Beyond Justice (44 page)

The curtain on the left fell to the ground and sent glowing ashes into the air.  I grabbed my duffle bag and bolted out the front door.  Out in the middle of the cul de sac, I called 911 on my cell.  After that, I gave Rachel a quick call.   She'd be right over.  I'd have gone to Dave's next door, but he was out of town.

Flames leaped into the night air.  Smoke spewed out of my front door.  The alarm mounted to the outside of my house began to ring.  I stood outside in the middle of the street and watched my living room burn.  Lights came on in the surrounding houses.  Faces peeked out from behind curtains and vertical blinds.

Within minutes, the fire department arrived.  If you've never seen these guys get their gear setup and attack a burning house fire, you don't know the meaning of efficient.  To my surprise, Jim O'Brien showed up and came to my side. "First night back and already you're causing trouble?"

I couldn't speak, just shook my head.

He began to ask me questions which, not surprising, were meant to determine if any foul play was involved.  Finally, I said, "To the best of my knowledge, my own stupidity caused it."

The fire fighters worked quickly, yet remained calm and methodical.  Some initial motion within but not a lot of noise.  Fifteen minutes and they were wrapping things up.  It was over.  One of them came over, removed his mask and said, "Damnedest thing I've ever seen."

"How bad?" I asked.

"Well, the room had no doors, you know?  Opens to the hallway and the dining room, which opens to the butler's pantry, which opens to the kitchen.   Should've spread all over the house.  But it acted like a compartment fire.  Amazing."

The fire engine pulled out of the cul de sac and flashed its beacon without sounding its siren.   The entire neighborhood was awake anyway, gawking at the scene.  Some from their open doors and some from their windows.  Welcome back, Sam.

"The rest of the house is fine," Jim said.  "Don't do any cooking tonight, okay?" I nodded my appreciation.  He got back in his car and drove off just as Rachel pulled into the driveway.

"Oh, Sam," she said, pulling her jacket tighter around her shoulders. "You all right?" Rachel shivered.

"Been better."  I put my arm around her and held her close.

The tattered remains of the living room curtains hung like dead leaves in the windows.  I would not mention the dreams or the voices.  She'd think I was insane.  And cliché.  Who was I anyway, Moses?  Instead of a burning bush, God spoke to me in a burning fireplace?  Right.  Was it even God?  What about that devilish nightmare?

"Rachel, could I spend the night at your place?"

"My place?"

"I'll stay on the sofa."

She looked back at the house. "What happened in there?"

"I was careless, threw something in the fireplace."

"You look like you've seen a—"

"So, can I?"  She hesitated for a moment.  I understood her pause.  But hormones be damned, I was so shaken, they wouldn't be a problem tonight.  "Please, Rachel.  I can't spend my first night here."

"Of course."  She put her had behind my neck and pulled my face down to her lips.  I thanked her and went back to lock the door.

"Don't worry," I said as I climbed into her car.  "I'll be a perfect gentleman."

She inserted the key, started the engine and grinned.

"It's not you I'm worried about."

Chapter Ninety-Three

Except for my rude snoring that kept Rachel awake most of the night, I had indeed been a perfect gentleman.  So she said.  She was going to a deposition downtown and dropped me off at my house on the way.  As she left, she blew me a kiss.

The first thing I noticed when I stepped into the foyer was the absence of that musty, smoky, post-fire odor.  You'd never know anything had happened.  One look in the living room corrected that perception.

Slats of golden sunlight sliced through the air and illuminated the charred remains of the sofa, the rug and curtains.  Ash-tainted puddles gathered around the hearth.  I brushed a couple of glass shards away with my shoe and crouched down.  I thought of the fire from which City on a Hill had just recently recovered.  The hate crimes committed against City on a Hill because of their support for me.  And I remembered Lorraine, who in effect paid for her belief in me with her life.

I continued in, scanning the damage.  All these years, I had managed not to be angry with God by pretty much ignoring His existence.  But last night was too much.  Yet, I felt a twinge for reacting so rashly.  It was Jenn's Bible, after all, one of her most beloved possessions.  And I pitched it into the fire. 
I'm going to hell.

Fixed on the ashes within, I wondered if the voice would return if I relit the fireplace.  Then I noticed something under the black debris. 

No.  It couldn't be.

I reached in, brushed away the soot and felt its texture under my fingertips.

Impossible.

I grasped it firmly and stood.  Blew a layer of ashes off and wiped away the rest.

It was Jenn's Bible.  And it had not burned.  Practically untouched.  I leafed through the pages from Genesis to Revelation.  Not one page singed.  I had experienced miracles first hand.  But this truly astounded me.  So much so that in the absence of my mind, the Bible fell from my hands and landed with a heavy thump on the floor.   I could still remember that voice calling my name.

Ssssamuel
.   If it had really been His voice.

How could I possibly do what He asked?

___________________

The nightmares hadn't returned.  Which was helpful in my getting reacclimated.  Nor had I heard any more from that voice which urged me to forgive and befriend Brent Stringer.  And this was helpful because in my second week back, I had to testify against him a deposition.  Speaking the truth never felt so good.

Despite that progress, two things plagued me in the days of my custody battle with the State.  One: No matter how early I went to bed, no matter how tired I felt, I simply couldn't sleep well.  I'd toss and turn all night, fall asleep for a bit, then awaken with my heart racing for no apparent reason.  At best, I'd get about three hours total.

And two:  I could not find a job.  Been there, done that.  During my trial, no one would hire a murder/rape defendant.   But now more than ever, I needed to find gainful employment, as it was the one technicality that the judge used against me.  Without financial stability, I had no means of supporting my son, paying his medical expenses.

The termination of his life support pressed forward as scheduled.   Less than seven weeks left.  Despite my hope in God's promise, I wondered if my refusing to listen to His voice hindered my prayers for Aaron.  Accusatory voices kept whispering,
Faithless hypocrite!
 

On a Tuesday morning in early November, I opened my eyes  and beheld what looked like a dark stain on the wall, up in the corner under the crown molding.  Odd.  It hadn't rained last night.  And even if it had, water stains would take longer to become that dark.  A shadow, perhaps.

I sat up, rubbed my eyes and looked up at the wall again.  The sun wasn't coming through that side of the house.  It wasn't a shadow.  On closer examination, I noticed that this form on the wall had turned deep red.  Like blood.  Like those three dimensional Magic Eye posters that were so popular in the 90's.  But those images didn't move or change shape.  This form began to morph with an oozing fluidity.   I stumbled back and braced myself on the door frame.

Samuel.

That voice.  Profound, resonant.  The stain took on an unmistakable form.  The face of a man, blood dripping from his brow.  A crown of thorns.  Looking right into my eyes.  My soul.

"Samuel."

The reply became ensnared within my throat.  "I'm...here, Lord."  Instead of judgment, I found something unexpected in His eyes.  Compassion.  For me.  If I were anything less than certain, I might have believed that insanity had set in.

"Samuel, do you believe in me?"

My legs became gelatinous. "Yes, Lord." I lowered my head.  Shut my eyes.  I was not afraid.

"Forgive, even as you have been forgiven."

"Samuel," He said, again.  "Do you love me?"

Yes.

And before I could say another word, He said, "Samuel Ian Hudson, do you trust me?" There was so much I wanted to ask, so much I needed to know.  But in the time it took to blink, He was gone.

I found myself lying on my pillow, having just then opened my eyes.  This was entirely too real to be a dream.  The stain was gone.  Had it ever been there?  But to this day, I still remember the voice.

And what it compelled me to do.

Chapter Ninety-Four

I kept my experience with the apparition of Christ to myself for the next couple of days.  Who would believe it anyway?  I hardly believed it myself.   Still, it nagged me.  Could it really have been a divine message?

A week later I attended a service at City on a Hill with Rachel for the first time.  She was glad that I had been the one to bring up going to church.  Hiding behind an uneasy smile, I stepped into the church where several members came up to greet me.  Alan and Samantha from the Bible study group waved from across the sanctuary as the worship band did a sound check.  We took a seat and Rachel held my hand.  "You okay?"

"Yeah.  Great," I said, almost truthfully.

"You seem a little tense."

"I was thinking about Lorraine."  The arsonists were never caught, but they had made it clear why they hated this church so.  I wondered how they felt about what they'd done—especially that Lorraine had died in the fire—when news of my exoneration came out.

Rachel lowered her eyes.  "It's hard to come into this new building every Sunday and not think about her."

"And too, I haven't been in a church since I was a six."

She patted my arm and leaned on my shoulder.  The bandleader said a brief prayer and for the next half hour led us in a set of contemporary Christian praise and worship songs.  There's nothing quite so uncomfortable as being clueless amidst a crowd of people singing their hearts out, clapping and dancing for joy to songs they all know by heart.  Despite the lyrics projected onto a huge screen, the only song I could sing was their jazzed up version of
Amazing Grace
.  I joined in the applause at the end of the singing as the leader pointed a finger heavenward.  This wasn't half bad.  In fact, it was kind of fun.

It was the first time I'd seen Pastor Dave in his role as a preacher.  He never stood behind the pulpit on the stage.  Instead he preached in front of the pews, up and down the aisles, between them.  He shared some amazing stories of how he and the mission team helped rebuild houses lost to flash floods  down in Cabo San Lucas.  After the sermon, he made some announcements—a deacons' luncheon at 1:00, Food and Clothes for the Homeless at 3:00  downtown.  Then came the welcoming of visitors.

I slid down into my seat.  Rachel elbowed me.  There were three people visiting.  After they were introduced, a pair of ushers handed them welcome brochures and bestowed them with Hawaiian leis.  "If there are no other visitors..." Pastor Dave said, scanning the sanctuary.  He stopped right at me and his face lit up.  "Well!  Everyone, we have a very special guest with us today."

The stigma of my criminal conviction warmed my cheeks.  I sank lower, still.  Rachel raised her hand, stood and pointed down to me.

"Rachel," the Pastor said, "would you like to introduce our honored guest?"

Ears ablaze, I stood and whispered, "Oh, you're so going to get it."

She just winked and turned to address the congregation. "I'm sure some of you already know." She nudged me and I turned around.  I might as well have been looking into a mirror, for just about every face bore the very uncertainty I felt.

At that moment, Pastor Dave came to my side and patted me on the back. "Folks, this is the man you've spent the past three years praying for.  Sam Hudson!"

Instantly, eyes brightened with recognition.  Smiles emerged.  A wave of applause swept the hall.  Dave shook my hand and welcomed me.  All around, congregants filed in to meet me, squeeze my arm, shake my hand.

"Welcome home, Sam," said an oddly familiar man.  Then he took my hand and gave me a little brown paper bag.

"Jerry!"  The quiet man from the Bible study group who always carried a bag of pistachios with him wherever he went.   He lowered his eyes to the bag and nodded.  I wrapped my arms around him and gave him a massive bear hug.  Timid as a church mouse, Jerry had been a quiet prayer warrior in all the time I knew him.  In my darkest hours, he'd been there for me, along with the rest of the Bible study group.  He smiled, picked a pistachio out of the bag and walked away.  Rachel shrugged and giggled.

And finally, Samantha and Alan.  Their daughter was still in Sunday school but they promised to introduce her again, later.

"Sam!" I said.

"Sam!" she also said, and we laughed.  I kissed her cheek, shook Alan's hand.   They were welcoming me into the fold.  For the first time in years, I experienced something that was missing since it had been torn from my life.