April
April stared down at her hands. Patches of burgundy polish still clung to the ragged nails. The only evidence of her former life. It was actually hard to even remember what life had been like only a few months earlier.
Wearing beige pumps and a gold cross necklace, floating through the Western world.
And it wasn't just outside appearance—April's faith had been transformed as well.
Where once Jesus and the devil vied for control over her soul, April now had a clear path. Exposed to her by Nadia and her friends, by the sisterhood she felt with them.
And now this, sitting in this stranger's house, a steaming cup of tea in front of her. The black gloves and burka removed, April sat in the apricot seller's kitchen exposed…and yet secure.
Nothing could be taken from her.
She jolted as the image of Farridah falling back onto Nadia burst across her vision. They were in heaven now. Tears stung her eyes and hot droplets fell onto her clasped hands. When would April be allowed to join them?
The apricot seller's home was a humble, simple structure on the outskirts of the village. The woman who had saved April's life lived with her three daughters, alone. Her husband died fighting for Daesh.
It was the video by Abu Mohammad al-Baghdadi that had convinced them of Her.
The oldest daughter, about twelve years old, sat across from April, her hair in long braids, dark and shiny in the low light of the kitchen. "Do you like tea?" she asked, her English accented but clear.
"Yes," April said, reaching out for the steaming cup.
The world was at once crystal clear and hazy. The constant urge to shy away from life, to soak herself in alcohol and escape reality, was gone, replaced with a feverish need to share the truth of her value. To bring others to the realization of their own worth.
To recognize April's value, to believe it in every moment, was at once easier and harder than resisting drink.
"You're very kind." April turned to the apricot seller who stirred a pot of food on her stove. "Thank you again."
The woman nodded and smiled as her daughter translated. Her burka removed, the apricot seller appeared to April to be a few years older than Joy. She spoke to her daughter in Arabic and the young girl translated. "You're welcome to stay."
"I'd like to rest for tonight, thank you. But I must move on."
Where? April didn't know. She just knew that she had to keep moving. Had to keep spreading the word. This woman and her family were already converts. She needed to be among those who did not yet believe.
April shared a simple meal with the family, then slept on a pile of blankets by the kitchen stove. In the morning April donned her robes and burka, thanked the woman and her daughters, then continued on her quest.
She walked through the village, the heat of the new day beating down on the black of her burka, making her sweat. She carried a small bag with enough food and water for the day. Like most pilgrims, she was dependent on the kindness of strangers to nourish her on this journey.
April walked out of the village with no destination in mind, trusting that the Lord would lead her where she needed to be. She walked all day, and as the sun set April saw two black pickup trucks blocking the road, a village beyond.
A thrill of fear traveled through April, and she stopped, squinting through the mesh of her burka. A Daesh checkpoint. She left the road, walking into the boulder-strewn desert with its scrubby plants, to circumvent the village.
As darkness fell, she settled herself down against a boulder to spend the night. Drinking the last of her water and eating the last of the food, she curled up, the scent of sun-heated sand in her nostrils.
April slept deeply and easily, faith that she was on the right path settling her mind.
She woke to the sound of a gun cocking. Her eyes fluttered open, taking in the figure above her through the mesh of her burka. The morning sun backlit a man dressed in black with a thick beard, unruly hair, and a split lip. A Daesh soldier.
He yelled something she did not understand.
He yelled again, gesturing with his hand for her to remove her burka. April shook her head. A Muslim woman would not reveal herself to a stranger. And April would do nothing this man asked of her. He was a heathen, a confused soul in danger of eternal damnation.
The only way to save him was to show him her value. To convince him of the words of the prophet.
Split Lip stepped forward and kicked out at her. The blow struck April in the shoulder as she turned away. He grabbed her head covering and ripped it off, taking a hank of her hair with it.
The pain brought tears to her eyes, but she did not cry out. April stared up at the man, and he stumbled back in shock, whispering something.
She understood the word "wolf.”
His hand shook on the pistol.
"I am Her," April said in Arabic.
Split Lip shook his head, his eyes widening further. He yelled something, angling his mouth over his shoulder but not taking his eyes off her…like she was a threat. Dangerous. Terrifying. Woman.
Another soldier responded to Split Lip's calls. The two men faced her, April's back still pressed against the boulder. The new soldier was younger, his beard just a shadow on his soft jaw.
April rose slowly to stand. Split Lip yelled, and the new soldier aimed his weapon at her. She put her hands out. "I'm not going to hurt you." She spoke in English.
"You are American?" The young soldier asked, his voice high and accent thick.
"Yes, son, I am."
Split Lip yelled again, his gun aimed straight for her chest.
"I promise not to hurt you." She wanted to save them.
The young man translated, and Split Lip cocked his head, a small smile curling his lips. His finger tightened on the trigger. April caught his gaze and felt the truth of her work, of the word of the prophet. Every atom in her being vibrated with it. With the knowledge that no matter what they did to her, it did not make her less than them. It lowered them, not her. She was going to heaven. They were going to hell.