Double Minds

  She lay crumpled on the floor in fetal position, hands over her head. Parker managed to get up and stumbled to the door. She opened it, and saw the guns aimed at her. Throwing her hands up, she screamed, "Don't shoot!"

  She backed out of the way as the cops pushed in. Gibson crouched behind his own weapon. "Drop the gun, Evans!"

  Parker screamed. "No, it's not him! Don't shoot! It's her!"

  Mick tossed the gun toward Gibson so Marta couldn't get it again and weakly lifted his hands. Marta lay in fetal position, sobbing against the floor.

  "Sis, you all right?" Gibson asked without taking his eyes from Mick.

  She tried to catch her breath. "Yes. She's the killer. The one who shot Brenna and Tiffany and hid the gun in Chase's apartment. She did it all. Not Mick."

  The local cops took over, and Gibson took Parker out of the room. The music was still playing onstage, an instrumental Parker didn't recognize. Serene wasn't singing. Then Parker saw that blood smeared the floor ...

  As they pulled the gurney out of the staircase, she saw her friend. "Serene!"

  "She was shot," Gibson said, holding her back. "Let them work."

  Dizziness closed in. "Is she ... alive?"

  "I don't know."

  The music still played, the musicians oblivious to what was going on. The audience was beginning to shout and stomp, calling for Serene to come back out, bored with the instrumental. Some began to spill out of the auditorium and saw Serene's bleeding body being rolled out on the gurney.

  Parker followed it to the ambulance and climbed inside with her. Serene was unconscious, and the medics were hooking up IVs and oxygen, and radioing stats in to the hospital.

  "Are you okay, ma'am?" one of the medics asked Parker.

  She didn't realize he was speaking to her.

  "Ma'am?"

  Startled, she looked up from Serene's face. "Yes ... I'm fine."

  "You can ride with her, but is there anything we can do for you?"

  She swallowed and forced her mind to focus. "Save my friend," she said.

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY-NINE

  The bullet that hit Serene had ricocheted off the concrete wall and torn through her lung. After hours in surgery, she spent two weeks in ICU on a ventilator. When they finally put her in a private room, Parker insisted on staying with her.

  Parker sat on the edge of her bed, trying to make her friend smile by reading her fan email. There were thousands of them, all offering prayers and hopes for her recovery. She stopped reading when Serene's eyes began to glaze over.

  "Tour's a wash," she whispered. "They're postponing all my dates."

  "Doesn't matter," Parker said. "The publicity will sell more CDs than the tour would have. You're world famous now. The star who took a bullet for her friend."

  "It wasn't like that," Serene whispered.

  Parker stretched out on the bed beside her. "It sort of was. You didn't have to be there."

  "Neither did your mom or dad, or Gibson or LesPaul."

  "That's right," Parker said. "I have to say, Gibson really came through. I didn't have enough faith in him. But it's pretty clear that the rest of the family's insane. Including you."

  Serene smiled at the implication that she was family. "This has taught me a lot, though."

  "Oh, yeah? What?"

  Serene paused, her face strained by emotion. Her lips pressed together, and tears rimmed her eyes. "It's taught me that I don't want to die. Not from a bullet, and not from anorexia."

  Parker raised up on her elbow. "Yeah?"

  "As soon as I get out of here, I'm going to that treatment center for eating disorders you told me about."

  Parker caught her breath. "You are? Really?"

  "Yes, really. I'm sick--sick enough I could have died from it. The bullet almost got me there first, but starvation would have, eventually. When I'm well, I'll talk about it onstage. Maybe it'll keep others from going down the same path."

  Parker took her friend's hand and smiled. Could it be that God's hand had been on this whole crazy story from the beginning?

  She thought of Mick Evans. She hadn't seen him since the shooting, but she'd given a statement to the police that she hoped would help him. Marta had been arrested for two counts of murder, two counts of attempted murder, and kidnapping, since she'd held Mick against his will in the basement of a mountain cabin for weeks. He'd managed to get away from her when she got him to the Memphis Coliseum. If he hadn't captured Parker and made himself her human shield, Marta would have murdered her for sure.

  Mick was still being charged as an accessory, since he hadn't gone to the police as soon as he suspected Marta.

  Parker had seen news reports of Nathan Evans bonding Mick out of jail. The two had a lot of fallout to sort through. She hoped they'd find a way to be there for each other as they navigated their way through their grief and trauma, and the legal minefield awaiting both of them.

  Marta's attorney was making noises about an insanity plea. Parker prayed for the girl each day--that somehow, she would reach out to God and find the peace so desperately lacking in her life.

  As Parker lay on the bed bantering with her friend, she said a silent thanks to God for seeing them through. Maybe it was time for a new beginning for all of them.

  CHAPTER

  SIXTY

  The audience smiled up at Parker with rapt attention, captivated by the words and melodies she crooned. Being held hostage had raised her celebrity a notch. Her case had made national news for several days. It wasn't how she'd expected her fame to hit.

  But no one in this audience knew who she was.

  She glanced at Daniel as she sang and played her guitar. The light spilling off the stage caught the pleasure in his eyes.

  There were probably fifty people here, all homeless or desperately poor, who came to the Nashville soup kitchen for their one hot meal of the day. They hadn't expected a concert today.

  They swayed to her music with tears in their eyes, wiping their wizened faces with stained fingers. Some of them closed their eyes and raised their leathered hands to heaven.

  She'd never felt a greater thrill, not even in a coliseum with twelve thousand people. How could she have wanted more than this? The things she had once sought had a bitter taste now. They tasted like lost money, hurt pride, stress, and disappointment. She'd had enough of it.

  Her mission as a writer was to lead people to Christ, to help them praise him and worship him and remember his glory, to help them understand their blessings and show them where to turn when things went bad ... and when things went well. There would be no more watered-down songs with her name on them. She would only write those that had eternal value.

  And her mission as a performer was to sing for those who couldn't give anything back.

  As the chorus reached its crescendo and the raspy voices began to sing, she stopped playing and listened to the lovely sound of their voices singing without her. Closing their eyes in prayer, they sang off-key, some of them tone-deaf, but the sound had never been more beautiful.

  Teary-eyed, she slipped off her stool and winked at Daniel.

  The men and women continued to sing as she began to make her exit, but he reached out and grabbed her arm, pulled her back, and pressed a kiss on her cheek. Heat flushed to her face as it always did when he kissed her. He let her go, and she slipped out of the room. Her guitar case was in the hall where she'd left it. She packed it up.

  The poor and needy were singing louder, their voices carrying down the long church hallway. She lifted her case and walked out to her car, comfortable in the knowledge that she'd performed her best for her audience of one.

  She didn't need or want the applause this time. All she needed was the warm sun of God's good pleasure.

  AFTERWORD

  Parker James is one of my favorite characters, because her life is so similar to mine. Creatively, we're almost twins, telling stories in hopes of impacting lives. I think one of the things unique to the writer'
s life is that we do seem to be on a roller coaster. I finish a book! Hoorah! Everything's wonderful. Then I send it off and wait. Time passes. My spirits plunge. It's the worst thing I've ever written. Why, oh why did I send it when I did? I start scouring the newspaper for real jobs. Then I get the call. They love it and are really going to publish it. Yes! Life is grand! Woo-hoo!

  Then I get the revision letter. It's horrible. They want me to rewrite the whole book, change the title, and think about a pseudonym. They hate the plot and think the wrong characters died. Oh, and they want me to add a dog and a baby. I plunge again as I try to pick up the pieces that are salvageable. But then it occurs to me how it can be done, and hey, that dog really does add to the suspense, and the baby will be worth a few boxes of tissue, so yahoo, I'm up again as I send it off. It's the best thing I've ever done, a guaranteed blockbuster.

  But then I can't pay my light bill, and the checks are starting to bounce, and that check from the publisher never comes. So I plunge again. Finally, I get paid, and dance around singing, "I'm in the money!" Then I write a check to Uncle Sam, pay that late light bill, my late insurance premium, and wonder how I'm going to make it on what's left over until the next check. Spirits take another dive.

  Book comes out, good review, I dance again and sing for joy and write all my friends and get copies for my mother. Then I go on Amazon and read one lousy review from some hostile reader, and I notice that I'm ranked 6,000,342,786, and I go around the house looking for my gun. But before I pull the trigger, I start thinking, "What if some guy had a gun, and before he offs himself a shot rings out and he hits the floor and suddenly wants to live, only others want him dead," and woo-hoo, my spirits soar and my eyes glaze over, and like a homing robot, I stumble back to that keyboard and start banging.

  And it all starts over again.

  That's the writing life.

  But I love that roller coaster. It's the ride God gave me, and doing it for the Kingdom of God is a privilege. There's a ride for you, as well, one that He chose for you before the foundation of the world. I hope you're on it.

  John 15:8: "My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit, and so prove to be My disciples."

  Find your gift and use it. Then enjoy the ride!

  Blessings,

  Terri Blackstock

  DOUBLE MINDS

  STUDY

  QUESTIONS

  Parker feels uncomfortable when Serene asks her to rewrite her songs to tone down the Chris Christianity, but Serene argues that she can reach more people with the gospel if her music reaches a larger audience. Can you think of any Christian artists who have gone mainstream with their music? What did it do to their careers? How did their secular songs compare with their Christianones?

  Have you had times in your life when you've made compromises in the interest of success? Does success look the same to God as it does to the world? Discuss the difference.

  What significance does the song title "Double Minds" have in the story? Which characters have a "double mind" that they must confront? Do all Christians struggle with this to some degree?

  Discuss the friendship between Parker and Serene. In what circumstances did their friendship begin? How does each view and treat the other? What misconceptions does each woman have about herself that work their way into the friendship? Are these eventually resolved?

  Many of the characters in the story are deeply affected by their relationships with their families. How does Parker's family differ from the others portrayed in the novel? How are the characters shaped by their families growing up? Are there any characters who are able to rise above the negative influence of their families?

  What causes Pete to finally decide to get help for his alcoholism? How does his family react? What does this say about the nature of trust? Forgiveness?

  Throughout the novel, Parker fights to keep Serene's anorexia out of the public eye and urges Serene to acknowledge that she has a problem. Do you think Parker should have handled Serene'seating disorder differently? What would you have done in her situation? How do you think prominent Christian figures should deal with their personal struggles?

  Parker criticizes the hypocrisy often found in the Chris Christian music industry. What examples of this come up in the story? Is this a problem in high-profile Christian occupations? What standards should we expect of our "leaders?" What should be our response when they fail?

  How do Parker's ambitions change throughout the story? Are you satisfied with her choices at the end? Can you see Parker's journey resulting in a more fulfilled life?

  A Sample Chapter

  from Terri Blackstock's Forthcoming Novel,

  Intervention

  Releases November 2009

  CHAPTER

  ONE

  Barbara Covington's rescuer stood on the sidewalk at baggage claim, smoking a cigarette and chugging a Red Bull. Barbara swallowed back the irony that the interventionist, as she was called, had promised to help rid her daughter of her addictions. Clearly, she had a few of her own.

  Maybe she should drive past her, forcing her to get back on that plane and return to the drug rehab she ran. She could work this out herself. Lock her daughter in her room and take away her car keys and force her to stay sober. But hadn't she already tried that? Despite her best efforts to turn their home into a lockdown, Emily still managed to sneak out and get high.

  How had this happened?

  That familiar knot burned in her stomach as she pulled to the curb and waved at the woman. It had to be her. She was wearing the long red skirt she told her she'd have on, and a white peasant blouse that made her look more like a college student than someone who could escort an active addict across the country. What if Emily put up a fight? How would this petite thing handle her?

  Barbara swallowed back her fears and pulled the lever under the dashboard, popping her trunk. Forcing a welcoming smile, she got out of the car. "Hi, are you Trish?"

  "Sure am." The woman dropped her cigarette on the concrete and stomped it out with a sandaled foot, then thrust a hand out to Barbara.

  Barbara hoped her hand felt warmer than it was. "I'm Barbara Covington."

  "Trish Massey."

  Barbara glanced at the small bag at the woman's feet. "Is this all you have?"

  "Yeah, I won't be here long."

  Barbara picked up her bag and set it in the trunk as Trish got into the car. She slipped back into the driver's seat. The car that she'd freshened with Febreze suddenly smelled of smoke.

  Trish was all smiles. "So where did you tell Emily you were going?"

  "To an Al-anon meeting."

  "And that's okay with her?"

  Barbara breathed a laugh. "Oh, yeah. She likes it when I'm working on her problem. She would love it if everybody she knew were going to meetings and wringing their hands. She loves to keep us playing the What-to-Do-about-Emily game."

  There she went again, letting her bitterness spill out to a perfect stranger.

  "Meetings are good," Trish said. "Have you been to any?"

  Barbara pulled away from baggage claim and headed to the loop that would take them out of the airport. "I've been to plenty. I've done the workbooks and gone through the twelve steps, as if I'm the one with the problem. I've done everything they've told me to do. But she's still using."

  "Al-anon meetings are to help the family members' sanity, not to give you some secret code to sober up your loved one."

  Barbara knew that had been her mistake. She'd gone hoping to learn what would work. When she didn't get those answers, she'd lost interest. Her sanity would return when her daughter was sane.

  Strange that a woman who couldn't be more than thirty would be counseling her now. And who was Trish to counsel an eighteen-year-old? Emily would take one look at her and declare her dominance.

  What was she doing? Maybe this was all wrong.

  "You're doing the right thing," Trish said, as though she'd read her mind.

  Barbara didn't want to cry in
front of the woman. "When Emily was going into preschool, I personally visited fourteen schools. I interviewed teachers. I even spent a day with her at the few I liked, to see how she fit in."

  "I don't blame you. I'd probably do the same if I had children." "It's no easy thing, sending her to a place like this, halfway across the country. I talked to at least two dozen places before I decided on Road Back. I chose very carefully."

  "You won't be disappointed."

  She was counting on it. She glanced at Trish. "She'll be locked in, right? Because if she isn't, she'll leave. I've tried treatment two other times--one time, she ran away. The second time, she smuggled drugs in and got kicked out."

  "She'll be monitored at all times. Don't worry, we do this all the time. She'll be very comfortable."

  Comfort wasn't her main concern, though she didn't want Emily to be miserable. Barbara bit the inside of her cheek as she pulled onto the interstate, headed for the hotel she'd reserved for Trish. She was sinking thirty thousand dollars into this rehab, money that had come from a second mortgage on her house. But being expensive didn't guarantee that it was good. Even the best rehabs had under-whelming success rates.

  She wished the young woman inspired more confidence. "You seem very young. How did you come to own Road Back?"

  Trish flicked her hair behind her ear. "I'm a recovering addict myself. I got clean at Road Back, and when I graduated, I stayed and worked there. I've been doing interventions for them for five years. A couple of years ago, the directors wanted to retire, so I decided to buy it. I couldn't stand the thought of it not being there anymore. That's how much I believe in the program."

  That made her feel somewhat better. She wished she could go there herself to make sure it was safe. But once she'd made up her mind to do the intervention, there hadn't been time to take a trip to check it out in person. Waiting could result in Emily's arrest ... or worse. They had to act now.