| |
At any minute, Simon expected Mal-Chin or Hannah or maybe both of them to burst out laughing. Marriage? When his execution was scheduled for tomorrow? When Lang was due to come back any minute and tear Hannah away from him forever? A dozen protests ran through his head, but all Simon said was, “But you aren’t a minister.”
Mal-Chin pointed to the glaring bald scar on his head he got the night the guards raided their secret meeting. He stretched out the collar of his prison uniform to reveal a puncture wound on his shoulder nearly two centimeters in diameter. “If these don’t qualify me as a minister, nothing will.”
Hannah held onto Simon’s arm, stroking his bicep with those gentle, gracious fingers. That touch ... How could he leave her behind? Now that he had held her, kissed her, how could he let her go forever? They should be plotting her escape, not their nuptials. Simon looked away, straining his ears to hear the assistant director’s footsteps. The plan would never work. Lang would arrive any minute, and then what? He pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples. There must be some way to get her out of here ...
“Are you ready?” Hannah’s breath on his ear dragged Simon away from thoughts of escape, of the assistant director, of freedom or executions. They evaporated into the darkness like a mist. He couldn’t find his voice.
He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. He wanted to tell her she was more precious than any earthly jewel. But all he could manage to stammer was, “You realize that tomorrow ...”
She ended his argument with a kiss. When Simon opened his eyes, he saw Mal-Chin trying to hide a grin. “Let’s scoot a little further back, children.” Mal-Chin nodded to the guard on watch. “Further away from that light.”
Hannah took his hand and leaned her head on Simon’s shoulder as they drifted into the shadows.
“You know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” he asked.
“I do.”
They stopped when they reached the wall and looked to Mal-Chin. “I can think of no better way to start this most blessed, most unusual marriage than to pray and ask our Father for his ...”
A light flickered on the ceiling. No, Simon groaned inwardly. Not yet. Please, not yet. Hannah tightened her grip on his hand but said nothing.
Mal-Chin’s gaze flashed to the side, but he quickly cleared his throat. “Actually, let’s pray after. Simon, do you vow before God to always ...”
“Where is she?” The nasally voice was unmistakable. Simon felt Hannah’s hand go completely cold. “What’s happened to her?”
“... cherish and protect Hannah, to enter into the holy covenant of marriage, to love her with ...”
“I do,” Simon blurted. Dear Jesus, I do. Now please, just give us another minute longer.
“What do you mean, nothing happened?” Lang raged. “She’s been here over an hour!”
Jesus, no. Simon felt Hannah’s legs start to give way. He caught her just as a flashlight beam captured them both. “I’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered.
As a key clanged in the lock, she glanced up at him. Her lip quivered, but her voice was firm. “I love you. I won’t ever stop loving you.”
The assistant director yanked her by the hair. She grimaced but didn’t cry out. “So they were too afraid to touch you, were they? Too afraid to insult the honor of a ...”
Something rumbled deep within Simon’s gut, and he leapt on the assistant director’s back.
“No, Brother.” He heard Mal-Chin’s voice but ignored the old man’s pleas. He scratched at the assistant director’s face. His only thoughts were of murder. Lang screamed and hurled him off. Simon landed on his back with a heavy thud. Hannah’s voice made a tiny little squeak that reminded Simon how weak his own body was.
Mal-Chin squatted down beside him. “Are you hurt, Brother?” The question didn’t warrant a reply. Hannah was to the front of the cell now. The guard held open the door so the assistant director could steal her away. Simon tried to prop himself up. If he could find his breath, he just might ...
“Let her go.” Mal-Chin laid a strong hand on Simon’s shoulder. Hannah’s blurry form disappeared around the corner. Simon wanted to call out to her, but couldn’t find his voice. Mal-Chin leaned down and whispered in his ear, “She’s in the good Lord’s hands.”
Simon couldn’t tell if he was blinded by tears or sheer fury. He sat up, and a visceral, animal-like wail welled up from the depths of his gut. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound emerged. The entire cell was silent except for Mal-Chin crooning, “All we can do is pray, Brother. All we can do is pray.”
***
Surrounded by darkness, Hannah couldn’t remember if the assistant director had beaten her or not. She couldn’t remember if she had screamed or fought back or maybe even blacked out as he dragged her downstairs to the solitary confinement cells. She recounted as much of the past day as she could and guessed it was night. Still, the darkness here could lie. She knew she had been with Simon. The memory of his warmth lingered on her skin, on her hand, on her cheek. Her forearm tingled where his fingers had caressed her.
There was something about a wedding. It felt so real, or had she just dreamed it? How long ago had the assistant director thrown her down here? Aside from a little soreness on her arm, she didn’t think she was injured. But what if she just couldn’t remember? Even worse, what if she woke up tomorrow and realized she had never been with Simon at all?
Her breathing grew faster. She reached out her arms. Were the walls moving closer? Once she overheard a guard taunt a prisoner with threats of a shrinking cell. The walls just kept on closing in, one deadly centimeter at a time. Jesus. Hannah couldn’t pray any further than that. Why was she down here? Why back in solitary? Both sets of fingertips brushed against the cold walls. So the cell really was caving in. Or had it always been this small? Dear God, she prayed again, but there was no answer.
“Simon!” Her voice sounded shrill and foreign. She tried to stop her body from shaking. “Simon!” The echo was nearly deafening. She buried her head in her hands, hands she knew had just recently clutched his. But how could she be sure? A needle. The assistant director had come at her with a needle. She had scratched his face. Help me, Jesus. She tried to recall what happened before he threw her down here. Simon, where are you? What’s happening to me?
She fingered her sore forearm and rocked her body back and forth. She bumped her head once. Did that mean the ceiling was getting lower too? No. A concrete box didn’t shrink all by itself. So why was it so cramped? Light. She needed light. Even the slightest trace, just to convince her she was in her own right body. She hadn’t already died, had she? When the assistant director jabbed her with the needle, at first she thought it was poison. She had kicked him. Scratched at him. She couldn’t die yet. Simon needed her. She recalled the assistant director’s sneer just as clearly as if he were still standing in front of her, but she couldn’t remember what he did to her. God, just help me remember. Is Simon even alive? Am I?
She called out into the darkness. “Help me, please!” A slight breeze tickled her sweaty neck. “Is somebody in here?” She stretched out her arms but felt only the wall. There wasn’t room in this cage for two. She was imagining things again. Something the assistant director gave her ...
“My little one is struggling to find the peace her soul craves.” The voice was ancient and craggy. Hannah strained her ears. She wanted Simon. She needed Simon. Where was he?
“The Lord Almighty, the Great Comforter, can bring you the rest you thirst for.” A hand like the wind swept some hair across her brow. When Hannah reached up, it vanished, but the voice remained. “My little one has come to the end of a long and terrifying journey.” Hannah squinted, trying to pierce through the blinding darkness. “On the other side, you and your beloved will be reunited, but not before you pass the Great Waters.”
“Who are you?” Hannah’s body had stopped trembling, and she felt drowsy. Was any of this real? Could this whole ordeal just be some kind of nightmare? Would she wake up tomorrow in Yanji, go downstairs, and tell Simon about her crazy dream?
“Peace, little one. Your voyage is long and dangerous. May the rich blessings and protection of our God and Father cover you, and may the blood of Christ preserve you from all harm.”
Hannah couldn’t keep her eyes open. A melody lilted somewhere in the distance. If she strained all of her attention, she thought she might be able to make it out, but she was too tired. Oh, so tired. She let out a long breath.
The voice was quieter now, far off and fading like the music itself. “We’ll meet again, little one. I will look for you there with your husband.”
Husband. The word was so quiet she could scarcely hear it, but it infused Hannah with a surge of clarity. She remembered now. The almost-wedding. The Day of the Sun. The assistant director’s threats. Her lungs refused to draw air.
Tomorrow, Simon would die.
Why him? She thought about when she first left Yanji, how terrified she was to never know what happened to him. Now she realized how stupid she had been. If she didn’t know where he was, there was at least the hope he was safe. But that chance was gone to her now. Tomorrow, he would be dead. All her impossible notions, her senseless fantasies would die with him. She thought back on all those sleepless nights, all the energy she wasted daydreaming of things that could never be. Tomorrow he would die, but that didn’t make her stop loving him today. It didn’t make her hands stop sweating or her stomach stop somersaulting at the recollection of his touch. It didn’t erase her memory of his whispers in the darkness.
She had always known it could never be. Hannah squeezed her eyes shut. Hot tears pooled in the corners, tears that nobody would ever see or care about. Tears that wasted water and energy, but that refused to stay in place.
A few hours ago, she had almost become a bride. Tomorrow, she would be nothing more than an unmarried widow.