Lucy felt a terrible rage and even raised her hand, but had to stop.
Amethyst taunted her. “Go ahead. Slap her again.”
“No! You won’t do this to us!” She called, “Amber! Amber, wake up! Amber, answer me!”
“She can’t hear you.”
A formula, a tradition from Lucy’s past, came to her mind. “In the name of Jesus Christ, I command you to come out of her!”
Amethyst raised her eyebrows in mock horror. “Oh, now you’re throwing that name around! Ha! What is He to you?”
Lucy didn’t know why she grabbed Amber’s body. It was an unthinking, desperate act. She was trying to find her daughter in that little body somewhere. “Amber!”
SMACK! Lucy stumbled backward, her hand to her face, stunned. Like a wild animal escaping from a cage, Amethyst bolted from the hallway. Blood trickled from Lucy’s nose; she dug in her pocket for a handkerchief as she ran around the corner into the dining room, bumped against the table, recovered, went through the kitchen doorway. She could hear silverware rattling to her right.
Amethyst had opened the cutlery drawer. Amber was holding a knife to her own throat. “Stop or I’ll—”
But this was Amber’s mother, wild with rage and maternal instinct. Lucy clamped onto the arm holding that knife and jerked it away with such force that Amber’s entire body came up from the floor as Amethyst screamed. Lucy slammed into the counter behind her, bruising her spine. The hand would not release the knife.
The drawer flew open; butcher knives, steak knives, utensils all shot across the kitchen and clattered against the opposite cupboard doors.
Amethyst snarled, cursed, spit in Lucy’s face. Her strength was incredible.
Lucy worked the knife loose. It fell away, hung in midair, spun, came at Lucy point-first.
“Aaww, Mommy!” came Amber’s voice.
Lucy spun away as the knife went past her and dug into the dining room carpet. She fell to the floor with Amber still in her arms.
Amber screamed a long, anguished scream of terror. “Mommy . . . Mommy!”
Lucy held her tightly. The blood was still dripping from Lucy’s nose. She wiped it away with her hand.
“Mommy . . .”
“I love you, Amber.” Lucy wept in pain and fear. “I’m right here, honey. I have you.”
“Mommy, why do I do bad things?”
“It’s not you, sweetheart. It’s not you.”
“I don’t know why I’m bad!”
Lucy held her tightly. For now, she had her daughter back. “Shhh. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you.”
BERNICE AND CHERYL returned to the office two hours later with nothing to show for their frenzied efforts. Bernice had checked with the Post Office, but the clerk on duty knew nothing of any strange woman coming through; another clerk may have seen her, but was now gone for lunch. Cheryl searched the bus station and even waited for the mysterious Betty Smith to appear, but there was no sign of her. There was, however, an eastbound bus that left only moments before Cheryl got there. Both ladies had searched up and down the streets between the Clarion and the bus depot, but Betty Smith/Sally Roe was gone.
As soon as Bernice came in the door, Tom and George were full of questions.
Bernice talked as she hung up her coat. “Paste Jake’s ad on page 4 and shove over the Insurance box; just yank those personals and put them alongside the classifieds this time. Go to twelve point instead of sixteen for that notice, and change ‘howl’ to ‘bark,’ we’ll get a pun out of it.”
“Yeah,” said George, “I thought of that.”
They were content for now. Bernice checked the fax machine, nestled against the wall in the front office, next to the photocopier. They’d received a transmission—the long ream of paper poured out of the machine and lapped upon itself several times on the floor. She carefully tore it off and then found the first page.
Cheryl was there to see it too. There, looking vacantly over her ID number in a police photo, was Betty Smith, alias Sally Beth Roe.
“I’d better call Marshall,” Bernice said in a weak voice. “He’s going to love me for this.”
Cheryl asked, “What about Sara Barker? Sally Roe stayed in her boarding house. Maybe she knows something about Sally’s plans.”
“Call her.”
Bernice contacted the Cole residence in Bacon’s Corner. Ben Cole was there this time.
“Did you get that fax?” he asked.
“Yes, Ben, thank you very much, and thank Bev too. I need to talk to Marshall.”
“Well, he’s still out, hunting for information.”
“Well, I have some for him. Have him call me, will you? I’ll either be at the Clarion office or at home.”
AT THE ELEMENTARY school, Mr. Woodard was all smiles and pleasant as he handed the Finding the Real Me curriculum across the office counter to Kate Hogan. “There. Actually, a subpoena wasn’t necessary. I know we would have found it sooner or later.”
“Well, it never hurts to jog somebody’s memory a little,” said Kate. “Thanks a lot.”
She hurried to her car, the thick binder under her arm. That she actually had possession of this document was almost beyond believing. Now the question was, would it answer any questions or confirm any hunches?
As soon as she got into her car, she flipped the curriculum open to the title page.
The publisher: Omega Center for Educational Studies, Fairwood, Massachusetts.
The title: Finding the Real Me: Self-Esteem and Personal Fulfillment Studies for Fourth-Graders.
The authors: Dee Danworth and Marian Newman.
She read every word on the title page, and quickly skimmed the introductory pages for any leads, anything that might tie in Sally Roe. So far, nothing.
Well . . . if it was there, she was going to find it. She started the car, and headed back to the Coles’ house.
WHEN BERNICE CALLED Hank Busche, she was close to tears. “She was right here, Hank, right under my nose, and I didn’t see it; it never occurred to me! Her life is in danger, and we could’ve helped her, and I let her get away!”
Hank was just as shocked and dismayed. “It’s incredible. I talked to her when I was over at Barkers’, and I could feel a tug from the Lord then. I just knew she was here with a real need.”
“We’ve just got to pray that we find her, that she writes to me or calls or something!”
“I’ll get on the phone. We’ll get something going.”
TRISKAL AND KRIONI soared high over the town of Ashton, their wings rushing, shedding rippling, sparkling trails of light. The prayers were beginning all over the town, and the Spirit of God was stirring up even more.
“There now,” said Krioni. “This should make a difference in Bacon’s Corner!”
“Let’s just hope it isn’t too late!” said Triskal.
ALL OVER ASHTON, with one accord, the saints knelt wherever they were—beside their beds, at couches and chairs in living rooms, in a garage next to a jalopy, next to a television that had been turned off for this important moment, over a sink where dishes were soaking in suds. Some were visiting friends, and they all sought the Lord together; school kids paused in their homework to say a quick word; grandparents and relatives across the country joined the prayers by telephone.
They prayed for this woman, this unknown, mysterious, and troubled stranger named Sally Beth Roe. They prayed for her safety and that she would find whatever she was seeking.
Most of all, they prayed that she would turn to God and meet Jesus Christ.
They prayed for a place they’d never heard of before: Bacon’s Corner. They sought the Lord on behalf of the believers there, and asked for a real victory in their time of siege and struggle. They bound the demonic spirits in the name of Jesus and by His authority, forbidding them to do any more mischief among those people.
Bernice skipped dinner so she could fast that night. She spent the time sitting on the couch in her apartment, praying and waiting for the phon
e to ring. It finally did at just about seven o’clock.
“Hello?”
“Bernie, this is Marshall.”
“Marshall!” Then Bernice choked up.
“Hello?”
She blurted it out. “Marshall, she was here!”
Marshall knew immediately what Bernice meant, but he didn’t want to believe it. “Are we talking about Sally Roe?”
“She was here, Marshall, right here in Ashton!”
“Where is she now?”
Bernice slumped on the couch, heartsick. “I don’t know. I didn’t know who she was until she left town on the bus. She was staying at Sara Barker’s . . .”
Bernice told Marshall everything she knew: how she’d met Sally Roe in church, had lunch with her, and tried to visit with her at the Clarion, but just got too busy.
Marshall had to be the most frustrated man in the world right now. Bernice could hear him trying to hide it, trying to remain calm and civil. “We’ve got to find her, Bernie. We’ve got to find her.”
“I know.”
“Did she say anything about the case?”
“She’s following it, Marshall. She was reading the wire copy that came in today, and some newspaper stories about it. She seemed pretty upset about that recent ruling.”
Marshall paused again. Bernice could just envision him chewing up the phone book. “Well . . . was she coherent?”
“Very coherent, intelligent, articulate. And I think very hungry spiritually. We talked about Jesus and the Cross at lunch on Sunday. She didn’t seem to buy into it, but she understood it.” Then she added, “But she was elusive about herself. Secretive. She wouldn’t talk about herself at all.”
“That sounds like every other report I’ve heard about her. You got those mug shots from Ben?”
“Yes, over the fax. It’s her.”
“I finally saw the Finding the Real Me curriculum today.”
“Oh, man, don’t tell me . . .”
“I won’t. There’s no visible connection. But the content is solid confirmation of what Miss Brewer is doing with the kids in the class, along with all the usual humanist, cosmic stuff: collectivism, global consciousness, altered states, relativism . . .”
“All the usual ‘isms’ . . .”
“But no mention anywhere that Sally Roe had anything to do with it. So we still don’t know what this whole attempted murder thing is about, or what Sally Roe has to do with this case, and I’ve used up a lot of precious time.”
“She did get my phone number and address from me.”
“No kidding!”
“So there’s still hope.”
“Yeah, and we’ve got a lot to hope for. Keep praying.”
“Oh, we’re all praying for you, Marshall, right now. The whole bunch of believers over here.”
“Great! We need something to break, and real soon!”
CHAPTER 34
THE PRAYERS REACHED to Heaven from Ashton, from Bacon’s Corner, and everywhere in between, and it was as if the Lord God was waiting for just this moment, just this particular cry from His people. He began to move His sovereign hand.
TAL GOT THE report from a courier in the early hours of Wednesday morning. “Guilo!”
Guilo was at his side in an instant.
Tal’s voice was strained with excitement. “The Lord has spoken! She’s ready!”
“Praise to the Lord!” said Guilo. “Where? When?”
“She’s left Ashton and is almost to Henderson. It’ll only be a matter of hours. We’ll meet her there with everything we can muster! If we can get her through before Destroyer and his minions find out, we may be able to tip the scales at last!”
Guilo drew his sword with a metallic ring and a flash of light. “A turning point!”
“Mota and Signa will remain here with their warriors ready, watching that breach.” Tal smiled for the first time in weeks. “They just might get some real action today!”
Dear Tom,
I arrived by bus about seven o’clock this morning, and I imagine I’ll get a room soon enough. For now, I’m quite comfortable just sitting in Lakeland Park near the city center. The sun is warm, the bench is dry, and the nearby pond is placid and full of ducks.
I would not call the city of Henderson an inviting place, but it does have some major advantages: it is a large, metropolitan city, and therefore easy to hide in, and it has an immense downtown library, an excellent place for finding certain information. I’ll be going there today, or tomorrow, or whenever I finish a more immediate matter demanding my attention.
A more immediate matter. Sally was a little surprised at her detached, businesslike tone, as if she were going to type a letter or make a purchase. In reality, she was about to enter into a relationship that could potentially alter the course of her entire life, totally restructure her worldview, and bring into consideration every moral issue, every act, every decision, and every attitude of all her previous years; her deepest scars and emotions, the most personal and guarded areas of her life, would be laid bare. The relationship would be confrontational, perhaps devastating.
At least, that is what she expected from the arrangement, and for that reason she’d pondered the move all through the night, weighing the pros and cons, considering the costs, testing and eliminating the options. It became clear to her that she would have to pay an enormous price in terms of ego and self-will, and that the arrangement would carry with it staggering implications for the future. But every second thought was entertained and answered, every objection received a fair hearing, and in between the fierce and heated debates Sally conducted with herself on the floor of her own mind, she slept on it.
By the time the light of day peeked through the bus windows, she’d settled in her mind that, with all things considered, such a major commitment would be the most logical, practical, and desirable thing to do, with advantages that far outweighed the disadvantages.
It was quiet in the park, with few people around besides a matron walking her poodle and a few yuppies jogging to work. She moved to another bench closer to the pond, out in the full morning sun, and sat down, her duffel bag beside her.
Then she took a good long look at herself. Dressed in her jeans and blue jacket, with a stocking cap on her head and a duffel bag beside her, she looked like a homeless vagabond.
She was.
She looked solitary and lonely.
She was.
She also looked small and insignificant in a very large world, and that carried more weight in her mind than anything else. What must she look like to a God big enough to have created this huge globe on which she was sitting? Like a microbe on a microscope slide? How would He even find her?
Well, all she could do was make some noise, call out to Him, cause a disturbance, send up some verbal flares. Maybe she could catch His eye or His ear.
She placed her notebook in her lap and flipped to a page of notes she had prepared. Now . . . where to start?
She spoke softly, just barely forming the words on her lips. She felt self-conscious and she was willing to admit it. “Uh . . . hello.” Maybe He heard her, maybe He didn’t. She said it again. “Hello.” That should be enough. “I imagine You know who I am, but I’ll introduce myself anyway. It just seems the thing to do. My name is Sally Beth Roe, and I guess one refers to You as . . . God. Or maybe Jesus. I’ve heard that done. Or . . . Lord. I understand You go by several titles, and so I hope You’ll indulge me if I grope a bit. It’s been a long time since I’ve tried to pray.
“Uh . . . anyway, I would like to meet with You today, and discuss my life and what possible role You might wish to play in it. And thank You in advance for Your time and attention.”
She stared at her notes. She’d gotten this far. Assuming she’d secured God’s attention, she proceeded with the next item. “To quickly review what brought this meeting about, I guess You remember our last visit, approximately thirty years ago, at the . . . uh . . . Mount Zion Baptist Church in Yreka, California
. I want You to know that I did enjoy our times together back then. I know I haven’t said anything about it in quite a while, and I apologize. Those were precious times, and now they’re favorite memories. I’m glad for them.
“So I suppose You’re wondering what happened, and why I broke off our relationship. Well, I don’t remember what happened exactly. I know that the courts gave me back to my mother, and she wasn’t about to take me to Sunday school like Aunt Barbara did, and then I went to live in a foster home, and then . . . Well, whatever the case, our times together just didn’t continue, and that’s all . . . Well, I guess it’s water under the bridge . . .”
Sally paused. Was there some kind of awakening happening inside her? God could hear her. She could sense it; she just knew it somehow. That was strange. It was something new.
“Well . . .” Now she lost her train of thought. “I think I do sense that You’re listening to me, so I want to thank You for that.” She got her thoughts back again. “Oh, anyway, I guess I was an angry young woman, and maybe I blamed You for my sorrows, but . . . at any rate, I decided that I could take care of myself, and that’s basically the way it went for most of my life. I’m sure You know the story: I tried atheism, and then humanism with a strong dose of evolution thrown in, and that left me empty and made my life meaningless; so then I tried cosmic humanism and mysticism, and that was good for many years of aimless delusions and torment and, to be honest, the mess I’m in right now, including the fact that I’m a convicted felon. You know all about that.”
Okay, Sally, now where do you go from here? You may as well get to the point.
“Well, anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is that Bernice, back in Ashton, was right, at least as far as Sally Roe is concerned. I have a moral problem. I’ve read some of the Bible. Uh . . . it’s a good book . . . it’s a fine piece of work—and I’ve come to see that You are a God of morals, of ethics, of absolutes. I guess that’s what ‘holy’ means. And actually I’m glad for that, because then we can know where our boundaries are; we can know where we stand . . .