Redemption Series: Redemption Part 16

Tim Jacobs WAS LYING in Angela's bed, switching channels on her television set, when he came to a talking-head shot. A conservative-looking man in his early fifties appeared to be holding a book, and Tim squinted in the darkness to make it out. He'd gone through most of a bottle of wine in the past two hours, and he had to work to make sense of the imagery on the screen.

Angela was down on her exercise mat beside the bed doing stretches. She looked up, annoyed. "Hey, c'mon, change the channel. I can't stand those TV preachers."

But for some reason, Tim couldn't bring himself to turn it. The preacher man-if he was a preacher-wasn't one of those big-hair types. His eyes had a look of compa.s.sion and ... something else. Urgency, maybe.

Tim let the remote fall to his side. "I was gonna be a preacher once." His words slurred together, and his eyes struggled to focus. "Gonna tell the world about Jesus."

Angela sat up and stared at him, her eyes mocking him as a single burst of laughter broke through her pursed lips. "You? A preacher?"

130 MIN.

Something in her tone irritated Tim, set his teeth on edge and brought his pain close to the surface. He reached for the wine bottle and poured himself another gla.s.s. Some of the liquid sloshed onto the bed, and Angela grimaced. "Hey, babe, you've really got to back off on the wine. A little bit's good for you-not this much."

Her words were measured and in control. Though she drank with him now and then, she did not share his urgency for alcohol, an urgency that seemed to grow with each pa.s.sing day. She had even tried to limit his drinking in ways he found profoundly annoying. Who did she think she was, anyway? His drinking wasn't a dependency or an illness like Uncle Frank's problem. It was a life preserver.

Every drink did a bit more to keep thoughts of Kari from suffocating him.

Tim looked around the room. The walls seemed to be closing in on them. Angela's bedroom had always been small, especially with her exercise equipment in the corner. Now it was getting claustrophobic. He downed half the gla.s.s in a single, practiced gulp and shook his head, trying to clear his vision.

He hated the way his words ran together when he drank, hated the nausea and headaches and the way his body demanded more whenever the effects of the drink wore off. As a way of proving to himself that he was in control, he'd kept his drinking down to three or four nights a week and an occasional swig from the flask in his desk drawer at work.

Nothing more than what his coworkers might do.

The preacher was saying something, and Tim squinted again, trying to follow the man's words. "The message of Christ's love is found in Isaiah, chapter sixty-one," the man was saying. "G.o.d himself will restore the crumbling foundations of your life. He will give you beauty for ashes. He'll provide redemption, no matter who you are, where you are...."

Angela huffed, and Tim turned in time to see her roll her eyes. She chuckled in a condescending way.

"What's so funny?"

131 She grinned at him, and through his blurred eyes she swayed like a person caught out at sea. "Don't you get what he's doing?"

The room started to spin, and Tim felt a growing frustration deep inside. He set his winegla.s.s down and scowled at her. "Get what?"

She pointed at the television screen. "Exactly what we talked about in cla.s.s.

It's just manipulation just another ad campaign." She lifted herself from the floor in a single fluid movement and climbed up beside him on the bed. She snuggled close to him, kissing him on the shoulder and neck and finally on his lips before finis.h.i.+ng her thought. "First he tells you how awful things are, makes you feel really bad about it; then he,tells you what you ought to do." She smiled. "Selling G.o.d is like selling diet pills. `Oh, you're so fat. Here, I've got what you need."'

"What are you talking about?" He wasn't quite sure what diet pills had to do with evangelists or G.o.d, and his growing dizziness wasn't helping him understand her any better.

"I mean-" she kissed him again-"that we don't need what he's selling because what we've got here is beautiful just the way it is."

She looked at him and seemed to be waiting for him to say something. Then she sighed hard and leaned back on her elbows, stretching long, pale legs in front of her. She rotated her ankles a few times, then turned back to him, propping herself on one forearm, her blue eyes focused. "Listen, Tim, I know you're having some bad feelings about ... the divorce. But you've got to stop letting it get to you. You need to take care of yourself. You could start going to the gym with me ... get some exercise. That would help, don't you think?"

Tim stared at her, bristling a little at her solicitous tone, and realized for the first time that the pa.s.sion he felt for her was fading. What had seemed brilliant and intoxicating less than a week ago now seemed cynical and selfserving.

"Don't get me wrong," she was saying. "I still think you're gorgeous." She smiled and moved toward him again, kissing him, 132 obviously intent on more of what they'd spent the past weeks doing.

But suddenly he knew he was going to be sick. He gently pushed her off and stumbled into the bathroom.

The first wave of vomit dropped him to his knees.

"Are you okay?" She sounded worried, but there was no way he could answer.

By the time the convulsions stopped, his head was so far inside the toilet that his chin was nearly touching the water. He gasped for air and slowly eased himself back to a kneeling position. Angela's words and the preacher's wove together in his head, tormenting him. He'll give you beauty for ashes.... It's just manipulation, just another ad campaign.... G.o.d himself will restore the crumbling foundations.... What we have is beautiful just like it is.

He stayed there a long time, sitting on the floor beside the toilet. Angela knocked at the bathroom door a few times, her voice first concerned, then annoyed. He replied with single syllables. After a while she stopped knocking, and finally he felt the apartment grow silent.

Fear settled over him then, thick and ROPE LIKE. It wrapped itself around his throat and made it difficult to breathe. He stood up, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and used the walls to help him navigate his way back to the bedroom.

The room was dark. Angela lay with her back to him, her hands tucked under her head like a child, her lean body stiff and still. He couldn't tell if she was asleep or pretending, but something about her was different. This was the woman who had sent his body into a fever pitch of desire, but now she made him feel sad and old and somehow ... disgusted. The choking feeling intensified, and he absently brought his hands up to his neck as if there might be some way to relieve the pressure.

I'm choking to death. Help me, G.o.d.

In response he felt the faintest nudging, something else the television preacher had said. Tim dropped to the floor, his eyes closed, as he tried to recall the words.

133 Repent ... flee the bonds of the enemy.

Tim held his breath. Had his memory finally kicked in, or was that the Lord talking to him? Now, after all these days of silence? After all Tim had done to walk away from him?

Tim circled his hands around his throat and tried to swallow. Yes, that was it.

Bonds of the enemy. That's what was choking him.

He struggled to his feet, found his clothes and shoes, and managed to get dressed. It was after three o'clock in the morning, and he needed to be at school by nine. He trudged into Angela's living room and spent the next few hours dozing in a chair. Before Angela was awake, he crept out, and for the first time since leaving Kari, he drove home.

His key still fit in the front door-something he'd wondered about. He glanced around. "Kari?"

There was no answer. He tried again, this time making his way slowly toward their bedroom. The bed was made, and Tim realized Kari was probably still at her parents' house. He felt a pang of irritation, then a wave of remorse. How could he blame her for not wanting to be home?

As he looked around the room they had shared, an image came to mind, then another and another. He and Kari saying their vows before Pastor Mark at Clear Creek Community Church. He and Kari walking hand in hand through the park. He and Kari laughing and talking and ...

The choking fear was back, and Tim sank down on the clean bedspread. His eyes fell on the nightstand and a book that still lay there, calling him, reminding him of his other life, the one he'd lived before meeting Angela. He stood up and stared at the book. It was leatherbound and had his name engraved on it.

His Bible, the one Pastor Mark had given him when he joined the church after becoming engaged to Kari.

Like a man clinging to a life rope, Tim sat down gingerly on his bed and clutched the book to his chest. Help me, G.o.d ... I'm not going to make it, 134 How long had it been? Tim thought back and remembered months and years when he'd pretended to read ... told Kari he was reading. But really? Truly? He couldn't remember the last time he had read his Bible.

His hands shook from the hangover. He clutched the Bible more tightly and then steadied his hands enough to open the front cover. There were words scrawled inside, words from Pastor Mark.

Tim shook his head, forcing his mind to clear at least enough to make out the writing. He looked again, lowering his face to the open page, scrutinizing the wording. It began with a quote from Isaiah: "But now, this is what the Lord says ... `Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine."'

Underneath the quote the pastor had added these words: "Remember, Tim, G.o.d's offer of redemption is forever. Pastor Mark." Redemption? G.o.d's offer of redemption? Tim closed his eyes, and drums began beating somewhere close to his temples. He had the strongest sense that if he so much as took one hand off the Bible, a cloud of demons might descend on him then and there and take him straight to h.e.l.l.

Redemption? Tim looked again and saw that Pastor Mark had scribbled the church phone number under his inscription. He closed his eyes again. The room was spinning. Not fast like before, but just enough to build within him another wave of nausea, worse than the last.

Redemption. The television pastor had talked about that, hadn't he? Or maybe the whole thing was nothing more than a bad dream, a crazy nightmare meant to scare him into giving up the things he loved, the lifestyle he'd chosen.

A memory flashed across his mind. Someone talking, saying something serious. The words grew sharper.

G.o.d will always honor your choice.

Tim shook his head once more and tried to make sense of the familiar words. G.o.d would honor his choice-where had he 135 heard that before? Seconds pa.s.sed and then minutes, and suddenly he remembered. They were Pastor Mark's words, spoken at his and Kari's wedding.

What had the man said? Something about making a choice to love one another ...

or love G.o.d. Making a choice about something.

It was coming back to him now, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to remember everything. It was a warning. The pastor had told them that if ever they decided not to put G.o.d first ...

Now the pastor's voice was so clear in Tim's mind, it was as if he were speaking directly to him. "G.o.d will always honor your choice. "

Was that what this was?

Tim had chosen a lifestyle of freedom, independence from G.o.d, and now G.o.d was honoring his choice?

The alcohol was fading quickly from his system, and in its place was a pounding headache. Three times his stomach convulsed with the nausea that welled up inside him. He wanted a drink so badly he could taste it, could feel the liquid burning its way down his throat.

What have I done, Lord ... ?

He pictured Kari, wondered how her family had handled the news. Another emotion clawed at his gut, and he realized it was hatred. Hatred for himself. How could he let her handle the news of his affair without even calling her? Other than the time he'd talked to her mother and Tim felt liquid building in his eyes, and he squeezed them shut. What kind of man was he, anyway? Nothing about him was worth redeeming-nothing at all. He tentatively took hold of the cordless phone and cradled it as he considered his options. He opened the cover of his Bible again. There it was, written clearly under Pastor Mark's name. The number for Clear Creek Community Church.

The phone was still in his hand. Tim gulped twice, clicked a b.u.t.ton, and began punching in the numbers. He was one number 136 away from Pastor Mark, one number away from confessing it all and begging him or anyone who might listen for a second chance. A single number away from the redemption the preacher had talked about last night.

His hand hovered over the final number, and suddenly his fear dissipated. In its place was an anger so strong and real that he could taste its acid residue in the back of his throat. He clicked the Off b.u.t.ton, stood, and slammed the phone back on the base unit.

What was he, crazy? Calling a preacher because of something the man had scribbled in a Bible years ago? Then what? Would he tell the man that he was in love with someone other than his wife? or that he'd taken to drinking occasionally to ease the guilt? or that he wasn't sure what G.o.d had to do with any of it if anything?

He clenched his teeth and calculated his next move. It was morning, time to eat and brush his teeth and get to work. There would be no alcohol today, not until tonight. An image of Kari, hauntingly beautiful and all alone, drifted into his mind until he banished it. His marriage was over; everything about his old life was dead and buried.

Pastor Mark had been right. Tim had made his choice and left G.o.d no option but to honor it. So it was up to him to live with the results as best he could. With Angela, of course. He popped three Advil tablets from the bathroom cabinet and downed a gla.s.s of water before heading into the kitchen.

Redemption? He blinked back the idea and started rummaging in the pantry for something to eat.

Redemption? He'd lost that chance months ago, the first time he cheated on the woman who once had been his whole world.

X.

Dirk Bennett sat in his truck and kept his eyes on the professor's house. His breathing was fast and shallow, and his heart was racing.

137 Of course, that was nothing new. His trainer said it was one of the side effects of getting stronger. A small price to pay.

With a shaky hand, Dirk jotted the professor's address on a notepad. He wasn't sure whether he'd need the information later or not, but it was worth getting anyway.

Dirk glanced at the dashboard clock and saw that it was 6:32 in the morning.

He'd been here since sometime around five, when he'd followed the professor from Angela's apartment. He'd thought maybe the professor would stop in for a minute or two and head back to Angela's-in which case, the plan was simple. Dirk would follow at a distance. Then before Professor Jacobs had a chance to walk up to Angela's apartment door, Dirk would sneak through the shadows and put the gun to the man's head. Dirk would explain to the professor as calmly as possible that the affair was wrong. That he needed to go back to his pretty wife and leave Angela alone.

But now the night had gotten away. Dirk sighed in frustration. He needed to be at the gym by seven o'clock for his Weight training cla.s.s. He started his engine. This wasn't the time to confront the professor. In fact, it was possible he'd never need to scare the man at all. His long stay at home could mean he'd decided to go back to his wife. But even if he hadn't, Dirk had a new plan, one he'd formed in the past hour.

He couldn't spend every free moment following Angela and her lover around Bloomington. What would that prove? That he was some sort of deranged stalker?

No, nothing good could come from that.

But what if Dirk simply trained harder, got in the best shape of his life, and then looked for his chance to catch Angela. alone and propose to her? As he should have done last year. That made sense. Surely that would cause Angela to walk away from the professor on her own.

He opened the glove box and saw the gun next to another bottle of Power pills.

He was going through them three times as fast as before. Nothing dangerous, the trainer told him. Nothing illegal.

138 Just a little something extra to enhance his strength and pack on another twenty pounds of muscle by Christmas.

He drove away, and by the time he pulled into the university parking lot he had a smile on his face. It was a good plan. But he liked knowing where Professor Jacobs lived, all the same. It expanded his options.

And as far as Dirk was concerned, options were always a good thing.

Angela woke up an hour before cla.s.s, and for the first time since Tim had moved in, his side of the bed was empty.

She stretched and moaned. Her muscles were stiff, tense, especially around her neck. She remembered the night before, and a ripple of worry coursed through her.

What if Tim had changed his mind? Maybe he'd gone back home to work things out with Kari and make another go at his marriage.

Angela cringed at the thought. As awful as it was to be having an affair with a married man and as worrisome as his new drinking habit was to her, it was worse to imagine him leaving, going back to his wife. She lay back in bed and wondered how her life had gotten so complicated.

The choices she'd made were the very ones she'd been determined to avoid since the day her father had walked out on them. She could see herself as she'd been that year, just a child, listening to her parents fight downstairs. The dialogue rang clear in her mind even now.

"I don't love you anymore; it's over. I'm in love with someone else." It was the same voice her father used when she'd stall bedtime as a little girl. The voice that meant he was serious, his mind was made up-no more discussion.

"Don't leave, please." Her mother was crying, and her tone 139 told Angela this was more serious than the other fights they had. "I'll do whatever you want; just don't leave. We need you."

Her father hadn't said another word. He merely walked upstairs to Angela's bed, bent down, and kissed her as he ran his fingers over her hair. "Good-bye,.

sweetie. I'm sorry."

Her mother was never the same after her daddy left. She kept working and going through the motions. But the spark in her eyes was gone forever, and Angela grieved the fact to this day. That night in her room was the last she had heard of her father until she'd gotten word about him her junior year in high school.

He'd been killed in a car accident in California.

Angela remembered how she'd felt when she heard the news, the mix of emotions that a.s.saulted her heart, the resolutions that steadied her soul.