Redemption (42 page)

Rabid anger flooded his being at the very possibility, and in a flurry of motion he grabbed his revolver from the passenger seat. Dirk’s hands trembled at the thought of seeing the man and putting an end to the affair once and for all.

Then he shook his head, exhaled slowly, and willed the tension in his shoulders to ease. It wasn’t going to happen. Nothing could ruin his plans now. He eased the gun back toward the seat beside him.

Nothing, unless . . .

Unless Angela didn’t catch the vision of what he’d planned for the two of them. Unless somehow the professor had convinced her that everything she’d shared with Dirk was simple and shallow and worthless. Unless she took one look at the ring and laughed at him, refused to see him, ordered him away from her apartment.

The thought had never occurred to him before.

Sure, she’d said no in the past, but that was back when she was seeing the professor. Back before his weight-training program, before he’d built his body into a piece of art. Minute by painful minute, workout after tiring workout, pill after pill after pill—and all of it for Angela Manning.

If she turned him down now, everything about life as he knew it would be over.

A strange buzzing filled his head, and it was difficult to think. If she didn’t say yes, he knew ways to convince her. He clutched the revolver more tightly and hid it in his pocket. Wouldn’t want to scare her. Then with the ring in one hand and the gun in the other, he climbed out of the truck and slammed the door shut.

He hadn’t taken four steps when he spotted the professor.

What was this? Was he seeing things? Dirk blinked, rage filling every vein and capillary, strangling his chest and heart and mind. But the vision didn’t change. Instead, he watched Professor Jacobs walk toward the front door of Angela’s apartment building.

Anger grabbed at his throat, suffocating him. Dirk was unable even to draw a breath without doing something to stop the man. He pulled the gun from his pocket and ran to catch up with the professor.

“Hey!” Dirk raised the gun, his temples pounding with fury. The professor’s face was frozen in a mask of surprise as Dirk positioned his finger on the trigger.

“This one’s for Angela.”

At the sound of her name on his lips, Dirk pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times, until the professor dropped to the sidewalk with blood spilling from his chest.

Only then did the anger clear enough for Dirk to realize what he’d done.

He stared at the professor lying on the sidewalk. Stared at the red pool forming around the man and ran for his car, his heart screaming within him.

As he pulled away, it occurred to him that he’d ruined everything. Every dream of marrying Angela or making a life for the two of them, every thought of finally living a life like his brothers’ was laid out on that sidewalk, dying.

Right there beside Professor Tim Jacobs.

The moment Tim hit the ground, he instantly made two observations.

First, the pain was only minimal, despite the fact that he’d taken all three bullets straight on. He felt a hot, throbbing sensation at the center of his chest, but other than that he might have been lying on the sidewalk by choice.

It was the other observation that worried him more: He couldn’t move, not even a little. And it was that reality that sent him beyond pain and fear straight to terror. Because as badly as he wanted to convince himself he was all right, clearly something was very wrong.

He heard footsteps, cries. Though he couldn’t open his eyes, he knew Angela was at his side.

“Tim!” She knelt beside him, her voice frantic. There were other voices, bystanders gathering around, and she shouted at them, “Somebody call 911!”

Her fingers took hold of his and squeezed. “Hang on, Tim.” She screamed the words and began to weep. “Dear God, no!”

He could feel pavement beneath him. Pavement and warm, flowing blood. Desperation seized Tim, and he tried as hard as he could to speak. He had something to say. Even if it took all his remaining strength he had to say it before it was too late.

Help me, Father. . . . I’m in trouble.

Voices gathered around Tim, shouting orders, murmuring concerns, asking each other whether he was breathing. Tim could feel no pain now, only a deep urgency.

“Someone stop the bleeding.” It was Angela’s voice.

“Is he breathing? Check if he’s breathing and—”

“Has anyone called the ambulance?”

Tim didn’t care about any of it.

The only thing that mattered was that he was about to die in front of Angela Manning’s house. When Kari found out, she’d think he’d been lying about everything. Then six months down the road she would learn about Angela’s baby, and that would be even worse.

He struggled again to formulate the words he needed to say. “Angela . . .”

“Tim!” Her grip on his hand tightened. “Hold on, baby. Someone will be here any minute.”

He struggled for nearly a minute and finally opened his eyes. What he saw confirmed how serious the situation was. Angela’s face was a mask of pure fear. “Oh, Tim,” she said. “Who did this to you?”

Tim remembered the face of the angry young man.
This one’s for Angela.

“He . . . he knew you.”

A realization dawned in Angela’s features. “Was he young?”

Tim didn’t try to answer. It didn’t matter who the shooter was; all that mattered was saying what he had to say. He thought about the letter in his pocket and wished he could reach for it. Instead, he drew a rasping breath.
Please, God . . . I must talk
. . . .

He swallowed, and finally the words came. “I’m . . . sorry.” Every syllable was an increasing effort, and at the core of his being he knew he was dying. “About . . . the baby.” He sucked in a breath and heard the wet rattling in his lungs.

Blood. It won’t be long. . . .

“No, Tim.” Angela’s weeping grew louder, and he felt her breath on his face. When she spoke it was in a whisper, intended for his ears only. “Tim, I’m not pregnant. I . . . I made that up so you’d come back to me.”

What? The whole thing was a lie?
Cool relief flooded Tim’s body faster than the blood ebbing from his veins. He drew another breath. He couldn’t feel any part of his body except a stinging wetness in his eyes.

“Could . . . you . . .” The fluid in his throat made it almost impossible to speak. “Could you . . . tell Kari . . . I’m sorry. Tell her . . . I love her.”

He could see pain in Angela’s eyes, but compassion as well. “Don’t talk like that, Tim. You can tell her. You’re going to be fine.”

He heard sirens wailing nearby, and then a shuffling of feet. Four paramedics came into view, and one of them shouted, “Step aside, please.”

Tim was glad for the help, but he was certain it was too late. Angela let go of his hand, and her face receded into the darkness. He heard concern in the terse voices of the paramedics.

“Respiration’s shallow.”

“We’re losing his pulse, and we need a . . .”

The words faded. His eyes closed again. Suddenly Tim’s thinking was clearer than ever before, his sorrow clearer still. The truth was, it was all over. He would never see his Kari again, never hold her in his arms and beg her forgiveness for dying this way, never feel the weight of his newborn child against his shoulder.

The consequences from his year away from God had, in the end, cost him everything.

He pictured Kari and their baby and knew somehow that she was right. The child was a girl. A sweet girl who would go through life without her daddy. But oddly enough, along with the sadness, words kept drifting through his mind like gentle winds. Words he had memorized as a child, words he had found written in the front of his Bible that first day he came back home to Kari.

“ ‘Fear not,’ ” Pastor Mark had quoted, “ ‘for I have redeemed you . . . I have summoned you by name . . . you are mine.’ ”

Redemption.
That was the word that kept coming up, time and time and time again. For so long he hadn’t wanted to believe it, hadn’t thought it possible. But now he knew with absolute certainty the truth of what Kari had showed him, what the Lord now whispered in his soul.

Fear not.

The Lord was a God of redemption for anyone who repented and turned to him. And Tim had repented to the depths of his fading soul.

I have summoned you by name.

Yes, Lord
.

As his heartbeat slowed, as he drew his last breaths, Tim was overwhelmed with a sense of deep sorrow, deep regret for all he had allowed himself to be, for all the times he’d chosen to go his own way instead of following the Lord. And yet even at the heart of his sorrow, he could feel a pinpoint of light begin to open. A spreading knowledge of a love and peace that were deeper and more infinite than anything he’d ever known.

You are mine. Fear not.

I’m sorry, Lord.

. . . for I have redeemed you.

Yes, Lord.

You are mine.

As he moved away from all he’d known in this life, his sorrow combined with the deeper peace and love—love that would guide him into his Father’s arms.

His last thoughts were both simple and profound. He was grateful beyond words that he wasn’t going to spend eternity in hell.

Because the year he’d already spent there was long enough.

Chapter Thirty

Kari was already sick to her stomach with worry by the time her father called. Tim had been gone nearly three hours to do what should have taken forty minutes at the most. The possibilities screaming through their silent house were so loud she could barely concentrate.

She answered the phone on the first ring. “Tim?”

“Kari, honey, it’s me. Dad.” Her father’s voice was tired, tinged with sorrow and grief and a fear that Kari had never heard before. Not even years ago when her mother was sick.

“Tim’s late.” Kari’s heart pounded in her throat, and her words sounded forced, robotic. “He should be home by now.”

“Tim’s in the hospital, sweetheart. There was an accident.”

“What?” She squeezed her eyes shut, her knees shaking from the rush of terror within her.
Please, God, no!

“Is . . . is he okay?”

“We have to get to the hospital.” His tone was still fearful. “I’ll pick you up, honey.”

“What about Mom?”

“She’s at church. Sometimes her Bible study goes late. I’ll leave her a note to meet us at the hospital.” He hesitated. “I’m on my way.”

When she hung up the phone, Kari was sure her father knew more than he was saying, but she was too afraid to ask questions. Instead, they rattled about in her head.
What has happened to Tim? Was the accident near the university? Did someone run a red light, or was his the only car?

She was waiting outside the house, bundled in a jacket that didn’t quite cover her belly and shivering madly, when her father pulled up. On the drive to the hospital she wrapped her arms tightly around her middle and struggled to find her voice. Her teeth clattered as she spoke. “How come . . . they called you?”

Her father kept his eyes on the icy road. “The paramedics knew he was my son-in-law. They thought it’d be better if I called you.”

They were silent the rest of the way. When they walked into the hospital, one of her father’s friends, an emergency-room doctor, quickly ushered them into a private room. He stood opposite them and directed them to take seats.

Kari wanted to shout at the man.
Tell me what happened. Don’t make me sit down. I want to see my husband
. Instead, she meekly followed his directions, as if her body were listening to what her mind refused to acknowledge.

Her father spoke first. “I told Kari there was an accident. That’s all she knows.”

“Right.” The graying doctor across from them had a kind face, but his expression was gravely serious. When he spoke, there was no urgency whatsoever. “I’m afraid I don’t have very good news.”

That’s when Kari knew something was terribly wrong. Something much worse than she’d originally thought.

“Where is he?” she demanded. “I don’t care about the details. I just need to—”

“Kari.” The doctor took her hands and fixed his eyes on hers, willing her to listen. “Your husband was shot.”

The room began to spin. Breathing and speaking were out of the question. Her father slipped an arm around her shoulders and whispered, “Kari, hang on now. . . .”

The rushing sound echoing through Kari’s head made it almost impossible to concentrate. She tried desperately to understand what the doctor was saying, but she caught only bits and pieces. Something about three bullets. Considerable bleeding. Paramedics doing everything they could.

But no matter how hard she tried to hear, the man’s words blended together—all except his final words, which stood out in sudden, horrific clarity.

“He didn’t make it, Kari. I’m sorry.”

“No!” She pulled her hands from the doctor’s and laid them across her swollen abdomen, refusing to understand. It wasn’t possible. “No! Tim’s at the office. He had some papers. . . . You have the wrong man.”

Her father tightened his grip on her while he questioned the doctor. “The shooting was on campus?”