Short Stories

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The center of the can clinked and cooed with the sound of the dime that Dave forced through the mouth. It’s crisp, rasping sound caused a new wave of anxiety to wash over the hostages at the other end of the hall. Throwing it at the nearest hostage caused muffled screams and fresh sobs that mingled with the cymbalic echos that masked the cocking of the pistol he carried in his right hand.

Dave looked at his hand and smiled in admiration. The fact that he could even lift this gun was a pure miracle, forget about the muscular intricacies it had taken to cock it. After all these years, he should have been unable to lift it. The fact that his arm and indeed, his entire body had not succumbed to the rigors and stresses of his life’s work was proof positive that he was divinely appointed. There was arthritic pain, and his joints didn’t move like they used to, but these were minor consideration in light of his clear purpose.

All that mattered was that he faithfully complete his task so that God’s favor would be upon him.

Dave paused and looked at the nearest hostage. He desired God’s justice for these people, but he also did not want to come between them and God. They had to know that he was acting purely in service to his Lord, so he had blindfolded them and thrown the lights off. Seeing him would have caused them to believe that he was the cause of their suffering rather than God’s justice. Dave wanted them to be free indeed to experience what the Lord had for them.

The hallway was cold and sterile, the concrete reflecting the muffled red and blue light outside where Dave could hear the whine of sirens that trickled through the frosted window above the hostages. He was not concerned that any of them would be able to cheat God and find their way to the police. They were, after all, 34 stories up.

In wonderment, Dave looked heavenward. Even in this small detail, God had proven Himself faithful.

Dave raised his right hand and approached the hostages, their collective breath audibly catching at the closeness of his footsteps. He grabbed the suspenders of a fat, balding man and dragged him to the center of the hall. The man let out an involuntary yelp and flailed as he was separated from his companions.

Throwing the man against a service door, Dave pressed the pistol against the fat man’s temple and sank down into a crouch so that he could whisper into the man’s ear.

“Be still,” Dave said. That was all that was necessary to end the man’s whimpering. The man went almost taught, clutching his left shoulder. Dave had discovered his gift for persuasion early in his service to God.

“Better. But if you were aware that your life is not your own, you would have a peace that passes all understanding. If you truly knew God, you would gracefully accept His will for your life. Your actions are motivated by fear right now. Your eyes are dark, but your unbelief is clear as day. You should ask God for faith and hope in His mercy that he grants it to you.” Dave said. Such conviction and fluidity. God must certainly be pleased.

The fat man did not respond, but remained stiff, now digging into his left shoulder.

“God’s will for your life right now is to be quiet, and allow what will be to be.” Dave said. With that, Dave removed his gun from the man’s temple and fired it into the air. Screams and new tears came from the other hostages. But the fat man, to his credit, remained silent. He even seemed to relax, slumping against the door, his arm falling from his shoulder as peace engulfed him. Dave smiled at the man. Praise God, the man’s faith was increased.

Dave looked at the other hostages. There was still a lot of work to do tonight.

When he was certain the fat man was not going anywhere, he turned and grabbed his next ministry opportunity by the arm, an attractive black woman with a close-shaved head and a small beauty mark in the right corner of her chin. She was wearing a business suit. At his contact, her eyebrows showed distress and a fear that repulsed Dave to the point of disgust. These people lack the faith of even a mustard seed.

He dragged her half crawling as she tried to keep up blindfolded in high heels to the window from where the police lights were reflecting 340 feet down. At their approach, the other hostages moved and braced themselves, terror reflected in the way their mouths curled. The black woman tried to shake free, but he pointed the gun into her forehead.

“I wouldn’t.” said Dave. “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” Faithfully, the Lord always inspired Dave with the right thing at the right time.

The woman responded with a hesitant nod of her head, and Dave had to tell himself to be satisfied for that small victory.

Carefully, Dave removed the latch to the window and swung it outward. The lights that were before filtered through the translucent window were now sharp and dynamic, and danced off the black woman’s face. Angel. Devil. Angel. Devil. Dave laughed at the reminder that God has a sense of humor.

Slowly, he eased the black woman onto the sill and outside. Her face stretched vertically in pure terror, clearly suffering under the weight of her circumstances, and knowing that whether she walked out onto the ledge or fought a man with a gun, neither option was accompanied by much promise. Abruptly, she began to cry.

“Hey, none of that. Tears of repentance are the only acceptable offering to God. Succumbing to your circumstances means your focus is not on the God that made men walk on water. His desire is not just that you would walk, but that you would fly on eagles’ wings. Any opportunity to sin is also an opportunity to trust and obey. Your problem is your lack of faith. You should repent of your unbelief and be drawn into God’s embrace.” The words came so easily when Dave was in ministry.

Dave prodded the black woman onto the very narrow ledge, and her desperation became complete bawling. She turned and shouted something incoherent, and he looked up with pity. Solemnly, the Dave shut the frosted window with her on the ledge. In the restored half-light, her contrasting silhouette stretched out and became distorted as she heeded his words and jumped into the embrace of the father. Her scream became less and less audible until it disappeared along with her unbelief. A tear of joy fell down Dave’s cheek as he experienced the beautiful transformation of a spiritual baby into a mature woman of faith.

He stood there for a moment, soaking in the awe and wonder of God’s work, before the unbridled cries of the hostages jarred him back to the moment. There was no time for reverie, Dave reminded himself.

As he looked over at the hostages, wondering who he would show God to next, Dave noticed someone he had missed before. In this sea of faithless tears, there was one elderly woman who was sitting in the corner, stoic and quiet. Her hair was grey and red, and he could tell she had been a beauty in her youth. She too was blindfolded, but her body did not reflect the distress that infected everyone else in the darkened hallway.

Obviously, thought Dave, she was not aware of her lack of faith. This one would be harder to minister to because he first had to convince her of her fear.

Anger imbued him. She was trying to deceive God. How dare she! It was Dave’s purpose to show her that she, herself was the only one she was deceiving.

Without thought, Dave stepped over to the old woman, causing all the other hostages to scatter, and grabbed her by her cinnamon hair. She grunted in pain as he raised her to her feet. He was barely aware of the fearful hyperventilation that came from the others.

“You seem very calm.” Dave said with contempt. He looked right at her blindfolded face, searching for a twinge of the panic he knew lay just below the surface. He could sense nothing but serenity.

Enraged by the old woman’s deflection, he threw her across the hallway. She hit a trash can and went down in a heap, her wavy, shoulder-length hair tangled with refuse and her dress mingling with the dirty floor.

Expecting some evidence of her lack of faith, Dave was incredulous when she slowly sat up and began to pray. He was not aware that the other hostages had gone quiet.

Pray? How could this woman pray? So deep was her evil, so depraved was her mind that she would challenge and test God. Seeing this woman broken and penitent would give Dave joy like he had never known before. He almost laughed with glee at the thought.

Studying her, Dave wondered what was necessary to see the woman betray her unbelief. She couldn’t hope to go very long without brokenness when the Hand of God was crushing the submission out of her. Dave desired, though, to see the humbling sooner rather than later.

She remained quiet and still, and her calmness made Dave seethe with righteous anger. He abandoned all thought and bounded over to her. He raised his gun to hit the old woman when she spoke.

“What right do you think you have to be the hand of holy vengeance in our lives?” she asked, her voice a forceful alto.

Thrown off, Dave stopped. Those who found themselves in the cleansing wake of his ministry never spoke to him.

“What did you--?”

“I believe you heard me the first time.” she interrupted.

“Are you speaking to me?” Dave said, his voice quaking with rage. He was barely able to keep his wits steady. This one was dangerous. He might have to resort to desperate measures.

“You take us all hostage, then start acting as accuser, judge and executioner when God says that vengeance is His. Are you so self-deceived that you think God would choose you to be his hand of justice? Your delusional self-worship ends here. It’s time that you see yourself for who you are.”

Dave was numb. He had never been spoken to with such contempt for him and his work. He smiled as he thought about how much he was going to enjoy even the process of breaking this woman.

He raised his gun to strike her again when she removed her blind fold. Dave felt at that moment like his soul had been ripped away.

“God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. Where is the love in your life?” she asked.

In the moment he saw the old woman’s eyes, Dave’s soul was seared. The lie he had been living under for so long was burned away like a thin piece of cloth exposed to pure heat. He saw a purity of spirit and a genuine closeness with God that he could not imagine approaching. He saw in her eyes truth and life. And he saw a love that could only come from a merciful God. He had been missing this from his life, thinking that he was a blessed tool in God’s hand, he had become a festering curse to everyone he had come across.

And he had killed countless numbers of people, two this evening alone.

In sudden fear and guilt, Dave fled toward the other hostages to find that they, too, had removed their blindfolds. In their eyes, he saw accusation and anger that he had caused. Without choice, be began to scream, as the pain of seeing himself for the first time coursed through him. His breathing became ragged and sweat beaded from his brow. He just wanted the pain to end.

He tumbled to the floor in soul-wrenching paralysis. His convulsions became more and more violent, and his muscles tensed under the stress of the realization of his own depravity.

He just wanted the pain to stop.

Desperately he looked at the old woman.

“You do not need to continue in this way. Repent and believe that God loves you so much He sacrificed His Son for you--”

Dave screamed in venomous rage, and flung himself at the old woman. Wild-eyed, he reached to tear her apart.

BLAM! BLAM!

Dave went down and in that moment, time slowed. He watched clearly as the bullet entered his heart. And he watched equally as clearly as the second bullet approached his forehead.

Then all went black, as he was transported to a final judgment of his own.

* * *


Officer Roberts stood outside his police car, sipping on hot cider. He had filed his report, and was waiting to be let off duty for the night. The sting operation had been a success, but two civilians were dead. One had suffered a massive coronary arrest and the other had been forced onto the narrow window ledge by the perp.

David Jaron. According to the FBI file, they had been looking for this guy for a long time. They had always had trouble tracking him down because he was never directly involved in the murders of his victims, instead, using fear as his weapon. His targets always seemed chosen at random; there was no discernable connection between them at all. This time, it was an office building. Before, it was a post office. He always carried blanks in his gun, a deception his victims never knew. Through his ten years, his fingerprints, or lack of fingerprints, had appeared in cities in every region of the country. Officer Roberts stopped. Fear doesn’t discriminate, he thought.

Before he pulled the trigger, he had come upon the strange scene of Jaron flailing on the ground, apparently exposed to demons of his own. He had looked like a mad man. It was not difficult to shoot the man when he attacked the petite little lady, who was sitting in a crouch in front of him.

Officer Roberts paused again. That little lady. What kind of mettle does she have to face down a wanted serial killer? Not one of Jaron’s victims before her had been able to do that. What was so special about her?

Considering that, he sipped on his cider. Her interview had been clear, and she had a warmth and intensity, a life, that he found himself strangely drawn to. Before she left, the little lady had invited him to Sunday service with her. Usually, when a victim of a crime expressed gratitude with an invitation to something like dinner or to take some money for his trouble, he usually declined. But Roberts was eager to see what made this little lady tick.

He sipped again and grinned. This seemed like a mystery he would enjoy unraveling.

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