Criss Cross (21 page)

I
n her parlor, Evelyn poured herself a hefty shot of Chivas Regal. Micah, Wolfgang, and Nugent talked quietly among themselves. The police carried Shaughn's body out.

“This has been one hell of a case,” Wolfgang said.

“Yeah. You can say that again,” Micah replied.

Evelyn walked over to them. She offered a glass of scotch. Nugent took it. He gulped the liquid down in one swallow. Then handed the glass back to Evelyn.

He glanced at Micah and smiled. Micah smiled back. No words were needed. Their bond was solidified. A silent understanding floated between them.

Micah knew Nugent had demonstrated a loyalty to him that he couldn't have paid for. For that he was truly grateful. Nugent was just relieved to finally have the truth out. He was glad it was behind them.

Wolfgang looked at Evelyn. “Ms. Jordan-Wells,” he addressed her with all due respect, “I'm afraid there is no way I can keep your name out of the press. This was one of the most twisted serial killer cases to ever go on the books.

“Micah is going to have to tell the truth. When he does, the press will be all over him. As I'm sure you know, there will be extreme focus on you as well. I am sorry, but I feel you need to be prepared for this.”

Evelyn clasped both of Wolfgang's huge hands between her own. She gave him a direct look. “No. I am the one who should be sorry.”

“Ma'am, you couldn't have had the power to stop this.”

“One wonders sometimes, Wolfgang. I'm discovering that you can't run and you can't hide. I lost my faith. When you lose that you lose it all.”

A look passed between Evelyn and Micah.

“And the truth is often stranger than fiction. Most people don't handle the truth very well,” she said.

When Micah Jordan-Wells stepped out on the porch, flashbulbs exploded in his bruised and swollen face. He was just ahead of Wolfgang and Nugent.

Micah wore his bruises like a true soldier. The very pain of them was a reminder to him that there was something more in life.

The street was crowded with the police. The press was out in full force. Yellow rain slickers identified their ranks.

The Victorian house was being photographed from all available angles. Micah stood regal and proud on the porch. He watched the rain as it fell from the sky. He knew his life would never be the same.

He was the only one that heard the sigh of the Victorian, taking its final breath.

The Victorian house stood quietly. It would retain its own history. It would shield its secrets. Some of which would never be released.

T
he reverend and Evelyn sipped coffee in Evelyn's parlor. The setting was befitting of a conversation they had long ago. Only a few things had changed.

Evelyn could hear the music again. She could feel the symphonic notes as they rose like waves crashing against the shore. Her spirit felt renewed. She was reborn. She had repented for her faithlessness. In doing so, she had reacquainted herself with her religion.

The cornerstone she had been reaching for so long ago had been Jesus Christ. But when she hadn't believed He was there, when she hadn't believed she could find Him, she hadn't. Then like a wisp in the night, He was gone. Erased from her memory for more than thirty years.

By His grace a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. For the first time in years, her spirit was at peace.

The reverend smiled at the transformation Evelyn had undergone. Layers and layers of years, age, and most of all fear had been peeled away. She had emerged as a beautiful, bright star. She sparkled like a diamond.

He realized she was lit up from the inside. A golden glow emerged from her soul. She had been freed.

Evelyn allowed the reverend to immerse in his thoughts. She didn't venture forth with words. She was content to sip her coffee. It was not laced with Chivas Regal. She had discovered she didn't need the Chivas anymore. They sat in companionable silence.

When she felt the time was right, she said, “I don't know how to thank you, Reverend Erwin Jackson.”

The reverend smiled at her use of his full name.

“Micah told me all about his visit with you.”

The reverend shook his head. He did not acknowledge any credit due. “It is not me who needs to be thanked, Evelyn. I believe I mentioned long ago, God has a way of working things out, in His time and in His way.”

Evelyn smiled. “Yes. I believe I have heard that from you before. Just the same, I am grateful for your faith. And most grateful for your friendship throughout the years.”

The reverend nodded.

Evelyn's eyes grew serious. “Reverend, did you think Micah would survive?”

The reverend smiled. He thought back to the heat that had generated from the tree bark cross when he had been led to give it to Micah. “No, my dear, I didn't.”

Evelyn shuddered.

“I didn't think Micah would survive. I knew he would. Your son, Micah Jordan-Wells, is chosen.”

The reverend had seen the power in Micah's eyes. Justice between good and evil would be his plight. He thought about his plans in the ministry for Micah. Micah had his own agenda. So did Jesus Christ.

Evelyn stood up. She walked over to the drapes. She pulled them back a bit so she could look out the window.

“You know, Reverend, I believe it is time for a change.” She pulled on the drawstrings of the heavy drapes. The room was immediately flooded with warm sunlight.

It was the first time the reverend had ever seen sunlight in the parlor.

T
he following morning Evelyn stood in the foyer. She took deep breaths. She tried to conquer the last vestiges of her fear. It was fear that had gripped her and held her tightly in its grasp for more than thirty years.

She opened the door. She stepped out on the porch. She took a deep breath. That felt good. She couldn't believe it. She was actually outside the door. She smelled the autumn air. Hallelujah!

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. When she opened them, she saw Micah across the street watching her. Warmth and encouragement flowed from his eyes.

Micah's heart turned over in his chest at the sight of his mother on the porch. It was her first taste of freedom and fresh air. It was an act of courage. He had been graced to see it. He nodded past the lump in his throat, grateful for the sight.

Micah had battled his mother's demons. In doing so, he had set her free. His eyes stung behind his lids. He blinked.

Evelyn smiled at her accomplishment. She was like a baby who had discovered she could take her first step without help, realizing the freedom mobility would bring.

Evelyn let out a deep breath. She closed the door softly behind her. She took a tentative step. Tears welled in her eyes. Micah held his breath. Shakily, she took another. Her heart hammered against her chest. Her limbs trembled with the effort.

Silently, Micah cheered her on.
Come on, Ma, you can do it.
Evelyn reached the banister and held on tightly, she paused for a moment. She closed her eyes. She was actually feeling fresh air, a breeze on her skin. The darkness in her life was being lifted like a veil. My Lord! She placed her foot on the first step down.

Micah felt wetness gliding down his cheeks as he watched her. One step. Two steps. She was on the pathway. Taking a deep and final exhilarating breath, she put one foot in front of the other, and on shaky legs she began walking across the street to join her son on the sidewalk.

Micah exhaled. When she reached him, Evelyn wiped the wet residue of tears from her son's cheek. Her own tears flowed freely. Both she and Micah reached for one another at the same time, hugging each other tightly. For a moment, Evelyn just held him, listening to the rapid beat of his heart that was thumping against her ear. She saturated his shirt with her own tears.

Micah smoothed the locks of her hair in a gentle rhythmic motion. Then he gave her a tight squeeze. When finally they pulled apart, Evelyn looked deep into Micah's eyes and said, “You're a brave boy, Micah. Thank you.”

“Not necessary,” he said, “you're an extraordinary woman. You always have been.” Then he took her hand in his.

Together they stood looking at the house. Rumblings of the past swarmed Evelyn, swamping her in emotion. She had suffered, but in the end she had triumphed. She had won. Blessed be the name of the Lord!

Coming to a final decision she said, “I'm donating the house to the Historical Society. It's one of the last of its type in Newark. I hope you don't mind,” she told Micah.

Micah hugged her. “No, Ma. I don't. But listen up. Today I want to do something special with you.”

“Oh, yeah. What's that?” Evelyn asked.

Micah looked at her tenderly. A bright smile broke out on his face. “Take a walk. I want to take a walk with you.”

Evelyn smiled too. She blinked back the tears that threatened once again to spill from her eyes. It would be the first walk she had ever taken outside with her own child.

Micah grabbed her hand. Together they walked along the leaf-strewn street. They left the old Victorian house behind.

Evelyn and Micah laughed like two children out for a day of freedom. They enjoyed the sheer comfort of each other's company. Evelyn reveled in the sheer feel of the breeze blowing her hair. Today her hair flowed free. She had dispensed with the long, thick, locked braid she liked to wear. She giggled like a kid.

They passed the park. Evelyn saw a familiar figure sitting on one of the benches feeding the pigeons. It couldn't be. But in her heart she knew she would never forget him.

She watched his movements. There was something about the grace of his hands and the tilt of his head. His litheness shone through, even in ragged clothing. No. Yes.

The man lifted his head. He made eye contact with her. Evelyn stared directly into his eyes. In a flash, she saw a reflection of Micah.

Suddenly, like a fish shedding its scales, something locked into place for her. Her thoughts raced across more than thirty years. Oh my God! How could it be?

She knew it was true. His testament stared her in the face. She caught her breath quietly. She didn't break her stride. She didn't want to alert Micah.

Her cherished son was not born of the seed of Quentin Curry. Something had taken place. Something had altered the events of things. In the alteration she had been handed a precious gift.

The man winked. She saw the imprint of who Micah was stamped all over him. He nodded in Micah's direction. He lifted two fingers in peace. Then he tilted the brim of his raggedy derby hat over his eyes. He continued to feed the pigeons.

Evelyn looked away. When she looked back he was gone. She scanned every inch of the park. There was no sign of him. There was also no sign of the pigeons he had been feeding.

The reverend's words rang in her ears. “Your son, Micah Jordan-Wells is chosen.”

Evelyn felt blessed and burdened. Burdened and blessed. Silently she dedicated her life and her son's life to the Lord.

Evelyn looped her arm a little bit tighter through Micah's. He looked down at her and smiled. The shadow of secrets had finally been laid to rest for her.

R
aven stood nervously outside Micah's door. She bit her bottom lip. She paused. Finally, she pushed the door open.

Micah watched her as she walked through the door. She hesitated. Her steps faltered. She willed her legs to move, first one and then the other.

Tentatively, she risked a look from under her lashes at Micah. She found he was smiling that beautiful, sexy, melt-your-heart-away smile that she loved so much. She looked into his eyes, seeing the warmth and compassion they held. He opened his arms wide to her. Raven flew into them.

Scalding hot tears drenched Micah's cheek. Micah held her tightly. The love, the agony, as well as the desolation he had experienced because of Raven washed over him. It was reflected in his face. He took a step back. He put her at arm's length so he could look at her.

He reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small, exquisite box. “If you promise to stop drenching me, then maybe I can give you the rock.”

A smile lit up Raven's face.

Micah opened the little black box. Sitting on black velvet, in all its power, was a perfectly cut, pear-shaped diamond, holding its own at 3.5 carats.

It reflected fractions of light. The light was nowhere near as bright as Raven's eyes.

Micah wiped away Raven's tears. He slipped the ring on her finger.

“Did you find a castle for me to be king of?”

“Yeah,” Raven swallowed over the lump in her throat, “I know just the place.”

“Good,” Micah told her.

Then he got down on bended knee. He asked the question that Raven had been longing to hear: “Will you marry me, Raven?”

Raven searched his eyes. Finding what she was looking for she told him, “Yes. Yes, Micah, I will.”

Micah rose and took her in his arms.

He had seen the dark side of evil. He had seen the light. He had seen the most major theft in the universe committed. Then he had witnessed restoration. He had decided life was worth living.

He knew a man's darkest moment was sometimes his greatest moment of strength. The only way to win was by fighting on the right side.

T
he reverend reclined in his library. He mulled over the recent events. He looked at another photo of Micah Jordan-Wells on the front page of the newspaper. The picture had been taken the night Micah had vanquished Quentin. The night he had silenced Shaughn. Peace had been restored.

The reverend studied the photograph. He saw the clear light that leaped from Micah's eyes in spite of his bruised face. He didn't think Quentin and Shaughn would be the last dragons Micah slayed. Micah was on the path to justice.

He got up. He wandered around the library, touching the binding of different Bibles, books, and sermons that lined the shelves. He wondered if in them was some kind of answer that lay beyond them all.

He went back to his desk. He looked at the picture of Micah once more. He folded the newspaper in half. He knew this wouldn't be Micah's last battle. Some people were born to fight. Their births were sometimes like an invisible catalyst to change.

The reverend filed the newspaper away in his drawer under Evelyn's name. This was the last chapter in an overpowering saga. He locked the drawer.

He selected one of the ancient-looking Bibles that stocked the shelves. He settled in his easy chair for some scriptural studying.

He flipped open the flap and said, “Hmmm, yes, through the history of time, there have been many warriors. According to Your will, Father; according to Your will.”

The reverend sighed. He settled back in his easy chair for a dose of the day's wisdom. He decided to read the book of Proverbs.