Enemy of Gideon (25 page)

Warmth consumes me, not a stuffy heat but a gentle, comforting warmth like what a newborn must feel in its mother’s arms. The loud trumpet-like sound blasts again, and its vibrations dance through me. A figure appears before me, unfolding from the white light, brighter and brighter. It draws closer, filling my soul with all the good things I ever knew and more. I know without a doubt who stands before me with open arms and scarred palms.

EPILOGUE

A
udrey Santos clings to Hunter, the horse thundering beneath their legs.

What if I made a mistake? How can I protect Raissa if Penski doesn’t?

She closes her eyes. Her only remaining daughter might also be executed.
But I have to get Raissa back. Things can be like they were before.

When she opens her eyes, a cluster of cabins come into view, smoke streaming from their chimneys. A dozen CE officers ride horses behind them into the village. The horses trot down the hill and slow to a stop. She searches for the people in strange clothing but instead finds their clothes scattered on the ground in random piles as if each person stripped off all garments and walked away. A few cabin doors stand open.

“Dismount and tear the cabins apart!” Penski yells from his horse. “Where are they, Audrey?”

“I don’t know,” she says, her eyes searching every direction.

“We’ll search back there,” Hunter says, leading his horse deeper into the village.

They pass windows, and she glances inside, but the cabins stand empty.

“Someone warned them,” Hunter says.

“I don’t see how. Raissa!” she calls.

“Raissa! Come out!” Hunter shouts.

A flash of bright red through the woods catches her eye.

“Go that way,” she says, pointing.

Hunter guides the horse into the woods which soon open up into a clearing decorated with red poinsettias in wooden pots. The horse steps on shirts, pants, and dresses. Crude benches fill the clearing, reminding her of a citizenship center meeting hall. To her amazement, one person in citizen coveralls sits on a bench with his back to them. She thinks she recognizes the figure, but she shakes her head, doubting the match.

“Hey!” Hunter yells. “Stand to your feet!”

The person stands, holding a piece of paper. When he turns around, she gasps.

“Ogden.” She dismounts the horse and approaches him. “What are you doing here?”

“Protecting them from you,” he says, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “They’re gone.”

“Where did they go?” Hunter asks, hopping down from the horse.

Ogden hands her a wrinkled paper in his hand. “They said they heard a trumpet. Then I blinked, and they were gone, nothing but their clothes and shoes left.”

“Raissa?” she asks, recognizing the flyer from New Year’s Eve.

“She disappeared with everybody else, except for me and few others,” he says. “They took off into the woods.”

She blinks. It has to be some kind of trick. All of it has to be a ridiculous hoax to throw Code Enforcement off the enemy’s trail.

Hunter gets in Ogden’s face. “Tell me where they went!”

Ogden stares at him. “Read the flyer.”

Hunter grunts and walks back to the horse. “I’m going to get Penski.”

Audrey searches the clearing, unable to grasp their disappearance. Then her eyes land on an odd sight. On two wooden benches pushed side-by-side, strips of cloth lay out in the shape of a person.

“What is that?” she asks.

He shrugs. “I think they were having a funeral.”

Her neck muscles tighten. She walks toward the strips of cloth, remembering the moment her husband slipped away.
He was so young. How could he be dead?
She stands before the cloth with tears stringing her eyes. Where the left hand should’ve been, she moves aside the cloth and finds what she knew she would find: Corbin’s silver wedding band.

She takes the ring into her hand and releases a sorrowful moan. Bringing the wrinkled paper to her face, she scans the words all the way down the page. The last sentence makes her legs lose all strength beneath her.

 
“
For the Lord himself will come down from heaven,
with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds
to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord
forever” (1 Thessalonians 4:16-17).

Acknowledgements

I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my mother-in-law, Brenda Taylor, for being the first fan of this novel
.
Your encouragement kept me believing in this story.

Thank you to my niece, Elizabeth Aites, my cheerleader and
an avid reader, who is always eager to read my next work. Keep reading, keep writing, and keep believing in the mighty work God’s going to do in your life.

I’m completely in love with my cover designer, and his talent never ceases to blow my mind. Thank you, Jerry Taylor, for also being
my encourager, for listening to my story, and for giving me priceless feedback. I love you.

As always, thank you, Lord
Jesus, for the inspiration and the drive to write, publish, and press on.

Also by Melissa McGovern Taylor …

The Road to Mercy

Prologue

L
illian Denwood sighed in frustration. She stood in her solid red kitchen paneled with apple-dotted border that in no way matched her mood. The whole room was themed around Lillian's affection for apples, a fancy that befitted a fourth grade teacher. A dark, cold cave would’ve been a more suitable setting in a moment such as this.

Pensively staring at the bulky answering machine, Lillian watched the flashing red button. She was no stranger to this feeling. The anxiety had haunted her for not only most of the year but most of her marriage. She closed her eyes and punched the button. 

“Raymond, where are you? Your shift started an hour ago. Call me when you get this.” Her fears were realized once again. The unhappy, aging voice belonged to her husband’s boss and the owner of the Aldridge General Store, Frank Aldridge.

Lillian plopped down at the table, taking a moment to massage her temples. Her fingers passed over the worry lines that crawled across her brow. The struggles of a twenty-year marriage to an alcoholic had taken their toll on her.

He was at the bar again. There was no doubt in her mind. Since the welding company layoff, that dingy joint had become a second home.

The familiar sounds of the front door opening and footsteps padding across the hardwood floor parted Lillian’s thoughts like the Red Sea.

“Where's Dad?” She looked up to meet eyes with the thirteen-year-old spitting image of herself. Her daughter, Karen, stooped before her under the weight of an overloaded purple backpack. She pulled at a stray lock of blonde hair, curling it around her forefinger. Lillian remembered fighting the same sign of anxiety in her younger years. Much to her displeasure, she had caught Karen pulling at her hair more and more lately.

“He’s out at the bar again,” Lillian said.

“He left a note?”

Lillian could see a spark of hope in her daughter's eyes. She had to fight the urge to scoop Karen up in her arms. Her constant faith in Daddy seemed to be the only reason Ray ever tried to get on the wagon. Still, Lillian didn’t need to answer the question because Karen knew the answer.

She sighed like her mother had only a minute before. “I guess it’s just you and me again tonight.”

Memories of nights without Ray filled Lillian with sorrow. When her husband was at home with them, a sense of completeness settled in the house. Karen never failed to express how much she missed quiet evenings with both of her parents. Clearly, Ray and Karen's relationship suffered just as much as Lillian’s marriage. His weakness for beer had erected a wall between him and the sober world. Oddly enough, in the midst of his struggle, Lillian and Karen drew closer.

Lillian looked up at her daughter in a desperate attempt to offer some reassurance. In the process, she noticed a sheet of paper in Karen’s hand.

“What’s that?”

Karen looked down at the paper and shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

Her mother cocked her head, unconvinced. Karen didn’t get bad grades or even the smallest complaints from her teachers. Suspicion overwhelmed Lillian, and she reached for the paper. Karen gripped it tightly, finally speaking up.

“I won first place.” She said this as if she were reporting the weather.

Lillian gasped. The annual school art competition was Karen’s Super Bowl or Olympics.

“I knew you would win!” She rose from the table and embraced her daughter with all of her strength, perhaps too tightly. “I’m so proud of you, Karen.”

Karen beamed, surrendering the first place certificate. “They’re going to frame my painting and hang it in the school library.”

She recalled her daughter’s detailed picture of a moon over rolling hills of forest. “God gave you a special gift.”

Karen shifted her glance to the kitchen floor, her smile fading. “I wish Dad was here.”

She gently placed the certificate on the table. “I’m going to get him.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Lillian shook her head. “I don't want you anywhere near that awful bar. Go over to Aunt Val’s and do your homework.”

Guilt burdened Lillian over the fact that Karen had spent more and more time at her aunt’s house. But she couldn’t allow her to see her father drunk. It was no image for a young girl to have of the man she looked up to. Lillian thanked God everyday that this was the only thing she needed to shelter her daughter from. Ray was not a violent man, not even when intoxicated. After several beers, he only became more depressed and nearly incomprehensible.

“Mom, don’t be too hard on him. He was three weeks clean. We can get him back on track.”

Lillian nodded, but she honestly felt like giving up. “I know, Karen, but sometimes I lose patience with him.”

She led her daughter out of the house and under a foreboding sky. The warm, August air threatened a powerful storm with groans of thunder.

“Be a good girl.” Lillian kissed Karen on the forehead without much thought in doing so.

“Mom, I’m a teenager now,” she said, her cheeks growing rosy.

Lillian rolled her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Denwood.”

Her daughter hurried across the yard. “I love you, Mom.”

Her words caught Lillian off guard, and she almost forgot to respond.

“I love you too,” she finally called back as a fat raindrop soaked her scalp.

Hopping into her blue Toyota, she couldn’t shake an overwhelming feeling of dread permeating the air around her.

“Father, please give me strength,” she said in a whisper, cutting on the engine. More prayers built up in her heart and poured from her lips. Tears burned her eyes as she said the last one. “Please do what you need to do to help my husband recognize Your gift of salvation.”

Memories swirled through her mind as she followed Main Street out of the tiny town of Mercy, North Carolina. This place had been her home since childhood. On any given day, Mercy looked like a little slice of Eden, residents bustling along the short streets with smiling faces. On this day, it stood empty, the handful of residents already home with their families.

Envy stung Lillian at the thought. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. Her family was supposed to be at home, preparing a meal together and talking about the ups and downs of the day. It wasn’t fair. She had become a Christian; Karen had become a Christian. Why did Ray resist? She firmly believed Jesus could free him from the alcoholism and heal their family. What was holding him back?

About ten miles outside of Mercy, Lillian pulled the car up to the door of Wiley’s Bar, parking beside her husband’s red Chevy truck. She stared at the building’s old stucco exterior and tacky neon green sign. Much to her relief, Mercy had no bars, and the only grocer in town, the Aldridge General Store, carried nothing more potent than a small variety of wines.

Taking in a deep breath, Lillian mustered up the strength to push open the car door. She jogged clumsily in her pumps on the gravel lot. As she pushed through the bar door, a fog of stale cigarette smoke hit her nostrils, a shock compared to the clean, wet air outside. Old beer advertisements and more neon signs covered the walls of the dimly lit bar. The large room contained two grimy pool tables that took up much of the space. A wide mirror lined the wall behind the long counter, reflecting images of bottles of alcoholic cocktails.

As soon as Lillian’s vision adjusted to the smoke, she met eyes with the bartender. He nodded with a grim expression, his thick, grey mustache twitching.

“I've been trying to keep him at bay here, Mrs. Denwood,” he said in his hoarse voice, directing her attention to several hooks on the wall behind him. Her husband’s keys dangled from a rusty hook in the middle.

She nodded at the bartender. “Thanks.”

Surrounded by peanut shells and several empty beer bottles, Ray stared at his reflection in the bar mirror. His heavy eyes were as unfocused as a dead man’s gaze. His normally well-groomed appearance was wrecked with self-pity and disorder, his brown hair untamed and clothes wrinkled and dirty. He was the only customer at five o’clock on a Tuesday. The tall, broad-shouldered man never looked smaller and weaker to her than he did in that moment.

“Ray?” she said.

Her voice snapped the life back into him. He met eyes with her reflection before him.

“I'm not going back to that job, Lilly,” he said.

She approached the bar. “We'll talk about it later.”

Working at the Aldridge General Store wasn't the worst job in town, but Lillian understood why her husband hated it. It was discouraging for a professional welder to find himself making minimum wage stocking groceries. He had worked his way up as one of the highest paid welders locally at a company outside of Mercy. But when the company went bankrupt and had closed two months earlier, Ray was left with nothing but a small severance package. Unemployment was disastrous for him, dragging him like a vicious tide into depression. Depression then led him to drinking.

Lillian took her husband gently by the arm. “Let's go home, honey.”

“What home? We'll be foreclosed on any day now. Then there won't be a home to go to.”

“Ray, I need you. Karen needs you. Let's go.” She pulled his arm now with more force, clutching his bicep.

“Karen, my little girl.” His eyes burned with tears. “I'm so pathetic.”

“It's okay, honey. She's with Valerie. She won't see you,” Lillian said as he stood up on wobbly legs.

He straightened up. “I'm okay. I can walk.”

Lillian released him from her grasp and followed his uneven path to the door.

Outside, the rain fell harder now, pounding on the gravel into scattered, little puddles. The fresh air seemed to snap Ray into yet another mood.

“Give me the keys,” he said, turning back to her.

Lillian clutched the key set behind her back. “You're not driving, Raymond.”

Raindrops drenched her blouse. It clung to her form in lukewarm bunches. Her blonde hair now felt like a hood around her head and face. The thunder echoed through the pines as lightning lit up the sky.

“Give me the keys!” he yelled through gritted teeth. His green eyes flashed an amount of frustration she rarely saw in them.

Lillian could smell the alcohol floating heavily on his breath. She longed to be somewhere else with the Raymond Denwood she loved. He was so gentle and calm as a sober man. It was his charm and wit that captured her heart those years ago. She remembered how he used to make her laugh, tickling her at unexpected moments. They shared a goofy sense of humor—even during the serious struggle with his drinking. The carefree times felt so far away now. She missed those times. She missed her husband.

Lillian shook her head. “You’re too drunk! Get in the car!”

Raymond's face tightened, and he thrust an open hand out at Lillian’s shoulder. The shove was painless in itself, but it was enough to throw his wife off balance. She lost her grip on the keys, trying to catch herself as she fell back on the wet gravel. Ray snatched the keys from the ground and made his way to the driver’s door, stumbling a little.

Shaken, Lillian could only stare at Ray in shock. He had never turned on her like that before. She pushed herself up on stinging hands. As she rose, her muddy palms stung.

She hurried after him. “Ray, you’ll get us both killed!”

It was too late. Her husband was behind the wheel and closing the car door.

“Open the door!” Her voice grew shrill as she desperately yanked at the handle. It was locked.

“Come on, Lilly. You’re soaked. Get in the car.” His voice muffled as he started the engine.

Lillian felt weary from fighting with him, weary from her fall.
It’s only a few miles,
she thought.
I’ll grab the wheel if he starts to veer.

She hurried around the car and hopped into the passenger seat.

Raymond threw it into Reverse and backed out before she could even get the door closed.

“Hold on, Ray!” She pulled the door shut and grabbed for her seatbelt. The belt slipped across her torso with unexpected ease.

He ignored her pleas and pulled on to the highway to head for Mercy.

She couldn’t grip the seatbelt tightly enough. “Slow down!”

Rain drummed on the windshield, making the road a gray blur. Lillian reached over and switched on the windshield wipers. The back of an eighteen wheeler came into view, and Raymond slammed on the brakes. Lillian gasped. The huge truck turned off of the road, clearing their path. Ray pulled his foot from the brake and resumed a steady pace.

“You’re starting A.A. again tomorrow,” she said between heavy breaths. “I’ve had enough of this.”

Raymond said nothing.

She waited for him to accuse her of spending too much time at work and neglecting their family, as always. When he was drunk, everything was her fault. Then everything was his fault. The blame changed with his mood, flipping back and forth like the windshield wipers.