Choices

Cassie nurses a broken heart due to the senseless death of her missionary husband. She's angry at God for letting him die, and for not avenging his death in what Cassie considers a timely manner. She decides to take matters into her own hands and avenge his death but needs the help of a mercenary from her past. Once she locates him, Parker wants no part of her plan. Perplexed beyond reason, Cassie can’t understand why. Parker thinks he has Cassie figured out, but three days after Cassie’s appearance at his home, there’s a galactic supernatural display of God’s power in his front yard, and Parker is shown the error of his assumptions. Cassie’s relentless pursuit of vengeance takes her to surprising places, and despite Parker’s objections, he gets pulled into the mission Cassie is convinced will mend her broken heart. As they journey together, a tenuous bond is formed, but surprising revelations threaten their unusual relationship. Can Cassie forgive what she learns about Parker’s part in the death of her husband? Will either Cassie or Parker get what they want while leaving the other one to live with the fallout? Is it possible for either of them to win when someone dies? Is the payoff Cassie and Parker find worth the risks they face? God and Satan battle for the souls of these two fascinating characters in this fast-paced compelling story which includes a mesa vision, a desert oasis, guardian angels and a Mexican drug lord.

CHOICES is a creative non-fiction story. Any similarities to real people are accidental and unintentional.

I hope you enjoyed my book and feel your time was well invested. If so, please tell others about CHOICES and help me get started as an author. Thanks, again! Sincerely, Madison.

www.madisonwilloughby.com

authormadison@gmail.com

Chapter One - The Memory

I didn’t intentionally choose a life of violence and murder.  My life kind of chose me.
 That’s what I tell myself anyway.  Believing as I do, diminishes my regrets and makes me feel less responsible.  After all, what choice had I really had? 
 My childhood, or the lack of it, was without warm fuzzies and, ultimately, funneled me into service with the U.S. Navy.  Granted, it was a path I readily embraced, but the military wasn’t big on warm fuzzies either.  Instead of giving me a big family style hug, it honed my innate talents.  
 I learned many valuable things during my time in the service.   Among them was the foundational lesson that good intentions, in and of themselves, are a dead end. The only way you arrive at a destination is to act on a plan. 
 The Navy was good to me, probably better than I deserved, but I grew tired of taking orders from people whose skills were inferior to mine.  Oh sure, maybe when they were my age, they were the best of the best.  But I was in my prime and, as much as I loved the military for giving purpose to my less than stellar start in life, I was tired of taking orders.  
 In addition to being dissatisfied on a personal level, I wasn’t happy with military pay.  When I found myself looking ahead fifteen or twenty years, I couldn’t see the military providing the life I wanted.  Not only would a military pension fail to fund my desired future, it would have stood between me and my lofty goals.  
 No way was I willing to settle for less than my highest aspirations.  So, based on lessons learned, I knew it was time for a change and it was up to me to make it happen.  
Ultimately, I know how to do one thing well:  be a soldier.  I did as I was taught and put my plan in motion.  I marketed my only skill, selling it to the highest bidder.  That decision was truly the beginning for me.  It’s a beginning without regret and one which put me right on track for the life I envision.  I was fine with that.
 Not once did I consider my work as a mercenary the end all, be all, of my life.  I wanted more.  I deserved more.  While I had superior skills and a desire for a new future, my long-range plan had to include provision for one unyielding aspect of my personality; a severe dislike for the unexpected.  
 Surprises simply aren’t my thing.  I don’t relish the unavoidable damage they bring with them.  There are ways to mitigate, maybe not the surprises themselves, but the harm they cause.  Extensive planning and an even temperament are surprisingly effective tools against the unexpected, but I’ve learned that self-discipline is also helpful.  I work endlessly to be ready for anything that might come my way.
 Ordered, organized, regimented, whatever you want to call it, I relish the structured framework of my life.  I do what I want, when I want.  I count on no one and count myself as needed by no one, not on a personal level anyway.  My life is an environment purposefully created by me and I immerse myself in it.  Per my definition, I live indulgently.  I’m certainly fine with that. 
 This mesa where I make my home is a natural wonder.  There are thousands upon thousands of acres which allow for the privacy and solitude I crave.  Additionally, they’re strewn with indigenous obstacles to incorporate into my strategy of physical and mental fitness.  
 Breathe, push, breathe, push.  A few yards to go.  
 Upon completing my run, I cautiously break through the tall grasses at the edge of the pond, my chest heaving, my lungs desperate for the air they crave.  I check my pulse and respiration rates as sweat trickles the length of my body, soaking any article of clothing to which it lays claim.
 When I glance toward the front of my cabin, I see a woman standing on the front porch.  To have gotten there undetected she would have had to precisely navigate the shattered old walk that leads to the front of my home.  
 Not easy, but not impossible.  Still, it’s rather strange. 
 She’s blonde and of slight build.  In this instant, and at this distance, there doesn’t seem to be anything particularly descriptive about her.  She simply stands at the southern entrance to my cabin, knocking on the door.  
 That, in and of itself, is rare.  My place is much too remote for passersby to stumble across.  Nor do I ever invite anyone to my place.  No one comes here intentionally.  
 However, this woman clearly isn’t a figment of my imagination, so it looks as if today is a rare exception to my life of solitude.  It also looks as if my defenses failed to protect me from the unexpected.

 For some reason, this intruder piques my curiosity.  There’s a vague familiarity which keeps pinging my brain.  There’s no fear attached to the mental nudge.  There’s no cause for alarm.  I would know if there were.  Yet, some memory is relentless in its effort to surface. 
 What is it about her?  Is it the way she’s dressed?  In that regard, there’s not much to be determined from here.  Her clothes don’t appear special, certainly nothing upscale.  Her dress is just a simple straight garment made of some light- weight fabric which moves vaguely in the breeze.  I’m too far removed to see for myself, but I wonder if the dress has a floral print on it. 
 Right now, because of the distance between us, she’s unaware of my observation even though I’m making no effort to hide my presence.  Her attention is focused solely on getting someone to answer the door. 
 I’m not at all sure how long she’s been on the porch, but, without notice, she gives up knocking, resolute the door isn’t going to be answered.  After a moment, she reaches over and grabs the handle on her suitcase.  She rolls it behind her as she turns and shuffles for the lone chair, an Adirondack, which sets facing the quiet pond.
 A trained eye is a useful tool.  It can differentiate between true confidence and mere arrogance.  It can pick up on the tiniest of details which could cost you your life.  Or, it enables you to distinguish between a true lameness and one that’s a product of role playing.  There’s nothing false about the uneven gait which propels the visitor across my porch.  Her first two steps pull forth the memory my brain has been requesting.  I know exactly who she is.      
 Cassie.  
 It’s been a long two years, a welcome reprieve, but not nearly reprieve enough.  It appears as if I’m entirely wrong about someone never finding me intentionally.  Shaking my head in disbelief, I start toward my cabin, unable to imagine how she found me or why she even bothered.

Chapter Two - The Request

Like most cabins, mine has a one-story anatomy.  Its location is so remote nearly anyone would qualify it as lonely, probably even desolate.  From the outside it looks like the typical cabin, sturdy, rustic and sparse.  Its atypical feature is its size.  It’s somewhat larger than what I’ve seen in other hunting cabins.  Those cabins are intended for stays of short duration and infrequent occupation.  Mine is my full-time home.  
 My cabin’s exclusive landscaping is its natural surroundings, the vast mesa.  The only evidence anyone lives here is the presence of my truck parked on the north end at what I consider my back door.  The only other clue regarding human habitation is the drive which eventually abuts the main road.  
 The southern side holds what I refer to as the front door.  Also, found on the southern end is a useful porch, the one Cassie occupies.  It has a railing along its entire length except where the steps allow egress.  Neither end of the porch, however, is closed off by railing.  I have no idea if the builders ran short of funds or if they left it this way for some reason known only to themselves.  It doesn’t matter to me.  I feel the randomly constructed porch contributes to the redneck quirkiness of the place.  You’d swear, just by looking at my home, that it’s inhabited, if it’s inhabited at all, by some potbellied good ol’ boy.  This façade is very intentional and more practical than you’d believe possible.  
 This place I call home fits my life perfectly for several reasons.  Its location provides ample space and privacy for target practice and job prep, as well as, a rigorous workout schedule.  Additionally, it keeps me away from other people.  I don’t like people, never have, and I don’t see that changing.  Ever.  Don’t get me wrong.  I visit the opposite gender from time to time.  I have those arrangements in place. It’s a bit of a drive to make it work, but distance is the price you pay for distance.  I’m fine with that. 

 Cassie is preoccupied by her thoughts, so, despite my fatigued muscles, I arrive at the porch quickly and quietly enough that I manage to surprise her when I speak.  I don’t want her here, so I dispense with common civility.  
 “What do you want?”  I step up onto the porch and cross my arms, standing with my legs spread, looking as intimidating and unwelcoming as a bear protecting its kill from an interloper.
 Once she recovers from the shock of my sudden appearance and threatening demeanor, she ambles toward me.  There’s no hesitancy or grimace that indicates pain is involved in her mobility.  I hadn’t expected any.  
 She offers her right hand to me, as if to shake mine.  I ignore it.  Regardless of my rudeness, there’s still a glimmer of hope evident in her strained features.  
 I hate that, I really do.
 “Hi.  My name is Cassiana Mar…”
 “I know who you are.”  I step closer to her, arms still folded across my chest. “I asked what you want.  Why are you here?”
 Her face falls.  My dismissive tone and menacing demeanor cause disappointment to replace her hopeful expression. 
 Good.  I’m getting through to her.  I want her gone.  Now.  She can’t possibly go quickly enough.  
 As I study her face, I watch a change of thought flash through her blue eyes.  Quickly, a new set to her jaw shows me that tenacity has already replaced the disappointment.  Her posture and voice reflect the mental shift.  She brings herself to stand erect, mimicking me by folding her arms across her own chest.  
 She bounces back fast.  How cute!  
 Curtly, she says, “I want your help.”  She pauses only long enough to assuage the break that’s attempting to hijack her voice.  Cassie reasserts herself and continues.  “I won’t leave until I get it.”
 As annoyed as I am by her presence, I can’t help but be surprisingly amused.  I suppress a smile and wonder if she realizes how silly it is for a 115-pound waif to issue a challenge like that to someone who’s more than twice her size.
 “Again,” I demand of her, “what do you want?  I have to have some information, some specifics.”  
 I know her.  I know of her life choices.  I’m aware of how vastly different they are from my own.  She’s the morning sun, bright, illuminating and full of hope.  I’m the evening sun, fading, dark and final.  We both shine in our own ways, yet we are total opposites.  The thought she would need anything I could possibly offer completely mystifies me.
 I move closer to her.  By now, I am standing near enough to see she’s fighting tears.  I close my eyes, shake my head, pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.  
 Crap, this is the reason I don’t deal with women.  
 Cassie catches herself emotionally and swallows hard.  “I want you to kill the man responsible for the death of my husband,” she says as she wraps her arms around her midriff and stifles a sob.  I watch goose flesh appear on her arms as her face flushes red with anger.  Seriously, she’s just barely holding it together.
 Thanks to my multifaceted defense, the unexpected rarely pays me a visit.   Right now, however, I’m standing on my porch staring it in the face.  Actually, the unexpected has called on me twice today.  Unexpected is that I have a visitor at all.  Now, the unexpected has the unmitigated gall to expand itself to include this particular visitor.  Suddenly, I realize my solitary existence, as necessary and cherished as it is, has met an untimely death.

Chapter Three - Cassiana Martinez

I’ll give her credit.  She’s got my attention. What I know of her previous life hitches my curiosity to her intrusion.  I look her over thoroughly, biding my time, smirking to myself, still amused at the entire situation.  
 I notice her dress is worn and smudged.  Her sneakers, the retro flat soled kind, are navy in color, but they’re dirty as well.  Her hair is the same exact shade of gold I remember, but it isn’t as curly as it used to be.  She’s somewhat thinner than I recall, but not in a svelte, toned kind of way.  She isn’t gaunt yet, but she’s edging toward it.  Her eyes are still a brilliant blue, but they’re clouded with exhaustion and grief.  The intervening years since our last encounter are written across her beleaguered features like the lines on a 3D topographical map.
 It makes no difference.  None whatsoever.  I afford no mercy.  No mercy.  She must go.  
 “I don’t know why you came here looking for help.”  I lie to her when I say, “There’s nothing I can do for you.” 
 Weariness oozes from every inch of her.  It appears her legs are barely able to sustain her weight and could give way without any notice.  
 While she stares me down, she speaks sternly and articulates every syllable, “Look, I don’t know what you’ve been doing for the past two years.  You can’t understand how much I don’t care.  But, I do know you possess the skills to get this done.”  She seems adamant.  Everything about her voice and demeanor screams steely determination. 
 So, what?    
 I move over to sit on the porch railing.  My back is against the mid-western post and my right foot is propped up against the same rail where my backside resides.  I’m about three feet from her.  
 Evening hovers on the edge of nightfall.  The breeze has already found a place to hide for the evening.  Even the burrowing animals have finished with their daily scurrying and settled into their homes to find retreat from weariness and the coolness of night.  I’m tired and I don’t want to deal with this.  With her.  Every ounce of energy I can muster simply longs for her to leave.
 The hostility and dim wittedness I throw at her are a mere act, a defense mechanism against her presence.  Against the odds, I hope they’ll be enough to make her leave.  So, I sit here on the porch rail and watch her, mulling everything over, trying to identify individual pieces of this situation and understand how they fit together.  
 Cassiana Martinez is one hot mess and appears quite fragile.  For this reason, I don’t want to be unnecessarily mean, only mean enough to prod her into leaving me in peace.  On the other hand, and much to my dismay, the comical aspect of this scenario allows curiosity to get the best of me.  I sincerely want to know if she’s undergone a massive shift in her worldview, precipitated by the death of her husband, or if she’s simply lost her mind.  
     Then, simply because I’m human and must have my curiosity satisfied, I ask her straight up, “Aren’t you a missionary?”

Chapter Four - The Reason

Cassie’s features contort in pain.  She looks as if I backhanded her across the face.  Her shoulders slump and her head drops, both signs of surrender.  She stands twisting her fingers in front of her and slowly starts to shake her head.  
 “Not anymore, not since Manny died,” she says quietly.  She finds the chair and sighs miserably as she sits. The buttons on the front of her dress curve over the bend in her knee as she crosses her legs.  Her hemline nearly reaches her tattered, filthy sneakers.  She looks down at her busy fingers. 
 “Too much has happened.  Not enough has happened.  There’s so much going on in my head right now I don’t even know how to explain it to you.  I don’t believe I can find the words.”  
 I wait on her as patiently as I can.  Which, as it turns out, isn’t very long because I’m not what you’d call a patient person.  She spends the few seconds reorganizing her thoughts and adds, “For me, there’s so much more to this than just wanting a man to die, but you’ll find none of that interesting.”
 “Well,” I respond somewhat flippantly, being as rude and dismissive as I possibly can, “if your ability to think is that skewed, maybe now’s not the best time to shop for an assassin.”  
 Cassie’s head shoots up until her gaze meets my own.  Fatigue shadows her expression as she aims fire laced optics back at me. 
 I shrug my shoulders and state the obvious.  “It is what it is, I’m just saying.” 
 “No,” she states icily, shaking her head “That’s the one thing I am sure of.  It’s the only thing in my life right now which makes sense.  I want that bastard dead.  I won’t turn loose of that.”  
 Going beyond what I would have believed possible of the quiet, little missionary, Cassie intensifies her gaze, nailing me with it and states, “I have to have your help to make this happen.”
 I lock my gaze with hers, and cock my head while watching her face, studying the high cheekbones, the refined nose and jaw line.  
 I‘ve forgotten how pretty she is.  Or she would be if she weren’t so thin.  
 As much as I hate to admit it, she’s reeled me in. “Which bastard are we talking about?” I ask, allowing curiosity to spur our conversation.  I wait for her response.
 She elicits a one-word answer spoken with the same iron will as before.       “Montenegro.”   
 I recognize the name.  I understand the answer.  I was employed by him for several months before I went Independent.  There’s no doubt this man would kill anyone, even a missionary, if the missionary had crossed him in some regard.     
 We’ve come too far in this conversation.  We’re past the point of back peddling.  Feigning ignorance is pointless and, considering her determination, futile.  We were there at the same time.  She knows I fully understand every aspect of her situation. 
 I’m sure at one time, long ago, Monterrey, the city Montenegro calls home, was the quintessential Mexican village.  However, poverty and desperation dictated the need for progress.  Progress breeds change.  Nothing fuels change faster than the illegal drug trade.  Drugs are big money, fast.  No advanced degrees are required.  There’s no need to pay dues as you climb the company ladder.  The only real requirement is unbridled viciousness.  In today’s world, that talent is present in vast quantities.  
 When drugs take hold, innocence and naivete` are lost.  The old ways are gone forever.  Even though Monterrey is now a thriving metropolis, there’s still a portion of its population which never made the progress train.  They remain poor and needy.  These are the people Cassie and her husband went to help.
 A sensible person would conclude the major border patrol, across the Rio Grande in Laredo, TX would be inhibitive, maybe not to the production of, but certainly to the transportation of illegal drugs.  However, Monterrey’s proximity to the U.S. border is too big an asset to be overlooked by the cartels.  Face it, illegal drugs are big, big business.  Businesses must keep costs down in order to maximize profit, just like a grocery, a restaurant, a bowling alley or a department store.  
 I’m not familiar with the specific history of Montenegro’s Cartel, but I do know he was already established as a major player when I went to work for him.  My position with Montenegro was at his private residence.  I was one of many guards hired to protect him and his family.  The way I see it, there’s more nobility to be found in dying for a man and his loved ones than there is in dying for a stash of illegal drugs or the mechanism that moves them into the U.S.  Had guarding the drug lab or transports been my only options for employment, I would have moved on to something else.
 An antecedent choice to guarding the residence, was that I’d never chosen the family route myself.  I’ve never had anyone depending on me like many of the mercenaries.  As a result, I never had to settle for any available position within a cartel’s dynamic in order to provide for a family.  My solitary existence allowed me the privilege of waiting for the right job.
 I used my intellect and made good choices for myself, but my skill set is superior, as are my education and experience.  I learned my trade the right way, coming up through the ranks of the U.S. Navy, paying my dues while keeping my long-term objectives in mind.  The years of elite military training honed my skills and allow me to belong to an elite group of men.  Some continue to serve in the military itself. Others are spanned across the globe living as I do.  
 So, when it comes to having your family guarded, one has two options:   someone like me or a seventeen-year-old kid who never finished grade school.  A lot more goes into effectively wielding a gun than just the ability to carry it around.  Sound judgment, sharp spatial skills, and experience are critical to being successful at what I do.
 All of these, plus my natural affinity for the art of warfare, afforded me the prosperity of choosing where I work.  Options are something most of these indigent families never see.  Many of the area children will never live to adulthood and many mothers will bury their children because of the drug wars.  Those who stay alive long enough to reach maturity are paid well by the cartels.  A man with a family to support can earn so much more with the cartels than he can at any other job which employs an uneducated man.  Other types of employers won’t use uneducated young people or can’t begin to compete with pay offered by the drug lords.  Since we’re all chasing the greenback, most of these young people are trapped, plain and simple.  
 The illegal drug trade ensnares billions of souls, either directly through addiction and employment or through an association with someone who’s caught up in it.  It can be nearly impossible to break away from it, regardless of how badly you want it for yourself or for someone you love.  It’s a dirty, devastating business which perpetuates pain and hopelessness from one generation to the next.    
 Despite the fact my fractured family life left a gaping void in my sense of self-worth, I managed to live life without allowing drugs to get hold of me.  Growing up, I watched many kids succumb to the pull of those life destroying chemicals.  At an early age, I got so hooked on the whole military thing that drugs simply never held any fascination for me.  
 What appealed to me was the opportunity to be a part of something permanent, something bigger than myself.  As a kid with a fractured life, a permanent anything was a totally foreign concept to me.  Even so, it called to me in an undeniable manner.  I suppose it was a longing to fill the void in my life with something I hoped was worthwhile as opposed to filling the void with a cheap substitute like drugs.  This innate compass spared me several bad choices as I grew.  I suppose I should shower fate with gratitude for the luck of my draw.
 Ending my reverie, I turn my attention back to Cassie.  She’s a mess, desperate and lost.  I try to find some fragment of sympathy for her, but her choices are hers, like mine are mine, and I want her gone.
 “It sounds like you’ve had a hard time of it,” I offer as fake empathy, “but there’s nothing here for you.  I’m in no position to help you.”  I know I’m lying.  She knows I’m lying.  Both of us understand perfectly.  With my training, connections and intimate knowledge of the Montenegro compound, I’m in a unique position to make all of this click into place for her.  
 Really, her appearance at my door makes sense.  Remembering me from Mexico and exhibiting the ability to find me demonstrates a huge slice of savvy.  
 I’m quite impressed.  
 Regardless, I resent her intrusion and I want her off my property.  It wasn’t by accident I came across this lonely piece of ground.  It allows for the absence of other people and is one honest benefit of working for myself.  So, I tell Cassie with an unkind edge to my voice, “You have to go.  You need to leave.  Now.”
 From the time I emerged pond side and saw her on the porch until now, only several dramatic moments have passed.  The sun will disappear altogether in another five minutes and the porch, along with everything else, will be enveloped in darkness.  The air has already taken on that end-of-the-day chill, even with the breeze gone.  The shadows of the trees across the pond are indistinguishable from the bank on the far side.  I can barely make out the silhouette of a young buck who’s braved the angry conversation on the porch in order to get his evening drink.  
 The sky itself is lavender.  It’s a poetic contrast against the brilliantly pink clouds draped across it.  The clouds billow like massive smoke columns turned over on their sides.  The sun itself is hidden.  It sits so low its location is betrayed only by its final fading light.  It’s a truly spectacular sunset.  On any other night I would have considered this a perfect conclusion to another structured and productive day. But she’s here and she’s taken that privilege away from me.  
 She has to go.
 Cassie sits unmoving.  Her eyes bore holes into mine.  She’s so angry, her eyes fail to blink for several seconds.  She punches the arms of the chair with the edges of her fists and forges forward, voicing the rage she feels.  “Isn’t there anything I can say or explain to you to get you to care about this?  You don’t have to care about me, only the injustice of what happened to Manny.  Can you care about him for just one minute?  He was so good.  He labored selflessly for the people in Monterrey, especially the widows and children.  He believed in being God’s love to those who could never repay him, and he died for that belief.  His death can’t be discarded as common trash.  His death has to be avenged.”
 I cock my head and give her my severest know-it-all smile.  “Doesn’t God say vengeance is His to distribute?”  I’m standing now, still watching her, waiting for an answer.  Even though Cassie stays quiet, I can see the cogs of her mind turning as they look for justification.  
 So, I continue, “As a believer in all that Bible stuff isn’t that a major tenet you would hold to?”
 Pausing briefly, while trying to collect her thoughts, she answers me.  “That’s what I meant when I said not enough has happened.  God just doesn’t seem to be concerned with avenging Manny.  It all comes down to me being really tired of waiting around for God to do something about it.  My Manny is gone, and Montenegro runs around like he owns the world.”
 “Ok, then,” I counter, “maybe the vengeance thing isn’t a precept you’re worried about violating, but what about murder?  You know, the whole “Thou shalt not murder” thing?”
 She’s mad now. The gloves are coming off.  “This?  Coming from you?  Really?  After all the people you’ve killed, you’re going to stand there and lecture me on morality and the desecration of Bible precepts to be found in murdering someone?”
 “We’re not talking about me,” I state flatly.  “My choices have been made.  My shot at life is over.  You, however, haven’t come close to anything as life altering as murder.  You seriously need to rethink this,” I state with absolute sincerity.
 Cassie counters, “The Bible teaches if you sin in your heart it’s the same thing as committing the act.  Believe me when I tell you that the longings of my heart, as well as my conscious thoughts, have already killed Montenegro a thousand times.  I’ve already pulled the trigger, I’ve already blown him up, I’ve already run over him with a car and then backed up over him for good measure.  Like you, I’ve made my choices.”
  I shrug again and admit, “I’m certainly no expert on the intricacies of scripture, but listen to me…” 
 She’s not listening, she’s completely ignoring me.  
 “Look at me, Cassie,” I demand of her.  
 Reluctantly, she relocks her eyes with mine. 
 “Regardless of how mad you are or how sinful it may be in your God’s eyes, listen to me when I tell you, there’s a vast difference between wanting someone dead, and actually killing them and living with the fallout.  This act encompasses consequences you can’t imagine.”
 “Really?  Where are your consequences?” she demands of me.  You’re walking around a free man, living the life you want.  From the looks of this place, maybe it could pay better, but you’re your own man.  What’s the penalty for all you’ve done?”
 For some reason, I feel the need to put emotional distance between us.  “What you can see with your eyes is a very small part of what’s involved,” I remind her. 
 “What are you talking about?” she screams at me.  “What is there I don’t see?  Tell me!”  
 The defiance in her eyes is so raw it startles me, something I’d never have expected from quiet little Cassie.  She’s daring me to convince her of something different from what she knows or thinks she knows.
 I can’t believe the absurdity of this conversation, but I’ve got to try and get through to her.  There’s so much at stake.  
 I pause, willing my words and the tone of my voice to match the earnestness of my heart.  “My ability to compartmentalize the whole death thing started when I joined the military as a young man.  A coping mechanism didn’t happen overnight because I was angry and needed it to fall into place.  It’s conditioning, an integral part of a larger skill set.  It’s so foundational, if I didn’t possess it, what I do for a living wouldn’t be possible.” 
 Here, again, I pause briefly, doing my best to outthink her.  It shouldn’t be necessary as she knows nothing of which she speaks, but reason has left her head.  It’s imperative I get her to understand.  “With you being who you are inherently, this “God” person, a vengeance hit will completely destroy you.  You’re already struggling with the death of your husband.  Your thought process is so distorted you’ve convinced yourself that vengeance will enable you to cope with the death of your husband and the aftermath of getting even.  This will destroy you, Cassie.  You were not meant for this.”
 I’ve been completely honest with her.  I refuse to beg.   Honestly, in the face of her determination, begging would be wasted effort.  
 She sits in her chair looking at me, but she doesn’t really see me.  Her eyes have a glazed, far off effect present in them.  
 It’s so incredibly obvious I’m wasting my breath as well as my time.  If I didn’t know it already, proof is certainly in front of me now.  Anger is one fierce motivator.
 I haven’t moved from the porch railing.  I sit here in front of her refusing to let my eyes leave hers. I shake my head slightly, visual evidence of my bewilderment.  
Absolute in both my demeanor and tone, I say, “Bottom line, Cassie, I don’t care about either of you.  Sounds to me like your husband died for something he was passionate about.  That’s something few people ever get to do.  This mission, journey, or whatever you want to call it, is yours alone. It has nothing to do with me.  You and your husband went into a country riddled with drug czars and set up a missionary camp outside the compound of a major drug cartel.  You can’t tell me it never occurred to you it might not be a safe thing to do.  You got yourself into this, so, you’re just going to have to deal with it.  Now, I want you to leave.”
 “What do you think I’m trying to do, but deal with this?  That’s why I’m here!”  
 “May be, but you’re not pulling me into your mess.”
 She pounds the flat arms of the chair with her fists again.  “It’s fine to kill for money, though, isn’t it? Just not for vengeance? Yeah, ok, I get it.”
 “I kill for the reasons determined by me, not anyone else.”  
 She gets up out of the chair and walks over to where I’m seated.  She places her face a mere six inches from mine.  Her eyes bore into mine with an intensity that nearly makes me flinch.  I’m relaxed because she poses no threat to me, but it’s not as easy as it was.  Her voice is much louder now and even angrier than before, something akin to malignant venom.  
 “Let someone good die, someone who’s life really made a positive difference in this stinking world-and his death doesn’t even bear retribution?  Are you freakin’ kidding me?”  She throws up her hands and walks past me.  
 “If you refuse to help me, then you refuse to help me.  I’ll find someone who will.  You might be a soulless corpse, but somewhere there’s a person with your skill set who still has a sliver of humanity left in them.”  
 With that, she spins on one heel and stalks back to the chair.  She’s said what she wanted, but it’s taken a lot out of her.  She sits in the chair and drops her face into her hands, her fingers clench her hair as it falls forward.  She begins to rock back and forth. I know without seeing her face she’s nearly finished.  There’s barely a spark of life left in her.  She’s been running on pure anger, and now, she’s nearly drained of even that.  

This is the part of the process with which I’m never involved.  By the time I get a contract, all the reasoning, the decision making, the emotional elements, whether they’re business or personal, have been dealt with on the buyer’s end.  The reasons have nothing to do with me.  I receive information regarding the target.  I make the hit.  I get paid.  Straightforward, the way I like things.  This situation puts me way outside my wheelhouse.
 In a calm even voice, the most authoritative, yet compassionate, I can muster, I say, “Look, this isn’t going to happen, not with me.  You have to leave.”
 Without even raising her eyes to look at me she says, emphasizing key words, “I told you I am not leaving.  YOU go away and leave ME alone.”
 Okay. Oka-a-a-y.  Now, I’m not so calm anymore.  I’m still perfectly controlled, but now I’m taking offense.  No pint-sized squatter is going to order me off my own porch or tell me what she will or won’t do with regards to my own place.  
 I grab Cassie by the upper right arm and yank her roughly out of the chair.  I turn her, pinning her between the railing and me.  I tower over her, her head barely reaching my chest. She’s so tiny, so fragile, so completely breakable in so many ways.  I hold her tightly by both shoulders and shake her viciously.  Her body sways back and forth, her blonde curls bouncing in response to the agitation. 
 “You are going to leave here.  Now.  Right now.  I don’t want you here.  I’m not going to help you and you are not welcome to stay.  Do you understand?” I ask angrily.
 With a steely even tone, Cassie says, “I understand what you’re saying, but I refuse to do what you tell me.”  Both her eyes and her voice are devoid of emotion.  
 I’m confused.  If she understands I’m refusing to help her, why won’t she go?
 I place my large right hand around her slender throat and start to squeeze.  “You seem to know what I’m capable of, so what keeps me from killing you right now?” 
 Cassie stares back at me as a random heavy rush of wind blows past us.
 I ignore the brash burst of temperamental Texas weather while I wait for her answer.
 Cassie gasps, trying to speak through my clenched fingers, “Nothing, absolutely nothing, prevents you from killing me.”  
 I bring her right arm up high behind her and stretch her backwards, dangling her precariously over the railing.  I’m aware the railing is gnawing into her lower back.  It’s just part of the process.  Her dress is pulled taut across her body.  The worn fabric is stretched to the point of renting and exposing her belly.  Her toes no longer touch the porch and her legs are dangling like the groundless appendages they’ve become.  She moves her left hand to touch my flexed forearm.  
 The touch of her fingers against my skin produces an odd sensation.  There’s no desperate tugging.  There’s no flailing of her body or use of her legs.  Her muscles, every single one of them, are entirely free of tension.  There’s no feeble attempt to fight me off or to even balance herself.  I’m the only thing holding her poised over the edge of the porch.
 In the time it takes to blink I realize why the contact of her hand on my arm seems so foreign.  Her eyes show no fear whatsoever.  There’s nothing present in her but calm acceptance.  I guess the word for it is peace.  She’s completely at peace with regards to her own death.
 Shock reverberates through me.  I don’t understand.  What’s going on?  Is this suicide by assassin?  Is she so distraught by the loss of her husband that she came here, not to secure my services, but to use me to end her own life?
 I loosen my hold on her throat, pinning her between the hardwood of the porch railing and myself.
 “I don’t want to die,” she remarks as if she can read my mind, “at least not until Montenegro is dead.  After that I don’t care.  I don’t care about consequences of any type.  Prison will be respite, or death will be rest and very much welcome.”  She drops her hand from my forearm and shrugs.  It’s the only physical response she can offer because of my hold on her.
 She has an objective she wants met so she isn’t quite ready to die.  Yet she isn’t adverse enough to defend herself.  If I’m reading her accurately, she’s leaving the decision completely up to me.  If I choose death for her, she’ll be fine with it.
 I look down at her and as much as I hate the betrayal in my eyes, I know they reveal the shock and surprise of her response to my threat.  I was under the impression I have a thorough understanding of the human psyche.  I’ve killed many people in my life. They’ve ranged from innocents to enemy targets within combat zones, diplomats with varying degrees of influence, and the occasional billionaire pissed off over a deal gone wrong.  I’ve never encountered a single target who was indifferent to dying, much less one who welcomed it.  
 Every assassin has his method of delivering death.  Part of my m.o. is close proximity to my target.  I want them to see it coming.  It’s not about being some psycho assassin, who enjoys the whole idea of watching someone suffer.  I simply like to play it close to the vest, diminishing the possibility of something going horribly wrong, preventing the unexpected.  
 Some of my targets begged for mercy.  Some cried like babies.  Some tried to outbid whoever paid for the contract on them.  Some simply died in stunned silence.  But, until now, there’s never been one who was at peace about what was coming. 
 All of them died terrified.  Every single one of them. They were terrified dying would hurt.  Terrified about what waits in the next life, if there is one.  Terrified at the thought of leaving behind someone they loved.  Terrified, maybe, of losing all they’d collected.  Who knows what they feared, who cares?  The point is, they’d all been scared, every single one of them.  Until now.  Until her. 
 She isn’t frightened of the threat I embody.  This makes no sense.  I’ve spent my entire life learning to be, and then being, a very scary man.  This has to be an act of desperation.  Is she so grief stricken and exhausted she’s simply lost the will to live?  Is she too stupid to be frightened of me?  
 No, stupidity can’t be the answer.  She found me.  There are some brain cells rattling around up there somewhere.  Is she crazy?  Can she distinguish fantasy from reality?  Is she capable of understanding the consequences of her choices?  Crazy would explain a lot.
 Suddenly, something that never happens, happens:  I hesitate.  In the act of hesitating one loses focus and can become the one who receives death as opposed to the one who delivers it.
 I’m completely unsure about what to do next.  Do I kill her and end this goofy scenario?  Do I let her live because she’s obviously unstable and not capable of making good decisions?  Do I drop her off at the closest psych ward and let them deal with her?
 All these thoughts flash through my brain as I search her eyes for an answer.  Is there any indication of an ulterior motive?  Am I missing something?  I don’t think so.  There doesn’t appear to be any deception in play and, since I’m the one in control, the choice about what happens next is completely mine.
 I squeeze her arm tighter behind her and flex my fingers against her throat one more time.  She doesn’t even flinch.  She simply watches my eyes.  There’s no guile, no pretense, no manipulation in her.  She’s being completely genuine. She really doesn’t care if she leaves this world.
 I spin her around and shove her back into the Adirondack chair.  Her body thuds hard against the sturdy wood.  She winces and groans at the discomfort.
 “I’ve never met anyone so unafraid of death,” I mumble.
 Her reply is earnest and matches the unswerving nature of her behavior.  “Where I’m going, there’s nothing of which to be afraid.”
 My articulation and tone are more refined with this sentence, almost icy.  “I didn’t know God let murderers into heaven.”      
 “I expect there’s a lot you don’t know about God,” she whispers quietly, solemnly rubbing her wrist.
 It’s dark now.  The perfect time of day to encompass what just took place.  The only light present is the small amount of moon glow reflecting off the pond.
 I unlock and open the front door of the cabin, still mulling over this insanely unusual turn of events.  I leave her there on the porch, in the dark.  
 Frustration gnaws at my gut until it grows and splinters into core elements of anger and fear.  Even though both are present they’re not present equally. When my mind gives conscious credence to it, each takes turn as the dominant emotion.  
 First, I’m torrentially angry at her for interrupting my life.  Her physical presence, as well as, her demands on my time and routine, eat into my serenity like the machine a road crew uses to chew up old asphalt.  
 Second, the fear is harder to admit than the anger because it’s genuinely foreign to me.  I’ll admit the unknown is always uncomfortable.  This is way more than uncomfortable.  She told me she isn’t leaving.  I believe her.  That scares the crap out of me.  For the first time in my life I don’t know what to do next.  Short of killing her, I can’t see my way forward to making her leave here.  Concerning Cassie, I’m at a complete loss.
 Third, I’m afraid Cassie’s course will get her killed.  Yeah, I know I told her I don’t care what happens to her, but I lied right to her face.  Going after Montenegro is like picking a fight with a firing squad.  There’s zero chance of her living through this.  Occupationally, I am what I am, but I’m no monster.  There’s no joy or sense to be found in the death of one such as Cassie.
 Fourth, fear grips me again because I’m unsettled enough to be afraid.  Afraid of being afraid.  Vulnerability on an all new level.  I’ve spent my life learning not to be afraid, eradicating vulnerability, learning to walk through whatever came at me.  In one fifteen-minute conversation Cassie has eroded what it’s taken a lifetime to construct.  How can something developed over decades be so fragile?  That realization brings me full circle to anger.  
 I shut the door behind me as I sequester myself inside my home.  The door latches and I secure the locks.  I run my hands over the top of my head, down to the nape of my neck, flexing the muscles in my shoulders, chest and arms.  As I step forward, I let go with two violent punches to the air and mutter to myself, “Damned unexpected.”

Chapter Five - The Misunderstanding

It’s 0600 hours.  Morning comes sooner than my ability to face it.  I dress begrudgingly, throwing on a T-shirt and jeans, and make my way to the porch.  
 Might as well face my fear.  
 I open the front door, stopping at the threshold.  The first thing I see is a soggy floral print dress draped over the railing.  The remnant of its bath drips steadily onto the porch floor.
 The sun is bright on the east side of the cabin.  It isn’t warm enough yet to rid the mesa’s vegetation of its dew.  Intermittently, I hear prairie dog chatter.  The rowdy little creatures are rousing their families to face another day.
 I step outside to find Cassie sitting in that stupid chair.  It appears she’s latched onto it and made it an anchor of some sort.  She’s reading, of all things, her Bible.  She’s completely captivated, oblivious to my presence.  The chair is flanked by a mat on the floor, something she must have brought with her.  Her suitcase sits just beyond that, leaning against the southern wall of my cabin.
 This morning she’s dressed in a white top that ties in front and shows her midriff.  Her pants are low-rise sky-blue capris and she’s wearing the same ratty sneakers.  When Cassie realizes I’m present and watching her, she jumps up and grabs the dripping dress, slinging water everywhere.  She seems flustered and embarrassed.  When she reaches for the dress, I clearly see horrible bruising on her back and wrist.  When she turns to face me, the bruising is evident on her throat as well.      
 “I’m sorry. I just thought I’d make use of the pond water.”  She does sound truly apologetic.  Again, no guile.  She exudes nothing but sincerity.  Her honesty bugs the crap out of me.  
 I was hard on her.  If intimidation were going to break her spirit, last night should have been enough.  Looks like I’m in this for the long haul.
 “The dress itself isn’t bothering anything,” I remark, implying that other things are the source of my irritation.  She looks as if she has no idea to what I’m referring. 
 I continue, “What are you going to do today?”  I’m genuinely interested because I can’t imagine what’s keeping her here.  Sooner, or later, she’ll get bored and go of her own will.  I’m just going to have to wait her out.  I have absolutely no intention of being hospitable while I do my waiting.
 Cassie calms herself and looks at me, quiet and composed.  She informs me of her daily plans like she’s my best friend in the whole world, “I’m going to read some, I’m going to pray some, and I am going to sleep a lot.  I won’t be in your way I promise.”
 I bark accusingly, “You already are, but you obviously don’t care enough to do anything about it.” 
 As I turn to go back inside, she asks me, “Do you think I could have a glass of water?”  I look at her like she has the most unbelievable nerve I’ve ever met.  Recognition of her intrusion fails to register with her.  She simply expects a glass of water.  
 Fine.
 I step into the cabin and disappear long enough to retrieve her request.  When I return, I ignore her.  Politeness will only encourage her intrusion.  I sit the water on the floor next to her chair and reenter the cabin.  I lock the door behind me, each of four different ways.  
 Man, I hate being this awkward and uncomfortable in my own home.  I’m so out of here.  I need supplies anyway.
 Fifteen minutes later, I’m in my truck headed to town.  It’ll take me just over an hour to get there.  I’ve got several errands to occupy my time until the day is spent, and I can return home.  
 I can’t stand to be around her, so her mere presence banishes me from my own place.  Maybe she’ll be gone by the time I return.  I can only hope that will be the case.  
 I slam the steering wheel with the heels of my hands.  I hit it hard enough the steering column rattles.  She makes me so angry.  I can’t remember ever feeling this frustrated.  I really can’t stand the fact that someone else is calling the shots in my life.  To make the situation worse, there’s nothing I can do about it.  I can’t go the conventional route and call the police about a trespasser.  Doing that will open an abyss of questions which puts my privacy and freedom in jeopardy.  Not an option.   
 I could bind and gag her, throw her in the bed of my truck and deposit her at some random spot, but I’m certain she’ll only come back.  I’m sure she’s convinced she’ll persuade me to help her, hence her refusal to leave.  So, dropping her somewhere puts me going through this all over again.  This time around has been so much fun that I want a repeat.  
 Yeah, right.  No way in heck
 Chances are, she’s all alone in this world or she wouldn’t be hounding me.  Her husband is gone and she’s back in the U.S., probably for the first time in years.  Chances are, if I decide to kill her, she’ll never be missed. 
 I shake my head.  I’m even more frustrated when I acknowledge the truth for what it is.  I can’t bring myself to end her, not after the way she stood her ground with me.  As much as I hate her intrusion, I have to admit she’s got the heart of a soldier.  No fear and unflinching devotion to her duty.   Hate her or not, I begrudgingly admire her for her courage and the loyalty she demonstrates to her husband.  These are radically rare qualities in a world which unknowingly craves them.  
 Unfortunately, I find myself swatting at the crown of my right ear.  This is the fourth time now.  I reach up and inspect it with my fingertips, trying to look at it in the rearview mirror while I drive.  I find no swelling, no inflammation, no rash or pain.  It doesn’t even itch.  What the heck is going on? Why and how is it giving me so much grief?
 Time disappears as I make my way closer to town.  “Town” for me is Laredo, Texas.  It serves as the government seat for Webb County.  Laredo proper sits on the north bank of the Rio Grande River, directly across from its Mexican sister city, Nuevo Laredo.
 The two cities emerged separately at the end of the Mexican American War.  The land Laredo sits on was yielded to the U.S. at some prior time.  After the war, though, several citizens wanted the land returned to Mexico.  Those people began a petition to facilitate the return of their land.  However, the petition failed and those who supported it moved across the river and founded Nuevo Laredo.  Since its founding, Laredo has gracefully aged into a 257-year old lady and is one of the original access points between the U.S. and Mexico.    
 Topographically, Laredo, and pretty much the southern part of Texas, as well as much of Mexico, is largely flat ground covered in sparse grass with a spotting of oak and mesquite trees.  Tumbleweeds roam randomly, answering only to the whims of the wind.  
 It’s generally very hot and humid in southern Texas.  The heat can continue for days until you’re sweltering and miserable and completely sick of it and then, one afternoon, a violent storm will erupt and breathe life back into the parched landscape.  Winters here are very mild as it rarely gets cold enough to snow.  
 My cabin sits an hour and some spare minutes southeast of Laredo.  That puts me right down at the bottom of this monstrous state.  I’m fine with that.  The more lonesome, the better.
 I roll up State Road 83, coming into Laredo.  Once I hit town, 83 turns into Sacred Heart Drive.  I cut across on Arkansas Avenue to reach Saunders Street and from that point I head west to my favorite grocery.  
 Cassie’s presence rattles me to my core and that’s not an easy thing to accomplish.  Dealing with her lack of cooperation causes my frustration to grow and build like a radioactive mushroom cloud.  The initial blast messes with my ability to think clearly.  It’s the only reason I can justify fleeing my home this morning.  
 Now, that I’ve put some distance between us, I reconsider my earlier decision to let her run me off my own place.  I should have stood my ground.  My regretful behavior shatters my calm, respectful façade`.  I spend the rest of the day snapping and harping at people while I make necessary transactions.  I’m sure everyone is happy to see me leave town.
 I have to man up and deal with her.  I swat at my ear again.
 As far as I’m concerned, it takes far too long to purchase the food, automotive and domestic supplies I need.  Now that I’ve decided on a plan of action, I can’t wait to get home and implement it.  Next, I hit the gas station to refuel the truck, as well as, several twenty-gallon gas cans that ride in the back.  I stop at the post office and check my box.  No more mail than I receive, it isn’t worth the risk of having a letter carrier snooping around my place.  Next, I stop at the airport and buy aviation fuel for my chainsaw.  Finally, I deposit myself at a seat in a steakhouse and load up on protein.  
 Why won’t this ear leave me alone?
 Just over an hour later, I’m headed back to my place, a loaded truck beneath me.  I’ve got a tighter resolve where Cassie’s concerned.  If I have any luck at all, she knows I left this morning and thinks I’m not coming back.  Maybe she’ll take my disappearance today as a final indication she’s truly not welcome, that she’s not going to get what she wants, and decide to act on it by leaving.
 Okay, maybe the hour and spare change time frame that’s required for the drive back to the cabin is somewhat flexible because the fifty-first minute ticks by as I pull into the spot my truck calls home.  
 The instant I walk through the door I realize something’s wrong.  There’s an uneasiness in the atmosphere.  Or is the uneasiness in me?  In the two years I’ve lived here my security has never been breached.  Now, it’s been compromised twice in as many days.  I don’t see anyone, nothing appears to be out of place, but there’s a Presence.  I can feel it.  My right ear twitches again.
 I sit the groceries on the floor.  I reach behind the bookshelf which sits next to the door and take hold of the pistol which resides there.  Systematically, I sweep my way through the interior of the cabin.  First, the kitchen.  Nothing here.  My bedroom and bath are next.  Clear.  Then, back out to the living area.  Clear.  Half-bath.  Clear.  Finally, into the second bedroom and bath.
 Nothing.  The hairs on the back of my neck are standing straight out.  Every sensory receptor in me is screaming for my attention, but there’s no one or no thing identifiably present.  
 I’ve got to get this ear looked at.  I proceed to the front door.  If Cassie hasn’t left, I’m seriously concerned I’ll find her bludgeoned to death or eviscerated all over my porch.  I slowly open the door.
 Once again, I see the dress draped over the railing.  Cassie is lying on the mat next to that stupid chair.  I creep closer, constantly watching the sight lines of the entire area, so I’m ready for whatever comes at me.  
 I squat next to Cassie.  I can’t really see her face as her hair has fallen across her features.  I find no wounds or blood.  It doesn’t appear as if she’s been hurt. I check her pulse and watch her breathe.  Her pulse is great.  She’s breathing just fine.  She’s only sleeping. 
 How could she sleep through this? 
  While outside, I check the entire perimeter of the cabin.  I check status on the alarms.  Nothing has set them off or turned them off.  There’s no need to reset them.   
 I reenter the cabin and check the remainder of the square footage with the same apprehensive scrutiny.  Cassie and I are the only ones here.  My sense of the Presence has diminished somewhat.  It’s still here, it’s just not as intense.  I can’t define it.  It has no perimeter, no substance.  But I can’t deny it either.  It’s giving me the creeps.  
 Things just keep getting stranger and stranger.  I want my peace and quiet back.  I want this unexpected aspect of my life dead and gone.
 My ear continues to annoy me.  It feels like something is picking at it, like a bug keeps landing on it and its wings irritate the auricle.  It isn’t painful, but it’s harassing the heck out of me and it’s proving to be a distraction like you wouldn’t believe.
 My watch status is still Def Con 2, with Def Con 1 being the fly of gun fire.  Next, I check every hidden weapon stash in and around the cabin.  I verify the presence of each and assure myself of their readiness.  After my thorough search, I’m finally satisfied there’s no imminent danger to be found in or outside the cabin.  I tuck my gun into the waistline of my jeans where it sits nicely against the small of my back.  Security at the ready.  I return to unloading the truck.  It takes quite some time to get it all squared away.  I’m satisfied.  It will be weeks before I need to return for more supplies.  I swat at my ear.  
 Dang thing.  I need a doctor and I just left town.  Oh, well, a doctor can’t fix it if he can’t find it.
 In order to keep a close watch on things this afternoon, I decide to do some weight lifting indoors.  I’ll return to my cardio workout tomorrow.  Hopefully, the situation will be more settled by then.  Within a few minutes my clothes are changed and I’m hard at it in my gym.  
 Two hours later, I emerge, sweaty, but exhilarated.  I decide to check on Cassie.  She probably isn’t even aware that I’ve returned home.  This time she’s sitting on the west end of the porch with her Bible in her lap.  Her head is bowed and she’s mumbling something to herself.  I don’t interrupt her.  I’m sure she thinks she’s “busy.”
 Just as I exit the shower, I hear a distant knock on the front door.  That’s another first.  I wrap a large towel around my waist and head that way.  
 And she said she’d be no trouble.  Yeah, right. 
 I open the door, blocking her view of the cabin’s interior with my body.   She’s standing in front of me and it looks like she’s been crying.  She gasps and backs up a step.  I assume she’s reacting to the way I’m dressed.  
 What?  It hasn’t occurred to her I runaround comfortable in my own home?
 She turns her head aside and, in a stutter punctuated by throat clearing, she asks, “W..W.. Would it be p-o-s-s-sible for me to get another glass of w…w…water?”
  I smack at my ear again.  I groan and shut the door in her face.  When I return a couple of minutes later, I have a pitcher of ice water in tow.  The glass she’d used earlier is sitting where I left it.  
 “Thank you so much.  I’d not bother you and just drink from the pond, but I’m so afraid it might make me sick.”
 “Yeah,” I agree, “that might not be the best idea.”  Then it occurs to me she might be hungry.  “Have you had anything to eat?”  
 So much for being inhospitable. Well, I can’t have her collapsing on me.  That would only worsen the situation.
 “No, but I’m fine,” she assures me.  
 How can she possibly be fine? I swat at my ear again.  She’s been here nearly 24 hours and I haven’t seen her eat a thing.  As thin as she is, I won’t have to worry about ending her, she’s going to do it for me.
 “I’ll be right back.”  A few minutes later I reappear with a plate of scrambled eggs, toast and OJ. 
 “OJ!” Cassie squeals as her eyes light up.  “I just love this stuff!”  I’m trying to hand her the plate of food as well, but she’s having no part of it.  I turn and sit it on the wide flat arm of her stupid chair.  
 I swat at my stupid ear.
 Cassie is still smiling about the orange juice, drinking deeply the whole time.  I can’t believe it, but she’s truly giddy.  
 Who knew?  
 She empties the glass quickly.  It didn’t stand a chance.  
 “Would you like some more?” I ask her.  
 “Oh, no, not right now.  It’s so filling, I just don’t have room for it.  Maybe later?”      
 Filling?  Who’s she kidding?
 “I do want you to eat something,” I remind her.
 She shakes her head in disagreement, “No, not now.”
 This situation is so incredibly awkward.  I’m not sure, yet again, what to do or what to say, so I turn to leave.  As I go, I swat at my ear, again.  
 “Is there something wrong with your ear?” she asks casually.  “You keep batting at it.  I never noticed it bothering you yesterday,” she adds.
 I shake my head at the notion it bothered me the day before.  “It started this morning.  It doesn’t hurt, and I can’t feel or find anything wrong with it, but it’s really annoying me.”  
 Reflexively, I have a thought that I try, I try so hard to squelch, but it’s just too enticing.  I’ll do anything to make this ear behave. 
 “Would you care to take a look at it?” I ask politely as I flash my friendliest smile.  There’s that charm I know and love.  Ready in a heartbeat if I need it.
 “Sure, I can do that for you,” she answers simply.  She walks over to that stupid chair, pats it on its empty seat and sits her juice glass on the floor next to where she stands.  
 I do as I’m told and sit in the chair.  She steps closer to the chair, as well as, to me, and tilts my head so she can see my ear more clearly in the fading evening light.  Another odd sensation shoots through me.  Her touch is so tender and concerned.  
 I catch myself holding my breath.  She stands so close to me I can feel the heat off her body.  
 This is such a mistake.  I swear if I weren’t so desperate, I’d never put myself in this situation. 
 Cassie’s fingers glide all over my ear, searching for some anomaly.  Her shirt, her arm, and her breath all impact my bare shoulders.  I can’t stop the goose bumps from erupting.  She twists the top and the bottom of my ear every way imaginable-tugging and pushing my head as needed to get each part of my ear in the best possible light.  
 Talk about thorough.  Cassie doesn’t seem to notice my held breath or my stimulated reaction to her touch.  She’s too task oriented to pick up on either.  
 Quietly, she steps back and proclaims, “I don’t see anything.  There’s no rash, bug bite, cut, bruise, nothing.  You’re in great shape!”  
 Suddenly, it occurs to her that I’m still sitting here shirtless with nothing, but a towel wrapped around my waist.  Now, she blushes, big time.  I swear I’ve never seen anyone turn such a bright shade of red quite so fast.  She meant my ear was in great shape, but within the context of how I’m dressed her words sure have a double meaning.
 She backs away from me with her hands covering her open mouth. “I’m so sorry!  I’m so, so sorry!” she exclaims.  Her eyes are wide with the horror of humiliation. 
 I fight a grin.  I fight it hard.  Probably not hard enough, though.  
 Cassie’s so embarrassed she may never recover.  It’s kind of nice to find “Miss Mouth” in over her head.  I see tears coming as she turns quickly and runs off the end of the porch, disappearing around the corner of the cabin.  In doing so, she sets off the motion detector on the southeast corner.  
 Now, I hear her scream in response to the alarm, so I run and reset it.  When I return, she’s still out of sight.  I’d go after her, but Texas scrub isn’t overly friendly to bare feet.
 “Cassie! It’s ok!  I understand what you meant, that you were talking about my ear!  Come back here!”  
 Eventually, I see a blonde curl appear at the corner of the cabin.  One blue eye is right behind it.  She’s checking to see if I’ve gone inside.  She’s hoping to avoid me.  It seems I’ve disappointed her.  She just crumbles into a puddle right on the ground.  She pulls her knees up to her chest and hides her eyes.  She’s truly miserable at what’s transpired.
 “Cassie, you are so-o-o-o overreacting. It’s just one of those things that happens.  It’s not a big deal.  I’m not upset.  I’m going back inside now, ok?  Without picking up her head she nods in affirmation.  I’ve never met anyone who so completely embodies timidity and audacity at the same time.
 I stand at the open door and pause long enough to call to her one more time.  “Cassie!”  She looks up at me flustered and puzzled that I won’t let her be.
 “Thanks for noticing!”  I dart through the door and close it quickly behind me.  I wait just long enough to hear her wail, embarrassed all over again.

Chapter Six - The Accusation

It’s 0600 hours.  The second morning is slightly easier to face.  I remember the events of last night and know they haven’t really changed anything.  Cassie still needs to go, but I chuckle to myself as I recall how comical it was.  I don’t like people, but I’m not backwards about being around them.  Cassie, on the other hand, has to be one of the most awkward people in the world.  She takes absolutely everything to heart.  Over time, that begins to wear on a person.  She needs to lighten up.  She’ll be much happier if she does.
 I swat at my ear again.  I suppose hoping it would be less of a nuisance today was like strapping my wishes onto the back of a rogue bullet.  I’m 35 years old and I don’t remember ever being sick once in my entire life.  Maybe a cold once in a blue moon, but never anything that required a doctor’s attention.  This ear thing must be something I picked up along the way, right?    
 How, though, did I accomplish such a feat?  I’ve never heard of any germ which makes you sick before you’ve been exposed to it.  That’s crazy.  Yet, here I am with a messed-up ear and, prior to yesterday, I haven’t been off my place for two solid weeks.  I haven’t seen anyone, but Cassie.  She’s not swatting at her ear nor did she say a word about having the same trouble.  
 Bottom line, I didn’t catch this from Cassie.  I reach up and flick that “bug” off my auricle one more time.  I would give nearly anything to return to the days before she came.
 I open the front door about a third of the way.  I hold out a glass of OJ and call out in a mocking voice, “Cassie, I’ve got juice!  I bring a much-loved gift!”  I chastise myself, but I say it anyway, “I’m dressed, Cassie, I promise!”  I’m not sure which direction she comes from, but I hear her squeal again, delighted with the juice laden overture.
 She reaches out to take it at the same time I fully extend the door.  She’s back in her floral dress again, wrinkled as it is.  Now, the blouse and the capris pants are dripping over the railing.  So, this is how it’s going to be?  Are these all the clothes she has?
 “What would you like for breakfast?” I ask her.  The food from yesterday is still on the plate, completely untouched.  
 “I don’t really care for anything, except maybe more juice?” she asks with a smile on her face.
 “Cassie, I don’t care at all to get you as much juice as you can drink.” From the looks of her it won’t amount to too much. “But you really need to eat.  Have you eaten anything since you got here?”  I’m hoping she had some food stashed in her bag.
 “Nope, I haven’t eaten anything at all.  I’m not really hungry.”
 I take a big breath, preparing to fuss at her, but she cuts me off.  “I’m a grown woman.  I’ll eat when I’m ready.  Leave me alone about it.  End of discussion.”
 I shut my mouth and swat at my ear again.  I’d fuss at her anyway, but I’m giving her the once over and I realize she looks better than she did upon her arrival.  Her eyes are a little clearer.  Her complexion is brighter, and her cheeks are pinker.  She seems to be a somewhat more rested as well, maybe even more energetic.  It’s counter intuitive for her to be improving while she’s starving herself, but the proof is standing right in front of me.  To spare an argument, I let it go.
 Cassie changes the subject and says, “Before I forget, I want to thank you for the sleeping mat and blanket.  They make my stay out here much more comfortable.  I really appreciate you loaning them to me.”  
 Although it’s never left completely, the Presence reasserts itself.  Its indefinable proximity is closer now and I feel it more intensely.  I comfort my ear one more time.  
 Suddenly it occurs to me my ear dilemma could be associated with this Presence I sense.  How could I have missed that?  
 I look over to find a burgundy fleece blanket lying in a small heap on top of a sleeping mat.  
 Cassie’s thanking me for these?
 I shake my head in disagreement and ask somewhat incredulously, “What are you talking about?  I didn’t give you this stuff.  I assumed you pulled them from your suitcase.”
 She shakes her head adamantly.  “Are you serious?  There’s no room in my tiny little bag for those.”
 I walk over to where she’s executed her second glass of juice.  I’m completely puzzled.  “I don’t understand.  I didn’t leave these for you.”  
 I’m a major jerk for not having thought of it, I just wanted her gone. But right now, me being a jerk isn’t the issue.  
 “You’re seriously telling me you didn’t bring these with you?”
 Matter-of-factly she says, “Until two nights ago, I’d never laid eyes on these things,” 
 My ear is making me nuts.  
 “Well, if they aren’t mine and they aren’t yours, then where did they come from?” I ask her.
 Cassie shares her idea of an explanation.  “My first night here I went to the far side of the pond for…. privacy reasons.  When I came back the mat was on the porch.  Last night, while I was gone for…. the same reason, the blanket was waiting for me when I got back.  I just assumed you’d put them here for me.”
 “Well, you assumed wrong,” I state curtly.  I’m getting mad.  She’s lying to me.  
 Stupid ear!
 “What’s with the tone?” she snarks at me.  “My gosh, I’m sorry I brought it up.  I just wanted you to know I’m grateful.”
 Out of exasperation, and born of a will to be the jerk of which I’ve been accused, I ask, “Do you really expect me to believe these things just materialized out of thin air?”
 Cassie shrugs her thin shoulders, “Well, if they don’t belong to either of us, what other explanation is there?”  She leans against the railing, hands up on it behind her, elbows out in the air.
 I offer logic to counter her silliness, “The most obvious explanation is that you’re lying to me.” 
 Disbelief, then incredulity, flashes across her features. She offers logic of her own as her hands come down off the railing. “What possible reason would I have to lie to you?” 
 “You tell me,” I retort with an ugly smirk.
 “I don’t have a reason, that’s my point,” she says sternly.  “What?  You don’t believe that either?  Ok, then, my secret’s out,” she says in a mocking tone.  “I’m covertly trying to impress you.  I show up here destitute, begging for your help in my ratty clothes, pulling my entire life behind me in this raggedy old suitcase, and I’m going to impress you with my mat and blanket.  Come ON!” she huffs with all the indignant energy she can muster.
 I hate it when she makes sense.  I watch her eyes.  As always, she’s staring me down.  Nothing about her voice, behavior or speech indicate deception.
 I don’t believe her.  Her truthfulness cannot be an option.  Either she’s far more skilled at deceit than anyone I’ve ever come across or I’m losing my ability to tell the difference.  Crap, I’m washed up at 35.  
 I swat at my ear again.
 I pace in front of her for a moment.  I’m struggling to get my head around this.
 Cassie points her finger at me. “If we’re working on the premise that someone is lying, why isn’t it you?” she asks bluntly.  She’s primed for a fight.  The wound I’ve opened burns in her eyes.
 I stop in front of her and turn to face her.  “Me?” I ask with my own version of incredulity.  “Why would I lie to you?”
 “How about because you’re a jerk,” she answers angrily.  “Maybe you wanted to do something nice, no something barely decent for me and just couldn’t bring yourself to do it properly, you know, to my face!”
 I start to smart off to her but check myself.  “Actually, that’s not half bad, but it never occurred to me.  So, that’s not it.  Got anything else?”  
 “No, no I don’t,” she admits as she spins around, turning her back to me.  “Honestly, I don’t care.  I just know I never lied to you.  I don’t live my life based on fabrications.  I’ve not lied to you about one single thing.”
 I have no idea what else to do, so I deflect.  “You took over my porch,” I say accusingly.
 What is wrong with this ear?!!!
 “So, stinking what?!” she fires back.  “I didn’t do it without your knowledge. “I was completely up front with you.  I told you I wasn’t leaving.  That’s not deceitful, that’s the opposite of deceitful.”  
 Now, she’s three for three.  She’s really starting to aggravate that big nerve running down my neck.  Between her and this ear I’m going under for the last time.
 “Parking myself here is just being assertive.  I’m all kinds of assertive, when I need to be.”
 “You think?!” I agree.  “Ok,” I say, with an intent to switch our conversational track, “Let’s just assume for now that we’re both telling the truth.  That means these things just materialized right out of thin air.”
 “Well, if neither of us is lying, what else could it be?” she asks with such transparency it’s painful to watch.
 “So, before you assumed I was lying to you, you assumed they just popped into existence?  Right?”
 “Sure, why not?  You’ve given me no reason to think of you as liar.  Or, if you have lied to me, I don’t know it yet.”  She pauses briefly and cocks her head to one side.  Her forefinger taps her chin.  “Well, come to think of it, you did lie to me about not being able to help with Montenegro, two different times, but I knew you were lying, so it doesn’t count.”
 I shake my head in disbelief.  “Cassie, you’re incredibly gullible.  You do realize, don’t you, that material objects don’t just appear.  They have to be produced and then transported.  Then, things like these have to be purchased or at least stolen from a store somewhere.  They don’t just “happen.”  You do understand, right?” I ask, watching her closely.
 She simply stands before me, facing the pond.  She says nothing.  I ask her with words and demeanor as delicate as a guy like me can manage, “Cassie, are you ok?  I mean, do you need help?  Of …some sort?”       
 She pulls away from the railing, shaking her head.  She looks at me now and I can tell by the fire about to erupt from her eyes she understands my question.  
 Politely, she walks up to me and starts poking my chest repeatedly with her finger.  “Let me recap, will you?”
 I nod my head at her just once, acquiescing to her request.
 “Something unusual happens and the answer is one of two things: either I’m a liar, or I’m a gullible psych job, right?  You’d better hold on then because I’m about to blow your mind.”
 I can’t imagine what’s coming next.  I lock my jaw and steel myself for the inevitable.   “Okay, Cassie, let’s have it.  How are you going to blow my mind?”  
 “I know what’s wrong with your ear,” she states matter-of-factly, like she’s one-upping me. 
 I look at her skeptically.  “Really, what’s that?”  
 By now, I’m almost grinning.  This is the most asinine situation imaginable.  If I had a crew of buddies, I’d blow them away with tales about crazy Cassie as we throw back some cold ones.  Now, it occurs to me, I don’t have a crew, so there’s that.
 Cassie moves so she stands with her arms folded across her chest.  She refuses to look me in the eye.  She’s practically pouting.  It’s as if she needs to tell me something but begrudges having to do so.         
 Slowly, she raises her gaze and says quite seriously, “You need to listen.”  She says nothing else.  She simply stands her ground in front of me, her forehead even with my chest.
 “Listen? Listen to what?” I prod her.
 “Listen to what’s going to be said.”
 “Who’s going to be talking?” I query, doing my best not to laugh at her.
 “I guess you’ll have to figure that out,” she replies flatly.  I’ve clearly insulted her which was never my intention. I took a shot she’d agree she needs help, hoping she’d let me take her somewhere.  Anywhere.  Just out of here.  She’d get the help she needs, and I’d be on my own again.  I can’t wait!
 Cassie refuses to look at me.  She sits down on the top step of the porch and says with dismissive finality, “I’m done with this.  I have some reading to do.”
 Awkward.  Again.  I shrug my shoulders in exasperation and head back inside.  I’ll leave her to her own little deluded world.  There’s no end to how much she annoys me, but she’s harmless.  Well, she’s harmless to me, anyway.  Montenegro is a different story.  If she finds someone to help her, he’d better be getting right with God.
 We pretty much stay in our own corners for the rest of the day.  I return to her with juice in hand several times.  Each time she drains it dry even if her enthusiasm is not the same as before.  
 The Presence is still with us, but I can’t find it and I don’t see that it’s posing any sort of threat.  Unlike yesterday, feeling like its safe enough to leave the cabin, I get in another grueling workout across the mesa. I work hard at shedding all the tension and other unwanted burdens.  Experiencing the burn in my lungs and legs helps me forget what waits for me at home.  Frequently, I tend to my ear, desperate to be rid of the nuisance which refuses to leave.  
 The sun is setting as I finish my workout.  Tonight’s sunset is completely different.  The sky is darkening, but pale in comparison to the black ominous clouds.  They could hold the promise of rain, but the breeze hasn’t grown into a Texas sized gale, nor has the temperature dropped.  The sun is a blinding yellow orange.  The overall effect reminds me of Halloween.  The color scheme is perfect for it.  This sunset seems almost violent in comparison to last evening’s serene repose.  
 Sunsets are one of my favorite things.  Another lost opportunity because she’s still here.     
 Right after dark I emerge onto the porch.  I hate having her here. There’s no doubt about it, but I hate the tension between us even more.  I want to make it better between us and I’m not sure why.  It’s never bothered me before if someone is irked at me.  
 Why does it bother me now?  Maybe it’s because she’s camped out on my porch? Maybe it’s because she’s either telling me the truth or she believes she’s telling me the truth.  Maybe it’s because my curiosity is still getting the best of me.  
 If she’s not imagining all of this, then she’s a pathological liar.  Only someone with seriously debilitated moral boundaries would lie about something as silly as a mat and blanket.  If she’s not a compulsive liar then she’s mentally ill, probably dealing with at least two personalities.  One personality is doing the truth telling while the other one is producing the bed linens.  Neither knows what the other is up to.  That could certainly explain why she believes her truthfulness.  
 I swat at my ear again.  Swat, swat, swat, all day long, several times a minute.  It sure isn’t getting any better. 
 Does it matter if she’s one or the other?  It’s just a mat and blanket, what’s the big deal?  I’m putting a great deal of effort into making this “ok” in my brain.  Yes, it matters.  She’s either inherently dishonest or she’s mentally disturbed.  Either way she needs to be somewhere else.  Personally, I’m pretty much convinced she needs a doctor and some meds.      
 What do I say to someone I’ve accused of being a liar and/or mentally unstable?   I don’t have a clue where to start.  
 I exit the cabin and stand on the porch, in front of the door.  Cassie looks up at me expectantly.  I have nothing of myself to give her.  I rub my ear again and decide to go for the obvious.
 “Do you want something else to drink, maybe something to eat before you call it a day?” I ask hopefully.  I’m talking, but I feel as uncertain of myself as I ever have.  I don’t like the feeling.  I’m always in control.  Heck, I orchestrate and execute control for a living. 
 “No, I think I’m okay,” she replies cheerfully.  She doesn’t sound mad.  She sounds happy.  
 How’s that possible?  Maybe she’s manic depressive.  Great, two separate mental disorders at the same time.  I have to get her out of here before she includes my porch as a permanent part of her delusion.  
 “Would you like me to take you somewhere?  Anywhere.  We can go anywhere you want, literally.  I’ll be happy to take you.  You just say where.”
 She doesn’t even think it over.  She just shakes her head, “No, I’m fine right here.  I’m done reading for the day.  I’m done with everything for the day, so I’m ready to turn in.  Thanks, though.”  She ambles over to her sleeping cubby and picks up a pillow to fluff it.  
 Now, there’s a pillow, too?  Are you kidding me?
 I walk over to the front door, prepared to enter the cabin.  Once I reach the threshold, she quietly reminds me, “Don’t forget to listen.”  
 Reflexively, I reach up to touch my ear and realize I might as well listen because I have no further words to offer.

Chapter Seven - The Visitor

I awake at 0630.  My internal alarm clock is letting me down.  I can feel my self-discipline eroding.  My grief expresses itself as an agonized moan.  
 This is morning number three of Cassie’s visit.  I sit up in bed and immediately feel the Presence.  It’s strong this morning, but I’ve learned there isn’t anything I can do about it.
 It permeates everything.  It yields to nothing, yet it harms nothing.  I don’t know its purpose for being here or why it came when it did.  Until I can find it, I can’t do anything about it.  I’m about to decide my cabin is haunted.
 I haven’t mentioned it to Cassie.  What’s the point?  She’s loopy enough without adding my freaky concerns to her own.  She’s said nothing about it, so she must be unable to sense it.  
 Oh, to live in her world.
 My ear continues to pester me.  It wasn’t until last morning that I associated the two, the Presence and my ear problem.  They could be connected.  They “showed” themselves just scant hours apart.  That fact could mean everything.  It could mean nothing.  It might simply be a coincidence.  Without something concrete to see, touch or at least hear, how do I go about addressing it?  
 I want my life back.  Instinctively, I know achieving that objective begins with Cassie’s departure.
 All at once, the alarms begin to wail, and everything comes unglued.  I hear Cassie screaming like she’s caught by the devil himself.  Also, I make out the bark of a dog. 
 A dog?
 I grab my pistol from under my pillow and head through the cabin toward the porch.  I peek out the windows that flank the front door.  This view offers no insight to the commotion, so I open the door slightly, gun drawn, hyper alert.  I scan the entire area in front of the cabin.  I see nothing out of place.
 Cassie’s screams and the barking come from the east side of my home.  I hug the southern wall while making my way toward the noise, constantly vigilant of my sight lines.  I glance around the corner and see Cassie standing fifteen feet from the porch still screaming like there will never be a tomorrow.  She sees me and points to a huddled mass scrunched up against the side of the cabin.
 A second look at the mass reveals its floppy ears and scruffy little body.  I utter an enormous sigh and show Cassie my index finger, indicating I’ll be right back.  As quickly as possible, I get the alarm shut off and reset.  I’m reminded, one more time, of my true appreciation for peace and quiet.
 When I return to the porch Cassie stands before me a shivering mess, hugging her own shoulders and fighting tears. 
 Frustrated beyond belief and nearly incensed, I ask in utter exasperation, “What is wrong with you?!  Why are you so upset?”
 “I woke up a few minutes ago,” she sputters somewhat breathlessly, “When I rolled over, IT was sitting a foot from my head just glaring and growling at me.”
 “Okay,” I counter as I flag my arms, indicating the sum total of the situation. “I can see how that would be a little startling, but is all this necessary?”
 “I tried to shoo it away,” she says as she walks back to the edge of the porch, “but that’s all the farther it will go.  When it got that far, it curled up next to your house, the alarm went off and it started growling on a whole new level.”
 “He’s just scared, that’s all,” I offer in the way of reassurance.
 “No, that’s not all, not by a dump truck load,” she replies hastily, shaking her head vigorously.
 I kneel and call to the little dog.  It reluctantly makes its way over to me, timid, but hopeful.  It’s a mutt dog, maybe part Yorkie Terrier, part something a little bigger.  He’s dirty, probably hungry, could use a drink, and all kinds of cute.
 “Look, Cassie, it’s just a scared little dog.  He’s harmless, see?”  I start toward it to demonstrate how fragile and friendly he is.  My ear is begging for attention.
 “That’s no dog,” Cassie states adamantly.  “That thing came here to spy on me.”
 Don’t folks in the mental health industry call this a psychotic break?  Here we go.
 “What are you talking about?  Dogs don’t spy on people!” I chastise her.
 “I know that!” she snaps at me like I’ve just spoken the most obtuse thing ever said.  “I told you this is not a dog!”
 “It’s got a face with two eyes, a nose and two ears.  It’s got four legs and a tail.  We already know that it barks really well so what else can it be?”
 “It’s from the other side,” she says simply.
 “The other side of what?” I ask as I swat my ear yet again.
 “Never mind,” she smarts back at me.  “You’re not going to understand.  You’re only going to tell me for the second time that I’m crazy.”  
 The thought does occur to me, but for more than the second time.
 “Well, Cassie, what are we going to do?” I ask, more frustrated than ever.
 “The “dog”, she says with finger quotes, “has to go.  It’s not safe to have him here.”
 I stand quietly, letting Cassie vent while thinking I’ll take my chances with the dog any day.
 Cassie continues, “Do what you do and kill him.  He can’t be here.”
 I shake my head in disagreement, refusing as politely as I can. “There’s no reason to kill this little guy.”  I don’t want to upset her any more than necessary, but she seems to be under the impression she can order the death of something like she would a burger and fries.
 “Well, he’s not staying here with me, that’s for sure.  So, either you get rid of him or take him inside with you,” she orders me, like absolutely no other option exists.
 “I’m not going to do either of those,” I tell her.  “I refuse to kill a harmless little dog and I won’t take him inside because he’ll destroy my place.  So, until I return to Laredo and can leave him at the pound, he’ll just have to stay.”
 “You have to keep that thing away from me.  I mean it,” she commands in a decent imitation of a navy admiral.
 “I’ll do my best,” I agree.  “I’ll set him up over here on the far end of the porch with some water and grub.  Hopefully, he’ll stay put and out of your way.”  
 Good grief, overreact much?  I’d have thought a girlie girl like Cassie would have been a soft touch for a cute little dog.  Shows you what I know.  The unexpected just keeps coming.
 Soon, I have the dog all squared away.  Cassie sits in her chair, giving the dog hateful looks.  By now, I’m needing a break.  I’ve got to clear my head and deal with the stress of yet another development.  I grab a bag, fill it with a variety of handguns, a couple of rifles, along with the corresponding ammo, and head to my shooting range.  Right now, shooting something sounds like a lot of fun, even if it isn’t a dog.
 Two hours later I’m back at the cabin.  When I arrive, I do a quick Cassie check. I find her sitting on the top step of the porch with her Bible open in her lap.  Her elbows are propped up on her thighs and her head is bowed to meet her hands as they clasp together at her forehead.  She’s rocking back and forth slightly, mumbling to herself.  The dog is positioned where I left him.  He’s laying down, but his hackles are raised as he emits a relentless low growl.  All his animosity is directed at Cassie.  
 These two sure got off to a rotten start.  How can they possibly hate each other so completely, so quickly?
 I enter the cabin through the north entrance.  I mull over the situation while cleaning the guns and decide it’s time for a talk with my “guest.”  Once I store the cleaned weapons, I gather the requisite glass of OJ and head her way.  When I arrive, Cassie is asleep on her mat with her face turned toward the cedar wall of the cabin.  The dog lies three feet from the back of her head, growling its own hairy little head off. 
 I swat at my ear. 
 You’d think the dog would give it up after a while, wouldn’t you?
  I walk over to the dog and shoo it away from Cassie.  It snaps at me but goes back to its feed bowl.  It has an altogether different vibe about it than it did earlier.  Okay, so maybe I should consider siding with Cassie after all.
 I no longer trust this thing.  I’m going to have to put that scruffy little pile of hair somewhere or I’ll have to guard Cassie while she sleeps.  To her credit, she told me to kill it.  Guess her instincts about it were right.  I didn’t want to do him in, but I won’t allow him to hurt her.  The last thing I need is a lawsuit from a crazy woman who got bit at my residence by a dog that doesn’t even belong to me.
 I can’t put him in my cabin, but I could put him in the garage with the Jag. Man, he’s going to pee all over my tires.  I am not fine with that. I won’t let Cassie sleep inside either.  I could wake her up and let her fend for herself.  The truth is, though, the ability to rest at will over the last few days has really served her well.  She needs the sleep.  I guess that leaves me with a baby-sitting gig.  Go team.
 I reach up and relieve my ear.  Again. 
 So, here I sit, parked on the porch, supervising a nasty tempered little dog while guarding a gullible psycho.  
 I sure didn’t see any of this coming, but then I guess that’s the definition of the unexpected.  
 I swat at my ear again.  
 Twice now, Cassie’s told me to “listen.”  She won’t say to what or whom.  I’m only supposed to listen to what’s coming at my ear.  I’m a soldier, plain and simple.  Even if I disagree with an order, I can follow it with the best of them.  However, it has to be something concrete, something I can get my head around.  These abstract generalities simply don’t work for me.  
 Suddenly, it occurs to me I’m taking advice from a deluded woman.  Who in their right mind does that?  Where did my structured productive life go?
 Time is scooting away from me at a relentless pace.  Any day now, I’ll receive a new contract.  I’m past due as it is.  When it happens, I’ll have a job to plan and I’ll have to be gone for several days.  Cassie can’t stay here during my absence.  I won’t have it.  She’s got to go.  
 I guess I’ll toss her in the truck and drop her off somewhere in Laredo.  Maybe I’ll get lucky and she won’t bother returning.  Maybe, she’s been here long enough to get it out of her system, whatever “it” is.  At least while I’m in town I can have my ear looked at by a doctor.  I’ll love getting some relief from this wretched annoyance.  
 I reach up to swat away the “bug” that will not leave me alone.
 I check my watch and realize I’ve been sitting in this chair for two solid hours, keeping the dog away from Cassie.  I’m pretty sure he’d have devoured her had it not been for my presence.  
 The days are beginning to cool off some, collaborating with the calendar, so it’s not been as hot sitting here as it would have been a month ago.  Still, it’s warm enough the neighboring animals seek shelter from the midday heat.  Why be out in it unnecessarily?  The dog has come to understand I’m not leaving, so he’s settled down and gotten quiet.  I’m grateful I don’t have to listen to his constant disapproval of Cassie.
 I rest my head against the back of the chair.  When I stop to consider all that’s happened to me within the last three days, the enormity of it causes fatigue to set in.  My brain is tired, my body is tired, probably because my brain is tired.  I’m so weary of her being here.  I’m constantly battling questions regarding her mental status, as well as her presence.  I’m not her family, so I have no legal responsibility to or moral responsibility for her.  Maybe when we talk later, I can get some information about, if not her actual family, some friends who can offer refuge.
 There must be someone, somewhere, who’s able to look after her.  Like I told her, I’ll gladly take her anywhere, literally anywhere, she wants or needs to go.  I’ll make sure she gets there safe and sound.  I’ll even pay for the gas, plane tickets, whatever’s needed.  I’ll make it happen.  I’m fine with that.
 It’s not simply her mental condition that wears on me though.  If she were as lucid as, me, for example, she’d still be wearing me out.  Just having her here, messing with my day to day life, screwing up my schedule and stealing my privacy, is killing me.  If I allow the emotional connection my heart seeks, it could ease the disruption she’s causing.  But there’s no way my brain will give my heart permission to get mixed up with this crazy woman.  
 Also, there’s this Presence to consider.  It’s intense enough to make anyone uneasy.  Here again, it’s this vague, indefinable aspect that creeps me out. Soldiers deal with black and white.  Absolutes are what we know best and we’re trained to cope with them.  Since there’s nothing tangible about this Presence, I’m at a loss as to how to deal with this aspect of Cassie’s visit.  Until she showed up, I’ve never been at a loss over anything.  Got an objective?  Meet it head on.  Get it done.  Mission over.  
 I detest floundering like this.  I have no idea what action to take or not take.  Maybe, simply waiting her out is the best non-action, or is it action?  Oh, heck, I don’t even know anymore.  
 I know in my gut the Presence is connected to Cassie.  If my house is haunted, it wasn’t haunted until she came.  Hopefully, once she leaves, this mysterious visitor will leave with her.  
 Right now, my mental reserves are lower than they’ve been since I was caught in an intense combat situation years ago.  That lasted for two weeks, not three days.  I’d have been the first person to jump up and say that I could put up with absolutely anything for three days, especially as a non-prisoner.  What’s three days, right?  I’m finding it’s much easier to say the words than to live them.
 There’s also this problem with my ear.  It’s been a relentless aggravation.  And, finally, this stupid dog shows up and just adds more annoyance to my already exhausted personal status.  I’m certain the waters of life are about to take me under.  
 The unexpected just keeps coming at me.  I don’t even get a chance to process one thing before another one shows up and hurls itself at me.  It’s like I’m attempting to juggle all these new aspects of my life, but the juggle cycle keeps speeding up and I’m about to drop it all.
 I gasp at a sudden realization.  There’s a thought.  What if I do drop it all?  Who says it’s my job to keep all this air born?  Why am I putting up with all this craziness?  The only thing I’m responsible for is that I haven’t put an end to it, right?  Right!  
 Wrong.
 Who am I kidding?  As far as I know I have never failed at anything I’ve set out to do.  I’ve always thrived in the face of a challenge and my pride won’t let me walk away from this.  So, the bottom line is that it’s my responsibility because I say it’s my responsibility.  As much as I hate to admit it, I’m fine with it.  It’s who I am.

 Another hour passes and Cassie rallies.  She rolls over, sees me sitting next to her and the first words out of her mouth are, “I’m really thirsty.  Can I get something to drink?”
 “You and me both,” I mutter.  “Are you awake enough to keep an eye on our hateful little canine friend?”
 “He’s certainly no friend of mine, but he won’t hurt me,” is all she says.
 I shake my head in disagreement and say, “I’m not so sure.  He acts like he’d like to eat you alive.”  
  I bat at my ear.  Again.
 “I know, but he doesn’t possess the ability to do me harm.  He’s just making a lot of noise.”
 This poor woman is all kinds of delusional.  She’s sure done a 180 in the way she perceives the dog, but her about face is obviously earnest or she’d never have been able to turn her back on him to sleep.  I couldn’t have pulled it off.  No way.
 I slip into the cabin and return a few minutes later with a pitcher of ice water and a round of OJs.  Cassie’s mood has become somber and preoccupied.  “I need to get my dress washed out again, so it can dry before morning.”  She isn’t looking at me, but somehow, I know the words she just spoke have nothing to do with the thoughts she’s processing. 
 She’s sitting in her chair again.  She swiped it while I was in the kitchen.  Sweat is making her blouse stick to her body.  She has her Bible open in her lap again and she’s staring off across the pond.
 I dive right in.  “Cassie, we need to talk.”  I swat at my ear.
 Cassie disagrees and lets me know as much.  “I can’t talk right now.  I have more praying to do,” she says seriously without ever taking her eyes off the horizon.
 “Your praying can wait until later,” I counter.
 “No, it can’t,” is her immediate rebuttal.  “Everything is about to change, and I won’t be left out of it.”  
 I refuse to be sucked into her delusion by asking her what she means.
 I bark a question at her because my frustration gets the best of me. “Do you realize you make no sense when you speak?” 
 She looks at me now, surprised and annoyed beyond belief. “What are you talking about?!” she wants to know.  “I make perfect sense.  Anyway, if you think I’m so difficult to understand, why do you assume the breakdown in communication is on my end?  You’re the listener in this little dynamic.  Maybe you’re just really bad at it.”     
 I clench my teeth as that vein in my neck stops twitching and begins to throb.  I just hate it when she says something sensible.  It happens so infrequently she always catches me off guard.   
 I pause for just an instant, searching for my best words.  I shrug my large shoulders in concession and say, “Because it never occurred to me, Cassie.  But you have to admit you are a tad bit unusual.”
 “I’m not a tad bit unusual. I’m a lot unusual. What’s wrong with that?” she wants to know.  “There’s no sense to be found in being like everyone else.”  
 I shake my head in absolute wonder.  I’ve never even heard of, much less met, anyone who’s offended because they are under insulted!  Wow!
 This time, I nod in agreement.  “Well, that’s one thing you don’t have to worry about Cassie.  You’ve got unusual covered regardless of the quantity in question.”  
 She drops her gaze and fidgets with a splinter on the arm of her chair.  She drops her hands to her lap, fiddling her fingers together where they lie.  A quiet moment passes before her curiosity gets the best of her, she looks up at me and asks, “Why do you want to talk to me?”
 Without so much as a blink, I reply, “I want to discuss your departure.”  
 I comfort my ear.  Stupid thing!
 My words offend her all over again.  Her tone takes on that spiteful icy edge she’s so skilled at delivering.  “Let me soothe your ego with regards to my departure.”
 I cock my head at her, curious as all get out.   “How are you going to do that?” I ask skeptically.
 “I’m leaving first thing in the morning,” she utters in quiet sternness.  
 Shock blindsides me.  
 “Tomorrow morning?  Really?”  My eyebrows shoot up and my mouth pops open in disbelief.  There’s got to be a catch.  It can’t really be this easy.
 “That’s what I said,” she reminds me.  “I show up…and then I leave. Just like that,” she says as she pastes a fake smile on her beautiful little face, snapping her fingers as she snarks at me.  
 Relief floods through me.  It’s all I can do to keep from jumping up and down.  That wouldn’t be nice.  I don’t want to hurt her feelings.  Not now, of all times.  Finally, this early autumn fiasco is nearly over!
 I pop up off the railing feeling freer and lighter than I have in years.  Enough weight to fill the Grand Canyon has simply dissipated from my shoulders.
 “Cassie, that’s all I needed to know.  You pray, do whatever you need to do.  I’ll just stay out of your way.  Would you like something to eat before I get on with my day?”
 “Some more juice would be nice.”
 “Ok, then.  I’ll be right back.”  I practically sing and dance my way into the kitchen.  When I return, she’s already assumed the position on the top step, Bible open across her lap.  I hand her the glass of ice cold OJ.
 “Thank you so much,” she says quietly.  She takes a big drink and sets it beside her on the step.  She returns to her reading without another spoken word.
 Dismissed again, but for nearly the last time!  I retreat into the cabin and change into my workout gear while I throw silent, sequential, victory punches into the air.  As I leave the back door of the cabin I whoop and holler my way down the dirt drive.
 Two and a half hours later I come home exhausted, but thrilled my life is about to be mine again.  I do a quick Cassie check.  She has no idea I’m watching the scene on my porch.  She’s moved from the step back up to the chair, but she’s still bent over her Bible, mumbling to herself.  She holds her blonde curly locks out of her earnest face.  I have no idea what she’s saying, but it’s obviously very important to her.  I replace the empty juice glass with a full one and leave her be.
 The dog sits halfway between Cassie and its water bowl.  Its gaze is intensely focused on her.  A constant, hearty growl comes from deep within its throat, interrupted only by the necessity for breath.  For someone who was so shook up by the appearance of this hateful little creature, Cassie is now completely unfazed by its presence or behavior.  Somehow, she’s tuning out its attempted interruption.  If I’d been the one trying to concentrate through all that racket, shooting the dog would have become a far more viable option.  Hopefully, though, when she leaves tomorrow, it will go too.  I can wait that long.  If he doesn’t leave, then I’ll take care of him.  
 For the millionth time today, I reach up to soothe my ear.
 I head to my room, undress and climb into the shower.  One great benefit of being in shape is a short recovery time.  Already, I’m cool enough from my work-out that my shower will stick.  The hot soapy water washes the sweat and dust away, attempting to match the cleaner freer mindset I’m enjoying, as if that’s even possible.
 Just a few hours to go.  At this point, many of those hours will be spent sleeping.  I’m coming down the homestretch in this race called Cassie.  I just stand and enjoy the hot water.  I can feel the knots in my neck and shoulders untwisting as I stand here.  The warm liquid relief works itself deeper and deeper into my body.   For a reason I fail to understand, though, the water respite doesn’t quiet my ear.

 Later, I decide to fix dinner.  I’ll offer some to Cassie who will probably refuse it.  Should I feel guilty over the way I’ve treated her?  Probably.  I know the way I’ve behaved is reprehensible, but you have to admit, it worked!  She’s leaving and I simply refuse to beat up myself for bad behavior.  I did what I had to do to get her to leave.  I’m fine with that.
 For my celebratory dinner I fix myself a 20-ounce Ribeye Steak, 2 baked sweet potatoes and a can of blue lake green beans, seasoned just the way I like.  I offer dinner to Cassie, who, surprise, surprise, won’t have any part of it.  All she wants is more juice.  Happy to oblige! 
 I comfort my ear again.  Time and again, it’s necessary.  This relentless irritation is getting more insistent, as well as, more aggravating.
 Cassie is still totally preoccupied with her Bible.  She won’t raise her head long enough to enjoy the ending of another day.  I can’t begin to understand what she finds so fascinating.  It’s just a bunch of old stories about a bunch of dead people from a million years ago.  Now, if a person were, say, an archaeologist or some other type of historian, I could see some interesting relevance.  Cassie, however, is neither of those.  
 Cassie is….well, she isn’t anything really, other than a lost, screwed up soul with a penchant for wrecking my life. 
 But not for long!
 Later still, I choose to spend the evening reading an architecture book while  listening to Vivaldi.  I throw in a little wine and show myself a quiet relaxed evening.  Tomorrow when I rise, she’ll be gone, and I’ll have my life back.  
 Sounds like a plan to me!
 The evening progresses nicely.  Cassie is involved with her pastimes outside.  I’m chilling in the living room with my book, wine and music when I hear a scuffle on the porch.  
 Two seconds later, Cassie screams, “NO!” so I unroot myself and head toward the commotion.  
 So much for a quiet evening.
 I open the door and learn the intense dislike she and the dog have for each other has escalated.  Cassie has a grip on one end of her pillow and the dog has its grip on the other end.  Cassie pulls and tugs, trying to get the dog to release it, but he’s not going down without a fight.  He’s holding his own, shaking his head, baring his clenched teeth and growling like there’s no way in hell he’s going to lose.
 From where I stand the two of them appear to be pretty evenly matched.  Cassie doesn’t outweigh the dog by that much.  Well, she does pound wise, of course, but she’s so pitifully frail her weight doesn’t help her like it should.  Additionally, the dog is surprisingly strong for its breeding and size.  
 Neither one of them is willing to give.  Back and forth they tug.  It looks like Cassie is going down first, her energy failing her, but suddenly, the pillow rips down the center and stuffing flies everywhere.  The slight breeze is happy to give it a ride across the porch and onto the mesa.  Cassie stumbles backward and bumps into the railing, trying to right herself.  The dog, with his advantage of two additional legs, simply backs up a couple of steps in order to correct his balance.
 What began as a comical romp has turned into a huge mess all over my porch and yard.
 “Cassie! Look at this!” I scold her heartily.  “You’ve got to get this mess cleaned up!”  I’m so aggravated at her and the stupid dog, I decide to pick a fight, to be a brat just because I can.  “I thought you said the dog couldn’t hurt you.”
 “Does it look like the dog has hurt me?!” she smarts back.  “I never addressed its ability to grieve me to the point of making me miserable.”  
 She’s leaning against the railing, trying to catch her breath.  The dog is still shaking his ornery little head, throwing pillow stuffing the entire time.  His victory obviously didn’t wind him like Cassie’s loss winded her.
  “I’ll clean it up,” she says in a low exhausted voice, “just give me a minute.”  She slides down the railing until her bottom rests on the porch floor.
 For me, irritation is the emotional level immediately prior to anger and I’m about as irritated as I get.        
 “This is such an incredible mess.  It doesn’t make any sense to try and clean it up before we take the rest of it away from him,” I remark.
 “Good luck with that,” Cassie manages to say.  “Go ahead, try your hand at it.  See how far you get.”
 I start toward the dog.  Ever vigilant, he’s ready for me.  It seems as if his tussle with Cassie was just a warm-up.  Now, he’s lying on his belly with the pillow, or what remains of it, clenched between his teeth and secured under his front paws.  His eyes are focused on me, but his growl is much deeper now, more menacing.  I suppose he sees me as a bigger threat than Cassie.  He’s so very right.
 I disappear into the cabin and return with my handgun.  I take a bead on the dog and learn he’s evidently familiar with firearms.  When understanding registers in his brain, he yelps and runs around the corner of the cabin, setting off the motion sensors.  
 “That’s got to be the dog from hell,” I remark.
 “You have no idea,” she replies, still somewhat winded.
 “Yeah, I do,” I snap, annoyed that she thinks I don’t understand.  “I’ve dealt with this dog just as much as you have.”  She has no idea I kept the dog away from her while she slept for several hours.  
 Cassie rolls her eyes at me and turns her head.
 I disappear into the cabin to deal with the sensor alarms.  I might as well relieve the stupid things of their duty.  I’m tired of dealing with them.

Chapter Eight - The Vision

I put away my gun and retrieve a broom and dustpan.  When I get back to the damage, Cassie is on her hands and knees trying to collect the fluffy debris.  
 “Here, this will make it a lot easier.”  I offer her my hand, help her to her feet and hand over the implements.  I leave the porch and begin to gather the rogue pieces of pillow stuffing which have made their way into the yard.  After a couple of minutes, I glance up and find Cassie steadying herself against the broom handle.  Her face is pale, and her eyes are closed.
 “Cassie?  You ok?” I ask from the yard.
 “Umm….been better,” she says without opening her eyes.
 “If you can’t stand up, sit down in the chair,” I boss her.  She manages to find her way backwards into the chair without bothering to use the exertion required to ease herself into it.
 “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
 “Well, I do.  It’s a no brainer,” I smart off to her.  
 She cocks her head at me and calls me a wise guy with her eyes.  “Ok.  If you’ve got it all figured out, let’s have it.”
 “You’ve been here for days and, as far as I’m aware, you’ve not eaten a single bite of anything.  You’re weak and shaky because you haven’t eaten.  Your body can only go for so long without food.  On top of that, you expend all this energy fighting the dog and now you’re trying to clean up.  Your body isn’t up to it that’s all.”
 Instantly, I see in her eyes she hates it when I make sense.  
 Welcome to my world!
 Between the damage done by the dog and the added incentive from the evening breeze, it takes another forty-five minutes to round up all the pillow innards.  Cassie helps as much as she can, but she’s too fragile to contribute a whole lot. For the most part she sits and watches me.  I finish cleaning up, dispose of the debris, put the implements away and reappear on the porch.
 The dog is back.  He sits next to his water bowl at the far end of the porch. He’s still growling like he’s got some quota to meet.  
 That insufferable tiny monster.  I have never seen such a nasty tempered animal.  Tomorrow, his number is up.  I am so over my unwillingness to end him.
 Right now, it’s a mere moment from being completely dark.  We’re already well past the sunset phase of the day.  All that beauty occurred while I was cleaning up and disposing of pillow fodder.  Hope surges within me when I remember this is the final sun set she’ll take from me.  
 She’s leaving in the morning.  She promised.  In just a few hours everything will be back to normal.  I swat at my ear again.  Well, as soon as I get my ear fixed, everything will be normal, but her departure means I’ve cleared most of the hurdles.  No more messes, no more intrusion, no more stolen sunsets.  A joyous tremor runs through me as my mind and heart embrace the imminence of my freedom.
 Cassie continues to sit in her chair, all calm and serene.  She looks like she belongs on the veranda of some southern mansion, sipping iced tea, without the hoop skirt and parasol.  She’s watching me, but she watches with a gaze I’ve never seen before.  I get just a brief glance, more like a glimpse really, before the sunlight fades entirely.  
 What is that look she’s giving me?  Love?  Gosh no!  Devotion?  Hardly.  Concern? Yes, but only partly.  Is it interest?  Maybe, but again, only partially. 
 Compassion?  Yes, that’s it.  Entirely it.  Why is she looking at me with compassion in her expression?  I’m the one with a home, a job and a purpose in life.  My body is strong and healthy and capable of doing pretty much anything I ask of it.  My mind is quick and proficient in many areas.  It, too, can perform as  needed.
 Compassion for me?  That’s laughable!  I’m actually insulted.  She’s the one starving herself to death because she won’t stop reading and praying long enough to eat anything.  What a joke.  Maybe after she leaves here someone will have her committed.  She’s obviously incapable or unwilling to care for herself.  She can use all the compassion people can throw at her.  She truly needs it.  
 Compassion for me?  Surely not.  It makes no sense.  Maybe I misunderstood the look in her eyes.  It was, after all, the briefest of perceptions.   Suddenly, it occurs to me misunderstanding each other is what we do best.
 Quietly, she gets up out of her chair and walks over to me at the railing.  She looks at me with an open, trusting expression.  It’s not the same look as a moment ago.  She takes my hand in her own.  Her skin is so soft, and her touch is so gentle.  
 I can’t help it.  I’m holding my breath again.  Breathe, man, breathe!  
 Cassie takes hold of my upper arm and slowly turns me, so I face the pond.  She lays my hand on the railing and leaves it there.  She stands beside me as I swat my ear.  Again.
 She drops her head and quietly says, “Do you remember my first night here I told you I didn’t have the words to describe the depths of my situation?”
 “Yeah, I remember,” I admit quietly because the vibe of the moment is doing its best to creep me out.
 “I still don’t have the words, so I’m going to show you,” Cassie says just as quietly, but with great sincerity.  
 I back up two steps, unsure of what to expect.  What’s she up to? Is she going to jump me?  
 “Oooo….kay.”  I think, although I’m not at all sure.  “Cassie, it’s pitch black out here, how are you going to show me anything?”
 She’s back in her own little world.  It’s somewhere I don’t want to follow.  She puts her finger to my lips.  Again, it’s a touch so feather light and whisper gentle my skin erupts in a goose flesh response to the stimulus. 
 “Shhhh…,” she whispers.  
 I swallow.  Hard.
 I stand before her, watchful, not knowing what to expect.  Cassie bows her head and speaks, “Dearest Father God, I praise you for who You are and all You have done.  You alone are powerful and worthy.  Like you did for Elisha’s servant at the Battle of Dothan, Lord, open Parker’s eyes and let him see what is unseen.”
 Subtly, the ground beneath me starts to rumble.  Slowly, the rumble intensifies to nearly double its volume and then plateaus.  
 Sweat erupts across my forehead, across my shoulders, and down both arms. I’m seriously beginning to freak out, so I grab the porch railing to steady my balance, then turn to reenter the cabin.  I’m not sure what the cabin can do to offer me protection from an earthquake, but I intend to find out.  
 Cassie remains calm despite the palpable alarm exuding from me.  She sandwiches my left hand inside of hers in a reassuring gesture.  I won’t hurt her to get away from all of this, but I will get past her.  
 Cassie’s aware I’m on the verge of coming apart, so she captures my gaze with her own and, without uttering a sound, she wills me to stay.  Then, in one simple whisper, spoken with unfathomable kindness, she says, “Behold.”
 When I re-direct my gaze to the mesa, I watch as lighting flashes all over the surface of the pond.  Its presence is close enough I cringe in response.
 Ahead of me, out over the pond, the air begins to vibrate, matching its rhythm to that of the rumbling ground.  The vibrations of air turn into two ripples which levitate, side by side, over the pond water.  At first, they appear to be completely vertical, but then the tops tilt thirty degrees away from me.  
 I’m not sure why the ripples tilted, but I get the impression it’s to aid my viewing ability.  A view of what, I have no idea, nor do I understand how I know any of the thoughts going through my head.  
 The ripples separate until a rift is formed in the quiet night air.  The rift slowly widens until a chasm is revealed.  The chasm itself is black, the blackest black, and bottomless.  Lightning flashes throughout it.  I get an eerie glimpse into an electrically charged vacuum.  The ripples continue to separate, widening the chasm until it’s the same width as the pond which comprises most of my front yard.  
 The lightening field expands with the chasm, filling it completely.  Constant brilliant flashes thrust into and across the dark cavity.  Now, there’s an eastern ripple and a western ripple.  The air in each ripple continues to vibrate, as they simply hang in space.  The frequencies of their vibrations continue to match the rumble beneath me.  
 The eastern ripple begins to ascend at an angle while the western one remains stationary.  The eastern ripple rolls back farther and farther as the space revealed by its retreat begins to grow lighter and brighter with each passing second.  
 Slowly, images begin to appear.  At first, the images are indistinct, but as the minutes roll by, they begin to take shape by becoming more focused.  Before me, in my front yard on an ordinary Texas night, in unparalleled high def quality, is a massive choir.  The sight is truly wondrous.  It’s comprised of people whose numbers far exceed what I could ever count. The faces of these individuals are bright and luminous, splendidly happy.  Millions and millions of people sing in unison, then the closest sweetest harmony I’ve ever heard, and at times they sing in counterpoint.  Back and forth the voices go, switching from one musical arrangement to the other.  They work together, complimenting each other the entire time.  The song they sing is simple, yet glorious:

Hosanna!  Hosanna!
Hosanna in the Highest!

 The lyrics appear fresh and new to my ears each time they are repeated.  The song goes on and on, but my heart and mind never tire of it.  I’m enthralled with every repetition, as if each is the first.  Instantly, I have an overwhelming longing for inclusion.  The desire to be part of this seems to grow right out of my chest. The sight before me is so full of lightness and joy I can’t take my eyes off them.  Why would I ever want to?  My hand reaches up to dry my face.  
 Why is my cheek wet?  This is like nothing I’ve ever experienced, nothing I could have ever dreamed or imagined.
 The eastern ripple moves again, rolling higher and farther away.  In no time, the next set of images is revealed to me.  They’re much fiercer in appearance, but still peaceful in manner.  They are massive in size, nearly two stories tall and comprised of mostly light.  No, not comprised, they are inherently light for there is no room for darkness.  
 Each being is brilliant consummate light, yet they are still distinct from each other.  They have long flowing hair of various colors.  Their hair rises and falls in correspondence with the rhythm of the air disturbance caused by the ripples.  
 These glorious creatures sit astride the most magnificent horses conceivable.  The horses are also solid white and lit from within.  Opulent muscles are displayed beneath their flawless coats as they paw and prance, anxious to be about the bidding of their riders.  However, they remain joyfully compliant to the bridles that hold them in check.  
 How can horses be joyful?  It doesn’t make sense, but I can see them right in front of me.  The joy exudes from their proud refined heads.  The creatures of light that sit astride these stunning beasts wield immense swords.  Every flash of these swords cuts open a brief glimpse into the dimension humanity occupies.  The swords move with such speed that I can’t see what’s revealed in each temporal split.  It doesn’t matter.  Somehow, the generosity extended to me, the inclusion granted by these awe-inspiring beings, is copious enough.  There isn’t room to need or want more.
 The horse mounted creatures shout additional words of praise, as well as, war cries which I don’t understand.  The two kinds of language are so contradictory to each other.  These are fearsome creatures completely at peace.  These praise- ridden warriors are terrifying in their beauty and ability, but for some reason, I’m not afraid.  While at complete ease, I simply soak up the wonder of all I see.  Freedom commandeers my heart!  Inspiration fills me and there are no limits, no constraints to who I can be.  There is only truth and hope to guide me.
 The ripple hijacks my attention as it begins to move again, higher up and farther away.  At this point I get the distinct impression there are vast amounts of space and time being consumed.  Amazingly, I see everything before me in infinite detail regardless of its actual distance from me.  It appears the limitations and consequences of time and distance have been suspended solely for my benefit.  
 My breathing is ragged and shallow.  I can’t catch enough air to form a full- sized breath, so I have to pause long enough to give breathing conscious effort.  Meanwhile, my heart is working so hard I can feel my chest expand and contract with every heartbeat.  
 I’m overwhelmed with undeniable awareness of how insignificant my existence is.  In contrast to all that’s before me, for the first time in my life, I get a glimpse of truth: my footprint in this world is trivial and meaningless.  A true understanding of my position in time and space humbles me to the point of grievous tears. 
 Yet, wonder of wonders, here I am as witness, a perimeter participant in all of this.  Has anyone else ever been able to say they served as spectator to something as incredible as this?  So, why is someone who’s so insignificant privy to such an event?  
 The enormity of the offering before me causes me to tremble.  The sheer joy soaring through my heart and the overwhelming sense of unworthiness weigh heavily enough upon me to make standing difficult.
 I honestly empathize with Cassie’s unwillingness to attempt a description of her struggles.  If all of this is going on in her head, it’s a wonder she functions as well as she does.  
 How does she get this outside her head where I can see it?  Or, has she pulled me into her head somehow?  I don’t understand how any of this is possible.  This entire experience defies description.  There’s so much to process, my head spins at the attempt. 
 The ripple moves eastward again.  It rolls up and beyond the warriors, revealing a greater diversity of creatures.  There are four of these beings.  They’re vastly different than anything I’ve seen so far.  These creatures have torsos and legs like you and I, but that’s where the similarities end.  Their feet are cloven like the feet of cattle and they glitter like polished copper.  They have human hands, but they are barely visible beneath each of their four wings.  
 A massive wingspan of 80 feet allows the wings to extend and touch the wingtips of the creature beside it.  Lightning flashes constantly at these touch points.  The other two wings embrace each creature’s body, keeping it hidden from view.  When they turn, my amazement increases as I realize that each of the creatures has four faces as well.  In the front they have a different human face, two males, two females.  On the right they have the face of a lion while the left showcases the face of an ox.  The rear face is that of an eagle.
 The faces do not have a range of motion greater than our own, there’s no need.  Any area uncovered by the eyes of a given face is covered by the face next to it.  There is uninterrupted vision for the full 360-degree rotation.  They have the feet I described, but the feet are not used for mobility or even support.  Underneath each of the creatures is a wheel within a wheel.  The mechanism is reminiscent of a gyroscope except there’s no stabilizing spin axis involved.  
 Just like I know vast distances are being laid at my feet, I know without being told, the living spirits of these creatures are contained within the wheels.  The wheels respond and move the creatures at the directive of their spirits.  Both direction and speed are included in this intrinsic link.  This connection is a forever thing.  They are never to be severed from each other.  Everywhere they move lightning flashes before and after them.
 The final remarkable thing I notice about these incredible beings is that they are completely covered in eyes.  From their shoulders to the wheel rims, and from wing tip to wing tip, they are saturated with living eyes.  The eyes on every one of the four beings, move back and forth, constantly aware of all that’s before it.  The eyes on the rolling wheels add a deeper dimension of vision.  There’s nothing in time or space which escapes the penetrating sight of these eyes.  All is visible.  All is known.
 I’m rooted in place.  I can’t possibly move regardless of how much my will asserts itself.  There simply isn’t a reason urgent enough.  My right ear twitches again and I long to relieve the sensation, but before I can get it accomplished the hearing in my ear expands.  It’s not that I can’t hear, but my ability to hear is   removed to a distant part of my consciousness.  It’s been replaced by a pervasive silence.  Within this silence I hear a quiet commanding voice say to me, “Witness my cherubim.”  
 Wait!  These are cherubim?  I’m stunned.  What about the fat little baby guys that fly around shooting arrows? 
 I stand on my porch in awe of all that’s unfolded before me, when the lightening in the chasm flashes more brilliantly than before.  It pulls my attention away from the east and places it toward the center of the pond where the ripples originated.  
 It’s hard to follow the brilliant directive.  My mind wants to soak up more of the magnificence I’m already thoroughly addicted to, but the directive keeps tugging at my attention.  Soon, despite what I want for myself, I find my attention focusing on the western ripple.  
 Inversely, this ripple, which has stood resolute while I absorb the wonder and glory of the Eastern realm, begins to roll westward.  However, the movement doesn’t ascend higher into the sky, but begins to descend, moving closer to the dry mesa floor.  As this western ripple moves downward, the sky it encompasses begins to lighten somewhat, but a far different reality emerges.  
 As the images come into focus, I see another massive choir, also composed of humans too numerous to count.  This choir, however, is composed of bent, anguished souls crying out incessantly, “Forgive Me!  Forgive Me!”  There’s no beauty or peace to be found here for this reality is devoid of light, joy and harmony.  
 Over and over their cries for mercy reach my ears, making me hurt physically.  The screeching sound emanating from them brands everything in me beginning with my ears.  The agonizing wail leeches into my nervous system and travels the length of my body.  My gut knots up and I grab at my abdomen in an attempt to soften the agony residing there.  The pain I feel for them resonates in the core of my being.  I have such sympathy for these creatures while knowing full well they are far beyond my ability to save.  
 I wipe more tears from my cheeks. These tears, however, are not birthed in exultation and peace.  These tears are born of fear and of desperation to be somewhere else.  My head is throbbing due to my efforts to contain my revulsion.  My legs are screaming for relief from the effort of supporting my body.  The rampant agony before me is as endless as my longing to be finished with this domain.
 I find brief respite as the ripple slowly rolls westward, farther down toward the mesa.  Without understanding how and without being told, I know this vision will never actually meet the earth.  The scruffy mesa floor will always yield to the moving vision before me.  
 Another kind of creature is revealed as the ripple rolls westward.  These souls are black, no, more specifically, they embody the absence of light.  Like the blinding warriors of the eastern vision, these, too blend together, yet are somehow distinguishable as individuals.  Each of them has long black hair, singed and matted with ash, dirt and debris.  Their hair attempts to move with the air disturbance caused by the ripple but fails miserably due to the weight of darkness and filth.  
 These creatures have patches where their eyes should be, one for each side.  They appear to be completely blind as they wield fierce swords.  Their sword strikes have only half the speed and none of the effectiveness of their eastern counterparts.  No glimpses into the human dimension are obtained by their violent gestures.  Their ferocity and intent are aimed at inflicting pain on each other.  They manifest pain with no purpose other than pain itself.  Nothing good can ever come from this place.
 Gash after gash is opened on warrior after warrior as they wail in tortured anguish.  Their spirits are beyond redemption.  The wounds they inflict on each other heal almost instantly, only to be reopened by another sword slice.  Millions upon millions of these warriors, far too many for me to count, sit upon magnificent black steeds.  
 These are strong, defiant animals which aren’t under control of any kind.  They would be incredibly deadly in their own right except for the fact they, too, are blind.  The horses aren’t wearing patches on their eyes, though.  Instead, vacant openings reside where their eyes should.  Horse after horse lashes out incessantly with pinned ears, bared teeth and flying hooves, all seeking retribution on the one who just inflicted it with pain.
 Thunder growls ominously as lightning constantly flashes.  I’ve never seen such torment and chaos.  Prior to this experience, I was without the ability to conceive such misery.  If anyone had ever told me such agony was possible, I’d have called them a liar, a person too dependent upon a non-existent God to think for themselves.  
 However, as I bear witness to the unbearably difficult sight before me, I realize my conscious self isn’t the only part of me struggling.  My subconscious recognizes the horror for what it is and causes my trembling body to erupt in sweat, my gut to contort in fearful knots.  It takes every second of self-control I can find to remain upright and capable of observation.
 To relieve the misery within me, I avert my eyes for just a second.  I feel the need to check the eastern border of the chasm.  I sigh audibly as incredible relief washes through me.  All the beauty and unity which defines that reality is still present.  Perfection truly reigns.
 My observance returns to the western border as the ripple rolls farther away and farther down.  The sky in this vision gets darker once again, but without warning, begins to turn red.  The red horizon grows brighter and more orange.  Slowly, I realize fire is coming.  The thunder grows in its volume, but there’s another sound I can’t quite place.  It’s nothing individual or defined, but its volume grows as the intensity of the sight before me increases.  
 After a few seconds I recognize the origin of the noise.  It’s the sound of someone crying. No, not someone, but millions of souls sobbing out their agonized hearts.  The sound of thunder grows alarmingly loud as a realization settles over me; what I hear isn’t thunder at all, but the sound of billions of teeth compressing and grinding in pain. The teeth search for something to tear into, something to serve as a release from their agony.  However, there’s nothing to bite but misery, fire and fear, ends which offer no actual respite.
 Empathy for these wretched souls makes my knees buckle.  I fall forward, my gut clenching in pain, my entire body on the verge of convulsing.  The deafening sound of tears and the gnashing of teeth is enough to make me want to roll over and die right where I sit.  That pesky bug finds the auricle of my ear again and the pervasive silence hits it.  I hear the quiet command, “Witness the depths of hell.” 
 Instantly, my hearing is restored, and I’m given the strength and will to regain a standing position.
 I continue to watch the vision as the ripple rolls westward.  Suddenly, I get a glimpse of something which gleams.  It makes its way closer, offering a better view.  At first, I can’t tell quite what it is, but I do find its appearance resplendent and refreshing.  Quite quickly, I come to understand, it’s water!  Finally, something redemptive, an aspect to soothe this excruciating reality!  Relief floods through me.  
 Against the laws of physics as I know them, certainly not the first exemption in this experience, but a notable one just the same, is that this river is mighty and extremely fast moving as it flows uphill.  It runs the entire height of the vision, from bottom to top, but this powerful river is completely contained.  It’s literally going nowhere.  It’s like newly released flood waters contained in a massive, vertical box.  
 Slowly, I ascertain the origin of this mighty water element.  The tears of the tortured souls fall to the ground beneath them.  Instead of evaporating in the destructive heat, the tears rush to add their bulk to the river of tears already collected.  Ultimately, the river only grows.  It’s never diminished because the tears of the tortured souls never cease.  There’s no respite from the heat and suffering which encompasses them.  Misery upon misery.  It’s firmly imprinted upon my mind this is a now and forever vision.  This reality will stand for all time, never to be vanquished.
 One additionally offensive detail I find regarding this portion of the western vision is the smell.  It’s a sulfuric stench so strong it burns the hair in my nostrils, even the lining of my nose.  I put my arm across my face to help diffuse the odor and fight the nausea my body produces in response to it.  The western ripple retreats slightly and the horrible fetor disappears.  My stomach rebounds in response.  Once I can stand without being ill, the ripple stops and remains stationary.  It appears to have removed the smell solely for my benefit.
 The western ripple has more for me.  It continues westward and downward, past the river of sorry tears, to reveal yet more fire.  This fire pit is smaller than the others.  All I can see, other than the extraordinary heat waves which saturate the pit is the shape of two inhabitants.  It’s impossible not to notice them, as their presence impregnates the pit more thoroughly than even the heat.
 The first creature is one of the two story beings.  It’s masculine in gender with a strong jaw line and Romanesque nose.  A flawless complexion houses its facial features, as well as, its brawny capable hands.  Flowing blonde hair cascades down its back, wafting on the current breeze.  As the hair undulates in the air it tickles the feathers of the massive wings which are folded demurely behind his back.  He is truly a spectacularly beautiful creature, by far, the most beautiful of any creature yet revealed to me.
 One feature of note on this majestically perfect being is his eyes.  There’s no blindness to be found here, as in the others of this western realm.  Intelligence shines from his intense gaze as does kindness and compassion. 
 He must be a nice guy, so I wonder why he’s in this place?  
 Quietly, I receive a mental nudge encouraging me to look beyond what’s obvious.  Obediently, I scrutinize him only to find new depths of his true nature as they are revealed to me.  
 The longer I watch him, a prevalent haughtiness becomes obvious.  It’s hiding just beneath the surface of his beauty.  Haughtiness and compassion cannot coexist.  This creature is acting a part.  He views everything before him with great contempt, exposing the humility expressed by him as a mere ruse.  In reality, he is death and danger.  I know without a doubt I’m looking at personified evil and find it astonishing it can appear so pure, altruistic and beautiful.
 Now, his presence here in this realm makes perfect sense.
 He has feet that look like those of humans, but He stands upon a second creature, a long cylindrical being who paces the entire length of its prison.  It appears as if it’s looking for a way out of its confinement.  Intermittently, the cylindrical creature separates from the winged one and takes a path around the bottom edge of the river of tears.  It never has access to the tears themselves, but merely traces a path ripened with wear.  It makes its way to the chamber where the tortured souls are housed.  It mingles with them for a time, slithering in and around them with an absurd grin plastered on its stubby snakelike head.  
 While the serpent creature mingles with the tortured souls the lone winged creature repeats, “You will be like God. You will be like God.”  He speaks with such appeal and earnestness the sound of it sickens me.  After this period of separation, the small creature slithers back to the winged one and is fused together with it once again.  Without the small creature beneath him, the winged one is powerless to move and remains stationary the entire time he chants lies.  These two are part of each other, inseparable for eternity.  
 The hopelessness and despair resounding in my heart and head is overwhelming.  There is not a more grievous, useless end to life than what I’m witnessing.  I want to cry but crying won’t be enough.  I want to run away, but where could I possibly go when all of heaven and hell is laid out before me?  There’s not a place on this earth where the cherubim’s all-seeing eyes would fail to find me.  
 Nowhere in either of these realities do I find even a corner for those of us who want no part of such things.  It’s time to choose for myself the eventuality I will face.  Non-participation in a deliberate choice is an option, but not a wise one. Failing to choose the eastern realm for myself is the same as actively choosing the western one.  Deferment is possible, but pointless for the same reason.        
 Yet again, the lightning in the chasm brightens and intensifies in its frequency.  My vision and attention return to the eastern reality.  The ripple rolls past the cherubim with their vast collection of eyes.  As the vision unfurls before me, I make acquaintance with creatures different still from any I’ve seen.  
 These beings are gigantic, at least two stories tall, like the creature in the western fire pit, but the similarity is limited to that.  Each of these has six wings.  Two wings are used to cover their faces, so I cannot determine if they have faces like the cherubim or if they’re constructed differently.  They use two other wings to cover their feet.  The final set of wings is used for flight.  Their movement is so fluid, so effortless, so much enjoyed by them, I find myself longing for the same ability.
 Even though I can’t determine the same level of detail about the design of these creatures, their purpose within this reality is blissfully obvious.  They sing constant praises.  Their singing is so glorious and perfect it shakes the radiant Temple behind them.  No damage is caused of course.  It’s just that the magnificent structure has no choice but to yield to the power and glory of their praises. 
 Once the ripple rolls past these creatures a large inner courtyard is revealed.
 Standing on either side of the entrance to a sanctuary are two majestic creatures.  Other than the original choir, they look the most like humans of any of the creatures I’ve seen.  They have only one set of wings, one human face each and a torso with arms, legs and feet like ours.  
 What’s not regular about these two individuals is their size and mass.  Their wings are folded modestly behind them and they wear loose fitting, flowing robes.  The garments do not hide the large powerful muscles sequestered there.  The two superb creatures do not stand at attention, per se, but they are ready to move any nanosecond the need arises.  I find it paradoxical how they can be so poised, ready to fly or fight, yet stand in such peaceful repose.
 The two creatures hold massive deadly swords.  If the sword tips were resting on the ground the grips would lie level with the chest of these beings.  The edges of the swords are sharp enough they refract light as if they were made of diamonds.  The grips are encrusted with precious gems. Preparation for battle is the only reason someone would carry a sword of this quality.  Battle is like anything else.  If you’re going to do it, do it right and use the proper tools. 
 The facial features of these beings are male, handsome, rugged and wise.  Their faces are framed with long flowing hair which moves slightly in the air surrounding them.  I notice the most terrifying thing about them is the expression in their eyes.  
 As a soldier myself, I recognize that look.  It’s the willful determination that no one, no thing, will get by me.  However, that feeling in me, or any other soldier I’ve ever known, is a raspy shadow when compared to what rests in the eyes of these two.  Despite the raw power and honed courage evident within them I find myself drawn to a quiet humility emitted by them.  They are total power packaged in pure peace.  My humanity, especially the soldier side of me, marvels at the conundrum they embody.  
 Once the ripple moves past them, I’m allowed to see another object with which I’m not familiar.  However, this object is not a living creature.  It’s a solid gold box, brilliantly splendid.  It glistens so brightly it’s hard to look at it long enough to gather details.  I do see two long poles running through rings along each side of it.  I surmise these poles are used to carry the box.  The most beautiful aspect of it, however, are two winged images which adorn the top of it.  They’re kneeling and bent at the waist in an overt arc toward each other.  Furthermore, their wings arc over their bodies until the wing tips touch in the center of the lid.  I’m not aware of the box’s specific purpose, yet without understanding all the details, or even the parties involved, I am sure the box’s presence has something to do with a promise.  
 Past the gold box sits a church like building at the exact center of the courtyard.  The structure is simple in concept, but ornate in its construction.  The architectural design implements arches, columns, steps and only a sparse number of rooms. I don’t know how I know it, but this is the Temple Proper.   It’s 90 feet long.  Its width is one third its length and its height is one half its length.  The porch of the Temple extends its entire width.  Everything is made of cypress wood and is drenched in pure gold.  The gold is carved into chains, palm trees and cherubim.  Precious jewels adorn the walls of the structure. 
 The ripple rolls east to reveal the inner sanctuary.  This place is made of pure gold and silver with precious gems adorning the arches and columns.  This inner sanctuary is called the Most Holy Place.  It’s the entire width of the Temple and it’s the same feet in depth.  The interior of this room is laden with gold weighing in excess of 20 tons.  The facing wall, at the rear of the room, is comprised of 2 mighty cherubim carved from solid gold.  Each of the cherubim’s wings is 7 ½ feet long which totals the 30-foot width of the sanctum.  The mighty angel sculptures face the main temple as they stand watch over the holy place of God.
 Spilling out of the doorway of the inner sanctuary is a robe.  It’s made of the most luxurious fabric conceivable.  As the vision inches forward, I come to understand the robe is not made of fabric, but of gold and silver fibers which live and breathe much like people do!  These fibers move in orchestrated union, then in coordinated separation which produces a melody, and, at times, a melody accompanied by harmony.  There are no instruments.  None are needed.  The robe itself is made of living music!  
 The border of the robe is a heavy golden cord which runs the entire perimeter of the garment.  The golden cord is also alive, but it serves to contain the living music fibers of gold and silver.  The cord changes color as the different chords of music are played.  This music affords accompaniment to the six-winged creatures who sing so magnificently.  The train of the robe fills the entire inner sanctuary and is fastened around the shoulders of still yet another living creature.  
 This being is not like any of the others.  Although it’s made of blindingly bright light, much more radiant that the light offered by the mounted creatures, its size is boundless, without definition or limitation.  
 Suddenly, it occurs to me I’ve noticed those parameters before, but my mind is far too occupied to take time to remember where.
 This creature permeates every nook and cranny of the Temple.  This sanctuary, regardless of its splendor, can never compare to this Being.  All at once, I come to understand this is the Presence I felt in my cabin the day I came home from town.  
 Ah, sight to the blind!
 In this instant, it’s impressed upon my mind, a sort of knowing really, this creature is made of three distinct parts.  First, there’s an Elder Being who speaks and pulls forth galaxies from empty space by the sheer force of His will.  His containment in this temple is a representation of the kindness He’s extending to me.  Ordinarily, He’s never confined within something as small as a building.  He’s here solely for my benefit.  Something tells me He often dwells where men need Him most.
 Second, there’s a Son whose obedience is legendary and whose sacrifice makes everything possible.  This Son brings to life the very thoughts of the Elder Being.  He personifies the holiness and purity demanded by the Elder and is at the same time a blood relative to mere humans.  The dichotomy innate within Him is both breathtaking and confounding.     
 The third and final being before me is a Spirit who flows to all and fills all who are connected to this realm.  His purpose is to abide in each person, assuring they are never left alone.  He is comfort, peace, strength and guidance combined.  He is power contained within meekness.  
 My mind reels with the influx of new information.  How can any of this be real? Am I hallucinating for a reason unknown to me?  Did Cassie manage to slip me a mickey of some sort? 
 Even as I search for an explanation, I innately know there’s no need for one.  I don’t understand my experience with my mind, but my heart knows it as truth.  My breathing, heart rate and knotted gut ally with the presence of Cassie next to me.  
 The irritation to my ear over the last few days and the appearance of Cassie’s  creature comforts both reassure me I haven’t lost my mind.  My brain, my eyes, my ears, my heart and my nervous system are all functioning as they should.  I have no doubt.  What I’m experiencing is real in both time and space.
 I understand here within the midst of these Mighty Three is the permanent expression of joy, freedom and love.  The magnificence is inconceivable in its proportions.  It’s as unstoppable as a fearsome ocean wave, but also as gentle as falling autumn leaves.  
 Puzzle after puzzle present themselves to me.  I’m enthralled to soak up all that’s before me, and, as vast as the volume of information is, I’m not intimidated by it.  Somehow, I understand absolute love is interceding on my behalf and this love is everything I need.  It’s the only thing I need.
 This all-powerful triune creature has its back turned to me.  I’m so very grateful, for I know should I glimpse His face, I would never live to tell of it, having forever lost the opportunity to choose one realm over the other.
 Another astounding detail I note is the presence of a crown on this creature’s head.  The crown is made of pure gold and contains engravings of the highest quality craftsmanship, infinitely detailed and delicate.  Each apex of the crown remains stationary until my gaze rests upon it.  Once my vision falls upon any given apex, the engravings come to life.  This motion is nothing like what one sees in a movie or video.  The engravings themselves take on a life-size three- dimensional existence.  They intrinsically become the historical stories each apex embodies.  The stories are told in vivid color, texture and smell.  Once a story is expressed the engravings return to their original size and location on the same apex from which they originated.  Sitting atop each point of the crown is a rare precious gem.  As I view the stories of each apex, it’s impressed upon me how the gems are connected to their corresponding stories.
 The first apex of the crown depicts a small barn like structure.  There’s a feeding trough in the center of it and a variety of animals are placed along its perimeter.  The structure smells like a home to animals, yet despite the barnyard venue, a man and woman are present at the side of the feeding trough.  They gaze adoringly and jubilantly at a baby who occupies the manger.  
 This is a crude scene, obviously one of poverty otherwise the baby would have been born under more sanitary conditions.  Despair, desperation and worry should commandeer the atmosphere of the scene before me, but against all logic, sheer joy dwells here.  The scene before me is so delightful and intimate I fear my witness is an intrusion.  Still, I can’t sever my gaze. The sight is simply too mesmerizing.  
 A resplendent buff blue, top cut, sapphire sits atop this apex.  It signifies the overwhelming peace that enfolds this humble scene.
 The engraving on the second apex shows a temple of some sort, much like the temple I saw earlier in this realm.  Residents of the community are bustling about, tending to their errands.  I can smell the aroma of roasting meat and baking bread emanating from the nearby homes.  A young boy sits in front of the temple and is surrounded by gentlemen whose ages are defined by their long gray beards.  I can’t hear what the Child is saying, but He references some ancient scrolls in His possession.  The elderly men sit rapt in their attention.  The Child speaks for a time and then the men pummel Him with what appear to be questions and comments.  The Child is unflappable.  He appears to be teaching them something.  How odd a mere child would have anything to teach old men.
 This apex is adorned by a radiant cut stone, its color a deep brilliant yellow.  This jewel symbolizes the enthusiasm the Child has for the teaching He offers the elder men.
 The third apex depicts a grown man with a bearded smiling face and a kind, wise expression.  He stands in a quiet river next to another bearded man.  The first man yields his body weight to the second man who leans him backward into the water until the first man is fully immersed.  When He resurfaces, the sky opens and a lone dove descends, perching on the shoulder of the immersed man.  A strong authoritative voice issues from the opening as well.  I recognize it as the same Voice that’s been speaking into my right ear.  The Voice announces, “This is my Son.  I am extremely pleased with Him.”  
 The precious gem embellishing this point of the crown is a luminous, oval cut, white diamond.  This stone symbolizes the purity of the heart of the sodden man.
 Apex four shows the same temple as the second apex, only some time later.  A grown man, young and strong, wielding no weapon, runs throughout this temple courtyard yelling at those who are controlling the transactions taking place.  From what I gather, there is deception in play, as well as, exclusion.  
 The merchants are cheating those who come to them for monetary exchange.  Their business ventures have crowded the temple to the point where there’s nowhere for foreigners to worship.  The young man is ravenously angry about the way the foreigners are being treated.  He defends them, championing their right to be present and to be treated honestly.  He proclaims the temple as a house intended for prayer.  
 Not one of the merchants defies this young man, questioning His authority. Not one of them is brave enough, or obtuse enough, to ignore Him. The merchants and their greedy selfish ways flee before the righteous anger of the imposing young man.  
 This apex is topped with a square cut, deep green, emerald.  It expresses the stability and safety the Angry Man seeks to establish in the courtyard. 
 The fifth point of the crown depicts a hill above a city.  It appears as a place both lonesome and loathsome.  Lonesome because death comes at a merciless pace.  Loathsome because people watch their loved ones die.  Atop this hill is an atrocious sight.  At first, I don’t recognize the man involved because his features have been altered by the beating his body has endured.  
 A crown sits on his head, but it’s nothing like the crown of the Great One.  This is a crown of thorns which has been pushed deeply into the top of his head, causing blood to cascade from every injection site.  Suddenly, it’s impressed upon me this man is the Baby in the manger feeding trough.  This man is the Child teaching at the temple.  This man is the Pure Man, the One approved by The Presence.  This man is the Angry Man who came to the defense of those who were unaware of their need for a Champion. 
 This man is nailed to a massive wooden cross.  Enormous spikes are driven through each of his wrists.  His feet are placed atop one another and a third spike pins them to the battered wood as well.  He has a torrential gash in his side from which blood and every vital bodily fluid spill.  His head dangles, for to hold it upright, and gaze upon the faces of those mourning his fate, is to imprison the thorns between his head and the wood of the cross, driving the thorns further into his flesh.  
 On either side are two other men fastened to crosses.  One of them is busy mocking the man on the middle cross.  The other is sincerely interested in defending the Middle Man, the man who was the champion defender at the temple.  Another aspect of this depiction noticed by me is the agonized cries of the mourners who sit at the feet of the Middle Man.  Also present is a smell I never want to remember, the smell of unfair cruelty, of suffering and death, a loss so profound it will alter the course of human lives.  
 A brilliant, heart shaped ruby adorns this apex.  It symbolizes the love expressed by the Middle Man’s willingness to die for those who pinned Him to that horrible cross.  
 The sixth apex illustrates an underground cavity of some sort, as it sits in the side of a hill.  There’s a large round stone parked to one side of the entrance.  The details are specific enough I can ascertain this cavity, or tomb, is empty.  At one time it contained a priceless article, a body, but now, that body has been removed and will never again be limited or held captive by humanity or even by death.  
 Inside, strewn across the rock slab centered there, lie pieces of linen cloth which once covered the body that occupied this space.  They are inert, no longer needed, for the occupant they once caressed is risen.  Intuitively, I know the One who walked away from this death chamber is the same Man depicted in the previous apexes. 
 A trilliant cut, vibrantly orange clinohumite is the gem chosen to represent the joy which is found in this empty tomb. 
 The seventh, and final, point of the crown is different from the previous six.  The first difference is its larger, more prominent size.  Second, the previous points all depict historical events which have already occurred.  This final apex reveals a future occurrence.  It shows a man emerging from a vast split in the eastern sky.  Each of his feet rests upon mountain ranges like ours would the individual stones of a walkway.  There’s radiant light emanating from within Him.  The sky is fractured with His brilliance.  
 Magnificent trumpet music heralds his appearance.  As His feet touch the ground, the earth opens and yields those who belong to Him.  The earth can no longer contain those for whom the Crucified Man, the Resurrected Man, died and rose.  There’s a massive reunion in the sky as He and His loved ones are joined together for the final time.  A triumphant celebration ensues. Without the slightest doubt, I know there is no force, known or unknown to man, which can prevent what is to come.  
 A magnificent, deep purple, pear shape amethyst graces this final apex.  It speaks to the royalty of the One Who Is Coming and of His right to reign.  
 Somehow, I know the story on this apex is what leads to the entire vision I’ve been allowed to witness.  My experience has come full circle for me and is beginning to fall into place.
 I hear the winged creatures singing.  Their voices are so powerful and emotionally moving they pull smoke from the floor of the Temple until it fills the entire room.  
 Wait!… there’s more!  It isn’t smoke I’m seeing!  The substance which resembles smoke is actually the prayers sent heavenward by those of us who live in the earthly realm.  The prayers uttered by humans really are received and heard in the halls of heaven.  I know it for a fact.  I’ve seen and heard it myself!
 Dear God, dear God, help me! Help me!  I can’t believe any of this is true!
 Suddenly, the pervasive silence finds my ear again.  This time it tells me, “Listen to the voices of my Seraphim!”  Instantly, my hearing returns and I know the One who’s spoken to me is the One in the Temple with His back turned to me.  I’m so sure of it I’d die defending my right to hold it as truth.
 I feel Cassie’s hand on mine again. She wants my attention.  I want to look at her, but my gaze is captivated.  I’m torn between the beauty, union and peace of the eastern realm and the agony and suffering found in the western one.  I long for the simplicity and light of one while I find compassion and empathy for those trapped in the other.  Empathy is a new experience for me.  These are people I’ve never met and will never know.  It’s difficult for me to believe I regret for them the choice they made for themselves.  
 I’m unable to pull my sight from the wonder before me.  Both the beauty and the terror captivate and consume me.  I want to soak up every minute, keep alive every memory while standing amazed at the wondrous sight before me.  
 Cassie’s hand tugs at mine again.  I’m getting annoyed.  I don’t want to look at her.  I don’t want her interrupting me.  I don’t want this to end.  Ever.
 Now, her hand squeezes mine slightly as she says, “Thank you Father for showing us your Truth, for allowing Parker to see what he’s never known.  Please, God, could you show him the truth about the dog?”
 I shake my head.  Did I hear her correctly?  The dog?  Who cares about that stupid dog when faced with all of this?  I manage to tear my vision from the sight before me and locate the vile little creature sitting just west of the porch steps.  He’s facing the eastern realm, still emitting a belligerent growl like he wants to kill them all.  
 Hate to say it buddy, but I think you’re outnumbered and so outclassed. 
 The image of him in my vision begins to get fuzzy.  I rub my eyes, trying to get a clearer focus, but it doesn’t help.  I come to realize that my vision is fine and the fuzziness I notice is the dog’s hair falling from its body.  All that’s left before me now is a naked little dog.  As I stand here, confused and repulsed, his flesh starts to fall away.  Now, the pile behind him looks like what a highly skilled surgeon would remove, carefully tended to in case it would need to be replaced at a later time.  All that stands before me is the skeleton of that little dog.  
 It’s an odd sight, to say the least, something like what you’d find at a dinosaur museum, but it’s also odd because it’s still standing.  Furthermore, it’s odd because it continues to emit that horrible growl without the physical attributes which allow it to make sound. Its eyes are also functioning with a black soulless stare aimed at the eastern realm. 
 How is this possible?  How is any of this possible?  
 In one fluid motion, the dog stands erect on its back legs.  One by one the bones join the fur and flesh in the pile behind it.  Soon, the physical aspects of the dog are united with the earth as the ground absorbs the entire pile.  All that’s left behind is a spirit of some sort.  It’s an entity, but not well defined.  It grows in size and is soon much larger than me.  I step back, distancing myself.  Cassie stands her ground.  The dog, or what remains of it, is still before us, shifting size and shape continuously.  
 It appears to be very angry, as well as, in great pain.  I’m not sure how I know, the knowledge is an impression really, but the “dog” is angry because its identity has been revealed to me.  It’s furious because it can’t reach the creatures of the eastern realm, not that it would do him any good.  It’s angriest of all because it can’t reach Cassie and myself.  In its rage it reaches for us, desperate to end us.  It claws, scratches and reaches, but it makes no progress toward us.  
 Realizing it’s powerless to harm us, to complete its mission, it becomes furious.  Conceding its failure, it shifts one final time, taking on a definite shape.  It has the long, matted hair and eye patches of the mounted riders of the western realm.  It throws us one final horrific growl and in three bounds, whether aided by gravity, if gravity even works in this world, it descends and is mounted on a rider-less horse in that vision.  Now, it’s with the others of its kind.
 As I watch it join the other miserable riders I’m impressed again with the western realm.  No time at all passes before I’m unable to distinguish it from the others.  I’m floored when I realize Cassie was right about the dog “being from the other side.”  
 How did she know?  She’s connected to all of this in a way I don’t understand.  
  I turn to Cassie, everything I feel is written in my eyes.  I’m poised to say something.  I want to speak.  My mind is racing but is unable to even formulate thoughts, let alone find the ability to make words audible.   
 Cassie looks at me with those compassionate eyes.  And, yes, now I know, it was compassion in her gaze just before all of this began.  Of that I’m certain.  I also understand why.  
 I was being so superior and smug about the absurdity of her showing compassion to me.  I was convinced I had my act together and she was in serious need of mental help.  
 I’m such an idiot. 
 Cassie leads me off the porch, down onto a spot on the mesa which lies immediately in front of the cabin.  We’re facing the great black chasm, but she turns me slightly to the east.  “One more thing,” she says quietly.  “This is why the dog, in any of its forms, could never harm us.”  
 I watch the eastern realm as a lone figure separates from the endless vision.  It’s one of the two story creatures, like the fearsome soldiers standing outside the Temple.  This one, however, is not wielding a sword.  In three simple strides it crosses limitless space and now stands on the mesa in front of Cassie and me.  Its wings are folded demurely behind it, so I guess I won’t get to witness the wingspan, but the wings themselves are enormous.  They emerge from its shoulders, arcing up high over its head while the wingtips toy with the mesa floor.  The size and beauty of this creature are on the verge of overwhelming me. 
 Tears fill my eyes, but when I finally locate the strength to meet its gaze, I learn it’s female.  There’s no human woman whose beauty could approach the stunning presence of this creature.  Her loveliness, however, can’t be measured solely by the shape and proportion of her features.  Behind the physical aspect of her presence lies an illumination which brightens and brings definition to her physical presence.  She’s alive with light, and while it does emanate from her for a short distance, it’s more about the brilliance contained within her.  The joy and purity radiating as light, heightens her beauty and amplifies her presence.  There’s no doubt.  This creature will never be ignored.
 She has long curly red hair. It hangs in delicate tendrils all the way to her waist, over one story long!  Her skin is the color of ivory and is flawless.  Supermodels dream of pore structure like hers.  Her gown is made of the highest quality linen.  It shines like polished sunlight and drapes her body in long flowing folds.  Brilliant green eyes sparkle with merriment and exude the same joyous compassion Cassie wore so well just a few moments ago on my porch.  
 Although it’s mind boggling to recover so quickly from the agony forced upon me by the western realm, I’m relieved and overjoyed to recognize I’m no longer afraid.  The only emotions identifiable in this moment are simple humility and utter elation.  Standing before this breathtaking creature absolutely removes any ego or assurance in myself.  
 Cassie takes my hand and leads me toward the enormous glowing woman.
 She stands, waiting patiently for us to come closer.  When we are within arms’ reach of her, Cassie quietly says, “Parker, this is my guardian angel, Calliope.  She’s the reason we’ve been safe from the demon dog.  She’s always watching over me.”
 As I stand with my head tilted backward, looking up at this awesome creature, my mouth drops open and I learn my ability to speak is hiding somewhere.  I know my eyes reveal the shock, wonder and honor I feel at this unearthly experience.  
 Amid this new-found vulnerability I understand why Cassie believed the mat, blanket and pillow simply appeared out of nowhere; it’s because they did!  Guilt consumes me as I understand how wrong I’ve been about her.  
 Cassie senses my preoccupation and tugs at my hand, retrieving me from a self-inflicted beating.
 Calliope.  Her name matches the living music of the Great One’s robe.  She speaks with a voice of liquid tenderness, “I have known of your existence for quite some time, Parker, but it is certainly nice to meet you.”  
 Quite some time, I’ll bet.  I’m simply too stunned to respond.
 Cassie has it all together, though.  Her voice works just fine.  “Calliope, we want to thank you so very much for your vigilant protection.  He’d have finished us off if you hadn’t been present.”
 “Young Cassie,” she replies with a sparkling voice, smiling with her eyes, as well as, her mouth.  The light radiating from within her brightens even more, as she says, “It was my honor to defend you.  Yes, he was determined, but he’s powerless against the Great One.  Praise and glory to Him who reigns on high.”
 Cassie juggles my hand again and says to me, “Parker, you’ve got one shot at this. Is there something you’d like to say?”  
 I stand rooted in place, completely speechless.
 Again, this time being necessarily assertive, Cassie punches my bicep.  I fight my way out of the daze which has enveloped me.  
 “Calliope,” I choke out, after clearing my throat and while opening my arms to encompass the enormity of this experience, “It’s so tremendous to meet you and to have born witness to all of this.  I’m so overwhelmed I’m sure somehow I will convince myself this has all been a dream.”
 “Do not fear, Young One,” Calliope reassures me. “You will not forget.  We are always present with the Almighty’s children.  We are ready to help when we are needed.  Find your faith and keep it with you always.  We will follow.”
 Indicating she’s ready to leave, Calliope reaches over and kisses Cassie on the cheek!  It’s an incredible sight to behold, this awesome giant creature cradling the face of one so tiny.  
 Next, Calliope reaches out to shake my hand!  Me?!  She wants to shake my hand?!  Someone who is no one, a nothing.  If this experience has taught me anything, it’s that I do not matter.  In this world I am of no significance, but she’s offering to shake my hand.  My brain can’t keep up. 
 This can’t be happening!  
 True to her indicated gesture, Calliope reaches out and takes my hand in hers.  As our hands touch, hers instantly changes size so it’s in proportion to mine.  There’s an electrical spark present because of the immense power she embodies, but she offers only kindness and gentleness to me.
 “Until the Great One sends me to you again, my Young Ones, adieu.”  Her massive wings unfold from behind her.  
 I’m breathless.  I’m really going to see her fly!  This can’t be happening!  I’ll never remember all of this.  It’s simply too much! 
 In response to my thoughts, Calliope tells me, “Rest assured, Young One.  This is all very real.  You will remember it.”
 The delicate feathers of her wings shimmer in the light of the eastern realm.  The immense mobile instruments are more majestic and glorious than I could have imagined.  Once again, words fail me.    
 The wings look far too fragile to ever bear the weight of this awe-inspiring creature.  However, I know they’ve served her limitlessly through millennia.  Calliope rises from the ground as the tips of her wings begin to vibrate.  
 She hovers for just a moment.  Shining in her bright green eyes is the obvious affection she has for Cassie.  Her imposing wings slowly rise from their resting position.  In cooperation, Calliope leisurely rises higher into the air.  Once she  clears the cabin behind us, she waves at us one final time.  As we wave in response to her farewell, she turns and unleashes the power hidden in those magnificent wings.  In a span of time far shorter than it takes to draw a single breath, Calliope is once again part of the glorious eastern realm, indistinct from all the other creatures who reside there.  
 Finally, my legs fail in their ability to sustain my weight and I collapse onto the ground.   My mind is on the verge of the mental counterpart.  My eyes fill with tears and I sob uncontrollably.  Right now, the only thing working properly are my involuntary functions.  I’m breathing, my heart still beats, and my brain is measuring neurological stimuli.  Any function I need to control is a total wash.  Ecstasy, agony, joy and despair all consume me simultaneously.  Eventually, I turn to face the vision displayed across the sky in front of my home.  
 I listen as Cassie talks to God.
 “Thank you, Father, for your faithful response to my prayers. Thank you for showing Parker what’s at stake.  Your generosity exceeded anything I could have imagined.  Praise You alone.  Always and forever.  Amen.” 
 I force my eyesight away from the vision before me, looking up at Cassie.  She’s glowing.  Her skin is radiant and there’s such perfect peace defined on her features.  I know when she looks at me, she sees shock and amazement, that I am completely overwrought.  
 What happened to the man who was tough enough for anything?  I’m well acquainted with that guy.  I don’t know this man, the one who can’t stand under his own power.
 Cassie helps me to my feet and says to me, “Watch.”  As I return my gaze to the vision before us, I realize the ripples are retreating from their horizons.  As they reverse their course, and head toward the bottomless chasm, each layer revealed to me is returned to its hidden status.
 Lightning flashes everywhere.  Thunder rolls, or it might possibly be the voices of the doomed, the volume lingering over the sound of the ripples.  Slowly, though, the intense sound diminishes as the ripples roll ever inward.  I’m devastated to see this wondrous vision leave my life, but it suddenly occurs to me how utterly exhausted I am.  This has been total physical and sensory overload.
  By now, all the creatures in both realities are completely hidden.  All that remains are the two ripples hovering over the pond with the lightning filled chasm between them.   I can no longer hear any singing, wailing or thunder.  The only sound is that of the ripples themselves as they vibrate.  Slowly, they converge, swallowing up the chasm.  I’m able to determine from their sound they’re made of pure energy.  Now, they return to a completely vertical position.  Next, the separate threads of disturbed air form a single unit that folds in upon itself until all that remains is a single vibrating spot hanging in the air over the pond.  Then, in one instant, the vibrating spot disappears all together.
 It’s regrettably sad and horribly anticlimactic to realize all that remains of this incredible evening are two people standing on the mesa in front of a desolate cabin.  
 Finally, my ability to form cohesive sentences returns to me.  “Remarkable, extraordinary…. I don’t have the words for this.”
 “I don’t think there are any,” Cassie agrees quietly.  “Now, you know why I wanted you to see it.  I could never describe the forces pulling on me, on all of us for that matter.  It’s just that most people are simply unaware of the war for their souls.”
 My mind is reeling, racing in a fluid attempt to make sense of all I’ve experienced.  I continue as I look over at her, “I have so many questions for you, there’s so much I don’t understand.”
 Cassie disagrees and shakes her head while changing the subject, “You know, ….I was weak before all this started, but God sustained me and allowed me to participate.  I’m so unbelievably grateful, but now that His supernatural energy has left me, I can’t stand here another instant.”
 I check my watch and am stunned to learn four hours have passed.  It took that long for me to witness and absorb all that was shown to me, but now that it’s gone, it doesn’t seem real.  Four hours, no wonder I’m drained.
 I have new-found respect and appreciation for the woman standing next to me.  “Cassie, I’m strong and healthy and this has depleted me.  I can’t imagine how done in you must be.”
 “I have to lie down and get some sleep,” she says as she shakily ambles toward the porch.  I come along side and a help her to the porch where she finds her mat and blanket.  A new pillow has appeared.  A new physical manifestation of all we’ve witnessed.  I know with certainty Cassie will always be cared for and will never be without anything she might need.
 There will be no more thoughts about her needing psychological help.  Having learned how wrong I am about Cassie is just one of the things this experience has taught me.  I’m already aware that I’ll be gleaning lessons and insights from this experience for the rest of my life.   My mind and body are reeling from the memory of all I’ve experienced.  I may never completely absorb the scope of what I witnessed.  I’ll be working through this magnificent event with my dying breath, even if it’s a hundred years from now.  
 Slowly, my thoughts return from all that’s just happened and reattach themselves to the present.  My exhausted brain remembers Cassie.
 I walk over to the threshold of the door, prepared to enter, but pause long enough to tell her, “Goodnight, Cassie.”  As an afterthought, just prior to closing the cabin door, I add, “We’ll talk tomorrow.”  
 I’m so spent, physically and emotionally, it doesn’t occur to me Cassie fails to respond.

Chapter Nine - The Departure

No!  Now, my ear is pestering me in my dreams.  
 Am I ever going to get relief from this thing?!  If its purpose was to allow me to hear the Great One during the vision, why is it still bothering me? The vision, as indescribable and mind blowing as it was, is over, so why the need for the ear bug?
 Instinctually, I reach up to quiet it and discover I’m not dreaming.  The aggravation caused by this thing has simply roused me from a deep, deep sleep.  After the wondrous events of last night, my body soaked up sleep like the ocean swallows salt.  
 This time, however, I find that touching my ear isn’t enough to console it.  The irritation is constant now, relentless even.  I sit up in bed and glance at the clock.  It’s 0800 hours!  Through my bedroom window I see the sun rising high in the sky, bringing with it the promise of another scorching, autumn, Texas day.
 I rub my ear again.  This time the irritation stops, but that pervasive silence from the night before encompasses my hearing again.  The quiet command, “Protect her,” comes to me and then my hearing returns to normal.
 I’m not quite fully awake just yet, but even if I were, the command to “protect her” would make no sense to me.  Protect who?  Protect Cassie?  Cassie doesn’t need me to protect her.  No way, not after what I saw last night.  She has the whole of heaven to protect her, including the mighty Calliope.  There’s no way she needs me to do a single thing for her.  
 The irritation returns.  As I reach to soothe it, the silence hits my ear again. More urgently this time, I hear, “Protect her!”  I know it’s the voice from last night, the one belonging to the Great One in the Temple, but I don’t understand what He means.  I walk to the window, but all I find is the unending mesa rolling out ahead of me.  There are no remnants of the previous night’s wonders.  I see no demon dog.  The alarms haven’t been triggered.  Cassie isn’t screaming like she needs help with anything.  
 Believe me, I’d hear her if she did.
 I rub my eyes with my fingertips and then rub my hands up over my forehead and down the length of my hair, clasping my fingers behind my neck.  I swing my elbows vigorously from side to side, stretching my obliques and lower back. While attempting to break the lingering hold of my night’s rest, I give the events of last evening a cursory thought.  
 I know I didn’t dream it.  I know it was real.  Why?  Because I’m still hearing that Voice in my head, that’s why.
 I don’t understand why the Great One from the Temple thinks Cassie needs me when she has Him.  Now, the silence hits my ear, deeper and more pronounced, making the words louder and more urgent with this command,  “Protect her NOW!”
 I spin away from the window, retrieve my handgun from under my pillow and race to the front door.  I peer through the windows which are perched alongside it but see nothing out of place.  I slowly open the door and peer through it.  All appears well.  
 My senses are stoked, gun drawn, ready to fire.  I walk through the door      surveying the area around the southern end of my cabin.  Without taking my eyes off our surroundings, I say, “Cassie, wake up.”
 I hear nothing from her, so I repeat myself with greater urgency and authority, “Cassie, get up!”  
 I glance over at her spot on the porch.  I’m shocked to find it empty.  Her mat and blanket are gone, as is her tattered suitcase.  Cassie is nowhere in sight.  When the realization fully hits me, it confuses the heck out of me.  
 Where in the world is she?  She’s not here, but how can she be gone?  After everything that happened last night, after all we’ve been through, how can she just up and leave?   
  I stand here in solitude trying to absorb the shock of an empty porch. 
 “NOW!” comes the command to my ear.  I race inside, slide into my jeans, dockers, and T-shirt.  I slip my gun into the small of my back and bullet out the door.  The truck barely comes to life before I grind it into gear and tear out of the yard, headed down the solitary dirt drive toward the main road.  
 Because I’m aware of Cassie’s departure, the prompting of the Presence to protect her makes much more sense.  Now, I’m truly concerned some horrible irreversible event has transpired.  
 What if she’s laying in a ditch somewhere, dying, while I argue with the Presence about her need for protection.
 I travel the better part of the long dusty drive before I see her up ahead.  The sight of her calms my racing heart and quiets my hyper mind.  I honk the horn at her, so she’ll know I’m coming.  She moves over to the right edge of the drive   but keeps walking.  
 What’s up with that?  Why hasn’t she stopped to meet me?  She doesn’t even turn around to watch me approach.  What’s going on with her?
 I pull as far left as possible and race past her, sliding to a sideways stop. Cassie looks fine, hardly like she needs any protection.  I put the truck into park and slide out of my seat, leaving the door ajar and the engine running.  Cassie is still coming my way, pulling her tattered little suitcase behind her.  She’s wearing her threadbare floral dress, wrinkled mess that it is.  Her sneakers kick up dusty plumes as she walks toward me.
 I’m upset enough about her absence from the cabin I feel slightly panicked, which causes me to verbally assault her as she approaches me.  “Cassie, what are you doing?  Why are you taking off like this?”  
 Cassie looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.  She’s still coming toward me as she begins to speak.  She shakes her head slightly and starts to veer past me as she says, “You have told me adamantly for the last three days you want me gone.  Time after time, you’ve told me to leave.”
 By now, I’m backing up, doing my best to stay in front of her as she plows forward.  
 She continues, “You all but had a party when I told you I was leaving.  I promised you I’d go. Remember?  So, I’m going.”  She shrugs her shoulders like her words are the most sensible thing she’s ever said.  
 She has me on both counts.  I was thrilled with her promise to depart my life.
 Who am I kidding?  Thrilled doesn’t touch it.  She did tell me she’d go.  Here she is, true to her word just like every other time she’s told me something.  Every day   I learn something new about her, but it’s never less than something wonderful.
 By now, I have my arms extended on each side of me trying to get her to stop and talk to me.  She heads left to go around me, so I cut her off with my right arm.  She dodges right, but I cut her off in that direction as well.  After several silent attempts to get around me she finally drops her suitcase handle and comes to a standstill.
 In utter exasperation she cocks her hands on her hips and demands of me, “What is your problem?  
 “My problem,” I speak shamefully, but as if I’m making the most important statement of my life, “is that you’re leaving.”
 She shrugs with her hands and shoulders and gives me that look with her eyes that says, “Duh?”
 “Have you hit your head, Parker?  Really, are you ok?”   She bugs her eyes at me and raises a forefinger suggesting her impatience, like it isn’t already obvious.  “Yesterday, I was a problem because I wouldn’t leave.  Today, I’m a problem because I am leaving.  Do I understand?  Have I got it right?”
 I put my index finger in the air as if I’m going to explain, but decide, instead, to just agree with her.  “Yeah, that’s about right.”  
 With pure exasperation, Cassie states, “Make up your mind, Parker, and get out of my way.  Now, it’s time for you to leave me alone!” 
 I shake my head back at her.  Sincerely, and as gently as I possibly can, I say, “Sorry, I can’t do that.” 
 Cassie gives me that arrow gaze she’s so adept at producing and asks in a rather pissed off tone, “Well, why not?  Why the about face?”  She’s so exasperated.  Confusion oozes off her.  I totally understand why.
 “I can’t leave you here because I was told to protect you,” I answer honestly.
 “Why?” she asks, confusion reigning supreme.  “What are you talking about? Protect me from what?”  She’s speaking with her hands and arms as much as she is with her words.  She’s looking up and down the road, up into the sky and across the mesa in both directions, looking for some threat from which she needs protection.  Frustration is about to give way to anger.
 Problem is:  I don’t know the answer to her question.
 I walk toward her.  I’m just an arm’s length away.  Cassie simply stands there facing me as she drops her hands from her hips.  She takes one deep breath, then places her hand over her chest like her breathing has become extremely hard to regulate.  
 She glances up at me and says slowly, “I think I’m done talking for now.”  
 Her complexion pales and her physical stability suddenly appears fragile.  She tries to back away from me, indicating she doesn’t appreciate my proximity or my offer to help.
 “Cassie?” I ask earnestly, reaching my hands toward her. “You okay?” 
 She looks up at me again, but this time her gaze isn’t quite right.  It appears as if she’s having a hard time focusing on me.  She acts as if she doesn’t recognize me.
 Cassie stammers slowly, “Not…ve..ry…g-o-o…”  In less time than it takes her heart to beat once, her knees buckle, and the rest of her body goes limp.  I catch her just before her torso contacts terra firma.  
 I lift her so easily.  My gosh, I know she’s tiny, but she’s like packing around a bony sack of potatoes.  There’s absolutely nothing to her.  
 I carry her to the passenger side of the truck.  She regains consciousness just as I buckle the seatbelt around her.
 She looks up at me, still unable to focus properly.  Cassie’s weakness allows silence to commandeer the moment. 
 “Sit tight, Cassie.  I’ll be right back.”    
 I grab her suitcase and toss it into the bed of the truck.  I slide into the driver’s seat and kick the engine into reverse.  I turn the truck around and head toward the cabin.  Cassie sits really still, merely watching me.
 Quietly she asks, “Will you quit ordering me around?”
 “Sorry, no can do,” I say sincerely.
 “Why not?”
 “It’s time you’re the one who listens.”  
 She rolls her eyes at me.  
 It seems she hates it when I make sense.  
 I want some answers, so I wade right in.  “Cassie, I want an honest answer to my question, ok?”
 She sighs wearily.  “I’ve never lied to you, Parker.  Surely, you know that, right?  Why would I start now?” she responds quietly.
 I hate it when she makes sense.
 “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”
 Cassie rolls her head so she can shift her gaze to look out the windshield.  She closes her eyes, sighs again, deeply this time.  “Do we have to talk about this?”
 “I think it’s about time we did.  Don’t you, really?”
 “Actually, I’m fine if we never talk about it.  I won’t be upset, I promise.”
 She reopens her eyes and I can feel her exhaustion, it’s so pervasive.  It appears the effort to sit upright might be the last she exerts in this life.  After a moment she answers me.  “When I count it up, it’s been at least two weeks, maybe, …probably, longer.”
 I shake my head and marvel at her.  “No wonder you’re in such bad shape.”  Last night’s exertion had to have been extremely hard on her.  Actually, I’m impressed she’s able to move at all.  I suppose her ability to do so is testament to the human will. 
 “Why have you been so hard on yourself?  What in the world could you possibly hope to gain?”
 “It’s complicated, Parker.”
 “Yeah, well, uncomplicate it,” I smart off to her.  If I’m going to follow orders, I have to know what I’m up against.
 Cassie sighs heavily and begins to talk.  “I wasn’t trying to be hard on myself.  Until I landed on your porch, I didn’t have money to buy much in the way of food. In case it got by you, I am unemployed.  Well, once I got here, I had to deal with your hostility and your refusal to help with Montenegro.  I knew I didn’t have the strength to cope with you on my own.  I wanted God to forgive me for going after Montenegro and for dragging you into this, even though I knew it would be so easy for you to take care of that s.o.b.  I needed God’s help, so I fasted and asked Him to help me.  End of story.”
 I cringe as my gut rolls.  I refuse to feel guilty.  For the first time in my life I did the “right thing” by refusing to help her kill someone.  I saved his life and, even if she doesn’t understand it, hers as well.  Looking over at her, though, my gut recoils again.  I don’t want to acknowledge I had any part in Cassie’s decline, so I change the subject.  
 “We’ll get you home where you can rest properly, but you’ve been without food long enough we’ll have to bring you out of it slowly.  We might even need to consult a doctor on how to go about this…”        
 “No,” Cassie disagrees.  
 Surprise, surprise.  
 “We can do it, but you’re right,” she agrees.  “We’ll have to be careful.”
 The distance back to the cabin is eaten up by our short conversation. The return trip is much more sensibly paced than the outgoing one.  
 Of course, Cassie refuses to let me carry her into the house.  She’s determined to get there on her own two feet.  I offer her my arm, and she accepts it.  Despite her efforts she leans heavily on me, her wrist crooked around my bicep, her fingers tangled in my shirt sleeve.  
 Pride is an incredibly fierce motivator.
 We step from the back landing into the interior of the cabin.  Cassie stops to look around.  “WOW!” she exclaims, looking up at me.  “Who knew?”
 “Yeah,” I respond, surprised, yet pleased she likes it.  “Who knew?”

 The interior décor is a one-eighty compared to the exterior of the cabin.  All 2400 square feet are used to full capacity and there’s not another living soul who’s seen it.  When I bought this place, I gutted it and did a custom rebuild.  
 Approximately half the square footage is allocated for living quarters.  There are two bedrooms, 2.5 baths, a chef’s kitchen and the most comfortable living area you can imagine.  The interior of my home personifies masculine elegance.  I’m like anyone else in that I enjoy nice things.  Unlike most people, I can actually afford them.  
 I direct Cassie across the living area, past the kitchen and turn into the spare bedroom.  She’s getting weaker by the second, leaning more heavily on me all the time.   
 At one point during our journey, she stops to catch her breath and gather a little more energy. 
 Another offer of help from me. 
 Another refusal.  I wrap my large hand around hers on my arm, holding it tight in case her grip gives way.  I get her to the bed where she sits wearily with a welcoming sigh.
 “Oh my gosh!” she explains with as much energy as her exhaustion allows.    “A real bed!  It’s been so long.”  Her earnest gratitude makes me cringe and knots up my gut. 
  Again, I deflect.  “Cassie, I don’t know how you want to handle this.”
 With weary elation, she looks up at me and asks, “Handle what, Parker?”
 “Well” I begin hesitantly, “…you need to get out of these clothes and into bed.  I’ll be happy to get you a T-shirt, but are you strong enough to manage changing on your own?”
 There’s that look again.  You know, the one she gives me when she thinks I’ve lost my mind.
 “I guess I’ll have to be strong enough since it’s the only viable option I have,” she responds curtly.  
 “Okay, okay.  I’m not trying to be a perv,” I assure her.  “It’s obvious how weak you are, but He told me to protect you.  I’m walking in unfamiliar territory here.   Just bear with me, okay?”
 Cassie shakes her head.  “I’m sorry, Parker.  I am grateful for your help.  I really am.  I don’t mean to be short with you. I’ve never found myself in a situation where I’m so completely dependent on a virtual stranger.  It’s unfamiliar territory to me, too, I guess.”
 I feel awkward and horribly uncomfortable, and because I have no clue what else to do, I offer common sense.  “Well, we’ll figure it out.  We’ll both try hard and we’ll both be patient and somehow we’ll make it work.”  
 I pause, looking around the room, making a mental list of what she’ll need.  “Let me get your suitcase and a T-shirt and I’ll leave you on your own while I find you something to eat, ok?”
 She smiles up at me weakly and quietly agrees, “Sounds great.”
 I smile back at her.  Already things are looking a little less bleak.  A plan.  Everything has to start with a plan.  A plan makes everything easier.  Strategize and act on it.  I’m a soldier.  I’m fine with that.
 Cassie offers some common sense of her own, “I’ve been drinking OJ for the past three days, so, by now I ought to be able to handle some thin mashed potatoes or pudding.  Do you have anything like that?”
 “Absolutely, I’ll be right back.”  I feel so incredibly relieved to be in motion with a plan in place.  This is the first step to Cassie’s recovery, and I’m thrilled to be a part of it.  Helping someone other than myself is a new experience for me.  I’m fairly certain I’m fine with it as well.
 When I return a few minutes later, I find Cassie in clean clothes, snuggled into Egyptian cotton sheets.  She looks lost in the huge bed.  I’m amazed to find she’s been able to stay awake. 
 The carbs impact her empty system quickly, but Cassie manages to consume several bites before she gets too drowsy to continue. She falls asleep practically half-way through her final bite.  I arrange her prone body a little lower in the bed and pull the covers up over her shoulders, leaving her to sleep.  She needs the rest almost as much as she does the food.
 The next several days pass in much the same manner.  Cassie longs to sleep the days away, but I refuse to let her sleep through her meals.  Sustenance is way too important at this juncture.  She has trouble eating enough at any one time, so I get more calories into her by adding two meals per day.
 Cassie’s condition improves far more quickly than I anticipated.  Color returns to her cheeks, her eyes brighten in their intensity and her energy increases, so she requires a little less sleep each day.
 By the end of a week she’s able to sit in the living room for a few hours at a time.  Improved energy levels aren’t the only positive sign though.  Her features aren’t as gaunt as they were when she arrived at my porch.  She’s slowly gaining weight.  Bit by bit, I get to watch the beautiful little missionary return to her former physical self.
 I’m thrilled with that.

Chapter Ten - The Conversation

The mesa vision was several days ago, so we spend those days developing a comfortable routine.  Each of us promised the other we’d work on our patience as we forge our way through an unusual situation.  Personally, I think our efforts, and the results of said efforts, are nothing short of remarkable.  Much of the awkwardness between us dissipates as Cassie works on allowing herself to be assisted and I work on, for the first time in my life, learning to care for someone other than myself.
 Several days into her recovery, Cassie sits on the couch wearing a T-shirt and sweats which belong to me.  She’s tucked and folded as best she can, but they swallow her.  For the life of me I don’t know how she keeps them on her undersized body.  
 Her blonde curls frame her delicate face beautifully.  She pulls her bare feet up under her as she turns to sit and face me.  She senses I’ve got something on my mind. 
 She has a curious gleam in her eyes as she asks me, “What is it, Parker?”
 I suppose now is as good a time as any.  If Cassie is strong enough to ask me then I guess she’s strong enough to listen. So, I guess there’s no point in pretending there’s nothing on my mind.  Quietly, I confess, “I have some questions about the other night, you know, about what happened on the mesa?”
 “I don’t know much,” she replies, “but I’ll tell you what I can,” she says simply.
 “Well, you know more than I do,” I counter quickly. 
 Cassie nods her head, “Fair enough,” she responds.  “Okay, then, where do you want to start?”    
 I look at her, longing for the words to come.  Where do I want to start?  “I guess we should start at the beginning.  So, how did you get that to happen?”
 “It wasn’t really anything I did,” Cassie replies.  “I simply asked God to show you what’s at stake in life.”
 “Why me?” I blurt out in astonishment.  “I mean I assume this sort of thing doesn’t happen often.  Is that right?”    
 Cassie shrugs and concedes, “I’ll admit I’ve never heard of anything remotely like it happening outside of scripture, but then I sure don’t know everything.”
 “Okay, then.  Why me?”
 “Well, first, I guess, is why not you?  God loves you, Parker.  He will do as much for you as He will anyone else.  Or, He’ll do as much for anyone else as He does for you.”
 “You mean, God will show anyone what He showed us on the mesa the other night?”
 Cassie shakes her head.  “No, that’s not exactly what I mean.  What I’m trying to say is that God will meet anyone at the point of their need.  It doesn’t matter who they are or what they’ve done, they’re not beyond God’s reach or ability to save.”
 I listen intently, doing my best to soak up everything Cassie says.  It’s all so incredibly foreign to me.  “Okay, if God loves me and always has why did this happen the other night and not before?”
 “God’s timing is absolutely flawless.  When I arrived here, I was so determined to get you to help me kill Montenegro and you flat out refused...”
 “Yeah, I remember.”
 “So, I started fasting even though I hadn’t had much to eat for quite a while.”
 I’m so anxious and hungry for answers I interrupt her explanation.  “I’m sorry, Cassie, but I don’t understand.”  I need clarification, so I ask, “You started fasting because you wanted God to make me help you kill Montenegro?”    
 Horrified, Cassie grimaces and scolds me, “NO!  Don’t be ridiculous.  God would never do such a thing.  He would never ask someone to do something He’s strictly forbidden, much less make them do it.”  Cassie visibly shudders at the thought of my suggestion.  
 “Okay, then, why the fast?” I prod her.  I know I’m being unreasonable.  She’s doing her best to answer my questions.  I need to temper my impulses and give her a chance to explain everything.
 Cassie continues.  “When I finally understood I’d never persuade you to help me, I started the fast and prayer vigil to seek His forgiveness.  I know it’s not much of an explanation and I know it’s all backwards and I’m sorry about that, but my grief and determination got the best of me.”
 I shrug matter-of-factly and say, “No damage done.  No hard feelings.”
 “Anyway,” Cassie continues, “while I was fasting and praying, God convicted me about you….”
 “Me?’ I asked surprised.  “What about me?”    
 “He reminded me I showed up here and tried to corrupt you when I should have been concerned with getting you introduced to Him.”
 I sit here, just looking at her.  I know my eyes are a portrait of amusement, confusion and irritation.  I find the idea that Cassie could corrupt me hysterically funny.  I’m confused because I still don’t understand where she’s heading with all this.  Despite the mesa vision, there’s still a part of me that’s irritated as hell she thinks I need to be saved from anything.
 Cassie seems to be aware of my mental shift.  Quietly, she asks, “What is it Parker?”  
 I control my emotional impulses, choosing to keep my thoughts to myself, and encourage her to continue.  “Go ahead, tell me more.”
 “So, I asked God how in the world I was ever going to convince you to surrender your life to Him when I came here to beg your help to commit a murder.” 
 I shrug and nod in understanding.  “That’s an interesting dilemma,” I agree audibly.  Up until the vision I’d been convinced that Cassie was a flake, the stereotypical “believer” sort.  “So, what did God tell you?”
 “He told me to do my part and pray for you and He’d see to the rest.  That’s what I did and here we are.”
 “Let me recap,” I begin.  “You’re saying God showed me the vision because you prayed for me to be “saved” despite your own hypocrisy?”
 Cassie cringes at my bluntness, understandably so, but she womans up anyway.  She shrugs and says, “Yeah, that’s about it.”
 What can I possibly say to that?  I know the vision happened.  It was as real as my eye color.  There’s no denying I heard His voice in my ear.  I’ve learned Cassie is anything, but a flake or a liar.  She’s simply tuned into something most of us never acknowledge.  She’s the personification of ‘different’ and I’m learning that isn’t a bad thing.
 Nodding my head, I say, “Okay, I understand the “why” part so let’s move on to the vision itself.”
“Fair enough.  Like I said I’ll explain what I can, okay?”
 “Fine,” I agree, but the enormity of the subject in front of me is doing its best to intimidate me.  I feel a cold sweat coming on.  I don’t like being intimidated.  Heck, I’m the one who does the intimidating, or was, until I met Cassie.  I don’t seem to scare her much.  Now I know why.  Anyway, as bad as being intimidated is, I like being left in the dark even less, so here goes.
 “I guess the two sides of the vision were heaven and hell.  Is that correct?”
 “Yes, that’s right,” she answers.
 “Heaven is really going to be that glorious while hell is really going to be that tortuous, seriously?”
 “Yes, God is very serious.  He put the same choice before you He puts before everyone, every day of their lives.  For some reason He chose to paint you a picture on your mesa.  It was extraordinary, wasn’t it?”
 I shake my head adamantly.  “Extraordinary isn’t a large enough word.”
 “I agree.”
 “Let’s talk about the hell part first, okay.”
 “Go for it,” she encourages, gesturing with open palms to reinforce the welcome status of my questions.    
 “The massive group of people at the first part of the western realm, who were they?”
 “Those are the lost souls, those who have died without Jesus.  They’re crying out for forgiveness because they realize how they messed up the biggest choice of life.  They want a second chance, a chance to make a different choice.  Sadly, that will never happen.”
 Originally, while Cassie was too fragile to do anything other than eat and sleep, I was concerned I’d forget the vision and all the questions which have bombarded my mind ever since.  Now, as I sit here, I realize I remember the experience in brutal, vivid detail.  The sweat accumulating on my forearms, along with the slow knot forming in my gut is adequate proof of my vivid memories.  Calliope told me I would remember everything.  It appears her word is also trustworthy.  
The assumption I made the night of the vision was correct.  The lessons just keep coming.
Cassie sits facing me.  I’m inclined toward her at a forty-five-degree angle.  My elbows are braced on my knees and I sit wringing my hands where they meet, suspended in air.  I take a deep breath and forge forward with my next question.
 “Alright, then, what about the soldiers on horseback in the western realm?”
 “Those are the demons who were thrown out of heaven with Satan when the Great Rebellion occurred.  They are loyal to him and serve at his bidding.  Pretty obvious how miserable they are, isn’t it?”
 I shake my head and do my best to quell the instantaneous nausea spurred by the memory.  “I tell you Cassie, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I’d never have believed such blackness and abject misery was possible.  If they’re all on the same team, why are they so brutal to each other?”
 “When Jesus is removed from life, light and goodness are removed as well.  All that’s left is darkness and chaos.  Literally, anything goes because moral standards are removed and there’s no light to expose the dark hearts of men.  When Jesus returns, His light will expose the darkness.  In the meantime, I suppose Satan doles out assignments to his minions. They leave and return as needed, just like the dog that was sent to torment me.”
 Cassie stands to putt around the room in her bare feet.  There’s hardly enough of her to hold my clothes in place.  If we weren’t having such a heavy conversation, I’d find her appearance comical.
 I’m somewhat surprised by the fact she’s pacing, so I ask, “Are you ok?  Do you need to take a break?” 
 “No, I’m not tired, not really.  I’m just… I don’t know, a little restless, I guess.”
 I stand and face her.  “We can come back to this later if you want.”
 “Really?” she asks as if I’ve caught her off guard.  “I’d truly like to continue, if you don’t mind.”
 “Fine by me,” I agree as I reseat myself on the couch.
 “About the dog…” I begin, dropping my head in tormented concession.  I’ll admit I don’t like being proven wrong.  Pride is one hurdle that‘s hard to get past.
 “How did you know it wasn’t just a dog?”
 Cassie shrugs her shoulders like it’s no big deal.  “When you spend lots of time with God you become more and more attuned to His presence.  You recognize His holiness when it’s present because you become accustomed to it.  It becomes what’s comfortable or normal.  
 “Then, when something shows up and it’s not covered by His holiness, you recognize it for what it is.  It’s like recognizing a bleach spot on a pair of black jeans.  It’s really hard to miss.  Believers call the ability to distinguish between holy and unholy spirits discernment.  It’s a powerful tool to have in one’s arsenal.”
 “Yeah, I’ll say.” I agree with her whole heartedly.  “That little dog suckered me right in, but you had him figured out from the moment you laid eyes on him.”
 “Don’t give me too much credit. He was pretty obvious, not a tough one to spot.”
 Cassie paces the length of the living room as we talk.  She’s gnawing on the end of her left thumb.  She’s listening and responding to my questions, but it’s like her mind is somewhere else.  She’s obviously preoccupied with something. 
 She said she wants to continue so I forge ahead.  “So, why was the dog sent here to torment you?”
 She stops and looks directly at me.  She drops her thumb away from her mouth and, keeping time with her index finger as she speaks, says, “I think I’ve got that one figured out.”
 “Tell me,” I say earnestly.  I’m hungry for answers and surprised by that truth.
 “He was sent here to distract me and keep me from praying.”
 I squint hard and pinch the bridge of my nose.  To me that sounds like a huge waste of supernatural resources.  “Why would a dog care one way or another about your prayer life?”    
 “Parker, you’re forgetting that dog wasn’t a dog, but a demon disguised as a dog.  Those are two very different things.”
 “I still don’t understand.  Why would a demon care whether or not you were praying?”
 “I don’t know that it does, but it does care about the bidding of its master.  Satan wants nothing more than to keep me from seeking and listening to God.  He doesn’t want you crossing from darkness into light either, Parker.  You’ve seen it all now.  Satan’s gig is up.  It’s going to be a whole lot harder for him to convince you he’s being honest with you about anything.”
 When she puts it that way it makes a great deal more sense.
 “Look,” she continues, “I know this is hard.  We perceive all the information revealed to us from such vastly different perspectives.  I honestly don’t know how our frames of reference could be farther apart.”
 I nod.  I’m not sure what she’s getting at.  “Go ahead,” I assure her.
 “I see the entire picture much more clearly than you do.  I’m aware of and acknowledge the spiritual side of our lives, while you’re limited to your physical human sight.  Up until the mesa vision, you only knew and acknowledged what you saw with your eyes.”
 My ego bristles horribly at the judgment she’s hurling at me.  Does she think  I’m incapable of understanding all of this?  Doesn’t she understand how vulnerable I’ve made myself by simply asking some questions, afraid of this very thing?  Does she have any idea what I’ve learned and accomplished in my 35 years?
 I stand and shove my hands deep into the pockets of my jeans.  I learned a long time ago that rash or impulsive thinking could get me hurt or killed so, ordinarily, I’m pretty level-headed.  Right now, however, I’m out of my wheelhouse and struggling with my temper.  I’d never actually hurt Cassie, but I might put a hole in the wall of my home.
 Cassie senses the heat rolling off me.  Brave or stupid little thing she is, she walks right up to me and places a hand on each of my arms.
 “Parker, listen to me.  Please, calm down.  I’m not trying to judge you or attack you in any way,” she assures me.  Her blonde curls bounce as she speaks to me.
 The glow from the overhead light throws highlights into her hair, making it appear more voluminous and softer than it has any right to.  I see the sincerity in her blue eyes and hear the earnestness in her voice. They’re like a thick soft blanket wrapping itself around me.  
  I reconsider my anger.  I did, after all, ask her to answer my questions.  She’s obviously earned the right to be heard.  “I’m listening.”
 “Think of it this way:  I’m the missionary.  You’re the hired gun, right?”
 I simply stand here and look at her as I try to grasp where she’s headed with this line of reasoning.  I cock my head and nod slightly at her, just one time, acquiescing to the truth of her statement.
 “Of the two of us who is better qualified to plan an assassination hit?”
 I shake my head at her, not trying to hide my feeble attempt to squelch laughter.  Not only is that question incredibly ludicrous, but it occurs to me that I’m standing here discussing my line of work with another person.  No one talks to me about what I do in this world.  Anonymity is required in my line of work.  Anonymity makes its exit when you start talking to others.
 Finally, I manage to say with a degree of solemnity, “That would probably be me.”
 “Sure, it would,” she agrees readily.  “You’re the one with the training, skills, resources and experience to get the job done.  I mean, it’s why I came to you in the first place.  Right?”
 “Absolutely,” I say crisply.  Having her acknowledge me and my expertise is soothing to my ego, so my temper cools slightly.  I feel a little better about myself now.
 “It’s like on my first night here you spent all that time trying to talk me out of my crazy idea to get Montenegro because you know immeasurably more about all of this than I ever could.  Right?”  She continues, driving home her point, “All I’m saying is that when it comes to the spiritual side of life it’s me who has the training, skills, resources and experience.  We’re both soldiers, each with our areas of expertise.”
 The lights come on in my brain.  Understanding is a welcome friend.  I’ll gladly concede to Cassie I know nothing of spiritual things, other than what little I learned from the mesa vision.  
 Personally, I always thought the spiritual things people fuss over were nothing, but snake oil machinations, embraced and shared by those who are too silly to ever accomplish anything in life.  Believers in all that spiritual stuff were merely weak cry-babies asking some non-existent power to do everything for them.  I had no time for such nonsense.
 I’ve always used laser guided focus, implementing my time and talents, to conquer this world.  I’ve been the one who’s done the eating as opposed to being the one who got eaten.  Until now, life’s been pretty straight forward that way.  
 However, Cassie and her vision have convinced me there’s much more to life here on planet earth than being the victor over everything I can see or touch. Cassie’s shown me my worldview has been way to physical and way too limited.  
 As a soldier I know the single greatest asset to survival is the ability to adapt.  It’s as true for me as for anyone else.  It doesn’t matter if the environment in question is a dessert, a jungle or an ocean.  I learn what I need to learn and move on, making course adjustments as I go.  Now, that the environment is a spiritual battlefield, it’s more important than ever for me to continue with a proven strategy.     
 Cassie senses the abatement of my anger, so she removes her hands from my arms and retreats from me.  
 I get the distinct impression, now that the misunderstanding has been resolved, she’s uncomfortable standing so close to me.  Is proximity the reason she started pacing in the first place?  Was I sitting to close to her on the sofa?  So, close she felt it necessary to put distance between us?
 “You know,” she says, changing the subject abruptly, “I’m getting pretty hungry.  Ravenous really, how about you?  Can we break for lunch?”
 I’m surprised at how pleased I am that she’s asking for food.  That’s a good sign.  A very good sign.  I’m so pleased with this new development I give her a big smile.  “Sure thing,” I agree.
 The two of us head toward the kitchen.  I watch her walk ahead of me.  She’s humming to herself.  I don’t know the tune.  It doesn’t matter.  It’s pleasant and makes me smile.  I’m very glad her strength and energy are returning so quickly.  Her skin has a much rosier tint and her eyes are even brighter, competing, at times, with the breathtaking blue of the sky.  Her step has a slight bounce to it despite the lameness in her left leg.  
 There’s a story there I’ll bet.
 I must admit to knowing very little about feminine dietary preferences, but I’ve learned Cassie isn’t picky about her food.  That’s something we have in common.  By now, she can put away what I’d guesstimate to be an appropriate amount of food for someone of her tiny stature.
 I pull out the makings for grilled cheese sandwiches while Cassie finds what she needs for tomato soup.  As we work on lunch together, I suddenly realize how quiet it is.  Even my thoughts are serene as I admit that my house, my long awaited, long labored over sanctuary, is much more settled with her here.  I’m honestly amazed at how seamlessly she’s finessed her way into my life.  Well, after the whole mesa event, that is.
 After that night, she was on her way out of my life, no question about it, but I followed orders and brought her back.  Her addition to my life brings joy and light to my solitary days. I’m quietly pleased with how she fits here, a place where no one has ever been allowed.  She came into my life and made my house a home.  
 Now, that her health and strength are returning will she be on her way? The thought of her leaving makes me feel lonely and quite sad.  Will she leave and find someone else to help her with Montenegro?  Maybe she prayed hard enough for the mesa incident she’s given up on her vendetta against the vicious drug lord.  I need a confirmation from her, either way.  If she hasn’t already changed her mind, I’ve got to convince her to let this go.  The reasons why matter to me so much more than they did a few days ago.
 The only words spoken between us while we work is Cassie’s voiced amazement that a lumpy gelled mass can turn into soup.  I don’t mind the silence.  It’s invigorating in its own way.  There’s no pressure to fill the quiet kitchen with small talk, shop talk or any talk for that matter.  The silence is companionable and comfortable.  She seems to feel the same way.
 Fifteen minutes later we sit down to hot, golden, toasted sandwiches with molten centers and steaming tomato soup garnished with scallions and sour cream.  
 The rogue thought I had regarding Cassie’s bum leg sticks with me.  We’re doing a fine job with our lunch, about one third finished, when my curiosity regarding her injury gets the best of me.  For some unknown, unrealistically compelling reason, I have to know what happened to her.  
 “So, Cassie, why does someone as young as yourself have to put up with a leg that doesn’t work properly?” I ask rather bluntly.
 Ok, I hear myself as my voice resonates in the air between us and I realize how my question sounds.  It’s created an awkwardness which hangs in the air, begging for attention.  I attribute my tactlessness to lack of practice.  Solitary living will do that to you.  
 Cassie’s gaze shoots up to make direct contact with mine.  She’s stunned I asked her about her infirmity.  Seriously, her surprise couldn’t be more obvious. 
 I back-peddle.  Fast.  “I’m sor-r--y,” I offer her in a stammered rush.  “I wasn’t trying to offend you.  If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.  I won’t bring it up again.  I promise.” 
 Mentally, Cassie catches her balance.  “Uhh…it’s not that I mind telling you what happened.  You just caught me off guard, that’s all.  We haven’t ever really talked much about our personal lives.  I guess your question was the last thing I expected.”
 Great.  Awkwardness settles over the entire kitchen.  Is she going to tell me, or isn’t she?  Acting as normally as possible, I shove another massive bite of food into my mouth, so both my mouth and hands have something to do.  I spend the next seconds wondering what will happen.  As if she never noticed how uncomfortable the silence has become, and as if she feels no pressure to continue, that’s what she does.  She’s decides to tell me because she wants to.
 “Actually, the part that makes it hard is not the part about my leg.  It’s the part about Manny which makes it difficult.”
 Ahhh.  The husband.  Ok, the plot is what the plot is.  Man up, Parker.  You asked for it.
 I push too hard.  I have to know. “Is your husband responsible for your hurt leg?”
 Horror strikes Cassie’s features.  Her curls bounce as she pounds the table with her clenched fists.  “No! No! No!”  You have no right to say such a thing!”  She’s furious with me.  
 “Okay,” I concede with my words as I raise my hands in surrender.  “I misunderstood.  I’m sorry, but you can’t leave me hanging,” I implore.  Begging isn’t something I’m proud of, but I’m certainly not above it, not where Cassie’s concerned anyway.  “Please tell me what happened...”
 Cassie looks at me, again, like she can’t believe I was stupid enough to say such a thing.  Then, she quietly begins, “I’d gone to a matinee one afternoon with two of my girlfriends.  I don’t even remember the name of movie we saw.  I just remember how excited we were.  As it turned out the movie was so insignificant.” 
 Cassie pushes her food toward the center of the table.  She hasn’t eaten much, but she’s finished with it.  She props her elbows on the table and rests her forehead on the heels of her hands.  I’ve come to understand this is the pose she strikes when she’s fighting massive stress.
 “Anyway, on the drive back to the dorm an oncoming car crossed the center line…”
 I groan while dropping and shaking my head because I know what’s coming next.  
 “…it hit our car head on, just left of center.  Dora was driving while Sarah sat in the back seat, driver’s side.  I was sitting in the passenger side, front seat, and the wreck that followed mangled my leg.
 “I was in such shock.  I didn’t realize right away of course that my friends were already dead.  I knew I was in terrible pain and I remember the realization I was trapped in the wreckage and how terrified I was.  Next thing I knew there was some guy, at what used to be my window, asking after me.”
 “Manny?”
 Cassie nods her head in agreement and confirms it audibly.  “Manny.  He got my door open but was afraid to try and get me out of the car. He didn’t want to hurt me.  He determined the car wasn’t in any danger of exploding so he let me be until the rescue squad got there.  
 “During the wait, hammering its way through my impaired consciousness, was the fact that Manny was only talking to me, trying to keep me awake and focused on living.  So, I turned to where I could see Sarah in the back seat.  Her door had been dislodged from its hinges, crumpled up, so that it entered the car and crushed her chest.  Then I leaned forward, and I could see the rear-view mirror had done pretty much the same thing to the left side of Dora’s head.
 “Even though I knew they were safe with God, losing them like that sent me into hysterics, especially after what had happened to my parents.  I was inconsolable.  Manny stayed with me until the paramedics arrived and then rode with me to the hospital.  He even had the presence of mind to grab my purse from the floorboard of the car.  He brought it with him to the hospital.  
 I swear the only time he left my side was when the docs shut him out, so they could patch me back together.  He even threw a fit when they tried to enforce visiting hours.  He absolutely refused to leave me.  He was there waiting for me every time I regained consciousness.  Now, he might have been sleeping in the chair next to my bed, but he was there.  He stood guard over my purse as it lay in his lap.
 “You have to keep in mind, this was a guy I’d never met, not once, in my entire life.”
 I shake my head in wonder. “Wow, that’s an amazing story.  Why would anyone stay with someone like that without some emotional investment in them?”
 “It’s remarkable, isn’t it?” she readily agrees.  “But, then, Manny was remarkable.  Once my brain fog cleared, that’s the first thing I asked him.  He told me God put him on that street at that instant and he knew I was his future the moment he laid eyes on me.  It didn’t matter to him I was a battered mess, a left over from a deadly wreck.
 “I knew right then, if there was a man in all this world in tune enough with God to hear Him speak and then act obediently on it, then he was the man for me.  His intellect, patience, kindness, compassion for others and sense of humor were layers and layers of icing sitting on top of a phenomenal God centered cake.  I have never once looked back wishing for something different.  Not until Manny died, that is.  
 “Now, my regret is knowing it was me who lived.  Manny had so much life and light in him.  People gravitated toward him because he exuded light and goodness.  Have you ever known anyone like that, Parker?”
 I swallow hard.  Yeah, I think maybe I have.
 Before I can speak, Cassie continues, “I have so very little to offer people.  It makes no sense God took Manny, who could do so much for others, and left me.  I’m just someone who’s spiritually bankrupt, someone who wants another person dead.”
 I’m in awe of Cassie’s words.  I’ve never met anyone so self-unaware. Stop selling yourself short, Cassie!  Here again, I want to offer some encouragement, some affirmation, but words don’t come easily to me, especially kind ones.
 The heels of Cassie’s hands move from her forehead to her eyes.  Great teardrops begin to fall from them.  She’s squeezing her eyes so intensely I’m afraid she might hurt herself.  
 I have to diffuse this situation somehow.  
 I stand and move to her side of the table, wanting to help.  I’m completely out of my depth here.  I’m being swallowed alive by her torrential grief.  Living alone as I do hasn’t fostered emotional connections, so grief, especially of this magnitude, is quite foreign to me.  
 I feel so responsible for Cassie’s current state of mind.  Do something, you big jerk.  You started all of this.
 I place my right hand on the left side of Cassie’s face.  She’s sobbing now, her shoulders move in rhythm with the convulsions of her belly.  She turns suddenly and wraps her arms around my waist, squeezing hard.  In seconds my shirt is soaked, but I stand next to her offering her the comfort of another soul.  All I have to offer her is me, someone warm and real to hold onto, even if I’m unable to find or utter the words she needs to hear.
 Slowly, in between her sobs, she manages to sputter, “He wa-a-s m-m-y  h-h-h-ero.”
 Ok, that does it.  I gently take hold of her left elbow and lift her to a standing position.  I help her shuffle back to her room and tuck her into bed. I’m looking for a box of tissues when it occurs to me, I don’t have any.  
 Why would I have tissues? What need have I ever had for them?  I improvise and substitute a roll of toilet paper.  I’m embarrassed about the oversight, but it doesn’t matter, toilet paper is the best I can do.
 I exit her room as quickly and quietly as possible, leaving her to grieve.

Chapter 11 - Parker’s Considerations

I spend the next thirty minutes pacing outside Cassie’s bedroom door.  I listen, doing my best to gauge her mental state.  In time, the sobs begin to ebb and, finally, I hear nothing at all.  I carefully crack the door and peek inside.  She’s sleeping soundly with the roll of toilet paper tucked up under her chin.  
 Relieved, I close the door quietly and head back to the kitchen where I tinker, putting away what’s left of lunch.  It doesn’t take long.  
 Next, I retreat to my gym.  I move from one machine to the next, varying the order of rotation from what I did yesterday.  I have to keep my routine fresh in order to prevent muscle memory fatigue.
 I don’t even bother to count reps.  I’m too preoccupied to count.  I just work until I can’t take the burn anymore.  Only when the fatigue becomes undeniable do I move on to another machine and a different exercise.
 Part of the distraction is the newly acquired awareness I’ve missed out on some major things in my 35 years.  The event in my front yard taught me that much.  Even though I don’t understand nearly all, or even a significant portion of it, I’ve come to understand I have to settle this God thing in my life.  
 Prior to the vision, I thought I’d settled it by dismissing God outright.  I mean there’s no evidence of God in a world where everything is so screwed up, right?  People are succumbing to death from hunger, disease, lawlessness and tyranny at epic levels.  If there is a God, especially a benevolent God, He’d put a stop to it wouldn’t He? 
 See?  I thought I had it all figured out, but that night in my yard showed me how truly deceived I’ve been.  I’ve learned there are two kingdoms at work in addition to the natural one we inhabit daily.  These kingdoms operate on a level beyond what anyone can see or feel physically.  They’re very real and I must choose for myself how I’m going to respond to them.
 At first glance, the answer seems obvious.  Who wouldn’t choose the eastern realm over the western one?  Light versus Dark.  Joy versus Misery.  Freedom versus Bondage.  Celebration versus Suffering.  Like I said.  Obvious.  
 However, in order to choose the eastern realm, I have to turn my back on everything I know, on everything which makes me comfortable, on everything that makes me who I am.  It all must go.  Like I said, maybe I don’t understand everything, but of this much I’m certain.
As far as the physical realm is concerned, experience has taught me I’m the only one who’s trustworthy.  Me and my smarts.  Me and my strength.  Me and my weapons.  Then, Cassie arrived on my doorstep and showed me all the truth I’ve been missing.  If I do this God thing, it’s necessary to give away my trust.  I can no longer count on only myself, considering only what I want in life.  I must learn to live beyond me.  
 Am I capable of that?  I look at who I am now and seriously doubt it because it would amount to becoming an entirely different person.
 That scares the crap out of me.  I’ve spent my entire life learning to be who I currently am.  I have no idea how to fix or change me.  On the other hand, it’s obvious I’ve been making decisions about my life without all the necessary information.  There’s no way that can end well.
 Being a soldier, I understand the concept of surrender.  Basically, it boils down to giving into something bigger than myself.  Back in the day, I surrendered to the military, but since then I’ve been the one to whom others surrendered.  Now, I have on occasion, feigned surrender in certain circumstances in order to get the upper hand against an enemy, but it was merely an acting job.  Having born witness to this mind-blowing mesa experience has taught me an acting job will not get past the Robed One who sat in that Temple.  Only sincere, complete, legitimate surrender will pass muster.  
 Cassie never had to surrender from a position as lost and depraved as my own, but she relinquished control of her life to God.  She might be floundering right now, but I can still see massive benefits because of the trust she’s placed in Him.
 No longer than I’ve known her, and no more than I know about her, God’s care is evident.  Even when she’s standing with her fist in His face, telling Him how He’s messed up, He hasn’t severed ties with her or left her on her own.  To the contrary, He’s stood by her the entire time, providing everything she’s needed.  Maybe His provision didn’t appear as she expected, but His love of her and His care for her is written all over this entire situation. Even I can see that.  To deny it is to merely wallow in more deceit, continuing down the same path I’ve been on my entire life.  
 Honestly, I wouldn’t mind having that depth of provision for myself.  The idea that the Creator of everything is with me, and will never leave me alone, is pretty freaking awesome. 
 If He’s done that for her, can’t He, won’t He, do that for me?  Cassie says He will.  She says He’ll do it for anyone, for everyone, regardless of their history.  I’ve yet to find one ounce of deceit in her.  Besides, isn’t someone who can pray and produce a result of that magnitude a trustworthy person?  There’s no possible way to have faked any of what happened that night.
 Even though the eastern realm is the obvious choice there’s still the hard stuff to consider.  What will I do for a living If I decide to yield who I am and live my life as God wants?  Will He send me to Africa to be a missionary like Cassie?  I would, without a doubt, perform miserably.  I’m not the people person Cassie is.  I don’t have that inner confidence that shines so beautifully from her.  
 So, stepping out into unfamiliar territory, knowing I’ll fail, adds another level of vulnerability and scares the heck out of me.  There’s no way I’m fine with that. 
 Will surrendering control include turning myself over to the authorities?  Will it include prison time as a consequence for the people I’ve killed?  If that’s the case, I’ll live out the rest of my natural life in prison.  I’ll live confined to a cubby hole with others like myself where, I suppose, I’ll discover my true mettle or the lack of it.  How would living for God work in a place where violence and death is the everyday norm?
But, given that situation, isn’t spending a few decades in jail far better than spending eternity as part of the western realm, forever caught in that black hole of suffering, separated from light and life?  I’m certainly not fine with that.
 Like I said.  The hard stuff.
 My body is giving out on me.  The increased fervency of my workout is taking its toll.  I let go of the machine and sit upright to catch my breath.  
 As I wallow in my indecision, memories of my stint as a residence guard come flooding back to me.  Included in the memories is the recollection of meeting Cassie.  Montenegro was a bastard back then too, but somehow his wickedness brought together Cassie and me. 


 I worked for Montenegro along with several other guys, all of whom were retired special ops men.  Being a senior member of the squad, I got to choose the shift I wanted to work, so, of course, I chose the 8 a.m. to the 6 pm. shift.  I was like anyone else in that I liked my evenings free.  Occasionally, we senior guys would rotate a shift with some of the juniors just to keep their skills sharp and keep everyone ready for what we all hoped would never happen.  
 Most days, Montenegro’s kids, one boy, Alejandro, age five and one girl, Maria, age six, would wind up in the company of the female half of a missionary team, a young blonde woman.  Her husband’s heritage hailed him as Hispanic, but she was as American as the fourth of July.  I remember them as an odd couple, mismatched somehow, but it wasn’t like I had any personal experience from which to glean a comparison.
 As bodyguards it wasn’t our role to limit the activities of the kids, but to protect them during their daily pursuits.  The missionary woman would gather a group of local children, Alejandro and Maria included, and spend the afternoons and Saturdays with them.  We were never instructed by Montenegro to keep his children away from their poorer neighbors.  Either he wasn’t aware, as he was rarely around, or, if he was aware, he wasn’t concerned about the indigent children being a threat to or an influence on his kids.  
 Montenegro’s wife was usually medicated to the point of oblivion.  You would’ve thought the wife of a wealthy prominent figure could have made better use of her opportunities.  She chose, however, to use drugs, probably the prescription sort, to disengage from life.  
 Can’t say I blamed her, and to this day, I refuse to judge her.  She had no support system and I’d heard Montenegro express his idea of tenderness toward her on more than one occasion.  I’d often seen her with severe bruising and fresh bandages.  I assumed she medicated in order to cope with the beatings.  Leaving sure wasn’t an option for her.  Women who walk out on men like Montenegro don’t live to tell about it.  The Mrs. was trapped, plain and simple.  She coped using the only mechanism she had.
  Either way, these two kids were pretty much on their own.  They had all the money in the world and neither parent gave a crap.  They had us, their bodyguards, and they had the missionaries.  It was pretty much the consensus that none of us guards wanted to raise the kids of a cartel Don, so we let the missionaries have at it.  
 We went where the kids went.  At least two of us guards were present at all times.  I came to learn the blonde’s name was Cassie Martinez.   She was a pretty thing with an awkward gait in her left leg.  She had naturally curly, blond hair which fell just below her shoulders, petite bone structure and good muscle tone.  She looked as if she could have been an athlete if it hadn’t been for her unsound leg. 
 For some reason she always wore the same style dress.  It had buttons from the neck to the knees and, regardless of color, it was always covered in some sort of flowers.  Usually, it reminded me of some tropical island.  Generally, she wore sneakers, but occasionally she gravitated toward sandals of some sort.   
 All of us guards, whether we had kid duty or not, knew who she was.  Being the crude, base animals men are, we always had a comment or two.  The comments made between us were never meant to cause harm.  We were just healthy males, enjoying the sight of a pretty woman.  
 From time to time, one of our comments would make it to her ears. Even though she had to have heard some of the things we said, she never acknowledged any comment uttered by us.  In all fairness she was a proper lady, and looking back, I wonder if her genteel nature wasn’t the first thing about her that seized my attention.  She carried herself with a confident dignity that never leaned toward arrogance.
 Another thing about her that really appealed to me was the way the children responded to her.  No way was I a big kid person, but her manner with them was so overt it begged to be considered and appreciated.  All the kids were completely devoted to her.  I’m not sure whether they saw in her the demeanor I did or if they loved her because she was something solid and stable in their poverty-stricken lives.  Let’s face it, even Alejandro and Maria were poverty stricken in the ways which mattered.  If I’d had someone like Cassie to give me guidance while I was growing up my life would have turned out very differently.
 It was surprising to me, and the other guards as well, because we’d all discussed it, the Montenegro kids didn’t consider themselves better than the poorer neighbor children.  After all, none of those kids could claim a fine home, designer clothes or expensive cars.  I suppose Alejandro and Maria were simply grateful to have people in their lives other than their train wrecked parents.
 Somehow, little blonde Cassie made it work.  She brought impoverished and privileged together and fused them into a cohesive unit.  Alejandro and Maria were always ready to share what they had with the other kids.  They were always ready to join in any activity Cassie had planned for them.  Cassie was a born leader and appeared to be completely unaware of it.      
 She also had this compelling spirit exuding from her.  She loved to share herself and her time with those misfit kids.  She always had them busy doing something productive.  She told them stories from the Bible which always inspired lots of questions.  She’d have them picking trash up off the street and sidewalks while teaching them littering was a destructive habit.  She wanted and encouraged them to be responsible citizens.  
 At times, the entire group would form a large circle while holding hands.  Cassie would start with a prayer and then each child would take his or her turn, overcoming shyness while learning to talk to God.  Occasionally, she would bring the whole troop of kids, 15-20 of them, lumbering through the house, headed toward the kitchen, in search of ice cream.  It might sound crazy, but like I said, it was our job to keep Alejandro and Maria safe.  There was no place safer than with Cassie and if she wanted ice cream for those kids, then I was fine with it.  Lord knows Montenegro could certainly afford to share.
 I’ve never witnessed anyone with more patience or a larger heart for other people.  As time passed, my opportunities to observe her increased.  As a result, my admiration and interest also grew.  
 Over the course of six months, my appreciation of her beauty, spirit and talent grew to the point where the comments made by the other guards began to annoy me.  Once they realized I was getting defensive about Cassie, they were all over me.  During each shift, it became their mission to target my growing soft spot for her, making me miserable whether she was in my vicinity or not.  

 I remember seeing Cassie’s husband, Manny, only a handful of times.  Word among the guards was he helped the area widows.  Many, though not all, of those families were led by women whose husbands had been killed in the employ of drug lords.
 As I understood it, Manny fixed porches, worked on tired vehicles, repaired dilapidated plumbing, and did whatever he could do to help struggling families stay afloat.  This Hispanic man, unusually tall for his heritage, seemed quiet and reflective.  He was not a rabble rouser.  His hands-on style was to effect change using diplomacy and patience.  I had to concede these were admirable traits even if I resented the hell out of him for them.
 Every Sunday morning, Manny and Cassie would conduct a short church service.  Montenegro’s kids and pretty much the entire indigent community would attend.  I’m unsure if the widows who attended came out of gratitude for the emotional and logistical support Manny offered, or if they had a sincere interest in what he had to say.  Cassie would lead the group in a few songs and Manny would preach for twenty minutes.  After that, they had what they called “communion.”  The entire service took roughly an hour then everyone dispersed to begin a new week.
 I’ll readily admit I didn’t get the whole God thing.  I didn’t understand why people would spend their lives as missionaries.  Why would anyone give up years of youth and vitality to assist others who didn’t fare as well in the lottery of life?
 I saw life as a cluster of a few short years where I had to take what I could and build what I needed as a hedge against the coming years when my body would no longer perform at peak levels.  Earn and save while I was young and strong.  That was my mantra and I was just fine with it.  No way did I have time, energy, or incentive to help others.  Honestly, the thought of helping someone other than myself never crossed my mind.  
 Regardless of that, I could still see much.  Even though those kids were clueless as to how they were benefiting from Cassie’s time and attention, it was certainly obvious to me.  She was making a massive difference in their sense of security and self-worth.  She was teaching them about other people, about their neighborhood and about a God on whom they could always count.
 Even while disagreeing with her about God I could certainly see how the kids were thriving.  They soaked her up like dry sponges.  They loved the lessons she taught, the time she spent with them and the sunshine she brought to their lives.  I’d have had to have been a blind idiot to miss the good she was doing.
 Having been shot through the foster care system, placed in home after home in rapid succession, I never learned to make strong emotional attachments.  The military finished honing what my childhood began and turned me into a soldier.  I’d gotten along just fine in this life without needing close emotional ties to anyone.  Somehow, though, a part of me, buried deep inside, responded extremely well to the presence of a little blonde missionary.  
 Regardless, I should have handled what proved to be a defining situation far differently.

 One afternoon, another senior officer, named Riley, and I were guarding the kids.  Cassie had them in the kitchen on one of their ice cream runs.  Riley and I stopped just short of the kitchen in order to check in with two junior guards who were stationed at the entrance to the courtyard.  Soon, four other guards joined us so there were several of us gathered.
 I could hear the sound of running water coming from the kitchen, so I knew Cassie and the kids were finishing up and would soon be ready to leave.  Riley picked up on the kitchen noises as well and started giving me a hard time about Cassie.  I suppose he thought razzing me was more fun when he had a larger audience.  Decker, Poncho and Geezer joined in.  Those guys would not lay off me.   
 I was doing my best to be good natured about it, but I was tired of messing with those idiots.  They realized they were about to make me mad, so they stepped back out of harm’s way.  They never quit with the harassment, they just made it harder for me to reach them without warning.  
 Right at that time, Cassie came from the kitchen with sixteen kids in tow.  Thanks to my “buddies,” I was mad and hyper.  Cassie came through the door, completely oblivious to all the hazing and the effect it was having on me.
 Furthermore, she had no way of knowing how I felt about her, how my heart raced, and my breath quickened at the mere thought of her.  She was clueless about my longing to touch her and my hope she’d feel the chemistry between us.  I’m certain she never noticed how certain parts of my body would change when she entered a room.  
 I knew at the time I was delusional when it came to her.  Cassie was far too naïve to take notice of such things.  She truly had no self-awareness when it came to her effect on men.
 Thanks to the goading from the other mercs my body was primed, my thoughts in utter turmoil.  Because of my frazzled, needy state, I reached out and grabbed Cassie’s wrist as she walked past me.  She looked back at my hand on her arm, then she looked up and met my gaze.  She was startled for sure, the abruptness of the action would have startled anyone.  Two seconds later she’s headed towards quiet controlled fury.
 The other guards were standing in relaxed proximity, and depending on what happened next, were poised with a variety of responses.  Cassie stood an arm’s length away from me but was close enough for me to notice the faint fragrance of her perfume.  She smelled so unbelievably good.  
 The children were present and surprised at the turn of events.  With the intensity and trajectory of her gaze, Cassie was telling me to free her.  For the sake of the children, Cassie was trying to deescalate the situation.   
 I was primed, so of course, I ignored her.  She was right there in front of me, mine for the taking.  All I had to do was pull her into an adjacent room and do what comes naturally.  Just the thought of it made my mouth water and a shudder run through my body.  No word regarding my behavior would ever be uttered among the mercs.  I had zero accountability. 
 The ribbing the guys had given me brought all my longing to the surface.  I was unreasonably worked up.  In an instant, I drew her arm up sharply behind her back, pulling her roughly against me.  The feel of her body adjacent to mine was nearly more than I could govern.  My breathing quickly became ragged and my hold on her was unyielding.  My yearning was palpable.  
 My gaze began at her blond curls and continued to her skin, both of which were highlighted by the unrelenting Mexican sun.  Inevitably, my gaze landed on her lips which were unadorned by cosmetics yet made irresistible by nature.  I was staring down at her, fighting the urge to kiss her right there in front of guards, kids and God.
 When my gaze returned to her eyes, I was stunned to find her gaze meeting my own without holding so much as a hint of fear.  It wasn’t as if Cassie was squelching her fear, fighting its expression through a whimper or a trickle of tears.  It was as if being afraid hadn’t even occurred to her.  I was so puzzled, so intrigued by her behavior.
 Oddly enough, I remember feeling a heavy random breeze rush past me as I stood there locked in my awkward longing.  It occurred to me a sudden summer squall must be imminent for a breeze of that strength to be pushed in from the courtyard, but I didn’t care because I was already battling a storm of my own.
 What this lovely young thing needs is a real man to hold her.  She needs someone strong enough to protect her from life.  What she doesn’t need is some pantywaist preacher.  I wanted her so much I nearly left my post as shift commander, taking her with me.
 Cassie pulled against my hold one time, unsuccessfully.  She needn’t have bothered.  She reached up with her free hand and, given our proximity, slapped my face as hard as she could.  It did no more than sting slightly, but it did snap me out of the rampant daze which had enveloped me.
 When our eyes reconnected, I found fierce opposition shining in hers.  She slid her gaze sideways toward the children prompting me to remember their presence.  As much as I hate to admit it, it was the reminder I needed.  The kids stood around with their mouths hanging open, riveted by the scene before them. 
 I shook my head slightly, collected myself emotionally, freed Cassie’s arm and stepped away from her.  She hurried from the oversized living room, shooing the kids ahead of her.
 Riley and the others were stone still and quiet.  I was so furious over my loss of control that I wanted to tear into them and make them pay for their part in this fiasco.  Instead, I locked my jaw and walked away, leaving behind me     awkwardness, embarrassment and utter defeat.  To their credit, they were smart enough not to follow.  
 I disappeared across the courtyard and exited through the rear of the residence.  I needed solitude and a chance to regroup.  I was in a state of shock and disbelief that I’d allowed my stoic professional demeanor to be fractured.  I was mortified when I remembered I’d nearly removed Cassie from the presence of the others and taken what I wanted from her.  
 As I stood there in the humid afternoon air, I knew I could’ve never gone through with it despite the pleasure and lack of accountability to be had.  Deep down, I knew I had no desire to take from Cassie.  I wanted her to give herself to me.  That insight made knots form in my gut.   
 For the love of God, what was there about this one woman? There were plenty of reasons Cassie shouldn’t have mattered as she did.
 There were women all over Monterrey.  I visited some of them frequently.  Many of them were stunningly beautiful and to make them more appealing, my eagerness was intensely reciprocated.  I was confident enough to admit that I could’ve had my pick of them.  Why weren’t they enough?  
 Cassie wasn’t famous.  She was pretty, but not glamorously voluptuous.  She wasn’t wealthy by any definition of the word.  She wasn’t noteworthy because of business or political connections.  She didn’t come across as if she had some expensive education behind her.  She spent her days helping impoverished people.  She was, literally, the definition of ordinary.  What was there about this one utterly ordinary woman?  
 Besides, she’d already pledged herself to someone else.  I’d seen nothing, absolutely nothing, which indicated she was unhappy with her choice.  Believe me, I’d been looking.  There was no flirting or even the slightest familiarity with any of us guards.  There were no chinks in her armor.  Was it possible her unavailability was part of the appeal? 
 Additionally, when it came to values and objectives, she lived a life in direct opposition to mine.  I was busy trying to stay alive while chasing vast sums of money.  She was content to live in voluntary poverty in order to help the needy.  What was the common factor?  Why the attraction?  
 Was it possible I was the needy one?  
 Suddenly, the lights switched on in my head.  Yes, I achingly admitted.  By simply being herself, Cassie satisfied some need in my unfinished emotional make up.
 I hated the weakness I’d discovered within myself.  Not only the weakness of my attraction to Cassie, but the greater weakness which prevented me from overcoming my attraction.  Nothing ever got the best of me, not even a woman, especially not a woman who was unavailable.  I didn’t have time for such nonsense, and I couldn’t afford the damage it was doing to my command of the other mercs.
 Once I’d gotten this far with my problem solving and calmed my racing emotions, I found Decker and had myself removed from the day shift.  Another debacle of this nature was completely out of the question.
 For the next two weeks I worked second shift, which was comprised mostly of junior mercs.  I took on the role of team leader, much to the chagrin of the incumbent guy.  It wasn’t as if he was failing in his duties, although I’m sure he took it personally when I commandeered his detail.  
 For the most part, it was about me needing an outlet to deal with what had happened.  I hated to take it out on guys who really had nothing to do with what took place, but sometimes life isn’t fair.  Whether or not they were aware of what happened made no difference to me.  I was fine with it either way.
 By the end of that second week, my junior crew was at an all new level of preparedness.  By the time I finished pummeling them, they were ready for me to return to first shift or to move on to third.  

 Around day fifteen of my new shift locale, Montenegro summoned me for a private meeting.  I had no idea what was coming as there had been no buzz among the ranks.  
 Montenegro ushered me into his lavishly decorated office.  It was an impressive space filled with books I was certain he’d never read.  He offered me a seat in one of the oversized chairs that sat facing a massive Brazilian Cherry desk.  
 “No, thank you sir, I prefer to stand.”  And that’s what I did, dead center of the desk, equidistant between the two chairs, facing him.
 “Fine, that’s fine,” he stated. 
 I hadn’t spent a great deal of time in Montenegro’s company, so I was no expert on his personality, but he seemed a little off to me.  Nervous, maybe?  No, not quite.  Perhaps simply a bit unsettled.
 Standing behind his desk, Montenegro began to speak English in his heavy Hispanic accent, “Parker, I know my various business obligations keep me away quite frequently.  It probably doesn’t appear as if I’m aware of what goes on around here.  I can assure you that is not the case.”
 “Sir, yes sir.” I responded like any soldier would to an officer of superior rank.
 Montenegro continued.  “I’ve watched you for some time, Parker.  I recognize your skills and cognitive abilities surpass those of the other guards,” he put his hands up as if to stave off an objection from me, “even though they are all quite good.”  
 I didn’t know where Montenegro was headed with his little speech, but I certainly liked how it started.  
 “The last two weeks you’ve stepped up and drastically improved the status and skills of my second shift.  Because of your performance here at the residence I want to make you an offer.”
 I hated myself for it, but I feared surprise showed in my features.  No way I saw this coming.
 In the space of half a heartbeat I pulled myself together.  “Yes, sir.  What is it you’d like to discuss?” I answered promptly, doing my best to hide my surprise.
 Montenegro sat down in the fine leather chair behind his expensive desk and took a generous swallow from the glass of top shelf scotch which sat in front of him.
 “I have a competitor,” he said with a steely edge to his voice. “His cut of the industry has grown past the point where I’m willing to share.”  Montenegro paused, attempting to gauge my reaction.  Satisfied with my quiet self-controlled response to his words, he continued with a tone and demeanor akin to ordering steak off a menu. “I want you to eliminate him.”    
 Insight flooded my brain.  This was the reason for his unsettled demeanor.  This is the first contract hit he’s ever arranged.  He’s killed others himself, but this is the first time he’s farmed the deed out to someone else.  I wonder why the different m.o. this time?  On second thought, does it really matter?  
 From mercenary to outright assassin.  It’s not that I hadn’t ever considered it, the money would be insanely good, but to have the opportunity right here in front of me, in real time, was surreal.  
 The confidence I’d spent the last ten years cultivating was amped to an all- time high, so I decided to run with it.  With a tone and demeanor which indicated I had nothing to lose, I asked “What’s in it for me?”
 Montenegro offered a tight-lipped smile and said, “I have a ridiculous sum of money to put into an account of your choice.  He slid a piece of paper across the top of the desk toward me.  On it was written the amount he intended.  “I’ll cover your expenses and allow you can keep that amount as profit.  You’ve got one week from tomorrow to complete your task.  If you fail me, you die.”
 I took a moment to consider his offer.  He’d just told me I was the best guard in his employ.  He’d even gone so far to bring me up here to “promote” me.  
 I could have been offended.  I mean the man did just threaten to kill me.  It’s cute that he thinks he could make good on it, but right in front of me is the opportunity for which I’ve worked most of my life.  All I had to do was reach out and pluck it from Montenegro’s hand and fold it into my wallet, smiling the entire time. 
 No, now was not the time to let pride take the driver’s seat and lose my head over a death threat.
 My confidence recognized an opportunity of another sort and kicked into high gear.  “Make it two times that ridiculous amount,” was my cool, level-headed response.    
This time, Montenegro smiled with genuine appreciation. He shook his index finger at me and said with a humor laced accent, “You see, I picked you for a reason.  You, my young friend, are no pushover.  I’ll go one and a half times.”
 My mind was working like a skier trying to outrun an avalanche.  If this was my shot at the big leagues, I wanted it all.
 “One other thing,” I added, going for broke.
 “What is it?” he asked politely, his tone making it obvious he was ready to end our conversation.  
 I stated my conditions in a deadly tone, one which left no margin for misunderstanding.  “This ends my employment with you here at the residence.  You’re aware of others needing the same service so you will personally forward the contact information of my choosing.  My actual name is never to be mentioned.  Ever.  The sum we agreed upon will be paid in cash, and if you keep the contract money for this hit or fail in the other details I’ve mentioned, you are the dead man.”
 The two of us stood facing one another, each deadly in our own right.  Each respecting the savagery of the other.
 Montenegro rose from his chair and offered me his right hand.  We shook heartily.
 “I see that we understand each other perfectly,” he remarked amiably while punctuating his reply with a disarmingly charismatic grin.
 I continued.  “I’ll be back in two days with my account number and contact info.  Have ready for me the name of the target and a computer for me to use.  This will all be over within the specified time.”
 I turned and left the room.  My head was spinning, and my heart was beating with excitement and anticipation regarding the enormous opportunity which had just landed in my lap.  Montenegro had given me my chance at the elevated life I craved.  I’d fill this contract and the others which would follow.  What did I care?  I’d bounce around killing one after the other, amassing the fortune I sought, until the only one standing was me.
 Later that same day I discovered the real reason Montenegro was willing to pay such a huge sum of money for this particular contract.  The drug interloper info was true, but it wasn’t the entire story.  Come to find out, the contract target was interloping into other areas of Montenegro’s life.  It appeared Montenegro wasn’t willing to share the recipient of his stress relief with anyone. 
 Personally, I couldn’t believe anyone was stupid enough to have an affair with Montenegro’s wife.  Montenegro had too much pride to admit such a situation to me, so he led with the competitor story.  Knowing the entire truth made me feel better about my ‘promotion’.  At least I knew why Montenegro wanted a third party involved.  My insistence upon a cash transaction meant the money trail would go cold and my threat upon his life guaranteed he’d honor the agreement.  All of these terms put at ease my concern regarding his use of me as a fall guy.  
 Motives aside, a ten-minute conversation redefined every aspect of my life.  I got to leave that drug infested stink hole.  I got to embark on a new career as an Independent.  I got to leave Cassie Martinez behind me for the befuddling puzzle she was.  I was more than fine with all of that.
 While I hated the unexpected for allowing me to cross Cassie’s path in the first place, I had to begrudgingly admit the unexpected could also offer the uncommon perk.      


 Now, I sit up on the weight bench and take a second to catch my breath.  My brain continues to crank.  Cassie and I have a history, of that there’s no doubt.  Reliving it as I lift weights, remembering everything I’ve tried so earnestly to bury, is making me bone tired.  Unfortunately, I have no time for tired.  There’s so much more to consider.
 The story Cassie told me batters my consciousness.  What kind of man happens upon a car wreck and aligns himself with a woman he’s never met?  Prior to Cassie’s arrival, I never could’ve related to someone hearing God’s voice, much less comply with His directive.
 Now, however, I’ve experienced enough myself to not only believe it’s possible, but to know God really works in this manner.  As a result, I completely understand Manny’s response to God’s marching orders.  When you hear the Great One speak, you’re compelled to listen.  It’s not that there’s a threat involved, but it’s impressed upon your consciousness how incredibly important obedience is.  Even so, my orders from the Great One were simple and succinct compared to what Manny was told to do.  
 Could I ever obey an order from God about who to spend my life with or how to live it?  Yeah, possibly, with regards to one certain person, but with regards to a stranger?  There’s no way I’d be fine with that.  
 Once Manny heard God speak and found the motivation to act, where did he find the strength to follow through with marrying Cassie?  I consider myself as tough as a human being gets, but Manny possessed a strength, an infusing of conviction and obedience not possessed by any soldier I’ve ever known.
 Cassie has that same quality, though.  She’s lost her way for the time being, but she carries that same steel spine within her.  If she didn’t possess it, she would have never shared the vision with me.  She’d have gone on pursuing her vendetta against Montenegro and never would have listened to God about the way she was treating me. 
 Furthermore, I’ve never personally known one human being to be so utterly devoted to another.  My biological parents ditched me when I was a little kid.  I don’t even really remember what they looked like.  Growing up in foster care, I learned early on it was win or lose, be the victim or be the victor.  There was never any example of devotion or commitment which remotely resembled what Cassie and Manny had between them.
 Manny’s devotion to God spilled over into solidarity with an absolute stranger, who later became his wife.  Manny’s hierarchy of devotion was God, then Cassie.  Cassie’s presence here is proof of her reciprocated devotion to Manny, but her hierarchy seems to be Manny followed by God.  Their priorities appear to be inverse.  That’s odd for a couple who seemed so in sync about everything else.  
 Maybe this reversed dynamic is the reason Cassie’s lost her way.  It appears she’s shoved God aside, so she can pursue something contrary to what God wants.  I wonder how Manny would feel about Cassie’s mission.  I’ve never actually met the guy, but I’m pretty sure he’d be completely against it for every conceivable reason.
 What happens if I can’t persuade Cassie to drop this crazy idea.  She’s young and beautiful.  She’s healthy, even if her leg slows her down.  She could move on to a new husband and make a life with him.  She could have kids of her own waiting in her future.  She could pursue a career, something she’d find fulfilling.  However, if I don’t talk her out of this mission she’s prosecuting, she won’t live long enough to pursue her future.
 If I convince her to walk away what kind of man will she choose?  Can anyone possibly live up to the standard set by the man she adored?  Can the void left by Manny’s death ever be filled by another flesh and blood, breathing man?
 My thoughts turn to the logical place.  Don’t do it Parker, don’t go there.
 I might be inexperienced with feelings of this type and magnitude, but I know myself well enough to know the way I feel for Cassie is about so much more than being impressed with what she accomplished in my yard.  No, these feelings began more than two years ago.  I did my best to run from them, to bury them in my past, but now she’s here and she’s the most vivid reminder possible I’m living half a life.  Just like the mesa vision demonstrated my spiritual life is sorely lacking, I realize I’ve been using the military as a buffer against the emotional side of life.  Until I saw heaven and hell displayed in my yard, until I watched Cassie grieve her fallen husband, I was completely unaware of my true needs.  
 I ran from Cassie because I knew she belonged to someone else and our two worlds could never mesh into one.  Now, though, things are different.   Her husband is no longer part of the picture.  True, she’s hurting, but her pain will pass.  So, logistically speaking, one of our two obstacles is no longer a consideration.  All that remains between us is the fact that she’s sunrise and I’m sunset.  She embodies light, joy and goodness even if she’s lost her way for a time.  I’m the one who personifies death and darkness.  For the love of God, could we be any different? 
 Here’s the kicker though:  If I choose the eastern realm, putting God first in my life, my worldview will do a 180.  Couldn’t Cassie and I be aligned then?  Wouldn’t the second obstacle between us be removed?
 I give brief thought to the idea of corrupting Cassie by bringing her into my life.  Could I ever win her over and convince her to embrace full time the darkness she’s currently nurturing?  
 Instantly, I know this isn’t really an option.  The life I live would crush her.  I care far too much about her to bring her that low. One of the things I love most about her is the light she embodies.  I won’t be responsible for squelching that light.  Besides, if I killed off the light within her, Cassie wouldn’t really be Cassie anymore, would she?
 The only real solution is for me to cross over to Cassie’s way of looking at life.  
 That terrifies me because it’s all so foreign.  However, after seeing the galactic display in my yard, I know changing my life is something I must do regardless of Cassie’s feelings for me.
 As a final piece of the Cassie puzzle, will she ever have anything to do with me on a personal level?  Could she ever see me as a love interest?  It makes my gut roll just thinking about it.
 She’s here with me right now because she needs my skill set, not me.  She needs my ability to kill, not my ability to love her, to provide protection and solidarity.  Dear God, am I even capable of those things?  
 Protecting Cassie would certainly be no problem, but solidarity?  That could prove to be the one thing which brings a screeching halt to all of this.  The soldier in me understands the benefits of a team effort.  If someone falls, the rest of the unit picks him up and gets him out of harm’s way.  Can I stand by Cassie in that manner?
 Can I be the guy who does yard work and runs the grill in the backyard?  Can I be the guy who works a 9 to 5 only to come home to help with the kids?  KIDS?!  Are you freaking kidding me?! 
 I’ve never once thought of myself as dad material, but Cassie was born to be a mom.  I’ve witnessed it first-hand.  I could never be with her and ask her to give up on kids of her own.  Can I be that guy, that dad guy?  My gut heaves as I run my hands over my head.
  Can I give up globetrotting, the thrill of the hunt and the ridiculous amount of money I command for each hit?  Am I truly capable of turning my back on all I am while learning to become someone else?  
 I can’t make Cassie want me.  How do I shift her need of me for my skill set to need of me as a man?  How do I get her to look past the darkness in me to recognize and appreciate my good qualities? 
  I do a mental double take while I think about that.  What good qualities do I possess?  Well, I’m strong, both physically and mentally.  I’m far above average in the looks department, I’m told I possess above average intelligence, and I’m certainly no stranger to hard work.  I’m organized and loyal.  Also, I’m quite wealthy.  Obviously, material things don’t mean much to Cassie, but she might be pleased to learn we can live anywhere she wants, have as many kids as she’d like and live forever free of financial worries.  Cassie will learn these things about me as she gets to know me
 Frustration, and what I deem to be a mediocre case of self-loathing, drive me to lift more and lift faster.  More weight, more reps, less time.  Punishing myself is the most effective way for me to deal with my inadequacies.
 Putting the brakes on my considerations of Cassie inevitably brings about the larger question at hand.
 I’ve never given an after-life much thought, so it never occurred to me I was living in a manner deemed unworthy by anyone.  I’ve known all along, of course, working as an assassin for a living is illegal, but mostly I rid the earth of horrific people.  If there is a God and He hasn’t seen fit to put a stop to these guys, why shouldn’t I?  Why shouldn’t I make an incredible living at it?  
 In my mind there’s a difference between illegal and unworthy, and my worldview failed to leave me deficient in any manner.  It made me a god.  I was doing the world a solid while using the talents given to me by the universe.  It certainly never occurred to me I was one of the horrific people with whom society needs to deal.
 Now, I understand so very well how messed up my thinking was.  Clearly, I’m no god.  I’m a piss ant.  A delusional piss ant at that.  Bottom line, one’s measure of self is largely based on the god one chooses to serve.  So, the need to choose wisely is of utmost importance.
 Absolute truth includes the understanding that if I don’t overtly choose the Great One, and the eastern realm, by default I choose Satan and the western realm.  There is no middle ground.  To continue my life as if a middle ground exists, only allows deception to reign supreme.  I’m smarter than that.
 I was running from God while completely unaware of it.  There’s no way to permanently outrun what I saw in my yard that night.  An attempt to do so will end like it did for those of the western realm.  
 I’ve always known what I want from life and have executed successive plans to bring those ideas to fruition.  Now that I understand my life is much longer and larger than I thought, I can’t afford to give any less attention to it than I did before.  No, now is not the time to become sloppy or complacent.
 This God choice would be so much easier if I knew what He had planned for me.  Then I could make a truly informed decision.  But would knowing the details of each choice change the conclusion of either?  No way.  Ultimately, there are only the eastern and western realms from which to choose.  The choice is mine and mine alone.  
 Also, wouldn’t knowing everything ahead of time remove the need for faith?  I know the Great One took the opportunity Cassie created to show me what’s truly at stake in life.  It was live, real and soul shattering.  Yet, somehow, I continue to struggle with my decision.  How crazy is that?  The math just isn’t that hard.  
Intellectually, I know what my choice must be.  Unless I want to wind up as a tortured soul, forever lost in the western realm, as one of those who spend eternity grinding their teeth to evade pain and suffering, I must deliberately choose God.  If I fail to purposefully choose God, then, by default I choose the other guy. 
 I’m not quite sure why I’m having such a hard time with my decision.  If what the Great One showed me isn’t enough to convince me, if what He’s already said and done throughout time isn’t enough to prove He’s in control of this crazy thing called life, then what will be enough? 
 I can dress up a refusal to believe any way I want.  I can give it different names such as skepticism, agnosticism, atheism or new world whatever.  I can even allow it to take on a life of its own by telling myself I’m looking out for my best interests, living my life as I want, making my mark on history as I choose.  That choice is nothing more than denial. 
 It really comes down to a lack of cooperation with God.  I’m more comfortable where I am than with the prospect of choosing God and moving onto something else.  You see, to choose Him, I must admit my own deficiencies, and admit my inability to save myself from the reality of the western realm. 
 This level of vulnerability is new to me.  It’s never occurred to me I’m not enough, that I fall short in some regard.  I’ve always worked harder, worked smarter, and worked longer so the other guy would feel inferior.  Now, it’s me who feels deficient.  There’s no way I’m fine with that, but doesn’t admitting deficiencies beat being forever caught in the tortuous western realm?
 If I refuse to believe Him, then I refuse to let Him convince me of His truth.  If this God thing is going to work in my life there must be a softening on my part, a concession to accept for myself all He’s done on my behalf.
 God can’t move any closer to me than I’ll allow.  He’s literally done everything possible to get my attention, demonstrating His love for me.  It’s my turn to move toward Him. 
 These experiences and feelings have upped my self-awareness to an entirely new level but being aware doesn’t answer my questions.  I’m still uncertain how death and darkness can ever inhabit light and life.  How can a rotting, living corpse ever be resurrected?  Cassie assures me I can be part of the eastern realm.  Can I truly hope for something so wonderful or is it simply an exercise in futility and heartbreak to work toward such a daunting goal? 
The military gave my life purpose and structure.  It served as my family.  Okay, I’m willing to admit the military might have been a poor substitute for family, but when it’s all you’ve got you roll with it and you don’t look back.  You don’t look back, that is, until something causes you to question everything you know.
 Ground Zero.


 The way I see it, I’m staring at two problems.  I want to be a part of the eastern realm and I want to be with Cassie.  I’m not too proud or scared to admit either, at least to myself.  However, acknowledging them does nothing to rectify them.  The only way to fix either of them is to act, but honestly, the thought of acting incorrectly terrifies me.  This is as big as life gets.  The fear of making a mess of everything is making me scared to try.
 What if I choose the eastern realm and God doesn’t want me?  What if I’m not man enough to make it work? What if I can’t be the person God wants me to be? 
 Also, it matters little I want Cassie for myself because, push comes to shove, I’m not good enough for her.   How do I, or anyone else for that matter, replace a man like her husband, someone with the strength of character which makes my muscular mass look pitiful in comparison.  His ship of worthiness has sailed over the horizon.  Mine is still tied to the dock.  
 I’m confident I can’t possibly keep the two problems separate in my head and heart.  Right now, everything is completely jumbled and I’m unsure what to do about it.  Right now, getting angry sounds like fun.  Pitting everything I’ve got against the punching bag or putting large holes in the center of several targets sounds like it might make me feel better.  Getting angry might help short term, but it only defers the feeling of insufficiency until a later time without doing a single thing to address my problems.      
 I bend double and groan in agony at the thought of losing the only two things in my life I’ve ever wanted more than my military career.  As the impact of this realization hits me, another anguished groan hits my vocal chords.  It becomes extremely hard to catch my breath.  My head isn’t spinning, but my world sure is.  The emotional upheaval I’m experiencing is sudden and intense.  The mess in which I’m swimming is so far over my head it feels like I’m drowning.
 There’s a grievous sob deep within me begging for release.  I’m not sure, but I think I might be having a nervous breakdown.  The me I know best, before the mesa vision, would have never believed such a thing was possible.  The me I’m becoming knows anything is possible.  
 In a last-ditch effort to stay my downward emotional spiral, I bend over and place my head between my knees.  Breathe, Parker.  Just breathe.  Just keep breathing man.  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. 
 It takes a full minute of concentrated effort, but I finally pull myself together  and recognize a panic attack for what it is. 
 Admitting I’m in love with Cassie, despite my best efforts to prevent it, despite fleeing her all that time ago, is overwhelming me.  To make matters worse, the burden of not being able to claim her as mine is on the verge of crushing me.
 Additionally, understanding of my true significance in the universe and the fear of being discarded by a holy, perfect God makes even Cassie pale in comparison.  Is the eastern realm really a possibility for me?
 I roll off the weight bench and lie on the floor.  This time understanding presents itself as an oppressor instead of a friend.  The perfect storm of loving Cassie, the call of God on my life, and the knowledge of my overwhelming unworthiness for either of them, may kill me where I lie.

Chapter 12 - More of the Story

A scant few minutes later, after I’ve regained my emotional balance, but before I get myself completely straightened out, Cassie’s voice cuts off my reflections.  I hear her calling for me from the living room.  
 Crap.  There’s no way I can exit this room without disclosing its presence to her.  Suck it up and deal with it, Parker.  Besides, aren’t we past the point of secret keeping?
 I hear Cassie’s startled gasp as the wall to the left of the couch slides silently into the wall behind the sofa.  I stand before her in the middle of my gym, awaiting her response.
 As only two and half hours have passed since the lunch melt down.  Cassie is still dressed in my sweats.  Her face is slightly swollen from all the tears, but she’s just beautiful.  
 The puzzled grin on her face tells me she’s calmer than before.  “How did you do that?” she asks in amazement.
 “It’s a little something I pieced together,” I reply truthfully.
 She walks forward and asks with her expression if she can enter the gym.
 “Sure.  Come on in,” I tell her.
  She reaches out to touch the various machines, astonished at what she’s seeing.
  “No wonder you’re in such great shape!” she remarks enthusiastically.  She gives no indication she remembers our previous conversation about my physical condition.
 Suddenly, she looks up at me and says, “There’s more, isn’t there?”
 “What do you mean?” I ask.
 “Well, now that I can see this, I understand the visible portions of your cabin don’t match the overall dimensions.”
 “You can’t just accept seeing this one room, can you?” I ask hopefully.
 “Well, of course not.  Not if there’s more!”  She’s nodding her head while bouncing her index finger at me.  She’s giddy that she’s figured it out.  “There’s more isn’t there?”
 I nod my head.  It kills me that my privacy, so fundamentally important to who I am and what I do, is eroding before my very eyes.  When I look at her though, I admit to myself my ability to refuse her is eroding as well.  I’m truly not all that upset about it.
 “Yes, Cassie.  There’s more,” I concede quietly.
 Over the next hour Cassie gets a tour of the remaining square footage.  There are four equally sized compartments which are hidden from view.  They aren’t completely invisible, but they’re concealed well enough you’d need to know of their existence in order to find them.  They have encrypted access codes from the living area, as well as from each other.  In planning for every contingency, I made each compartment accessible from the exterior of the cabin as well.  
 One compartment houses a sizable arsenal.  Any type of weapon, legal or otherwise, I could possibly need in order to fulfill a contract can be found here.
 Cassie is awed at the variety and size of my weapons cache.  I must admit, it is impressive.  After her initial interest is satisfied, though, I watch as true comprehension of my vocation settles into her novice mind.  Suddenly, she decides she’s uncomfortable, so we move on to the second hidden compartment.  
 I call it my war room.  It’s full of maps, computers, radios, phones, anything tech, high or low, which could prove useful.  In an attempt to account for every variable that might arise, I’ve covered the walls in all types of gear.  It also contains a large table where everything can be assembled and played out in a computer generated 3-D “real world” scenario.  
 I go to the computer and pull up a 3-D version of my current project.  Instantly, Cassie recognizes it. 
  “That’s Montenegro’s compound!”
 “Yes, it is,” I admit.
 “So, you were planning to help me all along?”
 “No, Cassie, I’m not.  I simply had a lot of down time while you were recovering.  Also, I have no current hits to construct.  I’ve just been passing the time.”
 She oooohs and aaaaahs as she walks her fingers through the 3-D image of Montenegro’s residence.  “This is remarkable.”
 “Yeah,” I agree.  “It’s pretty cool.”
 Cassie has already seen the third compartment, the indoor gym.  It’s not nearly as mentally stimulating as working out in the mesa, but it’s well-equipped and very serviceable.  It has certainly been indispensable while waiting for Cassie’s health to improve.
 The final compartment elicits a response which is rivaled only by Cassie’s appreciation of orange juice.  She squeals with delight and manages to utter, “Can we go for a ride?”
 I shrug and say, “Sure.  Why not?  But I need to change first.”  I’m still in my workout gear.  I leave Cassie to examine the car and return ten minutes later showered, wearing jeans and a polo shirt.  
 I tug on Cassie’s hand to pull her away from the rear of the car where she stopped after her three sixty tour.  I lift the lid on a seemingly innocuous trash bin and punch in a code.  Instantly, the two walls which meet at the southeast corner of my cabin, comprising a garage, slide quickly into the ground.  The stunning little ride has only to back out of its home and its ready to go.
 “How did you do that?”  Cassie’s eyes inflate to saucer size, her hands fly to her mouth and she hops in one place like a baby kangaroo.  We board the car and I turn the key.  The engine thunders to life with all the imagery that word evokes.  Power and speed are at our fingertips, awaiting our command.  
 I smile to myself as the realization hits me.  I like the sound of ‘our’.
 I peel out of the garage in reverse, shift into first and tear down the dirt road.  Punching a code into my cell phone re-situates the southeast corner of my cabin to its original status.  No one would ever know, by looking at it, that my cabin possesses its very own garage.
 Cassie is buckled in, her face alight with the surprise and the fun she’s having.  The speed and freedom delight her to no end.  I can’t help but smile back at her.
 During the drive I explain to her about the car and the remaining surprises my cabin holds.  This car, the first to occupy the garage, is a Jaguar XKR-S GT.  A 575 hp supercharged V8 speed demon all wrapped up in Caldera Red.  The custom order includes bullet proof glass, as well as, armor plating for the roof, sides, trunk, hood and undercarriage.  Between these modifications and the car’s inherent speed, I have the ability to leave quickly and safely.  
 Safely, unless, of course they’re shooting at me with armored shells from a tank.  The car is always fueled and meticulously maintained.  I’ve yet to need any vehicle stored in the garage for the purpose of escape.  Honestly, I hope I never do because I’d hate to see such a sweet little ride take a hit for the team, but if it comes down to me or the car, well…, that’s why it’s here.
 The rest of the stats regarding my place include an underground tunnel which originates in the master bath and emerges 650 yards into the mesa.  There’s a small cache of weapons located in a locker which sits immediately inside its egress     
 As part of the custom build I included a solar power system with two fuel  generators available for backup.  I’m completely off the power grid.  With no visible light lines my place looks like an old cabin that’s used by hunters on a once-in-a-while to never basis.  The whole redneck vibe is unbelievably practical for someone with needs such as mine.
 My property is also protected by state-of-the-art security, both inside and out.  
 Everything is discreetly placed and ridiculously inconspicuous.  If girl scouts show up selling cookies, they would never know, just by looking, that any of this even exists.  All the motion detectors, lights, cameras, etc. aren’t to protect the place, per se, or even its contents, but me.  I deal with a lot of intensely corrupt people and I want a fighting chance at living through it if one of them should decide to make me the target.  
 It’s not something I fret over, but if Cassie’s appearance here did anything other than anger me, it demonstrated the possibility of finding me.  While I do my best to plan for every contingency, and even though the unexpected is never welcome, I will admit it does manage to assert itself from time to time.  The proof of that fact sits next to me.
 In order to maintain the secrecy about the cabin I had to do all the work myself.  I’ve never been lazy, and I’ve never feared new things, so with all the time I could devote to it, I got the place done at a pretty good clip.  It was one heck of an undertaking, but the privacy thing is compulsory.  One honest benefit of operating as an Independent is being able to take time to do other things when I’m so compelled.  I’m fine with that. 
 Before we know it, we find ourselves in Laredo.  “Wow!  We got here in no time at all!” Cassie exults.  
 I check my watch and find only thirty-nine minutes have passed.  I’m in disbelief we pulled that off without getting stopped and ticketed.  I’ll have to watch it on the way home.
 “Well, we’re here, so what would you like to do while we’re in town?” I ask Cassie.
 Incredulity rings in her voice as she asks, “Me?  What do I want to do?”  Next,  she asks for reassurance, “Really?” 
 “Sure,” I encourage her.  “Take your pick.  Anything goes.” 
 Cassie looks overwhelmed.  “Parker, I can’t think of anything I want, or need for that matter.  Besides, I don’t have any spending money.”
 “Cassie, we’re not spending your money.  We’re spending mine,” I inform her.
 “I can’t do that Parker.  You’ve been so kind already,” she explains while doing her best to weasel out of my offer.
 I try an approach she can probably appreciate.  “Isn’t pride what prevents a person from accepting a gift?” I ask her.
 Cassie drops her head and slumps her shoulders.
 I’ve got her!
 She looks up and me and reluctantly agrees, “Touché, but I’m still without a clue.”
 This conversation is so totally going my way.  “If you’re open to a suggestion, I have an idea.”
 She cocks her head at me, aware I’m up to something, but she plays along anyway, “Let’s have it.”
 “How about some new clothes?” I ask, knowing my suggestion is both practical and timely.
 She looks down at my sweats as they swallow her tiny frame.  “Well, ummm, I guess I could use something new to wear.  Is there a Shop-Mart in this town?  They’ll have something that fits me that won’t break you up.”
 I groan at her and pull the car over to the curb.  I pull out my cell phone and ask it to find women’s clothing stores.
 “Great!  There’s a nice store a few blocks from here.”
 “Parker, I don’t think…” Cassie begins.
 “Shhhh.  Cassie.  Let it go,” is my response to her.
 Seven minutes later we arrive at 1312 Grant Street, Dee’s Fashion Store.  I usher Cassie inside where she’s immediately drawn to a little of everything.  As she begins to shop, I pull the salesclerk aside and tell her what I want for Cassie.
 Behind me, I hear the doorbell sound as another customer enters the shop.  I look over to find Melissa is the new customer in question.  I attempt to greet her, but her attention is absorbed by the colorful commodities on the racks.
 I walk over to Cassie.  “Hey, I’ll be back in about an hour to get you.”
 “You’re leaving me here? Just like that?” she asks with a hint of panic in her voice.
 “Just for a little while,” I reassure her.  “The salesclerk will take very good care of you.  Listen to what she says, ok?”
 “Okaaaay, I think,” Cassie agrees, somewhat hesitantly.
 “Breathe, Cassie.  You’re picking out some clothes, not facing a firing squad. Now have some fun,” I say in my best commanding officer’s voice.  I soften the command by stroking the outside of her left arm.
 I chuckle at her insecurity over doing a little shopping.  She thinks she can walk into Montenegro’s compound and start shooting?  Suurrre.  No problem.
 On my way out of the store, I make it a point to speak to Melissa.  She’s civil, but distant.  She’s obviously preoccupied with something.  
 Then again, I’ve never run into her out like this, so what do I know.  Maybe she’s just being herself.
 True to my word, one hour later, I return to retrieve Cassie.  She’s removed my oversized sweats and has replaced them with a flattering pair of jeans and a cotton blouse the same color as her eyes.  Summer sandals adorn her feet.  
 Cassie, girl, you are a pretty thing.  
 She’s has two bags stuffed with purchases.  I take them from her and carry them over to the car.  
 In a matter of seconds, we’re tooling through town on our way to my favorite steak house.  Cassie protests, but her objections are overruled by the fun I’m having.  It isn’t long before we’re seated and have placed our orders.  
 Cassie begins by thanking me, again, for the paltry number of things she purchased.  I can tell she’s truly grateful and is immensely enjoying her day out of the house.
 “By the way,” she continues, “I ran into a friend of yours at the clothing store.”
 “Really?  Who?”  I’m truly puzzled.  “I intentionally don’t have friends in Laredo,” I remind her.
 “She said her name is Melissa.”
 I nod my head in sudden understanding.  “Oh, Melissa.  I forgot about her.  I’ve never thought of Melissa as a friend.”
 “Well, she thinks of you as a friend, let me tell you,” Cassie states earnestly.
 I scrunch my brow in confusion.  “What do you mean?”
 Cassie continues, “Evidently, she saw us enter the store together.  She followed us in, so she could lay claim to her turf.”
 I shake my head in disagreement while flagging my hands for emphasis.  “No, Cassie, you’ve misunderstood somehow.”
 “What?!” she asks as if she’s insulted.  “I’m suddenly not smart enough to follow the course of a conversation?”
 “No, that’s not it,” I counter her assessment.  I regroup and try a different approach.  “What, exactly, did she say?”
 “She told me you belong to her and she doesn’t want me moving in on her territory.”
 I roll my eyes and catch Cassie’s gaze.  “It’s not what you think,” I try to explain.
 “How do you know what I think?” Cassie asks sensibly.  “I’m simply relaying the message.”
 “Well,” I say in my sincerest manner. “It’s a message she has no business sending.  Melissa is not my girlfriend.  I don’t even consider her a friend of mine.  She’s an acquaintance, really.  Apparently, she’s an acquaintance who’s a little too attached.”
 “If she’s not a girlfriend, or friend and is someone you know only as an acquaintance, how is it she feels she has some claim on you?”
 Before I can answer, Cassie leans toward me, lowers her voice and asks in a conspiratorial tone, “Is she a stalker or something twisted like that?”
 I chuckle quietly as I remember it wasn’t so very long ago, I thought Cassie needed mental health help.  Oh, the difference a little time and perspective can make.  “No, it’s nothing psychologically unhinged…”
 “What then?”  Cassie’s trying hard to understand and I realize I’m not helping much.
 Crap.  This isn’t one of my prouder moments.
 “Cassie, Melissa is someone I visit from time to time.  You know, on a professional level.”
 “Oh!” Cassie continues in her conspiratorial whisper, her eyes large and round with surprise and wonder.  “She’s an assassin too?  Good grief!  How many of you are there?”
 For the second time, I shake my head at her.  “No, Cassie, that’s not what I mean, not at all.”
 Cassie shrugs her shoulders in surrender.  “Parker, you have me so confused I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.”  She shakes her head and gives the indication she isn’t interested in finding out.  “You know, if you don’t want to tell me, it’s ok.  It’s none of my business anyway.”
 No!  Now is as good a time as any.  Might as well plow my way through this. 
 “Cassie, I want you to know.  I’m just having a hard time admitting it to you. that’s all.”
 “Admitting what?  What in the world can be so scary to someone like you?”
 She’s truly unaware of how I’m struggling on every life defining level.  It doesn’t matter right now.  I have to clear the air regarding Melissa.  Hesitantly, I begin to speak.  “Cassie…. Melissa is a professional….”
 “Yes…?”  Cassie watches and listens expectantly.
 “Woman,” I utter quietly.
 “A professional woman?” Cassie asks, clearly puzzled.
 “Yes, that’s right,” I manage to confirm without embarrassing myself any further.  Boy am I glad that’s over.
 Cassie continues to sit opposite me with that puzzled look on her face.  In one brief flash of insight, the truth hits her.
 “Oh!  A professional woman!”  She says way too loudly, thrilled she finally understands.  The other diners simultaneously turn to look at us.  
 I drop my head and moan.  
 Cassie ducks her head and blushes, realizing she’s the cause of the commotion.  “I’m sorry, Parker.”
 I shrug my left shoulder at her, indicating I’m not upset.  “I’ve been through worse, believe me.”  Now, that we’ve got my pride squared away, I need more info on Cassie’s and Melissa’s confab.  “At any point of your conversation, did she threaten you?”
 Cassie shakes her head at me.  “No, nothing overt.  She wanted me to know you belong to her.”
 I can’t help but grin as understanding washes over me.  
 “What’s so funny?” Cassie wants to know.  “I don’t get it.  Explain it to me.”
 “Melissa thinks you’re a professional.”
 There’s that conspiratorial whisper, again. “A professional assassin?  What, do you guys have a club or something?”
 I can’t help but chuckle at her.  “No, Cassie, a professional….”
 The lights come on.  “Woman?!” she shrieks.
 “Yes,” I reply, relieved she finally understands.
 We both howl in laughter as everyone in the place turns to look at us, for the second time. 
 This conversation has been difficult because Cassie is so naïve.  She’s truly comical, but I realize it’s simply another reason she appeals to me past the point of sanity.
 Forty-five minutes later we’re on our way home and, this time we make it in a sedate one hour and fifteen minutes.  We drop the southeast corner of the cabin and park the car in its cubby hole.
 Cassie exit’s the car and stands by the headlight.  We’re about ready to reenter the cabin.  “Wow! This place, this day, everything has really been remarkable.  I guess your type of business pays better than the outside of this place indicates.”
 I shrug off her comment.  “I do ok.”
 Suddenly, I sense a shift in her mood.  She’s no longer the explorer who’s excited about the discoveries contained within my cabin, but a lonely grieving widow.  Even though she just asked me about my job, I’m pretty sure her next words will have nothing to do with my occupation.  I’ll wait her out.  One thing about Cassie, I won’t have to wait long.  
 “Parker?”
 Here it comes. “Yes?” I say simply as I look up at her.
 “I want to apologize for getting upset earlier today.”
 “No need for sorry.”  I turn my back to her, my voice flat while uttering this simple reply.  I’m not good at the emotional elements of life.  Heck, I’ve spent 15 years learning to bury this very kind of thing.  You sure don’t get good at what you aren’t willing to practice.
 My gut is doing its best to form a giant knot.  I don’t want to deal with Cassie’s grief.  It’s way too intense and way too personal.  My conscious gives me a kick and convicts me for being a creep for not wanting to help Cassie sort out her pain.  It also zings me for finding relief in Manny’s death.  I deflect.
 “Can we talk some more about the vision?”
 My request catches her off guard.  Cassie, though, seems amenable to a change of subject, and wipes two lingering tears off her cheek.  “Absolutely.”
 She’s either incredibly easy to manipulate, which I know is not the case, or she’s very willing to go with a sudden change of direction.  Maybe she’s perceptive enough to understand my discomfort with the subject of her husband and is simply willing to cooperate.  In this moment, I don’t care which.  I’m simply grateful for the chance to move onto something else.
 I’ll return later to refuel the car and give it a good bath.  We exit the hidden compartment which houses the car.  It egresses into the living room on the right end of the couch.
 Cassie has an uncomfortable look on her face.  This is all so awkward.  I don’t have a clue how to make it less so.  She’s here, she shouldn’t be.  I know what she wants, she shouldn’t want it.  She knows everything about God, I know next to nothing, but know I need to.  I know, despite my earnest long fought efforts to stop it, I’m in love with her and I’ve got no right to her.  How can it be anything but awkward?
 I head to the kitchen to put away the few groceries I purchased while waiting on Cassie.  When I return to the living room, two glasses of OJ in hand, she’s sitting on the couch waiting for me.  
 Waiting for me.  I like the sound of that entirely too much.
 I sit opposite her and she jumps right in.  “What else would you like to know, Parker?”
 She’s calmer now, composed even.  Does the awkwardness exist only in my perception or is she simply gifted at overcoming it?  What is there about her that so completely addles my ability to think?
 I forge ahead.  “Tell me about Calliope.”  
 Cassie turns her body, so she sits at a 45° angle to me.  Quietly, matter-of-factly she begins.  “Scripture teaches us that angels are servant spirits sent from God to care for those who receive salvation.”
 I’m not quite sure what all of that meant, so I ask another way, “Do I have a guardian angel?”
 Cassie scrunches up her mouth, afraid I won’t like her answer, but she gives it to me anyway.  “Probably not at this point.  From what I understand, only those people who are headed to heaven have guardian angels.”
 “Well, that leaves me out then, huh?” I reply glumly.  I’m sadly disappointed to learn I don’t have one of those mighty creatures on my side.
 “Not necessarily,” Cassie responds brightly.  
 How does she do that?  How does she always sound so hopeful?
 “What do you mean?”  Now, I’m the one with the puzzled look on my face.
 “Remember when Calliope told you to find your faith and keep it with you?”
 “Yeah, so?”
 “When you accept Jesus through faith, then you’re among those who receive salvation.  When that happens, you’re included among us who have the servant spirits of God looking out for us.”
 Unbidden, hope surges through me.  “So, what you’re saying is that it’s not too late for me?”
 “It’s never too late for anyone, Parker.”
 I shake my head, convinced she’s missing part of the picture.  “Cassie, don’t you realize the horrible, unforgivable things I’ve done?  Have you stopped and given conscious thought to the death and pain I’ve delivered to a variety of people?  I’m not speaking of only the targets themselves.  When I took those lives, the ones who loved them were left broken and hurting as well.”  
 I want her to think very seriously about my words.  I want her to understand enough to leave here, even though I’m positive I don’t possess the strength to let her go.
 “The things you’ve done are horrible, yes, I know that.  But I also know they’re unforgivable only in your mind, Parker.  What you think and what God thinks differ more than you could possibly imagine.  His grace is big enough to catch you. 
 “Personally, I try not to think about what you do.  When I do think about it, I’m reminded of why I came here, and God convicts me all over again. He reminds me of my willingness to embrace and act on something so evil and contrary to what he wants for me.”
 I cringe outwardly as my gut rolls at her words.  She gets it, the evil involved.  “Okay, if you understand, how can you sit here and tell me it’s not too late for me?”
 “Because I know it’s true.  Do you think God’s going to be shocked at what you’ve done?  He can hear the thoughts in your head long before you ever act on them.  It’s not possible for you to surprise Him.”
 “So, it doesn’t matter to you who I am or the wrong I’ve committed?”
 “I won’t say it doesn’t matter to me.  I grieve that you’ve led this life.  The more I understand you, the better I understand the solitude in which you’ve shrouded yourself.  Most importantly, though, none of it’s beyond what God can forgive and restore.”
 “I don’t understand how that’s possible.  God is all about holiness and purity, right?”
 “Yes, of course.”
 “I’m the antithesis of those things, Cassie.  I’m like the creatures of the western realm.  I resemble them far more than I do the creatures of the eastern side.”
 “The beings of the western realm are those who are lost forever.  They’re the ones who allowed evil to consume them by keeping God out of their lives.”  
 “I have a great deal more in common with the creatures of the western realm, so why aren’t I lost forever?”
 “Because you’re still breathing, Parker!  You can make a different choice, right now!  This instant!  You can still make a choice no one can ever take away from you.”
 This sounds way too good to be true.  “How does something like that happen?” I ask cautiously, skepticism lacing my tone.
 Without flinching, Cassie presses on.  “God teaches the wages of sin are death.  All the things you’ve done, the things you think are unforgivable, they all demand a death wage or punishment from God.  The beings in the western realm are paying their own death wage.”
 “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” I agree, convinced I’m right.
 “Parker, God sent Jesus to pay our death wage, so we wouldn’t have to pay it ourselves.  The creatures in the western realm refused to accept Jesus’ death as a substitute for their own.  They wanted their way in life more than they wanted God, so He let them have their way right into eternity.
 “If you believe Jesus died for your sins and have faith to trust Him for that, then the murders you’ve committed are paid for in full.  Any lie you’ve ever told is paid for.  Any time you’ve had sex outside of God’s guidelines, it’s paid for.  There’s nothing you can do which can’t be covered by the death of Jesus.  Well, to be completely honest, there is one, but that’s the opposite of what we’re discussing here.”
 I summarize in my head and ask for confirmation.  I want to make sure I get this right.  “You’re telling me, all I have to do is accept Jesus’ death as a substitute for my penalty and I’m good to go?”
 “The Bible teaches if you believe in your heart God raised Jesus from the dead, you’re made right with God.  Then, if you confess with your mouth Jesus is Lord, you’ll be saved.”
 “It can’t be that easy,” I mutter in disbelief.  “There’s no way I can ever be good enough to deserve life in the eastern realm.”
 “You’re right,” Cassie agrees, “you’re not good enough.  No person could ever live a life righteous enough to earn the right to live with God.  That’s why He sent Jesus.  Jesus is the only One holy enough to take our place and the only One selfless enough to make it happen.  Because of Jesus’ work on your behalf, God accepts you as you are, no matter what, but once you choose Him, He’ll begin to change you, so you become more like Him.  There will be times of growth and times of doubt along the way because faith is a verb, Parker.  Faith is a journey, not a destination.
 “The only part people are responsible for is getting past their pride to accept Jesus and allow Him to work in their lives.”
 “What’s pride got to do with it?” I ask, kind of confused.  “You mean people disbelieving they’ve done something that needs to be forgiven?”
 “Yeah,” Cassie confirms, “that’s it for some people.  They’re very busy convincing themselves they’re good people.  They refuse to accept Jesus’ death as a substitute for their own because they compare themselves horizontally to others, not vertically to God.  They fully embrace the lie that a loving God won’t hold them accountable for the way they live.  Their approach is ‘God made me a liar, a prostitute, whatever’, and if He really loves me, He’ll never let me go to hell.”
 I nod in agreement.  “I see the logic in that.”
 “God doesn’t use human logic.  It’s easy to believe He does, because it feels good, it takes the pressure off us, but God laughs at human logic and what we call wisdom.  He works in our lives to make us like Him, to think and behave the way He does.  He won’t be pulled down to our level.  A god who can be manipulated isn’t much of a god, is he?  He sent Jesus to teach us how He thinks and to save us from Satan.  
 “Jesus did the work we could never accomplish for ourselves.  He overcame death and walked out of His grave, so there’d be no doubt He’s strong enough to save us.  Right now, He lives resurrected in heaven, having paved the way for those of us who want to follow Him.”  
 “The biggest problem most of us have is admitting we need His help in the first place.  Human culture, especially in the wealthy countries around the globe, teaches the only responsibility we have is to take what we want.  Everything relies on us and if we don’t have something, then it’s our fault.  Our pride makes it hard for us to accept God’s truth that we aren’t enough, that we have to have Jesus’ help. 
 Cassie continues, “Also, there are people who don’t even believe in the existence of God.  That may be pride in its purest form.  As far as they’re concerned all of creation just fell into place accidentally and God is merely a construct of weak minds.
 Ouch.
 “What I find so amazing is these same people would never expect their lawns to cut themselves or their gas tanks to fill accidentally.  They’d think I was nuts for even suggesting it.  Every one of them would have to admit there was a plan in place, so the grass could be cut, or the gas tank filled.  Then, with the plan in place, it had to be implemented before any change could happen.
 “Somehow, though, something as diverse, complex and expansive as our universe just popped into place by accident because mankind won some sort of cosmic lottery.  Yeah, right!  And they think believers are loopy,” she says as she chuckles to herself.
 Cassie just keeps rolling.  “Then, Parker, there are those like you…”
 Okay, she has my full attention, even though I dread what’s coming.    
 “…who are prideful enough to remain convinced God can’t forgive them even though He promises He can and will.  People like you hold tight to the belief their screw-ups are way too big for God to fix.  They’re convinced, for some reason, God isn’t big enough to save them.  They believe God’s wrong this time because they’re the one exception for which He didn’t plan.  This kind of thinking will send a person straight to the western realm when they die.”
 I sit here, listening intently to everything Cassie says, doing my best to get my brain around it.  This is so far removed from who I am and the way I’ve lived my life.  It’s like meeting Martians or some other freaky thing.  If I hadn’t seen the realms for myself, I’d never be considering any of this.  How sad and regrettable would that be?
 For me, it’s always been up to me to do for myself.  Cassie’s telling me God wants to do for me.  He wants to provide the death wage for my sins, so I don’t have to pay it myself.  He wants to help me deal with the problems in my life.  How can I ever turn loose of being my own man and become God’s man?  
 I want more information.  “So, what’s the unforgivable sin?  The one you mentioned a moment ago.”
 Cassie takes a moment to mentally arrange her explanation while I wait patiently for her response.  “The Bible teaches the only sin which can’t be forgiven is the blaspheming of the Holy Spirit.”
 I flag my hands at her in puzzlement.  “Okay, what’s that?”
 “Well,” she begins, “to blaspheme is to speak falsely or disrespectfully toward something.”
 “Okay, go on,” I urge her. 
 “God’s Spirit is the part of God who lives here on earth currently.  One of His most important purposes is to bear witness that Jesus forgives sins.  When God’s Spirit leads you to Jesus one of two things will happen:  Either accept Him or you reject Him.  If you’ll believe the Holy Spirit, you’ll accept Jesus as your Savior and have your sins forgiven.  When that happens, you get baptized and the Holy Spirit comes to live with you permanently.”
 “If your heart is closed to God, you’ll reject His Spirit and refuse Jesus’ forgiveness of your sins.  Your unwillingness to believe the Holy Spirit calls Him a liar.  So, when you reject the very One who brings forgiveness, you ensure you’ll never be forgiven.  Without forgiveness you don’t get into heaven.  Sad to say, but it’s a sin we create within our own lives simply by being hard hearted toward God.  
“What happens to the Holy Spirit for those who reject Him?”
 “Oh, He leaves,” Cassie says matter-of-factly.  “God’s Spirit will not stay where He’s not welcome.  When He goes, so goes the opportunity for forgiveness.”
 A slight case of panic sets in.  “So, in my case, I’ve got one chance to accept Jesus and that’s it?”
 “No, that’s not what I mean,” Cassie reassures me.  “A person has as many chances as there are seconds left in time.  The very fact you’re sitting here talking with me about Jesus’ work on your behalf is proof you’ve not hardened your heart to God’s Spirit.  No, it’s not too late until you reject God’s Spirit and die without having accepted Jesus, or until Jesus returns to collect His family.”
 “It all sounds so straight forward,” I marvel.
 “It’s really not that difficult.  Just like everything else in our world, humans make it much harder than it needs to be.”
 I suppose I understand everything she’s told me because a question of my own comes to mind.  “What about you Cassie?”
 I can tell from the look she gives me, she’s not sure what I’m asking.
“How do you explain the situation you’re in?  You’ve sat and very patiently explained all this to me. You’ve lived most of your life as this “God” person.  So, where do you fit in to all you’ve just described?”
 “That’s a good question, Parker.  Surprisingly, I know the answer.”
 “Okay, then, let’s have it.”  I’m curious as all get out and truly want to know.
 “In the Bible, the Apostle Paul talks about living our lives in such a way that we don’t take advantage of God’s grace.”
 I have no idea what that means, so I ask, “What’s grace?” 
 “Grace is God’s willingness to give us what we can’t possibly deserve.  It’s like a net He casts to catch us every time we fail Him.  We could never earn salvation, so God makes it possible through His grace, His safety net, the death of Jesus”
 “Alright.  I’m still with you.  Keep it coming.”
 “Paul says believers must live lives which honor God’s grace or the good things He gives us.  It’s sinful to exploit the grace of God or take it for granted.
 “That’s me, Parker.  Right now, I’m forging ahead with this Montenegro thing, expecting God’s grace to catch me.  I know it’s exploitive and I know it’s sinful, and I know it’s not what God wants for me.”
 Cassie’s eyes fill with tears as she wraps her arms around her midriff and hugs herself.  “The thing is, I’m so full of anger and grief right now I’m without the capacity to care.  Either God’s grace catches me, or it doesn’t.”  
 I sit before Cassie, marveling at the absurdity of this situation; I’ve spent my adult life killing people, devoid of emotion.  Here, Cassie is so emotionally involved she can’t help but kill.
 I sigh heavily and say, “You’ve explained all this to me, Cassie, telling me not to beat up on myself for the way I’ve lived, that Jesus has it covered.  Maybe you should take your own advice and let God do for you, as well.
 Cassie sits in front of me, defeated, shrugging as she says, “I wish I could, Parker.  You’re just now hearing about God and all He has for you.  I’ve spent my entire life knowing all this, learning more and more as I grew.  Now, I’m turning my back on what He has for me.  
 “Until it happened to me, I never understood how evil could rise up and squelch a life of faith and devotion.  I completely understand Job’s confusion and depression when he learned his devout life wasn’t enough.
 “When you give God your heart, your time, your life’s work, your money, your devotion…,”   Cassie pauses in an attempt to get her emotions in check, “your husband, when you surrender everything you have, what’s left?”
 I sit here looking at her, unable to empathize with the inconsolable pain and the confusion present in her heartbroken gaze.  I haven’t walked the road Cassie has.  I have no true understanding of her loss.
 “I’m so sorry, Cassie. I don’t have any answers for you.  Your situation is so out of my league, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
 “It’s okay, Parker,” Cassie reassures me as she lets me off the hook.  “I don’t expect any answers.  But after seeing what God showed us can you understand how torn I am between what I know is right and what my heart wants?”
 I nod my head in agreement.  “Yeah, I get that.”  
 I recognize the opportunity before me, so I continue with all the sincerity and earnestness I can muster.  “I’ll tell you, one more time, Cassie, killing Montenegro will not satisfy your heart.  It won’t bring relief, closure or peace.  It won’t bring Manny back to you.  It will only bring more hurt and more consequences.  Are you willing to risk the western realm to make this happen?  Will you risk being forever separated from God and Manny, just to make Montenegro pay?
 I long for the words which will convince her to give up on this crazy idea.  Suddenly, it occurs to me, “Cassie, it’s so obvious your spiritual side is doing battle with your human side.  If everything you’ve explained to me is true, it’s impossible for your human side to win.  
 “You can never do enough to make this right.  You can’t kill Montenegro in enough ways to ever heal your heart and there’s nothing you can do, as a person, to ever get right with God again.  Is that a fair assessment?  If I understand everything you’ve told me, this vendetta of yours makes no sense.”
 Cassie nods in agreement.  “Not so long ago, I’d have said the same thing to someone sitting where I am.  Now, though, I’ve learned, first-hand, hurting hearts don’t always make sense.  Maybe that’s the reason lots of people refuse Jesus.  Maybe their pride is wrapped up in pain and they don’t recognize it for what it is.
 “Hurting hearts don’t think logically.  They’re probably not even thinking spiritually.  The only thing which registers in a hurting heart is hurt.  There’s simply too much pain to reason in one’s best interest.  All the thoughts and behaviors are knee-jerk reactions to misery.  
 “I’m aware my answer lies in surrendering my vendetta to Jesus and letting Him deal with Montenegro the way He chooses.  I even know I should forgive that s.o.b. and pray for him to come to a saving knowledge of Jesus.  That would be the ideal end for this sorry mess.  
 “See, I know all of that in my head.  But, being a believer isn’t just about head knowledge.  If all that knowledge never makes it past your head so it can change your heart, you’re doomed anyway.  However, if the right choices are obvious and the wrong choices are easy to avoid, we wouldn’t need grace in the first place, would we?”    
 I may be new to all this spiritual stuff, but I know crap when I hear it.  I shake my head at her.  “Cassie, you sound like someone who’s trying to justify her behavior.”
 “Well,” she smarts off to me, “I’m not prideful enough to think my sins are too big for God to forgive.”
 “Maybe not, but you are prideful enough to commit murder and then think you can pray it away.”
 “Parker, you don’t know what you’re talking about.  I know God’s grace will catch me.  Anyway, you’re not being helpful.”
 “Yes, I am,” I insist, “you just won’t admit it.”
 Cassie storms off to her room, slamming the door as she goes.
 Well, she’s mad now.  I’m fine with that.  She can be mad.  She can stay mad for all I care.  There’s too much at stake.  It’s not only her relationship with God which concerns me.  If I don’t stop this, her very life could end.  
 Now that I know what’s waiting for us after death, I’m aware of what could happen to Cassie if she dies before she has time to ask for forgiveness.  The thought of her departure, leaving me to my solitary ways, is enough to break me.  The thought of her dying while chasing this hopeless ridiculous plan of hers will kill me.  If having her mad at me keeps her safe, then it’s a steep price to pay, but so very worth it.
 Confronting her head on will never convince her to change her mind.  She’s far too consumed with grief and her definition of justice.  If I can convince her of her flawed thought process using the same lessons she’s using to teach me about God, maybe I stand a chance of diverting her from her objective.
 As overwhelming as this whole situation has been for me, I think I’m beginning to find some sense in the bigger picture.  If God works the way Cassie describes, by using other people and situations, it makes sense He allowed her to come here.  In addition to showing me how much I need God, I’m uniquely qualified and positioned to help her get through this.  I can’t help her with God lessons exactly, but I will stand up to her and force her own words down her throat if needed.  Then, when I add my ultra-dimensional understanding of what she’s up against when she goes after Montenegro, it sort of ties itself up into a neat little bundle.  
 Surprisingly, this realization comforts me.  Maybe I have more to offer Cassie than just a hollow, soulless, shell of a man, devoid of emotion and anything worthwhile. Maybe in time, I can become the man Cassie deserves.  
 Hope surges in my heart as understanding returns to me as a welcome friend.

Chapter 13 - The Epiphany

Later that night I hear intense sobbing coming from Cassie’s room.  She wakens me from a decent sleep, one that took quite some time to achieve.
 She said so much during our conversation earlier today.  There’s a world of information to think about and sort through.  By the time I came to bed, though, my thoughts weren’t related to the spiritual anymore.
 No, by bedtime, my thoughts were centered around the feisty, intriguing, desirable woman sleeping next door.  It’s been some time since I’ve been with a woman, but honestly, with Cassie next door, this morning wouldn’t have been recent enough. The thought of being with someone other than Cassie disagrees with me so strongly it causes me to shudder.
 How am I going to shut this down?  How can I prevent this from getting out of hand?  Like it isn’t already.  Yeah, right.
 Her sobs tear at my heart, but I don’t trust myself to behave altruistically in the presence of her vulnerable state.  I won’t put myself in a position to take advantage of her pain and confusion under the guise of comfort.  That’s not the behavior of someone who cares for another.  That’s selfishness personified.
 A sudden realization of my emotional growth sweeps over me.  Who am I and where did Parker go?  Cassie has helped me grow and mature in ways I never knew needed addressing.  She’s helped me see past myself to imagine a person and a future I’d never once considered.
 So, being the good little soldier, I stay in bed, roll over onto my side, and groan in disappointment.  I turn up the T.V. volume loud enough to cover the sounds of her misery.

 Come morning, Cassie exits her room.  Her demeanor isn’t exactly sour, but it is glum.
 “Good morning,” I utter cheerfully from the stove where I’m working on French toast.
 “Yeah, whatever.”
 “Still mad at me?” I ask, pretty sure of her response.
 “Yes,” she says, pausing slightly.    
 “No,” she changes her mind.  “No,…not really.  You hit a nerve, that’s all.  I forgive you.  I guess I had it coming.  Oh heck, I’d forgive you even if I hadn’t had it coming.”
 That’s big of her.  I guess she’s not a grudge holder, at least not where I’m concerned.
 “Hoping to cheer her up I ask, “What are we up to today?” 
 “I’m not sure about today or any other day,” she says quietly.  Then she adds, “I think it’s time for me to be on my way.” 
 I drop the pancake turner I’m holding, but Cassie doesn’t seem to notice.
 It looks as if I my words of last evening offended her deeply enough that she’s going to run.  Questions flood my mind.  Is she running from only me or from her entire objective?  Or will she attempt to find some other mercenary to help her?  
 Stay calm.  Play it cool.  This can’t be happening!  The day I’ve dreaded for over a week is finally here.   
 It’s my turn to talk.  I try to keep my voice at an even pitch and I attempt to keep it steady, trying to prevent it from fracturing like a shattered mirror.  “Why today?” I ask as casually as I can, truly struggling with my composure.   “Is it because of what I said?”
 “No,” she says a tad too defensively.
 I set the pan of frying bread to the cool side of the stove and turn off the burner.  “Come on, Cassie, be honest with me,” I insist.  I refuse to let her wriggle out of this.
 “Parker,” she replies, “I’ve been here for almost two weeks.  I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.  But I feel so much stronger and you refuse to help me anyway, so there’s no reason for me to be here.”
 I wish you knew the truth, Cassie.  You can leave.  I can’t stop you, but the thought of you going off half-cocked causes shock waves of panic to shoot through me.
 “Will you promise me something?” I ask, knowing it’s going to set her off.
 Annoyed, Cassie looks up at me.  “What promise are you hoping for, Parker?”
 “If you’re really grateful for what I’ve done for you, will you let this Montenegro vendetta go?  Can you just drop it and move on with your life?  Will you do that for me?”  
 It’s low, but I hope the kindness I’ve extended to her will leverage her cooperation.  My attempt to manipulate her is born out of desperation and sits hard in my gut, but what choice do I have?
 “No, Parker.”  The words are out of her mouth faster than chatter from the prairie dogs who make their home on my mesa.  She’s not taking the bait I’ve offered and she’s not playing games.  “I’ve got too much riding on this.”
 “Cassie, look,” I say as casually as I can, keeping it as low stress as possible. I walk away from the stove and move to stand in front of her. “You’re not going to find a mercenary to help you.”
 “How do you know that?” she demands angrily, her eyes bore into mine with blinding defiance.
 I smile at her because she’s operating in my wheelhouse now.  “For one thing, I know mercs and they don’t work for free.  You couldn’t even afford food when you showed up here.  How are you possibly going to afford the services of a soldier of fortune.  You know, they’re called that for a reason.  There’s no way you’ll find one with enough “humanity” left in him to do a favor for someone he’s never met.  
 “Cassie you don’t seem to understand you’re asking some guy, albeit a highly trained guy, to risk his life for you.  A hit like this takes time and effort to plan.  No mercenary is going to spend all of his resources and have nothing to show for it but some warm fuzzy feelings about helping a missionary of all people.”
 She stands five feet from me.  She listens intently, giving the impression she’s seriously considering my words.
 “Here’s something else to consider Cassie.  What if you approach some mercenary who decides to exact payment of another type?  Believe it or not, all mercs aren’t the same and many of them aren’t the patient lovable sort I am.  What if he takes the contract on Montenegro and forces himself on you, taking far more than you were prepared to pay.  Worse yet, what if he takes what he wants from you and doesn’t end Montenegro?  Either way, you’ll be left with more hurt and a far more tattered life than you have now.”
 I seek a flicker of fear pass through her eyes. That bit of info hit an important nerve.
 I’ve got her attention, so I continue, trying to build on the momentum I’ve accumulated.  “Did you catch the news story yesterday about the 49 bodies that were beheaded, dismembered and left strung along the roadside in Monterrey?”
 Now, fear isn’t flickering in her eyes.  It’s full blown across her features, present and accounted for.  I also see a sliver of uncertainty.
 “Feel that fear, Cassie?  Yeah, well you need to take hold of that,” I tell her sternly.  “They’ve already determined those people died at the hands of the drug cartels.  All of this you’re dying to dabble in is going to get you killed.  Drug cartels don’t dabble in murder, Cassie.  They set the bar.  I don’t know how to make it any more understandable.”
 My words hit their mark.  Cassie’s complexion pales somewhat and she walks to the table in order to lean against the back of a kitchen chair.  Slowly, she moves around next to the table and takes a seat.
 I stand my ground in front of the stove.  Cassie puts her elbows on the table and rests her forehead in the heels of her hands.  I can’t see her facial features, but I can tell from the posture of her body that she’s aged ten years since sitting.
 Quietly, she says, “Parker…, I hear your words and I understand as best I can for someone who’s not a part of your world.  It hadn’t occurred to me, I’ll admit to you, that I’d be placing another man’s life in jeopardy.  “I guess I was sort of going on the assumption guys like you are invincible.”
 “No, Cassie,” I counter her quiet earnestness, “we’re all made of flesh and bone.  We bleed and die just like anyone else.  Walking into Montenegro’s compound would be a suicide mission.  That’s why he employs the guards he does.”
 Cassie sighs deeply and admits, “I suppose my anger and grief have made me selfish.  I didn’t realize that, so, thank you for pointing it out to me.”
 Maybe I’m making some headway here.  Maybe, I’ll convince her to drop this whole thing and move on with the rest of her life.
 Cassie drops her hands to the table and turns her head to look at me.  I listen to everything she screams at me without the use of words.  I see the weariness and pain chiseled in her gaze.  No amount of recovered health can hide something so pervasive.  She’s being eaten alive from the inside out.  Selfishness is the least of her issues.
 Cassie looks at me with the most forlorn look conceivable.  “There’s this open, gaping wound ri...i...ight here,” she stutters as she taps her chest.  “The only thing feeding it is anger and a craving to do right by Manny.  It’s become this innate black hole and its gravity is sucking the rest of me into it.
 “I might be able to process this differently if I’d known Manny had done something horrible and had brought this upon himself.  If he’d been to blame, to any degree, maybe it would be different.  But that’s not what happened, Parker.”
 Quickly, I step over to Cassie and turn her chair to face me.  I squat in front of her with my arms resting on the tops of her knees.
 “What did happen, Cassie?  Were you present when Manny was killed?”
 She shakes her head aggressively.  “No.  I heard the gun shot just before I walked through the residence gates.  When I got there, Riley pulled me aside, in under the arches, the ones which line the courtyard.”
 “Yeah, I know where you mean,” I agree quietly.
 “It’s all kind of a blur.  Riley was talking to me, trying to explain.  Maybe he was trying to squelch my reaction.  All I cared about was Manny lying motionless on the ground.  I was trying to go to him, but Riley wouldn’t turn loose of me.
 Montenegro saw me there with Riley.  He sneered at me and laughed, Parker. He laughed as he turned and walked away.
 “By then, I was beating Riley’s chest, demanding he let go of me.  His arms were like iron bands.  I couldn’t break his hold. 
 “All I wanted was to go to my husband.  There was blood everywhere.  I knew he was dying, if he wasn’t dead already.
 “I just wanted to say goodbye, to make sure he knew how much I loved him. Riley would have no part of it.  Finally, my legs gave way and I collapsed.  I was screaming and sobbing while Riley held me mid-air with his arms around my waist.  Montenegro disappeared into one of the doors off the drive without so much as a backward glance. 
 “Riley picked me up proper and carried me over to Manny.  By the time I got there, it was too late.  I tugged at his shirt collar.  I covered his face with kisses, calling to him.  I held his hand and laid my head on his bloody chest.  I prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed in my life, but nothing worked.  My Manny was gone.
 “Riley was so worried about protecting Montenegro he let my husband die while I was fifteen feet away.  I was no threat to Montenegro.  All I wanted was Manny, but Riley wouldn’t turn loose of me.
 That’s it.  
 I stand and pull Cassie up out of her chair.  I place one hand on each of her shoulders and I bend so my eyes are level with hers. 
 She’s either horribly uncomfortable with the proximity of our bodies or she’s simply too angry to want me this close.  I don’t know which.  Right now, it doesn’t matter.  She tries repeatedly to pull away.  I refuse to let go of her.  She’s a mess, again, nearing hysterics, but I have to forge ahead.  There’s no time like now.
 “Cassie!”  I say in a commanding tone.  “Listen to me.”  There’s no recognition she hears my voice or acknowledges my presence.  She’s way too upset. 
 “Cassie!” I shout at her, shaking her slightly, attempting to ground her in reality.  
 Finally, she makes eye contact.
 “Tell me.  What did Riley say about Manny?  Did he say why Manny was at the residence?  It’s important.”
 She shakes her head slightly, forcing her thoughts into place.  “Uh…m, I don’t know why Manny was there.  He rarely went to the house, you know that.”
 I nod my head, indicating I agree with her.
 “The only thing I can think of is that he was looking for me, but I had my phone with me so that doesn’t really make sense.  I’m not certain.  There’s no way to know for sure.  
 “A little later, I demanded Riley tell me what happened.  He said Montenegro pulled up in his car and was yelling into his phone when he exited the vehicle.  He was horribly angry with someone.  Riley said Manny was agitated about something and approached Montenegro without waiting for his call to finish.  Then, before he, or any of the other guards knew what was happening, Montenegro reached over and pulled a gun from the belt of his chauffer.  He shot Manny once in the heart.  Riley said Montenegro continued to shout into his phone until the conversation ended.
 “I heard the gun shot just before I entered through the gate.  Riley got sight of me and shanghaied me.  Montenegro sneered at me as he walked away.  I can’t imagine why Manny approached Montenegro like that.  It wasn’t like him to be rude.  I don’t know much of anything.  I’ll probably never know.
 “I just couldn’t believe Riley wouldn’t let me say goodbye to Manny.  He robbed me of my last few seconds with him in order to protect that bastard.
 Cassie looks at me with terror and finality in her eyes.  “Those are seconds I can never get back, Parker.  They’re gone forever….”
 I nod in agreement.  “Yes, Cassie, I know,” I commiserate with her.  “They’re gone forever.”  
 I pull her into my chest and wrap my arms around her.  I know instinctively the only thing keeping her on her feet is the pressure of my arms around her body.  I hold her silently for a few moments, willing her with my own heartbeat to hold onto life.  
 In this moment, she’s at a crossroads.   Does she give up and give in or does she fight for her sanity and her future?  Her unwillingness to turn loose of her grief gives it permission to destroy her.  
 I know I can’t choose for her, but I can encourage her to choose wisely.
 After several minutes I, oh so reluctantly, release my hold on her and push her away from me.  She fits against me like my own skin and feels so good, just like she was made for that reason.
 I look her in the face again.  I ask her, “Cassie?”
 She looks into my eyes.  
 “I need to ask you just one more thing, okay?”
 “I don’t think I can, Parker.  I’m so tired.  I don’t want to think about this anymore.”
 “Yes, you can.  It’s important.  We have to do this.”
 “What is it then?” she asks resignedly, even somewhat perturbed at my insistence.
 Still holding contact with her gaze, I continue, “When Montenegro sneered at you and walked through the door of the residence, was he still carrying the gun he used to shoot Manny?”    
 Cassie winces at the bluntness of my question and makes another conscious effort to remember that day.  She closes her eyes.  The soft luminous skin of her eye lids covers the bright blue of her eyes as long wispy lashes settle against her cheeks.
 She’s thinking hard, trying to recall such a seemingly insignificant detail.  I long to move my right hand from her shoulder and run my fingers across her cheek.
 It would feel so good.  I can almost imagine how soft her skin is.  
 Fight it, Parker.  Fight it.  Now is not the time.  You’ll destroy her trust in you.  You’ll lose your chance to talk her out of this.  You’ll ruin everything.
 Abruptly, Cassie opens her eyes and looks directly into mine.  She remembers.
 “Yes, he had the gun in his right hand.  I remember seeing him hand it off to one of his guards just after he crossed the threshold into the house.  “Why does it matter?”
 I’m thrilled I can offer Cassie some insight.  “Here’s why it matters Cassie.  You know how angry you are with Riley for keeping you from Manny?”  
 “Yes, I …” she begins as the tears threaten another appearance.
 I place my forefinger against her lips, willing her to be quiet.  “Sh-h-h, Cassie.  Listen to me,” I encourage her as I reseat her in her chair.  
 She stifles her tears, breathes deeply, and returns her focus to me.  
 I like her focus on me.  I like it way more than I should.
 I kick myself mentally and continue.  “If Montenegro still had the gun in his hand when he walked away from Manny, Riley wasn’t protecting Montenegro from you.  Riley was protecting you from Montenegro.”
 Incredulity shatters Cassie’s features.  
 “What?  What are you talking about?  Riley is a paid bodyguard, but he’s not paid to protect me!  That makes no sense!”  Cassie sputters in disgust and confusion.
 “Riley had just watched Manny die because Montenegro was pissed off about something when he got out of his car.  Montenegro killed Manny out of spite, merely because he was handy.  Think about it, Cassie, you weren’t the one with the gun in your hand.”
 “No, I didn’t have a gun...,” Cassie admits thoughtfully.  “That’s why I wasn’t a threat to Montenegro. That’s why Riley should have let me go to Manny.”
 “Manny wasn’t a threat to Montenegro either, Cassie.  If he had been, Riley and his squad wouldn’t have let him anywhere near the man.  The fact that Manny wasn’t a threat didn’t keep Montenegro from killing him.”
 Cassie pauses long enough to let my words register. 
 “Oh!” she gasps.  
 “Riley knew when Montenegro sneered at you, all he needed was the slightest provocation and he’d have killed you as well.  Riley also knew when Montenegro walked through the door and handed off the gun, the threat to you had passed.  That’s when he carried you over to Manny.
 “Cassie, Riley didn’t prevent you from saying goodbye, he gave you the chance to say goodbye.”
 Understanding crashes across Cassie’s features. She’s mortified she’s misunderstood Riley’s actions this entire time.  
 “How could I have been so wrong?” she asks weakly.  “I was there.  I saw and heard everything.  How could I misunderstand so completely?  Dear God, I don’t believe this is happening!”
 “Stop it, Cassie,” I reprimand her.  “Don’t beat yourself up.  Your thoughts and actions were all geared toward Manny.  That’s only normal.  Gunfire drama goes down quickly.  There’s not a lot of time to ponder and quantify everything that happens.”
 Cassie continues to be hard on herself.  “Riley understood enough to help me when I didn’t even know I needed help.” 
 I nod my agreement.  “Riley’s a highly trained soldier.  For years, he’s operated in dangerous situations with a cool head, devoid of emotion.  He didn’t have the distraction of being wrapped up in trauma and grief, so he could size up the situation accurately and quickly.  He just saw the big picture better than you, that’s all.”
 I release her upper arms, stand, and quickly back away from her.  Right now, some distance is a good idea.  
 I return to stand in front of the stove and, as compassionately and encouragingly as I can, I tell her, “Be grateful to Riley, Cassie, but let the other stuff go.”

Chapter 14 - Cassie’s Considerations

I grab the sides of my head.  Let it go?!  Let it go?!  What’s he talking about?
 "Dear Lord, help me!”  I cry out, expressing my agony.  I crouch as my abdomen yields to the nausea claiming it.  How could I have been so wrong about Riley?  All this time I've hated him, resented him for keeping me from Manny.  Now, I learn I've misunderstood everything he did.  How’s that possible?"
 “Don’t trust your own understanding… " 
 “Yes, Lord, I know I'm guilty of that.  Please forgive me.”   
 At this moment, Parker is witness to my half of an audible conversation with God Almighty and he’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.  Again.  
 Parker kneels in front of me a second time, his features drenched in concern.  He places a large gentle hand on the knee of my damaged leg.
 My head is spinning, pounding.  Mortification swallows me whole.  I pull away from Parker.  I stand and, once I get my bearings, I run from the cabin. 
 I have to put space between Parker and me.  I need time to think, time to pray and I have to do it away from him.  I know he only wants to help, but it’s impossible to think when he’s positioned so close to me.
 "Dear God, help me!” I sputter as I run.  Confusion reigns.  How can Parker disorient me to this extent while I’m still grieving Manny?  Can this situation get any worse?
 I hear Parker exit the cabin behind me.  He's calling after me.  I can hear the concern in his voice.  Strangely, I do believe he's genuinely worried about me.  I’m not sure how that’s possible, though.  Two weeks ago, he hated me.  He hated my presence at his place, and all he wanted, wanted more than anything, was for me to leave.
Now, everything's different.  He's taken a living interest in stopping my vendetta.  It's like it's become his personal mission to get me to let go of it.  Why does he care?  He told me when I got here this was my problem, that I was on my own, so why the 180?
 I hear Parker coming up behind me. With his superior physical fitness and my diminished mobility there's no way I'll outrun him.  Tenderly, he captures my left elbow as he arrives at my side.
 "Cassie?  Where are you going?  Why are you running away?”
 Between the exertion of my flight and an impending panic attack, I find it very difficult to breathe.  I use my forefinger to indicate to Parker I need a minute to catch my breath.
 He stands next to me, but he releases my elbow.  He chased after me, and even though it didn’t take him long, he did it without breaking a sweat.  Right now, I'm doing all I can just to stand.  While I catch my breath, I give thought to the obvious.
 Parker.  I've never been one of those women who just fawn and swoon over a good-looking guy. My serious, thorough nature has always motivated me to dig deep beneath the surface of any person.  It’s part of me, this longing to connect with the substance of someone else.  For me, looks have always been a low rung on the ladder, if they made the ladder at all.  However, for those women who gravitate toward the superficial, even in the slightest, Parker is a showstopper.
 My Manny and Parker.  The difference is absolute.  Manny was 5'5" of slim leanness with long sinewy muscles in a wiry body.  Parker is 6’4” and, while he too is lean, his muscle mass is far bulkier and intentional.  Until I showed up on his porch that first night, I’d forgotten what a big guy he is.
 Manny's complexion was the dark brown skin dictated by his heritage, accompanied by coal black hair and dark eyes.  Parker's skin is fair, like mine, and his hair is brown, as are his eyes.  However, they are much larger and softer in their hue than Manny's.     
 Manny wore that little goatee.  He was so proud of it, but it was never my favorite.  Parker, however, is clean-shaven. 
 Manny was composed, diplomatic and concerned for others.  Parker, though serious, has a boisterous side, loves a fight and is concerned, for the most part, with only himself. 
 Manny adored life.  He fostered it, nurtured it, every chance he got.  He was sold out to God and used any and every opportunity to share his faith.  Parker holds life in contempt.  He ends it every chance he gets.  Apparently, he’s making an incredible living at it.
 Could these two men be any more different from each other?  For the life of me I don’t know how.
 In this moment, Parker's expression is one of expectation. He wants to know what my plans are.
 "I'm not going anywhere Parker.  I just needed some air.  I need some space.” 
 I had to get away from you, from the truth you made me face, from the temptation you’ve become.
 "Are you okay?" he asks sincerely.
 "Yes… I think so,” I lie to him.  “I just need to walk and process.  You gave me a lot to think about in there."
 "Yeah, I can see where that info put a different spin on things," he concedes. "If I leave you alone are you going to be all right?"
 "This is your neighborhood.  Is there anything out here in the middle of the morning which is likely to hurt me?"
 "I can't think of a thing for miles and miles," he admits.  "Okay, then,” he concedes, “I'll be back in a little while."
 He hands me his phone. "Here, take this. If you need anything, press number six.  It’ll ring in at the cabin and I'll come find you."
 "Okay," I agree as I take the phone from his hand.  For some reason, it comforts me to have something solid to hold onto while I'm out here by myself.  I suppose that’s evidence I’ve come to rely on Parker more than I should.
 Reluctantly, he turns to leave.  Pausing, he turns and says, "I mean it.  You need me, call number six."
 "Okay, got it," I say, reaffirming my agreement with the nod of my head. 
 Parker slowly walks towards the cabin.  I match half his speed in the opposite direction.  I turn once to glance back at him.  He's still walking with his hands shoved deep into his pockets.  His strong shoulders are impressively broad even when he's pouting and pulled within himself.  The knee length shorts he's wearing reveal massive calf muscles.  
 I speak out loud as I converse with God because it helps my ability to focus.  The absurdity of this situation is not lost on me.  I’m pursuing vengeance for one man while finding myself attracted to another, all while I talk to God about disobeying Him on both counts.  I realize I’m struggling emotionally and spiritually, but if I can’t talk to God, where do I turn for help?  He’s the only friend I have.
 "God?  What am I going to do? I came here because I wanted Parker’s help avenging Manny.  I don’t know why, but it never occurred to me Parker would tell me no.   I simply figured he’s killed lots of people, so one more wouldn’t matter much.  I don't know why he refuses to help me, but I don't believe I’ll change his mind."
 “So why am I still here?  I'm stronger and healthier now and if I'm not going to sway him to my side, then there's no point in me being here.  I've either got to find someone else to help me, which Parker says will never happen, or I’ve got to get this done myself.
 “The guards at the compound all know me. It wouldn't be at all hard to get close enough to put a bullet in Montenegro. They’ll open fire on me, of course, but I ought to be able to take him out first.  Surprise would certainly work to my advantage.
 “The more I think about it, the more sense it makes to pursue this avenue for meeting my objective.  Parker's right. I have no monetary means with which to pay a mercenary for his services.  Even approaching some of them could put me in harm’s way.  Not that I care about my own safety but getting myself hurt or killed would squelch getting Montenegro.  Maybe I could still get Parker to help me indirectly.  Some of his help is tons better than none of it.
 “I won't try and drag him into this anymore, Lord.  I prayed that night, and helped Parker see the choices which lay before him.  I obeyed You and I did what You wanted.  I don't know yet what Parker's decided.  I may never know if he doesn't decide before I leave here.  He's a grown man. He must choose for himself where he wants to live eternally.  I’m not responsible for him.”
 “Who is your neighbor?” 
 I ignore God's reminder that I am indeed responsible for Parker, and I continue with a loosely related rant.  
 “Why does he get under my skin so easily?  It irks the dickens out of me when he touches me or tells me to do something.  Why is he so bossy?  And why does he think I should listen to what he tells me?
 “Manny never tried to think for me.  He never bossed me around.  He always supported me when I had an idea or something I wanted to accomplish.  He simply loved me and let me serve you.”
 “Do you think Manny would have supported this blood feud you are determined to finish?”
 "No, Lord, I don’t. You've got me on that one, but I’d like to know where Manny's guardian angel was the afternoon he died?  Why wasn't his angel there to protect him?  If his angel was busy you could have sent Calliope.  Why does evil always flourish in this world?  What good does it do to belong to you if you don't save us from the bad guys?”    
 “You are thinking temporally, child.  Think eternally.”
 "All right then, I get it.  It was Manny's time to go.  You called him home and no guardian angel was going to interfere with that.  Why then, in lieu of saving him, haven't you avenged him?   Why does that evil horrible monster still run his little kingdom without consequences, destroying everything in his path?"
 “In My time, child. In My time.”
 "I'm sorry Lord, but your timing really sucks.  Why does everything with you have to be so hard and take so-o-o-o long?"
 “You can have rest for your soul.  My yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
 “How can you say that?!” I scream at Him.  “There’s no rest!  There’s nothing easy or light about living for you!”
 “The lessons I teach fit the need you have.  The burden of learning is light because you do not have to earn it.  My Son earned it for you.  It was hard for Him.”
 I shake my head at Him.  "I can't think about Jesus’ sacrifice, right now, Lord. There's too much darkness and despair filling my heart.  I’ve begged you to take the pain away, to send the anger along with it.  Nothing changes.  The pain doesn't ebb, it grows. Still, you do nothing to give me relief from it.  Where are you?"
 “I am here child.  I am always with you.”
 "I don't understand how you gave me the ability to participate in what You did for Parker and then leave me on my own to face Manny's death.  How is that loving me?"
 “My love never fails.”
 "I know that in my head Lord.  I know all your promises.  I’ve memorized most of them.  Right now, my feelings tell me something different."
 “Your feelings mislead you.  Your feelings cannot be trusted.  For this reason, you must trust Me and my Word.  Vengeance is Mine: I will repay.”
 "I love you, Lord. I've devoted my entire life to you, but I don't see justice for Manny in any of this.”
 “In My time.”
 "I'm sorry, Lord, but I'm not going to wait on this one. This is the last thing I can do for Manny and I'm going to see it through."
 “In My time…
 "Sorry Lord, but in my time.  Forgive me.  I know I'm wrong.  Here again, in my head, I know there’s no excuse for it.  I know I’m guilty of pride and disobedience, Lord.  But please forgive me, anyway."
 “Trust Me, child.  I AM who I AM.  My word will not return to Me without meeting its objective.  I AM faithful to those who wait on Me.”
 “Yes, Lord.  I know. You've proven your faithfulness to me a million times a million times.”
 “Why would I fail you now?”
 "I don't know why, Lord. I only know you have."
 “Lean not on your own understanding.”
 "You won't take away my anger, you won't take away the pain."
 “Your anger is not mine to take, child. You must give your anger away.”
 "What do you mean?  I don't understand.  How do I give away something I don’t want in the first place?  Being this angry is killing me!  I don't want this in my life.  I'll gladly give it away.  Take it.  It's yours!   I don't want it!”
 “I can't take them. You must give them to me.”
 “How, Lord?  What are you talking about?”
 The truth will set you free.
 “Truth?  What truth do you mean?”
  “Forgive, so that you may be forgiven.”
  “Forgive?  Are you kidding me?  You want me to forgive that monster for taking my Manny from me?”
 “Your Manny?  Did you give him life and nurture him in his mother’s womb?  Were you the one who fed and clothed him as he grew?  Were you the one who sacrificed your son, so Manny could live with Me in splendor forever?  What do you mean, your Manny?”
 God’s truth stops me in my tracks, and I collapse along the edge of the dirt road.  The weight of the conviction I feel, brought on by the truth of His words, make it impossible for me to go any farther.  But I refuse to relinquish my fight.  I will be heard.
 "You gave him to me on our wedding day.  Remember that?  You were there!” I scream up at Him like He can’t hear me.
 My anger devours me.  There's virtually nothing left of my core self.  My quiet serious nature has been replaced by a new creature.  She's a creature I don't recognize and one of which I am not proud.  She’s the only me I have in this moment, so this Cassie is the one who defiantly and irreverently faces God Almighty.
 "We shared our lives, our bodies, our hopes and dreams, and all our work…, Your work.  Then You took him."
 “He was mine to take.  The vows you took were temporary.  You know that.  Being joined together in marriage did not make you Manny's creator or owner.  You know that, as well.”
 "We belonged together."
 “You belonged with each other for as long as I deemed beneficial.  Anything beyond My will is a lie.  My truth, My words will never fail you.  Believe in Me.  Believe in my Word, My character, My integrity, My holiness.  I Am everything you need.  Put no faith in what you feel.”
 "You're saying if I forgive Montenegro for taking Manny's life, my pain and anger will leave me?"
 “The truth of forgiveness will free you.”
 "What if I kill him, then forgive him?"
 “Thou shall not murder.  You must forgive.  Forgive Me.  Forgive this man.  Forgiveness is the key which will free you from your pain and anger.”
 "I want him dead."
 “Thou shall have no other gods before me.”
 "What are you talking about?!” I rail at Him.  “You’re the only God in my life!"
 “Once, that was true.  However, you have allowed vengeance to become more important than Me.   I do not tolerate idols.  Love Me with all your heart, might, soul and strength.  I am a jealous God.”
 I cover my mouth in repulsion.  I’m absolutely mortified as I absorb this revelation.
 I know He has me.  I'd never thought of my vendetta as an idol, but now that I'm confronted with it, I see it from His perspective.  Calling it by any other name changes nothing.  He's God.  He's right.  That's just the way it is.
 However, realizing my prideful error doesn’t restore my life.  Being faced with my sin doesn’t remedy my situation.  I’m wrong.  I know I’m wrong.  Every ounce of instruction and training I’ve had since childhood is screaming at me, convicting me of my willful disobedience.  But this realization isn’t enough to return my heart to God’s plan for me.
 God’s truthfulness doesn’t kill my pain or even diminish it.  The desire to avenge Manny consumes me like a tsunami wave.  The thought of forgiving that monster for what he’s done to my life is as foreign to me as life in a posh New York penthouse.  
 I have a hard time catching my breath.  Even if I could breathe, I know there’s no one to hear my screams.  I’m severed from everything substantial in my life.  Now, this cancerous vengeance is separating me from even God.  
 My free will stands between Him and my heart.  I’m in my own way.  My hope, my future, my joy, my husband, are all gone.  All that stretches before me is bleakness and despair.  The only motivation for getting out of bed each morning is the desire to watch Montenegro die.  I suppose a lifetime of waiting on God was camel backed by Manny’s death.  I’m so weary of always trying to do things God’s way, only to find set back after set back.
 “I hear you, Lord.  I understand,” I tell him with raw emotion and a tear saturated blouse.  “But I won’t yield to you on this.  This time, I want what I want.  I want my will, not yours.”
 “Trust me, child.”
 “It’s been two years, Lord.  How much time do you need?  You’re the one who can move mountains, who calls down thunder and lightning, and splits the eastern sky.  Why can’t you do one little thing for me?”
 “Your life isn’t about you.”
 “It didn’t used to be.  What you wanted for me used to be the center of my world.  Not anymore.  This is too important.”
 “Turning loose of unimportant things is easy.  Turning loose of the paramount is what changes who you are.  Trusting me when it’s important to you is what allows you to become more like my Son.  When His very life was at stake, when He faced the brutality of carrying your sin, He trusted me.  I ask the same of you.”
 The weight of his words crush my spirit.  The truth of his conviction sets on me like the weight of the Rocky Mountains.  I understand what’s happening.  I know He’s calling me to return to Him, but selfishness is pulling on me in a way I never could have imagined.
 “Dear God, help me.  I’m losing it here.”
 “I’m here, child.”
 “I don’t know what to do, Lord.  
 “You know what to do, child.  You must turn loose of self.  Forgive and let me have your pain.”
 “I can’t let it go, Lord.”
 “You can.  You don’t want to.”
 “I hate it when you’re right.”
 “You are in a battle for your very soul.  Your faith and your feelings are competing for your future.  You are in the same position in which a long-ago friend of mine found himself.
 Slowly, understanding saturates my thought process.  I lay prostrate on the ground as a new wave of nausea rocks my body.  My front and left sides are coated with the dry, grainy dust of the lonely road.   I’m sure I’ve never looked worse in my life.  I’m even more positive I’ve never felt worse.  Right now, my only wish is that death would claim me.
 I manage to utter a few simple words.  “Lord, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
 “Your understanding is correct.”
 “You’re comparing me to Lucifer?!  How could you do that?!” I cry in disbelief.
 “Once, Lucifer lived with me in perfect harmony.  At one point, he decided what he wanted for himself was more important than what I wanted for him.  All he’d witnessed, and knew to be true, simply became less important to him than self.  Because of his rebellion I cast him from heaven.  He took with him those who would be deceived.”
 “What does that have to do with me, Lord?”
 “You are in rebellion against me, child.  Lucifer is no longer my friend.  He is my enemy.  He seeks to destroy me and all those who stand with me.”
 “So, now I’m your enemy?  Is that what you’re saying?”
 “Either you are for me or you are against me, child.  A house fighting itself will not stand.”

Chapter 15 - Parker’s Supernatural Ears

Because I’ve learned how poor my judgment can be, I leave Cassie standing alongside the road.  Rationally, I know there’s nothing out here to hurt her, but I’m hyperaware she might really need my help.  Even though she’s in much better shape overall, she’s not that strong physically or emotionally.
 Regardless of her fragile state, she’s determined to stand on the edge of a literal eternal abyss, teetering on its brink.  Not only that, but she’s decided to lean into the cavity.  Once her feet leave the spongy unpredictable edge of the abyss’ rim, I fear there will be no return for her. 
 While I may be emotionally stunted, yeah, I’ve learned that about myself as well, I’m savvy enough about people to know if I smother Cassie, trying to change who she is, my chances with her will disappear completely.  Despite my predicament, it’s devastating to watch someone you love self-destruct. 
 That’s the big picture, though.  Right now, I’m faced with the immediacy of the other situation, the one constantly gnawing at my consciousness.  I recognize the fear for what it is:  I’m afraid Cassie’s going to make good on her promise to leave.  I don’t want her to go.  I also know there’s nothing to keep her here, except, of course, the obvious, of which I want no part.  
 If my only concern were her departure, the situation would be bad enough, but the namelessness of her new destination compounds my fear.  Will she look for another mercenary?  If she does, what will happen next?  Will he refuse her like I did, or will additional events unfold?  I suppose there’s a slim chance she’ll finally see the sheer absurdity of her objective.  She can’t possibly imagine what she’s up against and I can’t imagine she’ll find anyone who will help her.  If I’m right, futility and sheer exhaustion will do their job and she’ll eventually give up on her mission.  Best case scenario, the abandonment of her goal will happen without collateral damage. 
 Problem solved.  Well, one part of the problem will be solved.  She’ll be safe, but she’ll no longer be here.  Grief will work me over, but in time, I can move on and leave my second chapter of Cassie behind me.  I did it once before.  
 Who am I kidding?  I can barely remember life before she showed up on my porch, much less, imagine a future without her.  
 I know very well how different it will be this time.  Before, I ran from a woman who belonged to someone else, a woman I admired from a close distance.  But now, the entire dynamic has changed.  
 Having her here in my home has altered everything.  Having her close enough to feel her fingers on my arm, to watch the sun highlight her blonde curls, to smell her scent on her bed linens as I put them in the wash, has changed everything.  I get it, even if losing her means she’s safe and can return to her life, grieving the loss of her this time will be an entirely different experience.  Eventually, I’ll be fine, but I don’t favorably anticipate the process needed to get me there.
 My brain cranks until my imaginary scenario falls apart.  As I reflect upon Cassie’s tenacity in finding me, the mesa vision, and the dogged determination she expresses regarding Montenegro’s death, I moan because I know there’s no way this is going to resolve itself quickly or easily.
 Hope might spring eternal for some people, but where I’m concerned, reality bullies hope into submission.  I’ve run through our situation, over and over, and I realize the odds aren’t in my favor.  If I have any chance of keeping Cassie in my life, I have to buy some time until I can make it happen.  At minimum, if she’s here, she’s not out pursuing someone to help her with Montenegro.  That, in and of itself, will keep her safe.  Maybe getting her to stay, for whatever reason, will offer me the opportunity to convince her to drop this insanity.  So, if I’m lucky, there’s at least one problem eradicated, if I’m lotto level lucky, possibly two.  
 At any rate, I refuse to let her walk out the door, leaving me behind, without any knowledge of whether she corrected the course of her life.  That’s an ending I’m unwilling to accept.      
 Make a plan, Parker.  Implement it.  Shouldn’t be that hard for you.  You’ve been doing it your entire life.  If God thinks you’re worthy enough to help, then you must have something worthwhile to offer.  If you want Cassie for yourself, then you’re the only one who can make it happen.  There’s absolutely no sense to be found in giving up without ever having tried.

 In the space of two fleeting minutes, amid the flurry of fractured thoughts, my reluctant march returns me to the cabin.  Prior to entering the door, I glance back to find Cassie still walking along the road.   She’s obviously in no danger.  
 I enter the cabin to find the receiving light of my ham radio blinking.  This discovery strikes me as odd because I use it infrequently, the most recent being quite some time ago.  I retreat from the desk where it sits, and once again, look out the open back door to check on Cassie.  
 She’s standing alongside the road gesticulating like she’s talking to someone.  I don’t see anyone, so there’s no imminent danger.  I squelch every activated nerve in my body and make myself stay put.  If it doesn’t look like she’s in danger, then she’s fine.  She promised she’d let me know if she needs help.  Cassie is always good to her word.  That’s one of the things I admire so much about her.  It’s also one of the things about her that makes me dread tomorrow or the next day.
 Static crackles over the receiver, so I return to investigate.  I turn up the volume and, unbelievably, I hear Cassie’s voice.  Her entreaty is comprised of pleading, crying, and demanding.  Her pain seared voice operates as an appendage of her broken heart, tearing at my own.  The sole act of hearing her anguish, as opposed to also witnessing it with my eyes, is far more graphic than I’d have thought possible.
 I don’t want to listen.  I don’t want any part of her grief.  I know I’m wimping out.  I’m not sure why.  I’m soldier tough, so tenderness has never been part of the equation, but there’s more to it than that.  My thoughts long to navigate the reasons involved, but aggravated static pulls my attention back to the radio.  
 This receiver shouldn’t even be live.  I don’t know how she’s accessing it without the use of another radio.  She sent me away, so she could be alone to pray and think.  I know this isn’t intentional on her part.  There’s no way I should be hearing Cassie’s voice coming through this radio.  Somehow, the phone I left with her must be acting as a conduit through which her voice is transmitted into the cabin.
 I attempt to stop the transmission by flipping switches on the control panel.  I have no desire to, or intention of, violating Cassie’s privacy.  I even try the power button.  I have no luck with that, so I reach over and pull the plug.  Not only does the power remain on, but the fluidity of the transmission never even flinches.  For some reason, I can’t get the radio to cooperate.  Regardless of the channel I choose, Cassie’s shattered conversation comes through loud and clear.  
 My efforts to silence the contraption are abruptly halted by the emergence of another voice.  This voice is male.  Extremely male.  Had it been any other situation conceivable in life, I’d be freaking out.  But after my experiences of the past two weeks I know the owner of that voice.  Hearing His words to Cassie alleviates my fear for her physical safety.  If He’s with her, no one or no thing in existence will harm her.  I take a deep breath and force myself to relax.
 I look out the back door again.  She appears to be alone.  That I can physically hear His familiar voice when He isn’t present in physical form is both familiar and comforting.  But my comfort is short lived.  The intensity and finality of His actual words indicate Cassie is in far more trouble than she’s ever been willing to admit to herself, least of all, to me.
 Through no choice of my own I listen to them.  I assume my participation is the reason He’s patched through their conversation.  Cassie argues.  He rebuts.  She’s so stubborn, so unwilling to yield, so determined to get her way.  Honestly, she reminds me of me not so long ago.  
 I believe she’s listening to Him, but her prideful determination prevents her from hearing what He says.  My body reacts strongly to the content of their conversation and it’s about to make me sick.  Regardless, my attention is riveted to that radio.
 Suddenly, overwhelming fear returns to me.  I gasp as I grab the back of a  chair situated in front of the radio.  Did I hear correctly?  Did God just compare Cassie to Satan?  What’s wrong with her?  How can anyone be blind enough to throw away such an incredible future?  
 Panic seizes my mind and heart with renewed fervor.  I’ve got to get to her.  I’ve got to make her understand.  I can’t let her throw away her future just because she’s upset and doesn’t fully grasp the meaning of His words.  She’s about to lose everything.  The loss of Manny will prove hollow when compared to what’s to come.  Why doesn’t she comprehend that?
 I turn and barrel through the door running hard and fast for Cassie.  I bear down on her location as quickly as my sizeable mass allows.  This is one of the few times in my life I chastise myself for not being fit enough.  
 Upon arriving at her location, I see for myself the sorry shape of her appearance.  She’s lying alongside the edge of the road coated in dust from the dry lonely easement.  The tears she’s shed have resulted in clear jagged stripes down her cheeks.  Intermittent smear marks indicate where she’s wiped the tears from her face with her dirty hands.  Her hair is grimy and extends from her head in fractured response to her stress.  
 I understand her physical state is the outward expression of the turmoil she contains internally.  Believe me, she looks as bad as she must feel.
 I’m amazed she sits before me in complete silence.  There’s no crying, no wild or panicked gestures.  None of that.  She seems to be through with that aspect of her conversation.  She simply sits there looking up at me with calm resignation scripted across her features.
 I approach her slowly because I don’t want to startle her.  I’m so unsure of her response to my presence.  True to her initial countenance she quietly reaches for my hand, indicating she’s ready for my help.
 I start to speak.   “Cass…” I begin, but my vocal cords fail me.  I’m literally choked up at the sight before me.  
 I clear my throat and try again.  “Cassie, are you okay?” I manage to utter in a voice which sounds far more confident than I feel.  
 I don’t know what to do for her.  I don’t know how to help her get past what’s painfully obvious.  What do you do for someone whom God Almighty has accused of being a traitor?  At this point, she doesn’t even know I’m aware of her conversation.  How is she going to feel about that?  I know how she’ll feel.  She’s going to be madder than I’ve seen her yet.  Mad’s okay.  I can handle mad.  It’s the rest of my crazy life with which I’m at a loss.  How in the world am I ever going to fix this mess?
 I extend my right hand and offer to help her to her feet.  She refuses to look at me.  She’s yet to answer my question.  She’s so quiet I honestly don’t know if she’s all right.  
 Did the enormity of her conversation with God cause psychological damage?  Was the conviction offered by Him too much for her to process?  Maybe she’s just embarrassed to be seen by me when she looks the way she does.  She’s going to have to say something because I have no idea how to help.
 There’s nothing like a third try, so I speak more sternly this time.  “Cassie, you’re going to have to talk to me.  I have no idea what to do for you because I don’t know what you need.”
 She looks up at me with an expression I’ve yet to see in her eyes.  Pain is still present there, anger for sure, but now there’s a dullness present in her gaze, a vacancy I can’t define.  It’s like the light of her soul has been extinguished. Maybe it’s shock over what God said to her.  Maybe it’s simply emotional fatigue.  Maybe it’s a combination of those two or something I’ve yet to identify.
 I hate not knowing her better.  Knowing her usual moods and expressions would really help me sort this out.  Then again, has there been anything usual about the last two weeks?  Something tells me even Manny would have had a hard time with all of this.  On second thought, that’s dumb, Parker.  If Manny were here none of this would have happened and you wouldn’t even be involved.      
 A random, urgent rush of wind blows past Cassie and me.  I flex my forearm, pulling Cassie to her feet so that she stands next to me.  I draw her close, trying to shield her face from the somewhat vicious onset of air.  Instinctively, she turns her head into my chest, availing herself of my offered protection.  
 From where did all this wind originate?  I peek through slit eyelids, but there’s nothing in the sky that remotely resembles rain, much less a storm.   Only large cotton ball clouds dot the humid skyscape.  Additionally, I observe that the prairie scrub six feet from us is completely unaffected nor does the intense whirlwind gather any debris from the dusty road.  
 What’s up with that?
 Cassie’s face is pressed tightly against my chest.  Her fingers are knotted in my shirt, but she uses her fisted hands to shield her eyes as well.  My arms are wrapped around her upper torso shielding it from the storm like wind.  I don’t understand where this wind came from and why it affects only the small area where we stand.
 Before I have the chance to alter our position, preferably one out of this wind, I hear a voice from behind me.  I fail to understand what’s said, but I turn, taking Cassie with me, and as I come to a stop before the person in front of us, the wind abates.  Instantly, stillness engulfs the lonely, southern, Texas road.  
 I’m not sure who she is, where she came from, or how she got here, but there’s a stunning redheaded woman standing in front of us.  She looks familiar but plucking her identity from my memory proves difficult.  Things are happening much too quickly.
 In size, she’s midway between Cassie and myself.  She’s tall and svelte.  As she comes three steps closer, I notice she moves with the total grace and coordination of an athlete.  She’s toned and shapely with the clearest complexion I’ve ever seen.  She has iridescent, sparkling, green eyes that yield a gaze drenched in wisdom and compassion.  
 How do I know that?  Who wears wisdom and compassion as a part of their daily countenance?  It’s so strange, but even her sudden appearance doesn’t move me to alarm.  I don’t sense any malice in her.
 I’m speechless where I stand, Cassie still wrapped in my arms.  Is this visitor here in conjunction with the wind?  Or, did she arrive here despite it?  Am I ever going to stop being awed and surprised by any of this?
 Just a second later, conscious thought and motor skills return to me.  I take hold of Cassie’s upper arms and set her apart from me.  I want to alert her to our situation.
 “Cassie?”  I prompt her to open her eyes.  She pulls her hands away from her face and blinks at the bright sunlight.  Cassie begins to speak, but I place my fingertips over her lips and turn her around, positioning her so she can see our visitor firsthand.
 “Oh!” Cassie gasps.
  The redheaded visitor takes one additional step toward us.  She speaks quietly, “Good day, Young Ones.”
 Young ones?  Young ones?  Why does that sound so familiar?
 “Hello, Calliope,” Cassie responds without missing a beat.

Chapter 16 - Calliope

Calliope?!  I knew she looked familiar!  But wait!  This isn’t the Calliope I met.  She looks so different in human form.  So different, in fact, it messed with my ability to recognize her.
 Cassie leaves my side and walks over to stand next to her beloved angel.
 “Why did you come, Calliope?”  Cassie asks sincerely.  “I’m in no danger.”
 Calliope reaches for Cassie’s hand.  Cassie complies by joining her hand with her friend’s.  With great tenderness Calliope responds, “You must always be honest with yourself, Young One.  You are aware, are you not, the Great One sends angels to minister to those of His children who are in need?”
 Silently, Cassie nods her head, indicating she’s aware of this angelic function.
 “Yes, I know, but what need do I have?” Cassie asks as if she genuinely doesn’t have a clue.
 I shake my head in utter disbelief, bat my eyes and gasp.  I can’t take this another second.  “Cassie…!” I shout, reprimanding her.  “Are you kidding me?! What need do you have?!  You can’t be serious!”  I can’t help but interject because I can’t believe what I’m hearing!  It’s like she’s allowed blinders to be placed over the eyes of her heart.
 Cassie stands staring at me with actual oblivion scripted across her features.  I shake off my disbelief and step forward to take hold of her.  She’s got to get her head on straight and snap out of this funk she’s in!
 Without any warning, Calliope raises her hand toward me.  Her palm is flat, and her fingers are extended vertically.  The next step I attempt to take is thwarted.  Several times I try to step forward, but my feet are fastened in place.  I’m anchored, plain and simple.
 I open my mouth to protest and explain my intentions.  This time, Calliope folds her extended fingers into her palm and shuts my mouth.  I can’t believe it, but my mouth won’t open.  I can’t even wiggle my lips.
 Instinct kicks in and I begin to raise my arms in protest.  After all, I’m only trying to help!  I’ve got to make Cassie understand!
 Calliope looks straight at me, the sparkling merriment and goodwill in her eyes have been replaced with sternness.  She cocks her head to the left and raises her right eyebrow at me.
 Recognition asserts itself.  I lift my hands toward her, palms forward, fingers vertical, indicating I understand.  I am not welcome in this conversation.  My ability to observe is a privilege and I’m not to interfere unless I want repercussions.
 Cassie stands and watches as Calliope and I communicate.  She looks totally confused.  I’m not even sure if she’s aware I’m grounded and mute for the time being.
 “What’s going on with you two?” she queries as she tosses her gaze from one to the other of us.
 I shrug in Calliope’s direction, indicating my inability to speak.  Calliope responds for the both of us.
 “Parker will give us a chance to visit,” Calliope states simply.
 Evidently, Cassie picks up on my lack of an answer, as well as, Calliope’s tone and demeanor.  When Cassie turns to face Calliope, her expression is one I know all to well.  If she were sitting at a table, the heels of her hands would be grinding into her eye sockets, trying to alleviate stress.  She’s on the verge of an emotional collapse.  I can’t even warn Calliope because I can’t speak.  
 I understand the fragility of Cassie’s psyche in this moment and I'm concerned she’s misplaced her trust.  For a reason unknown to me, I fear Calliope will fail to treat Cassie with the tenderness she needs, sending her past the edge of her remaining sanity.  
 Because of Calliope’s interference I’m completely powerless to help Cassie.   I’d stand no chance against Calliope, but I’d die trying.  However, I have no choice but to stand by and watch Cassie implode.  This only makes me angrier.   My unexpressed rage is sending me toward an aneurysm.
 For the first time since this journey began, I doubt God has Cassie’s best interest at heart.  Up to now, everything He’s done has shown how much He loves and cares for her.  He provided her with a pillow and blanket, such simple and ordinary things, yet so needed by her.  He sent me to find her the day she collapsed on the road, providing for her need of food and a place to recuperate.  He even sent her to me in the first place, so I could attempt to dissuade her from this suicidal mission.  And, just today, there was the intense conversation He had with her to help her gain perspective.  Then, there was the mesa vision.  That God sponsored event was a response to Cassie’s prayers for me and was supernaturally unusual.  Each of these occurrences is proof of His constant vigilance with regards to Cassie’s well-being.  Collectively, they’re irrefutable proof He’s had Cassie’s back this entire time.
 However, sending Calliope to hammer on Cassie when she’s stressed to the point of cracking, is not an act of love.  No.  Now, He’s just being mean. 
 One more time, I struggle against my invisible bonds.  With every ounce of strength, energy and determination I can muster, I yearn to move my feet or open my mouth, anything to deflect Calliope’s interaction with Cassie.  
 I’m worthless.  There’s only one person on this entire stinking planet who matters to me, but I’m of no use to her.  All the damage, chaos, destruction and death I’ve wielded in my life comes immediately to mind, but I can’t provide one working muscle for the single most important moment so far. 
 In an overwhelmingly unfamiliar realization of defeat, I long to slump to the ground in abject misery.  Here again, my body fails me.  I’m stranded where I stand.   
 I glare at Calliope.  If I could, I’d bore holes right through her with my vision.  My heart beats like I’ve been running for miles.  I know for certain my blood pressure will set a medical record.  My breath comes hard and fast, in short spurts, much like that of a snorting bull.  As mad as I am about the impending mistreatment of Cassie, my anger is intensified by the fact that I can’t express it.  I’m so enraged, I’m afraid my head and heart might leave my body in the explosion that’s near enough to consume me.
 Suddenly, Calliope diverts her attention from Cassie to me.  Evidently, she’s aware of my inner turmoil.  I’m still caught in my stone like silence, but Calliope comes to stand in front of me.  Cassie looks on as Calliope reaches out to touch my shoulder.  Neither my stationary position or my mute status affects the movement of my arms.  So, I instinctively raise my arms to protect myself.  Calliope pauses in her approach to me and asks with her eyes if she can continue toward me.
 I’ll admit, that’s odd.  Since when does someone ask permission to harm you?
 I’m so relieved Calliope is no longer paying attention to Cassie, I concede to  her request.  If I can keep Calliope’s attention on myself, perhaps, I can keep Cassie from harm.  Since this is my only option, I’ll take hold of it like the lifeline it is.
 Without releasing my gaze, Calliope’s fingertips contact my shoulder.  The pressure of her touch is firm, but soft, indicating she’ll cease contact with me any instant of my choosing.
Calliope speaks quietly, but with great tenderness.  “Have faith, Young One.  I will not release you from your bonds, but I wish peace for you.” 
 I feel a flutter of energy at the point of Calliope’s contact.  The fluttering effect spreads throughout my body until every inch of me is reached.  My heart rate slows, and every muscle of my body relaxes.  My breathing returns to normal and the pounding pressure in my temples dissipates.  
 “Peace” is probably the best way to describe the state of calm which consumes me.  My concern over Cassie’s treatment hasn’t been removed, but my distress over it has.  I no longer have the desire to hurt Calliope in order to protect Cassie.  In my mind, I know the situation between Cassie and Calliope is not any different, but, somehow, I’ve come to accept the limitations I have with regards to it.  
 I immediately understand this entire situation is so out of my control that to consider it otherwise is laughable.  Being enraged about my inability to effect influence only makes it hard on me.  It does absolutely nothing to protect Cassie.  In fact, it honestly only makes things worse for Cassie because anger commandeers my ability to think clearly.  Muddled thinking always makes things worse.  To make things worse for Cassie is to carry a burden for which I could never forgive myself.  
 Now, that I’m in better shape physically and emotionally, Calliope returns her attention to Cassie.  In my mind, there’s a nudge toward returning to the stressed angry state of a few moments ago.  It seems the natural, expected thing to do when someone you love is in danger.     
 Calliope, however, is patience personified.  She glances back over her shoulder and whispers to me again, “Peace, Young One.”
 Instantly, I return to the position of quiet acceptance.  Through the calmness enveloping me I come to understand Calliope is asking me to trust her.  Now that free will has been taken from me, do I have trust to offer?  Does the fact she grounded me in place, telling me “no” with regards to participation, make her untrustworthy?  Instinctively, I know the two aren’t necessarily connected.  True trust is given by choice.  It can’t be leveraged in any manner.  So, it looks as if I have a decision to make.
 Before I can give any more thought to my own dilemma, Calliope turns and starts toward Cassie.  As she walks away, my vision begins to get somewhat fuzzy.  It’s no wonder, the heat index is upwards of 90°.  There’s no breeze and no shade to undermine the sweltering heat.  The riled, emotionally charged atmosphere only compounds the effects of the weather, but is that a reason for my vision to go wonky on me?
 Without any notice, the landscape gets even blurrier.  Oddly enough, it seems a large cloud has parked itself over my head because I instantly appreciate the shade it offers.
 I rub my eyes, and as the blurriness lessens, an incredible sight begins to take shape in front of me.  
 Is that what I think it is?
 Thirty feet from me, on the other side of Cassie and Calliope, a group of trees is emerging from the sauna like heat.  They vary in height somewhat, but they all tower over us.  Yeah, I mean us.  Now that I’m paying closer attention, I see it’s one of the trees which has shaded me from the scorching sun, not some random cloud.
 All in all, twenty or so of them make an appearance, forming a canopy over the three of us.  Their branches reach skyward, as well as, inward, their ancient visage belying their immediate appearance.  It would boggle my mind to attempt true appreciation of what these trees have witnessed through the millennia.  They bear many kinds of fruit, each tree yielding more than one variety of natural nectar.  The word “breathtaking” fails to do them justice.
 Within the shaded, yet well-lit area, blooming flowers of all types appear.  Some provide groundcover, some border the perimeter of the impromptu garden, while others are of the climbing variety and wind themselves among the tree branches.  The brilliantly colored fruit, and the incredible wealth of floral blooms compete for my senses of sight and smell.
 Right through the center of this emergent garden runs a talkative little stream.  It gurgles and splashes over rocks of uneven sizes which are placed so the water sounds like music as it cascades over them.  I’m unsure why I’m surprised, but the tune sounds incredibly like one of those played for me in the mesa vision.  Lush, vibrantly green moss line the banks of the stream.
 Not far from the water feature appears a bench of sorts.  It’s composed of some ancient variety of tree and is shaped so that it offers two seats which face each other.  From where I stand, I can see its surface is smooth as silk.  There will never be splinters gathered from this bench.  The very fibers of the tree bark are so intertwined with age and purpose they nearly gleam.
 The climate within the shade of these magnificent trees, is changed completely.  The air is not only cool, nearing 70° at my best guess, but is utterly devoid of humidity.  It’s like someone has turned on an imposing silent air-conditioner.  The climate is so perfect, in fact, that my sweat sodden clothes have already dried, crisp and clean, leaving not so much as a sweat stain behind.
 The sight before me is so spectacular, so pastoral, so perfect the only thing within my experience to compare to it is the Eastern Realm of the Mesa Vision.  
 I learn peace has its benefits because it allows understanding to wash over me.  No one exerts this kind of effort for another if they’re going to wield some sort of damage upon them.  Cassie hasn’t shown any fear, because there’s nothing of which to be afraid.  Calliope produced this oasis because she cares for Cassie.  
 Why was I so eager to accept as fact something I’d seen no evidence to support?
 Without warning, the voice of the Great One comes to my ear.  “You believe ill of my messenger because you are under the impression you know best.  It is the same reason anger consumes Cassie.”
 I take stock of what God says, and a new depth of self-awareness takes hold of me.  Really?  Is that the foundation of my fear?  I believed Calliope to be a threat because I want to do things my way?  
 The realization hits me like a truck.  I’ve got so much to learn.
 Calliope put me in this position, and I don’t like it, but I do have to admit, if I’d yielded to Calliope’s warning, trusting her as Cassie is, I’d probably not be bound by my invisible restraints.  
 I could kick myself for behaving in a manner which denies me active participation in this extraordinary experience.  Like I said; I have so much to learn.
 Calliope returns to stand in front of Cassie and reaches for both her hands.  Calliope has her back to me, but I can still see much of Cassie’s face beyond her.    
 Cassie’s expression is much like the open earnestness a child might express.  Right now, I think if Calliope told Cassie to jump off a bridge Cassie would obey instantly.  The only delay would be finding a bridge from which Cassie could hurl herself.  However, given the appearance of the climate-controlled oasis surrounding me, producing a bridge wouldn’t be much of a challenge for the mighty Calliope.
 “Cassie…,” Calliope begins, “tell me how you are.”
 Sad resignation commandeers Cassie’s expression.  Always honest to a fault, Cassie puts it all out there.  “I’m ripped in two, Calliope.  I literally feel like I’m two people trapped in one body.  I don’t know how to fix it.”
 “Explain to me what you mean by two people,” Calliope prompts.
 Cassie begins thoughtfully.  “Well, there’s the old me.  The one devoted to God, the one who cares about people and wants to live a life which pleases Him,” Cassie explains, then pauses.
 “Yes, Young One, go on,” Calliope verbally nudges.
 “Then, there’s the other me, the new Cassie, if that’s what you want to call her.  She’s the one who wants Montenegro to pay for taking Manny away from me.”

 Cassie discovers the need to tangle her fingers in her hair.  The tears return, and that quiet reposed countenance shows itself the door.  She’s not hysterical yet, but if something doesn’t happen in the next few seconds to calm her down, we’ll be peeling what’s left of her off the oasis floor.
 Calliope reaches out to touch Cassie’s shoulder like she did mine.  Just as quickly as I did, Cassie relaxes.  I see the tension leave her body and I watch peace fill her eyes.  Cassie looks at Calliope was such gratitude it nearly breaks my heart.
 I, too, am grateful to Calliope, not only for my own peace, but even more so for Cassie’s.  I’m not nearly as worried about an emotional overload as I was just seconds ago.
 Right now, the most important thing is protecting Cassie.  If I’ll give Calliope room to work, she might just pull this off.  I don’t know what I was thinking when I was so determined to interfere.  It’s not like I know where to start or how to help her, anyway.  The best I can do for Cassie is to let Calliope mend her.  I hate that Calliope was right to stop me in my tracks.  If she hadn’t intervened, I would have derailed it for sure.  Gratitude is not a big enough word to express my thanks for her intervention.
 Calliope and Cassie sit opposite each other on the old sculpted bench.  Calliope continues to hold Cassie’s right hand.  I can’t see Calliope’s face from where I stand, but I hear the empathy and compassion in the tone of her voice.  Her demeanor and body position manifest the kindness and love she feels for Cassie.
 “Okay, Cassie,” Calliope says, “Now that there are two of you, what are you going to do about it?  Which of the two do you prefer?”
 Cassie’s expression is one of utter desolation.  She honestly doesn’t know how to answer Calliope’s question.  
 Personally, I find hope in that.  If it isn’t a given the second Cassie is here to stay, then isn’t it possible the first Cassie is the one who’ll remain?  For the first time today, I feel like shouting for joy.
 Breaking my reverie, Calliope speaks tenderly to Cassie, "Young One, Messiah left you with the gift of choice.  You need not be troubled or afraid.  The world cannot take from you what you are unwilling to yield. This is one of His promises. You need only to avail yourself of it."
 Cassie looks at Calliope like she's lost her mind. "Calliope, I've tried so hard. I’ve prayed until I'm blue in the face, but God won't take the loss of Manny from me.  God spoke with me earlier.  I know He's aware of my struggle, but He hasn’t done a single thing to help me.…"
 "Young One," Calliope corrects Cassie, "You said yourself the Great One spoke with you. He told you what to do, how to respond to your situation. He sent young Parker to meet your needs during your adversity.  Also, He sent me to offer respite and encouragement.  Additionally, He sent the Mesa Vision for your benefit as much as He did young Parker’s.  His gift that night was a reminder to you of the choice which awaits each of us.  
 “His word teaches everything necessary for you to emerge victorious over your pain and grief.  His endless grace has indulged you over and over.  You are actively engaged in refusing His help.  You would rather have your way with regards to your husband’s death than yield to what the Great One wants.  
 “You know His promises are timeless, changeless. The will of the Great One will come to pass. You, Young One, are not large enough to derail it, delay it or delete it.  He does not play favorites.  The same accountability applies to everyone, without fail or exception.  
 “To say He's done nothing to help you is not honest.  You are being lied to.  Your cooperation with the Fallen One will cost you more dearly than you can imagine.
 "You must also remember, to end the life of this man could destroy the faith of young Alejandro and Maria-the very faith you fostered in them.  You have within your power the ability to change the trajectory of their lives.  As it is, they merely miss you, your presence, your smile, your love of the Great One, the very stability you brought to their lives.  When they learn of your part in the death of their father, it could well be an event which will separate them from the Great One past the point of reconciliation.  To learn they’ve been betrayed by the one they love and trust so completely, will ultimately place blame on the Great One, all because of your defiance."
 Cassie sits before Calliope, head bowed, sobbing quietly.  My heart breaks for her. Cassie is consumed with grief and guilt as Calliope's words sit on her like the house that landed on the wicked witch of the West.  I know Cassie loves those kids.  For months, I watched and admired her as she devoted herself to them.  To be faced with the truth she could cost them their life in heaven is compounding her pain.  I’m afraid it might kill her.
 I wish with every heartbeat I could lessen the agony raging within her, console her at the very least, but I'm tethered where I stand, completely unable to offer  any assistance.  I also know, however hard they may be to hear, Calliope's words are true, her precepts must be sound.  It’s obvious to even me, someone who knows nothing of faith related things, Calliope's words are necessary if we stand any chance of deterring Cassie from her goal. 
 Won't Calliope's argument, coupled with my own, as well as the words of God, Himself, be enough to dissuade Cassie from this suicidal, faith destroying mission?  I understand Cassie’s lost her way for a time, but I also know how much she loves God.  She's devoted nearly her entire life to Him, giving up a cushy life in the states to serve impoverished, oppressed people.  I know how hard she worked to pray the Mesa Vision into place.  Based on what Calliope said about God’s endless grace, I gather the experiences of the last few weeks are not normal everyday occurrences, even for people of faith.  The convergence of these facts causes fledgling hope that the three of us will be enough to get through to her.  
 I find myself praying:  Dear God, dear God, please help Cassie make the right choice. 
 Calliope reaches out to take Cassie's hands in her own. "Young One," she says with such tenderness it hones my focus, “the Great One tells us in His book much is required from those to whom much is given. You, Cassie, have been given so much…."
 Cassie's head comes up as if she's going to interrupt Calliope, but Calliope touches her forefinger to Cassie's lips, prohibiting her interruption. 
 Calliope continues her rebuke with gentle sternness.  "Young Manny was not yours.  You did not own him.  You did not create him.  Nor did you keep his heart beating strong and healthy inside his chest.  You did not create or prepare the eternal home in which he now resides.  The Great One brought Manny to you at the right time of your life and then called him home to heaven at the right time. Manny was loaned to you for a season.  You need to remember his devotion and know he died protecting you.  He is yours to grieve, but you must not let grief become your idol.  It must not replace the Great One as the focus of your life."
 Upon hearing a summary of what the Great One said, Cassie buries her face in her hands and sobs openly.  Her pain is palpable and is working its wretched misery on me as I watch.  Even I understand, as best as someone from an aside position can, Cassie has two forces pulling on her.  
 God, the Great One as Calliope calls Him, woos Cassie with everything at His disposal, to honor Him and continue the life of devotion she began long ago. 
 The dark force of this world, and of the world beyond this one as well, the force God calls Satan, pulls at Cassie with everything he has.  He feeds her anger, justifying her defiance, aiding her as she contemplates disobedience to God.  He will encourage Cassie's anger until it consumes her. 
 From what Cassie's told me, God will forgive her for the act of murdering Montenegro, but He will not remove the earthly consequences of her actions.  I'm not even limiting the consequences to punishment by the criminal justice system of Mexico.  Granted, justice below the border is a rare thing.  Drug lords and their cartels kill at will with few repercussions, but someone like Cassie who’s without skill at planning such things and without financial resources to cover them up, will be caught and used as political capital by the local authorities.  So, yeah, there's zero chance she'll get away with murdering Montenegro.
 Ultimately, the consequences for Cassie which really concern me are the emotional and spiritual ones.  She’s convinced she'll feel freer if Montenegro pays for Manny's death.  Calliope tried to tell her, and I've said the same thing: killing Montenegro will not bring Cassie the peace she wants.  It will only compound the anger and grief she feels by adding guilt and remorse.  
 Also, I wonder if Cassie’s given conscious thought to the grief she'll experience once she kills Montenegro.  I speak of the grief she'll experience over the loss of a close connection to God.  Seems to me that someone with the kind of faith it takes to make these incredible things fall into place is going to have a gaping hole in her heart when she loses that connection.  Cassie is so convinced Calliope and I are flawed in our thinking, that she knows best.  She doesn’t realize pain is interfering with her ability to think clearly.  Or maybe she does, and she simply doesn’t care.
 As I watch, Calliope reaches for Cassie's hands, pulling her to feet, positioning Cassie so they are face-to-face.  Calliope cradles Cassie’s head in her human sized hands.  "Young One, the Great One has literally opened heaven before you because of His never-ending love.  He does all He can, with every resource at His disposal, short of removing your free will, to turn you from your dark objectives.  Until now, you've led a life of service and devotion and He wants you to continue your journey with Him. 
 "If you pursue this dark path, He will remain with you, if you wish, to help you through the hard times that are yet to come.  He wants me to remind you He will not prohibit the hardships which come as a result of disobedience.”
 It’s like Calliope is reading my mind, telling Cassie the very thoughts churning in my head only seconds ago.
 "God gave you to me, Young One, to protect and guide.  I am your ministering spirit and I tell you with the experience of the millennia behind me, you must tread wisely. The Great One understands your grief and anger, all your pain.  He will not take it from you until you willingly give it to Him.  To take it from you is to remove your choice.  Stop holding onto hate.  Forgive Montenegro and retrieve the control you’ve relinquished to him.  
 “God will not make your faith journey for you.  God is good, Young One.  His grace is great but not without its boundaries.  Once you draw your final breath or Messiah splits the eastern sky, your decision will have been made and it will stand eternally."
  As I stand grounded in place, I watch the sad scene before me.  Several times now, supernatural forces have manifested before my very eyes.  Each has been an experience beyond expectation or description, but like pretty much everything else in life, each serves its purpose and moves on.  
 Calliope has spoken with great authority, as one who understands her accountability to the Great One.  She releases the hold she has on Cassie’s face.  Without warning of any kind, and right before my eyes, the incredible scene before me begins to dissolve. The aged hewn bench were Cassie and Calliope sat is the first thing to go.  Next, the trees on either side fade from existence, followed by the babbling brook. This disappearing act continues until all that remains are Calliope, Cassie and me.  The only two exceptions are the climate-controlled air keeping at bay the miserable Texas weather and the fact I remain within my invisible bonds of stillness and silence.
 Incredibly, Calliope morphs into her normal, supernatural appearance, all two stories of her, with her flawless porcelain complexion and enormous wings. Cassie consumes the mind-boggling transformations before her with a silent gaze, looking up at the mighty Calliope with weariness and anger still shining in her eyes.
 Calliope kneels before Cassie as her voice covers the distance between them. "The Great One loves you, Cassie. He woos you through His spirit and His servants. He desires you to choose well, Young One.  If you need Him, simply call upon Him.  He will never fail you."
 With those uttered words, Calliope stands and steps away from Cassie. Calliope looks my way and smiles at me, releasing me from my bonds.  For all intents and purposes, though, I might as well still be bound because I'm incapable of moving or speaking anyway.  Calliope's wings begin to tremble as she rises slowly from the ground in front of Cassie.  Calliope speaks quietly, but audibly over the rush of her wingtips. "Adieu, Young Ones."
 Suddenly, Cassie looks up at Calliope with a surprising look of curiosity on her face.  She acts as if her interest in life has been renewed.  She asks a question that's completely unrelated to our current situation.  "Calliope, why is that you bid us farewell using the French language?"
 Puzzled, I realize I've never noticed Calliope's tendency to do such a thing. Now, though, I'm as curious as Cassie regarding Calliope's answer.
 Calliope smiles at Cassie with such love and compassion in her expression, my heart races within my chest.  What must it be like to have her look at you that way?  To know you’re the one she’s been sent to help.  Can I really have that for myself?  Is something so wonderful truly possible?
 Calliope continues her explanation.  "As a servant of God, created by Him, and unlike you in that you were born, I find certain aspects of humanity interesting and, at times, even charming.  For instance, I find the French language quite elegant.  The word "adieu" is a shortened version of "I commend you to God."
 Okay, well, that makes sense even though I’ve never considered that angels would find humans interesting. Who am I kidding?  I’ve never even considered angels themselves.  The new information sparks a couple questions of my own.  I fail to stop myself from asking because I’m very aware I might not get another opportunity. "Calliope, how many languages do you speak?"
 Instantly, Calliope turns her embracing smile upon me as she continues to hover just over our heads. She says matter-of-factly, "Every language as needed, of course.  The Great One equips me as I serve Him.”
 Wow! I can't imagine….  The ability to speak every language known to exist!  What must that be like?   What must any of it be like?  To be so powerful, talented and capable, yet show kindness and service to us human train wrecks.  Why does God bother with us at all?  How is it possible that such extremes co-exist in one entity?  
 I know time is working against me, so I organize my thoughts and arrange them according to their importance.  Hurriedly, I express an additional observation to Calliope in the form of a question.  "You told us God gave Cassie to you to protect and guide, but you keep referring to her as God’s.  Why don’t you refer to her as your own?"
 Calliope smiles at me patiently and explains the same way, "I also said I am Cassie’s ministering spirit.  I do not refer to Young Ones as my own because you are not mine.  I did not conceive your birth at the start of earth's time and bring earth's history to pass.  I do not possess those abilities.  Nor, was it my son who died a criminal's death to save you.  I stand in absolute awe of Messiah's sacrifice.  You have seen for yourselves far more than most humans.  Could you have left the magnificence of heaven to live mired as humanity does, fighting the depravity of your world?  Jesus, Messiah, not only obeyed the Great One and left heaven, but spilled His blood to save mankind because no other wage could pay the price.  There is no greater love.”
 As I stand in front of Calliope, my brain cranks on her words.  I so vividly remember the eastern realm of the Mesa Vison, the magnificence, holiness, purity and splendor of it all.  Jesus willingly left heaven behind Him to come to dirty, selfish, lost earth and save a species solely responsible for the dirty, selfish, lost condition in which it lives.  In other words, we derailed the perfect life God bestowed upon us and Jesus came to save us anyway. 
 Messiah Jesus, lived His life on earth fighting the very darkness which seeks to consume Cassie, fighting that darkness with the light of Heaven itself.  Jesus completed His mission with the ultimate sacrifice, the gift of His own life, everything He had.  He held nothing back from us.
 Jesus died for the likes of us-not just the best of people, those who live their lives in the service of others, but the worst of us, people like me, stone cold killers, selfish predatory individuals who’ll stop at nothing to get what they want-money, power, satisfied egos or libidos, regardless of who they hurt.  I guess the motivation doesn’t really matter.  If it’s human, it’s less than God and therefore deemed unworthy by Him.  Jesus died to provide an alternate future for anyone mired in life.
 I bring the palm of my hand to soothe my throbbing chest.  Tears run unfettered down my cheeks.  Innately, I know I have no choice but to close the chasm between God and me.  I don’t know how, just yet, but I know with certainty it must happen.
 I return my gaze to Calliope who’s watching me with keen interest.  “It appears,” she says wisely, “Messiah has garnered credibility with regards to your heart, Young Parker.”
 I smile up at her and concede somewhat shyly, “Yes…., I guess He has.”
 Calliope smiles down at me in a warm, knowing manner.  My spirit, anguished at the recognition of my separated state from God, is relieved.  Hope and something I can’t quite identify takes root in my heart.
  I give conscious thought to the insanity railing around me:  a missionary hell bent on a death vendetta, a two-story messenger with the power of God sent to rebuke and soothe, and me, that lost predator I identified only a moment ago, standing in a climate-controlled mesa in southern Texas.  I know, without knowing how, all of what I perceive as insanity is not without orchestration or redemption.  The Great One is in control of everything while letting me choose for myself what kind of relationship He’ll get to have with me, if I even permit one at all.
 Growing up, I only ever wanted a home, somewhere to belong.  A place in which I fit with those around me, a place where love was a living absolute, something I could count on every single time.  A place where love wasn’t bandied about by the whims of selfish individuals.   
 As I survey my surroundings, I come to realize I’ve found the home for which my soul hungers.  It has nothing to do with a desolate mesa in southern Texas, but everything to do with Cassie’s and Calliope’s God.  I don’t yet understand how I fit with such incredible beings, but I know without hesitation I am accepted.  The rest, I suppose will be a journey which begins from here, where I stand as an assassin no longer for hire.  It will be a frightening journey, I’m sure, but I stand as witness to Cassie’s sojourn and know first-hand she does not journey alone.  Here and now, hope speaks to me, whispering my name, using Cassie as a graphic example to assure me my journey will also be made with solidarity.
 If God sent His only Son to die for the likes of me and has gone to such great lengths to use these supernatural exhibitions to reach me, then I’m on board.  I know without one doubt in sight, God’s got me.  Somehow, I must learn to let go of my unworthiness and trust that fact.  Maybe Cassie can teach me how.
 A movement from the present pulls me from the reflections of my future.  I sense Calliope’s departure is imminent.  It seems as if Cassie is still lost somewhere in thought.  I have other things to ask.  There are so many things I want to ask; there’s so much I want to know.  
 I’m in such awe of Calliope’s size and strength.  I suppose I’ve always considered myself powerful, holding life and death in my hands on so many occasions.  By now though, I’ve spent enough time in Cassie’s world to have learned I know very little about true power.  Even though I don’t want to be pushy, a pest by any means, I’m here and I must avail myself of Calliope’s presence and knowledge.  
 So, I jump in headfirst and take three hurried steps toward her.  "Oh!" I manage to exclaim before Calliope vanishes from sight, "Will you unfurl your wings, so we can watch them in action?" I ask hopefully.  My voice sounds strange to me.  Its authoritative quality is weakened by breathiness.  
 Good grief, is this what it feels like to be intimidated?
 "Young Parker," Calliope asks with a gleam in her eye, "Are you asking me to perform for you?"
 Instantly, I understand I might have offended this incredible creature. "No, no…that's not what I… I… I…," I stammer as I shake my head in disbelief at my own stupidity.   
 "I'm so fascinated by your size, strength and majesty I want to experience everything about you.  That's all I meant, I promise," I do my best to reassure Calliope.  I do not want this creature upset with me.
 Calliope's brilliant green eyes sparkle with merriment. "I jest with you, Young One.  You and I are so different.  Yet I understand your curiosity.  It is much the same as my fascination with languages."
 Still anxious and somewhat determined to further allay any offense I might've offered, I continue my garbled explanation. "I mean, I may never see you again, so I had to ask."
 "A request for my presence is only, ever, a prayer away, Young One," Calliope says quietly as she rises higher into the air over our heads. "I will give you a hint of my abilities, which are surpassed only by those of the Great One."  Calliope’s words are uttered as a mere statement of fact.  Pride has no part in her words or demeanor.
 Calliope widens her wings to the side of her body, covering a span of at least 50 feet. Slowly, she brings the tip of the right wing down to the ground, elevating her even higher over us.  She tips to one side and pivots on the innermost wingtip, spinning a circle at such speed she appears as nothing but a tornado of pure light.  Somehow, though, the effect of her behavior is suspended merely for our benefit.  If Cassie and I were subject to the effects of Calliope's powerful display we'd have been knocked to the other side of the world, undoubtedly vaporized on impact.
 In a mere instant, Calliope stops her speeding flurry without so much as an inch of wobble.  Next, she pulls her wings up over her head and down in front of her body.  Instantly her entire presence fades as she blends seamlessly into the mesa behind her.  If I weren't already aware of her presence, I'd never know she was anywhere near us…or is she?  
 Did she fly off into her world before I had a chance to ask all my questions?
 I open my mouth to find out, but as if she anticipates my question, Calliope reappears before I utter a single sound.  Next, she lowers her hand to the ground and, using only her eyes and the tilt of her head, she asks Cassie and I to step into the palm of her hand.  Hesitantly, the two of us oblige her request.  Carefully, Calliope wraps her large supernatural fingers around the two of us.  Cassie and I are nestled together deep within the folds of Calliope's fingers without being the least bit uncomfortable.
 Calliope looks down at us and says simply, "Behold, Young Ones."  Within the span of time it takes Cassie and I to blink we’re transported to another location. When I get my bearings, which takes mere seconds, I look up to find the blackest of skies dotted with zillions of lights.  I turn my head so that my gaze matches the trajectory of Cassie's and come to the realization we’re looking down at a giant blue orb dotted with continental landmasses.  We’re still close enough to the earth to differentiate between the forest and desert regions of North and South America.  The deep blue of the many oceans is vast and unbelievably beautiful.  Several storm systems are scatted across the earth from the north to south poles.  The overall effect is that of a brilliantly colored, highly polished, glass marble.  
 I wish I had a camera!  No, wait!   A camera could never do this justice.  I take a second to calm my breathing and do my best to soak up every detail, to capture them all in my memory.  This sight nearly steals my ability to breathe.  
 I look down at Cassie only to find her smiling up at me.  I reciprocate with my own smile of amazement.  I'm speechless as I contemplate the remarkability of our presence in outer space, above earth without the protection of a shuttle, when it suddenly occurs to me that Calliope is our ship.  She’s gifting us the ability to breathe in the vacuum of space while keeping us warm and safe.  Without her protection, a temperature of nearly minus five hundred degrees would pulverize us into space dust.
 My smile only grows.  If I weren't confined within Calliope's sanctuary like grasp, I'd be jumping up and down, giddy about my experience. The sky is so black yet illuminated so beautifully by the starlight.  We left Earth and daytime, but the Big Dipper is so close I believe it to be touchable.  Even here, in this moment, I truly can't comprehend how big space is. The vastness before me serves as a reminder of how truly insignificant I am, of the truly powerless state of my existence.
 Suddenly, the sensation of strong winds upon my back entice my eyes to close.  I get the sensation I'm moving at an immeasurable speed while covering a distance without limit.  We glide to a smooth stop and I catch my breath.  I reach for Cassie's hand because I need the solidarity to look up at Calliope.  She motions with her head to look behind us. I want to, I really do, but I'm truly afraid of what I might see.  Memories of the Western Realm from the Mesa Vision ping my brain and I'm so enthralled with this experience that I don't want it marred with the opposite side of Calliope's world.  Ultimately, though, I suppose it's the opposite side of my own world as well.  Even so, I don’t want to think about that right now.
 Tenderly, as if she understands the cause of my apprehension, Calliope says, "Behold, young Parker, the sight ahead of you is the space humans refer to as the Milky Way."
 With my fear instantly eradicated, I turn and face the same direction as Cassie.  I’m intrinsically aware my bravery does not equal hers, but I do my best to follow her lead.  
 Before me is a mass of swirling gas painted in a pallet of perfection, from palest lavender, to a deep blue of constantly changing hues.  The colors blend seamlessly as giant swirls arc perfectly around one brilliantly luminous center. The size of the sight before me is incomprehensible and is dotted with billions of stars from very dim to blindingly bright.  Some of the stars appear purple or dark blue, highlighted by even darker shades of their corresponding colors.  The patches of purple are so dark they look nearly red.  I suppose they reflect the colored gases which comprise the giant swirl itself.  The only variance from the intense dark hues is a brilliant layer of bright pink gas which swirls on the event horizon of the super massive black hole at the center of our galaxy.
 I gasp at the sight before me.  Nothing has ever been this glorious!  This is not some vertical two-dimensional version of a galaxy as can be seen from the ground on a clear night in the western United States. This is a massive, three-dimensional, real life version, one which has never been seen by the naked eye of a human being.  I’ve never given conscious thought to humility, as it goes against my life experience and skill set, but I am humbled by the sudden awareness of my privilege. 
  My mind struggles with the surreal nature of the sight before me.  In this instant, Cassie and I occupy actual outer space, viewing the Milky Way in real time.  Suddenly, it occurs to me, it’s possible for us to look back on the galaxy of our home world because we’re observing it from a neighboring galaxy!  We’ve covered millions of light years in the span of a few seconds!  To my knowledge there’s no technology on earth which allows a camera to visit a neighboring galaxy, much less allow man to make the journey.  The sight is so glorious I find myself weeping.  It's beyond my ability to imagine a sight more beautiful or awe-inspiring.
 Swirling around in my head, along with every relevant emotion, is a sudden awareness.   What amounts to a supernatural experience for Cassie and me, is Calliope’s norm.  This is her true world, where she lives, her home so to speak.  All the majesty, power and wonder are everyday occurrences for her.  
 Is she tired of them? Does she take them for granted?  Dear God, I can't begin to imagine.
 I hear Cassie ask quietly, "Calliope, are we continuing to heaven?"
 Calliope's response comes just as quietly, "I'm sorry, Young One, I do not have permission to take you to the highest heaven.  This is as far as we go." 
 The word "go" registers in my brain and I break out in a sweat. "Go?  You mean we have to leave?" I ask incredulously.
 Calliope chuckles at my hesitance.  "Yes, Young One,” she replies patiently, “It's time for us to return."
 "But Calliope…,” I interject.  “I can't lose this…" the thought of leaving this sight in my past sickens me.
 "Do not fear, Young One," she reassures me, "Your mind will retain every brisk, nuanced detail of this experience. The Great One did not allow you to see this, only to take it from you."
 I look at her in disbelief.  My mind races, looking for a reason, any excuse, whatever it takes, to convince Calliope to allow me to stay.
 Calliope's return gaze is one of resolution.  Her voice reflects said resolve as she asks, "Have I ever given you cause to doubt me?"
 "Oh, no!…" I assure her.  "Never.  It’s just that this experience is so incredible I don't want to ever lose it," I explain in a desperate attempt to change her mind.  
 No such luck.
 "All will be well, young Parker.  You will see.  Take one last look," Calliope instructs.
 Cassie and I do as we're told while we continue to hold hands.  I feel my eyelids close, and intense winds once again caress my back until the oddity of sudden stillness impresses itself upon my consciousness.  When I open my eyes, Cassie and I are back on the mesa just north of my cabin.  Sadly, we've returned to the stretch of desolate road from where our journey began.
 Calliope bends and places us on the ground.  She winks at us as her wingtips vibrate, lifting her from the earth.  Smiling at us with warmth and genuine affection she says, "For now, Young Ones, adieu.”  With that farewell, Calliope opens her wings, lifting them high over her head and drops them in one slow motion. Silently, she races into the miserably humid sky, rocketing out of sight.    
 I finally find my voice.  "Wait," I cry out, "I never got to thank you!" I wail uselessly.  I turn to find Cassie, hoping for continued solidarity, only to find she’s already deposited herself on the ground in an exhausted crumpled heap.  
 I complain audibly to her.  "I never got to thank Calliope for that incredible experience!  She needs to know how much I appreciate that she honored my request to see her abilities."
 I shake my head in disbelief and regret.  I'm so angry with myself for not keeping my wits about me where Calliope is concerned.  It seems as if I miss one opportunity after another where she’s concerned.  Although, I remind myself, I did manage the request to see her abilities.  That's something for which I'll always be grateful. What I would’ve missed if I hadn’t bothered to ask.  As the enormity of my experience settles over my earthbound self, my legs give way and I plant myself on the ground next to Cassie.   
 Quietly, she says, "I'm sure with all of Calliope's abilities she's already completely aware of how much you appreciate her willingness to share herself in such a remarkable way."
 Well, ok, Cassie might be right.  Calliope did demonstrate, more than once, she knew of my next words before I gave voice to them.  So, given all the other incredible things we’ve experienced, I must concede it’s quite possible Calliope is very aware of my gratitude.  
 I look over at Cassie because she's said so very little throughout this entire experience.  She sits next to me quietly, serene even, with her head bowed like she's praying.  
 "Cassie?" I ask in a low, even tone. "How are you holding up?"
 Cassie shrugs her shoulders and juts her chin sideways in an ‘I’m fine’ gesture.
 I shake my head slowly and try one more time to engage her.  "Can you believe what just happened?  Wasn't that the most amazing thing you've ever seen?"
 Once again, there's little to no response from Cassie.  I reach over and take her hand in mine.  It's small in comparison and somewhat chilly to the touch.  I scoot closer to her and put my arm around her slender shoulders.  I'm not sure how she can be so cool in this blazing summer sun, but after all I've seen in the last couple of weeks, I'm certainly not qualified to define what's normal.
 Despite the remarkable events of the day I sense an overwhelming sadness in Cassie, so I squeeze her shoulder in my hand and gently ask, "What's wrong, Cassie?   What can I do to help?"
 On the surface, it's unfathomable to me that Cassie isn't excited about the events of the day.  I want like crazy to talk about it because I've got a million questions, but it’s obvious Cassie isn't capable of such a discussion.  When I stop to consider our experience from Cassie's perspective, after all that was said to her by the Great One and then Calliope, I suppose it could be very difficult to experience all we have through the filter of joy and wonder.
 Gently, I tuck her up under my shoulder. "Cassie," I urge one more time, "tell me what I can do to help."
 Cassie looks up at me with tears in her eyes and says simply, "There's just so much to think about.  In my head, I know God is right, of course, and, by extension, Calliope, but my heart just doesn’t really care about what my head wants.  It has its own objective and I guess, bottom line, I’m simply not willing to reconcile the two parts of me.  I guess I'm a little overwhelmed."

Chapter 17 - The Next Dumb Thing

While I’d like to be considerate of Cassie’s emotional/spiritual dilemma, in this moment I simply can’t.  I’d much rather elevate her mood to match my own.  Maybe what she needs is to get out of this mesa, away from our desolate locale, so we can find something completely useless for her mind to crank on.
 So, being the get it done guy I am, it occurs to me to offer Cassie a break from the intensity of the day.  "Hey Cassie," I venture with a lilt to my voice, trying desperately to lighten the tone of our situation, "What do you say we go to the pub tonight.  I'll have a beer, you can have some iced tea, we'll do a little line dancing and get our minds off all this.  What do you think?"
 Cassie smirks up at me and shakes her head. "I think I'm not a pub kind of girl, Parker.  What pub anyway?  I've never seen any sort of restaurant or bar around here."
 "There's a roadhouse about 20 minutes down the road. I've only been a time or two myself.  I didn't want to get too familiar with the locals.  I do know it's a loud, rowdy place, a good place to find nothing to think about.  Maybe it’s just what you need."
 Cassie still seems hesitant so I amp up my coaxing.  "We don't have to stay long.  We'll get a bite to eat, dance a few songs or watch others dance a few songs and then we'll call it a night and come home.  How's that sound?"
 Cassie drops her gaze from mine and admits sheepishly, "Going for some food sounds nice, but I'm still not sure about the bar thing…"
 "If we're going to eat away from home," I interrupt, trying to deflect her impending refusal, "the pub is the only thing between here and Laredo.  We can go there if you'd rather, but you know yourself it’s a much longer drive."
 "No," Cassie shuts me down, "I'm not up to full blown haul all the way into the city…. If you think it would be all right…"
 "It'll be fine, Cassie. What can go wrong?  It's just some food and some dancing.  You'll enjoy it, you'll see."
 "You promise you'll stay with me?  I'm going to be so very out of my element, Parker."
 I nod my head in agreement.  "Hey, it's not exactly my scene either, but it's the best we can do on short notice.  I'll look out for you, Cassie.  Scouts honor," I say as I do the scout salute against my forehead.  Cassie smiles shyly, reluctantly agreeing to take a chance on my plan.
 Feeling rather triumphant, I offer Cassie my hand and help her onto her feet.  As we cover the short distance to the cabin, I tell her I'm going to take a minute to clean up before heading into the pub.
 "Yeah, me too," Cassie replies. "I'll be ready in thirty minutes."
 "Okay," I agree, giving Cassie my best smile. "I'll meet you in the front room."
 When I arrive, Cassie’s already present, but instead of wearing some of her new clothes, with which she seemed so pleased, she's wearing that ratty floral dress, the one she was wearing when she arrived at my house.
 I give her a questioning look with my eyes.
 "Yeah, I know," she agrees regarding her attire, "but it's been a hard day and I'm heading into unfamiliar territory, so I want to wear something comfortable. No…,” she corrects herself, “not just that… after all that’s happened today, I want to wear something comforting."
 I look at her standing there with her slender figure, bright blue eyes, and golden bouncing curls, realizing she's right.  She's trying her best to cooperate with my plan so the very least I can do is let her wear what she wants.
 "Okay, then," I say enthusiastically, "let's go!"
 I’m surprised to learn our supernatural excursion took longer than I originally thought.  By the time we reach the pub, evening will have turned to night, so I decide my sweet little car might be a bit ostentatious for our destination.  Still apprehensive about our plans for the evening, Cassie follows me to the truck.  
 I'm convinced that getting Cassie away from her current emotional state, if only for a little while, will help her relax and give her the ability to think more rationally.  Hopefully, it will enable her to come to the correct decision about Montenegro.  I know she has the world sitting on her shoulders right now, but some clarity and perspective can only help.
 Given Cassie’s current mood, our ride to the roadhouse would have been quiet, but I have a question which has gnawed at me since her arrival.  “Cassie I’ve been wondering how you were able to find me after I left Montenegro’s.  How did you track me down?”
 Cassie sits opposite me on the bench seat of the truck and, without a moment’s hesitation says matter-of-factly, “Sometime after you disappeared from the day shift, but before Manny died, I heard several of the guards talking about you.  You know, they aren’t really the most discreet bunch of guys God ever made.”
I nod in agreement, remembering the off-color conversations between us and the random crude comments hurled Cassie’s way.  I often wondered if she were ever aware of being the subject of our verbal exchanges.  Looks like I have my answer.
 “Anyway,” she continues, “they were discussing how you’d been given the opportunity to go “solo” and how envious they were.  At first, I wasn’t at all certain what they meant by the term, but I figured it out later.  They were talking about the kind of life you’d lead and the type of residence you’d need to make your new vocation work effectively.  
 “After Manny was killed, and I decided to pursue Montenegro by way of less than legal means, I knew I’d have to have help.  There was no point in asking any of the current guards because they’d have ended their own paychecks had they helped me.  I knew you possessed the skills I needed, and were no longer loyal to Montenegro, so I decided to track you down.  
 “During their conversation, the guards said you’d hole up in some desolate location, probably off the grid, in an area with which you were already familiar.  They said you’d been with Montenegro for some time, so it made sense to me you’d stay in the general area.  Also, since you’re American, I assumed you’d go back to Texas where there’s lots of desolate land.  
 I shake my head in disbelief.  “Montenegro was the only one who knew my actual name.  I don’t remember ever using it in any of the conversations I had with the other guards.  The use of actual names in our line of work is kind of taboo, so how did you find me?”
 “The other guards kept calling you Palmer.  I assumed it was a fake name, sort of like Riley, Gonzo and Decker, so I spent nearly two years checking the records of several counties in Texas until I found a name with your initial listed as a property owner.  Your deed is recorded under the name S. Parker.  I figured it would be much more difficult to lie about your name on a land deed than it was to a bunch of soldiers.”
 Cassie shrugs her shoulders like it was no big deal.  “I acted on a hunch and it paid off.  If I could’ve found you sooner, this would all be over by now.  I survived on the last of our savings.  My cash ran out just before I landed here at your place.”
 Again, I shake my head.  Cassie is back in my life and we’re fighting the forces of hell because some idiot junior mercs couldn’t keep their traps shut.  
 On second thought, I kind of owe them everything.
 I mull on the new information until we arrive at the roadhouse a few minutes later, not long after nightfall.  I back my truck into the parking lot’s sole open spot near the edge of the property and turn off the engine. The establishment doesn't disappoint. 
 Even at this distance from the building, the air is filled with loud grating music, lights that shine intermittently because they've seen better days, and the activity of patrons coming and going. It's a large two-story structure, somewhat barnlike with an expansive first floor and a smaller second-story.  It looks as if it could collapse at any moment. 
 Cassie and I exit the truck, coming together again as we make our way toward the building.  She looks up at me with a huge question about the brilliance of this idea shining in her eyes.
 "It'll be fine, great even," I reassure her with a bright smile and true sincerity.  I reach for her hand.  Cassie capitulates and allows me to wrap my fingers around her own, continuing our tentative alliance.
 Once we enter the building we're assaulted by the music, which merely seemed loud from the parking lot.  Adding to the noise level is the sound of people doing their best to converse over top of the music.  This is a place people frequent to unwind and forget their lives for just a little while, the very reason we’re here.    
 The patronage is comprised of everyone from women who’ve primped endlessly, arriving in short skirts and the requisite cowboy boots and hat, to men who look as if they haven't shaved or bathed in days, who are also wearing boots and cowboy hats.
 The stage is at the far end of the giant room.  It's inhabited by a loud country band, busy doing what a band does.  I assume the band is comprised of local guys, can't say for sure, don't really care.  They're doing a top-notch job of entertaining the crowd.  A large bar sits to the right hand of the stage and the rest of the room is made up of a large dance floor that’s flanked by tables and chairs. The kitchen must be off to one side or the other, can't tell from here, don't care.
The second floor is limited to a balcony dining area with a stairway which lands next to the front entrance.  All in all, it's not a terribly efficient floor plan.  It must have been a rehab of an existing structure, hence the ancient fragile appearance as opposed to a new build made to look rustic.  I can't imagine anyone would purposefully construct such a user-unfriendly venue.
 The dance floor is about three quarters full while the remainder of the evening's patrons prefer to dine or network with each other. I squeeze Cassie's fingers gently within mine and inch forward through the heavy mass of people.
 “Gee whiz," I hear Cassie say, "it's no wonder the parking lot was full. This place is a madhouse!"
 I grin down at her and pull her slightly closer. Getting past the dense crowd by the front door allows us to breathe a little easier.  We make our way along the edge of the dance floor and eventually find a vacant table.  We seat ourselves and wait several minutes for a waitress with a bustier assisted cleavage, short shorts and six-inch heels to take our drink order.
 I look over at Cassie in order to gauge how she's doing and discover she’s about to lose her lunch.  The waitress returns with our drinks, winking at me as she places mine on the table.  Cassie rolls her eyes in mock disgust.  Now that we have a marker for our table, I take Cassie's nearly trembling hand and pull her out of her chair onto the dance floor.
 I help Cassie find a spot in line and take my place next to her.  I'm not really what you'd call a dancer nor am I the least bit familiar with the routine the crowd seems to know so well.  But I am an athlete, so I watch the feet of the actual dancers and do my best to imitate them.  In no time, I get the pattern of the dance and fall into the stomping clapping rhythm with the best of them.
 Cassie, however, is a different matter.  She really struggles with the dance steps.  I can feel her confidence and resolve fading with every misstep.  After an effort which spans three songs, she looks up at me and motions to the table.  I nod my understanding, but motion to my feet to indicate I'll keep dancing.  She gives me a thumbs up and leaves the dance floor.
 I return my focus to the sway of patrons moving to the music and for several minutes lose myself to the questionable art of line dancing.   A very short time later, I look over at our table to find Cassie's iced tea is only half gone, but Cassie herself is absent.  I assume she went to the restroom, so I give her several more minutes, allowing time for her return.  I reach up and swat my ear the second time when it occurs to me how very familiar that necessity is.
 Hurriedly, I exit the dance floor and head for the illuminated "Restrooms" sign. I brazenly announce myself and enter the ladies’ restroom, much to the surprise of two women standing at the grimy mirror, primping their time away.  I check each of the three stalls.  No Cassie.  Given my life experience, I'm not one who panics easily, but panic creeps into my heart as I swat my ear for the third time.
 Think, Parker. Where can she be?  The answer comes to me instantly.  She was so uncomfortable here she's returned to the truck to wait for me.  I make my way through the throng of patrons as quickly as I can without being rude.
 "Go now!" comes adamantly to my ear.  I force my way through the people at a faster, far ruder pace.  I hear the cries and threats behind me as I finally make my way out the front door, only to discover Cassie is nowhere in sight.  I turn the corner of the building at a fast clip and head towards the truck.  It's parked at the rear of the lot so there are several rows of cars to pass before reach I it. Sure enough, Cassie sits in the passenger seat, her face buried in her hands.  The shaking of her shoulders tells me she’s crying. 
 Unfortunately, the reason for her tears is obvious. There are three men with her.  Two of them stand next to the bed of the truck, facing the passenger door where it stands ajar.  Their attention is fixed on the third guy who stands inside the open space of the door next to Cassie. One guy is large and looks as if he can handle himself in a fight.  One is tall, but lanky looking, like he's quite uncoordinated.  The third guy, the one closest to Cassie is kind of scrawny with a poser beard and red hair. 
 Why is the scrawny guy always the one in charge?  
 All three men are grinning like idiots.  They truly believe they've hit the jackpot.  Unknown to them, perspective is about to become a very thorough teacher.
 Their attention is so focused on Cassie they’re utterly clueless I’m about to bust up their little party.  Swiftly, and without any sound which would betray my intention, I yank the door of the truck out from underneath boss man and smash his head into the frame of the truck with the inside panel of the door. He goes down with a whimper, but he won’t be back for more.  
 I’m aware of the other two as they come for me.  I step around into the door space previously occupied by boss man, brace my upper body on the frame of the open window and plant one booted foot in each of their faces.  Only the big guy manages to stay upright, returning for me.  I pummel his face using three alternating punches.  The third punch does the trick, his eyes roll backward into their sockets and he hits the gravel face down.  
 To finish off a perfect evening, I situate three unconscious bodies in the grassy perimeter to keep them out of harm’s way as we exit the parking lot. 
 Cassie sits rigidly still the entire ride home, refusing to engage in any conversation.  At one point I reach over to encase her folded hands in mine, only to find her trembling.
 I hit the gas pedal somewhat harder. Okay, Great One why did you let this happen? Today, of all days. Why, when she’s already carrying so much?
  I reach up to soothe my irritated ear. My anger grows with each passing minute. Why?!  Why?!   Why?!   I scream in my head so loudly it incites me to take my fist and hit the steering wheel hard enough to make it groan.
 Next to me, Cassie cringes and scoots closer to the door on her side of the truck.  The realization, the one which tells me I've scared her myself, makes me even madder.  I reach up to stop the annoyance on my ear. I yell at God internally, “Why didn't You protect her?  After all she's been through, how could you let this happen?” 
 The annoyance hits my ear yet again and that pervasive silence fills my head. Clearly, I hear His voice, "You knew she wanted no part of this, but you insisted on your agenda." 
 My heart nearly stops in my chest.  I hit the brakes and bring the truck to a sliding stop.  We're only moments away from home but the truth of His words halts my ability to function.
 Cassie gives no indication she's aware of the cessation of our movement.  She simply sits cuddled up next to the door of the truck, hands folded in her lap, head down, trembling slightly.  The only difference is the slow silent tears finding their way down her cheeks onto her chest.
 I know Cassie wants to be finished with this day.  Heck, she wants to be done with this entire mess, but she's too stubborn to allow herself to end it.  Her visible misery is heartbreaking.  And now, I realize the fragile solidarity we had between us prior to the roadhouse is at its breaking point.  Without even asking, I know she's thinking the same thing the Great One just said: she never wanted to go to the pub in the first place.  She repeatedly voiced her concern.  I pushed her into it anyway because I thought I knew best.  And to top things off, I scared her myself when I hit the steering wheel.
 For the love of all that's holy-could I screw up any worse?  Is it possible to do a better job of undermining my own efforts?  When Cassie first arrived at my cabin there was a chasm that existed between us.  I've worked so hard and hoped so uncharacteristically to close that chasm, well, to narrow it anyway.  Yet, here I am, in worse shape than before.
 I run my hands back over my head and take just a moment to let the enormity of my situation consume me.  You know, just so I don't miss anything: the woman I've been in love with for over two years, who’s now single and available, shows up on my doorstep begging me to help her commit a heinous act.  The act itself, of course, is not the problem.  The problem is the knowledge it will destroy her.  I want better for Cassie so desperately I can taste it.  I can't stomach the thought of someone who embodies such light and goodness giving into such darkness. 
 Somehow, though, I appear powerless to affect the change needed in her thought process.  Suddenly, it occurs to me, God, Himself, is struggling with that very thing.  So, I guess I'm in good company.
 I shake my head to dispel my own misery, glance over at Cassie and throw the truck into drive.  We arrive home a few minutes later.  My brain is cranking like crazy, trying to come up with a solution to the mess I’ve created.
 I say nothing to Cassie because she has enough to worry about, but I'm ninety percent certain the guys I beat down this evening will track me down.  How do I know?  A lifetime of experience and the very nature of a redneck.  They need to prove themselves true men, redeem their virility, blah blah blah. They’ll completely overlook the fact that I kicked their collective asses, will arm themselves to the teeth and come looking for payback. There's nothing I can do about it.  Whatever they decide, I'll be ready for them.
 Right now, I have an incredibly upset woman who needs my help.  I walk around to Cassie's side of the truck, open her door and offer her my hand.  Of course, Cassie refuses my offer.  She sits with her hands folded in her lap, head down.  Moonlight catches the pinkness of her cheeks, highlighting her tears as she sits trembling in her seat.
 I watch her for a second, unsure what I should do next.  Cassie sits still as a stone, offering no insight as to what she needs.  I shake my head slightly, reach into the truck and pick her up.  The suddenness and authority of my movement makes her flinch, but she doesn't resist me, so I lift her, turn and shove the truck door shut with a sideways kick.  I carry her to the kitchen door and set her on her feet.  I unlock and open the door, stepping aside so she can enter the cabin ahead of me.
 Without a word, Cassie slowly makes her way to her room.  For the longest time I hear nothing from her.  In fact, enough time passes that I grow concerned. I don’t want to intrude upon her privacy or scare her a second time, so I slowly turn the corner and make my way to her room. I scan the bedroom itself but find no trace of her.  So, I head toward her bathroom.  I hear the shower running, but it's the only thing I hear.
 I slowly push the bathroom door ajar to find her standing in front of the sink. Her little floral dress is on the counter in front of her. She's wearing only her silken bathrobe.
 I avert my eyes, fighting the instinct to drink in her nearness and near nudity.  I don't want to be ‘that guy’, the one who objectifies women.  Okay, I admit it, I've been ‘that guy’ my entire life.  But now, looking at Cassie I'm suddenly ashamed of myself for ever having been ‘that guy.’  The former me would have seen a beautiful woman with the necessary parts to make me feel like a man.  
 The ‘right now’ me, sees Cassie as she is, a woman with incredible burdens, heart aching fragility, a woman utterly broken.  She stands before me desperate for help yet defiant about accepting it.  Heck, in this moment, she’s even scared to ask for it.
 I know she's aware of my presence. She squares her shoulders and wipes tears from both cheeks when I enter the room. She says nothing and fails to make eye contact with or without the aid of the bathroom mirror. 
 Hesitantly, I step forward and ask quietly, "Cassie, what can I do to help?"    
 I watch her inverse image in the mirror.  She drops her gaze to her dress where it lies on the counter.
 "Manny loved this dress,” she explains in a voice which registers barely above a whisper.  “It was his favorite.  That's why I wear it so much.  It's just another simple stupid way to keep him with me.  Now, it's soiled too.  Taken from me by that s.o.b. because he felt entitled to touch me when he had no right.”
 Self-recrimination washes over me as I realize the depths of my ignorance.  I should've known there was a reason Cassie loves that ratty old dress.
  Briefly, Cassie's gaze meets mine in the mirror.  "That's really all I had left of Manny.  Now it's ruined too.  Why must I lose everything I care about?  Also, I don’t understand what Calliope meant when she said Manny died protecting me.  I have so many questions."  Cassie's eyes fill with tears as she buries her face in her hands, sobs shaking her nearly naked body as she stands mere inches from me.
 I'm at a complete loss.  I don't know how to deal with the trichotomy present within me. I hate the bastards who assaulted Cassie tonight.  I hate Manny because he's dead and he won't let go of Cassie.  Finally, I hate myself, not because I care, but because I’m outside my wheelhouse and I have no idea how to help.
 As much as I don't want to be ‘that guy’ I sure as heck don't know how to be ‘this guy.’  The guy who's in tune with the needs of others and knows how to act on them.  I know I don't really have time, right this second, to sort through it all. So, because I can think of nothing else to do, I step forward and wrap my arms around Cassie, holding her as she sobs.  Slowly, she turns to face me, burying her face in my chest as she wraps her arms around my waist.
 I'm unsure whether Cassie has forgiven me for dragging her to the pub and scaring her on the ride home or if she's simply in such need of solidarity she no longer cares about being mad at me.  
 At this point, I'm holding the woman I love, the only person I'd die for, so I'm not going to overthink it.  I'm going to revel in it, soak it up and make a sense memory of the experience.  I’m afraid it will be the only one I’ll ever have and I’m far too scared to hope for more.  I stroke the back of Cassie's head, doing what I can to comfort her.  Before long, her sobs quiet and I realize I'm holding a sleeping woman completely upright.  Gently, I carry her to her bed, tuck her in and leave her to sleep.
 Quietly, I close the door to Cassie's room and pause to think about what's transpired.  For the first time in my life I'm proud of myself for an emotional reason.  I didn't exploit Cassie's nudity or vulnerability for my gain. I was able to be kind to someone who could do nothing for me.  It’s an unusual situation, to be sure, and it’s tiny in scale, nothing grand or global, but it feels incredibly good to take care of someone else; to meet her needs without thinking of my own.
  It's late, so I retire myself, falling asleep with a new lightness in my heart. Because of the heavy, dramatic, life altering events of the last few days, I realize my heart is different somehow.  I can’t really explain it yet because I don’t fully understand it myself, but there’s been a shift within me.  Hope has grounded me in Someone outside of myself.  It’s the second time today hope has paid me a visit.  I must admit, I’m fine with that.

Chapter 18 - Concessions

The next morning, I wake up somewhat later than usual and enter the kitchen to find Cassie already seated at the kitchen table.  She’s made and poured herself some coffee with plenty left over for me.  I avail myself of it and take a seat at the table next to her.
 Cassie looks up at me timidly, checking to make sure I'm not going to bite off her head. The look of hesitation and discomfort on her face makes a knot form in my gut. 
 I have to make this right.  "Cassie…?"
 At the mention of her name she makes eye contact with me.  Her eyes aren’t filled with tears quite yet, but her hands are folded in her lap.  Watching her now  brings to mind last evening’s image of her refusal to exit the truck.  Knot number two forms in my gut.
 "I need to explain about last night, so you'll understand, okay?" 
 This is hard for me. I don't normally explain things.  To anyone.  Ever.  My solitary existence prevented the need for such behavior.  However, my entire experience with Cassie has been one giant learning curve, so I suppose there's no legitimate reason to hope that today will be any different.
 Cassie says nothing but nods her head ever so slightly to let me know I have  permission to continue.
 Well I can't. Not like this.  I’m frustrated and unsure of myself, which frustrates me even further.  I reach around the end of the table, take hold of Cassie's knees, and turn them to the side of the seat so she faces me.  The flurried activity causes her to gasp and flinch.  That's okay, she's already scared of me and I'm about to address that fear.
 I take Cassie’s hands and enfold them within my own.  Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes for just a second while I try to get my bearings.  I open my eyes to find Cassie’s gaze is still locked on her lap.  
 I forge ahead.  "Cassie, there’s no reason for you to fear me.  I hit the steering wheel because I was mad at God and myself, not because I was mad at you.  I'm sorry I scared you.  It wasn't intentional.  My anger simply got the best of me for a moment, that's all." 
 There I said it.  I apologized.  First time.  Ever.  
 Cassie breathes deeply, looks up at me and asks quietly, "You're not mad at me because I went to the truck without you or because you had to fight off those guys?"
 I want to deny her accusation but catch myself.  Honesty must prevail if I ever stand a chance of re-bridging the chasm between us.  With a controlled even tone I answer her questions.  "I'm not happy you went to the truck without me, heck, left the building without me-that's true.  It was a rash, unsafe thing to do, but no that's not why I hit the steering wheel."
 Evidently, my response surprises Cassie because, she lifts her gaze to find my own.  She seems to accept my words as truth and asks quietly, "So, you understand how it feels to be mad at God?" 
 Instantly, her question startles me into empathy, a largely unfamiliar experience.  Except for the Mesa Vison, I honestly can’t remember a time in my life when I put myself in the shoes of someone else.  For as long as I can remember, my life has been about getting, getting, getting.  Win at all costs without looking back.  There’s never been a time, or reason for that matter, to look at anyone else and wonder about the throes of their life.  Like I said, another new experience.
 The thoughts run through my head like a bullet from a sniper rifle.  So fast it seems, Cassie isn’t aware of my mental meanderings.  She doesn’t intentionally interrupt the conversation I’m having with myself, but because it usually does, her curiosity gets the better of her. "Why are you mad at God?” she wants to know.  “What did He do to you?"
 Okay, forget the knots from earlier.  It feels like Cassie slammed a tree trunk into my gut.  This turn of events comes from out of nowhere.  I’m not ready for it.  If I’d thought the conversation through to any degree, I should have seen this coming.  Instead, I assumed, I’d have to convince Cassie to forgive me for scaring her last night.  But she acts as if she’s already forgotten about it.  
 Now, I need to answer her questions without revealing my feelings for her.  If so, how in this world, or the next, do I manage that?  On the other hand, is revealing my feelings a bad thing?  Scary as heck, to be sure, but bad or wrong somehow?  Probably not, but I can’t really say for certain.  Even if it’s not a bad thing for her to know it can still be an ill-timed conversation.
 Cassie came to me with an objective from which she shows no signs of retreating.  Will finding out I'm in love with her scare her badly enough she'll pack up and leave?  Will breaking my own heart be the necessary sacrifice which forces Cassie into the decision that's best for her?  Am I even capable of that kind of selflessness?  Is it worth-while to try and change her mind through some other means, keeping her in my life in hopes of pursuing a relationship with her?  Will my assumption she’ll have anything to do with me bear fruit?  Will she find me worthy of her time and attention?  
 Dear God, where do I start?  
 The enormity of the mess in which I find myself hits me hard enough I get light-headed.  I shake my head, doing my best to dispel the unwanted wooziness.  
 Man, I hate all this uncertainty, not being in control, not only of my environment, but even of myself.  These new emotions, love, empathy, hope, forgiveness, and patience are incredibly difficult for someone like me, someone who’s spent my life avoiding such things.  This entire situation is so very disconcerting.  Event after event keeps me in perpetual motion.  Do I want the rest of my life to be more of the same?  Or, at some point, will this supernatural activity level off?
 Am I certain Cassie’s worth the time, effort and trouble?  Is she worth the steep price of self-awareness and the knowledge I’m lost to all which really matters in this world?  Wouldn’t it be easier to go back to the familiar rewarding ways of my life without her?  Granted, I was living in denial of some major things, but my life was far more straightforward, possibly even rote, but financially rewarding and personally satisfying.
 Suddenly, the answers to these questions come flooding to me even before my mind finishes formulating them.  Cassie alone is certainly worth any price, but she’s been the gateway to knowledge about the universe I actually inhabit, as opposed to the one which lives in my head.  It’s because of her I’ve learned of a spiritual world from which I’ve been ignorantly running my entire life.  
 I mean, how does one make a choice for something if you’re unaware of its existence?  Cassie has changed everything for me and not because she’s here and I’m in love with her.
I can’t believe I’ve come so far, having learned so much, only to have my old way of life try to reassert itself.  Yes, my life was straightforward and less complicated, but it was deadly and based on lies.  I’ve learned where my allegiance lies.  There’s no question about looking back; there simply isn’t room for it in my life.
 Abruptly, I realize the doubts I just experienced were actually tugs from the Fallen One.  As the profundity of the new awareness settles over me, I understand with great clarity that the evil force for which I’ve unknowingly labored does not want me to leave.  He will pull on me, using everything at his disposal to keep me in his realm.  I can’t believe the force he exerted over me just now, trying to make my old life seem preferable to the truth I’ve witnessed over and over.
 For some reason, I find myself wanting to pray.  Me with an urge to pray?  I can’t believe how far I’ve come.  I can’t believe how differently I think.  It’s all because an angry young woman is too stubborn to give up her fight with either the Great One or the Fallen One.  
 God, what am I supposed to do? How do I fix this with Cassie?
 Instantly, the answer comes to me. "Truth." 
 I swallow hard and lift Cassie's chin until her eyes meet mine.  I find it necessary to swallow a second time, but I manage to simply say, "I'm mad at God for the way He's treating you."
 Surprise catches Cassie's features.  I can tell by the look on her face she still doesn’t understand.  Her words confirm her unspoken thoughts.   "God's been nothing but good to me, kind and gracious. So, why are you mad at Him?"
 Cassie does have a point, so I nod my head in concession.  "Yes, God has done many incredible things for you, I understand that.  What I don't understand is why He let those idiots accost you last night when you're already so burdened."
 Cassie shrugs her slender shoulders. "You said yourself my decision to leave the bar and return to the truck without you was rash and dangerous.  How's that God's fault?"
 Good grief, I hate it when my words are used against me, but I started down this path, so I soldier on. "Cassie, I don't understand why He didn't protect you."
 Cassie looks up at me with incredulity shining in her tear saturated eyes and says simply, "He did protect me.  He sent you."
 My expression falls.  I run my hand back over my head and swallow hard, not at all sure how to respond to her answer.
 Cassie continues.  “I had no business going with you last night.  I knew that.  Good things don’t happen in bars, even if you’re only drinking iced tea.  I should have stayed here and spent my time seeking Jesus, asking His help to forgive God and Montenegro.  
 “Instead, I ran from my responsibility and took the easy road by going with you.  It only brought more heartache.  When I think about it, it’s simply an earthly version of my current struggle.  I know God has my best interest at heart and my disobedience only brings more heartache.  Last night, the heartache was some soiled memories about a favorite dress.  With Montenegro, the heartache will be life defining.”
 I’m so grateful to hear Cassie admit she understands the horrible consequences of the wrong choice.  “Do you think, Cassie, this will enable you to let go of your vendetta?”  Hope hammers in my heart as I wait for her answer.
 Sadly, she shakes her head.  “I don’t think so, Parker.  It’s like a hole was dug into my heart and the unfairness of Manny’s death was planted there.  Then, concrete was used to seal it up, all nice and tight.  It’s not going anywhere.  I don’t expect God to give me a free pass with regards to consequences.  I understand as much as Montenegro deserves to die, little Alejandro and Maria do not deserve to grow up without their papa.  My best hope is that one prison sentence will pay for both sins.”
 I’m absolutely devasted.  First, I see Cassie truly understands the choice before her, and despite God’s efforts to turn her from darkness, she fully intends to pursue her objective.  I hate that for so many, many reasons.
 Second, because of Cassie’s insurmountable pain, a massive realization washes over me.  I break out in a stress sweat and my gut convulses.  I can’t believe what’s happening.  I can’t believe I’ve never seen it before now.  But, for the first time in my life I’ve come face to face with the devastation I took to the lives of those who loved my contract targets.  
 Suddenly, it seems as if time has slowed and everything around me is distant and sluggish.  To divert attention from my personal crisis, I move from the kitchen to the sofa in the great room.  I don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Cassie, but I can’t help but wrap my arms around my waist, sick with ownership.  I bob back and forth where I sit on the couch, remembering the victims to whom I laid waste.  
 Right now, huge questions thunder through my mind:  When I killed those people, how many Cassies, Alejandros and Marias did I create?  How many parents grieved the loss of a child?  Did it hurt less because their child was grown?  I can’t imagine age would lessen the devastation.  How many wives mourned the selfish, unwarranted, useless death of a husband?  How have their futures been altered, and the quality of their lives been diminished?  My God!  My God! There’s no way for me to know!  
 Cassie sits ten feet from me, watching me intently, but says nothing.  She sees my distress but is turned too inward to give my pain much consideration.  I’m fine with that.  The less she sees, the better I am with it.
 Suddenly, another question occurs to me:  if someone took Cassie from me in some senseless manner, especially for financial gain, what would I do?  How would I ever possibly cope with such a gut-wrenching loss?
 Instantly, I know the answer to my own question:  I’d get even.  
 I cover my mouth as I race to the restroom, shutting the door behind me.  Reflexively, I empty my gut.  This is empathy with Cassie on an entirely different level.  Until her, I couldn’t have imagined that kind of loss or my reaction to it.  Now, though, I understand how losing Manny has set up in her like a cancer.  It would be the same with me. 
“Dear God!  Dear God!  Help me,” I cry out to Him in a voice soft enough to make Cassie’s eavesdropping difficult.  I sit on my bathroom floor, tears rushing down my cheeks devastated by the recognition of my own depravity.  
 “What have I done, God?   How do I fix this?  Tell me!  Tell me, now!” I cry in desperation.
 Instantly, I hear His voice in my ear.  “Your life of sin is beyond your repair.  My Son died to pay the price for your behavior.  Give your life to Him and be free of eternal consequences.”
 “I never knew, God.  I never knew.  I mean, I obviously knew I was killing people, and I knew it was illegal, but I’d never stopped to consider the damage, the extent of pain, I’ve caused.  The pain Cassie suffers is the pain I’ve caused for others.  I can’t live like this any longer.  Forgive me!”
 “A life of denial is easy because it requires no change.  Denial is a false wisdom, one born of lies and fully embraced by man because of its ease.  To dwell with Me, you must turn from denial and accept the life of my Son as the substitute for your own.  This is My wisdom, unchanging and in existence before creation.”
 “Tell me, God, tell me what to do!” I beg of Him.
 “Do you believe I raised my Son, Jesus, from the dead?”
 “I do, God.  I believe it with all my heart!”
 “Will you confess with your mouth Jesus is Lord?”
 “I do confess that Jesus is Lord, God.  There’s no doubt left within me!”
 “You are saved, my child.  You belong to Me.  Your sins are forgiven for when I look upon you, I see the purity of my Son.  You no longer pay your own death wage.  Your wage is paid in full.”
 Relief washes over me at the sound of God’s affirmation.  My panicked labored breathing returns to a state of normalcy.  The waterworks from my eyes dry as a calmness settles over me.  “Thank you, God.  Thank you with everything in me,” I utter with more sincerity than I’ve ever known in my life.  
 “I don’t know how to be the man you expect me to be, God.  All I’ve ever known is a life without You, but I can’t be that person anymore.  How do I change?”
 “Your life of faith is not a destination, but a journey.  You have taken the first, all important step.  You will learn as you walk with Me.  I will teach you how to live as My Son.”
 Already, I crave instruction.  There’s a hunger in me I don’t understand.  “I don’t know what’s next, God.  What do I do next?”
 “My Son was baptized in the River Jordan.  Baptism does not remove dirt from your body, but it allows you to approach Me with a clean conscience.  You should follow my Son’s example.  At your baptism you will receive the gift of My Spirit.  He will be your helper and will live with you always.  From this time forward, you are never alone.  Read my Word and learn of Me.” 
 I soak up the instructions from God like a dry sponge.  I’m somewhat wobbly as I stand, but simultaneously, there’s a resolve, a kind of strength I’ve never known.  There exists within me a certainty that my life has taken on new purpose and will result in a success not available to me prior to this time.  I suppose it’s safe to assume there are going to be many firsts from this point forward.  I’m fine with that.
I wash my face with cold water to dispel the lingering effects of my tears and to refocus my thoughts.  I barely have time to dry my face before Cassie knocks on my bathroom door.
 “Parker, I know you’re in there.  Are you okay?” she asks tentatively.
 “Yeah, Cassie.  I’m ok.  Actually,” I say as I open the door and find her gaze with my own, “I’m better than ok.”
 Cassie, somewhat startled by my appearance, takes a step back from me.  I’m pretty sure it never occurred to her I’m capable of tears.  Heck, I only just learned of it myself.  So, I’m certain she’s curious about the cause for them.
 “Parker,” she says breathlessly, “what’s wrong?  What can I do to help?”
 I smile down at her, both excited and anxious to share my news.  
 She looks up at me, waiting with serious expectation shining in her eyes.  “Cassie,” I begin quietly, “I just gave my life to Jesus.  I had a heart to heart talk with God and I accepted Jesus as Lord of my life.”
 I stand, breathless before her, my heart pounding in my chest, waiting for her response.
 She doesn’t disappoint.  Cassie’s eyes light up like they’ve been plugged into a 220 outlet.  Her smile radiates from ear to ear as tears of her own fall silently down her cheeks.
 “PARKER!!” she squeals with delight and excitement, launching herself upwards and forwards, anchoring her forearms around my neck in a thorough hug.  “That is such awesome news!   I’m soooooo happy for you!  Praise you, God!”
 I laugh out loud at her exuberance, wrapping my arms around her torso so I can return her hug.  I release her in a respectable amount of time and set her on her feet.
 Cassie takes me by the hand and tugs me into the front room.  “Tell me all about it!  I want to hear everything!” she exclaims.
 I take a deep breath as I situate myself on the sofa.  I’m not quite sure where to start or how much detail to include.  Without any entreaty on my part, I hear God speak to me again.  
 “Speak truth.” 
 Cassie waits patiently, but it’s about to kill her.  I chuckle and dive into my story.  “It all began when you showed up here wanting my help with Montenegro.”
 Cassie nods her head in affirmation.  “Yeah, I know that already.  Tell me something I don’t know,” she says enthusiastically.
 I chuckle again and continue my story.  “Well, everything that you prayed into existence, including the Mesa vision, Calliope and the Oasis north of the cabin that day, have convinced me I am insignificantly small in the scope of the universe.  Seeing for myself how loved you are by God and how He answered your prayers on my behalf with such extraordinary responses really got me to think about the quality of my life and what’s truly important.  
 Then, a little while ago, when you spoke about the hole in your heart, how your grief over Manny was cemented into place, so the pain couldn’t leave, I had an epiphany of my own.  It’s like this bright light came on my brain and I realized for the first time I was responsible for the same kind of pain in other people. 
 My behavior caused the same kind of devastation for them.  In that instant, and for the first time in my life, I saw the depths of my own depravity, how truly lost I was without God.  All I could think of was spending my eternity as a part of the Western realm, lost in the unquenchable fire and inescapable misery.  I don’t want to spend my eternity listening to the lies of the devil simply because I listened to him here in this life.  Your prayers, Cassie, your faith, showed me I have an alternate future and all I have to do is choose it for myself.”
 Cassie’s eyes are saucer-sized, she’s thoroughly engrossed in every word I utter.  I’m unsure as to whether I should tell the tangential part of my story, or if I should keep it until a later time. Currently, I hear no prompting from God to include my feelings for Cassie, so I keep that to myself for now.
 Cassie’s attention is rapt.  She looks at me with a combination of surprise, joy and a smidgen of disbelief.
 I smile at her again and say, “I know it sounds crazy, Cassie, but I’m being honest with you.  Because of you, I’ve learned more about truth in the last couple of weeks than I’ve learned during the rest of my life.”
 Cassie sits before me quiet. I’m unsure what to say next. She’s smiling at me, so I think she’s happy.  I wish she’d say something.  I let a few seconds pass, but then I have to ask, “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?  This was your goal, for me to give my life to Jesus, right?”
 Cassie gives me a beautiful smile and says, “Yes, Parker, of course it is!  I’m so surprised and thrilled I’m practically speechless.  I don’t mean to give you the wrong impression.  My problem is me.”
 I scrunch my features in confusion, not at all sure why she’s a problem.
 Cassie smiles sweetly at me and continues.  “Here’s what I mean by that; I came here in such a black state of mind, asking you to do such a dark thing, that when God convicted me about your lack of salvation, I blindly obeyed Him and did what He wanted.  It never really occurred to me that you’d come around.
 “Don’t get me wrong, Parker.  I couldn’t be happier for you.  It always takes my breath away to watch someone who’s lived without God come to an understanding of His great love for them.  It’s truly one of the most blessed experiences of my life.  Right now, I guess, once again, I’m in awe regarding His ability to save people and that He could use me when I’m struggling so much myself.”
 I nod my head at Cassie. “He certainly did use you.  If you hadn’t come to me for help, I’d still be lost.  And even worse, I’d still be ignorant about it.  So, Cassie, I’m grateful that Jesus died for me, but I’m grateful you taught me the truth I needed to hear. Thank you so much.”
 Cassie pats my forearm as she says, “No need to thank me, Parker.  Jesus did the heavy lifting.  He always does.  I’m truly grateful something beautiful came out of this sad sorry mess.”
 Cassie and I sit in silence for a moment, both of us doing our best to ignore the undeniable spark between us.  I run my hand back over my head, completely uncertain as to what I should say or do.  Next to me, Cassie fidgets, wallowing in her own uncertainty.
 “So,” Cassie begins a tad bit too brightly, an indication of her own nervousness. “Where do you go from here?  I mean you’re no longer in business as an assassin for hire, right?”
 “No,” I admit to her, hugely relieved at the truth of my words. “Those days are behind me.  I asked God what I needed to do.  He told me He would teach me as I walk with him.  He told me I need to be baptized.  I’m not quite sure what that means, and He told me to read His word and learn of Him.  So, I guess I have to define each of those things and go from there.
 “There’s a huge learning curve in front of me, Cassie.  How do I make right the life I left behind and the life which lies before me?  Being a soldier is the only thing I know, the only skill I have.  As obvious as it seems, I’m not interested in returning to the military in any regard.  What do I do with the fortune I’ve amassed while living as I have?  It’s all blood money, literally.  I can’t, in good conscience, keep it, living the high life, knowing the pain it cost other people…”
 I prop my elbows up on the top of my knees and drop my forehead into the palm of my right hand.  I break out in a flop sweat at the realization of all the decisions, all the uncertainty which lies ahead of me.  The enormity of my new life is already intimidating me.  I’m just not good with the unexpected.  “Honestly, Cassie…. I’m not sure I can…”
 Cassie takes hold of my right hand, pulling it from my forehead and encloses it within her own.  “Listen, Parker, stop putting so much pressure on yourself.  You’re digging a hole big enough to swallow you.  I can help with some of your questions and God is ready to help you with the rest of them.  So, take a deep breath…. Go on, breathe deep… like now, Parker!”
 I laugh out loud when I realize Cassie wants me to breathe this instant, not metaphorically at some time in the future.  She laughs with me but continues to wait while I obey her instruction.
 I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, doing my best to release the tension in my neck and shoulders.  It feels so good, I do it a second time, then I turn to Cassie and ask, “Which questions can you help me with?” 
 “Well,” Cassie begins, “being baptized means you follow Jesus’ example of being immersed in water.  When you emerge from the water it’s symbolic of leaving your old life behind and beginning a new life as a new creation in Jesus.  Once you’re baptized you can stand before God without the guilt of your old life in the way.  It’s very simple and takes only a few moments.  Typically, people are baptized in a ceremony at the end of a church service while the congregants watch.  The public aspect of it is merely a tradition and is in no way a scriptural requirement…”
 “Is it something you could do for me?” I ask hopefully.
 “It’s not that I can’t baptize you, it’s more like I’m not capable,” Cassie says matter-of-factly.
 I cock my head at her because I don’t understand the difference.
 Sensing my confusion, Cassie continues.  “When people are baptized, they’re laid backwards into the water, so they can emerge face up,” she says like that explains everything.
 It explains nothing.  I screw up my face and say, “Yeah, so-o-o-…?”
 “Parker,” she says tenderly, “You are more than twice my size.  I don’t think I can pick you up out of the water!” 
The lights come on in my head and we have a good laugh together.  
 Cassie continues enthusiastically, “I’m sure there are many churches nearby.  We’ll get on the phone and find one with a pastor big enough to make it happen!”  
 “What else did God tell you when you were praying?” Cassie asks.
 “He told me to read His word and learn of Him. That one sounds straight forward enough.  I’ll have to find a Bible and go from there I suppose.”
 Cassie’s face lights up and she says, “I can help you with that as well.”  Hurriedly, she exits the room and returns quickly with her Bible in hand.  She extends her Bible to me and says, “Here.  I want you to have this.”
 I adamantly shake my head, stand from my seated position and back away from her.  “Cassie, there’s no way I’m taking your Bible.  That book is like an appendage to you.  Uh-huh.  No way.  No how.  So not gonna happen.”
 Cassie gets that steely glint to her gaze and steps up to me.  “Listen here, Parker, you’ll take this Bible and you’ll read it because that’s what God wants for you.  I think you should start with the Gospels; Matthew, Mark, Luke and John.  They’ll tell you the most about Jesus and His work to save people.  Next, you should read the book of Acts.  In it, you’ll learn how the church got started and about the early martyrs of God’s kingdom.  After that you can go ahead with the New Testament to see how God used His people to make the church grow.  Or, you can read the Old Testament to discover how God and Jesus created all which exists, to learn about God’s character, and the way He got the world ready for Jesus’ birth.  Also, you’ll find all the great stories about the giants of faith and the lives they lived for God.  The accounts God has preserved for us are faith inspiring and phenomenal.  You will be amazed at what you find.  Here, I want you to have it.”
 I continue to shake my head in refusal.  “Cassie, I’ll get a Bible of my own, but I won’t take yours.  I just won’t.”
 It looks as if the earnestness of my refusal finds its mark.  Suddenly, Cassie’s face falls.  Her big, luminous, blue eyes fill with tears and she asks in a shaky voice, “You don’t want my Bible?  I know it’s worn, and it doesn’t look as pretty as it once did, but it still works just fine.  Is there something wrong with it?”
 Oh, man, I’ve stepped in it this time.  Back pedal, Parker, back pedal.  “No, Cassie, there’s nothing wrong with it,” I offer as assurance.  “That’s not what I meant, not even a little.  It’s just that it’s your Bible.  When I think about what you’ve brought to pass because of the time you spent bent over that book in prayer, it takes my breath away.”
 Cassie offers what she considers a logical comeback.  “I’ve spent years taking notes in the margins, connecting the dots, jotting down the insights God has offered along my journey… there’s a lot here which could help you as you learn.”
 “I know, Cassie, that’s the reason I can’t take it.  It’s too much a part of you.  I care too much about you to sever you from your Bible.”
 Cassie digs in.  She’s not going to cave on this.  I see the resolve shining through her tears.  
 “But that’s the reason I want you to have it.  I’m so thrilled God brought something beautiful from my anger and dysfunction.  I want this Bible to make your journey with you.  Please, Parker, do this for me.”
 She’s playing dirty and it’s so obvious I’m losing.  “Aw, Cassie, if I take yours, what will you do?  You’ll no longer have one.”
 Cassie shrugs her slender little shoulders and says, “That’s easy.  I’ll get a new one.  I’ve got a good chunk of it memorized any way.  I’ll be fine until we can get into town and buy a replacement.  Please, Parker, I’ve put you through so much.  Let me do this for you.”
 How am I supposed to say ‘no’ to that?  Good grief, was I even in the ball game?  She talks as if she owes me something, as if she’s done something for which she needs to compensate.  What is wrong with this woman?  Does she truly have no clue how remarkable she is?  Is she honestly unaware of all she’s done on my behalf?  And now, she wants to do this for me.  
 UNBELIEVABLE!
 I shake my head at her generosity.  Next, I nod my head in quiet resignation.  “Okay, Cassie.  If you insist, and if you’re absolutely sure you won’t regret it, I’ll accept your Bible and use it as my own.”
 Cassie squeals at my concession and steps forward to place her frayed Bible in my right hand.  I’m humbled by her gift and, as she steps away from me, I capture her hand, pulling her close enough to place a sincere, chaste kiss on her forehead.
 “Thank you, Cassie.  I don’t have the words to adequately express my gratitude, just know this means everything to me.”
 Cassie grins up at me, so obviously pleased she won me over to her way of thinking.  “You’re welcome, Parker.  I’m so happy to do it for you.”
 There’s no doubt her words are true.  The joy she feels is shining in her eyes.
 Cassie puts a little distance between us and continues with her ideas.  “I can’t tell you what to do with your money, Parker.  That’s definitely something you need to discuss with God, but I do have an idea or two regarding a new vocation.  That is, if you’re interested.”
 I can’t imagine what she’s thinking or how she came up with it so quickly.  I sure haven’t gotten to the point where I can think past the loss of my life as a mercenary.  Anyway, I’ll take the bait and see where it goes.
 I shrug at her and say, “Sure, tell me what you’ve got.”
 She’s so excited to share her idea with me that she’s nearly vibrating with energy.  “Well, you mentioned something about having a limited skill set, but is there any reason you can’t take the skills you have and go legit?  I mean, why not be a guard for someone who’s noble or, at least, not a criminal?”
 I push out my lower lip while I think about her suggestion.  “Well, there’s something to be said for that.  You’re right, I already possess the skills needed so I guess it would just be a matter of getting my name known among a different type of clientele.  So, yeah, I suppose that could work nicely.  What else you got?”
 I get the impression this next idea is the one which has Cassie so excited.  She’s all over this.  “Have you thought about being a contractor?”
 “A contractor?  What do you mean?”
 “I don’t mean a general building contractor.  Although, there’s no doubt you could do anything you put your mind to, but a specialty contractor.  You have this cabin so jacked up with specialty hydraulics and hidden compartments and such, I don’t see why you couldn’t do the same sort of thing for other people.  Wealthy folks would go nuts for this kind of customization.  You already have the knowledge and experience to make it work.  Again, I think it’s just a matter of getting your name among the right type of people.  I know you’d excel at it.”
 Hmmm.  I cock my head to the left and think on Cassie’s suggestion for a minute.  I’m fairly certain I’d have never thought of that idea without her help.  I like the sound of it a great deal.  I thoroughly enjoyed putting the tweaks on my residence, and, Cassie’s right, I did an outstanding job. 
 “Cassie,” I willingly admit, “I like that idea.  You could really be on to something.  Wealthy people are the only ones who could afford such up-grades, so the price could certainly reflect the uniqueness of my work.  I could continue with a talent I already have and still make a good living.  Thank you so much.  I love that idea.”
 Cassie is pointing her forefinger at me, her blond curls bobbing as she nods her head in agreement.  “See, you’ll figure out everything.  It’ll just take some time.  I guess you already know you have a third option just in case the other two ideas crash and burn.”
 I look at her knowing my cluelessness shows on my face.  I can’t imagine what she’s about to say.  “What third option?”

 Cassie gives a great big grin and does her best to speak around a fit of laughter, “You could always teach line dancing!”  
 I shake my head at her silliness and join her in a hearty laugh.

Chapter 19 - The Problem with Pubs

Cassie doesn’t mention leaving a second time.  Without ever actually discussing why, she stays at the cabin with me.  We spend the next several days doing a variety of things.  I love reading the Bible she gave me.  It’s frail and tattered and by far the most cherished thing I own.  I ask her so many questions she must get tired of my eagerness to learn, but I fear I’m getting a late start in life and need to make up for lost time.  
 One afternoon it occurs to me Cassie stayed at the cabin, so she could help me get started in my new life of faith.  She keeps to her side of cohabitation and I keep to mine.  Each of us behaves maturely, in a manner befitting our respective genders and life goes from one day to the next, sweetly and peacefully.  My feelings for her have only grown, but I won’t speak of them to Cassie.  I won’t allow selfishness on my part to compromise the harmony we’ve achieved.
 I’d like to keep my shooting skills sharp, so I ask Cassie her opinion regarding target practice.  She sees nothing inherently sinful about shooting for fun.  She believes guns are fine as long as they’re used properly.  It’s surprising and nice to learn I don’t have to give up every aspect of who I was prior to choosing Jesus.   
 I continue to spend time at my gun range.  Obviously, I won’t need my   weapons the way I used to, but I see no sense in letting a honed talent rust to nothing.  Cassie accompanies me several times.  With practice, she gets better at hitting the target.  It’s probably because I finally convince her to keep her eyes open while pulling the trigger.
 We take the Jag into Laredo for a day of dining and shopping.  Cassie picks out a new Bible, a pink one of all things.  Who knew there’s such a thing as a pink Bible?  She’s thrilled with it and assures me she has no problem starting over, filling its margins with historical notes and spiritual insights. 
 True to her word, Cassie gets on the phone and locates a pastor with the body mass needed to baptize me.  So, the highlight of the week is a trip into Roma, Texas, a small town of just over ten thousand.  It sits south and slightly west of my compound and is large enough to contain several churches.    
 My baptism was an unusual experience to say the least.  It was simply Cassie, the pastor and I who were present, so it was very low key with absolutely no pressure.  The pastor asked if I believed God raised Jesus from the dead and if I’d accepted Jesus as Lord of my life; the same two questions God, Himself, asked me.  
 The pastor didn’t pry into my personal life.  He had no questions regarding how I came to my faith.  I suppose he deduced what he needed from Cassie’s presence and participation.  She was genuinely excited about this event in my life.  Her excitement translated into happy chatter, so there was nothing low key about her.   But then, there never is.  I’m just fine with that. 
 After I answered the pastor’s questions, he laid me backward into the water until I was completely covered.  Quickly, he helped me back onto my feet and handed me a towel from the edge of the baptistry.  He congratulated me for making the most important decision of my life and said a brief prayer over me.  In his prayer he asked God to strengthen my faith and guide my steps as I live for Him.  He told me God’s Spirit now lives within me, so I will never walk alone.
 Given my life experience, never being anywhere without God should feel like an intrusion.  However, that’s simply not the case.  While living in denial of God’s existence, I was unaware of His surveillance of my life.  I never gave God a thought, one way or the other, so it never occurred to me He was watching over me the entire time.  As it turns out, I was never alone anyway, I was simply unaware of His observation.  Now, after accepting Jesus as my Savior, I have access to God’s resources, and I find His constant presence surprisingly comforting.  
 I don’t yet know what my life with Jesus will look like, but I know from watching Cassie it will be challenging and so very worthwhile.  I come up out of the baptistry water with an overwhelming sense of peace and much excitement about my future.  I can’t wait to see what God will do with me and for me.


 Cassie and I return from the gun range one evening, just a week or so after the pub fiasco.  We arrive at the cabin anxious to start dinner because the long afternoon of practice has left us famished.  We’re tinkering away with our food prep, chatting amiably about our respective performances, when I hear someone shout from outside the cabin, several yards beyond the kitchen door.  
 Without the ability to decode his garbled speech, I know instantly who it is. I step back and look out the small window which sits alongside the kitchen door. 
 Cassie pokes her head in front of my abdomen, so she can peek out at a lower level.
 I know what I’ll find when I make eye contact with her.  I look down to find her face and, sure enough, her ghost white complexion frames her saucer sized eyes.
 Her hands begin to tremble, and her voice shakes as she attempts speech.  “Is…tha-a-at  whooo I th-i-i-i-nk it i-i-i-i-s?”
 Calmly, I answer her question. “Yes, Cassie, the idiots from the pub are here.”
 She screws up her face in horror and asks, “How d-i-i-i-id they finnnnd me?”
 I do my best to reassure her.  “Cassie, they’re not after you.  They probably aren’t even aware you’re here.  They came after me for the beat down I gave them.  I knew that night they’d show up here at some point.  It’s simply taken this long to find me.”
 Now, Cassie’s miffed enough she can put her words together.  “You knew they’d come and didn’t tell me?” 
 I sigh and shrug.  “Well, yes, I guess that’s technically true,” I admit reluctantly.  “However, I could have been wrong about their appearance here, so to have told you could have worried you unnecessarily.”  My logic sounds reasonable and considerate when I say it in my head, yet, it loses some of its nobility as it leaves my mouth.
 For Cassie, panic instantly trumps being uninformed.  “Well, what are we going to do?” she wants to know as she starts speed talking.  “We can’t call the cops.  You can’t kill them.  Well, you could, but there’d be bodies to bury and loved ones who’d come looking for them, which in turn brings us back to the cops.  So, like I asked, what do we do?  What do we do?!”
 Good grief, anxiety on steroids much!? 
 I stay calm.  I really need to.  Cassie is wound up enough for both of us. “Relax.  This is all going to be ok.  Look at them.  All three of them are drunk beyond reason.  If they had to get this liquored up to confront me, they aren’t really much of a threat.”
 Cassie wide eyes me like I’ve lost my mind.  “Are you sure?  Cause to me, it looks like they’re drunk and packing handguns.  Liquor only ever makes things worse.  Didn’t you teach me at my first lesson all guns have the potential to kill?  Or, did I get that wrong?  Besides, I’m pretty sure guns don’t care if they’re being wielded by drunks.”  
 Boss Man fires his gun into the sky which causes Cassie to jump and let loose of a petite scream.
 “Yo, redneck, come on out,” Boss Man demands with his whiskey tainted authority.  “We know you’re in there.  Come on out and take the whooping you got coming!” he demands like that’s all it will take to get me to leave the safety of my home.  
 What an idiot.
 He doesn’t get the response he wants, so he fires his gun again, this time aiming for my kitchen door.  The bullet ricochets off the metal ingress with a serious ping, the doppler effect scattering its remnant sound.
 Cassie jumps erect and screams at the top of her lungs.  
 I cringe.  Now, these yahoos know of her presence, and it will only spur their motivation.
 “Yo, redneck!” he screeches in a drunken slur.  “Did I just hear a voice of the female persuasion?  Is it that hot little number you had with you the other night?”  He takes the back side of his hand and uses it to wipe slobber filled whiskey off his chin, then continues. “I’d sure like to finish what we started.  How ‘bout you boys,” he asks his two cohorts as he signals them to flank the cabin.  
 They finish off their open liquor bottles and fling cigarette butts to the ground as they begin their opposing circular approaches.
 Boss man is getting agitated and a little impatient. “Yo, redneck, I’m talking to you!   Are you deaf or sumpthin?”  
 Cassie screams again as the alarm on the southwest corner sounds.  I look at her and ask in a somewhat irritated tone, “Will you please stop screaming?”
 Cassie gives me death rays with her eyes and asks again, “What are we going to do?!”
 “Well, the first thing I’m going to do is disable the alarms.  They’re annoying the life out of me,” I state matter-of-factly.
 “Ok, that’s all well and good,” she agrees enthusiastically, “but what are we going to do about those guys?  How are we going to get out of this mess?”
 Without answering, I step away to shut down the alarms.  I can feel tension leave me the instant the sound ceases.  It’s impossible for me to overstate how much I love peace and quiet.  I arrive back at the kitchen window where Cassie awaits just as a bullet hits it, also ricocheting, but with a quieter sound.  Cassie begins to scream but catches herself.  She looks up at me for affirmation because she did as I asked.  
 I use my thumb to caress her left cheek.  Affirmation in place.
 “Yo, stupid redneck!!!” Boss Man commands, his face red with rage, prepped for violence.  “Get yo self out here and take yo’ whooping.  You’re wearing long on my patience!!”  
 Ignoring Boss Man, and listening intently, I hear one of the other thugs at the front door, and the third one at the window in the master bedroom.   Another shot is fired, this time from the front porch.  I hear an agonizing scream and surmise the idiot shot himself by standing too close to the solid metal door when his gun discharged.  Sure enough, I see the tall lanky member of this train-wreck crew run past the living room window on route to Boss Man.
 I hear the hysterics in his voice as he screams, “Dowdy!  See what he made me do!  He made me shoot myself!  This is all his fault.  Oh man, I gotta see a doc.  I gotta get this looked at!  Dowdy help!”
 Cassie isn’t the only one who can speed talk.  Cry baby much?
 Cassie crouches by my knees, listening intently.  
 Boss Man isn’t nearly as concerned about his wounded compadre’ as the compadre’ is about himself.  “We aint goin’ nowhere till we get this sunna bitch.  You hear me!” he screams at his team member.  
 “YO, REDNECK!!” he screeches so loudly I fear he could pop one of those necessary veins in his neck.  He fires seven single shots, four of which hit different parts of my cabin.  As I watch his every move, I come to believe he intended all seven shots to hit my home, but he’s so wasted he couldn’t get it done.  How in the world do you miss a house when you’re standing thirty feet from it?  It’s a good thing compadre’ is behind him or he might not fare so well.
 I look down at Cassie where she crouches on the floor in front of me.  She’s trembling, and I realize the rapid-fire shots did damage of a different sort.  I pull her chin upward with my forefinger to find tears pooling in her eyes.  I squat so I’m at eye level with her.  The idiot outside continues his rant as I say, “Cassie, these guys can’t hurt us.  I promise, everything’s going to be just fine.”
 Cassie seems convinced I’ve lost my mind because she says, “I’m pretty sure someone forgot to tell them they can’t hurt us.”
 Okay, she’s going to take some convincing.  “How many shots have they fired?” I ask her.
 She shakes her head quickly like my question is completely stupid.  “Way too many, if you ask me,” she answers curtly, still trembling.
 I continue with my tutorial.  “They’ve fired eleven shots and in the process one of them managed to shoot himself.  How many of the remaining ten bullets have entered the cabin?”
 Cassie pauses in her panic long enough to look around.  “I guess that would be none?” she admits begrudgingly.
 “Yes, that’s right,” I say calmly.  “Do you know why?” 
 “No, I don’t know why,” she smarts off with renewed fervor.  “How could I possibly know why?  For that matter, what difference does it make?”  She seems a little miffed we’re having a conversation in the middle of a gun fight for which we aren’t even armed. 
 Cassie looks up at the window, listening to our inebriated interloper and his ludicrous rant about ‘whooping’ me.  I use my finger on her chin to return her gaze to me.  When our eyes make contact, I say, “The reason the gunfire hasn’t penetrated the cabin is because of its armor plating and bullet proof glass.”  
 I stop there and give Cassie just a minute to process my words.  
 Suddenly, tremendous relief fills her eyes.  “Really?”
 I nod my head at her.  “Really.”
 Without missing a heartbeat Cassie moves on to what she considers the second problem.  “Well, that’s great and all, but that doesn’t get rid of them.  They aren’t going to leave because we waited them out.”
 I nod again.  “You’re right.  So, let’s go get rid of them.  What do ya’ say?”
 Cassie’s eyes light up.  “Let’s go.  Anything’s better than just sitting here.”
 I take her by the hand, we stand and stroll across the kitchen toward the master bedroom.  Outside, Boss Man sees us through the window and ups his rant to the next level, firing several more shots at the cabin.  When I glance out the window, I see self-inflicted guy sitting in the dirt, crying like a baby.  
 I have no idea what happened to train wreck number three, it doesn’t really matter, and I don’t really care.  If this whole thing wasn’t so incredibly sad, it would be hysterically funny.  Riley would get a huge kick out of this situation.
 When we get to the interior of my closet, I punch in the code to open the access to the underground tunnel.  Cassie and I climb down the short ladder to the floor of the tunnel then traverse the length of it to its egress some six hundred feet into the mesa. 
 I open the access above me and climb the short ladder, taking a peek at our unfriendly visitors.  The sight before me is a wonder.  Boss Man is still firing random shots.  He’s had to have reloaded by now.   Third Guy is trying to tend to Self-inflicted Guy and rein in Boss Man at the same time, but Boss Man is having no part of calling it quits.  He’s so mad, I think the top of his head might actually go air born.
 I descend back to Cassie and say with absolute resolve, “We’re about to finish this.” 
 I fail to convince Cassie who says, “I can’t imagine how.  Hiding down here in a tunnel seems kind of unnecessary when the house is bullet proof and we could have stayed above ground.  You know, where it’s light and dry….”
 I smile at her naivete`.  I reach over and pick up my RPG-7 which stands loaded and ready for a fight.  This is probably the max range for my weapon of choice, but that pick-up truck of theirs is a target too big to miss for someone with my skill.  The gas tank is probably on the other side of the truck, but the grenade can access its inventory regardless of its position.  
 I reclimb the short ladder and situate the weapon on my shoulder.  I offer Cassie my free hand, assisting her ascent of the ladder so she can watch the fireworks.  Uncertainty saturates her features.  I know she’s unfamiliar with these weapons and is completely unprepared for what comes next.  She takes my assist and positions herself next to me on the ladder.  
 I look over at her and ask, “Have you ever seen anything so pathetic in your life?”  The train wreck crew has no clue they’re being watched or how suddenly their worlds are about to change.
 Incredulous, she asks, “You’re not going to shoot those guys with that thing, are you?”
 I chuckle at her question.  “No, Cassie, that would be overkill on steroids.  Plug your ears with your fingers and watch.”  I position my arm and sufficiently brace it for the kick back.  I line up my shot and let it fly.  The grenade covers the distance to its target in the space of half a heartbeat, making mincemeat out of their poser little ride.  Boss Man’s back is hyper-extended as the blast blows him forward several yards.  He lands face down, grabbing a mouthful of prairie dirt as he comes to a sliding stop.  Surprisingly, Incapacitated Guy and Third Wheel are picked up from where they sit and are blown nearly as far as Boss Man.  They lie motionless in the dirt not far from their world class leader.
 Cassie stares in horror and asks in disbelief, “Are they dead?  Parker, you didn’t…..did you?”
 I shake my head at her and patiently say, “Just watch.”  After a few minutes, the train wreck crew begins to rally.  As the fog of concussion wears off, their memories begin to return.  In no time, they’re vertical, checking to make sure they’ve got all their parts.  When they’ve confirmed with each other, as well as themselves, everyone is intact, they turn tail and run like mad men, screaming the entire way.  I swear, it’s one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen.  
 I can’t stop the convulsions of laughter which overtake me.  Cassie stands on the ladder next to me, moving her gaze from me to the burning truck and back again.  Her mouth hangs open in awe at what she’s just witnessed.  “Oh, my gosh, Parker!  What have you done?  They’ll just come back and bring the law with them!”
 “Cassie,” I correct her as I shake my head in disagreement, “Those idiots will run from here to Oklahoma just to pick up their asses.  They can’t bring the cops back because they left bullet holes in my house and their truck is on fire in my yard.  The cops would have questions for them, questions they don’t want to answer.  No, this ends here.  It ends today.”
 Cassie asks me for confirmation with her facial expression, then her words, “Are you sure?”
 I squeeze her slender shoulder within the fingers of my left hand.  “I promise,” I say with certainty.
 She smiles up at me, accepting my word as truth.  “That really was something.  Could you teach me how?”
 I smile back at her, remembering her penchant for eye closing while pulling a trigger.  “Not a chance,” I say.  “No way, never, not gonna happen.”

 She’s still smiling as she says, “Well, you know I had to try.”
 I smile back at her, “Yeah, I know.”

 Two days later, after the burned truck has had a chance to cool, I chain it to my truck and tow it out to the main road, leaving it parked just off the blacktop.  I chuckle heartily at the memory of the event.  The train wreck crew can come collect it or they can leave it where it is.  I’m fine with whatever they decide.

Chapter 20 - Epiphanies

I’m aware Cassie’s hurting right now, but her current struggles do nothing to negate the vast knowledge she’s accumulated during her faith journey.  Until Manny’s death, Cassie spent her life in service to God, doing all she could to make a difference for others in His name.  I know there’s much she can teach me.  
 So, Cassie and I spend the next few days doing a great deal of nothing much in the way of work.  Work waits because far more important things need our attention.  We spend a great deal of time reading our Bibles and, for me, that translates into countless questions.  We talk endlessly about Jesus and my new life of faith.  
 I learn much about the world in which I’ve chosen to live.  One foundational precept of my new life is the knowledge that God’s grace doesn’t give me the freedom to sin.  I must live like I appreciate what Jesus did for me.  I must believe with my life, not just my words.
 Spending such a large amount of time with Cassie helps me understand that people who live for God are by no means perfect.  Nor are they exempt from the adversities of life.
 Adversities sent by God, or allowed by Him, to fine tune a believer’s faith, will never be experienced by unbelievers.  On the other hand, those who don’t believe will face the adversity of eternal suffering from which believers are exempt.  I suppose the basic difference between these life afflictions is pain which produces something worthwhile, versus pain which produces nothing but misery.
 I know firsthand how difficult it is to humble oneself to accept Jesus.  Sin is ugly, pervasive, complex and deadly, but it’s also incredibly enticing.  It dresses itself up, making itself as appealing as possible to every individual.  Sin is the easy road because it requires no change from us and, at the same time, soothes our inflated egos by telling us what we want to hear, that we’re fine just the way we are.  Sin is the lose-lose scenario in the war of life.
 However, humility to accept Jesus requires us to change, requires us to commit to Him.  I understand how offensive God’s truth can be, trust me.  Sin makes humility elusive because, let’s face it, it’s much easier to coast through life believing the lies of the Fallen One.  Satan will gleefully take God’s created ones away from God and usher them into hell, forever assuring himself of company during his eternity of suffering.
 We can embrace denial, embrace a lost dark life, as I did for so many years.  We can make fun of Jesus’ sacrifice until we turn blue in the face, but here’s the truth the Fallen One doesn’t want you to know:  Jesus fulfilled some 300+ Biblical prophecies and there were 500 witnesses to His resurrection.  Jesus lived, died and rose from the grave.  His earthly ministry, death and resurrection are in the past.  They’ve already happened.  There aren’t enough lies or mockery to ever change the absolute nature of this fact.  Simply stated, if you don’t want Jesus on earth, you’ll live without Jesus forever.   This life is a test, a warm-up, if you will, for the end game.
 I know my parents never wanted me.  It’s a memory which haunts me every day of my life.  Because of their selfishness, I was dropped into foster care at a very young age.  As sad as it is, no one in foster care really wanted me either.   I was in fourteen different homes before I aged out of the system. 
 I’ve heard stories of foster parents who were giants, stepping out to adopt many, if not all, of their foster kids.  As great as that is, it sure wasn’t my experience.  I was simply an increase in monthly income.  To be fair, some of them were kinder than others, but I never had anyone to call Mom and Dad.  I never had a true home, one I knew as the forever kind.  My living arrangements were merely placements.  
 I was thrilled to enlist in the military, to finally be a part of something I considered worthwhile, especially something chosen by me as opposed to something done to me.  It was the closest I ever came to being part of a family.   Now, though, I realize, until Jesus, no one ever loved me enough to die for me.  The willingness and ability to die for someone else is really something, isn’t it?
 So, I suppose all of this begs two questions:  Does a loving God withhold truth from us, letting us languish in uninformed choices, all while making no demands of us as we race toward unavoidable forever consequences?  Or, does a loving God deal with us honestly, proving His love for us by marking the course to alternate consequences while making necessary sacrifices on our behalf?  Really, which one sounds more like love?
 Cassie is living breathing proof that people who follow Jesus are flawed and broken.  They can be lost, angry, confused, yes, even sinful, just like the rest of us.  But for me, this realization is a happy one because it takes the pressure off my efforts to live as God wants.  
 Before I gave my life to Jesus that day, I was convinced I’d never measure up, I’d never be worthy of a relationship like the one He and Cassie share.  Now, I know the unworthiness I felt, the doubt within me, was Satan’s tug on my allegiance to him.  Before Cassie intervened in my life and showed me a better way, Satan had me, hook, line and sinker.  
 I’m not worthy of Jesus’ gift.  No one is.  That’s kind of the point.  Jesus died for me when I was lost to Him.  I didn’t have to earn a place with Him.  He’d already done the work of earning my salvation and my trust.  Looking back over the last few weeks, it seems incomprehensible to me I nearly let a lie from Satan prevent me from making the best decision, the best choice, of my life.
 Now, I go forward into my life of faith without the oppression of perfection. Jesus eradicated the need for me to be perfect.  I find this truth incredibly freeing.  He will love me and stand by me as I fumble my way through life with Him, mistakes and sins included.  Can life be any sweeter than that?
 I’ve finally come to understand that God’s love for me wasn’t enough to save me.  God loves everyone equally, but there will be billions of souls added to the western realm because they failed to respond to God’s love for them.  
 Yes, God’s love was there the entire time, but I had to do my part and accept Jesus.  When that happened, Jesus stepped forward and said, “Father, my death counts for Parker.”   
 Without Jesus, I was without the hope of redemption because my salvation was based upon my own merit.  I had no clue I wasn’t strong enough, smart enough, determined enough, wealthy enough, or powerful enough to do it on my own.  
 The good news is that Jesus embodies everything I’m not.  He’s the sole connection through which my separation from God is reversed.  I had to accept Jesus, so God could accept me.  
 This is God’s plan.  There’s no other path for reaching the eastern realm.  If God allows into heaven those who refuse Jesus, then God betrays His Son.  God’s betrayal would make a mockery of Jesus’ suffering and death.  As a result, the work Jesus did as the personification of God’s thought process becomes a lie.
 Here’s the thing though:  God’s integrity prohibits His betrayal of those who trust Him.  I can trust God because Jesus trusted God’s promise to raise Him from the dead and position Him by His side in heaven.  God never betrayed Jesus.  God will never betray me.  
 I’ve witnessed His character with my own eyes and, now, I’ve staked my future on it.  For the first time in my life, there are no errors in my vision or my objectives.
 I’m uncertain as to what lies ahead of me.  Hard times will come, of that there’s no doubt.  If Cassie’s life of devotion didn’t prevent the loss of several people she loved, I’d be foolish to expect different for myself.  I won’t always understand everything God does for me, through me or to me, but I have His Holy Spirit living within me to help me learn as I journey.  God’s Spirit will keep me strong.  
 I have unanswered questions, lots of them, but I no longer walk alone.  Relief washes over me as I absorb this grounding, comforting truth.  Because of my new-found solidarity, I must accomplish nothing under my own power.  Jesus has always wanted more for me than I could ever want for myself.  As long as I seek Him, He will help me become the man I was born to be.  
 That revelation removes such a weight from my shoulders.  I look forward to the days to come because I know the One who holds my days.  As my relationship with God deepens, my anticipation and excitement grow.   A life like this, one filled with a purpose elevated far above the common daily grind, is one I never imagined.  For the first time in my life, I have hope, real hope because it exists independent of good luck or my own efforts.  I’m so grateful to God for loving me enough to send Jesus to die in my place and for giving me a life which matters eternally.  I can’t wait to get started.

 I take a deep breath and shake my head to dispel my serious thoughts.  I need to pull myself together.  Cassie and I have plans to hit the target range in a short while.  I need to discuss with her the possibility of going into Laredo for supplies.  Between the two of us we’ve put a ding in my ammo cache.  It’s nothing serious by any means, but one can never be too careful.    
 I chuckle at myself.  Being a believer doesn’t take away the soldier in me.  I will always do my best to be prepared.  It’s just part of who I am.  There’s nothing sinful about it, and I’m unsure if it stems from my extensive military training or from my personality, but it is what it is.  I’m fine with that.
 Cassie and I have a productive time with our target practice.  She’s improved drastically since she began shooting just a couple of weeks ago.  Actually, she does so well I’m prompted to give her a high five and a “you go, girl!” pat on the back.  
 She gives me a big smile and, if you can believe it, blushes at my compliment.  We head back to the cabin to fix a late supper.  We talk for a short while about the importance of prayer in the life of a believer, then call it a night, agreeing to run into Laredo for supplies some time tomorrow.

 My internal alarm clock wakens me right on schedule.  I meander toward the kitchen missing the usual aroma of brewed coffee.  When I arrive in the kitchen, I find it empty.  Cassie’s nowhere to be seen.  I’m somewhat puzzled because she’s usually up before me and has coffee waiting.
 That’s okay, it’s not a big deal.  I’ll make the coffee and let her sleep in.  Thirty minutes later, Cassie still hasn’t appeared.  The behavior she’s exhibiting is out of character for her.  I expected the smell of brewing coffee to rouse her from sleep.  
 It occurs to me she might be ill, so I decide to check on her and see if she needs anything.  I don’t want to startle her into wakefulness unnecessarily, so I knock softly on her bedroom door.  There’s no response to my knock.  I knock a second time, this go-round with slightly more force.  Still there’s no response from Cassie.
 Now, I’m genuinely concerned.  I have no wish to violate her privacy, but if she’s ill enough she can’t hear me or is unable to respond, I need to know.  I turn the knob and walk into her room.
 Wonder of wonders, her bed is empty.  I check her bathroom.  Nope, she isn’t there either.  A thick, gnawing, cramp begins to grow in my belly and the alarms in my head go off as I race back to the kitchen.  
 There’s only one weapon I keep stashed to which Cassie has access.  It rests in a holster secured to the back of a cupboard which stands next to the kitchen door.  A box of ammo sits tucked into a drawer of the same cupboard.  
 By the time I reach the cupboard, I’m nearly breathless and covered in stress sweat.  I already know what I’m going to find.  I reach behind the cupboard to find an empty holster.  The drawer contains an empty little niche where the ammo once sat.
 Quickly, I glance out the window on the north side of the cabin to find that my truck is no longer in its usual spot.  The repercussions of my discoveries cause me to double over in a sudden urge to empty a belly which has absolutely nothing in it.  I gag and sputter myself back to a standing position as I call out to God for help.
 “Okay, God, where is she?”
 Instantly, I hear His voice.  “You know where she is, child.”
 “Okay, maybe I do, but why didn’t you stop her?”
 “I have done nothing but try to stop her since vengeance became her god.”
 “You could prevent this!” I yell at Him.  “What good comes from Cassie’s death?!” I demand.  I’m so angry I can’t think right now.  This is so different from what I’m accustomed to, situations where emotional detachment reign. This is nothing but emotional attachment and I can’t believe how it clouds my ability to process information.
 “Her behavior is not mine to prevent.  She is on a journey of her own choosing.  Her will is not mine to take.  She must relinquish it freely.”
 “God, I can’t stand this!  If you won’t stop her, then I will!  I won’t let her die.  I won’t let Montenegro take her from this world like he did Manny!”  I nearly scream every syllable as they leave my mouth.  I’m panicked like I’ve never been before.  My thoughts race as I run through the cabin, doing my best to think of and collect anything and everything I might need for a job of this size.  
 The numerical code to my garage keeps alluding me.  I’m so angry and terrified it takes me four attempts to open the cavity which houses my car.  I deposit my firearms and ammo into the passenger floorboard where I can easily reach them.
 “Dear God, please help me.  Help me save her.  I don’t know what I can do, but I have to try.  Help me to think clearly!  Please, Lord, help me.”
 Instantly, an insight comes to me.  Without any effort on my part, but for the prayer I just uttered, a new understanding of Cassie’s presence and participation settle over me.  The entire time she’s been present at my home, she’s been learning to shoot while picking my brain about covert procedures.  
 A miserable “ah-hah” moment consumes me.  Cassie’s played me like a fiddle.  I couldn’t have been more clueless.  In a sudden fit of rage, I hit the steering wheel with both fists, then pull on it like I want to sever it from the rest of the car. 
 Naively, I believed if she was here, she was safe.  This entire time I thought I was protecting her, keeping her out of Montenegro’s sights, buying time until the hatred she has for that man could die, then she’d walk away and move on to her future.  
 In truth, I managed to give her the skills she needs to get herself killed.
 His voice comes to me.  “I’ve shown you her choice is not impromptu.  Young Cassie has nurtured her anger, going to great lengths in pursuit of her disobedience.”
 I sob brokenly while sitting behind the steering wheel of my car.   My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.  I’ve never been at such a loss.  I’ve never been this scared.  What will I do if Cassie dies?  How will I ever go forward?  Will I want to?  
 Terrified of what He might tell me, but determined to do as He commands, I ask Him, “Are you telling me it’s too late?  Are you saying there’s nothing I can do?”  
 His voice comes to me with such absolute resolve, the truth of it resonates to the marrow of my bones.  “There is hope as long as she draws breath.  Go, do what you can for her.”
 “Will you go with me?” I ask weakly, craving solidarity like never before.
 “I am with you, child.  You are never alone.” 
 I peel out of my garage, leaving most of the rubber from my tires on the concrete beneath me.  I have no idea how this is going to end.  If I drive fast enough, I could possibly catch her before she makes Monterrey, which is the best-case scenario.  
 At any rate, I have to make Montenegro’s compound before Cassie.  I fear an arrival time after hers will not end well for anyone.

Chapter 21 - Never Alone

I race through the early morning, shredding the gears of my sweet little ride.  To be sure, it’s a punishment not deserved by my car, but I need it to perform in a manner sure to test its engineering and manufacturing limits.  I guess I’ll discover its true mettle.  I hit the gas a little harder as I remind myself of the necessity to beat Cassie to Montenegro’s compound.  
 As I weave in and out of traffic, my brain performs a race of its own, back and forth from a self-beating for being played by Cassie to being terrified I’ll arrive too late to secure a positive outcome.  All the while, there’s a part of me, my spirit maybe, that prays the entire trip.  I’m so new to my life of faith.  There’s still much to learn.  I don’t know what the specifics of a faith walk are called, but I do know I need to think clearly.  Panic is not my friend.
 If only I hadn’t given Cassie those extra thirty minutes to sleep.  If only I’d known of her departure, I’d have had those few minutes working for me instead of against me.  I can’t believe I let Cassie exploit me the way she did.  How in the world did I miss it?   
 I hit the steering wheel again because... well, I have to hit something and it’s as good as I’ve got right now.
 I’ve spent the past few days soaking up the newness of my life.  I was so busy reveling in my new-found faith, learning as much as I could from Cassie, while    enjoying the time I got to spend with her.  I was so wrapped up in the unexpected goodness of my life, I simply didn’t see her inclusion of me in her dark objective.  
 It never once occurred to me that she wasn’t riding the same high as me.  She was so excited when I gave my life to God and we were getting along so beautifully.  I failed to notice the crippling pain hadn’t left her heart.  I suppose it’s human nature to see what we want, to live in perception as opposed to living in reality.  I guess living in perception is great as long as you can get away with it.  However, when reality comes to call, and it always come to call, it can be a rough ride.  
 I truly want to know God’s opinion.  “Dear God, could I have been a bigger idiot?” I ask as fearful frustration rolls off me in waves.  “Really, could I have messed this up any worse?”  
 “It is not a lack of intelligence on your part, Child.  You have done nothing to contribute to Cassie’s sin.  I do not hold one person accountable for the sin of another.  She stands alone in her choices.”  
 “She’s told me since day one she wanted Montenegro dead.  There must have been something I could have done.” 
 “Your care for her offered time and encouragement to choose the holy path.  She could ask nothing else of you.  She stands alone in her choices.”
 “I know, God, I know, but I still feel responsible….”
 “Stop berating yourself with false guilt.  You could not help her because she did not want your help.  She refused My help repeatedly.  She stands alone in her choices.”
 A broken sob catches in my chest, pummeling the heck out of it.  I hit the steering wheel again as I depress the gas pedal closer to the floorboard.  
 Suddenly, it occurs to me I hear no noise whatsoever over the CB radio attached to the underside of the dash.  Quickly, I check to make sure it’s actually turned on and is operating as it should.  
 In confusion, I shake my head.  The radio appears to be in perfect working order.  How is it I’m hearing no police chatter, no trucker chatter or conversations of any kind?  Considering my speed and the heft of traffic, it’s probably not a wise diversion, but I flip through several channels, trying to figure out why there’s such radio silence.
 Quietly, understanding settles over me.  A pervasive calm permeates me   physically and emotionally.  I nearly ask God a question when He interrupts me.
 “I am with you, child.”
 I smile as I realize God is clearing the path for me to reach Cassie.  I floor the gas feed as I weave and bob past startled commuters.  It takes as long to reach Laredo as it will to clear the border and make Nuevo Laredo.  
 “Please God, stall Cassie at the border.  Give me the chance to stop her before she enters Mexico.  If I can just catch her, I can stop all of this before it gets out of hand, before Cassie gets herself killed.”
 I’m unsure as to why I get no response from Him. 
 Traffic thickens as I approach the border.  I visually comb the vehicular congestion, doing my best to spot my familiar little truck.  Regardless of my gaze’s direction or duration I find no sign of Cassie.  My shoulders slump in defeat.  Utter disgust causes me to sigh heavily as one of those boulder sized knots forms in my gut.  
 Hopeful I’ve missed the obvious, I continue to watch traffic while I wait my turn at the iconic border booths.  It would help so much if I could truly believe I was ahead of her in traffic, but with her minimum head start of thirty minutes that scenario is highly unlikely.  Honestly, I have no idea when she left my cabin or what her actual lead time is.  This new realization makes my gut roll.
 My heart pounds heavily in my chest.  I break out in a stress sweat.  All I can think of is Cassie confronting Montenegro and dying for her effort.  
 This stupid traffic!  Why won’t it move?!!   
 I hit the steering wheel one more time.  In my mind’s eye I see Montenegro drawing his sneering little bead on Cassie’s center mass.  Then, because he’s a psycho, he lowers it to one of her thighs, ripping it open with an accurately placed bullet.  Thigh number two.  Ditto.  Next, he takes out each of her shoulders.  In my head, I hear Cassie’s screams of agony as the monster takes out his narcissistic impulses on the woman I love.
 Bile from my empty gut makes its way up my esophagus into my mouth.  I raise out of my seat and empty my mouth out the open window, then wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.  Next, I use my forearm to wipe sweat off my forehead.      
 I wasn’t thinking ahead when I left home, but man, I’d love something to drink.  It would clean the taste out of my mouth, help cool me and serve as a distraction while I wait in traffic.          
 Come on, people!  Get through the line and get out of my way!  I fume internally. 
 This time I hit the side panel of the driver’s door with the back of my elbow.  The interior panel groans at the insult.  I swear my blood pressure is going to take off the top of my head!  I drop my face into the palms of both hands and rub it vigorously.
 When I look up, I notice a 32oz. Styrofoam cup present in the forward cup holder.  In disbelief, I pick up the cup and discover it contains ice water.  Tears stream down my cheeks.  Humility and gratitude saturate my heart as I thank God for His provision.  I drink my fill and look up to find the traffic in my line has   freed up, allowing me to clear the border booth relatively quickly.  Once I clear obvious law enforcement, I hit the gas and consume Mexico’s Federal Highway 85.
 Something as simple as not sitting in traffic allows hope to enter my heart.  I didn’t see Cassie back at the border, but that doesn’t mean she wasn’t there.  Also, working to my advantage, is the truth, and I know it as truth because I know Cassie.  Even if she beats me to Montenegro’s, she’ll have a hard time walking into that compound.  
 Right now, my voice is ringing in her ears, reminding her of the hopelessness of her objective.  She’s hearing me tell her how truly difficult it is to pull a trigger and take a man’s life.  Cassie knows, because of our target practice discussions, the slightest hesitation on her part opens a window for an opponent to get in the first shot.  Rethinking her own vulnerability might be enough to save me precious minutes.
 Also working in my favor is the fact that this is the first time Cassie’s been back to the compound since Manny died.  Walking through the front gates of the estate, confronting the actual spot of her husband’s demise, will be far more difficult than Cassie anticipates.  For me, it’s another reason to hope I’ll catch her in time, but, for her it’s simply another reason to hesitate.  Another reason to die.
  Sickened, I groan as a new realization washes over me.  Cassie must get past Riley and his crew before she’ll ever get her chance to end Montenegro.  There’s no way Cassie could ever shoot one of those guards.  They’ve never harmed her.  They never harmed Manny.  Also, because of me, she understands Riley’s actual participation in the events of that afternoon and how he saved Cassie from certain death herself.   I’m somewhat certain he’ll be exempt from her vengeful efforts. 
 Unexpectedly, though, I remember how well Cassie played me to obtain the level of training she now possesses.  If one of the guards stands between Cassie and Montenegro, between her and her objective, she could very well pull that trigger.  What if more than one of the guards stands in her way? What if two guards, or twenty guards, stand in her way?  I honestly doubt if extra adversaries will register in her mind, let alone deter her.  More guards simply guarantee Cassie will not exit her mission alive. 
 “Oh, God, stop her.  Slow her down.  Give me more time!” I plead with Him.
 Once again, there’s audio silence from God.  I shake my head and do my best to dispel an impeding doubt.  I’ll have to figure it out later.  Right now, I have to concentrate so I don’t get us all killed.  
 Once I clear the border, I try to watch for my truck as I make my way south, but I decide if I miss it, I miss it.  It’s more important to get to Montenegro’s compound before Cassie.  She knows I’ll come after her upon discovery of her absence and she knows I’m driving the far superior vehicle, so there’s no doubt she’s in a hurry. 
I make what should have been a nearly four-hour drive to Monterrey in just over an hour and half.  Once I leave Highway 85 and exit onto the smaller roads, I slow my speed to become as inconspicuous as possible.  The closer I get to his home, the more my car stands out among the others present.  Then again, Montenegro uses expensive autos, as do his business connections, so I guess someone could mistake me as a visitor for a different reason.  I can only hope.
 My little truck, on the other hand, will blend into the neighborhood reasonably well.  As much as I hate to spend the time doing so, I slowly peruse the street in front of the compound, as well as, those on the other three sides of it, going as far as three blocks in every direction.  Hope rises in me as I find no sign of my redneck ride and no sign of Cassie.  
 Praise God, I beat her here.  There’s still a chance I can shut this down before everything blows up and I find myself consumed with the kind of grief Cassie’s been fighting for two years.
 “Help me, Lord.  Help me know what to do!” I pray earnestly.
 Still, I get no audible or sensory reply.  I’m not worried.  I know He’s with me because He promised He’d never leave me.  God’s word is immovable.
 Suddenly, it occurs to me Cassie might have parked more than three blocks away, removing my ability to locate her within my three-block reconnaissance.  Yes, it’s possible, but I think it would make far more sense for her to park close enough to determine if Montenegro is in residence.  He might not even be here.      
 Frequently, he leaves his home and can be gone for several days at a time.  Surely, Cassie isn’t reckless enough to walk into the compound carrying a loaded gun without even being certain of Montenegro’s presence.
 If Montenegro isn’t home, the guards will certainly be less work brickle.  I suppose it’s the nature of people to slack off when the boss is nowhere to be found.  But Riley will let them relax only so much before he jerks a knot in their tails.  
 Another thought finds its way into my head.  What about Riley?  What if he no longer works here?  What if Montenegro offered Riley the same deal he offered me, the opportunity to go independent?  What if Montenegro fired Riley?  What if Riley quit for any one of a thousand reasons?  One thing’s for sure, if Riley’s no longer in charge, I probably won’t know the guy who is.  
 Beyond the fact that he’ll be highly skilled and deadly as heck, I’ll know nothing about him.  Well, that’s not exactly true.  If Riley’s been replaced the new guy will have never met Cassie and will have no knowledge or appreciation of her.  She’ll simply be an intruder, a threat to Montenegro and his family.  Just one bullet, just one part of another’s day’s work.
 I groan, break out in a sweat and fight the urge to throw-up.  I troll the street directly in front of the compound one last time as I continue to assess this miserable situation.  The gun Cassie brought with her is a large caliber handgun capable of firing short shot gun shells or long rifle shells.  It’s not a small delicate handgun by any means, but it’s not nearly the size of several semi-automatic handguns included in my arsenal.  
 I know she chose it because it was conveniently located and not locked up with my weapons cache.  Also, I know, if given the choice of any of my guns, Cassie would have chosen this one because the use of shotgun shells will mitigate collateral damage.  The shotgun shells have a much shorter flight time.  The rifle shells cover great distances and have the potential to hurt or kill some unintended target.  As hard as all of this has been on Cassie, harming an innocent person would be her complete undoing.
 Without warning, my breath catches in my throat and my heart seems to stop for several seconds.  Not twenty feet from me, across the street from Montenegro’s, sits my truck.  It’s parked parallel to the curb and looks as if it’s completely at home.  
  It wasn’t here earlier.  There’s no way I missed it, no way, no how.   Cassie must have arrived while I was circling the neighborhood looking for her.  I’ve been busy thinking like a soldier and Cassie’s been busy thinking like….well, Cassie.  To make matters worse, she’s nowhere to be seen.  She’s not in the cab of the truck and I nearly throw out my back looking in every possible direction.  Cassie is not present.
 Crap.
 I park my car and proceed to place weapons of different sizes on different parts of my body.  Quickly, I stash what’s left of my mobile cache in the trunk of the car and walk towards Montenegro’s front gate.  When I arrive at the iron beasts used to secure the residence, I find them open and unguarded.  That’s weird times two.  
 Montenegro’s compound is the quintessential Hispanic structure.  When I began my employment with him, I was told the building’s original function had been that of a mission which was later turned into a school.  Those two purposes explain the urban location, as opposed to the rural locale most people would associate with an edifice used for the residence of a drug czar.  Word among the ranks was that the 400-year-old structure underwent a massive renovation to make it fit for the heinous imperial who now sits on its throne.
 The home sits on a five-acre piece of ground.  Five acres might not be a large plot of land, but considering it’s in the middle of a city, it’s a sizeable chunk of real estate.  The grounds contain most amenities found in a home of this caliber and they are meticulously maintained.  
 The building itself is comprised mostly of traditional materials used in many Mexican homes.  The obvious exception is the roofing material.  It’s not made of the terra cotta tiles of former days, but of highly polished copper shaped so that it resembles the favored roofing material of eras past.  It’s a roofing medium which will outlive anyone who’ll ever call this residence home.
 There’s a large entry courtyard on the north side which abuts the main road of town.  There’s also an interior courtyard which sits between the northern and southern wings of the house.  This courtyard is particularly opulent and uses much of the acreage the house itself fails to consume.  It contains a sizeable pool and a serviceable tennis court, both of which see very little use. 
 Most of the first floor is flanked by a wrap-around porch with sturdy stuccoed columns and elegant arched openings.  The elevated area of the arched perimeter is punctuated by smaller arches which allow extra light into the covered porch.  Montenegro’s office, a large living area, which is flanked by a sizeable dining room, and an enormous kitchen comprise most of the first floor.  The second story is made up of several bedrooms and baths.  
 The house is three-stories tall, but the third story is limited to certain areas of the structure.  They include an extended guard station which begins on the north wing and runs along the western edge to include a portion of the southern wing.  The guard station is the architectural crown of the home.  It’s embellished with arches, which mimic the portico on the ground floor, and it has ornate domed edifices which give the appearance of small fourth story aspects.  The remainder of the third tier is comprised of the master suite, laundry facilities and a thoughtfully conceived gym area.
 The final aspect of the property is the massive stucco fence which defends the perimeter of the compound.  It contains two egresses, one on the northern face and the other on the southern.  All traffic uses the northern gate.  The southern counterpart is always locked and is used only in emergency situations.
 Per protocol, these massive iron structures are closed much of the time.  The gates are left open only when Montenegro is not in residence.  However, open gates always require the posting of two guards at the entrance, as opposed to one.  
 When the gates are closed the compound is much quieter and quite lovely.  The landscaping is luscious, fragrant and colorful, which makes for a soothing spa-like retreat.  The only thing marring its beauty is the evil which dwells within.
 I’m hyper alert.  The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.  I wish I knew Cassie’s location.  Information is as useful in a fight as is any weapon and, right now, I don’t have enough of it.  I sidle up to the edge of the western gate and carefully look around it into the interior of the courtyard.  Puzzled beyond belief, I see no one.  
 Is it possible Cassie’s already penetrated the perimeter defense and the guards are holding her captive at this very moment?  Even so, there should be secondary guards, at least one, posted at the gate in case Cassie’s appearance served as some sort of diversion, allowing another attacker to sneak past an unguarded entrance.  In this case, the second attacker would be me.  Now, I’m not here to hurt Montenegro, or anyone else for that matter, but Riley, and his crew won’t know that.  They’ll act to defend the man who signs their paychecks.  As they should.
 Why wouldn’t that stubborn woman listen to me?  Why doesn’t she understand we’re all going to die?  We’re in this crap storm because she wouldn’t listen!  
 Quietly, I hear from God.  “Cassie stands alone in her choices.  You stand alone in yours.”
 My breath catches in my chest and I close my eyes as awareness smacks me into ownership.  What can I say to refute God’s words?  He’s right, and He’s called me to task for placing blame elsewhere.  I’m here because I choose to be, plain and simple.  This isn’t Cassie’s fault.  If I follow her past the edge of life into death, then at least I go forward to meet Jesus.  Far better to die with Him than without.
 I take one quick look to verify I’m alone in the courtyard, then make a fast dash across the expanse, coming to rest under the arches of the portico.  This puts me in a position to look through some of the first-floor windows.  As covertly as I can, I peer through several of them and learn absolutely nothing.  I see no one and it makes no sense to me.  Somewhere around here there are many highly trained, armed guards, but for some reason none of them are posted where they should be.
 The only thing I can surmise is that Cassie’s been captured and is being held for interrogation.  They’ll assume she’s part of a larger force and will attempt to retrieve intel from her.  It doesn’t matter what they do to her, she’ll never break.  She’ll die before she admits she’s been with me the last few weeks.  She’ll go to her grave without implicating me and could very well die protecting me.  
 I do my best to squelch thoughts of the guards beating Cassie, trying to extract non-existent information.  I fight back the bile which climbs my throat.  
 Cassie will do what Cassie does; tell the truth.  She came here on her own seeking vengeance for the death of her husband.  The truth will get her killed same as some made-up story because they’ll never believe a female missionary would have the balls or the smarts to show up armed and alone.  
 They’ll assume she’s crazy, like I once did.  While I had time to discover the truth about Cassie for myself, Riley and his team simply don’t have the luxury of time.
 I’ve heard no gunfire since arriving, so if they have her, she must still be alive.  I don’t have the ability to scale three stories of the interior of this house without being discovered, so I decide to go with Plan B.  
 I run to the corner of the portico, tucking my service weapon into the waist of my jeans as I go.  Hand over hand, I use my upper body strength to silently pull myself up the drainpipe to the roof terrace which abuts the Montenegro’s master suite.  I peer over the terrace wall and, finding no guards in sight, deftly land on the tile floor of the terrace, retrieving my weapon as my feet hit the floor of the roof.
 There’s no way the ugly business of beating information out of an interloper will take place in the bedroom of the boss, so this is as safe and secluded entrance as any I know.  I stand just outside the French door entrance to the room, listening, doing my best to ascertain any useful information.  
 Surprise, surprise, I hear nothing.  No crying from Cassie.  No fist pummels from the guards.  No raised voices from anyone.  There’s absolutely no sound which provides any information.
 Mentally, I shake my head.  What in the world is going on?  Where is everyone?  Nothing about this makes sense.
 Tentatively, I test the knob on the door.  Wonder of wonders, it turns, so I silently enter the residence.  I find Montenegro’s wife asleep in her bed.  Well, asleep or unconscious.  I’m not sure which and I don’t have time to find out.  Push comes to shove, she won’t be intercepting me or alerting anyone to my presence.  I let her lie undisturbed.
 Next, I enter the hallway, practically holding my breath so I don’t miss a sound, the slightest of which could indicate my impending death or at least the discovery of my presence.  As quickly as stealth allows, I check Montenegro’s small and seldom used gym, which I find empty.  Last, there’s a tidy laundry room in which I find an elderly maid folding the kids’ freshly laundered clothes.  I startle her, but she instantly recognizes me and calms enough to communicate.  
 I put my forefinger to my lips and raise my eyebrows at her, asking her compliance with my request for quiet.  She smiles at me while using her fingers to simulate locking a key and discarding it.  I smile warmly back at her in appreciation.  She simply returns to her duties without another word.  
 I exit the room and begin a slow descent of the stairs to the middle floor.  I’m truly grateful for tile steps.  They don’t have the inherent give or squeaks that wooden steps could use to betray my presence.  Silently, I exit the landing on the second floor and begin a steady sweep of the rooms on this level.
 Infrequently, I hear laughter, in the form of male voices, as it makes its way up the staircase.  The guards sound as if they’re standing around cutting up while passing the day.  That would certainly explain the lapse in security protocol.  It explains why no one is in the control room monitoring the camera feeds.   And it explains why the alarms are turned off.  I know from personal experience how frequently they’re triggered by harmless things.  Sometimes, it nice to have a break from them.   While all of this is nice and tidy from my perspective, it’s incredibly obvious Riley is slipping in his duties as security chief.  I’m not sure if it’s because he’s gotten lazy or cocky.  What do I care?  His inattention breaks my way regardless.
When I worked for Montenegro, from time to time, we’d take recesses from the constant pressure of being guards to a worthless high value target.  The good news is it only happened when Montenegro was away on business.  So, that piece of information provides hope.  
 Additionally, I hear Montenegro’s children as they pass the time near the presence of their security detail.  They squeal with laughter as they interact with one another.  They used to find great fun in chasing each other around the giant center circle which comprises the first floor.  It makes sense for them to be engaged in play, in perhaps that very activity, right at this moment.
 Upon finishing my sweep of the second floor, I find no signs of Cassie.  If the guards aren’t holding her, where is she?
  What do I do next?  Logically, I’d descend to the first floor and continue my search there.  Best case scenario, doing so greatly increases my chances of getting caught.  Or, worst case scenario, it will get me killed.  The chances of running into one of the guards, or even one of the kids, is quite high.  So far, the only threat of exposure is from a compliant maid.  
 I think for a moment and decide Cassie isn’t in this house.   Where she is, I have no idea, but she’s not here, so she’s in no danger from Montenegro or his detail.  To risk getting caught is foolish because it will prevent me from assisting Cassie when she does show.  
 I begin a slow return to the third floor when a flurry of activity from downstairs catches my attention.  The guards are on the move, but they aren’t coming up the stairs, so their activity has nothing to do with me.
 I bolt my way up the remainder of the staircase, quickly check Mrs. Montenegro’s status and then hurry through her room, exiting onto the roof top terrace.  I head straight for the terrace wall and look down upon the residence courtyard.  
 Much to my horror, I see Montenegro himself exiting his luxury car in preparation for entrance into his first-floor office.  As he disappears under the arches of the portico, his car pulls away and exits through the iron gates, which close right behind it.  
 No, God, No!! This can’t be happening!  He’ll be here when Cassie makes her appearance.  Why, oh why, does he show up now?! 
 God doesn’t respond to my prayer and what I see in the courtyard below me is enough to stop the heartbeat in my chest.  Now that she’s confirmed Montenegro’s presence, Cassie emerges from the shrubbery on the far side of the courtyard.  She was hiding right there when I entered the compound looking for her.  I walked right past her and she never said a word.  If she weren’t so effective at teaching others about God, I’d swear she’s missed her calling.  She’d have made one heck of an agent.
 The layers of Cassie’s determination peel away much like the layers of an onion.  Every covert behavior she exhibits demonstrates her resolve to a greater degree.  I so grossly underestimated the passion she has for avenging her husband.  It doesn't seem possible that I failed to believe her or that I misunderstood her conviction, but I did.  
 Somewhere inside of me, and I guess it was because she seemed so fragile and unqualified, I discarded the earnestness of her intentions.  I thought she was loopy, flighty or maybe even, not all that bright.  Even as she stood on my porch, defying me, I never once took her seriously.  I guess a person sees what they want to see. 
 Man, what a little time can teach someone.  It’s taught me how foolish I’ve been about so many things.  Cassie’s intrusion into my life has taught me as much, if not more, about myself as it’s taught me about her.  I was so confident in my abilities as a soldier, so cock sure that no one would ever get past me.  I shake my head in disbelief at my new perspective.  
 Dear God, I’m such an idiot. 
 I know Cassie is off the rails in this pursuit of hers.  I know it’s wrong, sinful even, but I admire her loyalty and wit.  It makes me mad she’s bested me twice now, but I’ve got to say I’m as impressed with her as I’ve ever been with anyone.
 I watch as she steadily makes her way across the courtyard, unaware of my observation.  Instinctively, I want to call out to her, doing my best to capitalize on any hesitation within her.  But I fear calling out is a useless effort.  If all the words previously spoken by me haven’t hindered her efforts, then nothing I say now will make a difference.  If I can’t put my hands on her, to physically deter her, then I’m wasting my time.
 Additionally, calling out will only alert everyone on the ground to her presence.  There will be no more chances once she has a bullet planted in her chest.  My choices will have all been spent
 One option is to race back downstairs and do my best to reach her before she reaches Montenegro.  The odds I’ll make my way past the entire squad of guards without being detected are slim.  It’ also possible I’d come face to face with the kids.  I’m not dressed like the rest of their security team, so they’ll know instantly that something’s amiss.  Bottom line, if I get killed while trying to reach Cassie, I’ll be of no use to her and she’ll die anyway.  
 I could climb down the drainpipe I used to access the terrace, but I’ve got to move quickly, and that egress would be far too noisy.  Honestly, it would take too long as well.
 The best option is to jump from this terrace and do my best to come up behind her before the others learn of her presence.  I swallow hard.  It’s a three-story drop.  
 Can I do it?  Absolutely.  Can I do it without injuring myself and making targets of both Cassie and me?  I seriously doubt it, but what choice do I have?  
“Dear God, help me!” I pray as I take one step backwards and propel myself forward over the terrace wall, pivoting off the ledge on my right arm.  I fall hard and fast, trying not to think about the impact and the resulting damage.  I do my best to prepare myself for a hard tuck and roll which, hopefully, will lessen the damaging energy caused by my contact with the ground.  
 One thing working in my favor is the surface of the courtyard.  It’s not made of poured cement, but of small, loose, pea gravel.  Its user-friendliness is about to be determined.  From this height, though, I’m convinced I’ll find it lacking. 
 Consciously, it seems as if my fall takes forever.  I see the ground coming up at me, but it moves slowly as if it’s toying with my efforts to save Cassie and get us both out of this horrible situation.  I lean to the left, preparing to roll away from the giant home out into the courtyard.  Contact is imminent.  I try not to, but I lose the fight with myself and close my eyes toward the incoming damage.  I can’t help but smile at the memory of Cassie closing her eyes during target practice.  
 Suddenly, and with zero warning, I sense a change in my trajectory.  I open my eyes and find the ground has stopped its ascent towards me.  Unbelievably, I find myself traveling parallel to the ground!  
 I look down at my waist to see what might be causing a sudden sensation of snugness present there.  Much to my surprise, I find giant fingers wrapped around me.    
 Calliope!  
 I do my best to turn within her grasp, to look up at her perfect porcelain features.  I’ve never been happier to have her nearby.  My elation vanishes, however, when I make eye contact.  I’m mortified to realize I don’t know this creature.  This being is of the male gender and is massive, even larger than Calliope. 
 While watching this awe-inspiring creature, I instinctively flinch and begin a useless struggle to free myself.  This angel, who has shown me no harm whatsoever, indulges my senseless efforts, smiles knowingly at me and says, “Peace, Young One.  The Great One sent me in response to your prayer for assistance.  I am Audie, your angel.”
 To say that relief washes over me is to do an injustice to both relief and washing, but my fear vanishes instantly.  Without so much as the sensation of my feet touching the ground, Audie releases me, flies past me, and turns to salute me, one soldier to another.  Before I recover my voice, he vanishes from sight.
 Still speechless where I stand, I absorb another experience of suspended time.  I know this massive micro event required mere seconds of my life, and I haven’t forgotten I need to get moving, both for Cassie’s sake, as well as, my own.  Somehow, though, the esteem and gratitude I feel in this moment keep me grounded.  I’m upright without a single broken bone or damaged muscle.  This should not be possible from a three-story fall.  Yet, I stand here as living breathing proof that it just happened.  
 A guardian angel.  My own.  Cassie told me believers get a messenger from God to help them with their lives.  It’s not that I doubted her, it’s just that I never thought it through quite this far.  Cassie was right, like she’s been so many times.  I have a guardian angel sent to me by God!  Tears spring to my eyes at the realization.  My heart fills with such joy I sink to my knees in the loose gravel and thank God for His provision.  
 Suddenly, my awe is set aside as my mission reasserts itself.  I jump to my feet, wielding my weapon, and sidle up next to the exterior wall just outside Montenegro’s office door.  The door itself stands ajar, so I can easily hear what’s said from the other side of it.  I back up to the nearest window and take a split-second glance into the room.  What I see is enough to make my blood boil.  
 Cassie stands several feet from Montenegro.  He’s behind his desk, but Cassie has his center mass lined up with the sight on her gun.  Worse yet, Riley stands as the third point in this messed up triangle.  He has his gun sight aligned with Cassie’s heart.  
 I sort through my options at the speed of light, trying to decide what I should do next.  To the best of my knowledge, Riley is unaware of my presence, but that will change.  Protocol dictates he sent his men to check the perimeter of the home.  They will soon be upon me.
 Be that as it may, if I step into the room, gun drawn or not, my presence will only distract Cassie and will upset her beyond reason.  She’s fully aware I’m on the grounds, but she won’t tolerate my interference.  I won’t be responsible for diverting her attention when the odds are already so stacked against her.
 I could step around the door quickly enough to fire one shot at Riley, but the only thing which will stop him is a kill shot.  Because of Jesus, I’m not that man anymore.
 It occurs to me to pray.  “What to do, Lord?  What do I do to make this work?”
 The auricle of my ear lets me know I have incoming information to which I need to listen.  
 “Wait.”   
 “But, Lord, I…”
 “Wait,” comes the command a second time.
 I take a much-needed deep breath, return to my original position and stand my ground in obedience.  I listen to the conversation on the other side of the door.  
 I hear Cassie as she pours her heart out to this man who’s incapable of caring less.  It’s not enough for her to kill him.  She wants him to know why.  She wants him to understand his death is for this specific reason and no other.  If only she understood she’s wasting her breath, that this man is without remorse or empathy.
 “You took Manny from me.  He never harmed anyone,” she stammers in a sob fractured voice.  “You had no right, you selfish bastard!  There’s no reason big enough to take the life of such a good man,” Cassie laments.  
 Her tears are relentless, so intense that her words are barely understandable.  I know without seeing for myself, she’s waving her weapon around, far more worried about baring her depleted, broken soul, than actually shooting Montenegro.  She’s so focused on her hatred it hasn’t even occurred to her Riley could end her life at any second.  I fear she couldn’t care less about that truth.
 I listen as Montenegro baits her with his crisp voiced indifference.  “Don’t come at me as if I’ve done something wrong,” he warns her.  “Your husband accosted me when I emerged from my car that day.  He interrupted an extremely important phone call…”
 “You killed him over a phone conversation?!”  Cassie screams back at him.  “You had no right!!”  she continues.
 “I had every right, stupid woman.  He was in my way!” Montenegro roars back at her. 
 “What did he want?” Cassie demands of him.  “Why was it so urgent he speak with you?  I don’t even know why he died!”  Cassie rages logically.  
 I can hear the smile in Montenegro’s steely voice.  This man truly believes he can play with Cassie’s emotions as she stands before him.  He believes she’s incapable of pulling the trigger which will end his life.  
 Montenegro shrugs his shoulders and begins slowly, “He didn’t say much, not that I gave him a lot of time, but he did say something about one of the guards molesting you.  He was adamant I find the offender and do something about it.”
 I close my eyes and clench my fist.  The memory of that brief encounter two years ago flashes through my mind.  I sigh with resignation and my gut rolls as ownership washes over me.  
 I hear Cassie gasp and ask, “Wh…, wh…  what did you say?”  Her voice is breathless, like it doesn’t belong to the same angry woman of mere seconds ago.
 Montenegro continues, “Like I said, this man of yours was speaking over top of another conversation so I only got bits of it, but he was angry.  He felt you’d been mistreated in some manner.  He’d conveniently forgotten that your presence here at my home was never requested, but merely tolerated for the sake of my children.   He was out of line to speak to me the way he did.  Had he cost me the deal in play during his interruption I would have killed you as well.  Fortunately, for you, the deal prospered.  Now, leave here before you regret your behavior.”
 I can’t see Cassie from where I stand, but I continue to listen.  The news that Manny died because of the way I treated her is enough to completely derail her mission.  I’m unsure whether Cassie missed what Montenegro said or if she’s compartmentalized it for the time being.  I hope, for her sake, she stays focused.      
 I needn’t have worried.  It takes only a second for me to get my answer.
 I hear the resolve in her voice as Cassie responds with steel of her own, “I’m not leaving here while you’re alive, you depraved terrorist.”  
 Montenegro believes himself a true bad guy, and to be honest, he is, but he’s oblivious to the mettle of which Cassie is made.  He seriously underestimates the pain he’s sent careening through her life and the fortitude she’s demonstrating in her effort to set it right.
 I’ve come up against Cassie’s steel myself.  For the life of me, I don’t know how this is going to play out.  From somewhere within my memory, my brain pulls forward a physics lesson about an immovable object meeting an irresistible force.
 I contribute by doing what’s already become instinctual for me.  “Dear God, help us.  Please, help us all,” I pray under my breath as Montenegro’s voice returns to me.
 “Watch yourself, woman.  I returned home in a splendid mood because of another successful deal, but your insolence is testing my patience.”
 Cassie laughs out loud.  It’s a raw hysterical laugh of pure disbelief.  “Are you stupid enough to believe I care about your patience?” Cassie asks in seething rage.  “Are you dense enough to think I could ever respect a piss ant like you? The sheer absurdity makes Cassie laughs again.  
 I know Montenegro well enough to know there’s no better way to insult him than to laugh in his face.  Montenegro isn’t the only one baiting the opposition.  
 Cassie continues her assessment of the narcissist. “You are someone who feeds drugs to school children, addicting them and forever screwing up their lives.  Someone who beats his wife into giving up on everything good God gave her.  Someone who kills innocent men on a whim simply because you were inconvenienced for time span of a heartbeat.  You’re just a whiny little man who’s set yourself up as a tiny god running your evil little kingdom, treating others as if they exist merely to amuse you…”
 “Riley!” Montenegro screams, “I’ve had enough!  Put an end to this!  It is, after all, the reason I keep you on payroll.”
 My heart stops in my chest.  “God…,” I begin.
 “Wait,” is His reply.
 “Riley has orders to kill…”
 “Wait.”
 It takes every ounce of self-control I possess to stand in obedience.  I draw upon every lesson learned from those who out ranked me in the service to every lesson learned since.  I know in this instance, and without a doubt, I’m incapable of obedience based upon my own will.  I feel the Presence with me, giving me the strength to do as God asks.
 There’s been no gunfire, so Riley didn’t follow Montenegro’s order.  I know this entire situation has unfolded very quickly, but, so far, Riley’s team has failed to make it to the front of the residence.  Their arrival must be imminent.  When they make their appearance, they’ll discover my presence because I’m going nowhere. 
 I hear Montenegro from inside the door, “Riley!” he screams, furious that Riley failed to obey his command to kill Cassie.
 Cassie isn’t finished quite yet.  “Shut up!!!” she rages at Montenegro.  “You are not calling the shots anymore,” she informs him.
 “This is my home and I am king here!” Montenegro roars back at Cassie, still in denial regarding her willingness to kill him.  “My men will do as I tell them!” he adds as if he’s reminding himself, as well as Riley, that his word is to be obeyed.
I’m desperate to see what’s happening.  As covertly as I can, I put the outside edge of my left eye just past the door frame. The instant my eye clears the edge of the door I find Riley’s gaze locked on mine.  In such a way that his communication is visible to only me, he shakes his head as a sign to stay out of things.  
 I know him well enough to know he understands I’m here because of Cassie.  He’s asking me to trust him with Cassie’s life.  I’m not terribly sure why I’d do that.  Riley is a solid operator, but he’s still a mercenary who works for Montenegro, not for me.
 As it turns out, Riley and I are positioned perpendicularly to Cassie and Montenegro.  Neither of them is aware of my presence or of the brief confab between Riley and me.  I can see that Montenegro is not armed.  He’s not a threat to Cassie at this moment, except through his orders to Riley.  It confuses the heck out of me, but Riley, for whatever reason, is in no hurry to obey his boss.
 I hear Riley’s men coming up the covered portico behind me.  I step away from the door briefly and am relieved to find Decker, one of the original crew members in the lead.  When I worked for Montenegro, I was Decker’s superior officer.  A rogue thought plants itself in my brain, so I silently raise my forearm, giving the command to halt.  Wonder of wonders, Decker does as I tell him.  Habit can be incredibly useful.  Lucky for Decker, I’m not here to cause him any harm or he’d already be toast.  I raise my finger to my lips, indicating I want his team silent and in place where they are.  Decker nods once and passes the order through the ranks.
 I return my attention to the drama in the office.  Cassie continues to hold her gun on Montenegro.  By now, though, her eyes have dried, and her demeanor has taken on a heftier life and death edge.  As I watch the scene before me, I hear the rest of Riley’s team approach from the other end of the portico.  I leave it with Decker to give them their orders.  
 It appears Montenegro really is reaching the end of his patience.  “Riley, I’ve given you an order, yet this cunt stands before me unscathed.”
 “Shut your mouth, you evil jackass!!” Cassie screams at him.
 Montenegro just can’t help himself.  “You are not going to shoot me, whore.  You lack the courage to do so,” he jeers while smirking into Cassie’s enraged face.
 With great earnestness, Cassie smiles back at him and says quietly, “Knob on the lower left cabinet door.”  Cassie drops her firearm to realign its sight on said knob and fires.  The tidy little gun sounds like a bomb going off in Montenegro’s office.  The windows rattle as the shot leaves a sizable scatter a mere inch from Montenegro’s backside.  
 The look on Montenegro’s face is priceless.  No doubt, Cassie has his attention.
 “Riley!!  What the hell is wrong with you?!”  Montenegro blasts in disbelief.
 Cassie speaks again, “Knob on the lower right cabinet door.”  Cassie realigns her shot and the windows rattle once again, still barely missing Montenegro’s backside, only in reverse.  The expensive piece of furniture will never be the same.  Then again, I’m pretty sure Montenegro won’t either.
 By now, Montenegro’s Hispanic skin is as ashen as possible.  Cassie’s certainly made a believer out of him.
 I watch as Cassie realigns her weapon for the third and final time.  The sight of her firearm is centered in Montenegro’s chest.  “Want to guess where the next one lands?” Cassie asks with deadly steel lacing her voice.  
 From out of nowhere, and without any warning, Montenegro’s children slide past Riley to get to their father.  It stands to reason the sound of gun shots frightened them, leaving them in need of reassurance.  That’s totally normal, but the guards should have sequestered them somewhere safe.  Then again, the guards scattered to their assigned posts upon learning of Montenegro’s return.  They had no warning the compound was under siege. 
 The children squeal, “Papa! Papa!” as they run forward to embrace their father.  They’re probably aware of the danger in the room but are more concerned for their father than for themselves.  As I watch them embrace Montenegro, it becomes readily visible that the left arm of his son is wrapped in a plaster cast.
 I swallow hard, knowing in my gut the reason for the medical device.  I make eye contact with Riley and nod toward Montenegro.  He understands I’m asking if the child’s father is responsible for the broken arm.
 Riley answers my query.  Ever so slightly, he nods his head one time.  
 Montenegro’s smile beams with understanding.  His own children now flank him.  In this moment, they’ve assured his safety.   When the children get settled next to their father, they turn, and for the first time get sight of Cassie.  
 I watch as sheer joy takes hold of their little faces.  “Cassie!!  Cassie!!” They squeal in delight as they desert their father and run to their beloved friend.  Cassie is once again fighting tears, just for different reasons this time. 
 First, she’s thrilled to see the children.  The love she has for them is written all over her face.  Second, she’s deduced the need for Alejandro’s cast.  This knowledge alone would be enough to break Cassie’s heart.  Third, there’s no way in this world she can shoot Montenegro with his children present, so her mission is over.  As long and as hard as she’s fought to get to this point, she finds that truth both tragic and relieving.    
 I watch in disbelief and horror as Cassie absentmindedly lays her firearm on the desk in front of her.  In this instant she’s concerned with wrapping her arms around the waiting children.  Her decision is the difference between Cassie’s mindset and the mindset of a soldier.  I want to scream, to warn her of the serious mistake she’s just made, but it’s too late.  Montenegro scoops up Cassie’s gun and takes a bead on her.  He witnessed, only moments ago, the damage Cassie’s gun creates, yet it makes no difference to him his children are between him and his target. 
 Things are going from bad to worse.  “Dear God…”
 “Wait,” is all I get from Him.  Why do we wait on everything?  If we don’t do something, Cassie, and these kids, are going to die!  This maniac is willing to shoot his own children!!  Why are we waiting?! 
 I make eye contact with Riley one more time, and raise my eyebrows in a question, asking if I should get involved.  Yet again, Riley slightly shakes his head at me.  
 I know Riley isn’t acquainted with God.  He’s not hearing God speak to him as Cassie and I do.  How is it Riley and God agree?
 Much to my surprise, and in one seamless motion, Riley repositions his body so that his automatic rifle is aimed at Montenegro’s head.  Montenegro’s complexion goes pale again, only paler than before.
 “Riley!  What are you doing?” Montenegro demands.  “You work for me.  Do as you’re told and kill this hypocritical frump!  Do as I say and end this right now!”
 Without flinching or batting an eyelash, Riley speaks authoritatively, “Cassie, take the children through the doors into the courtyard.  Keep them safe.  Do you understand?”
 Cassie’s breath catches in her chest.  From where I stand, I watch as confusion takes hold of her ability to think.  Slowly, she looks at Riley in disbelief, and says quietly, “Yes, I understand.”
 Clearly, she doesn’t understand and neither do I, but I’ll take a break for our team anywhere I can find one.
 Riley urges Cassie forward with his stern tone.  “Cassie…!”
 Suddenly, pulled from the daze in which she finds herself, Cassie encourages the children to leave the drama laden office ahead of her, their backs to their father, with Cassie’s own body as a shield for them.
 Montenegro’s children ignore his demands to stay put and willingly turn to leave with Cassie.  His rage is evidenced by the expletives he hurls at the three of them.
 Does Montenegro’s rage stem from Cassie’s mockery and defiance or does it come from the realization his children have abandoned him?  Is he forgetting Riley’s gunsight is on him instead of Cassie?  Is he in denial about Riley’s willingness to follow orders?  Is he simply so enraged that he’s unable to think in his own best interest?  I’m not sure of the exact thoughts going through Montenegro’s head, but I do know they’re rooted in selfishness and exploitation.     
 Cassie and the children are nearly out the door.  Just a few more feet, then a change of direction, and they’ll be out of harm’s way.  I want more than anything to rush into the room and expedite their egress, but my feet are grounded, something akin to the way Calliope stayed me in the oasis that afternoon.  God’s Spirit assists me in my efforts to keep my mouth shut.
 It’s okay, Parker, I remind myself. You’ve done everything God’s told you to do and it’s worked so far.  Keep obeying.  Keep trusting.  He’ll get Cassie and those kids out of there.
 Cassie seems to be moving very slowly.  The actual seconds it takes this scene to unfold seems like days of tortuous waiting.  Montenegro is still screaming like a madman when I hear it; the unmistakable click of a handgun hammer as it locks into place, just prior to firing.  
 Cassie and the kids aren’t quite out of harm’s way.  The fear I feel in this instant, the instant before Cassie dies, is both unshakeable and unbearable.  
 Riley squeezes the trigger of his own gun, leaving only that nano-increment immediately prior to discharge.  His command echoes throughout the downstairs, fracturing the remaining nerves of everyone involved.  “Montenegro!” 
 Montenegro hears Riley, but is so focused on Cassie and the children, he gives only a sideways glance in concession.
 Riley continues.  “You’ve got one chance.  Lay down the weapon.  Now.”
 Montenegro is incredulous.  “Are you threatening me, you sniveling cracker?   Are you blind?  Can’t you see what’s happening?!  She’s taking my children from me!” Montenegro demands.  “Do your duty!!” he screams as spittle sprays from his mouth.
Montenegro’s efforts fail to rattle Riley.  His extensive training serves him well, allowing him to stay calm and focused as he says, “I see exactly what’s happening.  Cassie is taking your children out of harm’s way.  That’s all.  You’re the one pointing a loaded weapon at them.  Put down the gun and we all live to see tomorrow.”
 Couldn’t have said it better myself.  
 Cassie and the kids are nearly out of the room.  Just two more steps.  One.  Two.  Cassie hustles the children right past me without even looking up.  I have no idea if she’s even aware of my presence.  
 Cassie’s safety is guaranteed for the moment, so my ability to breathe returns.  However, I can’t leave the door just yet.  I’m connected to the drama in the office.  It’s necessary I have first-hand info because there’s no margin for error.  If Montenegro lives, Cassie will be unable to find refuge.  She’ll spend the rest of her life on the run, always and forever looking over her shoulder.  Unfortunately, a changed life for me means I no longer have permission to end his threat to Cassie’s safety.  When he comes after her at some later time, that will be a different story.
 I refocus my attention to the players in this game.  Now that Cassie is out of his sight line, Montenegro turns to face Riley.  His face is blood red with the rage coursing through him.   He screams at Riley as spittle sprays from his lips, “How dare you betray me in this manner!  After all I have done for you!”
 Riley’s cool even tone exposes the advanced training sequestered beneath his calm façade.  “Stupid fool, I owe you nothing.  Your death here today means nothing to me.  I’ll be employed somewhere else as early as tomorrow.  You perceive yourself as some invincible god of your own little kingdom.  You’re under the impression a hissy fit will deliver you from your choices.  Welcome to how wrong you are.  Put down the gun.”
 That’s Montenegro’s third chance to do the right thing.
 Montenegro conjures up a maniacal laugh and begins to bob his head in mockery at either Riley or the absurdly unnecessary situation in which he finds himself.  As his head bobs, Montenegro taps the top of his desk with the barrel end of Cassie’s gun.  It appears as if he’s mulling over his options and is about to come to a decision.  
 Montenegro probably isn’t aware of it, but Riley’s training will allow him to stand with razor edged focus for hours.  The average person can stand such intensity for only a few minutes.  Let’s face it, when it comes to out maneuvering a soldier such as Riley, Montenegro is the embodiment of average.
Montenegro is good at making money, by all evidence, brilliant even, but he continues to wear blinders with regards to the truly important things of life.  His inflated self-worth insists he answers to no one.  His delusion is clearly calling the shots.  He behaves as if he can fight his way out of this.  Montenegro is the only person present who fails to understand surrender is the only winning scenario.
 Suddenly, the self-love holding Montenegro prisoner dictates he aim his gun at a soldier who already has him in his sights.  Sadly, Montenegro uses the upward swing of his bobbing gun to try and take Riley by surprise.  
 Riley’s finger dispenses with the balance of his trigger’s action.  One shot lands neatly in the center of Montenegro’s forehead.  Cassie’s gun, uh my gun, falls next to Montenegro’s prone body without ever having hurt anyone.  
 I close my eyes, drop my head rearward, and take in enough air to keep me upright.  I take one second to say, “Thank You, God.  Thank You for never letting go of us.”    
 I turn to find Cassie.  She’s kneeling in front of the children, doing her best to avert their attention from the chaos which reigns inside their home.  They’re sobbing, their slender little shoulders shake with the innate knowledge things didn’t go well for their father.  Cassie does her best to pick up the pieces of their broken little hearts.  
 This is the first time in my life I’ve ever experienced gun fire from the victim’s perspective, and I must say, I don’t like it.  I didn’t lose Cassie, but I came closer than I ever wanted.  I empathize with the children more than I care to.  
 I hear a woman’s screams and can only surmise Mrs. Montenegro is aware of her husband’s death.  In no time, she comes careening out the office doors into the courtyard in search of her children.  Alejandro and Maria run to their mother, who ushers them into the house through a different door. 

 Cassie and I stand just a few feet apart, having watched the beleaguered family exit the courtyard.  Neither of us is sure where to look, but we both do our best to avoid looking at each other.  
 Personally, looking at Cassie is all I want to do.  My heart is beating so hard in my chest it feels as if it could exit my body.  I can’t find any injuries on her from this distance nor does she act like she’s in pain, so I guess I’ll have to be satisfied with the information I glean from a simple glance in her direction.
 Now that Cassie knows the truth, well, now that I know the truth, I want nothing more than to talk to her.  I want to know what she’s thinking, to determine for myself just how much she hates me.  I want to know if there’s any reason to hope for a future with her.  I want to tell her about Audie, my angel.
 I fight the urge to begin a conversation.  I know she’s not ready, and putting her needs first is best for both of us.  It might kill me, but I’m learning there are times when waiting is the best course of action.  
 Right now, she stands with her arms wrapped around her midriff, like she does when she’s struggling with something.  Huge, silent tears make their way down her face, clinging to her skin until they drop from her jaw line.  The moisture they produce causes her neckline to glisten in the late morning sun.  
 The drama is over.  Cassie’s quest is over.  Now, we return to real life, the life in which she understands I’m not the one who pulled the trigger and killed her husband, but I’m the reason Manny’s dead just the same.  All of this hurt and dysfunction, all this pain and misery because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself.
 In that moment, two years ago, I took hold of Cassie knowing it wasn’t what she wanted, knowing it was everything I wanted.  I told myself I was entitled.  I convinced myself I was more of a man than her husband. 
 In that instant, I yielded to temptation and chose to partake of something to which I had no right, no claim.  In my weakness, I set in motion a series of events which would ultimately bring Cassie to me but would ensure I’d never have her as my own.  
 Ownership of the mess I’ve created causes me to bend over so I can empty my foodless stomach.  Dear God, could I have done a better job of messing up my life?  How is it that one undenied urge could forever change the trajectory of so many lives?  What do I do, Lord?  How do I come back from this?
 Quietly, I hear His voice.  “Your life is redeemed, for you chose my Son.  Redemption is not possible in the choice to live without Him.  Pain is a part of life, just as it was for Him.  Cassie’s pain brought you to me.  I used her pain and your selfishness to bring forth your salvation.  I know all.  I AM all, and I reserve the right to work in the lives of my people.”      
 God’s words sound unbelievably good to my shattered self-esteem.  The overwhelming fear and shame get dialed back enough that strength and hope allow me to return to a standing position.  
 I take a deep breath and try to compose myself.  I have to be ready for incoming Cassie because I deserve anything, and everything, she has for me.   
 I know God forgives me, but Cassie’s a different story.  She’s a world class grudge holder.  I know if forgiveness from her had been necessary for absolutely any other reason, it would have been instantaneous.  No doubt about it.  
 But this?  This is too big for us to get past, well, for her to get past.  I’ll drop the whole thing in a heartbeat if it means setting things right with her.  But then, I’m not the injured party here.  
 Cassie is way past injured.  Her heart is busted up like a sidewalk after an encounter with a jack hammer.  She’s invested nearly two years of her life to meet this objective.  She’s spent literally thousands of hours in prayer concerning a variety of things, one of which was me.  She’s risked her salvation, her very relationship with God Almighty, to come this far.
 I raise my head and look over at Cassie, prepared to speak when she suddenly bolts from her standing position.  Riveted, I watch as she flings herself against Riley’s torso.  
 I swallow hard.  My gut rolls over repeatedly.  I owe this man so much, but to see him wrap his empty arm around Cassie’s middle pretty much infuriates me. 
 Cassie has both arms wrapped around Riley’s neck, sobbing into his shoulder.  As Cassie continues to dangle from him, Riley squats and sits his bug out bag on the ground next to him.  He wraps his other arm around Cassie and simply holds her while she cries. 
 It’s all I’m capable of at this point, so I watch, for a full minute or two, until Cassie’s calm enough to speak.  Riley is quiet patience personified.  I’m certain he doesn’t totally understand Cassie in this moment, but he’s polite and accommodating, just the same.  It’s one more reason to love the guy and it’s one more reason not to love him.
 After a moment, Cassie indicates to Riley she’d like to be released.  He instantly obliges, standing her on her feet.  Cassie looks up at him with her tear stained face and a huge smile.  I know she’s smiling because I can hear it when she speaks.
 “Riley, there aren’t words enough to thank you for all you’ve done for me.  You saved my life today, but that isn’t all.  Parker explained to me how you kept me safe the day Manny died.  At the time, I had no idea you were working on my behalf.  So, thank you, thank you for keeping me safe both times.
 Riley looks at me and asks, “Your real name is Parker, huh?  I had no idea.”
 Well, the cat’s out of the bag now and the truth is the truth.  Begrudgingly, I nod my head and admit to Riley the correctness of his assessment.  
 Cassie barrels forward without recognition she just gave up my birth name.  “Anyway, if there’s anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.” 
 Cassie is oblivious to the can of worms she just opened.  But Riley understands.  If he doesn’t respond respectfully, I’ll kill him.  Well, the old me would have killed him.  He doesn’t know about the new me, but, in this moment, it’s convenient to let impressions remain as they are. 
 Riley looks up at me to gauge my reaction.  The look in my eye readily conveys the thought running through my mind.  Riley reads me correctly and steps forward to shake my hand.  
 As we end the handshake, Riley leans in and asks me, “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”
 Reading his insight, I nod my head at him and say, “You’ve got no idea.”
 Cassie watches us silently, utterly clueless regarding the content of our exchange.
 Riley turns to Cassie with the utmost politeness and acknowledges her gratitude with absolute honesty.  “I knew when Montenegro killed your husband, he’d kill you too.  All he needed was the slightest reason.  I couldn’t let you interfere.  I knew you meant him no harm, but it wouldn’t have mattered to Montenegro, trust me.  I couldn’t stand by and let another senseless death occur right in front of me, so I did what was necessary to prevent it.
 “Today could have gone differently.  All Montenegro had to do was surrender.  I wasn’t willing to let him kill you or hurt his own kids.  Believe me, I know he was capable.  A few weeks ago, his son failed to complete some task the way Montenegro wanted, so he twisted the little boy’s arm until it snapped.  
 “In that moment, I saw red.  In my book, Montenegro crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.  Loyalty tends to ebb when you realize you’re guarding evil.  In my disgust, I’ve let security protocols lapse.  My duties here became less important to me.  We continued to protect the wife and kids, but who really cares about protecting someone with such a black heart?  He certainly didn’t care that he nearly harmed or killed his own kids.  
 “How messed up is that?” Riley asks with bewilderment and pain etched on his face.  I know the expression on both mine and Cassie’s faces shows complete agreement with Riley’s assessment.
 “I suppose he knew he’d lost control of the situation when I disobeyed his orders.  Then, he stood there, bobbing his head, tapping the barrel of that gun against his desk, looking for a way out.  He knew the only way to live was to do as I told him, but his pride wouldn’t let him back down.  I gave him every chance to walk away, but he refused every offer I made.  He drew on me, and I had no choice but to defend myself.
 Riley shakes his head again, still in disbelief at Montenegro’s vanity and self- condemning choices.  “That man was all kinds of messed up.  Cassie, if he’d lived, he’d have hunted you to the ends of this earth.  You’d have never known peace until one of you died.  
 “This entire world, and certainly his family, is better off without him.  He didn’t have to be this guy, you know.  I guess the only grief here is the loss of who he could have been.”
 Cassie chimes in, “I’m grateful you disobeyed him, but I don’t understand why you did.”
 Riley shrugs his large shoulders and runs his tanned hand down over his face.  “I listened while you talked.  The anguish in your voice got to me, and I knew, as angry as you were and as capable as you were, you didn’t really want to kill anyone.  If you had, Montenegro would have been dead before I reached his office.  What you really wanted was his witness of your heart break and to find out why your husband died.  Honestly, I think you deserved both.
 “Once you got the answers you wanted, I saw your resolve soften.  I knew then, I had to do what I could to keep you alive.  I’m not responsible for your husband’s death, I didn’t have a single thing to do with it, but if I’d let Montenegro kill you, I’d have been as guilty as if I’d pulled the trigger myself.  I was standing there watching a showdown between good and evil and I knew on which side I wanted to land.  That man was a piece of work and I’m not sorry he’s gone.”
 Cassie cries silently as she listens.  She looks up at me, hurt and confusion shining in her gaze, but she asks her next question anyway.  “I don’t understand how Manny found out what happened.  I never told him because I knew he’d react badly.  If I didn’t tell him, who did?”
 I shrug my shoulders and shake my head.  I have no idea how Manny learned what happened that day.  The morning after I accosted Cassie, I had myself moved to the evening detail.  Purposefully, I stayed as detached as I could and still function as a senior officer.  Furthermore, I was employed with Montenegro for a mere two weeks before he gave me the opportunity to go solo.  I’m as stumped as Cassie.
 Riley nods his head as if he has information.  “I can answer that,” he says simply.  “The day shift guards talked a lot about your husband’s death.  Initially, none of us understood what had happened.  It was this puzzle we kept cranking on.  Then one day, Decker overheard two of the junior guards talking.  Evidently, Parker took a guard by the name of Gonzo to task for something stupid he did one afternoon during his shift.  From what Decker said, Gonzo got really heated about the way Parker treated him.  He said Parker humiliated him in front of his squad.  Gonzo stewed about it until Parker gave him ammo for payback.  Gonzo was present the day Parker accosted you.  
 “At some point, Gonzo took the dirt he had on Parker, located Manny and told him one of the guards had a thing for you.  I guess that’s all it took.  
 “Evidently, Manny got really angry about the way you were treated.  Instead of counting to ten and coming up with an alternate plan, he kind of went off the rails.  
 “I truly believe he was trying to protect you, Cassie.  Heck, any man wants to protect the love of his life.  Manny just didn’t handle it very well.  
 “Maybe with someone other than Montenegro, Manny’s rationale might have allowed him to live.  But you know for yourself what he was up against.  If Manny had simply waited until Montenegro finished his phone call….   But Manny was stoked.  When he came into the courtyard that day, he was angrier than I’d ever seen him.  He was assertive, but he wasn’t the type of guy who bullied people.  He wasn’t carrying a weapon when he approached Montenegro so we had no reason to believe things would go haywire.  Besides, three of us guards were on hand in case Montenegro needed help.  
 “In the span of two seconds, though, Manny went from being angry on your behalf to being dead.  It was so fast and so unexpected there was nothing we could do.  We just didn’t see it coming.  Right after that you came through the compound gates and, well…, you know the rest.”
 Cassie hangs on every word out of Riley’s mouth.  “I don’t understand why he didn’t come ask me about it,” she says in disbelief.  “There’s no telling what the guard told him.  He could have said anything and made it sound much worse than it really was.  Why didn’t Manny ask me?”
 Riley looks over at me before he jumps in with additional information.  “You’re right, Cassie.  Gonzo might have overstated the events of that day just to get Manny worked up enough to go on the hunt of Parker.  My best guess is that Manny’s defense mechanism simply kicked in.  He went territorial without a single thought to consequences.  It probably never even occurred to him that Montenegro himself would be a threat.  That’s probably why he confronted the boss instead of going to Parker himself.  I mean, Parker’s a much larger target to confront.”  Riley shrugs his shoulders in concession.  “That’s all I could come up with and that’s all I know about it.  I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.”
 Cassie’s shoulders slump in defeat.  “None of this brings Manny back to me, but it does help to have some answers.  Where is this Gonzo guy?  Can I talk to him?”
 Riley shakes his head.  “Until Manny died, Gonzo did a great job of hiding his anger at Parker.  With Manny gone, though, I think guilt really began working on Gonzo.  He left employment here the next day.  At the time, I didn’t know why he quit.  He didn’t offer any explanation and I didn’t ask for one.  Heck, it wasn’t any of my business.  My guess is that Gonzo knew Parker would come after him upon learning of his involvement in Manny’s death.  I think that’s why Gonzo tucked tail and ran.”
 Riley looks over and me and watches my face as storm clouds build behind my eyes, then says, “It was probably the right thing for him to do.
 “For what it’s worth, Gonzo’s objective was to get Parker in hot water with the boss.  It never once occurred to him that Manny would pay with his life.  Gonzo’s instinct for self-preservation kicked in, but he wasn’t smart enough to consider all possible outcomes.  He was just smart enough to consider the outcome he wanted.  Even then, he struggled with his decision to rat on Parker.  I think that’s why he waited as long as he did to tell Manny what happened.  
 “I’d even go so far as to say that Gonzo feels bad about how things went down.  Yeah, Gonzo’s a trained guard, just like the rest of us, but he isn’t heartless, just young and not too bright.  I know, though, that’s no consolation for you.  I’m sorry about that as well.”
 It’s official.  The words have all been said and Cassie knows all there is to know.  The color drains from her face and her ability to stand falters.  Riley catches one elbow and I catch the other.  She inhales deeply and says, “My head is just swimming.  I need time to process everything.  I’ve run on anger, adrenaline and hatred for two years, and, now, all of that’s gone.  I don’t know what to do next.”
 In that instant, the three of us turn our heads eastward as the sound of sirens hijacks our attention.  
 Riley says, “Hey, that’s for me.  Gotta go.”  
 I knew when he emerged from the house with his bug-out bag in tow he was prepared to leave this place.  I mean, after all, he did kill a man.  It was self-defense and the dead guy is a low life, evil, exploitive narcissist, but a dead one, just the same.  
 Riley’s already headed for the gates.  He really can’t afford to waste any more time, but I call after him anyway.  “Riley, wait up!”  Riley stops in his tracks and looks back at me expectantly.
 “Cassie, take him to the truck and give him the keys.  I’ll be right with you.”
 She turns a confused gaze upon me.  She doesn’t understand why she’s to leave without me.  
 “Go, Now!  I’ll be right there,” I command as I urge her toward Riley.  
 Reluctantly, she does as I tell her.  I watch as she and Riley disappear through the gate and around the corner.  I sprint back into the house to retrieve the gun Cassie used on Montenegro’s cabinet.  It’s laying right where it fell, next to his dead body.  I grab it and race back to the street.  I take Cassie’s hand and tell Riley to follow me in the truck.  Cassie and I return to my car and the three of us get out of Monterrey as quickly as possible.  
 I’m not worried anyone will follow us.  None of the guards on duty will expose us.  Heck, most, if not all of them, have already fled the compound.  This gig was simply a paycheck.  None of them felt any loyalty to Montenegro.  That’s how mercenaries operate.
 The Mrs. and the kids will say nothing.  Right now, their pain has pushed them into a state of shock, one from which they’ll recover, but ultimately, Mama Montenegro is now calling the shots.  She has freedom for the first time in a long time and she has the money to do anything her heart desires.  She feels nothing but gratitude for what happened today.  I know it as sure as I draw breath.  Additionally, she was asleep upstairs until after Montenegro died and the kids were in the courtyard with Cassie, so none of them knows the truth about what happened.   
 Headed out of Monterrey with Riley behind us, I manage to calm down enough to breathe deeply and realize I’m famished.  I look over at Cassie and find she’s already asleep.  Now that the anger and adrenaline have fled, so has her energy. 
 Enormous gratitude washes over me.  God, thank you this day is over.  Thank you, it turned out the way it did.  Thank you for your faithfulness.  Thank you for enabling me to obey your directive to wait.  My disobedience would’ve changed everything and not in a good way.  
 Being who I am now, creates a part of me that wishes Montenegro hadn’t died.  As evil as he was, I don’t wish the western realm for anyone.  But, to be honest, I wouldn’t feel the same if he’d killed Cassie.  
 At the end of the day, he made his choices just like the rest of us.  It was unlikely he would’ve ever changed his ways.  He bought into his own celebrity, was too wrapped up in himself.  He had no room for his own family, much less Jesus.  His delusions created a false reality for him because that’s what delusions do.  He died at his own hand, the way he wanted.  I hope he’s happy with his choice of the western realm.  However, I’m certain he isn’t.  One thing about it, he’ll fit right in with the other lost souls, lashing out in pain and regret.
 We drive for two hours, putting some distance between us and our recent history.  Grateful for each passing minute, the three of us stop for a quick bite then high tail it home to the cabin.

Chapter 22 - What Comes Next

Exhausted, we finally arrive home.  The trip to get here took slightly more than the usual four-hour time frame.  The pressure was off, so we drove like we were ordinary travelers.  Gotta say, it was nice for a change. 
 Riley follows Cassie and I into the cabin, his bug-out bag in tow.  He sits his bag down and says, “Wow!”
 Cassie smiles over at him and replies, “Yeah, I know, I had the same reaction.”
 Riley’s curiosity gets the best of him.  “What’d you do, Parker?  Rob a bank?”
 Quickly thinking back on my life before Jesus, I reply, “I wish.”  Then to change the subject I add, “Sorry, pal, but there are only two bedrooms.  So, all I have to offer you is the sofa.”
 Riley puts his palm vertical while shaking his head, “No problem.  I’m just glad to have somewhere to crash.  A sofa is perfect.  Thanks, man.”
 Cassie retreats to her room without so much as a spoken word or sideways glance.  I’ll have to catch up with her later.  
 Once Cassie is out of hearing range, Riley smiles slyly at me and asks, “What, you two don’t share a room?”
 My head shakes adamantly.  “Not even close.  Not even once.”
 “What’s up with that,” he wants to know.  “You’ve got it bad for her, so what’s the hold up?”
 I purse my lips and think about my answer.  “There’s no hold up, Riley.  It’s just not the time.  The last two years have been hell for her.  I want things between us to work, so I’ve got to wait until Cassie’s ready to start the rest of her life.  That’s all.”
 “Man!  What happened to you?” Riley exclaims.  “It’s like you’re a whole other person.”
 I tilt my head and nod in agreement.  “I grew up, Riley.  I grew up in more ways than you could imagine.  So, yeah, I’m a completely different person.”
Riley’s huge smile accompanies his curiosity.  “Ok, then, man, let’s have it,” he utters with absolute sincerity, taking a seat on one end of the sofa.
 I ask, just to make sure, in case I misunderstood.  “You really want to hear this?”
 Riley nods his head and says, “Yeah, give me everything.  Lay it on me.  What else have I got to do?”
 I spend the next half hour telling Riley about my journey to Jesus and the part Cassie played in it.  I leave out the mesa vision, the oasis event, our tour through outer space and anything to do with guardian angels.  I’ll tell him more later, after he’s had a chance to mull over everything I’ve already said.  Riley doesn’t scare easily, but, just the same, I don’t want to give him a reason to bolt.  
 “You mean to tell me you’ve bought into all that missionary stuff?” Riley asks in disbelief.
 I nod my head.  “Yeah, I guess that’s one way of putting it.  But to call it ‘stuff’ truly diminishes all that’s involved.  It devalues the difference God can make in your life.”
 Riley shakes his head as the light comes on in his brain.  “No, don’t go trying to make a religious fanatic out of me,” he chastises.
 I screw up my face in confusion and ask, “A what?!  I’m not talking about anything radical, Riley.”
 Exasperated, Riley offers an explanation.  “Well, now that you’ve bought into all of this Jesus stuff, aren’t you one of those crazy religious people who gets lit without any goods?”  Riley’s on his feet, waving his hands in the air, dancing around, acting like a nut.
 I close my eyes and shake my head quickly, doing my best to delete the memory Riley just created.  “Well,” I calmly say as I open my eyes, “No, I’m not a crazy person.  I’m sitting here having a conversation with you.  Do you see any anything radical or fanatical about me?”
 Riley shakes his head as he eagerly answers me, “No, but just the same, I don’t want anything to do with that Jesus stuff.  It’s nonsense, pure and simple.  I’ve got to find a job, and I don’t need you wasting my time.”
 I think for just a minute and weigh my options.  I decide to put Riley in the hot seat.  “You told me today you saw red when Montenegro broke his son’s arm.  You described him as “all messed up”.  Do you remember?”
 Riley nods his head in affirmation.  “Yeah, sure, I remember.  What’s that got to do with anything?”
 “Why did Montenegro make you mad?  I mean, why did you care how he treated his own kid?”
 Riley’s kind of peeved as he retorts, “Hey man, there’s nothing more defenseless than a kid.  They can’t run away, they can’t fight back and as a rule, there’s no one willing to help even if they had someone to tell.  So, it made me mad he hurt his own little boy.”
I apply pressure.  “Yeah, I know it made you mad and I agree with you, but I don’t understand why it upset you.”
 Riley allows his agitation to show.  He thinks I’m an idiot, but he’s about to learn how wrong he is.  His voice is slightly louder than it was a moment ago and it has an edge of annoyance to it.  “It made me mad because it was wrong for him to treat a kid that way, that’s why.”
 “I understand you got angry, but why was his behavior wrong?” I ask earnestly.
 “What do you mean?”  he asks in return.  “Everyone knows it’s wrong to be mean to kids.  I don’t understand what you don’t understand.”  
 “Okay, if it’s wrong and everyone knows it’s wrong, and just to be clear, there are many laws against harming kids, right?”
 Riley speaks slowly, like I’m too dim to follow his logic.  “Yes, there are many laws in place to protect kids.”
 “Where did we glean the wisdom to protect children?” 
 “Huh?” Riley asks.  
 I rephrase my question.  “Where did the concept of right and wrong originate?”
 Riley looks at me like I’m nuts, but answers as if I need help.  “I suppose it’s been in existence as long as people have.  Where else could we have gotten it?”
  “If you think Jesus stuff is nonsense and don’t want to be bothered with it, what’s your position on the origin of mankind?” I ask in all sincerity.
 Riley smirks at me and says, “Everyone knows we came from apes.”  Then, shaking his head in disgust, he says, “Man, you need to read more.”
 I summarize for him.  “So, you believe people exist because we evolved from some amoeba that landed on a beach somewhere.  The pond of goo in which it lived, just decided to push it up on the shore for some unknown reason.  Then because it needed to traverse its new terrain, it developed eyes, ears, arms, legs and a torso.  The new body parts had to have erupted instantaneously or the amoeba would have starved to death right there on the beach.  So, now our amoeba has turned into an ape. 
 Riley’s watching me, listening as I speak, but he’s not happy about it. 
 His displeasure means nothing to me, so I continue.  “This process didn’t happen for a single amoeba, but for many at the same time and at the same rate of speed.  Evolution, by definition a random and chaotic process, somehow innately knew male and female apes were needed, so the new species could flourish.  Evolution threw out the asexual reproductive process contained within amoebas and added, in its place, two separate genders with working reproductive systems.  Is that what you believe?”
 Now, Riley looks at me as if he knows I’m up to something but doesn’t yet know what it is.  “Well, yeah, I guess so,” he admits reluctantly.  “I mean that’s what everybody believes.  It’s what they teach in schools isn’t it?  So, yeah, it must be true.”
 I wind my argument a little tighter.  “Isn’t survival of the fittest part of the evolutionary process?”
 Riley nods his head.  “Well, yeah, it’d have to be or none of the apes would have lived long enough to turn into modern man.”
 “So, does it make sense to say that concern and protection of weaker apes was a part of their daily life?”
 Riley shakes his head like I’m the dimmest person he’s ever met.  “No, concern and protection would be the opposite of survival of the fittest.”
 “Yes, it would,” I nod my head in agreement.  “So, you agree those first few apes would have been at war with each other, doing their best to establish dominance.  It might even be fair to say that, at the end of the day, there was only one male ape left.  He would have dominated and killed the others because they weren’t fit to survive.”  
 “Absolutely,” Riley agrees with me, smiling at his ability to bring me over to his way of thinking.
 I keep talking.  “But the female apes would have been fighting over which of them got the big guy, right?  I mean, only the fittest female deserved to live, correct?”
 Riley thinks about what I said and nods his head in concession.  “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
 “So, we’re in agreement that the many amoebas who first evolved into apes at the same rate of speed, dividing themselves by gender, basically killed each other until there were only two left, one male, one female.  Survival of the fittest.  Have I got it?”
 Riley seems pleased with himself as he agrees.  “Yeah, I think you do.”
 “Ok, then,” I continue, “if there were only two badass apes in the entire world how did the concept of right and wrong develop?  I mean, we’ve already agreed that evolution and morality stand in direct opposition to each other.  Why would two apes, who were only going to kill new arrivals, suddenly decide to show compassion and protection to weaker apes?”
 Riley scratches his head and thinks for a minute.  “Everybody knows apes don’t understand morality, Parker.  That’s just crazy.  The moral code would come into play once apes evolved into man.”  
 “Okay,” I agree, “but we’re down to two apes who killed any new arrivals, whether they came from the pond of goo or were birthed from themselves. We’ve eliminated any source from which other apes could evolve. 
 “Also, these two apes would have died in a relatively short span of time. They couldn’t travel and forage for food because that meant leaving the pond of goo unguarded.  If they were indeed the strongest and most fit, they’d have known their inferior relatives emerged from the goo.  Life experience had already taught them that much.  Eventually, their food supply would have disappeared, and they’d have died as well.  
 “So, where does man enter the picture?  How does morality ever come into play?  How did we ever learn it’s wrong for a man to break the arm of his little boy?  How is it that laws protecting children came to pass?”
 Riley looks at me with something akin to pain on his face.  “How am I supposed to know?!” he shrugs his shoulders and asks defensively.  “I’m just going on the stuff I learned in school.  I believe what everybody else believes.  I don’t have an answer for you, man.”
 I don’t know if additional information will stick, but I’m going for the gold.  Riley’s salvation is at stake.  I want better for him than the western realm.
 So, I ask, “What if this happened instead:  What if an all-knowing Power created man and woman and placed them here on earth.  Earth was perfect, the man and woman were perfect until they did something the Power forbid them to do.  
 “The Power had to punish their bad behavior and through that experience morality was birthed.  As the man and woman expanded their family, new lessons for morality presented themselves.  Mankind came to learn about the difference between good and evil, and right and wrong, because the Power who placed them on earth loved them enough to be honest with them.  He taught them what was acceptable and what wasn’t.”
 Riley listens intently to my alternative scenario and then admits, “Well, when you put it that way, it makes more sense.  I mean, the human body is so complex, and the universe is so vast, it seems really unlikely that everything with those amoebas just fell into place so conveniently.  And your plan does account for actual humans, as well as, the origin of morality.  So, yeah, I s’pose I can get my head around what you just said.
 I wait patiently while Riley thinks a minute longer.  “Yeah,” he adds, “it actually makes a lot of sense.”
 “Well,” I explain to him, “all the Jesus stuff you say you want no part of begins with those very events.  God still loves us and He’s still teaching us what’s acceptable and what isn’t.  You need to think about this, Riley.  The rest of your life depends on it, and I don’t mean this life here on earth.  I’ve got more to tell you about my Jesus story, but I think we need to take a break and come back to it later.”
 Riley nods in agreement.  “Okay, man, whatever you want.  I’ll take your advice and think on it.”  He chuckles quietly and admits to me, “I guess I’m getting old enough I need to think about things other than chasing a buck.  It’s not like my line of work is quiet and predictable.”
 “No,” I agree.  “The work you do is not exactly well suited to a long life.”
 “Okay, then,” Riley smiles and changes the subject.  “If it’s alright with you, I’m gonna zone-out for a while, take a well-deserved nap.  How ‘bout it?”  
 “Absolutely, have at it,” I permit.  “We’ll have dinner in a few hours and find something to do with the rest of our evening.  How’s that sound?”
 Riley looks relieved to have some down time.  “Sounds amazing, man.  Thanks so much for a place to crash.”
 “No problem.  I’m gonna find Cassie and check on her.  She’s been awfully quiet since we got home.  Quiet isn’t her normal, but then, today hasn’t been normal.”
 I leave Riley at peace on my sofa.  I approach Cassie’s room while knots and butterflies fight for control of my gut.  I’m unsure whether to expect yelling and pacing or quiet tears, both of which will impale my heart with additional ownership.  Either way, I’m certain it won’t be easy for me.  I take a much-needed breath, steel myself for the incoming attack, and knock softly on Cassie’s door.  No surprise, she doesn’t answer.  
 I learned my lesson this morning.  I open her door to check on her. She’s sitting on her bed, head bowed, lost in prayer.  I leave her to finish her time with God, put some steaks in the microwave to defrost and head to my weight room. I enter through the smaller door in my bedroom, so I won’t disclose its presence to Riley. 
 I know it’s only been a short time since we returned home, but the wait is killing me.  I feel like I can’t breathe because I’m so disconnected from Cassie.  We don’t have to discuss everything in the first five minutes.  I know that’s asking too much.  If I only knew whether there was a chance for us, no matter how small.  I guess I need reassurance that her awareness of my part in Manny’s death isn’t the end of us.  At this point, if I knew she never wanted to lay eyes on me again, it would be unwelcome relief, but relief just the same.
  For two and a half hours I count reps on a variety of machines.  Surprisingly, I tire more quickly today.  I suppose the emotional toll is affecting my body’s ability to perform.  It is what it is.  Today, of all days, it simply doesn’t matter that much.  I take a quick shower and head to the kitchen to start dinner.
 When I exit my room, I smell wonderful aromas coming from the rear of the cabin.  I arrive to find Cassie and Riley have dinner well in hand.  The steaks are out back, already on the grill, cubed potatoes and onions are roasting in the oven and a sizeable kettle of mixed veggies is nearly finished.  I see three bowls and spoons organized on the counter-top and deduce we’re having ice cream for dessert.  Wow.
 Riley is pleased to see me.  Cassie less so.  She isn’t furious, simply distant, which is even more confusing.  There isn’t a lot of boisterous talk over dinner, just quiet civility.  I take my cues from Cassie.  Riley takes his cues from me.  She respectfully answers any question posed by either of us men, but it’s obvious she’s in no mood for chatter.  We finish off our ice cream, Cassie excuses herself and the two of us stay behind to clean up the dinner dishes.
 Now, that dish duty is finished, I’m conflicted.  I’m torn between playing host to Riley and throwing down with Cassie.  We need to get our issues out in the open where we can slay them.  
 I hate, hate, hate this distance between us.  To be fair, I had no idea I played any part whatsoever in Manny’s death.  I learned about it today at the same time Cassie did.  It came as horrifying news to me.  I get that it’s not the same for me as it is for her, but it devastates me for two reasons.  
 First, I know for myself what a remarkable man Manny was.  It makes his senseless death so much more tragic.  There are few enough people in this world willing to do good for others, so when one is sent from this life for a reason as simple as interrupting a phone call, grief sets in.  Hard.  Even for me.  
 Second, it devastates me because of the potential cost.  It could cost me Cassie.  If that happens, I suppose I’ll recover, but for the life of me I don’t know how. 
 Riley interrupts my private thoughts.  “Hey, man, you ok?”
 I smile at him and say, “Not even close.”
 Riley smirks at me and says, “Go take care of business with Cassie.  You don’t need to babysit me.  I’m a big boy.  I’ll be just fine.”  He gets a mischievous grin on his face and asks, “I haven’t gotten to watch tv in like forever.  Actually, I’m thinking about a snack.  Do you care if I wrangle something to munch on while I watch?”
 I smile back at him good naturedly.  “Help yourself.  The sky’s the limit.”  There are literally dozens of snacks from which he can choose.
 He utters, “Thanks, bro,” as he bounds from the couch in search of something tasty.  Well, I guess that leaves me free to talk with Cassie.  Here goes everything.

 For the third time today, I approach her room.  For the fourth time today, I’m terrified.  If she’s awake, she’ll hear me.  Again, there’s no answer.  Again, I enter her room to check on her, but this time, she’s not present.  Nope, she’s not in her bathroom either.  
 It’s okay, Parker, she’s here somewhere.  Stay calm.  
 I step out to the front room and interrupt Riley’s movie long enough to ask if he’s seen Cassie.  “No, man.  Haven’t laid eyes on her since she left the dinner table,” is his reply.  
  Well, she’s not left the house without one of us noticing, nor does she have the codes for the secure sections of my home.  There’s only one other place she can be.
 I hold my breath as I open my bedroom door.  I step into the room, closing the door behind me before giving myself permission to raise my gaze.   I’m terrified Cassie won’t be present, but I’m scared as heck she will be.  Slowly, I lift my eyes to find her looking back at me.  
 She stands from where she’s seated and takes one step toward me.  Without thinking, I walk over to her, positioning myself between her and the door to my room.  My heart is pounding in my chest.  I feel it thumping harder with each passing beat.  My nerves are as taut as harp strings, waiting to be plucked.  
 I’ll admit, I had no idea what to expect from Cassie, but this wasn’t even on my radar.  I stand before her emotionally exposed like I’ve never been in my life.  She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want me, would she?  Or is she here because Riley’s in the other room?  Or is there some other reason which eludes me in this instant?  Good grief, I wish my brain would shut up and leave me alone.
 Cassie looks up at me and says, “I hope you don’t mind I came in here without you.  I’m not trying to invade your space, but I thought we needed some privacy so we could talk.”
 I look down into her big blue eyes, my gaze going past all those golden curls which still radiate heat from the Mexican sun.  I haven’t answered her question or validated her statement or done whatever it is she wants me to do.  I’m too busy looking at her lips, doing my best to memorize her face, her size, her scent because I’m certain she’s going to tell me she hates me, and this will be the last I’ll ever see of her.
 I’m in a daze, frozen in this moment, and I’m fine with that.  This moment is much preferred to recent ones.  Those were filled with fear of losing her, of self-loathing for my part in her pain and only a vapor of hope for the future I want with this woman.  The next moment will see the shattering of new dreams, the dissipation of all hope.  The next moment will crush me.   
 While frozen here in front of Cassie, this moment is my own.  It’s anything I want it to be.  This moment encompasses wedding bands, several kids, and a forever home in which we grow old together while living a life for the God we love.  This moment is perfect because it holds everything I want, everything I never knew I wanted, everything I never believed possible.
 I will gladly stand here for the rest of time, if I can keep this moment.
 Cassie reaches out and takes hold of the waist band of my jeans and tugs on them ever so slightly.  Quietly, she asks, “Parker, are you okay?”
 My response is but a whisper as well.  “Yes.  No.  I’m not sure.  It depends on what happens next,” I answer as honestly as I can.  I’ve learned there’s no other way to deal with Cassie, with life for that matter.
 My gaze matches Cassie’s as she looks up at me.  “What do you want to happen, Parker?” she asks like she has no clue what’s in my heart.  Then again, maybe she’s truly without insight.  It’s not like I’ve been forthcoming about my feelings for her.  Cassie is many things, but she’s no mind reader.  How can I expect her to know my heart unless I share myself?
 This moment consumes me.  I turn off my brain because it’s really in my way.  I place my hands on either side of Cassie’s petite face and bend to kiss her like I’ve wanted to kiss her for years.  I keep waiting for her to stop me, to wreck this moment and all of those which follow.  
 As I get closer to her, she rises on her tip toes to meet me.  As our lips make contact, her arms lock themselves around my neck.  She uses her small body mass to pull me even closer.  
 I lean into this long awaited, frozen moment.  I drop my hands to cup her bottom and lift her.  She responds by wrapping her legs around my waist.  
 Suddenly, Cassie reigns in her kiss, then breaks it altogether.  Breathlessly, she whispers, “Parker, this isn’t why I came here.”
 Every urge within me groans at Cassie’s words.  She’s still wrapped around my torso, her bottom fits beautifully in my hands.  I drop my head onto her slender shoulder and listen to the rest of what she has to say.    
 Her head is bowed next to mine as she continues tenderly, even apologetically.  I sense this is equally difficult for her.  That knowledge alone makes my heart soar. 
 “This right here, right now,” she explains, “isn’t what God wants for us.  He wants us to treat this aspect of life with the respect He has for it.  It’s a gift from Him and we should treat it as such.”
 I straighten my head and find Cassie’s gaze.  It’s so obvious she really hated the necessity of saying what she did.  She wants what I want.  It’s written all over her, but if waiting is the right thing to do, then we’ll wait.  It’s really that simple.  
 God’s done so much for me.  He was working on my behalf even before I was aware of it.  I won’t, can’t, toss Him aside when it’s inconvenient for me.  There’s no sound reasoning, no loyalty to be found within that mind set.
 I give Cassie one quick peck on her lips and gently stand her on her feet.  We step away from one another and take deep breaths to calm and collect ourselves.
 I feel it’s my place to start.  “Cassie, I’m sorry for that.  You asked me what I wanted, and after all this time, I couldn’t help myself….”
 Cassie puts up her hand to stay my explanation.  “Look, there’s no reason to be sorry.  Th…th…that was incredible, Parker.  Trust me, there’s no need to be sorry.”
 I shake my head to help rid it of lingering desire.  “Okay, then, why are you here?”
 Sheepishly, Cassie admits, “I came to talk.  We have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”
 “Yeah, we do.  I’ve wanted to talk to you all day, but you needed your space more than I needed answers, so I tried to give it to you.”
 Cassie smiles at me. 
 Dear God, she’s so beautiful.
 “Thank you, Parker.”  Hesitantly, Cassie begins her explanation.  “I know when I showed up at your door, you didn’t want me here.  I know how intrusively stubborn I was.  I want to apologize for that….”
 I open my mouth to interrupt, but Cassie stays me with her vertical hand.
 “Please, Parker, don’t interrupt me.  I have a lot to say and I want you to listen, ok?"
 I can’t help but smile at her.  She’s so direct and honest.  I remember times over the last few weeks when I failed to see that as a good thing, but she’s convinced me it’s a lot better than being lied to or manipulated.  Honesty lays everything on the table so everyone involved can make decisions based on fact, not perception, not delusion.  Life is hard enough on its own.  Lies, hidden agendas and machinations make it unnecessarily more difficult.
 I smile back at her.  “Okay, Cassie, say what you need to.”
 She takes a deep breath.  “Except for dinner with you and Riley, I’ve spent the time since our return in prayer.  I’ve asked for forgiveness and God’s forgiven me.  So, I’m squared away with Him.  He understands my pain.  He did, after all, lose a Son for the sake of humanity.  I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I understand how crazy I must have seemed to you.”
 I can’t help but interrupt.  “You? Crazy? Never!” I tease her. 
 She smiles at me, but continues, “I owe you so much.  If you’d left me alone on the dirt road that day, I’d have probably laid there and starved.  Parker, you gave me shelter, food, protection and time.  I literally owe you my life.  Believe me when I say, I know how inadequate words can be when used as an expression of gratitude.”
 I open my mouth to speak, but Cassie cuts me off.  I smile again.
 Cassie places her left hand on my outer shoulder and tugs on it, indicating she wants me to bend toward her.
 When I comply, I’m rewarded with a perfect butterfly kiss of gratitude.  “Thank you, Parker.  God used you to save my life in so many ways. 
 “I’m sorry I misled you the entire time you were teaching me to shoot.  I hope you can forgive me for that.”
 Without thinking about it, without pausing for the space a heartbeat would take, I say simply.  “Forgiven.”  Forgiven a million times over.  Forgiven.
 Cassie’s on a roll, so she keeps talking.  “Now that I’m aware of everything that happened with regards to Manny’s death, I think it’s important you know I don’t blame you, Parker.  I’m not angry with you.”
 I’m already watching her with stern disbelief when she lifts her gaze to find mine.  Stunned, I manage to utter one simple sentence.  “Did I hear you right?”
 Cassie nods her head in reply to my question.  “Yes, you heard what I said.  I don’t blame you.  You shouldn’t have put your hands on me that day.  I know that.  You know that.”
 This time, I nod in agreement with her.
 “I also know you weren’t the man then that you are now.  You could have really harmed me that day, but, for whatever reason, you turned loose of me.  I’ll always be so grateful for that, Parker.”
 I’m still listening, waiting for the guts of what she has to say.
 “I didn’t tell Manny what happened.  Not one word about any of it.  That was my choice.  If I’d told him, he might still be alive.  We might still be involved with the families of Monterrey, doing God’s work.  My complete honesty might have prevented Manny’s overreaction, it might have thwarted Gonzo’s plan to get back at you.  We’ll never know.”
 I shrug and nod in agreement with her.
 “Also, Manny failed to make good choices for himself or for me.  My lack of full disclosure didn’t prevent him from asking me about it once he became aware of what happened, even if he was angry with me for keeping it from him.  I’ll never doubt his trust in me.  He never considered there was anything between you and me.  Not for one second did he doubt my fidelity.  I was his and he knew it.”
 I agree.  I know for myself there’s no room for doubt where Cassie’s concerned.  You always know where you stand with her.  
 Cassie continues.  “Manny could have waited until he calmed down, but he didn’t.  He could have waited until Montenegro finished his phone call, but he didn’t.  He could have come to you and got your side of the story, but he didn’t.  Those choices were his.  Granted, he paid an extremely steep price, but as sad as it makes me, it’s a price he chose to pay.
 I’m captivated by her logic.  She’s so calm and objective in her analysis of what happened.  Wonder of wonders, in her eyes I’m not the fall guy.  I can barely believe what I’m hearing.  As thrilled as I am, though, there’s a part of me that’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.
 Cassie resumes her summary.  “Even though you were a different guy back then, Parker, I know if Manny had come to you, you’d have set him straight, but you’d have left him alive.  Yeah, you’re a trained killer, and you were arrogant enough to put your hands on me in the first place, but you aren’t the spoiled hot head Montenegro was.  I know you well enough to know that you’re not happy all this craziness came at the cost of Manny’s life.  I know you had no way of knowing it would end like this.”
 I drop my gaze from Cassie’s face and indulge in the truth of her words.  She’s so right about everything.  Manny’s death makes me sick, even if it brought Cassie to me.  The new me appreciates Manny’s true nature in a way the old me could have never comprehended.  With all my heart, I believe the world lost a valuable person that day.  I will carry the regret of my part in his death with me the rest of my life.  
 I choke back a sob and pull my gaze from the floor, looking back at Cassie as she caresses my cheek.  Quietly, she says, “I’m not angry at you, Parker.  I can’t be.  There are too many reasons in the way.  I could blame you, but that would be emotionally and spiritually immature.  It would also be very unfair to you.  I’m finished with unfairness.  I’m finished with living in the past.  I’m done with heartache, unanswered questions and vengeance.  I’m tired of it all.  
 “I suppose I’ll grieve the loss of Manny for some time, but I’m going forward with my life.  That’s what he’d want for me.  After all, he’s sitting at Jesus’ feet.  There are no problems, sadness or tears for him.  All he knows is joy.  He deserves that.  My sweet blessed Manny, he deserves God’s very best and now he has it.  I’m so happy for him.”
 I pinch the bridge of my nose and pray silently.  Dear God, I can’t believe this woman.  She’s so remarkable.  I love what You’ve done in both our lives.  Her pain took her to the brink of losing her salvation, but You pulled her back just in the nick of time.  You fought for her, Lord, just like You did for me.  You never turned loose of us.  She’s here now, Lord, and she just admitted she’s done with all the costly parts of her life.  Her anger, hatred and vengeance have been replaced by peace, acceptance and gratitude.  I don’t know how you did it, Lord, but I’m so grateful You did.  Thank you, God.  Thank You.
 I sigh heavily and open my eyes to find Cassie watching me.  She knows I was conversing with God.  I watch as tears begin to form in her eyes.  I can’t stand the thought of her being sad any longer.
 “What’s wrong, Cassie,” I ask as I caress her upper arms with my fingertips.
 She shrugs her shoulders and says, “Everything I’ve been through the last couple of years was the old hard part.  Now, I come to the new hard part.”
 I take a deep breath and do my best to prepare myself for what’s coming.
 “When Riley made the comment to you about ‘having it bad’, was it in reference to your feelings for me?” Cassie asks bluntly.
 I swallow hard and tell her the truth.  “Yes, it was.  I’m in love with you,” I say just as bluntly.  “I don’t know how else to say it.  I was in love with you two years ago, and without a doubt, I’ll forever be in love with you.”
 Cassie gasps at the earnestness of my words and the tone with which I utter them.  She nods her head at me, but it’s obvious her brain is working on some problem.  I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I’m curious as heck to find out.  
 Cassie looks up at me with a gaze of conviction, like I’ve done something horribly wrong and she’s about to nail my hide to the wall for it.  She says in a stern voice, “If you loved me then, I have one question for you.”
 I nod in encouragement.  I’m an open book.  “Okay, sure….whatever it is, just ask.”  
 “This confession of yours comes as new information to me.  If you felt this way all that time ago, did you use Gonzo to have Manny removed from the picture?”
 I sit erect in mortification.  “What?!  No, Cassie!  No way.  No how.”  My mind   reels, looking for a defense, some line of reasoning which severs me from her conclusion.  
 Now that everything is out in the open, I understand why her brain went there, but she couldn’t be more wrong.  Being in love with her now isn’t the same as being in love with her when she was married to someone else.  She wasn’t available and, like it or not, I accepted it and walked away. 
 “Cassie, after I took hold of you that day, I had myself moved to the night shift, so I’d no longer be around you.  The sight of you drove me crazy.  I couldn’t stand to be near you and not be with you.  
 “It was about two weeks later that Montenegro offered me the chance to go Independent and I jumped at it.  Believe it or not, you were the main reason.  I had to get out of that house and away from you.  I spent months pouring myself into building a contract for hire business.  I did that across the border, here in the U.S., putting as many miles as possible between us.  Work was the only thing that helped me cope with the knowledge I could never have you.  If I’d orchestrated Manny’s death, I’d have never left the compound.  With him gone, there would have been no reason to leave.”
 Cassie listens intently but stays quiet.
 I take hold of her by her upper arms.  “Look at me, Cassie.”
 I feel her body tremble within the grasp of my fingers.  Reluctantly, she lifts her gaze to match my own.  
 The truth is the truth.  It’s my job to own it.  “Look, I admit I was convinced I was a better man for you.  I looked at Manny and found him deficient in many areas.  That’s the only reason my ego got the better of me the day I put my hands on you.”
 Cassie’s weeping quietly.  It breaks my heart, but we have to slog our way through this if we’re going to come out on the other side.  We’ve come too far to let a lie end us.  No.  We are not going down like this.  Not gonna happen.  I’ll fight for this woman with my dying breath.
 “Cassie, after all we’ve been through, I’ve come to understand what a remarkable man your husband was.”
 Cassie collapses against my torso, sobbing out her heart.  
 “Now that I know God and have a better understanding of how He works, I look back at Manny and marvel at his selfless service to others.  Cassie, I want to be the man God wants me to be, but I look upon Manny as role model.  Granted, I didn’t know that at the time, but I told myself you belonged to someone else, and I respected that.  It nearly killed me, but I was man enough to walk away, Cassie.  It never even occurred to me to orchestrate a situation which would free you of your husband.  For whatever reason, my brain just didn’t go there.”
 I push Cassie far enough from me that I can find her gaze.  Surprisingly, hers isn’t filled with anger or fight.  Man, I didn’t see this coming, and it’s the last thing the two of us needs right now, but I believe I’m on the verge of convincing her of the truth.
 From out of nowhere, another approach occurs to me.  “Cassie, out of all the time we’ve spent together, out of all the incredible experiences we’ve shared, out of all the in-depth conversations we’ve had, have I ever, even one time, lied to you about anything?”
 I watch her eyes as her brain cranks on my question.  Countless experiences flash through her memory as she looks for a chink in the armor of my truthfulness. 
 While she thinks, I continue with my defense.  “Cassie, I grew up in the foster system.  It was horrible on its good days.  I was placed into and yanked out of so many homes in such rapid succession that it made much of my childhood a blur.  The only constant I had during those years was the fact that I didn’t belong anywhere.  No one really wanted me, and I was reminded of it daily.  I was a pawn in a government agency game.  Foster parents lied to me.  My case workers, of whom there were many, lied to me.  Other foster kids lied to me.  Even at school I was labeled as someone who had no real home.  There was no one I could really trust.  
 “No one, until you.  I know it sounds crazy, but I fell in love with you because I saw the honesty in the love you had for those kids.  I wanted that kind of honesty for myself.  Cassie there’s no way I had anything to do with Manny’s death.  If you can’t find any other reason to believe me, believe me when I tell you I respected you too much to do that kind of damage.  
 “I was so ashamed of myself for accosting you that day, I had to change shifts and, ultimately, leave Montenegro’s employ.  Anything worse than that was inconceivable to me, even to the man I was at that time.”
 Cassie lifts her gaze to find mine.  She wipes tears from both cheeks and says, “You’re telling me the truth, aren’t you?”
 I sigh in relief.  “With God Almighty as my witness, I speak the truth.”
 Cassie steps back into my body and wraps her arms around me.  I hold her close, so very grateful I was able to dispel her fear of trusting me.  She’s no longer trembling.  She feels so good as I hold her close to me.  This is another of those moments I hope never ends.  It’s been an arduous conversation, but in this moment, we’re on the same page, probably even in the same paragraph.  
 As much as I hate to risk this intimate connection, I have to push forward and learn the truth of our future.  “Cassie, there’s more I need to know.  Are you up for it or do you want to wait until later?”
 She pulls away and takes a seat on the edge of my bed.  
 I swallow hard.  But really my bed is the only seating in the room which can accommodate two people.   
 Cassie admits she’s tired but would rather finish the conversation.  I assume she knows what’s on my mind, but I won’t know for certain until I wade into the deep end.       
 “Okay, Parker, what’s next?” she asks quietly as she looks up at me with a faint smile on her face.
 I swallow one more time, and step into the unknown.  “I want to know if there’s a future for us.  I know it’s been an awful day and it’s getting late.  I know you’re exhausted, and I know there’s a world of information and emotions to process.  But you know my feelings for you mean I want us to have a forever future.  Can you see a future for us?”
 My heart beats like I’m pulling a house behind me.  I hear it thundering in my ears.  My palms are clammy and I’m at a loss for additional words.  This is it.  This is the moment I’ve worked for and waited on since Cassie showed up on my porch that day.  Silently, while doing my best not to fidget, I wait for Cassie’s reply.
Cassie pats the bed beside her in a request for me to take a seat next to her.  My nerves are beginning to fray just a bit.  She hasn’t answered my question.  I take her refusal, or hesitancy, to answer as an indicator her response will not be favorable. 
 Cassie reaches out, takes hold of my right hand and cradles it between both of hers.  
 Oh, man, this can’t be good.  I swallow hard and pray.  Help me keep it together, Lord.
 She looks up at me with the sweetest light in her eyes.  Her gaze is so warm and loving it makes my gut do somersaults.  
 “Parker,” she begins, “I look back in amazement on our journey to this point.  We began in such opposite places.  I came here as a believer in God, with a faith large enough to pray into existence a mesa vision impactful enough to forever alter your life.  You were a killer for hire but did your best to prevent me from pursuing my dark objective because you were convinced it would destroy me.  I’m ashamed to admit that you were the one who behaved most selflessly.  I’m so grateful for that, I really am.”
 My stomach rolls one more time and I manage to squelch a groan of agony.  No, Lord.  I don’t want her gratitude.  That’s the exact opposite of what I want, it’s the relationship kiss of death.
  Cassie seems oblivious to my pain.  She continues with her explanation.  “Something happened along the way, Parker.  It’s not because you accepted Jesus into your life, but it couldn’t have happened without that concession.”
 Happened?  What happened?  Did I miss something?  I’m not sure what’s she’s talking about.
 Cassie shakes her head as if she’s trying to dispel confusion for the both of us and says, “Look, Parker, at some point, I fell for you too.  As crazy as that sounds, there it is.”
 Suddenly, Cassie gasps in horror and adds, “Oh, but wait, I didn’t mean it was crazy to fall for you, just that it has been such a crazy unpredictable time….”
 I give Cassie the broadest, happiest smile of my life.  Next, I give her a kiss worth remembering.  I pause long enough to catch my breath and thank God for the blessing that is this remarkable woman.
 As thrilled as I am, I need confirmation.  Still lightheaded from the influx of such good news, I ask Cassie, “You love me too?  You said that, right?  I didn’t imagine you said it because I wanted so much to hear it, did I?”
 Cassie laughs up at me, puts her fingers over my lips and shushes me.  “Yes, Parker, I said it.  I love you, too.  It wouldn’t have been possible before, but it’s so obvious you love the God I love.  I see the man you are now and I’m so very proud of you.  You are on the journey of a lifetime.  I’m so happy you accepted Jesus.  Now, you’ll never be alone.”
 I’m so lost within Cassie’s declaration that it takes a few seconds for that last sentence of hers to register in my elated brain.  Almost too scared to ask, but terrified not to, I manage to eek out my question.  “What do you mean, I’ll never be alone.  I mean, I know God’s with me, so I’m never alone, but you’ll be with me too, right?  Why did you phrase your sentence quite like that?”
 At this point, Cassie drops her head, breaking visual contact with me.  
 Oh, no, this can’t be good, Lord.  What’s coming next?
 Cassie takes a deep breath and reconnects with me visually.  “I’m sorry, Parker.  It’s not what I want.  I do love you.  More than I’d have believed possible after sharing a love with Manny like we had.  Loving you has caught me by surprise and it’s a surprise I’m thrilled to experience.  However, loving you doesn’t mean I can stay with you.”
 My smile dies a quick merciless death as I fight the urge to lose my dinner.  Confused and breathless, I ask the obvious, “Wh…wh….what do you mean, you can’t stay with me?  Where else would you go?  Cassie, I don’t understand.  I love you, you love me, we’re both sold out to God, so what’s the problem?  Help me here, I’m dying!”  I stand up and begin to pace in front of her.  
 Cassie tries to explain, as if that’s even possible.  “Parker, this is complicated.  I told you when I arrived at your cabin there was so much going on, I could never explain it so that you’d understand.  Montenegro’s dead, but this isn’t over.”
 Now, I fight the urge to put my fist through my bedroom wall.   My mind races, looking for some reason, one which Cassie would consider valid.  Then, it hits me.  “This is because I’m wealthy isn’t it?” I ask.  I continue before Cassie has a chance to answer.  “You can’t be with me because my wealth was amassed by shedding the blood of other people.  It’s offensive to your faith, that’s it isn’t it?”
 I’m right.  I’m right.  I know I’m right because this is fixable.  Totally fixable.  It’ll take a couple of days and then everything will be fine.
 Cassie shakes her head.  “No, Parker,” she begins, but corrects herself.  “I mean, yes that would be a problem for us, but I haven’t thought that far ahead…there’s been no need to.”
 I shrug and shake my head matter-of-factly.  “Well, this is an easy one.  We’ll give all my money away.  We’ll spend the first few months of our life together giving it away to help other people.  See, this is easy to fix,” I assure her.
 “Parker, listen to me….” Cassie begins.
 “No! I don’t want to listen, Cassie!” I chastise her.  “You don’t understand.  I did the right thing two years ago and walked away from you.  We’ve spent all these weeks together, weeks I’ve spent falling for you all over again.  Why do you think I tried so hard to get you to leave when you first arrived?  Yes, I knew you were in over your head with the Montenegro objective, but why do you think it mattered so much to me?”
 Cassie sits quietly and listens as I state my case.  
 “I wanted you to leave because I knew what a threat you were to my sanity.  I wanted you to leave because I couldn’t bear the thought of you dying some senseless death at the hands of a lunatic.  I threw everything at you.  I did everything I knew to do to get you to leave here.  But you had to have your way.
 “So, guess what?  Just like I feared, I fell for you all over again.  This time I fell without any safeguards because Manny is no longer in the picture.   This time I let myself believe I had a chance with you.  Guess what?  It turns out I was right!!  Who knew that was even possible?
 “Then today, I watched as you stood in front of that evil s.o.b., terrified you would die right in front of me.  The thought of losing you scared the hell out of me.  Know right this minute that losing you would have done to me what losing Manny did to you!  But still you had your way.
 “It was absolutely miraculous the way God protected the two of us today.  Can you even imagine the small odds of us leaving there alive?  Have you even stopped to consider how fortunate we are?  We went into that compound, the two of us, against an entire squad of highly trained, well paid mercenaries and a soulless monster.  We left there without a scratch on us, Cassie.  Do you realize God did the impossible today?  
 “Maybe you don’t truly understand because you have no military training, but please take my word for it when I tell you what happened today, should never have happened.  God was all over it!!  
 “I nearly lost you, should have lost you, but didn’t lose you, Cassie.  Don’t sit there and tell me, after having confessed your love for me, that you can’t stay.  There’s no reason, no logic, no explanation which makes this okay.  Don’t you understand that?!”
 Cassie sits on the edge of my bed.  Her head is bowed as she wipes away a tear.  I was hard on her, but she’s taught me truth is the path to a better ending.  
 “Parker,” she says without looking up at me, “I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you.  When I came here, I had no idea you left feelings for me in Monterrey.  I tracked you down because you were the only person, I knew with the expertise to help me with Montenegro.  All the other people I knew with your skill set still worked for him.  Tipping my hand to his bodyguards would have really worked against me.  
 “Again, I’m sorry.  Hurting you is the last thing I want.  I admire you, Parker.  I respect you, as well.  You’ve really turned your life around, so you deserve both.
 “You’re right.  I did get my way on several occasions.  My anger has led me for the last couple of years.  I’m not proud of that.  I’ve asked God to forgive me.  I ask you to forgive me, as well.  Please believe me when I say, I’m not leaving you because I want to….”
 Instantly, I kneel in front of her.  “Then don’t go,” I say simply.  “Stay here with me.  Or, go away with me to somewhere you’ve never been.  It makes no difference as long as we’re together.”  I beg with everything I have, leaving nothing unsaid, exposing my love and my fear of losing it.  I’ll do whatever it takes.  Somehow, I’ll make her understand.
 “I have to go, Parker.  I have no choice,” Cassie says simply.
 “Where do you have to go?” I ask out of desperation.  There’s not a place in this world she can go where I’m not willing to follow.
 “There’s something I have to do.”  
 “Tell me what it is.  I’ll help you.  We’ll do it together,” I assure her matter-of-factly.
 “What I have to do isn’t important.  That it needs to be done is what matters.  I can’t do it from here.”
 “I’ll go with you.  We’ll go together, do what you feel is necessary, and take our life forward from there,” I counter with absolute logic.
 “l’ll be gone a long time, Parker.  Far too long for you to come with me or to wait for me.  You need to go forward with God’s plan for your life.  Don’t look back at me, at us or what might have been.  Just let God lead you into the life He has for you.  You’ll never be sorry.”
 I may not be sorry, but I’ll be miserable without you, Cassie.  God help me!
 I stand before her, completely gutted.  We’ve come through so much, made such an incredible connection and, now, she’s cutting me out of her life.  Just like that.  Like I don’t matter.  Like we don’t matter.  Nothing I say or feel matters.  It couldn’t be more obvious.  
 Cassie stands and moves in the direction of the door.  “I know you don’t understand, Parker.  You’ve reminded me twice of how selfish I’ve been.  I’ll carry that regret with me forever.  The last thing I want is to cause you pain.  
 “As difficult as it is, I want you to believe this path I’m on is my effort at selflessness.  It’s probably the least selfish I’ve been since Manny died.  It kills me that it comes as your expense, at our expense.  All sin has its consequences though.  I’m not big enough to change that.” 
 With those final words, Cassie quietly leaves my room.  I stand in her absence, dumbfounded by her behavior, unable, or maybe unwilling, to accept any of what she said.  
 Is this it, Lord?  Is this the end of what Cassie and I share?  Why?  Why does she get to decide how we die?  Why do we have to die at all?  Do I have to accept this?  True, I can’t make her love me, but she just admitted she already cares about me, so that isn’t the problem.  Why won’t she let me help?   Why won’t she tell me everything?  How is her behavior unselfish?  It doesn’t feel unselfish.  Why is it necessary?  Does she even care that I’m gutted and in so much pain that I’m numb in this moment?   
 The questions keep coming as they lengthen my prayer for understanding.  I get no immediate response from God.   I’m so angry and so deflated at the same time I’m unsure what to do next.  Like always, while cranking on a puzzle, I turn to exercise.  I change into running gear and leave my room.
 Riley’s still glued to the T.V.  He has an odd expression on his face, like he’s looking at the screen, but isn’t really watching the content.  I ask him if he’s seen Cassie.  He tells me she went into her room a few minutes ago and that she looked pretty upset.  
 Well, she’s not the only one who’s upset.  I inform Riley I’m going for a run and will be back in an hour or so.  I exit my cabin, shutting the kitchen door more firmly than good manners dictate.  I take off at a dead run without warmups of any kind.  If I don’t burn off some of this anger and hurt, they’re going to kill me right where I stand.
 I return home one hour and seven minutes later.  I’m as exhausted from my run as I’ve ever been.  I probably set a personal best, counting distance over time, but I honestly couldn’t care less.  I’m calmer, still puzzled and hurt beyond belief, but much calmer.  Right now, I don’t have the extra energy to spend on the male version of hysterics.  The run accomplished what I hoped it would.
 I greet Riley upon my return and ask after Cassie.  He says he hasn’t seen her.  As far as he knows, she’s still in her room.  I turn toward my own room with the intention of getting ready for bed, but Riley hijacks my attention.
 “Hey, you know I’ve been sitting here in front of this T.V. for hours, but I can’t tell you a single thing I’ve watched,” is his comment.
 “Why’s that,” I ask in passing, not paying as much attention as I should.
 “Well,” he admits somewhat awkwardly, “I’ve thinking on the conversation we had earlier…”
 Okay, my curiosity is piqued, so I ask sincerely, “The one about apes and morality or the one about me finding Jesus?”.
 Riley screws up his face and asks, “Aren’t they about the same thing?”
 I smile at him and nod my head, “Yes, I guess they are.  That was kind of the point of my story.  Good to know you were paying attention.”
Riley seems pleased I caught up with him so he asks, “I can’t get the things you told me out of my head.  They’ve been sitting on the back burner of my mind.  You told me earlier you had more to say about your Jesus story, but you said it could wait until later.”
 “Yeah, I remember,” I say.
 “Well, is it later?” he asks sincerely.
 I smile broadly at him despite my shattered life.  “Yeah, it’s definitely later.  If you want to hear it, I’m ready to tell you.”
 It may be one in the morning, but there’s no way I can sleep.  Not with the issues Cassie and I have between us.  Besides, Jesus calls me to tell others about him like Cassie told me.  Riley is a great first attempt to share my faith.  He needs Jesus just as much as anyone.
 Riley smiles back at me, pats the sofa cushion next to himself and says, “Have a seat, man.  I’ve got all kinds of questions.”
 For the next two hours, I tell Riley all about the mesa vision, the oasis on the dirt road just north of my cabin, of guardian angels and the trip to outer space taken by Cassie and me. 
 At times, he’s actively engaged with questions.  Other times, he’s incredulous and, part of the time, he’s contemplatively quiet.  He’s all over the map, but I get it.  Someone once told me the story I just told him, and I was convinced of her need for a mental ward lock-up.  So, there’s no judgement from me.  Everyone begins at the same place; the place of lostness prior to Jesus. 
 “Besides,” I say in earnest summary, “evolution is a leap of faith in anything that defies God’s authority.  Evolutionists are so desperate to live without accountability they make up their religion as they go.  They’ve gotten pretty good at convincing others their belief is truth, but it’s nothing more than lies.  This life will not end well for them.” 
 Riley shakes his head vigorously.  “You’re for real, aren’t you, man?”
 I nod my assurance back at him and say, “Yeah, as nuts as it sounds, I’m shooting straight with you.  Your salvation is at stake, Riley.  I don’t want that hanging around my neck when I stand before Jesus on Judgement Day.  I think it would be awesome if you were in heaven along with the rest of those who choose Jesus.  But I know that’s not possible if you aren’t aware of Him and all He’s done on your behalf.  That’s why I wanted to tell you.” 
 Riley yawns full throttle.  He’s getting tired.  The same goes for me.  I take his second yawn as my exit cue, stand and bid him goodnight.  Before I reach my bedroom door, Riley calls after me, “Thanks, man, for setting me straight on this stuff.  It’s so easy to get caught up in life and overlook the things that really define you, you know?”
 I nod at him.  “Yeah, I know all about it.  Been there, done that myself.  See you in the morning.”
 “Yeah, night, man.”

 Contrary to what I believe possible, I sleep like a baby.  There were no dreams of losing Cassie, not even a thought, really that I can recall.  I guess yesterday simply wore through my energy reserves.  Unfortunately, I sleep past my usual time.  I blunder into the kitchen still somewhat sleepy, while wearing my boxers and a T-shirt.  
 Part of me can’t wait to see Cassie in hopes she’s changed her mind.  The rest of me doesn’t want to see her because I have no doubt she hasn’t.  I needn’t have worried.  She’s not in the kitchen.  That’s odd.
 I grab a cup of coffee and saunter over to Riley who’s made himself at home on my sofa.  I smack his legs down of the couch and take a seat next to him.  He’s got some mindless show running on the T.V.  
 “Mornin’” I greet him.  
 “Good morning to you too.  What’s up with you?  You look like somebody drug you behind their truck.”
 “Well, you’re not far off.  I guess you could say I had a rough time with Cassie.”
 I look around and she’s nowhere to be seen.  “Speaking of Cassie, I guess I’d better check on her.”
 Because he has his nose in the T.V., Riley says in a detached manner, “Don’t bother.”
 “What do you mean, don’t bother?” I ask him.
 “I mean, don’t bother, she’s not here,” he replies matter-of-factly.
 I sputter coffee from my mouth back into the cup from which it came.  “What do you mean, she’s not here?”  
 Riley looks over at me and says, “You’re having a hard time keeping up this morning.  Maybe you need some more sleep.”
 I stand and give him my sternest look.  “Stop with the crap, Riley.  What do you mean, she’s not here?”
 Riley shrugs and says, “She left about forty-five minutes ago.  Said she had some stuff to do in town.”
 I stand and loom over him, yelling my response, “It didn’t occur to you I’d need to know that!?”
 Riley, surprised as all get-out, spits his cereal and milk back into his bowl.  “What?  How was I supposed to know she wasn’t allowed to leave?  I didn’t know I was still on guard duty!”  Even more defensively, he adds, “A little heads up would sure be helpful.”
 I shake my head at him in disbelief and offer my version of an explanation.  “It’s not that she wasn’t allowed to leave, Riley.  I’m not holding her prisoner.  I just didn’t know she was leaving quite so soon.”
 Riley finally sees fits to divulge the rest of his information regarding Cassie’s departure.  “It looked like she was leaving for good.  She was pulling a little suitcase behind her as she left.  Man, that thing has seen better days.”
 I race to the kitchen window and look out at the space where my truck sits when it’s home.  Of course, the truck is gone.  I check the back of the cupboard to find the handgun snuggled into its holster.
 She didn’t take a gun.  So, she’s not expecting trouble.  She did take her suitcase which contains all her earthly possessions.  No, Riley’s right. Cassie has no plans to return. 
 I run to her room and find her bed neatly made.  She left a note for me on her pillow.  With trembling fingers, I retrieve it and ready myself for the unknown.

 Dear Parker, I wanted to say goodbye in person, but you were sleeping so soundly I couldn’t bear to wake you.  I couldn’t wait for you to wake for fear of losing my nerve.  Please know that I love you.  I know ‘sorry’ doesn’t take away your hurt because it does nothing to ease my own.  You know me better than anyone on the planet, so you know I must honor my promise to God.  
 I’m unsure how you feel about the big picture of us.  I’m unaware if you feel that finding Jesus was worth the pain and chaos I brought to your life.  Let me assure you, He’s very much worth it.  At the same time, I’m sorry for the pain and chaos.  They weren’t what I intended.  They weren’t what I wanted.  I suppose they came along for the ride, part of a package deal where I’m concerned.   I guess for all the good I did, leading you to Jesus, I left a path of destruction behind me that’s everything else.  Try to embrace the joy and let go of the rest.  Do better for yourself than I did for me.  You deserve the best.
 Live your live for God.  Let Him take you where He sees fit.  Let Him work in your life to bring about the lessons and blessings He has for you.   Remember to read your Bible and pray, pray, pray.  Be sure to tell others about Jesus and what He did for them.  I’ll do the same with my life.
 I’ll see you again someday, Parker.  I fear it won’t be here on earth, but in heaven, when Jesus gathers His followers to take them home with Him.  I’m so eager for that day.  In that moment, our faith will be validated, and all the unbelievers will wish they’d chosen Jesus as well.  
 Please, don’t hate me.  Please, spend no time grieving us.  Put your faith, the love you carry in that big heart of yours, and all your time into making God proud of you.  He’s always watching out for you, Parker.  Love Him like He’s all that matters because, at the end of a life, He is all that truly matters.   With all my love and unfailing belief in you,
                                                                                                                                                                                      Cassie   
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     PS.  I always meant to ask you about your first name but could never think of it when I was with you.   When you think of me, remember this quirky little detail.  Maybe, it will make you smile!  Until someday.

 I sit on Cassie’s bed, overwhelmed and stunned into immobility.   Tears would be welcome relief.  I want to fill the giant hole in my heart with the tears of missing her, but in this moment, tears refuse to come.  
 After several minutes, I calm down enough to talk to God.  I talk out loud to Him.  Somehow, doing so makes me feel better.
 “Why, God?  Why does everything have to be so difficult?”  
 “It was difficult for my Son.  Your pain is limited and pales in comparison to His.”
 “I know that in my head, Lord.  But my heart needs more convincing.”
 “The human heart is in constant need of convincing.  It is slow to learn and willful to have its own way.  It is the reason I give humans a lifetime to learn.”
  “Why, after Cassie and I have come through so much, can’t we be together?”
 “I never forbid Cassie to be with you.  Now, you belong to me, and the two of you fit well together otherwise.”
 I gasp at God’s answer.  Did I hear Him correctly?  
 Incredulous, I ask, “If you never told her to leave, why did she go?”
 “Montenegro stood alone in his choice to die.  Cassie failed to ask for instruction because she assumes too much.  Her will is hers to do with as she pleases.  She is my daughter and I adore her, but there are times she fails to listen well.  You are aware of her nature.”
 “Yes, God, I’m all too aware….”
 Suddenly, I understand what God is saying to me.  I jump up, grab my T-shirt and race from Cassie’s room toward my own.  On the way, I give a shout out to Riley about my imminent departure.
 “Hey, man,” he asks, “can I catch a ride into Laredo?  I’ve decided to head up into Canada and find a guarding gig up there.”
 I pause long enough to really hear what Riley said.  “Yeah, sure.  I can drop you off on my way.”
 “That’s great, man.  Hey, where are you going and why are you leaving in such a hurry?”
 I stick my head back out my bedroom door and, while tugging on a pair of jeans, say, “I’m going after Cassie.  She wasn’t supposed to leave here like she did.”
 “I thought you said she isn’t a prisoner,” is Riley’s confused comment.
 “I did say that, and I meant it.  But, just now, God told me to go after her.”
 Riley shakes his head in disbelief.  “You mean, God talked to you, just now, just like that?”
 I smile back at him and say, “Yep, just now, just like that.”
 I hear Riley reply, “That’s totally hardcore, man!”
 “Yeah, it’s pretty cool, I gotta agree.”
 “Well, how are you going to find her?  Where are you going to look?  She could be anywhere in Laredo,” Riley says while under the impression he’s offering insight.
 I shake my head at his misunderstanding.  “She’s not in Laredo.  That’s not the town she referenced when she left this morning.”
 “What town did she mean, then?”
 “I’m pretty sure she went back to Monterrey.”
 Riley’s incredulous and offers what he believes to be additional insight.  “Why in the world would she go back there?  You must have misunderstood something, man.  You need to rethink this.” 
 I’m typing in the code for my garage while informing Riley we’ll continue his assessment of my conclusions while on the road.  Riley’s mouth drops open as the wall of my living room slides sideways.  
 “Are you freaking kidding me!?” he exclaims.  
 I brush aside his questions and say, “Come on, we’ve got to go.  Now,” I spur him into action.  As we make our way to the car inspiration hits me.  “Riley, wait up,” I say as I run to the end table which sits on the north end of the sofa.  I pick up my Bible and quickly scribble a note in it.
 For a split second, I hesitate.  This is the Bible Cassie gave me.  It’s the only tangible memory I have of her.  It’s especially poignant because it was her personal Bible, the one she spent countless hours studying, praying over and documenting insights from God.  If this plan of mine goes south, this Bible is all I’ll have of her.  
 Suddenly, in my memory, I see her sweet selfless face insisting I accept it.  I swallow hard.  This is the right thing to do.  I fold it up in my arm and follow Riley to the car.
 We peel out of the garage and I shut the hidden compartment from my cell phone.  We waste no time in barreling down on Laredo.  
 While on our way, Riley gets back to the question of how to locate Cassie. 
 “When I was praying this morning, God told me He never sent Cassie away.”
 “Okay, then, why did she leave?  I mean she didn’t appear to be in a hurry, but she had this absolute manner.  She acted like she meant business,” Riley offers.
 “I know.  That’s just who she is,” I agree.   “Cassie is under some misguided perception that she’s responsible for Montenegro’s death.”
 “What?!  That’s crazy!” Riley blurts in surprise.  “She didn’t put a bullet in his head.  I did.”
 “I know that. You know that.  Even Cassie knows that.  But in her mind, Montenegro is dead because she set yesterday’s events in motion.   So, she feels it’s her duty to take responsibility for his death.”
 Riley shakes his head in disagreement.  “She seemed like such a normal person.  She’d have to be whack job crazy to do something like this.”
 I reach in my jacket pocket and pull out Cassie’s letter.  I hand it to Riley and give him a few minutes to read it.  I have my eyes on the road at a high rate of speed, but without looking, I know when he’s finished because I hear this huge exhalation of air from him as he tries to keep from blubbering.
 “You okay, Riley?”
 Quickly, he wipes a tear from his left cheek and states with a shaky voice, “That is one beautiful letter, man.  You’ve got to find this woman!”
 I give him my best ‘duh’ expression and nod toward the highway, my car eating it like candy.  “Isn’t that what we’re doing?” 
 Riley admits, “I still don’t know why you’re so certain she’s gone back to Monterrey.”
 “See that line in the letter where she says she has to honor her promise to God?”
 “Yeah, I see it.  So?”
 “When she first came to my cabin and tried to enlist my help to end Montenegro, I remember her saying she didn’t care about the consequences.  She didn’t care about prison.  Another time she told me she hoped one prison sentence would pay for killing Montenegro, as well as, the loss of Maria’s and Alejandro’s father.  She was so convinced she’d pull off Montenegro’s death that she’d already resigned herself to prison life.”
 “Okay, man, I get that, but, again, she didn’t kill the guy.  I did.”
 “That detail makes little difference to Cassie.”
 “Like I said, whack job crazy,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.
 I smile at Riley’s assessment of Cassie, while remembering I drew the same conclusion about her not so long ago.  “There’s no doubt in my mind I’ll find her at the Monterrey police department, confessing to a murder she didn’t actually commit.”
 “Well, you’ve got to stop her.  She went covert on Montenegro, but she’s not the sort who’s gonna do well in a Mexican prison.”
 I think on Riley’s summation for just a second, then hit the gas pedal somewhat harder.
 In record time, I pull up to a street corner on the southwest edge of Laredo.  Riley hops out of my car and I pull the Bible Cassie gave me from under my seat.
 “Riley, I want you to take this.  We’ve talked about Jesus and salvation and living for God.  Take this and read it.  Start in the New Testament.  It will answer so many of your questions.  I put my number on the inside cover.  Call me anytime.  I’ll do whatever I can to help you on your faith journey.”
 Riley smiles appreciatively back at me.  “Thanks, man.  I will call at some point.  Thanks, too, for caring enough about me to tell me the truth.”
 “No problem.  Cassie cared enough about me to save me.  I’m just passing it on.  It’s what we’re supposed to do as followers of Jesus.  After all, He cared enough about us to tell us the truth.  Read that book, man.  There’s more information and truth in there than you can learn in a lifetime.  Don’t leave this world without Jesus, Riley.  I want to see you in the eastern realm.”
 Riley smiles again.  He seems humbled by my gift.  I know I was.  “Be careful, man.  Law enforcement in Mexico is a different animal than it is in the states.  Now, go get your girl!” he commands as he hits the hood of my car, wishing me well.
 I salute him, one soldier to another and peel away, following his directive to get my girl.
 The police precinct closest to Montenegro’s compound is approximately two and half miles past his residence.  It sits on the opposite side of the road.  When I arrive, I find my little truck seven parking spots away from the front door.  I lock up my car and begin the uncertain journey to the interior of the building.
 I walk into a dimly lit area, so it takes my eyes just a moment to adjust to the new level of illumination.  At first glance, it looks like the front desk of any other police precinct.  I look around, but don’t see Cassie.  
 The officer at the desk is asking me what kind of assistance I need when I hear a familiar voice coming from an office just down the hall.  I wave off the officer’s attention as he re-focuses it on the people who came in behind me.  I jog down the hall, looking in various rooms as I pass, until I reach the last office on the right.  
 Cassie stands in front of a desk which belongs to a sergeant of this precinct.  Off to one end of the desk, a detective occupies another chair.  I walk up behind Cassie and place my hand on her back.  
 My touch stuns her into speechlessness, but only for an instant.  “Parker?!”
 I smile at her, “No, my name is Shiloh,” I correct her.  
 “She smiles back me.  “Shiloh, huh?  I like it.”
 “Well, it’s a good thing because I’m kind of attached to it,” is my reply as I smile down at her.
 Suddenly, our private little confab is interrupted by law enforcement.
 The sergeant asks, “You know this woman?”
 “Yes, I have to admit I do,” I say with a huge grin on my face.
 The detective sits in quiet observation as the sergeant continues.  “She’s been here for some time now, telling us this incredible story about the death of a local drug czar by the name of Montenegro.  Do you know of these events?”
 I nod my head in concession.  “Yeah, I heard something about them.  What has she said?” I ask, changing the trajectory of our conversation.
 “She has spent much time and energy trying to convince us she is responsible for his demise.  Her?  Can you believe that?  She wants us to believe she walked into the compound of a notorious drug lord and ended his life.  Ha!” the sergeant exclaims as he slaps the top of his desk for emphasis.
 At this point, the detective, who carries a far more somber expression and a much weightier disposition, adds some evidence, or maybe the lack of it, to the conversation.  “We’ve shown your friend a chart with various types of weapons depicted on it, but she failed to choose the weapon which killed Mr. Montenegro.  She tells us the weapon she had is not depicted on the chart.  The sergeant and I have explained to her that forensics has already identified the weapon which killed the man.”
 Cassie looks up at me and shrugs.  It seems as if she’s apologizing because she couldn’t get it right.  Can you believe that?!
 I shake my head in relief and wonder.  Thank you, God.  I’m so grateful Cassie’s weaponry lessons never advanced far enough to include automatics, which is, of course, the type of weapon Riley used.  To a rookie, like Cassie, Riley’s gun just looked like a gun.  The only weapons she could positively identify would be the two or three handguns she used during target practice.
 God you are so good!  
 The detective continues.  “Maybe your friend is confused.  Maybe she is off her meds.  Whatever the case may be, she is not the person who killed Mr. Montenegro.”
 “But,…” Cassie interrupts.
 Instantly, the detective puts his forefinger in the air and says, “Eh, eh, eh, eh…do not argue with me.  Perhaps you misunderstand.  A far larger concern of ours, than the death of drug czar, is the two who will rise to replace him.  So, you see, we have different priorities.  Thank you for coming to see us, but we have spent adequate time with you.  Good day.”
 Cassie opens her mouth to speak one more time, but I grab her by the upper arm, twirl her so she faces the door and assist her in exiting the room.  As quickly as possible I escort her from the building.
 Once we hit the sidewalk, I ask Cassie for the keys to the truck.  This truck has to go.  Besides, I want her to ride home with me.  I walk up to the nearest resident and ask him if he’d like a truck free and clear.  He gives me a toothless smile of disbelief as I hand him the keys.  I take a minute to empty the glove box and seat Cassie in the passenger side of my car.
 Sedately, we leave Monterrey behind us.  The heartbreak, the waiting, the drama, everything evil or awful this city held for each of us, is in our rear-view mirror.  Everything good it held is hidden in our hearts and will go with us into our future.  
 On the ride home, I explain my morning prayer to Cassie, how God told me her mission was self-imposed.  She tries to argue, but once I walk her through it, she concedes to God’s rationale.  
 I watch her countenance as true awareness washes over her.  I watch as the stress, the weight, the burdens comprising her recent journey, all fall away from her consciousness.  A new lightness, a new energy, a dawning hope take hold of both her features and her demeanor.  A deep, brilliant smile lights her beautiful face.
 I sit beside this woman I love, her hand wrapped within mine, with an even deeper respect and admiration for her.  She went into that police station terrified of what a Mexican prison would hold for her.  Regardless, she went because she wanted to do her best for God.   Oh, how different the world would be with more Cassies in it. 
 Once Cassie and I cross the Rio Grande back into Texas, we decide to start a conversation about our future.  Yes, the blood money which comprises my personal wealth is a problem for her.  She assures me we can find numerous, worthy, Bible based charities who can redeem the money by reaching others for Jesus.  She’s full of ideas, she chatters endlessly.  I’ve never heard a more beautiful sound.
 Right after we exit the east side of Laredo, I inform her I’d like to tell her a story.
 “Oh, really?  A story about what?” she wants to know.
 I smile broadly at her and say, “A story of how I met Audie, my guardian angel.”

By Madison Willoughby

From: United States

Website: http://www.madisonwilloughby.com

Grey Thoughts

Grey Thoughts

Writers Gallery - The Writers Club

Grey Thoughts

Writing Gallery

Chapter One - The Memory

Chapter Two - The Request

Chapter Three - Cassiana Martinez

Chapter Four - The Reason

Chapter Five - The Misunderstanding

Chapter Six - The Accusation

Chapter Seven - The Visitor

Chapter Eight - The Vision

Chapter Nine - The Departure

Chapter Ten - The Conversation

Chapter 11 - Parker’s Considerations

Chapter 12 - More of the Story

Chapter 13 - The Epiphany

Chapter 14 - Cassie’s Considerations

Chapter 15 - Parker’s Supernatural Ears

Chapter 16 - Calliope

Chapter 17 - The Next Dumb Thing

Chapter 18 - Concessions

Chapter 19 - The Problem with Pubs

Chapter 20 - Epiphanies

Chapter 21 - Never Alone

Chapter 22 - What Comes Next

Grey Thoughts