Each man for himself. No guns.
Usually his gang won. More guys, more of them on the football team. Fists would fly and threats would be made, but after ten minutes or so the other guys would back off. At least that’s how it went last year.
Suddenly Dwayne remembered the year before last. When he was a freshman. Someone broke the rule and in the middle of the fight, at the worst of it, a gun went off.
And Jimmy Salvo lay in the alley bleeding. He died before he knew what hit him.
Dwayne parked his car and the voice came again. Like someone was sitting in the seat next to him talking to him.
Run! Don’t do this! I have plans for you, My son.
What in the world? It was like the Bible verse from the other day had come to life here in his car. What was it again? Jeremiah something. All about God having good plans for him. Dwayne nodded to himself. He believed that. One day when he was grown up and out of Hamilton, one day when he moved far away from the gangs and the streets, good things were going to happen.
He believed God on that.
But for now . . . for now he had to take care of business. And if a few of his blows landed on Billy Benson, so be it. Anything could happen in a Halloween fight.
Dwayne waited till ten o’clock sharp. Then he slipped out of his brother’s car. It was pitch-dark outside, cloudy. No moon or stars overhead. He raised the hood on his sweatshirt and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. All down the street he watched gang members do the same thing.
Soon as the police found out, they’d break things up. The fight wouldn’t last long. He moved fast, his body smooth and athletic. A couple colleges were looking at him now. After today, after he proved he wasn’t soft, Dwayne would get serious. The Bible club was good for him. Jesus was, too.
He met up with eight of his guys and together they turned the corner. That’s when Dwayne saw them. Their rivals were coming, filling the alley. Walking closer. “This is it!” one of them shouted. “Halloween fight!”
“You oughta run while you can!” one of Dwayne’s boys yelled back.
Dwayne’s heart sped up. His blood rushed through his body. No one was going to call him soft. He pushed his sweatshirt sleeves up, but before he could take a swing, before he could land his fist against the face of the guy rushing at him, there was a popping sound.
Just a single pop.
At first Dwayne wasn’t sure what it was or where the sound came from, but then—in a single second—he felt it. Sharp pain in his chest and something hot. He looked down and saw the blood just as his knees buckled.
What had happened? Someone had shot at him and the fight hadn’t even—
“No guns!” The voice was Billy Benson’s. Dwayne could tell. “The rule is no guns, man! Someone call 9-1-1!”
Dwayne was on the ground now, sprawled out. He couldn’t move his arms or his legs, but he could feel. The aching pain in his chest, the way his sweatshirt was wetter now. Soaking wet.
“Dwayne, buddy . . . talk to me.” In all their high school days together, all their nights cruising with the gang, Dwayne had never dreamed he’d see this.
Billy Benson was scared.
His eyes were wide and his face was white as paper. He was saying something, screaming at the guys to call . . . call someone. Dwayne wasn’t sure. Couldn’t hear the noise anymore. Billy’s voice, the other guys. People running out of the alley.
He couldn’t hear any of it.
And suddenly a woman police officer knelt on his other side. “Dwayne, can you hear me?”
“Yes.” Everything else was dim now. No sound at all. But he could hear the woman beside him. She didn’t look like a normal person. Her eyes were too bright. Dwayne looked at her badge.
ASPYN.
Dwayne’s eyes were heavy. The effort it took to play fourth-quarter football was nothing to what it took to keep them open now. He looked at the woman. “I’m . . . shot.”
“You’re going to be okay, Dwayne.” She squeezed his hand. “God is with you.”
God. Dwayne felt regret like a fire through his body. “I’m sorry, God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t listen.” The policewoman took his hand. Peace washed over him, peace like he’d never known before. Dwayne took a final look at Aspyn, and then he closed his eyes. “My friends . . . are wrong . . . about you police.”
“It’s okay, Dwayne.” Aspyn’s voice was soothing in a way Dwayne had never heard before. She stayed there, very near his face. “Relax, child. God has you.”
“You . . . you only . . . care. Right now.” Dwayne’s eyes were closed but he could see clearly now. Most police officers only wanted to help. The way God had tried to help him.
“God loves you, Dwayne.” Aspyn was still holding his hand. With her other one, she touched her fingers to Dwayne’s forehead. “You’re going to be okay.”
Dwayne wanted to say something. His body was letting go. He felt lighter than before. The pain fading. “God . . . God warned me . . . He told me to go home.” The words in his head were slow now. He couldn’t think right. And there, with the world fading around him, Dwayne remembered Principal Quinn’s words. He could see the man. His smile and warm eyes. With Jesus, you never die.
But Dwayne was dying. He could feel the life leaving his body. He should’ve listened. Should’ve stayed at school. Dwayne’s words were barely a whisper. “Is it true? With Jesus, you never die?” He had seconds left, no more.
“Yes, Dwayne.” Aspyn’s voice covered him in warmth and peace.
Dwayne tried to breathe, but he couldn’t make his lungs work. What else was it? What had Principal Quinn said? Dwayne’s mind was spinning now. Something about his story.
Yeah, that was it.
With Jesus as the Hero, your story just moves from here to heaven. No more tears, no more dying. Just like the Bible said.
Dwayne struggled to take another breath. Aspyn was right. Dwayne was going to be okay. God had not wanted things to end this way. Here in the alley.
He was just a high school junior.
No telling what his life might have been like here on earth. The plans God would’ve had for him. This wasn’t even where he was supposed to be tonight. But as he drew his last breath, Dwayne smiled. Aspyn’s words washed over him.
You’re going to be okay, Dwayne. God is with you.
It was true because Jesus was the Hero of his story. And tonight, any second now, Jesus was going to rescue him and Dwayne would take his next breath in heaven. With Jesus. Light washed over him, and Dwayne let himself go toward it. God was calling him home now. Dwayne smiled. Home to heaven.
Where his story would never end.
16
It was just after two o’clock in the morning when Wendell Quinn got the call. At first he thought it might be James Black, calling to tell him he was fired. But that wasn’t rational.
Not long after he’d threatened to fire Wendell, James Black had called again and promised Wendell could keep his job through the trial. The school district didn’t want to draw attention to itself in the midst of the court proceedings. No, it wasn’t James Black.
But as Wendell answered the phone, he couldn’t make out what the man on the other end was saying. Something about a gang and wanting him to know before school in the morning. Only after a full minute did Wendell understand what had happened.
Dwayne Brown was dead.
The news knocked the wind from him. Long after he hung up the phone, Wendell sat straight up in his bed. How could this happen? Dwayne was like one of his own kids. For two months he’d been attending Raise the Bar. He’d even been baptized. Wendell felt sick, his head spinning.
The young man had his whole life ahead of him.
Wendell leaned back against the headboard and stared out the window at the night sky. Dwayne was like a lot of Hamilton kids. Bad relationship with his family. No interest in the classroom. Dwayne had been a problem at the school since his freshman year.
Until this semester.
Te
ars filled Wendell’s eyes and trickled down his cheeks. Lord, I’m trying. I’d give up my own life for those kids. He felt the heaviness of the situation to the center of his soul. Wasn’t this the point of the Bible study meetings? To save kids like Dwayne Brown?
There was just one person he wanted to call, one who would understand the way his heart was breaking. Alicia Harris.
None of it made sense.
He grabbed his phone and was just about to hit her number when he realized it was the middle of the night. It would have to wait. Instead he opened his photo library.
There, in his album of favorites, was a picture of Alicia and him. A year ago summer. The two of them in a canoe paddling around Geist Reservoir near Admirals Bay. Someone hiking on the trail had stopped and taken their picture.
Alicia had come so far since her days of being paralyzed by anxiety. But she would be devastated when she heard about Dwayne. Please, Father, help her through this. Keep her mind steadfast on You. Please.
Wendell thought about Dwayne. In a few hours he’d have to tell the kids at Hamilton High what had happened. How Dwayne had died in a gang fight. Another senseless, tragic, heartbreaking loss.
“I’m gonna need Your help, Lord.” Wendell looked out the window again. “I can’t do this alone.”
Not only that, but just before lunch he and Luke Baxter would attend the jury selection at Marion Circuit Court downtown. The place for more significant civil suits. And if the media attention had been any indication, the suit against him and Hamilton High qualified.
There was only one way to prepare for such a day. Wendell closed out the photo of Alicia and him and opened his Bible app. He turned to John 16:33 and let his eyes move over the words. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.
Yes, that was his hope. Jesus had overcome the world.
Wendell had definitely had trouble. Not just at Hamilton High. Losing Joanna had been the toughest thing Wendell had ever been through. But God had seen him beyond that season. Then when Alicia left last year, again he didn’t think he could survive the hurt. But once more the Lord had been faithful to carry him through. Faithful to heal Alicia.
Now it was this. The death of Dwayne Brown. Another time when Wendell was sure he couldn’t get through it without divine help.
He dragged himself out of bed. Was this the cost of holding a Bible study at Hamilton High? The unseen enemy of his soul attacking all God had given Wendell? He breathed in deep and turned to another section of Scripture. Matthew 11:28–30. Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened. . . . Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.
Alicia had mentioned reading those very verses the day her school suffered such loss. Now they came to Wendell again.
Come to me, all you who are weary . . . He held on to that simple invitation. That’s me, Lord. I’m coming to you. Today when he had to tell the students about Dwayne. And later when he had to appear in court to defend his right to lead kids in the ways of the Bible. Wendell would believe the impossible was possible. That he would not only find help in staying linked to God Almighty.
But he would find rest for his soul.
His ever-weary soul.
• • •
WENDELL ARRIVED AT school earlier than usual, before sunup. He hadn’t been able to go back to sleep, so he figured he might as well come here. The older kids would help the younger ones get off to school. This way Wendell could pray and prepare. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to deliver bad news to his students.
But he could ask God that maybe—just maybe—it might be the last.
It was 6:15 when he parked his car and made his way inside. He went to the field house first and used his master key to open the locker room. Each locker was more of an open-air cubby. And each was identified with the name of a football player. Wendell walked down the row until he reached the one he was looking for.
Dwayne Brown.
The kid’s helmet hung on the hook and his game uniform was clean and pressed, waiting for a contest that would never come. Wendell ran his finger slowly over the boy’s name. Why’d you do it? Why’d you go to the fight?
He could picture Dwayne’s smile. The one that lit up the kid’s face so much more often lately. Dwayne was in heaven . . . Wendell knew that. He sat down on the bench and stared at the boy’s locker. He had seen the changes in Dwayne. What being a believer in Christ had done for Dwayne. He had a new confidence. Improved grades.
Hope for the future.
So why did Dwayne go back to his old ways? And why was his body in a morgue this morning when he should’ve been getting ready for school? Between this and the trial, Wendell struggled to draw a breath. The weight of it all was so much.
He closed his eyes. Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest . . .
Wendell heard the sound of the door opening behind him. Probably one of the coaches. Before leaving this morning Wendell had sent an email to the faculty telling them the news. If one of the trainers had checked his messages, he might come down to the field house early, too. The loss was going to hit everyone hard.
Wendell turned to see who it was, but the person in front of him was not one of the staff. Wendell stood. The sight of her was like oxygen in the room. He could breathe again. “Alicia.”
“Can I be in here?”
“Yes.” He took a step toward her. “The boys aren’t on campus yet.”
Alicia nodded. Her eyes were red and swollen. Clearly she’d been crying. “I had to come.” Before Wendell had time to believe she was even here, she was in his arms. “Dwayne. I . . . I can’t believe it.”
“I know.” He ran his hand along the back of her head, over her hair and onto her shoulders. “It’s awful.”
“Jenny Anders forwarded me the email. She thought . . .” A quick few sobs interrupted her. She pulled back and looked at Wendell. “He was in my English class two years ago. There was something special about him.” She dabbed at her eyes and seemed to try to collect herself. “Remember?”
Wendell thought back, and all the sudden the memory was clear. Alicia had one student who had given her a hard time from the beginning. She had talked to Wendell about the boy, and he had given her a challenge.
Pray for him.
Not out loud or with everyone watching. Not in a way that the boy even had to know about. Just pray. “Devote yourself to this, Alicia,” Wendell had told her. “Beg God day and night for a change in the kid and see what happens. God will answer. He’s faithful that way.”
Only now did Wendell understand. “The boy you prayed for . . .”
“It was Dwayne.” Alicia laid her head on Wendell’s chest again. “I believe . . . God is a God of miracles.” She held him tighter. “But this is so hard to understand.”
A thought hit Wendell. Alicia didn’t know about Dwayne’s faith. Of course she didn’t.
He put his hands gently on her shoulders and took a step back. “Dwayne gave his life to the Lord, Alicia.” Wendell searched her eyes. “He’s been coming to our Raise the Bar club since school started.” Tears blurred his own eyes. “I baptized him a few weeks ago in John Oliver’s pool.”
“What?” Now it was Alicia’s turn to be shocked. She ran her fingers through her pretty dark hair and walked slowly to Dwayne’s locker. “I had . . . no idea.” She sat down and stared at the boy’s name.
Wendell came and took the spot beside her on the bench. “God is faithful.” His words were only a whisper. “Now you don’t have to wonder.”
She was quiet. Clearly processing. “Still . . . why would God . . . ?” Her voice trailed off. The new, more confident Alicia still had doubts. The way most people did in times like this.
An aching desperation came over Wendell. He wanted so badly to help her understand. Help them both. “God heard your prayer, Alicia. He heard mine.”
Wendell chose each word with care. “The Lord worked a miracle with Dwayne. He’s in heaven. With Jesus now.” The truth was hitting Wendell even as he spoke. “He found salvation at the Raise the Bar club. And now . . . now we will see him again.”
The reality seemed to take a long while to fully sink in. Finally Alicia looked at him. “I like that.”
He felt his shoulders relax some. “Me, too.”
She looked at him, deep in his eyes. “I owe you an apology. I didn’t say it the other day on the phone, but I wanted to.”
Wendell waited, his eyes locked on hers.
“I never should’ve asked for a transfer. I could’ve worked through my anxiety in the background. And still been here to see . . .” She looked at Dwayne’s locker, then back to Wendell. “Everything I missed. The victories. Like Dwayne.”
“Alicia.” Wendell reached for her hand. “What if God wanted you at Jackson High School? To pray with your students after those kids died?”
She hesitated, like she hadn’t thought of that before. “Maybe.” Two tears fell onto her face. “Still . . . I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Wendell.”
“It’s okay.” He allowed a quiet between them. It was still hard to believe she was here, beside him. “Those days . . . they’re gone.”
Another hesitation. “I’m so sad.” She shook her head. “For Dwayne and his mama. For us. For what might’ve been if I’d stayed.”
Wendell wanted to cry, too. A boy’s life had been taken. The school would be in shock. He had to focus on caring for his student body. They had a memorial to plan. He looked out the locker room window. The sun was starting to break through the darkness. Pinks and blues streaked the sky. Like the night sky, they needed to find the light again after Dwayne’s death.
They stayed that way for a minute or so. Then Alicia stood. “I have to go.”
Wendell sighed. If only he could stop time. This was the first time they’d been together in nearly a year. And now she was leaving. He stood and closed the distance between them. Again he put his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you for coming.”