Valley of the Shadow

Valley of the Shadow

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Valley of the Shadow

Copyright © 2009 by Tom Pawlik. All rights reserved.

Cover photograph of house copyright © by Image 99/Jupiterimages. All rights reserved.

Cover photograph of trees copyright © by Image Source Photography/Veer. All rights reserved.

Author photo copyright © 2007 by Sarah Baldwin Photography. All rights reserved.

Designed by Dean H. Renninger

Edited by Sarah Mason

Published in association with the literary agency of Les Stobbe, 300 Doubleday Road, Tyron, NC 28782.

Scripture taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Pawlik, Tom, date.

Valley of the shadow / Tom Pawlik.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-1-4143-2679-5 (pbk.)

ISBN 978-1-4143-3338-0 (Mobipocket)

ISBN 978-1-4143-3340-3 (Palm)

ISBN 978-1-4143-3339-7 (Sony)

I. Title.

PS3616.A9573V35 2009

813'.6—dc22   2009005439

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I cannot help but first thank God for His continuing, manifold, and undeserved blessings in my life. Primary among these is my beautiful wife, Colette, who is more than I could have ever hoped for. She is my life partner, my sounding board, and my best friend. She is truly a wife of noble character and everything Proverbs 31 describes (less, of course, the maidservants).

    My beloved children, Andrew, Aryn, Jordan, and John: the words of a thousand novels could never express my love for you or the joy you bring me.

    To my editor Sarah Mason: Thank you so much for your diligent work and creativity. Your input has been invaluable. It is a joy to work with you!

    Stephanie Broene: Thank you for your encouragement and support. And for shepherding this book through that shadowy valley to publication.

    Dean Renninger: Thank you for lending your considerable talent to create yet another cool and creepy cover.

    And to the rest of the team at Tyndale—Karen Watson, Babette Rea, Vicky Lynch, Cheryl Kerwin, Jeremy Taylor, and the entire sales staff: Thank you all very much for this second opportunity and for your tireless work behind the scenes. It does not go unnoticed or unappreciated.

    I would also like to say a word about my dear parents, Karl and Ruth Pawlik, who have gone on through that magnificent swirling vortex into the presence of their Savior. Throughout my life, they had a wonderful manner of both encouraging my artistic aspirations and grounding my feet firmly in practical matters. And they have passed along a rich spiritual heritage. My only regret is that neither of them lived to see my books come to print. At least not with mortal eyes.

    Which brings me to my parents-in-law, Gerald and Judy Eckert. Thank you for adopting me into your family and for raising such a wonderful daughter. She has blessed me in more ways than I can count. I only hope I can do as good a job of raising my own children as you have done with yours. And to Judy, a natural-born publicist: thank you for your love and enthusiasm.

    As to the writing of this book, I owe some technical thanks to Ellen Hanson, an ER nurse who has a few stories of her own to tell. I am also blissfully indebted to Todd and Sherry VanRyn and their family, who have been such a blessing to me over the years. I would have surely given up long ago were it not for their selfless encouragement. May your Loaves and Fish be truly multiplied. There are of course numerous other friends and family members who all complained that they were left out of the acknowledgment section in the last book. Consider yourselves duly noted here.

    I would also like to thank Jerry Jenkins and the staff at the Christian Writers Guild for their vision and ongoing efforts to help new authors grow and succeed. And finally, thank you to my agent, Les Stobbe, for his continuing wisdom and counsel.

“NINE-ONE-ONE.”

    “There’s two guys—two kids in a car.” Jim’s voice was shaky. Out of breath. “I think they’ve just been shot. I saw another car tear off and . . .”

    “Sir, where are you located?”

    “I’m—I’m on the corner of Jefferson and West. Just a ways down on West. I think it was like a drive-by or something.”

    “Are they conscious?”

    “No. No, I think they may be dead.” Jim’s breath rasped over the phone. “Oh, man, there’s blood all over.”

    “Sir, are these children?”

    “No . . . I think they’re maybe teenagers.”

    “Is the car unlocked? Can you get to them?”

    “Uh . . . the window’s shattered. The driver-side window.”

    “Can you tell if they’re breathing?”

    “No. I don’t think . . .” Jim leaned into the window, scraping the cell phone against the metal frame. “I can’t tell. I don’t—he’s not breathing. The driver’s not breathing. Man, they’re just kids. They gotta be no more than seventeen or eighteen.”

    “Sir, I have the police and paramedics on the way.”

    “I’m checking . . .” Jim hurried to the other door. “I’m checking on the other side. The other kid.”

    Jim fumbled with the door handle. He could hear a siren in the distance. The passenger door opened and the boy tumbled out, limp. Jim dropped the phone and caught him. Pulled him out of the car. Laid him on the cement. The boy’s head flopped and rolled. A cherry red stain spread across his gray Nike T-shirt. Jim felt himself gag. He’d never touched a dead body before.

    He picked up the cell phone. “I’m on the other side. I got the other kid. He nearly fell out when I opened the door.”

    “Is he breathing?”

    Jim bent and listened. He watched the bloody chest for movement. It was motionless. “No. I—he’s not breathing.”

    “Sir, are you able to perform CPR?”

    “What?”

    “I can walk you through it. Until the ambulance arrives. Are you able to perform CPR?”

    “I, uh . . .” Jim stammered. He’d taken a course back in high school. That was twenty years ago already. “I—I can try.”

    The operator walked him through the steps. Clear the airway. Administer mouth-to-mouth. The kid had been smoking; Jim could smell it. He pushed on the boy’s chest, not sure if he was pressing too hard or not enough. He prayed silently.

    He glanced up into the car. The driver was slumped forward against the steering wheel. Blood was pooling on the seat. Dripping onto the floorboard.

    Jim could help only one of them.

    “Somebody help me!” His voice echoed down the street. Cars rolled by on Jefferson. But nobody turned down West. He was half a block down. Too far down. They couldn’t see him in the dark. No other pedestrians approached.

    The siren grew closer. Jim worked through another set and breathed in two quick breaths. His heart was pounding, yet he found himself strangely calm.

    “Jesus, please help me. Help this boy.”

    Five minutes ago he had been sipping a beer at Frank’s Tap around the corner on Jefferson. He’d had his own problems to worry about then. They seemed like pretty big ones at the time, but he hadn’t been in the mood to pray. He’d been too angry.