I clutch my fists together and rest my forehead on them.
“One day, when you’re on the other side of this, you’ll have a wonderous testimony to share. Of the suffering you went through and how God brought you through it. Don’t you see how you can reach those who are struggling with the same questions? God can use each and every one of us for His Kingdom.”
“I’m not nearly clean enough to be used, Pastor. If you knew what I’d seen—what I lived through?—”
He gets up and comes to sit beside me. Far away enough that the panic doesn’t begin, but closer than he’s sat to me since I got home over a decade ago.
“Dylan,” he says softly. “Jesus didn’t die only for those who come to Him dressed in their Sunday best. He died for the addict, the murderer, the gossip, the liar, the adulterer—everyone. He was sent here for us. So that we could be made clean when we stand before God. We only need to repent and follow Him. Even when that path gets impossible to walk, we do as Job did and lean on Him through all of it.”
“I don’t even know where to start,” I whisper, feeling a breath of hope as I sit here in the pew. Is it possible that I can find relief? Is it possible that some day, I’ll wake up and not wish I was six feet in the ground?
“You start with God’s Word. And a lot of prayer. Friday is Good because Sunday is coming,” he adds. “Just because today is dark doesn’t mean tomorrow will be too. Your story isn’t done, Dylan. Put your faith in Him, and fight against the darkness trying to steal you away from the light.”
“Hey, where you been?” Tucker questions as soon as I step into the barn we remodeled and repurposed to serve as the office for Hunt Brothers Search & Rescue. After speaking to Pastor Ford, I went for a run near the creek, using the silence to talk to God. While I don’t have any answers, I can admit that I feel a bit lighter.
And that’s something.
“Around.” I cross my arms. “What was so urgent?”
Bradyn is leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed, his expression stern. Riley is popping bubble gum—a habit he partakes in whenever things get a tad stressful. Elliot’s hat is backward as usual, his mouth flattened into a tight line.
Then there’s Tucker. Who’s currently looking at me like I’m a bomb about to go off.
They only see a monster. That voice echoes through my mind, sending a wave of fresh anger through me. How am I supposed to change if the ones around me only ever see me one way?
“Can someone fill me in here?” I demand. “Or are we just going to sit around staring at each other?”
Tucker sighs and turns his laptop around to face me.
I lean in, noting a photograph of Emma’s birth mother, smiling, beside an image of the boutique owner who’d shown me where to hide in that fitting room.
“Local Woman and Boutique Business Owner Murdered in Robbery, Then Assailant Burned Boutique to the Ground.” Clenching my hands into fists, I stare down at the headline, reading it four different times, hoping to see a different outcome each time. Did Gio have his own wife and an innocent woman murdered? Or was this Heath Slater? Retaliation for Emma’s escape?
Emma. How do I tell Emma that another one of her parents is dead? I know she told us last night that she sees Felicity as a kind stranger who helped her, but I know her well enough to know that’s not entirely true. It’s going to break her heart.
“Does she know?”
“No.” Bradyn runs a hand over the back of his neck. “We wanted to make you aware first.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“Dylan, I can?—”
“No,” I interrupt Tucker. “I will tell her.” I cross my arms. “What’s our next move?”
“What do you mean ‘our next move’?” Riley asks. “We did our job. We searched, we rescued. Emma is here and safe.”
“But for how long? Karver or Slater could come for her at any moment. Given Karver is clearly not above murdering family members, what’s going to stop him from simply deciding she’s not worth the trouble and taking her out?”
“This.” Tucker turns the computer back around, clicks some keys on the keyboard in rapid succession, then turns it to face me again. “We believe it’s a text thread between Felicity and a woman named Harlow Slater. Heath Slater’s mother.”
Felicity: When will the flowers be delivered?
Harlow: January first. Black roses are preferred. Though if you go with white roses, those have better longevity. Ranunculus is always an option.
Felicity: They’re too fragile. Black roses are what fit better at this point. We’re past the white roses, don’t you think?
Harlow: I don’t want to agree.
