| |
Wilson decided to go back to that house. Natasha had been there—he knew this much for sure.
Thirty minutes later, he parked in front of the house.
Wilson pulled out his badge, showed it to one of the officers on duty and ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. He entered the building and made his way upstairs.
“Wilson, what are you doing here?” One of the investigators walked over and placed her hand on his back, rubbing it.
“I know my sister was in this room.” He placed both of his hands in his jeans pocket. He studied the room, trying to commit it to memory.
“If you believe she was here, then that means she is still alive?” The woman said to encourage him. “Don’t stop looking for her.”
Wilson rubbed his chin. “What am I missing?”
He repeated the question several times as he walked around the room. Wilson felt something was trying to break through his subconscious, but he didn’t have a clue what it could be. It was right there, but still beyond his reach.
“Wilson, go home. Let us process the scene and get the answers you need to find her.” He watched the investigator step out of the doorway and go down the hall.
Wilson glanced down at his watch. He had to return the truck to Samuel. He left the crime scene and drove to the hospital where his friend worked. Wilson decided to wait outside in front of the building. The looks of sympathy from the hospital staff were wearing thin on his nerves. He wasn’t a basket case and he wasn’t a fool. He knew his sister was alive.
“Yo man, you ready to roll.”
Wilson felt a heavy slap on his shoulder.
He and Samuel exchanged dap. “Yeah man, let’s roll.”
~~~
Samuel had been fasting and praying for Wilson and his family. While he was in prayer, God spoke to him. He glanced over at his best friend and said, “Wilson, you’ve tried brutal force. You’ve tried beatings and torture. You’ve tried everything to bring Natasha home.”
“And?”
“Listen, hear me out. When will you try God? You’ve tried everything.” He made air quotes with his fingers. “None of it has worked. None of it.”
“Try him how?” He’d heard people say try Jesus all his life, but what did it mean?
Wilson sat up in the seat and asked, “Samuel, what if she’s dead?”
“Man, if you believed she was dead, you wouldn’t have risked your career.” He took a long drink from a bottle of water, then said, “I don’t believe Natasha’s dead, but I do believe that you’re going to have to reach out to Juarez if you want to find her.”
Wilson stared at Samuel. “I walked in on momma praying yesterday.” For a moment, his mind filled with images of his father. “She was on her hands and knees, in the den... in the spot ...” Wilson pointed a finger as if he was still watching his momma pray. “She was in the very same place, my dad used to pray in.”
“Good. You need some prayer.” Samuel laughed.
“No, it wasn’t good.”
“For a devil like you, no. It probably wasn’t, but for the rest of us—it was a blessing. Boy, your momma is a prayer warrior.”
Wilson reached up and touched his throat. “For real man... it felt like something was beginning to choke me.” He rubbed his Adam's apple. “I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.”
“Bro, for real?” Samuel asked. “Whether you believe it or not, one of these days you’re gonna have to choose?”
“Choose what?” Wilson looked at him.
“Whether you want to spend eternity in the air conditioning of heaven or the furnace of hell. Either way, you’ve got eternal life.”
“Yeah, okay. Whatever.”
“No for real. What’s your issue with God?”
Irritated, Wilson uttered, “For starters, He let my dad die, leaving us to be raised by alone by my mother.” He pointed a thick finger in the air. “My dad was faithful to God and all the reward he got for it, was an early grave.”
“I’m going to need a snack for this.” Samuel pulled into Wilson’s driveway and parked his truck.
Wilson spoke again, “And then there was my baby Camryn, why did she have to die? She never did a thing to anybody.”
They went into the house and straight to the kitchen.
Wilson made air quotes back at Samuel. “Guess your God could be considered a murderer.”
Samuel opened the refrigerator and pulled out several packs of cold cuts, stacking them on the center island. “Dude, God doesn’t kill people. Satan is the prince of the air, and right now he’s trying to be king of the airways. Satan is the root of death, destruction, famine, sickness and other human ills.” He dug around until he found the mustard, lettuce, tomatoes and pickles and laid them beside the meat. Samuel walked over to the other side of the kitchen and located the bread. “The Bible says in John 10:10 that the enemy comes to kill, steal and destroy. That’s what he does.”
“Yeah, but if God got all power in His hands, why doesn’t He put a stop to Satan?”
“Well, it ain’t because He can’t, Wilson. The devil’s time is almost up and believe me, there will be a day of reckoning.” Samuel placed a sandwich on a paper plate and passed it to Wilson. He made another one for himself. “The real answer is that God gives us free will. We can choose to serve Him, or you can choose to serve the enemy. Either way, it’s your choice. God is not going to force you into servitude.” He took a large bite out of his sandwich. He paused to swallow his food and said, “Wilson, there is power in reconciliation.”
“What do you mean?” He stopped eating to ask the question.
“Bruh, how long do you think you can keep at this pace and at this magnitude? You can’t, either you’ll be back to drinking or dead. Don’t you know hope deferred makes the heart sick? Reconcile with your ghost and then watch God’s plan come together. And on that note, I’m going home. It’s been a long shift and tomorrow we need to see Lillian’s family.” Samuel felt sorry for his friend. “I’ll let myself out.”
He hesitated a moment, then turned to face Wilson. “Don’t ever let the devil convince you, that you’ve gone too low for God to pick you up.”
Samuel headed for the front door. “Help him, Lord,” he whispered.
At the sound of his friend’s exit, Wilson opened the bottom cabinet containing his Jose Curveo bottles.