Chapter 27

 

“No.” Ruth forced the word through stiff lips. “God is not like that.”

Harry still knelt in front of her, trapping her face in his hands. His sour vomit smell burned her nostrils. She glared her defiance. “He is not a vindictive God. And He told me to pray for you—it sure wasn’t my idea.”

Her skin crawled at his touch. The abominations those hands had committed. She knocked them away.

Harry seemed to understand her feelings, almost to welcome them. The anger and hostility were gone from his face after his confessions. He pushed to his feet, watching her intently. “Can’t you see there’s no way back from what I’ve done? Even the first one was too much. Admit it—there’s no hope, for me or for you.”

Ruth jumped up to face him. Pain shot through her knee, and she braced her injured leg against the side of the couch for support. “You make me sick. ‘I’m too bad to be forgiven, so I’ll just do what I want. I won’t forgive God because He didn’t do it my way.’”

With her good leg, she kicked his shin as hard as she could. “I’ve got news for you, buster. It’s not about you!”

Confusion flickered in his eyes, and he stepped back. Away from the gun. Ruth advanced on him, almost crying from the fire in her knee. “Two years of prayer for you, risking my marriage and my reputation, and you haven’t got the guts to take a stab at salvation. Go to hell if you want to. I won’t stop you.”

She launched herself at him, jammed both fists into his stomach, then dodged before he could grab her. He let out a startled grunt and fell against the rocking chair. She fled for the kitchen. Behind her, the chair broke, and he thudded to the floor, cursing.

Ruth threw out an arm to steady herself against the kitchen door frame, then sprinted for the exit. The agony in her knee shot up her leg, but she couldn’t stop. Pray Harry hurt something when he fell, pray he’s too mad to think of the gun—

His hand clamped her arm and jerked her backward. Pain lanced her shoulder, and she screamed. Ruth turned to face him and tried to writhe free, but he tightened his grip.

She grabbed a mug from the counter and banged it down on his forearm. His hold loosened, and she pulled away, hurling the mug at his head. It crashed into the cupboard behind him as he lunged to get between her and the door.

Ruth doubled back around the table. Her leg buckled, but she kept her feet. She bolted into the living room. The front door, or the gun?

She dodged the fallen rocking chair and made for the door. Harry had nothing to lose, and he’d probably guess she’d never held a gun before.

He caught the edge of her shirt and yanked her back. She looked around for a weapon but there was nothing in reach.

Harry cursed her viciously as he dragged her away from the door. The fire in her knee had turned to ice. She could barely feel her foot. He grabbed her sore shoulder and spun her around.

Sweat sheened his forehead, and his breath came hard. He shook his free fist in her face. “I’ll go to hell. But I’m taking you with me.”

Ruth glared at him. “No, you won’t. I belong to Jesus Christ, and you can’t take me away from Him.” Guilt wormed in her stomach. “Listen, I’m... sorry for what I said. God doesn’t want you in hell. I don’t either. I’m just angry and scared. And it’s more than where you go when you die, it’s life now. Please, won’t you let Him set you free from this?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You just don’t give up. Okay, you want repentance?” He looked at the ceiling, his grip on her shoulders tightening. “God, I repent I ever asked You into my heart. I’ve changed my mind. Get out!”

“When did you—?”

Anger rekindled in his eyes. “I was a kid. I didn’t know any better. I do now.” He shook a fist heavenward. “Leave me alone!”

“But—”

Hatred twisted his face. He hooked a foot behind her ankle and shoved her shoulders. “Time to pay.”

Ruth fell backward, screaming. Her head cracked against the floor.

~~~

Her first awareness was of pain. The back of her head stung, and her legs throbbed like they were caught in a bear trap. She lay on her back. Why couldn’t she move her legs? What did he do to me? Ruth’s mouth went dry.

Shuffling footsteps, cursing, a dull crash nearby. Harry? What was he doing?

Thump, crash. More expletives. She peered through her lashes, then opened her eyes wide. The afghan covered her field of vision. All she could spy through the little holes in the knitted panels was wreckage.

He stumbled past her and hurled a painting to the floor. Ruth winced as the frame snapped. Another picture shattered before he stormed out of her line of sight. A torrent of profanity raged from his lips, punctuated by cracking wood and breaking glass.

She tried to pray... for safety, for his soul. The stream of invectives slowly resolved in her thoughts. This wasn’t mindless swearing, nor was he cursing her as she’d first thought.

Ruth gasped, then froze in fear he’d hear. All his hatred, poison, obscenities, were directed at God. No, Lord. Please, don’t hear his curses. Forgive him.

Harry’s words came in raw screams now, with gaps between. “Leave... me... alone. Don’t... want... You.” Smash. Tinkle. Crash. Was that a lamp? “Took everyone... I... loved... Hate... You.” Bang. Scrape.

Ruth tilted her head to peek through a different bit of afghan. Harry crouched on the edge of her sight, slamming his fists against the walls, the floor, panting curses. He pushed himself to his feet, legs shaking, and screamed, “Get out of my life. No... more.”

He slumped against the wall and slid to the floor.

Ruth’s tears wet the soft yarn over her face. “Please, Father, after all You’ve done to reach him—after all our prayers—don’t let him go.”

Harry didn’t move. Ruth watched him for long minutes to be sure of him, then tumbled the afghan aside and tried to sit up. The living room was a shambles.

The couch lay upturned across her legs. Wincing, she pulled them free. Her knee throbbed, but when she climbed to her feet, it held.

Harry half sat, half lay against the wall, his hair matted, his dark tee shirt streaked with sweat.

Ruth picked her way through the wreckage into the kitchen, her breath hissing at the pain in every second step. Her boots crunched on shards of the mug she’d thrown at him, and she trembled, remembering their mad chase. She grabbed the broom as a crutch. Definitely time to get out of here. Please let Denny and his buddies be sleeping and not watching the webcams.

A low moan came from the living room as she reached for her coat. Should she see if he needed help? No way.

Was he weak enough that she could tie him up before she went for the police, so he couldn’t crawl off to his friends?

He didn’t have to do that. All he had to do was phone them. They’d be after her before she went very far, and this time—

Ruth shook her head to clear it. Phone. Tie him up and take his phone. Call 9-1-1. She grabbed another knife, just in case, and picked up the ropes she’d cut away after Chris dumped her back in the kitchen. Cut like that, they were too short. She took them anyway. Tied together, they’d hold his hands or feet.

She’d thrown the cords he’d bound her with in the bathroom garbage. After collecting those too, she limped through the mess to his side, the knife clenched in one hand.

Harry’s face was ashen, his eyes wide and glassy. His breath came in shallow gasps. Ruth knelt beside him and waved a hand in front of his face. No response. Holding her breath, she laid the knife in her lap so she wouldn’t cut him, and pulled his hands together across his stomach.

Sweaty fingers grasped her wrist.

Ruth tore herself free. She grabbed the knife and held it up for him to see. “Don’t try anything. I will use this.”

Harry moaned. The emptiness in his eyes pierced her soul.

His lips moved. She leaned close to catch his mumbled words. “It’s over. I told Him to leave me alone, and He’s gone.”

No, God, please. “What do you mean?”

He blinked at her, as if surprised by the question. She wondered if he even recognized her. “He’s gone. I don’t have to... fight it... anymore.”

Ruth shook him by the shoulder, her other hand still gripping the knife. “Is that what you want? What you really want?”

His face contorted with hate. “Yes.”

Ruth fought to breathe, to keep this agony from paralyzing her. She’d known all along there was no guarantee—it came down to his choice. Push him over, tie him like he tied you, and get that phone.

Harry’s body tensed, and he tried to sit up.

She shoved him back down, clutching the knife in her other hand.

He caught her sleeve. “No, it’s not!” Desperation etched his face.

Goosebumps prickled her flesh, and her mind flashed images of the tortured dream that had made her pray for him.

His Adam’s apple jerked. Fear shone in his eyes now, and his voice trembled. “It’s not what I want. Help me—please.”

Ruth stared at him. Everything inside her wanted to believe him. It might be a trick to get the knife, but would his hostility toward God let him fake something like this?

God? Her spirit held no sense of warning, just a quiet assurance.

She tossed her weapon out of reach and took his hands, remembering how Jesus always touched the outcasts He met. “Jesus loves you, Harry. Even now.”

“How do I—? Will you pray for me?”

She closed her eyes and drew a shaky breath. “Dear God, please... You made this man. His mother prayed for him. You told me to pray for him. Tony, John and others from church are praying for him. Thank You that You love him, even after all he’s done. Oh, Father, Harry knows he needs You now. Thank You for showing him the truth.”

She gripped Harry’s hands tighter. “You are not a cruel God. If you’ve shown Harry his need, it’s because You want to meet it. Thank You that Jesus’ blood paid for Harry’s sins, and I pray now You will accept Harry’s prayer.”

She looked at him. “You need to ask for forgiveness yourself.”

“I—”

“Come on.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “It has to be personal. He wants to hear it from you.”

After a moment’s silence, Harry’s stumbling words came. “God, I need You... You know what I’ve done, what I’ve been. I deserve to be in hell. Please... if You will forgive me, I will belong to You. I can’t imagine why You want me, but here I am.”

Ruth grabbed him in a bear hug. “Thank You, Jesus.” Slowly, Harry’s arms reached to encircle her.

His breathing steadied, and he released her.

She sat back on the floor and studied him. He was the same man, yet he was changed. Peace replaced the hate in his eyes, and the tautness had vanished from his jaw line.

“Your name is Ruth?”

She nodded.

Harry looked down at his hands, palms up. His face darkened, as if he saw traces of his victims’ blood. Finally he raised his eyes to Ruth. “What you did—praying for me. Confronting me.” He swallowed hard. “Thank you. I don’t know why, or how you could do it. But thank you.”

Ruth gave a wobbly grin.

Harry sobered. “Can you forgive me?”

Fresh tears burned her eyes. He’d brought her face to face with raw evil. “I don’t know how I’ll forget, but... how could I not forgive you when God has?”

She had to change the subject, to wrench her mind away from the terrible things she’d heard. “And you aren’t the same man who did those things. God has made you new. I can see it in your face, hear it in your voice.”

He nodded. “I feel different.” Then his face clouded. “I wish I could have let go of the garbage before I got in so deep. I can’t give those girls back to their families.”

Ruth played with a loose bit of upholstery fabric that dangled from the side of the sofa. The weave was rough against her fingertips. “I know. But you can’t dwell on the past. God wants to do things in your life. Nothing would please the devil more than to cripple you with guilt.”

Using the overturned sofa for balance, Harry struggled to his feet. He let out a long, low whistle as he stared around the room. “I did all this?”

He set the rocking chair upright. The back was smashed, and the whole thing creaked to one side as he let go. Then it collapsed. One of the leg supports rolled across the floor and bumped his foot. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “At the risk of being anticlimactic, I need something to eat. The room’s starting to swim again.”

Ruth levered herself to her feet with the broom. “Bad knee.” She couldn’t catch him if he fell, but she stayed beside him until he sank onto a chair at the table.

He fumbled a tissue from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead and neck.

She pretended not to notice how much the walk from the living room had cost him. After what they’d just shared, they both needed some space.

A few minutes later she set some weak tea and toast in front of him, then slid into the opposite seat in front of her own breakfast. As she bowed her head, the wonder of what happened resurfaced.

She could share her prayer with this man. He wasn’t an enemy now. “Thank You, Father, for this food You’ve given us. But more than that, thank You for what You’ve done here today. Amen.”

Harry’s eyes caught hers when she looked up. He reached for the little bottle of strawberry jam she’d found in the back of the fridge. “I haven’t heard grace said at a meal since I was a kid. And then only when my father was out.”

Ruth sloshed milk onto her cereal. Watching Harry eat brought a smile to her face. He attacked his food with an enthusiasm that left no room for speech.

She approached her own meal with a lot less eagerness. Cereal, tea and toast. She often ate the same things at home. But this wasn’t home. Ruth pushed her bowl away.

“Tony—my husband—will be so relieved. I can’t wait to call him. Can I use your cell?”

Harry set his mug down with a crack. “I can’t let you go.”