BLACK SABBATH

CHAPTER 5

ZELLA LaSTELLA-SALLIE

HE HEALS THE BROKENHEARTED AND BINDS UP THEIR WOUNDS (Psalm 147:3)

            I felt a wave of anxiety when I saw Lieutenant Louis Lewis’s unmarked police car in our driveway. Then it transformed into anger. I had been paying close attention to my husband’s podcast and knew for a fact he said nothing amiss about the national Sunday laws.

            The worst, according to officials and authorities anyway, would be his explaining the Holy Scriptures rather than the traditions of men (Mark 7:8, 9) and for teaching the Biblical Sabbath rather than the commandments of men (Matthew 15:9). But it seemed we were rapidly losing the right to free speech.

            My jaw was clenched as I made my way to the front door of our home, so I tried to think positive. Maybe my cousin, the lieutenant, had shown up to make amends for the rift between him, his family, and me. They had judged me for the way I lived my life in my teens and early twenties. Fair enough, I can see how I might have brought shame to my conservative family.

            But even when I experienced a spiritual conversion, when I accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Savior, it still wasn’t good enough because I worshiped on a different day from them. This only caused more disapproval from them when national Sunday laws were established. Yet not one of them opened the Word of God to show me my error from Bible.

            I was barely through the door when Seven pulled me into an embrace. This felt odd because I could see Triple Lou sitting at our kitchen table watching us. Nonetheless, I took the opportunity to inquire about my cousin’s visit. Placing my lips a quarter inch from my husband’s ear, I asked, “Are you in trouble again?”

            In a low voice and looking me in the eyes, his own gaze as intense as I had ever seen it, he said, “Don’t panic, Inga is alright. Physically anyway. So, your cousin had reason to believe she was murdered. But it turned out to be, possibly, a relative of Inga’s. But she became distraught and ran into her room. Maybe you should go to her.”

            “I will,” I replied as I dashed off. Inga hadn’t closed the door, so I peeked in. She was lying face down on the bed with her forehead resting on her crossed forearms. She was whimpering and I softly spoke her name. “Inga, honey?”

            Her head popped up and she turned to look at me. Then she rolled off the bed and took a couple quick steps toward me. For the second time in only a minute, I found myself in a tight embrace. Only this time the hugger buried her face in my neck and sobbed.

            “Ssshh,”  I soothed as I stroked her hair.

            “My Pal, Pal is gone,” she croaked when she calmed a bit. “The only person I truly ever loved.”

            “Was she your best friend, Honey?”

            “Yes. Not only that, she’s my sister… Was my sister.”

            Saying ‘was my sister’ brought on another round of hard sobs into my neck. I could feel the wetness on my skin, but I didn’t care whether it was tears, slobber, or even snot. Apparently, she became aware of the moisture she was expelling onto me as well. She quickly separated from me and grabbed at a tissue box on the nightstand.

            “I’m so sorry,” she said, and with trembling fingers she pressed the Kleenex to my neck and shoulder.

            I put my hand gently over hers. “It’s okay, Honey. Why don’t you sit down.”

            “I don’t know what to do,” Inga croaked as she plopped hard onto the bed.

            “I didn’t know you had a sister,” I told my friend of only about two weeks as I crouched in front of her. “We could have put her up as well.”

            “I didn’t know she was in town,” Inga replied as if guilty of something.

            “Where did you think she was?”

            “In Nevada, probably Las Vegas.”

            “Can I ask why you weren’t with her?”

            “Because she was employed by the oldest profession, and I’d rather be homeless than do that, or even be supported by that.”

            “Why are you homeless, Honey? Where did you grow up?”

            Her grief turned to a look of alarm, but then she calmly said, “I better go talk to Triple Lou. I do not want to go over my life twice.”

            “I’m sorry, Honey, I shouldn’t pry.”

            She fiddled nervously with her fingers as new tears leaked from her eyes. With quivering lips, she said, “I’m so sorry, Zella.”

            “Honey, for what?” I replied, incredulous. “You just found out that your sister was… You know… So why would you need to apologize?”

            “Because you took a chance on a homeless woman, and what do I do? I bring this… This trouble to your home.”

            “It’s not your fault.”

            “Does God hate me?” she squeaked.

            “Oh Honey, no!” I told her as I sat on the bed next to her, putting my arm around her. She leaned her head into the crook of my neck. I almost asked why she would say that. But obviously she had just found out that her sister had been murdered. I prayed silently. “Lord, what do I say?”

            “Honey,” I began. “It seems to me God put you in our path for such a time as this. You might have been killed with her. You weren’t. Not only that, you have us to help you get through this crisis.”

            “You mean you’re not gonna kick me out?”

            “Oh course not! Why would you think that?”

            “Well, Triple Lou is gonna want to know where we came from. Once you hear… I don’t know… I won’t hold it against you if you decide differently.”

            I opened my mouth to protest. But then I closed it. Although I didn’t believe the worst about Inga, did I really know her? Yet I trusted the Holy Spirit when He urged us to take her in. However, when I opened my mouth a second time, I said, “Do you feel up to talking to the Lieutenant now?”

            “I guess so,” she replied, but eyed me curiously. “Do you see him more as Lieutenant Louis Lewis or Cousin Louis Lewis?”

            “Right now as Lieutenant.”

            “Because of my sister?”

            “No, because I’m mostly estranged from my family.”

            “May I ask why?”

            “First because I got involved with racy things.”

            “You mean by marrying Seven?”

            “No, not race as in ethnic background, but racy as in lewd. I was a nude model.”

            “So you did porn?”

            “No, it was, um, erotica.”

            “What’s the difference?”

            “I didn’t have sex on film. Well, very minimal anyway.”

            “What do you mean by minimal?”

            “Honey, this doesn’t seem to be a good time for this discussion.”

            “You’re right, I know. I guess I’m both stalling and trying to understand how much I can trust Triple Lou.”

            “With this, I’d say you can trust him.”

            “Just not with the Sabbath inquisition.”

            “Yeah,” I smiled sadly. “It is weird that my family has shown more hostility at me not following the mainstream on the Sunday laws than they were for me being a centerfold. I thought when I repented, reformed, and accepted Christ and Christianity it would put me back in good graces with them. But apparently it wasn’t the right kind of Christianity. So instead the wedge in our relationships became deeper and, well, more wedged.”

            I stood and offered my hand to Inga. She sighed, stood, and put a limp hand in mine. “My head is swirling with so many things, Zella. Mostly grief and fear.”

            “I know, Honey. But trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” (Proverbs 3:5)

            “I will,” she said as her grip on my hand tightened. She eyed me earnestly for a few seconds. “Because the Lord put you and Seven in my life for such a time as this, right?”

            “Right, Sweety.”

            Inga and I walked hand in hand toward Lieutenant Louis Lewis and sat at the kitchen table with him. The first thing he said to Inga was, “I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Likas.”

            “Thank you,” she replied meekly.

            With an odd mixture of stern and gentle, he asked, “Do you have any idea who might have killed your sister?”

            Inga took a deep breath. “My best guess would be my former fiancée.”

            I felt myself tense. Inga had a former fiancée?

            “And do you have any idea why this former fiancée would want your sister, and maybe even you, dead?”

            “He was a wealthy and polygamous cult leader. When I turned sixteen he chose me to be his seventh wife. My sister helped me escape.”

            “You’re now, what? Twenty four?”

            “Yes.”

            “So that was eight years ago. What makes you think he would still be after you all these years later?”

            “I have my reasons. But the short answer is, he’s demonic and vindictive. He also thinks I have supernatural powers he can somehow harness.”

            “Do you think you have supernatural powers?” Triple Lou asked with an arched eyebrow.

            Inga just shrugged. I was puzzled by this response.  Triple Lou frowned and seemed to peer into her unique arctic blue eyes. Then knowing Seven and I didn’t flow with the mainstream, he glanced dubiously at my husband and then me. My cousin Lou and I got along great as children. What happened that as adults we seemed to regard each other with suspicion and disapproval?