . . . someday they might find their way together.
But overriding all of that was a very real, very basic truth: Nigel didn't love her like that. He loved her because she was a broken child of God. He loved her soul. And even now—with him so close she could smell his shampoo, his cologne—God's love was enough.
Far more than enough.
Nigel released her and leaned against the kitchen counter. His eyes held hers. "You'll stay here tonight."
She nodded. "In my old room, if that's okay."
"It is." He looked pale, sick about her. "I'll take you to the doctor first, get you checked out." He touched her chin. "Then we'll call your grandma."
She was about to say somet
hing about her grandma, how much she'd missed her, when the phone rang. They both stared at the receiver.
The look on Nigel's face must have mirrored her own. Was it someone calling about service times or information about a meal? It was almost midnight, too late for those kinds of calls. Or had Clayton found her?
Nigel waited two more rings,- then he picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
Mary could hear the caller's voice at the other end of the line—a man's voice. "Yes, I'm sorry," he said. "I'm looking for a woman named Mary Madison. It's an emergency." The caller hesitated. "I believe she used to live at your center." Another pause. "Would you know where I can reach her?"
"No." Nigel's voice left no room for discussion. He stared straight at Mary and held his finger to his lips. "There's no one here by that name."
Fear took deep swipes at Mary. She leaned in to hear better.
"Okay." The caller didn't sound convinced, but the way he said the word left no doubt. It was Clayton Billings. He had left Mary in a hurry, mumbling something about a date with his wife. But he must've come back to check on her, to make sure she'd survived his attack. He cleared his throat. "If you see her, tell her . . . uh . . . tell her people are looking for her."
Then, without a name or further explanation, the man hung up.
Nigel returned the receiver and searched Mary's eyes. "I think it's him."
"It is." She looked down at her hands. "I'd know his voice anywhere."
"We need a new plan." He grabbed his keys from the top of the refrigerator. "I'll take you to the airport tonight. You can catch the next flight to New York and see a doctor once you meet up with your grandma."
Mary hesitated. What if Clayton came after her? What if he was on his way right now? "Let me take a cab." She couldn't tolerate the idea of putting Nigel in danger. Not for a minute. "You need to be here."
"They won't miss me, not for a few hours." He still had his keys in his hand.
She took hold of his wrist. "I'd rather have you here." She could feel the sincerity in her expression. "Please, Nigel. I don't want to involve you in this."
"I'm already involved." Nigel gritted his teeth. "I go with you. No debate."
"I don't like it." Mary's mind raced. She couldn't put him in danger, no matter what.
"You don't have to like it. I'm not letting you leave here alone."
Mary exhaled slowly. "Okay." She didn't want to involve him, but he was too much a gentleman, too much a friend to give in to her. Maybe if she changed the subject. She glanced at the phone and then back at Nigel. "Would it be okay ... if I call my grandma first?"
Nigel's expression changed instantly. His eyes danced as he motioned for her to follow. "Let's go to my office. Her number's in my file."
Every minute counted,- Mary knew that. But now that she was free she couldn't wait to make the call. She took the chair behind Nigel's desk and found her grandma's number. It took a few seconds, but eventually a woman answered the phone.
"Hello?" Even glazed with the effects of sleep the voice sounded familiar.
It worked its way into Mary's heart and soul and made her feel like dancing. "Grandma?" The depth of her emotions caught her off guard. She put her hand to her throat and smoothed away the tightness. "Grandma . . . it's me, Mary."
"Mary?" Her voice made only the slightest sound. "My Mary?" She inhaled loud and sharp, and tears filled her words. "Mary ... I can't believe it's you! Are you okay?"
She thought about the phone call from Clayton. He was coming for her, no question. "I'm fine." Her eyes filled, and she brushed at them. Now that she knew the love of God, she was always crying. "I'm flying home today. Maybe you could meet me at the airport."
"Of course. Oh, Mary . . . I've prayed for this moment every day since I saw you last." Her voice snagged on a wave of sadness. "I'm so sorry . . . everything that's happened to you. I wanted to save you, but I didn't know how . . . didn't know where you were."
"I know, Grandma. I couldn't find you, and then I couldn't call. But I'm okay." She ran her hand over her swollen cheek. Her injuries would heal, and one day the other scars would fade too. A smile lifted her mouth. "I've found Jesus. You were right." She dug around her bag, pulled the little red purse from inside, and stared at the familiar words on the paper from inside the purse. "God does have great plans for me. I'll tell you all about it when we're together."
Her grandma sniffed. "Nigel was everything I couldn't be."
"Yes. He was." Mary closed her eyes, allowing herself to be filled the warmth of all she'd learned about the Lord that past month. She looked at Nigel. "I can feel the arms of Jesus around me all the time now."
"I'm so glad." Her grandma muffled a few sobs. "We'll be together soon."
"Yes." A light laugh made its way up from her heart. For the first time in days, Mary could envision a time in the not-too-distant future when laughter would be a regular part of her life. "Isn't that wonderful?"
On the other end of the phone, her grandma was getting over the shock of hearing from her. The tears were gone from her voice. "Mary ... I can't wait." She exhaled, a sigh of relief that spanned the years. "I've missed you so much, darling. So much."
"Me too." She looked at the clock on the wall. Clayton could be here by now if he was determined. She couldn't waste another moment. "I have to run, Grandma. I'll call you from the airport."
"Be careful, honey. I love you."
"I love you too."
The call ended and Mary imagined her grandmother, the sweet weathered face, the warm hands, the eyes that had always held hope and promise and God's love. It wouldn't be long now.
The sound of shattering glass interrupted her thoughts, and a piercing scream filled the hallways.
"Nigel, it's him!" Mary's voice was a panicked whisper. She took a step backward, away from the office door.
"You're safe here. I'll stay with you." Nigel held out his arm, protecting her.
But at that moment they heard the noise of running footsteps, and the cook huffed up to Nigel's door. "It's one of the girls, the heroin addict—she was sleepwalking or dreaming— something." His eyes were startled, frightened. "She broke through the window. Please, Nigel, come. She's out of control."
Mary felt herself relax. It wasn't Clayton. Of course not. He had only just called. It would take him another fifteen minutes to get in his car and reach the center. Fifteen at least. Her heartbeat found a normal rhythm.
Nigel looked from the cook to Mary and back. "Is she hurt?"
"Not bad, a few scratches. But she's calling for you." The cook shook his head. "No one can calm her down."
Mary touched Nigel's elbow. "Go on. Make sure she's okay."
He took a step toward the door and let his eyes find hers once more. "Stay here. I'll be right back."
She nodded and watched him leave. Already her heart was breaking. Because good-bye was only minutes away. She smiled, even as tears stung her eyes. "Be careful."
When Nigel was gone, Mary slipped her red purse back into the shopping bag with her other belongings. Then she looped the handle around her arm and realized something. She could spare herself a sad good-bye with Nigel, couldn't she? She could slip through the back door and call him from the airport. That way she wouldn't put him in any danger whatsoever.
A lump formed in her throat. She was going to miss Nigel, miss the way he prayed for her and looked out for her. The way he had shown her the love of Jesus. But it was time to go.
She went quietly to the kitchen door and scurried across the parking lot. She was a few yards from the alleyway, her heart pounding, when she saw the figures of two people ahead. Homeless people probably, spending the night near the center so they'd be first in line for a morning meal. But she couldn't be too careful. She didn't want to take any chances, not when she was this close to getting out of the city.
The night air was cool against her face as she turned around and slipped back into the building. No one would be out front. Nigel was still nowhere i
n sight, so she hurried down the hall and eased her way out the main door. The street was empty, except for a few cars at the other end of the block. In the far distance, a siren wailed and then grew faint.
She shivered and held her bag close. Hurry, she told herself. Get a cab and get out of here. She started to run, and then she slowed down. Don't be ridiculous. Your imagination's scaring you to death. Clayton isn't here. Just stay calm and find a cab. Jesus, help me find a cab.
She squinted and tried to make out the cars a hundred yards down the street. Cabs were usually everywhere, but it was past midnight. She might have to walk two blocks to Jefferson before she found one at this hour. She picked up her pace and turned a corner.
A block from the main street a hand suddenly shot out from the darkness of an alleyway and grabbed her from behind. He had his hand over her mouth before she could scream.
"Thought you'd run, did you?" The man wasn't someone she recognized. He was small and wiry.
No, this isn't happening. Mary tried to scream, but the man's fingers were pressed hard against her lips.
The man laughed low and menacing. "Billings told me you were a knockout." The man gave her a slow once-over in the dim lamplight. "He didn't tell me you were this pretty, though."
She tried to jerk free, but he held her tighter. This couldn't be happening, not when she was so close to getting away. The man's fingers felt grimy against her face. They smelled of tobacco and dirty money. God . . . please help me.
"I owe Billings a favor." He yanked her close against himself and sneered at her. "But 1 should have a little fun with you first."
From a few blocks away someone shouted. It wasn't loud enough to make out, but it startled the man. "Too bad." He chuckled. His ice-cold eyes drilled into her. "We're out of time."
Mary tried to buckle her knees, make herself fall to the ground. If she was loud enough, someone was bound to hear her. She squirmed, fighting against him with everything she had, and then—
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