air, she isn’t my blood. Jesus is. I want my Marcy back, but I don’t want her back the way she was. She was an all consuming presence in my life.
I understand Janet’s speechless display. She saw that my purpose was found in Marcy. She saw that she wasn’t first after Jesus, but a distant second. And I think she still wonders that. Even with our little girl gone, she thinks she’s still a distant second.
“I know that look, sweetie. And I’m so sorry.” I press my hands against both sides of her face and draw her close. “I’m sorry that I put Marcy before you, that I loved her first, that I found happiness in her and struggle in you. I have taken you for granted. The fact remains that you are the most precious gift God has given to me. And Marcy is an extension of you. I can only ask you to forgive me. And then spend every day proving that you are the most precious gift, second only to Jesus. Please forgive me for all the times you felt replaced and unimportant, because you are irreplaceable. You are my wonderful wife. You are my other half. And you are so very important to me.”
Her expression is the same as it was when I re-proposed to her only minutes ago. It’s still speechless, but with an entirely new context. Not bewilderment, but jubilation. The newness I feel is now glowing on her. Her tears are now just sniffles.
“Yes, Matty. Yes. I forgive you.” she’s smiling. “I love you so much.”
I gently pull her face in to touch mine, and say the same thing back before I kiss her.
John Doe
Teddy is just remains. Where the flame has died, I put my foot, dislodging a large chunk of him. He’s now just pieces of my past. I don’t feel him at all anymore. But, I know I’m not alone. The reality of Jesus is overwhelming. And with Teddy gone, my purpose is a spotless clarity. I will leave soon. I will return M to Matthew. And then I will turn myself in. But for this moment, I’m basking in the crackle of the flame. It’s Teddy’s defeat. And my victory. I am free.
“I am free.” when I say it out loud it satisfies even more. “I am free.” The details of this freedom are becoming more and more clear with every passing moment. It’s a clarity I shouldn’t have, a knowledge I shouldn’t possess. Yet, I do. I can hardly remember any of my childhood, yet, somehow what I was taught during it is coming out of me now, like I’m a garden filled with seeds that are only now starting to grow.
I don’t remember when I was told these things, but I know I was taught them. They were simple teachings then, but have become complex understandings now: It’s the realization that my reason for life hasn’t been lived out, but is only starting to arrive. It’s the realization that God has a plan to take all of what I’ve done in my past and turn it around for good. It’s the realization that, despite all the pain I’ve caused, there is a purpose for me that is much greater, that somehow I will be a light with what time remains of my life.
I shouldn’t know these things. I haven’t been taught them. I was taught simple truths, that Jesus loves me, that He died for me, that through Him, and only Him, I can have eternal life. Those are simple teachings, that a child’s mind can hold without confusion. But, the realizations I’m having now aren’t child-like. They aren’t even simple. They are revealing a plan on my life that Teddy hasn’t been able to change. How is that possible? How is there still a purpose for me, beyond bringing M back home? No matter how new I am, my past is what people will see. They’ll see the man who took their children away, not the one who wishes more than anything that he could give them back.
My eyes are open to what Teddy blinded me to: purpose. It’s always been inside of me. A seed in the ground. But, it hasn’t grown until now, because darkness is all I’ve known. The light I had as a child was quickly blotted out by what dad fell into, by what he did to me. And since then, Teddy convinced me that my only purpose was found in him, found in his direction. Maybe Teddy came into my life to stop my purpose from happening. Maybe he knew that it was full of the light, full of what he hated.
Or… what if my purpose has always been this? What if Jesus knew what dad would fall into, and how it would affect not only him, but me? What if He saw the darkness that would come before it ever did and allowed it? What if my purpose has always been the testimony of how Jesus set me free?
Matthew Mills
Just like with a hug, a kiss can show many things. A peck usually means the relationship is on life support. Shallow and short usually means things are strained but not wanting to be discussed. But, deep and extended means a relationship is in health or has been repaired or is in the process. Just like with our hug, our kissing is sign of renewal. We’re in a sensual state. Our tongues are dancing in unison. Our lips are old partners that know exactly where to meet—
I hear knocking. It’s muffled and quiet, but immediately it pulls me out of the moment. Like earlier today, our kissing is interrupted by a knock at the door. Except this time, Janet doesn’t pull away. She just keeps kissing me. The knocks don’t seem to affect her. But, they affect me.
I close my eyes again, trying to get back to the place I was at with Janet only moments ago. I can’t.
The knocks are closer to pounds on the second set. Now, Janet’s eyes open. She glances toward the stairs, her bottom lip bent in annoyance.
“You should probably answer that,” she sighs. “It doesn’t seem to be going away.”
My reply is a nod of the head as I walk toward the stairs.
The third set of knocks are as loud as the second, accompanied by a voice.
“Mr. Mills?!” it’s a man, a voice I don’t recognize. “This is the police!”
It feels like a pit has opened up on the inside of me. Is Marcy on the other side of this door? Is he holding my dead daughter? I’m afraid, Lord. I’m afraid.
“I’m coming!” my reply is just a tick above a whisper. It’s the loudest I can muster. My tongue is clogging my throat. I’m not ready for this, Lord. I’m not ready. You have done a miraculous work in me. You have renewed my marriage. You have renewed me. But, I’m not ready for this, Lord. Give me the strength to open that door.
“Who is it, Matty?” Janet calls from the top of the steps.
I can’t speak to answer her. I just offer my hand. Something in her eyes light up as she runs down the steps and meets it with hers. She moves toward the door effortlessly, unaware of what’s on the other side. She doesn’t know that our dead daughter is only feet away.
She opens the door without a second thought. She didn’t hear who it was. She doesn’t know what she’s going to see. But, I do. Give me the strength, Lord. Give me the strength.
I see him before Janet does. But, he’s not holding Marcy. And his face isn’t sympathetic, but stern.
“Matthew Mills?” he asks, seeming to already know.
“Yes.” I can hardly speak. My tongue is still stuck in my throat.
“I need you to come down to the police station.”
“Why?” Janet beats me to the question. “Is this about our daughter?” how can she be so calm?
“No Ma’am.” he doesn’t expound. He remains a statue outside of our door. “I just have some questions I want to ask your husband.”
I’m here but I’m not. I’m watching but I’m not interacting. They’re talking about me like I’m somewhere else entirely.
“If these questions aren’t about the kidnapping of our daughter, what are they about?” Janet can be as sharp as a knife when she wants. “Tell me or we aren’t going anywhere.”
I hear her, but I’m not looking at her. I’m not looking at the police officer either. I’m staring past him. Somehow, I know what he’s going to say before he says it. This visit isn’t about Marcy, it’s about Ms. Brands.
“Edna Brands was found dead. Your husband was the last one seen with her.”
The pit in my stomach has become a sour swamp.
John Doe
Although the moment to bask in Teddy’s defeat has ended, the feeling of victory hasn’t. I’m sitting in the car, ready to leave. He’s really gone
. Part of me was afraid that as soon as I got back in the driver’s seat, he would return to the passenger seat, and quietly laugh at my vain attempts to get away. It’s a part of me that’s practically mechanical, a part of me that expects him to be wherever I am. And now that he’s not, that part is like a dead and rotting limb. It doesn’t need to be attached to me anymore. But, the amputation of it isn’t something I have the ability to do. I wouldn’t even know where to start.
Maybe some part of me still believes he did what he did to protect me. Maybe some part of me is terrified to leave, to be seen, to be hated. Maybe it’s trying to stay in the dark, because the dark is all it has ever known. I know what’s to come isn’t going to be easy. I’m going to be hated. But, I’m not afraid. Or if I am, the peace filling me far outweighs the fear.
I look in the rearview mirror. My reflection doesn’t fit the way I feel. My face is bloodstained and scarred. Scabs from old cuts mark my cheeks. This isn’t who I am. This face doesn’t match the man I have become. I am new, in the body of something old and homely. This body is a display, a consequence for the years I’ve followed Teddy. I have to wear it, because this is the man the people will see. I’m new where it matters: on the inside. But, the outside will not be new. Not here. Not until I die. Then the newness will match.
I turn the key to start the