When Heaven Weeps (56 page)

A white light flooded Helen's mind with that last word, as if a strobe had been ignited. She jerked her head up.

The room had vanished. She gasped.

A field of white flowers stretched out before her, surrounded by a brilliant blue sky.

Her vision snapped back to the room, where the big man, Karadzic, was stepping in, followed by the woman in red. They both wore clown grins.

But Helen remained here less than a second, before the white world popped back to life like a flashbulb. The flowers swayed, delicate in the breeze, bowing to a prone figure not ten feet away. She heard what sounded like a child sobbing quietly, and Helen quickly scanned the surreal sky. It was turquoise now and it flowed like a river toward the horizon.

Helen dropped her eyes. The woman on the ground was dressed in a pink dress with little flowers and . . .

It was
her!
It was her,
Helen!

The soft sobbing halted for a brief second, leaving only deathly silence. The world had frozen with Helen in it, standing agape, lying near death.

And then the screaming started. A hundred thousand voices wailed at once, desperate in their agony. In her mind's eye Helen covered her ears and doubled over. The sound ripped through her nerves like a razor. They were weeping for that prone figure. For
her
.

“God, dear God, forgive me!”

Instantly she was back in the dim room, with her last cry echoing around her. Karadzic and his black-haired woman stared at her, their smiles gone. They had heard her.

“God can't hear you, fool!” The big man was dressed in a black robe with the lady in red at his arm. Two others had followed them in and now took their posts to Helen's right. Then Karadzic stepped to the center of the room and faced her. “You think calling out to God will save you? It didn't save the priest, and he was better than you.”

The two men who'd waited near the back had Ivena by her arms now. They jerked her to the side where they stood her up facing Helen. But the glint in Ivena's eyes did not fade.

The candles flickered silently. Helen sagged from the cross, heaving with emotion. But it really wasn't from the madness in this room, was it? It was from that vision. It had left her sight, but the weeping still crashed through her heart.

Karadzic approached Helen, wearing a twisted grin again. He was very tall, so that his face came level with Helen's. He lifted a thick hand and ran his fingers down Helen's cheek.

“Such soft skin. It's a shame, really.” Karadzic spoke very softly, and he wiped the tears from Helen's cheek. It made little difference; fresh tears spilled in silent streams. He leaned closer, and Helen could smell the musty odor of his breath.

“Today you will die. You know that, don't you?” he whispered.

Karadzic's eyes were no more than six inches from Helen's; they roved in their sockets, searching Helen's face. He ran a thick tongue delicately over his teeth; sweat glistened on his upper lip. “In one hour you will be dead. After we've had our fun. But you can save yourself. You're going to decide whether or not you want to stay alive now. Do you understand?”

He looked into Helen's eyes, waiting.

Helen nodded. A squeak of air escaped her throat. Fear spread through her bones, replacing the sorrow brought on by the vision. She glanced over at Ivena, who stared at her with that fire in her eyes.

“Helen,” Karadzic whispered. His mouth popped lightly with the parting of his lips and tongue. “Such a pretty name. Do you want to stay alive, Helen? Hmm? Do you want to go back to your lover?”

Helen nodded. She glanced over Karadzic's shoulder and saw that the others hadn't moved. The faint hiss of burning candlewicks played over her mind. The man was breathing deliberately through his nostrils.

“Say it, my darling. Tell me you want to stay alive.”

“Yes,” Helen said. But it came out like a whimper.

Karadzic smiled. “Yes. Then you remember that, because if you don't, I'm going to let Vahda break your fingers off, one by one. It will sound very loud in this room. You will think that you're being shot, but it will only be your bones snapping loudly.” Somewhere in there his smile had vanished.

Helen realized that she was no longer breathing.

Karadzic turned and walked back. A pistol was shoved in his belt, large and black. Helen's breath came in sudden short pants. Chills swept over her skull
. Oh, God! Please save me. I'll do anything!

Karadzic turned around by the woman, Vahda, and for a long moment they stared at Helen, unmoving. Shadows flickered with the candle flames, dancing across their faces.

Karadzic reached out to the guard on his right and took a revolver from him.

Helen's heart crashed into her throat. Her breathing shortened—she was hyperventilating. Glenn's eyes were black. No, it was Karadzic, and his eyes were like holes. Why were they doing this? What had she done to anger them?

“Now, Helen, we brought you here to kill you. And we're going to do that.” He spoke very softly, very matter-of-factly. “But since your husband was kind enough to tell my story to the world and bring me such fame, I've decided to give you a choice. You did read his book, didn't you?”

She didn't respond. Couldn't.

“Good. Then you'll remember that I gave the priest a choice. You do remember that?”

Karadzic took a step forward. “Look at me, Helen.” She did, still trembling. “Here is your choice. It's quite simple. If you renounce your love for Janjic, I will set you free.”

She blinked at the man. Renounce her love? For Janjic! She could do that easily—they were just words.

“Do you understand? Tell me that you don't love him—that you would curse him if he were here—and I'll set you free. Do you understand?”

She nodded impulsively.

You can't renounce your love, Helen
.

Of course I can. I have to!
She refused to look at Ivena, but she could feel the woman's eyes on her.

“Very good.”

“You . . . you won't hurt him?” Helen asked.

“Hurt him? If you reject him, what will it matter? He'll be dead to you anyway.”

Her head began to throb. She closed her eyes, desperate to wake up from this nightmare.

“Helen.”

She opened her eyes. Karadzic had lifted the gun and rested its barrel on his cheek. He tilted his head, and looked past his bushy eyebrows at her.

“You know what happened to the priest. I know you do. I killed him.”

She didn't move. The air felt very still.

“But I want you to be sure that I will do what I say. I want you to know that when I say I'm going to kill someone, I will kill them.” His mouth was open in a slight smile.

“Look at Ivena, Helen.”

Helen turned toward Ivena. The older woman looked directly at Helen with an eagerness in her eyes and the hint of a smile on her lips. There was no fear; there was only this absurd confidence that glowed about her. A fresh surge of tears spilled from Helen's eyes.

The guards stepped aside and Ivena stood on her own feet, wavering.

“Do not weep for me, Helen. The weeping is for you,” Ivena said.

From the corner of her eye Helen saw Karadzic lift his arm to Ivena. A
boom!
crashed through Helen's skull and she jerked back. Ivena's neck folded back. The side of her head was gone. She fell to the floor like a sack of flour.

Then Helen's mind began to explode with panic. There was laughter, but she couldn't remove her eyes from Ivena's limp body to see where it came from— maybe from Karadzic and his woman. Maybe it was from her.

Ivena!
Dear God, Ivena was dead!

Oh, God, please save me! I please beg you to save me! Please, please!

JAN STRAINED against the ropes, ignoring the pain that throbbed in his joints. It had begun, he knew that much. He could feel the tension in his gut, and it made him nauseous.

Dear Father, I beg you, save her. I beg you!

He heard a distant report: a gunshot far away. Had they shot her? Jan dropped his chin to his chest and groaned aloud. Bile filled his throat and he threw up. He spit the bitter taste from his mouth and groaned again. It was too much.

Karadzic would do whatever possible to encourage Helen's denouncement of love, even if it meant harming her. And Ivena, what would he do to Ivena? The thought of that bullhead touching Helen revolted Jan, actually made his body quiver on its moorings.

He let his head loll and begged God for the moments to pass quickly. If she renounced her love, she would be gone forever and Jan thought he might as well die without her. Which was precisely what would happen. Karadzic would butcher him.

But if Helen chose death instead? Karadzic might break his word and kill her. But there were no other options. At least they would die as one, in love.

Father, you cannot allow her to die. She is your Israel; she is your church; she is your bride
.

A picture from the Psalms, of a giant eagle screaming from the sky to protect its young, spun through his mind.
You have cast this madness, Father. Now save us. You have made me Solomon, desperate for the maiden; you have made me Hosea, loving with your heart. Now show me your hand
.

Silence.

Jan hung from his restraints, wanting death. He could hardly think for the pain. If Karadzic would free his hands, he would claw the man's eyes out! Jan ground his teeth. He would pummel that thick face!
How dare he touch—

The world abruptly stuttered to white.

The vision!

Laughter crashed in on him from all sides. The field of flowers and this hilarious laughter. A wave of relief swept over his chest and he chuckled suddenly. Then the sentiment thundered through his body and he could not contain it. It was pleasure. Raw pleasure and it boiled from his bones in bubbles of joy!

Jan doubled over, as far as his bound arms allowed, and he laughed. The room echoed with the sounds of a madman, and he couldn't help thinking that he'd finally lost his sanity. But he knew at once that he could not be more sensible. He was drinking life and it was making him laugh.

Every fiber in his body begged to die in that moment; to join that laughter forever. To roll through the field and rush through the blue sky with Father Micheal and Nadia.

The vision vanished.

He blinked in the darkness.
You know Nadia spoke of laughter, Janjic. You know Father Micheal laughed. And then they both died. The laughing precedes death.

Then let me die, Father.

But save Helen. I beg you.

THEY HAD left the room for a while, to give her time to think things through, the woman said. Ivena's body lay in a pool of blood to Helen's right, her eyes open and dead. The candles cast wavering shadows across the room. And Helen stared with round eyes, a sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, breathing in ragged lurches.

She had passed out once, from hyperventilation, she thought. When she came to, she wondered if the whole thing had been a bad dream, but then she saw the body and she started crying again.

The problem was quite simple. She didn't want to renounce her love for Jan. Her mind revisited his incredible kindness and his passion. Renouncing his love could very well be death in and of itself. At the very least she could never face him again.

But then she didn't want to die. No, she would never allow them to kill her.

The door banged open, and Karadzic walked in with the woman and two guards. One of the guards walked to Ivena's body and began pulling it to the side.

“Leave it!” Karadzic said.

The guard released the body and joined his comrade on Helen's left.

Karadzic took up his position before her, like an executioner eager to get on with it. Vahda was biting at a fingernail, obviously excited. They stared at her in silence for a moment.

Karadzic spoke in a low rumble. “Now, Helen. We're going to begin breaking your fingers. I prefer the knife and we might get to that, but Vahda has persuaded me that a woman will do anything to keep her fingers.”

Helen began to shake again. The nails in the beam at her back were squeaking with her trembling: an obscene sound that sent chills down her legs.

“Oh, God!” she moaned. “Please, God!”

Karadzic lifted his eyebrows. “God? I told you, God isn't listening. I think your God—”

It was all she heard. Because the world exploded again. It flashed white.

She was back in the vision!

Only this time, the field of white flowers was swimming in the laughter of children. Helen caught her breath. There was another sound there with the children— she recognized it immediately. It was Ivena! Laughing with the children. Hysterical.

And the prone figure had vanished. And that was funny, she thought. No, that was delightful. That was perfectly incredible! That was better than anything she could ever have imagined.

She heard her own laughter, joining the chorus. Not because it was so funny, in fact funny was a terrible word to describe this emotion erupting from her belly. She felt as though she'd been yanked from an acid bath and plunged into a pool of ecstasy. This intoxicating world of intense pleasure.

This is heaven.

“Stop it!”

The voice snapped Helen back to the room.

“STOP IT!” Karadzic stood trembling. “You think it's funny?”

Helen was chuckling. The woman hung from his cross covered in her own sweat, shaking like a leaf. A moment before, it had been terror twitching those muscles; now it was laughter.

The scene ran through Karadzic's mind like a sick joke. He had seen this before. In a small village not so far away, twenty years ago.

“Shut up!”

She stopped and looked around like an idiot, as if unsure of where she was. The absurdity of this sudden turn in her demeanor brought a chill to Karadzic's bones. What in God's name did she think she was doing?