The door opened and Craig Barnes ran in, his face twisted with emotion. “Did you guys hear about Mark?”
All eyes turned to him. “Yes,” Slater Finch said. “We were just listening to the news. Do you know anything?”
“Is he dead?” Dan demanded.
“The news reports didn’t say. But he got shot in the head. Doesn’t sound good.”
“In the head?” Dan shouted. “He got shot in the head? Man, I’ve gotta go there! Chief, you’ve got to let me go!”
“No,” Nick said firmly, taking off his glasses and wiping his own eyes. “I’ve got to go be with Allie, Craig. I’m her pastor. She needs me. Dan, you know she does.”
“He’s my best friend!” Dan yelled.
“You can’t both go,” Craig shouted over them. “Only one of you. Now calm down.”
Nick turned to Dan, entreating him. “Dan, I need to pray with Allie. I need to calm her down. She’s bound to be a wreck, and you know it. You can’t help right now. You’re as upset as she is.”
Dan knocked a chair over with a clash and kicked it. “I want to be there!”
Craig picked up the chair, and Nick could see that he, too, struggled with the emotion on his face. Compassion wasn’t an emotion they commonly saw in their chief’s face, but today none of them seemed able to fight it. “Dan, Nick’s right,” Craig said. “Let him go.”
Dan banged his fist on the wall then leaned back hard against it. “No offense, Nick, but I’m in better shape to guard Allie. That bullet wasn’t meant for Mark. This guy’s getting desperate. He’s not going to give up now.”
Nick bristled. “Just because I don’t spend most of my waking hours working on my body like you do, doesn’t mean I can’t defend Allie Branning.”
Dan took a menacing step toward him. “I stay in shape, which is more than I can say about you. There’s a killer out there, Nick! Do you really think you’re ready to take him on?”
Junior Reynolds popped up from his seat in front of the television and stepped between them. “That’s enough. Why don’t you both just shut up?”
Craig intervened then. “Allie doesn’t need either one of you protecting her. She’s safe in the hospital, and if she did need protection, it wouldn’t be from a fireman. Dan, you go get back in uniform before I dock your pay, and Nick, you get out of here before I change my mind.”
Dan wilted and picked his towel up off the floor. “Tell Allie I wanted to come,” he said.
Nick suddenly hated himself for being drawn into such a childish exchange. Pride wasn’t supposed to be one of his weak points. He was supposed to be immune. He set his hands on his hips and looked apologetically at his friend. “I will, Dan. I’m sorry for what I said, okay?”
Dan drew in a deep breath, then let it out quickly. “Yeah, me, too,” he muttered.
“I’ll let you know the minute I know Mark’s condition.”
Dan couldn’t speak, and Nick glanced with shame at Craig and saw the red rims of his eyes and the tears he was fighting to hold back.
Nick could have kicked himself as he headed out the door, praying that God would overlook his little display of spiritual bungling and still give them a miracle. He wasn’t up to conducting his third funeral in a week.
On her way to meet Stan at the police station, Celia Shepherd rushed into Jill Clark’s office to tell her what had happened. Jill’s secretary tried to stop her, but Celia ignored her and burst in.
“Jill, have you heard about Mark and Allie?”
“No, what?”
“Mark’s been shot! He’s in surgery at East Jefferson Hospital in Metairie, and Jill, they’re saying it was a head wound. I’m headed to the Southshore right now to be with Allie. Do you want to go?”
“Yes.” She closed the file on her desk and came around it. Tears were already filling her eyes.
“Stan had the key to her house, so he went by to get some of her things. He’s meeting us at the station. He’s coming with us.”
Jill grabbed her purse and headed out the door, shouting back to her secretary, “Cancel everything. Don’t know when I’ll be back.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Mrs. Branning?”
Allie gasped, startled. She looked up into the compassionate eyes of the nurse who, sometime before, had brought her coffee and a blanket. Lost in thought, Allie hadn’t heard her approaching.
“Mrs. Branning, there are some police officers out front who need to speak to you about what happened. Do you feel up to seeing them now?”
“Yes,” Allie said, trying to hold the now-lukewarm coffee without spilling it. “Yes, please. They have to catch him. They have to catch him before he kills all of us.”
The nurse disappeared, and in moments, two Kenner detectives—Peter Blanc and Lou James—came in and introduced themselves as homicide detectives.
“Homicide?” she asked, still shivering. “He’s not dead. It wasn’t a homicide.”
“We know, ma’am, but we got to assume it was an attempted homicide. This person’s killed before.”
She listened, then focused inward as thoughts whirled in her mind. “You think he’s going to die, don’t you?” she asked, her mouth twisting as she tried to control her tears. “What have they told you? I have a right to know.”
“Nothing, ma’am. Really.”
She spilt her coffee and one of the men took it from her, set it down. She covered her face with both hands and let her sobs rise up into her throat, reddening her face and threatening to explode out of the top of her head. “He was shot in the head!” she cried. “People don’t survive things like that! Of course he’s gonna die!”
She forgot about the two men as she wept, thinking only of Mark and of their lost chances, but sometime later she glanced up and saw the two men looking awkwardly at one another. Remembering how important it was to catch the person who did this, she tried to pull herself together. Still sobbing, she wiped her face. “We were headed to Georgia, to stay with my parents until they caught the killer. I can’t think who we told…who knew that we were going…what plane we’d be getting on.” She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “I told my parents, and then I told my best friend Jill that we were going, but I didn’t say when or which flight. And Mark told Stan, our detective in Newpointe. Maybe Jill or Stan told someone, and they figured out which flight.” She drew a deep, painful breath. “It was meant for me. That bullet should have hit me instead. But he threw himself over me.” She fixed her pleading eyes on them. “Did they find him? Did they find anything?”
“No, ma’am. He never went in the airport. Came through a gate to the runways and climbed to where he shot from. But we can’t figure out how he got past security. We’re wonderin’ if maybe he had some kind of airport employee identification, or a uniform that looked like the ground crews—somethin’ that woulda kept someone from asking for his I.D. We’re checkin’ with the security agents on duty now.”
“It all happened so fast,” she said. “I didn’t see anyone. All I saw was Mark, lying—” She shook her head sharply, then said, “You should call Stan Shepherd in Newpointe and compare notes with him. He’s been around for the last three shootings. And now Mark…”
One of the detectives scooted to the edge of his chair, his long legs making him seem uncomfortable. “We’re doing the best we can, Mrs. Branning, and I’m sure the Newpointe P.D. are, too. Just take care of yourself until we can find him.”
Feeling hopeless, she shook her head. “There’s no stopping him. He goes where he wants to, shoots whoever—”
But the detective held up a hand to stop her. “Mrs. Branning, you’ll be safe here. There’s security at the entrances. No one with a weapon can get in here.”
She looked wearily back at them. They just didn’t understand. Security at the entrances-it wouldn’t make any difference. There’d been security at the airport, too.
The two men got up to leave, and Allie got to her feet, too, still clutching her blanket aro
und her. She started out behind them, but the nurse stopped her. “Mrs. Branning, what can I get you?”
“My husband,” she said. “I want to see my husband.”
“He’s in surgery, and I’ve made sure that the surgeon knows to call you as soon as he has any information. If you’ll just wait in there, there’s a phone, and it’ll ring right to you. Plus, you can call out if you need to.”
Gently, she led Allie back into the room. “My parents,” she said. “I need to call my parents. And my pastor. People have to pray. There’s no time to waste.” She broke down weeping again, and the nurse pulled the blanket more securely around her. “Call your parents first,” the woman suggested gently. “Here, I’ll dial the number for you if you want.”
Allie nodded weakly and told her the number.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Self-recriminations, white-hot and scalding, lashed through Allie’s mind as she sat in the small waiting room. She was being punished, she thought, for rebuffing Mark’s efforts, for resisting his advances. She was being taught a horrible lesson, though she wasn’t sure what it was.
She pulled her feet up onto the vinyl sofa and hugged her knees as she cried out to God, pleading with him to let the judgment be hers alone, begging him to spare Mark. As her mind turned her own judgment inward, she felt smaller and smaller, less significant, rabidly infected by her own thoughts. A sound startled her, and she looked up as Jill, Celia, and Stan rushed into the room. She fell into their arms, weeping with them, as she tried to tell them what had happened in broken sentences that she knew made no sense. Moments later, Nick Foster came in, his presence providing a fragile peace.
After only a few minutes, Stan left to go to the police department to see what they knew. Nick organized them all into a circle near the telephone—in case the surgeon called—and started them praying earnestly for Mark’s recovery. Allie couldn’t pray—not while her thoughts and emotions and fears were tangled in such a terrible knot—but she listened gratefully as the others prayed for her. When each of them had prayed, Nick led them in Psalm 23, offered as a prayer. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me…” Allie quoted it with them, trying to let that peace which transcends all understanding fall over her, trying to cling to the words that she knew gave life itself.
When they were finished praying, Nick stooped in front of her and made her look him in the eye. “Who’s in control, Allie?”
“Feels like Satan,” she admitted.
“Feels like it,” Nick acknowledged. “But who do we know has already won the victory?”
“God.”
“And if God is in control, what’s going to happen?”
She wilted. “I don’t know.”
“He’s going to watch over those he loves. He’s going to make all things work together for good to those who love him and are called according to his purpose.”
“That’s just it!” she cried. “We weren’t acting like people who loved him. We weren’t doing much of anything according to his purpose. He’s punishing us. He’s judging me!”
“Allie,” he said, not allowing her to look away from him. “God loves you, and he loves Mark. Do you believe that he sent some maniac to punish you?”
She couldn’t answer, just hiccuped her sobs as she stared at him. After a few moments, she whispered, “You’re right. Why would he have even bothered? I’m not that important.”
Nick gripped her tighter. “You’re his child, Allie. That’s how important you are. And so is Mark. Jesus grieves over your pain. Allie, what does the Bible tell us about Christ interceding for us?”
She couldn’t answer, just shook her head.
“That he prays for us…” He paused to let her finish, but she didn’t. “With what, Allie? Romans 8:26. You know the verse. He prays for us with what, Allie?”
“Groans that words cannot express,” she whispered.
“If he were the kind of God who sent an assassin to gun you or Mark down, would he be the kind of God who prays for you with groans that words cannot express?”
“No,” she whispered. She tried to let that sink in, but her heart rejected the comfort.
What if Mark’s death now was part of God’s plan?
After a while, Nick offered to go to the cafeteria to get her some tea. Jill and Celia stayed behind, holding her hands.
Allie checked her watch. She had been there for almost three hours, and still there was no word.
Celia got up, took Nick’s seat across from Allie, and looked her in the eye. “Allie, I’ve been sitting here asking the Lord if I should tell you something I’ve never told anyone else in Newpointe, except for Stan and Aunt Aggie. I’ve decided that it would help you to know.”
Jill got up. “I’ll let you two talk alone.”
Celia took her hand to stop her. “No, Jill. I know I can trust you both.”
Jill sat back down.
Breathing deeply, Celia leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. Her baby-fine blonde hair fell into her eyes, and she swept it behind an ear. Celia’s eyes were smeared with mascara from her tears, but Allie didn’t suppose she looked any better herself.
“See, I’ve been in your place before, Allie. I was married before Stan. And my husband was murdered.”
Allie’s mouth fell open, and Jill leaned closer to her friend. “Celia, I never knew…”
Tears came to Celia’s eyes. “He was poisoned,” she said. “They never caught the killer.” Her mouth trembled as she smeared the fresh tears away. “I remember sitting in the hospital up in Jackson, waiting, praying, wondering who would do such a horrible thing. I know how you feel, Allie. I kept trying to bargain with God. I kept wanting to throw myself on the altar as a sacrifice, to convince him to let Nathan live. It was one of the worst nights of my life.”
Something about that shared experience gave Allie comfort. Celia had come through the pain. She had found light again after wandering through the same darkness Allie wandered through now. Allie put her hand over Celia’s. “Celia, I’m so sorry. I remember when you came to town. You seemed so broken, so sad. But no one knew anything about you, and Aunt Aggie wasn’t talking.”
“She was so good to me,” Celia said. “I found healing here, and I know God led me here so I could meet Stan. But I didn’t tell anyone for a lot of reasons, one of them being that I didn’t want to talk about it.”
“I know that feeling,” Allie whispered.
“I’m just telling you this, Allie, so you’ll know that you can talk to me. I’ve been here, where you are. I’ve felt that kind of pain. I’ve prayed those prayers.”
“But yours weren’t answered,” Allie said weakly.
“Yes, they were,” she said. “Nick was right. God is still in control. He didn’t answer them the way I wanted him to, but he did make things work together for good. I miss Nathan, but he was a Christian. I know I’ll see him again. And God provided.”
Allie leaned back in her seat and put her head against the wall. “I don’t want God to provide anything but Mark. I don’t want to have to get used to him being dead.” She started to cry again. “All this time, he’s been staying with me, and I’ve been so cold to him. I made him sleep in a separate bed most of the time, and every time he’s tried to touch me I’ve pulled away. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d left me to fend for myself. But he didn’t. Why didn’t he?”
“Because he loves you,” Jill whispered.
Allie nodded. “I kept wondering how much. Now I know. Enough to take a bullet for me. He saw it coming, and he took it on purpose. He chose to take it.”
“If that’s a picture of his love for you, Allie, then it’s some picture,” Celia said.
Allie covered her face as she wept.
Not long after, the doctor came in. The very sight of him in his scrubs, with his blue mask pulled loosely down under his chin, alarmed Allie. “They said you were gonna call. Please, he’s not—
”
“He’s good,” the doctor said gently, cutting into her anticipation. “He’s a lucky guy.”
She caught her breath and looked up at him, not believing. “Really? He’s alive?”
“Yes. The bullet didn’t penetrate his brain; it was a glancing shot. It looked bad and he lost a lot of blood, but the damage may be minor in the long term. We’ve had a plastic surgeon patching up the damage to his face—his right temple and half of his forehead—so he has quite a few stitches. The bullet did cause a concussion, which is why he’s unconscious. We’re going to keep him in ICU until he’s awake, and we’ll watch closely to make sure no infection sets in. We’re also concerned about his brain swelling from the impact. In head trauma such as this one, sometimes the brain can be shaken so hard that some damage occurs. That’s why he’s not entirely out of the woods yet. But I’m optimistic.”
She burst into tears again, but this time they were tears of gratitude. Throwing her arms around the doctor, she said, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
The doctor looked awkward at the embrace, and patted her back. She let go of him, then turned to her friends.
They all clung together as if the very force of their embrace could keep Mark alive.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Mark’s father, Eddie Branning, made it to the hospital before they allowed Allie to go see Mark. He sat with her in the waiting room, his hands shaking. She knew he longed for a drink, but she was thankful that he had abstained today, of all days. His leathery face was wrinkled beyond his years, and he was skinny to the point of emaciation. Since his wife’s death and his retirement from the fire department, he hadn’t taken very good care of himself. Most days, he sat in his recliner drinking the day away, watching talk shows and game shows and forgetting to eat.