CHAPTER 8

NORA MEDORA DRIVING HOME

The corners of Nora’s mouth curled into a sly smile as she recalled Destiny’s surprised expression after she asked her to be her maid of honor. Then she full on grinned remembering Destiny’s shocked expression after she not only kissed her cheek, but gave it a quick lick.

Nora loved to play head games. But sometimes they messed with her own head as well. Destiny and Brock were a case in point. She disliked Destiny for the simple reason that Brock was fond of Destiny. She also knew way more than she let on about the pair’s association with each other.

She had already known that Brock had saved her life. She had also known that he followed her via the internet for years. Brock wasn’t really into porn before becoming a Christian, but he sure kept up with Destiny’s work. Not that you could call porn work or art. It was adult entertainment, period.

She felt a wave of anxiety at the thought of marrying Brock. Did she love him? She didn’t see herself capable of loving anyone or anything apart from her calling to rid the world of evil. Yes, she believed in a higher power, just not the God of the Bible that Brock adhered to. This two thousand year old book that was now interfering with the nice arrangement she had.

Years of intimate stimulation with him made her confused regarding the only man she had ever had a personal relationship with. Why did he have to change? What was wrong with their friends with benefits arrangement? Most guys would love to have a hot lady whose primary interest was sexual. No flowers, no cards, no gifts of jewelry.

She had no romantic expectations. Just two things she wanted. There was little hunting games and sex. She did like their occasional shop talk, yet she realized it was usually her expounding about work, and rarely, if ever, Brock. She hated the fact that she wanted him so badly. She also hated that she was losing control over him.

She grimaced as she realized that she had likely coerced Brock into bed for the last time without the bonds of matrimony. She knew if he was baptized, she wouldn’t be in the sack with him again until they were… She swallowed a lump in her throat… Married!

But this Jezebel Black thing might, at least, postpone their nuptials. She felt a twinge of guilt. For it was her doings that sent Jezebel on the war path. Months previously, she had discovered Jezebel was living in Des Moines. She had relocated there a few years earlier because the satanic cult she belonged to was based there.

Nora had discovered the cult was suspected to be involved in numerous illegal activities. Mainly drugs in a partnership with an outlaw motorcycle gang, as well as street gangs from Chicago, Kansas City, and the Twin Cities. Nora had talked her superiors into going undercover and joining the cult. It wasn’t easy.

But Jezebel preferred women to men when it came to intimacy. Nora had never actually had sex when going undercover before. Not even as a vice detective in Miami. But this case was a huge, international drug running and distribution. The fastest way to infiltrate the cult and to save lives was to become Jezebel’s lover. She had broken a personal rule by doing so.

How would Brock react if he found out she was responsible for putting Destiny and him in harm’s way? But wasn’t she herself in greater danger? What would Brock think if he knew she had not only joined Jezebel’s cult, but she had become her lover? She drew in a deep breath, sighed heavily, and then nodded with satisfaction as she thought to herself about her first duty, her job. The end justifies the means was her golden rule.

BROCK

“Would you marry Nora and me?” I asked Captain Kirk.

He arose from the flower bed that he had been weeding at the church. Captain Kirk preferred it to be called the fellowship barn, though. The original members of Cotton Creek Cove began at a small church building in downtown Cedar Rapids. When they began to outgrow the facility in the early 1990s, Captain Kirk and a few elder members renovated a barn into a church out in the country a few miles west of the city. Captain Kirk made an old-fashioned sign out of old barn boards with the name of the new facility, Cotton Creek Cove Fellowship Barn. Those five words were followed by Matthew 18:20.

Captain Kirk regarded me with intense blue eyes hooded by a thick white brow. Those eyes had gazed upon countless tormented souls that he ministered to as a young army chaplain during Vietnam as well as the war’s aftermath. He stroked his long, white beard and not for the first time reminded me of a biblical patriarch, like Moses or Noah.

“Is Miss Medora a believer?” Captain Kirk wanted to know as he brushed dark speckles of dirt from his long, white beard.

I cleared my throat. “No, sir. Not like us, anyway.”

“You know the Bible instructs us to not be yoked to non-believers,” he petitioned.

“I do,” I replied. “Here’s the thing, though. She and I have been together for six years. In our own way, we are sort of common law married already, although we have never actually lived together. In a nutshell, I told her that I became a Christian and we either needed to end our intimate relationship or get married. She then agreed to marry me.”

“Fair enough. Out of respect for you and your judgment, I’ll marry you,” Captain Kirk said as he nodded. “When?”

“How about Sabbath afternoon?” I inquired.

His furry, white caterpillar eyebrows shot up and I chuckled inwardly.

“Well, you’re certainly not wasting any time,” Captain Kirk said, stroking his beard again. “That’s only three days away. You’re not trying to get it over with before you get cold feet, are you?”

“No,” I replied, feeling a little embarrassed by what I was about to share with my pastor. “You know how the apostle Paul suggested that if we couldn’t be celibate, we should marry?”

“So you don’t think you can contain?” Captain Kirk asked with a sly grin.

I cleared my throat again. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Can I make one suggestion?” Pastor asked. “Have you considered Destiny?”

“Oh, I’ve considered her, Sir.”

“And?”

“Well, like I was trying to say. Nora and I are already in a sort of committed relationship. Plus we both have our dangerous occupational backgrounds in common.”

“And you and Dee have spiritual interests in common,” he replied.

“Besides Nora not being a Sabbath keeping Christian, you just plain don’t like her.”

“I don’t,” Captain Kirk, never one to gloss over truth admitted. “Look, call it woman’s intuition.”

“Excuse me?” I replied with raised eyebrows.

Captain Kirk chuckled. “The Mrs. actually has even stronger reservations about you two than I do.”

I sighed and crossed my arms. Was I making a wise decision marrying Nora?

“Look, just make sure you’re not doing anything hasty,” The good Captain and Pastor instructed as he touched my arm. “And don’t let your loins help make your decision.”

“But that’s a part of it. Why even get married if sex isn’t involved?”

“My point is the rest should be in harmony. Compatibility, communication, love. Sex is the icing on the cake, so to speak.”

I nodded. “Thanks Pastor. You will marry us though?”

“If that’s your wish.”

I helped the pastor weed the flower beds. Then he mowed while I weed whipped. I’ve found that manual labor can be therapeutic. My mind kept going over Mary Gold’s dream and Destiny’s situation. If Mary Gold said that the angelic being told Destiny to seek my protection, I needed to protect her. I shouldn’t even be helping the Pastor here until I knew more of what’s going on.

Another big concern was actually the harmony between my future wife, and my what? What was Destiny to me? My friend? Sister in Christ? Although Nora suggested it herself, Destiny living temporarily in my house was not going to sit well with my fiancée.

When I finished helping Captain Kirk maintain the church landscape, I retired to my car and retrieved my cell phone. I prepared to call the Weston household when I noticed a missed call from not quite ten minutes earlier. It was from Jake Weston, Mary Gold’s husband.

“Brock, how you doing?” Jake asked when I returned his call.

“Not bad, you?”

“Can’t complain.”

“Funny you should call,” I told him. “I was about to call your wife to see if she could talk to me about the dream she had regarding Destiny.”

“Funny once again,” Jake chuckled uneasily. “I was calling you to let you know that Mary had another dream about Destiny… And you.”

“Really, when?”

“This afternoon,” Jake replied. “Here’s the thing, Brock. Mary rarely naps. And even rarer still, she seldom has a second, for lack of a better word, prophetic dream. About the same person, that is.”

“Do you mind if I come over?”

“Of course not. I was hoping you could.”

Twenty minutes later I pulled into the Weston’s twelve-acre hobby farm. I was greeted by their old, but still feisty and playful, German Shepherd named Sassy. Jake came out of their modest ranch house still wearing his brown UPS uniform. He was followed by his lovely wife, Mary Gold. She was wearing faded blue jeans tucked into worn, brown cowboy boots and a pink T-shirt that said “Life is Good” in light blue lettering. Jake shook my hand and Mary Gold gave me a quick hug. They offered me a beverage, and I requested water. Jake suggested that we go sit on the deck.

“It was really weird,” Mary Gold told me. “The only time I ever nap is if some type of emergency or urgent matter has kept me up through the night. So I went for a little horseback ride this afternoon and felt great, full of energy. When I got done, I read some scripture and prayed. I prayed specifically for Destiny and her wellbeing, and for you, too, Brock. When I finished, I was overcome by a powerful weariness. I tried to fight it. But I just couldn’t keep my eyes open, so I lay down in the hammock.”

“I love to nap myself,” Jake said, as if to explain why they have a hammock when Mary Gold acknowledged that she rarely naps.

“I had a dream again that Destiny was in trouble. Have I ever told you about the dreams where I’m visited by an angelic being named Mayquinn?”

“Yes, you’ve told me,” I replied. “Destiny mentioned it the other night, too.”

“Well, he was in my dream this afternoon with another message,” Mary Gold said, shrugging meekly. “The majestic presence mentioned you by name this time. I was told you are to keep Destiny with constant diligence, beginning before the sky darkens into an inky black she-devil. You are to watch Destiny until the reed is broken. One more thing. Beware of the husband slayer, even though she’s necessary to break the reed.”

“So it seems that there are three parts,” Jake said. “Diligently watching Destiny is obviously one.”

“Malcom Reed would be two,” Mary Gold said. “But what could husband slayer possibly mean?”

“I can answer that,” I said, feeling my lips curl into an icy smile. “Nora Medora.”

“Your lady friend?” Mary Gold asked.

“Actually, fiancée,” I replied.

“What? When?” Jake demanded. “And you didn’t tell us?”

“It came about the other day. This is the first I’ve seen you guys since.”

“So, when’s the big day?” Mary Gold asked with a pleasant, yet concerned, smile.

“Well, we’re partially eloping,” I told them. “Just a small affair. As a matter of fact, I went to see Captain Kirk before I came here to see if he would do us the honor of presiding over our nuptials.”

“Enough with the fancy words, big fella. When?” Jake wanted to know.

“This Saturday afternoon,” I replied.

“What?” Jake yelled, shooting off of his chair like it was an ejection seat on a jet fighter. “This Sabbath?”

“By the way, would you be my best man?” I asked him.

“I’d be honored,” Jake said, smiling broadly as he took my right hand with both of his. “Congratulations.”

“Is she a believer now?” Mary Gold asked.

“Ah, no, not really,” I replied, scratching the back of my head and wincing.

“I see,” Mary Gold said with concerned eyes.

I told them about the warning Captain Kirk gave me and my explanation.

Mary Gold and Jake both nodded as my phone chimed. It was Destiny.

“Brock, I’m really freaked out!” Destiny blurted when I had barely begun to greet her.

“What’s up? Where are you?” I asked as my body seemed to go rigid with electric current.

“I’m at a grocery store, and I’m being stalked by Jezebel Black,” she replied shakily.

“What is Jezebel doing in Cedar Rapids?” I muttered.

“She said an old friend of mine wanted her to look me up. Apparently she lives somewhere close.”

“You talked to her?”

“She came up and talked to me when I was comparing apples.”

“Where are you now?”

“Still at Hy Vee in the food court area.”

“Where’s Jezebel?”

“Across the entrance, having a coffee and watching me.”

“Stay where you are,” I instructed. “I’m at the Weston’s right now, so I’ll be there in fifteen to twenty minutes. Okay?”

“Okay,” she croaked.

“Dee, you’ll be fine. You’re in a very public place. Just stay where you’re at.”

“Okay,” she mustered with a little more confidence.

Mary Gold and Jake were staring at me with worried looks on their faces.

“There’s a fourth element to your dream,” I said. “The inky black she devil is a woman named Jezebel Black. I think she’s setting up Destiny for Malcolm Reed. She’s stalking Destiny at Hy Vee as we speak, so I gotta go.”

“Do you want me to come?” Jake asked.

“Thanks, Jake, but I’ve got this,” I said over my shoulder as I jogged to my Mustang, thankful for Godly, helpful friends.

It had been a year since I had played bodyguard. I prayed I wasn’t too rusty. I thought about calling back to the Weston’s, asking them to pray. Then I realized it wasn’t necessary. The proof came as I left their driveway, spying them kneeling and holding hands on their porch. Their heads were bowed in prayer.

As I drove, I sorted out possible scenarios and the best way to handle the situation at hand with Destiny and her stalker. But as I did, something kept echoing in my head. In my mind I kept hearing Mary Gold’s voice warning, “Beware of the husband slayer!”

CHAPTER 7

DESTINY

I woke up suddenly from a nap on my sofa. I had been dreaming about Brock. Yesterday, why did I have to tell him I would have said yes if he asked me to marry him? For one thing, we really didn’t know each other all that well. For another, he had just told me he proposed to Nora Medora. How selfish of me!

What was my motive anyway? Jealousy? Loneliness? Longing? Poor Brock, I could tell my statement messed with his head. I felt guilty that this gave me a twinge of satisfaction. Maybe I should call him to apologize and set the record straight. But what exactly was the record to be straightened?

A knock at my door jolted me. Oh, so that’s what had abruptly awakened me when Brock was about to kiss me in my dream. It must have been the first knock that interrupted our faces slowly coming together. Was this good timing or bad timing?

 Shaking off a sleepy haze, I looked through the peep hole. It was my Aunt Belle and Mary Gold Weston. Fifty something Mary Gold was a pillar in our church. The two women looked gravely concerned. I had a sudden feeling of dread that they were here to tell me that they found me unworthy to be baptized and join their church.

“Honey, why weren’t you answering your phone today?” Belle asked me as a greeting.

I looked around for my phone and realized that I had left it in my vehicle.

“Sorry, it’s in my car,” I replied, dumbfounded. “Why, what’s up? Did you decide I shouldn’t be baptized?”

My aunt looked surprised. “No, not at all, Sweetie. But we do have an urgent matter to discuss with you. Can we come in?”

“Yes, of course,” I invited.

Belle and Mary Gold looked lovely in their summer dresses. Belle was wearing a light green dress and Mary Gold had a bright yellow one with lavender flowers. I had been cleaning before my nap and felt rather dumpy in a paint stained T-shirt with sweatpants cut off into shorts. The ladies sat side by side on my sofa, and I tucked a leg under me as I sat in my recliner.

“Honey, do you remember me telling you how I first met Mary Gold?” Belle asked.

I looked at Mary Gold, who looked so much like an older version of the dancing violinist Lindsey Stirling that I felt prone to call her Lindsey, instead of Mary.

“Sure I do,” I replied. “You met her at a park.”

“Do you remember how and why we met at a park?”

“Yeah, she had a dream about you.”

My toes curled as I was reminded of dreaming of Brock. A dream that was possibly turning erotic. Thank God they woke me!

“Right,” my aunt replied, glancing at Mary Gold and then back to me. “I know I told you about my miraculous experience with meeting Mary Gold, but I don’t think I fully explained Mary’s gift. She tends to have prophetic type dreams and always about specific people. The people she dreams about are always in some type of need, trouble, or danger. She doesn’t have them often, maybe once every year or two. But they are always profound when she does.”

“I take it you’ve dreamt about me?” I asked, looking at Mary Gold.

She smiled sweetly but sadly and nodded.

“Is it bad?” I asked Mary Gold.

“Well, it could be,” Mary Gold said as she reached toward me and took both of my hands in hers.

“Okay, so lay it on me,” I said before I took a deep breath and blew it out.

“I’m gonna need your help, Honey,” Mary Gold said, looking earnestly into my eyes.

I felt a lump form in my throat. Mary Gold was so loving and motherly that her face seemed to shine with the light of heaven. She was truly a Godly person if ever I met one. Whatever she told me, I needed to do.

“Okay,” I replied meekly. “What do you need?”

“This is the third time that I’ve had this particular type of dream,” she told me. “What I mean is that I’ve had three encounter dreams with a particular angel named Mayquinn instructing me to warn a particular person. In this case, it’s you.”

“I see,” I replied, becoming a little freaked out. It must have shown because Mary Gold felt the need to reassure me.

“Don’t worry, Honey,” she said patting my knee. “I’m sure you’ll be able to answer my questions. And as long as you follow the instructions, you’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” I croaked. “Is this, like, a real angel?”

“To be honest, I don’t know. But he seems very real in my dreams. But it is a dream after all, a vision in my head. It’s not like talking to someone consciously like us right now. Do you know what I mean?”

“I think so,” I replied as she gave me a reassuring smile and then a pat on my knee.

“So, in my dream,” she began. “I was walking through a town. It was dark and gothic, but kind of intriguing for some reason. Then it transformed into a beautiful, dreamy type city. Then all of a sudden it became dark and stormy, but brief. I ended up in some type of dreary tunnel, but there was a light at the end of it. At the light I found Mayquinn. The best way I can describe Mayquinn is as a bright light with an otherworldly voice.

“Mayquinn told me that my walk represented you’re life, and that you had found light at the end of the tunnel. However, a dark force was seeking to wreak havoc in your life. This is where I need your help. The voice said that ‘Reed is out, and running wild as he looks for your blood.’ Do you know what that might mean?”

“Malcolm Reed was the man who tried to rape me and possibly kill me,” I choked out. “But he’s supposed to be in prison.”

“Then the voice said that there was a man that protected you and held you after your most fearful moment in life.”

“Yes, that would be Brock Storm,” I told them.

Belle and Mary Gold looked at each other as if they expected this answer.

 “We figured as much,” Mary Gold said. “Mayquinn proclaimed him to be one of the most dangerous of men when it comes to violence. But that ultimately and recently he became a believer in Jesus. You are to follow his instructions and seek his protection or you will not survive Reed’s vengeance.”

“I see,” I mumbled. “How soon do I need to contact him?”

“As soon as possible, Honey,” Belle said. “Right, Mary?”

“All I can tell you is that the darkness is closing in fast,” Mary Gold said. “So you need to seek Brock’s protection, or else.”

“Or else what?” I asked, swallowing down a lump in my throat. Ten minutes ago I was asleep. I was wide awake now!

“In no later than three days, your time expires. In two, sudden fear. Unless in the next twenty-four hours you seek Brock’s protection.

“But don’t fear, Honey,” my aunt said. “Perfect love casts out all fear, and perfect love has brought you this warning message.”

“You mean Mary?” I asked meekly.

“No, Honey, it is Jesus,” Mary Gold said. “I was just privileged to be his messenger and one of your pray partners. Shall we?”

The three of us prayed for several minutes. When we finished, Mary Gold called her husband Jake and got Brock’s number. I immediately called it but got his voicemail.

“He works out in his shop and that big garden of his quite a bit,” Mary Gold suggested. “I wonder if that’s why he’s not answering.”

“Do you know his address?” I asked. “I wouldn’t mind going for a drive and sorting this all out in my head.”

Mary Gold called her husband again to get Brock’s address. As she did so, I wondered if my own dream about Brock only minutes ago meant anything. My spiritual mentors and I prayed again, we all hugged, and then they left. I set my GPS and sought out Brock’s dwelling. Brock’s residence was out in the country about ten miles west of Cedar Rapids. When I pulled into the gravel driveway, a majestic brick farmhouse loomed about two football field lengths in the distance.

I approached slowly as nerves seemed to vibrate my skin. I was relieved to see Brock’s blue Shelby Mustang parked next to an old pickup truck. There was a machine shed and somebody was welding something on a pair of sawhorses just inside the wide open slide doors. I approached cautiously, certain that the welder was Brock.

“Hello,” I said loudly as soon as the welding stopped.

The person welding spun quickly and flung his shield off, revealing one sinister-looking dude. His stringy, dark hair flopped against his cheeks. His grey eyes were close set, and one bore into me while the other seemed to look to his left. I discovered later that he had amblyopia, also known as lazy eye. His cheeks were hollow while his nose was long and narrow. His teeth were crooked and his thin lips expanded into a strange, eerie smile.

“How do, ma’am?” the ruffian said as he moved toward me. “Why, I’ll be! You’re Destiny Knight! I’m a big fan, ma’am.”

“I see,” I stammered as I felt my body tense.

“I’ve seen all of your stuff,” he continued. “I can’t believe you’re here in person. It’s like a dream come true. Brock did say he knows you.”

I felt a twinge of relief when he said Brock’s name. Still, I began to backstep away from him. Then I bumped into something solid that grunted. I spun again, now frightened to the point of weak knees. Relief washed over me when I saw that it was Brock. I put a hand to my chest and sighed heavily.

“Hey, Dee, what are you doing here?” Brock asked with a welcoming tone.

“Oh,” I stammered, looking back at the hideous, leering man. “I tried calling you a while ago, but you didn’t answer.”

“Sorry, I was busy with a rather important matter with Nora,” Brock replied. “I saw you drive up and feared you might encounter Bent before I could get to you. Not that he would harm you, but he looks a little scary.”

“Huh?” Bent inquired, looking both puzzled and offended.

“Destiny Knight, this is Bentley Bonnano,” Brock said with an easy smile. “Bent’s an old friend of mine and my housemate here at this palatial estate.”

“Once again, how do, ma’am?” Bentley asked.

“Fine,” I stammered, taking Bent’s greasy hand in mine. “Nice to meet you.”

I had changed from my stained T-shirt and cut offs to a light green summer dress that revealed no cleavage. Yet Bentley still seemed to eye my chest hopefully.

“By the way, Mr. Bonnano,” I said. “Just to be clear, I don’t do por… Um, adult entertainment stuff anymore.”

“Oh, I know,” he replied quite cheerfully. “My girlfriend doesn’t strip anymore either.”

“Oh, good for her,” I replied. Then I frowned, surprised that this, forgive me, handsome challenged man had a girlfriend attractive enough to take her clothes off for an audience. I was going to have to ask Brock about this sometime later.

“Hey, Destiny?” Bentley asked with a big, goofy grin.

“Yes?” I braced myself for something crude about his girlfriend or my former life.

“Do you know what you call an alligator that’s wearing a vest?”

Was he telling me a joke? “I don’t know. What?”

“An investigator,” Bentley said as if he was confiding a secret.

Between the silly joke and this odd man delivering it, I had a good belly laugh. It was just what the doctor ordered, and I could feel tension leaving my body. My first impression of Bentley did a complete one-eighty. If I could have seen into the future, I would have realized that he was to be a man that I cherished forever. A man who would literally give his life for another.

“Bent’s always ready with a corny joke,” Brock said, shaking his head.

“You mean quality, not corny,” Bent replied.

Brock and I smiled awkwardly at each other for a long moment. A buzz startled me and I jerked. Sparks flew as Bent began to weld again.

“Hey, Dee, are you okay?” Brock asked, putting a hand on my upper arm. “You seem really stressed.”

Brock calling me Dee was a nice little balm for my chaotic mind. Only those I was closest to called me that, and I felt pleased that Brock now saw me less formally.

“Yeah, I am kind of stressed,” I admitted.

Just then, Nora Medora emerged from the big brick farmhouse and walked toward us. She was wearing tight khaki shorts, revealing a lot of long, fabulous leg. She was wearing a black, sleeveless top. Her short, silky hair was wet from a shower. Nora’s presence only added to my discomfort, especially when she regarded me several degrees colder than coolly. With her there, I really didn’t want to tell Brock about Mary Gold’s dream. Yet, I didn’t feel comfortable asking to speak with Brock privately.

“Hi,” I said to Nora, a little breathless.

“Hello,” she said, as if the word tasted bitter.

“Nora, this is Destiny Knight,” Brock said. “Destiny, Nora Medora.”

To my surprise, Nora Medora offered me her hand. As our hands joined, Bent bellowed loudly and shook vigorously at his long sleeved denim shirt. Apparently he was burned by an ember while welding. Brock smiled and shook his head. Nora shook hers, too, and frowned as if in disgust. I probably just looked confused.

“Nice to meet you,” I told Nora.

“Likewise,” she replied, at least attempting to be pleasant.

“Destiny has been attending the church I go to,” Brock said.

“Yes, I remember seeing her there,” Nora said. “So what brings you to my fiancé’s home, Destiny?”

Brock seemed to roll his eyes without actually rolling them. I guess I had no choice but to explain my situation to both. Maybe it was just as well with Nora being some type of police officer.

“Congratulations on your engagement,” I said, not only stalling, but attempting to make her feel like I was no romantic threat. Was I really?

“Thanks,” she replied with a tiny, forced smile.

What did Brock see in this cold, hard woman, other than her stunning physical appearance? Then again, Brock wasn’t exactly Mr. Rogers himself.

“So what’s going on, Destiny?” Brock inquired.

I noticed immediately that he went back to calling me by my given name.

“Well, you know Mary Gold Weston?” I began.

“Of course,” Brock replied. “Her husband and I have become pretty good friends.”

This information put me a little at ease as I prepared to reveal Mary Gold’s strange dream. I explained the entire encounter with Mary Gold and my aunt. Brock listened with utter fascination. Nora listened with a blank cop face.

“Let me get this straight,” Nora said irritably. “You saved Destiny from being raped and possibly murdered?”

Brock looked at Nora with a calm intensity but said nothing. So I answered her question. “Yes, he did.”

“In Minneapolis?” she asked, looking at me quizzically.

“Correct,” I replied, marveling that Brock had never told his future wife at least about saving my life, especially now that we went to the same church.

“So, you two people from Minnesota,” Nora said with skepticism, pointing back and forth between Brock and me. “One of whom saved the life of the other, just coincidentally ended up attending the same church in the middle of corn country all these years later.”

“That’s right,” Brock replied with icy calm.

“Really?” Nora asked, folding her arms.

“Really,” Brock said, mimicking her gesture.

“And I’m just finding out now about this now, under these dramatic circumstances?”

“It seems you are,” Brock said, as he and Nora proceeded to have a stare down for a good minute. I wished there was a rock to crawl under.

“Look, I’ve been in high level security most of my adult life, and I’ve had countless scrapes. So let’s just go have a seat on the porch and discuss what needs to be done here,” Brock demanded in a no-nonsense tone.

The big brick farmhouse had a huge porch with a roof that wrapped halfway around the west and south sides of the house. What a great place to watch a sunset.  But we were still a couple of hours away from that. There was a porch swing that seated two and two outdoor lounge chairs. I sat on the swing, and to my surprise, Nora sat next to me. The porch was wide enough that Brock pulled a chair around to face us.

“First off,” Brock began. “Malcom Reed must be out of prison. But how can that be possible? He was sentenced to more than twenty years.”

“You’d be surprised,” Nora said, rising and pulling out her phone. “Let me find out.”

Nora put the phone to her ear and moseyed away from us. My fingers picked at each other as I sat stiffly.

“Relax,” Brock told me. “Trust Mary Gold’s instruction. Trust me, too. I’ve made an obscene amount of money protecting people. I’ve never had anyone die under my watch.”

There’s a first time for everything, I thought, but said, “So what do I do?”

“The main thing is that you can’t stay at your place. I’d like you to move in here. It’s a plenty big house. You could have not only your own room, but your own bathroom.”

I cringed, thinking about being a housemate of Bentley Bon-whatever. I told Brock as much. I also suggested his fiancée wouldn’t be pleased with me staying under his roof.

“You’ll be fine,” Brock assured me as he gently touched my fidgeting hands. His touch was electric, and it felt wrong with his fiancée just feet away. “This place is huge. It will be like a hotel with only three guests. Trust me, Nora will understand.

“You never told Nora that you saved my life?” I asked him.

“I try not to toot my own horn,” he said with a shrug. “She does know we go way back, though.”

“But she’s gonna be your wife, so what do you guys talk about if you don’t tell her about saving lives?”

“Not much,” he replied sheepishly. “Our relationship has been mostly physical. We’ve been like buddies for the most part. What I did in Miami was borderline legal at times, so I rarely talked to her about work. We mostly have talked about her work and sports.”

“When are you two getting married?”

“Hopefully this weekend.”

“Really? Where?”

“At church by Captain Kirk. I still have to talk to him, though. It’ll be a simple wedding.”

“Are you comfortable marrying her?”

“Not really,” he replied matter-of-factly while shrugging again.

“Then why are you marrying her?”

“I owe it to her.”

“How?” I asked as my brain screamed ‘please don’t!’

“Well,” Brock said, just as Nora turned toward us and put her phone down.

“Reed got out of prison about a month ago,” Nora said. “But he’s on parole, like forever. He’s not allowed to leave the state of Minnesota.”

“But without prison bars, what’s to stop him?” Brock wanted to know.

“An ankle monitor and going back to prison for at least ten more years,” Nora Medora replied.

“But he’s free,” Brock insisted. “Given Mary Gold’s dream, what’s to stop him from seeking vengeance? You don’t know how twisted his mind could be.”

“That’s true,” Nora sighed. “Look, Miss Knight, you should probably stay here with Brock until we get this figured out. There’s plenty of room.”

“See,” Brock added happily as Nora scowled.

“Look, Brock, I need to get back to Des Moines,” Nora said before she kissed him on the mouth rather passionately as if to claim her territory.

Nora knelt in front of me on one knee and, to my surprise, took my hands in hers.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, Destiny,” Nora said, her hard eyes trying to look compassionate. “I have kind of an awkward question for you, though.”

“Okay,” I said meekly.

“Brock and I are getting married in a few days,” she said, actually seeming meek herself. “This Saturday, we hope. It’s gonna be more like eloping, quick and low-key. Anyway, would you be my best woman or maid of honor or whatever?”

I was taken off guard by her question. I glanced at Brock, and he was as surprised as I had ever seen him.

“Um, sure,” I stammered. “I’d be honored.”

Nora’s face lightened into what seemed like a genuine smile, and then she kissed me on my cheek. She let her lips linger a couple seconds, and I felt the quick dart of her tongue lick my skin. It was so light and fast, I thought I might have imagined it.

When she pulled away, she was grinning happily from ear to ear. But her dark eyes were like daggers boring into mine. Then she winked.

Why did this woman I just met ask me to stand up with her at her wedding? Especially when we didn’t seem to exactly hit it off? What kind of head game was she playing?

CHAPTER 6

BROCK

I just confessed to being a murderer to Destiny! She was stunned, I could see it in her eyes. I was stunned, I could feel it in my body going rigid. Although I was never a spy, my years in high level security had given me some experience with subterfuge. In other words, I had been a professional liar by times. I suppose I borrowed from it now. I aimed a little smile at Destiny. “I should say, I’ve killed in the line duty.”

“I see,” Destiny replied with a smile as her face relaxed.

The duty I spoke of was loyalty to my dead brother. The duty was a personal code I had acted on. I eliminated a guy who was supposed to be a man of God. He had taken advantage of my brother when he was preadolescent. I found out about the man when my sibling was incapacitated with a lingering death.

My act of vengeance on my brother’s behalf had led me down a path of vigilantism. I had researched sex offenders who I had judged got off easy. My employment in high level security gave me access to records beyond internet searches. I became a self-imposed branch of the justice system.

But when I began seeking the Lord, I became convicted that vengeance is God’s, not mine. Regardless of how I viewed the justice system, or lack thereof, I needed to put away my desire to hunt bad guys. I needed to repent of the thrill to kill, and executing judgement. And for the last year I had.

But reuniting with Nora Medora had come back to bite me. She had found out about my illegal activities. As a matter of fact, she had made me aware of her knowledge the previous day. I suppose that’s how I had let down my guard with Destiny, and let that confession of being a killer slip from my lips.

Nora had showed up on my doorstep the day before. She was wearing her usual exercise attire, black spandex shorts a size too small and matching sports bra. Her luscious, light caramel colored skin was slick with sweat. Her dark eyes were intense and angry, but she still wore a sultry smirk. She barged into my house without being invited, but I didn’t try to stop her. To be honest, I felt familiar carnal urges stirring, but I had no intention of acting upon them. I resisted temptation, sort of.

“I know you got my text that I was going for a run this afternoon,” she said coolly.

“And I know I responded by telling you that I wasn’t playing.”

“I thought it was a diversion.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I see,” she said, as if confused. She folded her arms across her chest. “Well, I didn’t drive over one hundred miles just to go for a run.”

We engaged in a stare down for a minute, and then she began to remove her sports bra. My arm shot out to stop her.

“Nora, I told you the other day that we need to stop, um, fornicating.”

“Oh, Brock,” she drawled with a sarcastic voice. “I beg to differ.”

“You beg to differ?” I asked, confused, frustrated, and a little angry.

“You know all those years in Miami when we were just friends with benefits?” she asked using air quotes for ‘friends with benefits.’ “Not once did we actually sleep together. But here in Iowa, because we live a hundred miles apart, and because we are now supposed to be more of a couple, we tend to spend the night with each other. You know, we actually sleep together.”

She used air quotes for sleep. Then she folded her arms and gazed at me like the cat that swallowed the canary. I almost told her I enjoyed it too, but I didn’t want to keep encouraging our habit of fornicating. So I simply shrugged and said, “Okay.”

“Did you know that sometimes you talk in your sleep? You dream about violence sometimes, don’t you, dear?”

A chill ran up my spine and I hoped my expression was neutral. Nora smiled maliciously at me.

“You see, Brock, there’s this possible serial killer on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list. There have been twenty-four men shot to death across the country. They suspect that all twenty-four were executed by the same guy. All of them were rapists and or pedophiles. A few of them were priests, and interestingly enough, the very first of the twenty-four served in your family’s parish for several years. How about that?”

“How about that?” I repeated defiantly, even though my blood pressure spiked. I went into combat mode and refused to be intimidated.

“Yeah,” Nora continued, wearing a sly smile. “So I’ve always kept a little journal. I record daily stuff, everything from my cases to when I get my period. Do you know what else I recorded in my journal?”

I gazed at Nora with what I hoped was a cold, hard stare. She took a step toward me and patted me gently on my cheek.

“I jotted down my buddy’s travels,” she said, but used a crude verb to describe what kind of buddies we were. “Did you know that my buddy was in the same area at the same time for almost all of these murders?”

We had a silent stare down for a long minute.

“My seemingly meaningless habit of jotting down where my boyfriend was traveling sure paid off in the end,” she stated gleefully. “I guess you have two choices. You can either start undressing right now, or we can break up and I’ll go to the FBI with my evidence. What’s it gonna be?”

“It looks like you’ll be going to the FBI with your circumstantial evidence,” I told her as fear gripped my spine.

She took a step back with an astonished look on her countenance and crossed her arms.

“You seriously would rather go to prison than have sex with this?” Nora asked as she waved her hands down and up her stunning body. Then she placed her hands on her hips and stared daggers into me.

“I’m surrendering my life to Christ, Nora,” I said softly. “I can’t fornicate anymore.”

“But you can lie?”

“Of course not.”

“So what are you gonna do when the FBI questions you?” she asked with an exasperated laugh.

“I’ll answer their questions truthfully.”

“And end up in prison.”

“So if you have evidence that I’m a serial killer, you’re willing to cover it up if I continue to have a sexual relationship with you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I know that all twenty-four men murdered were absolute scum who got off much easier than they deserved.”

“You don’t feel unethical blackmailing me?”

“Are you the killer, then?” she asked with a stern look.

I returned the look but remained silent.

“Answer me.”

“No comment.”

“No comment,” she replied, throwing her hands in the air. “Are you kidding me? You may as well have said yes.”

Nora was right. So I might as well set the record straight. Any fear I had was gone and completely replaced with peace. I needed to trust God and let the chips fall where they may.

“Okay,” I told Nora. “Yes, it’s me. But it has been well over a year since I last killed, and I’ve vowed to God to never to kill again. ‘Vengeance is mine,’ says the Lord.”

Nora looked at me with a stunned expression. Her face softened and she smiled sweetly, yet sinisterly.

“You trust me enough to admit this, even though you’re dumping me?” she asked quietly.

“I love you, and I am not dumping you, Nora. But you’ve been making it pretty clear that you don’t want to get married. And I’ve been procrastinating ending our habit of having sex. I’m done telling myself, just one more time. Then you show up several days later. And I think, just one more time.

“I’m becoming a Christian,  Nora, and I want to live a life of obedience to God’s moral law. I simply can’t fornicate anymore. And given our history, I couldn’t just be your friend and not constantly be tempted.”

“But you’d be willing to marry me?” Nora asked, with a stern gaze.

“Yes, you know that. I’ll marry you right now if you’d be willing.”

“Well, we shouldn’t rush into anything.”

“Rush into anything? We’ve been together almost seven years.”

“Uh, uh, uh,” she uttered, waving a corrective finger at me. “We’ve only been trying the relationship thing a matter of months.”

“Nora, we’ve consummated hundreds of times since we first started seeing each other. And we’ve sort been friends that whole time too.”

“That’s the point! Between our history in Florida and now our current situation in Iowa, I’d say we are already common law married.”

“Okay,” I nodded. “That is a start.”

“Fine, then lets get it on,” she said, taking my hand and pulling me. “How about the shower?”

I tugged back, and she lost her balance. Nora was tough and fiery, but I was still almost twice her weight. “We need to make it legal, and for Pastor to say some words over us.”

Nora swore and put her hands on her hips. “I’ve always liked your macho, manliness in our relationship… I mean situation. But your new religion is making you a wimp.”

I laughed. “Yeah, you’ve always clearly been a lady, haven’t you? Just like most women, you put your guy in choke holds, arm bars, and slug him on occasion.”

“That’s why I need a tough man,” she said as she took a step toward me. Her face was close enough I could feel her warm breath. “You and I are so right for each other. I moved to fly over country for you. Isn’t that a gesture of permanence?”

“You did it for your career.”

“I could have went anywhere in the country.”

Nora looked contrite and vulnerable. I really did love her. I went to one knee and took her hands in mine. “Dayanara Medora, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Nora stared at me with a blank expression.

“You really are serious, aren’t you?” she asked with a mildly stunned expression.

“Yes,” I replied without hesitation.

            She went to one knee herself and looked earnestly into my eyes.

“If I say yes,” she asked so quietly it was almost a whisper, “can we still remain like we are? I mean that I live in Des Moines while you live here.”

“That would be fine.”

“I don’t want kids.”

“That’s fine.”

“And I don’t want to change my name.”

“You don’t need to, even though Storm is a pretty awesome name.”

She chuckled and gazed at me with genuine affection.  

“It is a pretty awesome name,” she agreed. “But Medora goes with Nora pretty slick.”

“It does at that.”

We stared at each other for a minute, strangely shy and goofily. It made her uncomfortable, so she kissed me hard and long. When she deepened the kiss, I tried to push away. She grabbed a couple of my fingers and began bending them in an unnatural position. “Owe!” I bellowed.

“Okay, now it’s time for a compromise,” she said in her cop voice. “Stand up.”

I arose as she still firmly gripped my fingers. The potential for increased pain lingered. If it was an actual threat, I could have kneed her in the mid-section or punched her with my free hand. She let go and demanded. “Now, I said yes to your proposal. That means we intend to marry. So let’s go consummate our engagement.”

“Nora, I said not until we are actually married.”

She sighed heavily, put her hands on her hips. “Brock, Solomon had seven hundred wives. Do you really think he had seven hundred ceremonies or seven hundred signed legal documents?”

She had me there. Plus, she looked hot, in more ways than one, as sweat still continued to bead from her pores. I grinned, shook my head, and kissed her.

Twenty-four hours later, I was sitting at Cotton Creek with Destiny, having just blurted that I’ve killed people. Although she handled it cooly, I could see disturbance in her eyes. She calmly and daintily tucked a strand of honey blonde hair behind an ear. Her beautiful large eyes were as blue as the sky. She was so different than Nora, but every bit as alluring.

Over the last twenty hours, I wasn’t very happy with the person who famously declared that an unexamined life wasn’t worth living. But my anguish over sex and violence proved to be healthy in the end. It was just painful and confusing in the present. A small example was my ‘yes’ to Destiny’s question. Was it a lie?

No, I told myself. It was a step. I had been working for the security firm during every execution I had committed. It was just on my personal time. If Destiny and I were to get closer, I would reveal everything that happened.

What was I thinking? If Destiny and I got closer? I had just proposed marriage to Nora Medora! Not only that, Nora said yes. She also had promised we would tie the knot before the end of the year. I had demanded by the end of summer. She said maybe.

I changed the subject with the lovely Miss Destiny Knight. “Yesterday I asked Nora to marry me.”

To my surprise, her eyes looked more startled than when I confessed to having killed men. Then her lower lip tucked in a little, and her chin crinkled for a second as if she felt like crying. Then she stoically replied, “Oh, you did?”

“Yeah,” I responded, my mind racing.

Was Destiny interested in me? Was I interested in her, despite intending to marry another woman? Did I make a mistake by asking Nora Medora to be my lawfully wedded wife? In the long run, Destiny would be the better choice, due to our similar faith. But Nora not only knew my secret, she was in a position to put me in prison for the rest of my life. But didn’t I deserve it after taking the law into my on hands?

Oh the human condition! I had been sorting out my past as a vigilante killer. In particular, reconciling my previous actions of self-justice with my developing spirituality. At the same time, I was sorting out feelings of love, lust, and infatuation. I longed to live under righteous principles. Nora left me feeling rattled yesterday. Then Destiny gave me mixed messages today.

With a seemingly genuine smile, Destiny extended a hand, “Congratulations.”

I took her hand, and with a mischievous grin, I said, “I didn’t tell you her answer.”

“Oh,” she replied with wide eyes. “I assumed she said yes.”

“She did,” I said with a chuckle. “I was just teasing.”

“I guess my assumption was based off what my own response would have been,” Destiny said cheerfully.

“Your own response?” I asked with a frown. “What does that mean?”

“Just that I would have said yes if you had asked me.”

CHAPTER 5

DESTINY

The week after my twenty-eighth birthday was probably the best week of my life. The beautiful thing was the simplicity of it. I hung out with my aunt, studied the Bible, prayed, went for long walks, and learned all about Belle’s ministry. I was feeling more direction in my life than I ever had.

The odd thing was feeling this awesome sense of direction when I had no direct plans. I just knew that I wanted to be a part of my Aunt Belle’s ministry. Financially, I had no money worries. I had a few years salary saved if you calculated it by the average working person’s income.

I also knew for certain that I wanted no part of my old life, except a tiny desire for Sophie to return to me. I also tried to put to rest my fantasy of something developing with Brock. Belle had informed me that he had a long-term girlfriend that was a police detective. For the first time in my life I was feeling somewhat asexual. I say somewhat because although I blocked my fantasies of Brock, I couldn’t stop the reality of seeing him.

When I lost my virginity at the age of sixteen, I felt a sense of emptiness afterward. At the time, I figured a lot of it had to do with youth and inexperience. The encounter was physically painful, and my boyfriend seemed to be enraptured in his own pleasure. It wasn’t a fond memory at all. Someone’s first time should be in a committed relationship with love anchoring the promise of a future together.

 Regardless of being disappointed with fornication, I continued to accommodate my boyfriend.  My second and third boyfriends weren’t any better. As a matter of fact they were worse. My second boyfriend cheated on me with my best friend. She quickly became my former friend, and I got revenge by doing a video with his friend. It was my first step toward adult entertainment.

I was still a senior in high school and terrified that my father would find out. It ended up on the internet, and he did. But not because he came across it. One of my step siblings told him. The contention between my dad and me was so bad, I moved in with a friend’s older sister. To this day, I’m not sure if he kicked me out or if I ran away.

It wasn’t long before my twenty two year old roommate began seducing me. She seemed so mature and worldly wise. I was in awe of her and wanted to please her. So not long after I moved in with her, when we were sharing a couple cocktails, she tried to kiss me. I enthusiastically kissed her back, and she became my first female lover.

She was pretty and petite. But her breast implants were so disproportionate with her small frame that I promised myself I would never get cosmetic surgery, and I never did. She was a former gymnast who had transferred her talents to a stripper’s pole. Men certainly didn’t seem to mind her unnatural chest, not by a long shot.

It was her influence that led me to exotic dancing. However, she actually tried to dissuade me from taking to the stage myself. I thought she was looking out for my best interests at the time, especially after I did my first private lap dance. But I found out later that she viewed me as competition. Regardless of her intentions, if I had heeded her advice, maybe I could have avoided a decade in the pit of sin.

But what ifs are usually an endless train. What if I hadn’t looked up my aunt? What if I had followed through with my suicidal desires? What if Brock and I had gotten together after he saved me that awful night nine years previous? Instead we lived over a thousand miles apart. What if he had been my first boyfriend? What if he didn’t have that girlfriend who reminded me of my ex, Sophie? Now I’m getting ahead of myself.

It was strange seeing the subject of my most persistent fantasy every week at church. Yet there were a couple of things that created an odd oxymoron. For one thing, I knew that he had a serious girlfriend. And for another thing, I was rapidly becoming spiritually minded rather than carnally minded. Over the next few weeks, I literally had traded Bible text over sex.

For the first time in my adult life, I didn’t desire sexual contact with another human being. I became conscious of spiritual realities. My aunt had given me many things to study in the Bible, but I kept returning to certain verses that seemed to be speaking directly to me. Romans 1:24-26 was a prime example. Having been in the sex industry, worshipping the creature more than the creator was crystal clear to me.

About a month after I had first looked Aunt Belle up, I decided that I wanted to be baptized and officially join Cotton Creek Cove Fellowship. I talked to Pastor Samson before the church service and told him my desire.

He was delighted, and suggested that my aunt do the honors of burying me in baptism. I got choked up thinking of the significance of my Aunt Belle performing the ceremony. The woman who very well may have saved my life. She would be the one helping me rise from the watery grave that represented being reborn to newness of life in Christ. Pastor invited the congregation to join us the following Sabbath at Cotton Creek as I publicly proclaimed my acceptance of Jesus as my Lord and Savior.

As the pastor was making this announcement regarding my impending baptism, Brock showed up with his significant other. I stared at first because I thought he was with my ex, Sophie. But then I immediately noticed that unlike my ex, she had no visible tattoos. However, my ex and Brock’s lady friend could easily pass for sisters.

 Brock’s companion wore a tan skirt with a white blouse. The skirt was several inches above the knee and seemed a bit racy for this conservative church. It hiked up even further when she sat. She crossed one shapely leg over the other. I looked away before multiple wrong thoughts tormented my brain.

“Belle,” I whispered to my aunt. “Is that Brock’s girlfriend?”

“Yes,” she replied.

“Does she come often?”

“It seems she comes to church with him once or twice a month.”

“She’s beautiful,” I acknowledged.

Belle gazed at her coolly. “On the outside, she is.”

I wondered what she meant by that, but now wasn’t the time or place to have that discussion.

About halfway through the service, Brock’s girlfriend got up and abruptly walked to the foyer. A couple of minutes later, she returned and whispered something to Brock. He nodded and she left the church. I recalled Belle telling me that she was a police detective, and I guessed that was why she suddenly left.

After the service, we were preparing for the fellowship potluck meal when I felt a gentle hand at the small of my back and a voice with a hint of warm, cinnamon breath inches from my ear. I felt a tingling sensation race up my spine and down my legs.

“Are you free this afternoon?” Brock’s deep, fluid voice asked me. The  warm, pleasant tingle coursed through me again. Was feeling desire for him wrong?

“Yeah, sure,” I replied, a little unsettled. My pulse quickened. “What’s up?”

“I just want to talk, okay?” Brock asked, removing his hand from my back.

“Sure,” I tried not to stammer. “Anything in particular?”

“Mainly your upcoming baptism.”

“Okay,” I said, frowning a little. Did he think I was unworthy? Belle assured me that all have sinned and come short of the glory of God. “Is your lady friend going to join us?”

“No,” Brock said a little too abruptly. “She’s a cop in Des Moines. She got called away. There was a break in a case she and her partner have been working on.”

“She’s very pretty,” I told him.

Brock nodded as he seemed to search my eyes. Did he think that I found her desirable? Since he had kept tabs on me, surely he realized my ex bore a remarkable resemblance to his girlfriend. The thought flickered through my mind that it wasn’t me that his lady friend resembled.

“Look, I’ll let you get back to your task,” he told me.

“Okay.”

“So we’re on then?” Brock asked. “Maybe we could take a walk to Cotton Creek after the fellowship meal?”

“Sounds good,” I said, trying to give a cheerful, carefree smile.

Brock and I returned to the same spot as our last chat. Once again, I marveled at how lovely it was with the trees and babbling brook. What a perfect place to get baptized!

“So,” I said with a coy smile. “Do you want to tell me I’m not fit to be baptized?”

“No, not at all,” Brock replied as his eyes widened. “But I don’t really know how to put into words what I do want to discuss. I mean, I’ve thought about getting baptized myself, but I never feel ready. Do you know what I mean?”

“Not really,” I admitted.

“You see, you take Nora…,” he said.

“Nora is your lady friend, right?” I interrupted.

“Yes,” he replied. “She’s probably my biggest stumbling block. For one thing, she doesn’t believe like I do. Shoot, I don’t even know what I believe most of the time.”

“Do you believe Jesus died for your sins?” I asked.

“Most definitely,” he replied without hesitation. “I looked into the historical facts about Jesus. It’s undeniable. It’s the other stuff, like the details of obedience and what’s required of us. Plus the fact that I’ve never met Him or talked to Him.”

“What exactly do you mean?”

“Well, once again, my situation with Nora,” he said. “She and I are, um, intimate. By the letter of the law we’re fornicating, but on the other hand we’re two consenting adults.”

I felt a pang of jealousy over Nora getting to be intimate with Brock. I even had a little pang over Brock getting to be intimate with Nora… I immediately shook off the thought.

“Why are you shaking your head?” Brock asked me.

“Oh nothing,” I said, hoping that I wasn’t blushing. “I’m just trying to process what you’re saying. So do you feel comfortable, then? I mean, like, a clear conscious with your relationship with Nora?”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “But I guess I’m not convicted enough to stop being with her either. Or I’m simply just a weak, sin-loving reprobate.”

I couldn’t help chuckling a little. “How long have you two been together?”

“Six years, for the most part.”

“What do mean, ‘for the most part’?”

“We broke up for a couple of months when I moved here from Miami,” Brock said.

“So then you patched things up and she moved here?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “She got a job in Des Moines and then we got back together.”

I frowned. “So she moved to Iowa without knowing that you two would be getting back together?”

“She was going to, anyway,” he replied. “She said that she wanted a change in her own life and the job in Des Moines, regardless of whether she and I worked out as a couple.”

“After six years, have you two considered marriage?” I asked.

“I asked her, but she keeps putting it off. I guess you could say that she’s married to her career. Plus, her given name is Dayanara. It’s Puerto Rican. Do you know what Dayanara means?”

“Not a clue.”

“Husband slayer,” he said with wide, serious eyes.

I couldn’t help it – I started laughing. What made it so funny was this big, absolutely muscle-ripped martial artist seeming to be somewhat fearful of a girl. Albeit a tough one.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding emphatically, his eyes getting even wider. “And she’s not beyond it, believe me.”

I started laughing so hard my eyes began to tear up. Brock looked at me patiently, and then he smirked.

“I’m sorry,” I told Brock as I wiped the corners of my eyes.

“No need,” he replied, chuckling. “It is kind of funny… So, did I hear Captain Kirk say your Aunt Belle is the one baptizing you next week?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” I replied. “I’m so glad he suggested it. She’s helped me so much.”

“That’s cool,” Brock said. “I’ve only seen two baptisms since I’ve been coming here, and Captain Kirk did them both.”

“Apparently when Belle brings somebody into the fold, so to speak,” I said. “Captain Kirk encourages her to perform the rite.”

Brock nodded. “So how have you resolved your sexual preference? My oldest brother was gay. From talking to him, it seems to me like you can’t just turn it off.”

“You said he was gay so he must have found a way to turn it off.”

“He did,” Brock said sounding contrite. “He died.”

“Oh, Brock, I’m so sorry,” I said putting my hand on his forearm, feeling like an absolute idiot. “How long ago?”

 “Ten years,” he said.

“How?”

“Complications from AIDS.”

“How sad.”

“It was tragic.”

We were silent for a minute as we stared at the rippling water of the creek. I realized that my hand still rested on his hard, muscular forearm. I eased it away.

“So tell me now, how have you resolved your sexual preference?” Brock persisted. “To be honest, sexual matters are the biggest reason I’m not baptized yet.”

“So, are you bisexual then?”

“What? No, I’m talking about my nontraditional relationship with Nora, as well as my gay brother. I know enough about what the Bible teaches, and how Cotton Creek Cove adheres to Bible truth. I know that you were in a long term relationship with a woman. If it’s not too personal, I’d like to know where you stand on sexual matters.”

“Brock, I don’t know if I’m qualified to answer that,” I replied. “I’m just a babe in Christ.”

“Yes, you are,” Brock responded huskily as he looked at me lustily.

I felt my eyes widen as we looked at each other. I bit my lower lip as my brain froze for a few seconds. “I mean, I’m brand new to the Bible and Christianity.”

“Oh, right, yeah, I know what you meant,” Brock stammered. “Sorry if that came across wrong.”

“It’s okay,” I said quickly. I turned away from him as I tugged my skirt down, even though it was already below my knees. Then I clasped my hands together and pushed them between my thighs as my brain raced out of control.

Brock had a girlfriend! But they weren’t married. Was all still fair in love and war? What a dumb saying. Brock was off limits, period.

“I just think you’re beautiful, Dee,” Brock told me, using my nickname for the first time. Then he chuckled. “I’m actually glad your preference is women.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It’s always kept my desires for you at bay. I mean, not that you’d want a guy like me if you weren’t, you know…”

“You have to realize that I’m actually bisexual,” I replied a little too quickly. “True, my intimate history has been mostly with women. However, my deepest desire ever since I was a little girl was to be with a man. To get married and have kids, the white picket fence and all. I guess that I am just picky when it comes to guys. In my former profession I was around too many undesirable guys. I do know this much. If I’m ever in an intimate relationship again, it will be with a man and we will be married first before being, um, intimate.”

“So what type of guy are you attracted to, the androgynous type?”

“No, silly,” I said, giving his upper arm a push. Man, he was rock hard! Why did I keep touching him? Was I coming off as flirtatious? “My dream guy is rather manly.”

“Oh, yeah?” Brock said with a big, mischievous grin. “Is this a real guy or a creation of your imagination?”

“I guess you could say both,” I told him. “My point is, I don’t think I’m qualified to answer a spiritual question about being gay.”

“You were in a gay relationship, right?”

“You know I was.”

“That qualifies you in my eyes. So I want to know your opinion. Is the Bible intolerant of gay people?”

“I believe the Bible is intolerant of sin in general, and it’s sinners that are intolerant of the Bible. Like I said, I’m new to this. But I’ve already have gotten a taste of people who say the Bible teaches hate, just because it proclaims a different opinion than theirs. It seems pretty narcissistic to be offended because someone has a different opinion than your own. Like my Aunt Belle says God hates the sin but He loves the sinner.

“Those people who believe the Bible teaches hate obviously haven’t studied the gospel very thoroughly. Look at what Jesus did for us in dying a cruel death for our sins. How can you possibly call that hate? Yet I’m not offended, or think you don’t have the right to feel that way.”

“What about the God of the Old Testament?” Brock inquired. “It seems He was pretty violent and vengeful.”

“I’d say we can’t relate from one generation to another now. How can we possibly relate to a culture thousands of years ago? I mean in Sodom and Gomorrah, men were demanding that Lot send angels disguised as men out so they could have sex with them (Genesis 19:1-5) That’s pretty wicked. Before the flood, God was sorry that He made man (Genesis 6:6).

“I know this much though. Jesus said, if you’ve seen Me, you’ve seen the Father (John 14:9). And there’s been no life more impressive in human history, in my mind, than the life of Jesus. God became a man! Tempted as we are, yet without sin!

“I agree,” he replied, nodding. “But you can’t deny that religionists have persecuted gay people.”

“Religionists murdered Jesus! Religion doesn’t make you right with God. I mean, millions of people have been murdered in the name of God. These people were controlled by Satan, not the Savior. People have not only forgotten, but are unaware of the history of the dark ages. It should be a no brainer that if you are killing someone, especially in the name of God, you couldn’t be more deluded if you think your actions are virtuous.”

Brock was staring at me. Unlike moments ago, it wasn’t adoring. Now it was cold and  hard, and my skin crawled a little under his gaze. He said in low voice. “I’ve killed people.”

CHAPTER 4

BROCK

As I sat in the woods waiting for my prey, I couldn’t stop thinking about seeing Destiny the previous day. I was glad to see that all those years in the sex trade hadn’t aged her prematurely. Who knows how she ended up psychologically, though? Maybe we would become friends and I would find out. Maybe more than friends.

I shook of that thought. What a hypocrite! Here I waited in hiding to satisfy an element of my lustful desires. I was about to behave badly with one woman, while dreaming of a wholesome relationship with another. Did I have a split personality?

In a few minutes I would be indulging in a game of lust that sometimes seemed to control me. Outwardly, as far as the world knew, I was disciplined. Inwardly, I cried along with the Apostle Paul, declaring, “Oh wretched man that I am!” But unlike Paul, at this time in my life I had yet to fully inquire, “Who will deliver me from this body of death?”

I spotted my prey making her way up the trail, and my adrenaline began to spike. She came closer and closer to my lair. Man, did she ever fill out those black spandex shorts that she ran in with a matching sports bra. Her entire lithe body was perfectly toned. The green camouflaged baseball cap that covered her short black hair sat low over her eyes, but I could tell that she was looking around nervously. As she should. This place was remote. The man about to attack her, me, was the only other person for miles.

From my secluded spot, I watched her pass as I admired her well-muscled female form. I moved quickly and quietly to another spot, a place I had prepared for an attack. She would continue to run up hill for another two hundred yards, and then the trail would loop around, winding back down the hill. When she passed my spot, I hoped that she would be tired, unfocussed, and then I would strike.

I had a dark green canvas covered with leaves and twigs positioned by a good sized rock. I hid underneath the canvas and put my feet against the rock, readying myself to spring out as she passed. We would be so deep in the woods that nobody would hear a thing. Go ahead and scream all you want, Honey. I felt like a sinister Rambo.

I could hear the padding of her feet on the trail before she came into sight. They were heavy footfalls so she was indeed tired! Suddenly she was in front of me, and my legs catapulted me off the rock. I grabbed her around the legs as she went down with a scream and then a grunt. In seconds, I had her in an arm bar and her face winced with pain.

“Tap out,” I told her.

“No,” she grunted. Then she shouted, “Get off me!”

I applied a little more pressure and waited. Her body was slick with sweat and hard to hold on to. Despite her fatigue, she was strong.

“Tap out,” I demanded.

“No,” she said with gritted teeth as she struggled against me.

I applied a little more pressure. She growled, but then slapped the ground three times and I released her. I was climbing off of her when she grabbed me and flipped me to the side of her. Like I said, she was strong. Then she grabbed my arm and put me in a wrist bar.

“What are you doing?” I asked as now I winced and froze paralyzed by pain.

“Retaliation,” she said with a cocky grin. Then she lowered her face to mine and kissed me on the mouth. A drop of her sweat fell into my eye, and I blinked the burn away.

“That’s not fair,” I said. “You’re the one that wants me to attack you. You keep begging me to play this twisted game of yours, and then you cheat?”

“I know, but I usually get away,” she said. “I guess I’m a sore loser. Nice job.”

“Thanks,” I said. “But you do know that if I really wanted to take you out, I could.”

“But you do give it your all within safer parameters, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“All right then,” she said. “So now I need you to tap out to even things up today.”

“Even things up?” I complained. “This was the first time in six or eight tries that I got you in a position to tap out.”

“Nine,” she said, “but who’s counting? And just for the record, you know you like playing this game.”

I first met Nora Medora when I lived in Miami. She was a vice detective with the Miami police department. When our occupations happened to overlap six years earlier, the sexual chemistry between us crackled, even though we were on opposing sides of a case. When the case was over, I called her. To my pleasant surprise, she agreed to meet me for a drink. She didn’t beat around the bush with what she wanted, which was a partner to be physically intimate with, period. At the time, that worked for me as well.

Nora was focused on her career, and I was enraptured in wanderlust. I was based out of Miami, but I traveled the world for my job, and loved it. Neither she nor I were good at relationships, but we weren’t into sleeping around either. We were two peas in a pod, and so began six years of being ‘friends with benefits.’ Other than sex, it actually seemed like a friendship with a guy in a lot of ways. We worked out together, watched ballgames, and talked shop about her experiences as a cop and mine as a bodyguard for the rich and famous.

In the spring of 2015, I was extremely frustrated with my life. I was tired of being a soldier for the wealthy and pampered. I also had been around the world several times, and had had my fill of travel. I also was frustrated with the shallowness of my arrangement with Nora.

Yet, I had developed feelings for her, and I went against our deal. I suggested she move in with me, and on bended knee, I proposed marriage. But she shot me down quickly and cruelly. It left me hurt and angry, but desperate for a change I might not have otherwise taken. I wanted something like a quest for truth and meaning to life. Reading Captain Kirk Samson’s book ignited a spark within me that I needed. God put it in my hands and at just the right time.

So it started with a simple vacation back home to Minnesota. I took my blue 2014 Shelby Mustang on a road trip with a plan to stop in Iowa. I wanted to meet the man whose book about faith, doubt, love and war, was beginning to change my life. I was hoping for the better. I also wanted to see the church and community vividly described in his autobiography. The heavenly quaintness of Cotton Creek Cove didn’t disappoint.

On the same trip I met Bentley Bonnano, a friend and co-worker’s brother. He was kind of goofy, but easy going. He was also a skilled mechanic, and I admired his old fashioned shop in the country, where he renovated classic vehicles. When he petitioned me to come to work with him, and also room with him, my first thought was no.

But between my rut in life, my stagnate relationship with Nora, Bentley’s offer, and Cotton Creek Cove Fellowship, I decided to move to eastern Iowa. I needed a major life reboot, and I was convinced this was it. So, I returned to Miami just long enough to close up shop, so to speak, and then I moved to Iowa. Right or wrong, I didn’t even say goodbye to Nora.

Somewhere between two and three months after I moved to Iowa, I came home to find a Dodge Charger with Illinois plates in my driveway. I walked around cautiously to my backyard. Was it a former enemy? Some type of salesperson? More than likely, it was some type of cop wanting to question me about something from my old job. I was right about the cop part.

“Hey, you,” a sultry, familiar voice said from behind me.

Have you ever been thrilled and devastated at the same time? Even in khaki shorts, a Miami Heat T-shirt, and aviator sunglasses, Nora Medora looked smoking hot.

“What are you doing here?” I asked matter-of-factly. But I felt a little creeped out, like she was stalking me or something. But at the same time, I was a bit excited. Seeing her felt, for lack of a better word, nostalgic. Yet my better judgement made me very skeptical.

The rare smile on her face faded, and she defiantly put her hands on her hips. “That’s how you’re going to greet me?”

“Apparently,” I said.

She tried to smile again, but it flickered and went out. She actually seemed to be fighting off tears. Tears would be another rare thing for Nora Medora.

“This your car?” I asked, groping for something to say as I pointed to the Charger.

“It’s a rental.”

“I see,” I said. “So how’d you find me?”

“I’m a detective,” she said.

We stood and stared at each other for a long minute.

“I’ve missed you,” Nora finally said quietly.

A third strange set of words from her. I just gazed at her blank faced. A lone tear leaked from under the aviators.

“You haven’t missed me at all?” Nora asked in a croaky whisper. Maybe she was more thoughtful and caring than I gave her credit for.

“Sure I have,” I said. “But the last time I saw you, you threw the roses I bought for you after I asked you to marry me. Then you punched me in the stomach after I said that I loved you.”

“It wasn’t that hard of a punch,” she said calmly as she removed her sunglasses, revealing bloodshot eyes. “You broke our agreement, and it took me by surprise. But now that I’ve had 72 days to think about it, do you know how I would have responded in hindsight?”

“How?” I asked, intrigued.

“I love you, too,” she said stepping toward me, drawing the words out slowly and passionately. Our mouths came together like they had over a thousand times before. But never with this much desperation. After a couple minutes lost in a lip lock, she pushed away from me.

“I need to tell you something,” Nora said as we came up for air. “I’m taking a job with the Iowa Division of Criminal Investigation. I’ll be based out of Des Moines.”

“What?” I said, incredulously, my whole body going stiff. “That was rather presumptuous.”

“You don’t understand,” she said. “I needed a change, too. Plus I was lost without my best friend.”

“Your only friend,” I added.

She just shrugged, and continued. “Anyway, right after you left, I started applying around the Midwest. Regardless of whether or not you want to resume our, um, relationship, the IDCI seems like a perfect fit for me. I’ll have a chance to be a bigger fish in a smaller pond, rather than remaining stuck as a small fish in a bigger.”

“I see,” I replied, still getting my mind around Nora possibly being back in the picture. Again, I was both apprehensive and thrilled at the same time.

“So, would you be interested in resuming what we had?” Nora asked with a coy, seductive smile.

“Just so you know, I’m at a point in my life where I want a normal relationship. That’s why I asked you to marry me.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” she asked.

“No.”

“Great, let’s resume then,” Nora said with a strange, bright smile.

“I said I want a normal relationship,” I insisted.

“What exactly do you mean by normal?” Nora asked. I could tell she was holding in frustration. I think she was hoping I’d be so ecstatic to see her, I would cave. I’m ashamed to admit that Nora always controlled me by sex appeal. So why the drab shorts and a t-shirt that was a size too big? It might have been a psychological ploy. If it was, once again I’m ashamed to admit, it ended up working.

“I want to settle down,” I told her with a shrug. “It’s as simple as that. I want a wife and kids one day.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes, bowed her head, and then shook it. Then she looked at me. “I’ll consider marriage, but no babies are gonna take up residence in my womb.”

“Fair enough, we could adopt. I’m sure there are plenty of orphans in the world.”

She nodded, then snorted, and then shook her head.

“What was that?” I chuckled. “First a yes, then a maybe, and then a no?”

“If we were to have kids, adoption is the way to go. However, can you really see me as a mother? I’m not exactly a warm and fuzzy female. Like you insinuated, I don’t have many friends. I’m self-aware. I know I’m cold and prickly. That’s why I was stunned that you want to marry. So tell me, why do you?”

I shrugged. “We have a history, I’m loyal, and we get along pretty good.”

“We’ve always got along pretty good because never lived together.”

“We could adjust,” I tried.

“Okay,” she said with a sarcastic chuckle. Then she put on a seductive grin. “Now, how about you give me a tour of your house, and conclude it with your bedroom. We could try this adjustment you speak of by me spending the night.”

Now I had my first real struggle with sexual urges since I started attending Cotton Creek Cove Fellowship. The last time I had been intimate was actually with Nora a few months previously. Was I the last for her? As attractive as she was, I suspected so. That’s probably why she seemed as desirous as me. Even more so.

But I had a new dilemma in my psyche. I had been trying to walk with God the last couple of months. I had come to believe fornication to be a sin. But there was a problem with my flesh. My walk with God wasn’t with all my heart. Yet I still tried to do the right thing, but my flesh was weak, despite my strong body. I tried to explain my situation to Nora. In a nutshell, I told her that we needed to be married before we became one physically again.

“Well, I’m not marrying you today,” she told me. “I need to get my head around our situation, and you getting all religious now. So how about we compromise? We’ll get together on my days off, and I’ll even go to church with you when I can. But we need to resume our, um, thing post haste.”

“By thing, you mean sex?”

She smiled seductively, stepped toward me, and took my hands in hers. Her lovely dark, intense eyes gazed into mine. “How about we call it making love?”

“Nora, like I explained, we need to be married before we resume intimacy.”

Nora tended to be a hot head. Up to this point she had been patient and reasonable. But I knew her well and braced for a verbal explosion. So I was surprised when she simply nodded, shrugged, and took a step back from me.

Before I comprehended what she was doing, her t-shirt seemed to shoot off the top of her head. Rather than a bra, she was wearing a tiny red bikini top. Placing hands on her hips, she grinned mischievously and inquired, “Well?”

“I see you’ve still been working out in my absence,” I replied as I tried to stuff down temptation.

She stepped toward me again. “I’ve had to work off frustrations. Lots of frustration! It seems you have too.”

She ran her left hand over my right bicep, and her right hand over my left pectoral muscle. She complimented me on my build. I have often received comments and compliments on my muscles. This was ironic as my flesh had never been weaker under her touch. She kissed me deeply, and I kissed her back enthusiastically.

“Come on, show me your bedroom,” she said coyly, as she took my hand and began to lead me toward my house.

I began to follow as if in a trance. But then I stopped after a few steps and pulled my hand from hers. Lamely, I said, “Nora… I can’t.”

“Wow, you really have changed,” she replied as if appalled. But she seemed to be enjoying herself. Then she sighed. “Well, I certainly don’t want to force you against your will. But I do want to show you one more thing before I leave. I want you to know what you’ll be missing out on.”

Off came her khaki shorts, revealing the other half of her bikini. Her tiny bikini. All of the reason seemed to drain from my brain. She did a quick little parade, then opened her arms and asked, “Well, do I stay or do I go?”

“Stay,” I heard myself say.

Thus Nora Medora reentered my life and drastically impeded my spiritual progress. After I caved in that first time, it only became easier to give in. Especially when some new twists were added to our relationship. Some good, some bad. Nora began attending church with me every few weeks, and I played a bizarre little hide and seek game with her. Actually it was more like hunt and escape.

With all of the remote areas close to where I lived, she had me stalk her and try to attack her when she went for a run. This was supposed to hone her skills as an officer of the law. I suppose it did, but our exercise also always ended with sexual overtones.

After more than half a decade together and her skill at manipulation, she knew how to play me. Nine months into her move to Iowa, and we were still no closer to marriage. She was my biggest stumbling block. Not only sexually, but she knew a secret of mine that she held over me.

Before I began seeking God, I had been a vigilante killer. Nora Medora had found out. However, it was some pretty evil guys I had eliminated, so my girlfriend cop had been an ally. But then my destiny changed by reacquainting with Destiny Knight. This made my girlfriend ally a potential enemy.  

CHAPTER 3

DESTINY

To say that I was shocked to see Brock Strom at my aunt’s church was an understatement. I never in a million years would have thought that I would run into anyone from my former life in a church in Iowa. As ridiculous as it might seem, since I hardly knew him, but Brock was the only man that I had ever loved. It all went back to when he had saved me from the most terrifying moment of my life.

“I’ve got you,” his deep, calming voice had said softly into my ear as he held my trembling body. Those words would echo wonderfully in my head for the rest of my life. It wasn’t long before my fantasies urged a change in his words from “I’ve got you” to “I love you.”

His rescue had truly seemed miraculous. My attacker had torn my clothes off and pinned me to the floor. He had put his knife right at my jugular. I still have a little, half inch scar from where the blade had poked through my skin. He said if I moved he’d slit my throat from ear to ear. He then unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. Right when he was pushing them down, I saw a flash of movement from my kitchen. Like a superhero, Brock suddenly appeared in my living room. His leg lifted and his foot snapped hard into my attacker’s head, knocking him out cold instantly.

“So you took the advice of the cops then.” Brock had stated as we sat by Cotton Creek and conversed.

In the aftermath, both Brock and the police suggested that I not be visible in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area after the attempted rape and potential murder. My attacker had gang ties. It seemed to me that they would be more angry with Brock than me. Nonetheless, I left with another girlfriend for the west coast. I had been California dreaming anyway.

I tried exotic dancing out west, but the attack, still fresh on my mind, made me skittish. So I got into porn instead. I started my own web site, as well as joining a popular web site that featured twelve girls. It was strictly girls with girls. I had been developing a growing fear of the type of men that patronized so called gentlemen’s clubs. After the attempted rape, it left me on the verge of panic attacks.

“Yes, I went to the west coast,” I told Brock. “I heard you went to Florida.”

“Yeah, Miami.”

“Why Miami?”

“Our shared incident had an unexpected benefit,” he informed me. “I got hired by a high profile security company. It got me out of the strip club, and at ten times the money.”

I nodded. “I um, got into, ah…”

“The Dirty Dozen,” Brock said with a little smile and an arched eyebrow. “I know you did porn. Is Sophie still in your life?”

“So you kept tabs on me, then?” I asked, part offended, part embarrassed, and actually disappointed. In my fantasies about Brock, he wasn’t the type of guy that went to strip bars or watched porn. It was a silly notion, even hypocritical. Dreaming he wasn’t a guy that went to strip clubs wasn’t at all realistic since he did security at one. This put him in a nude establishment way more than the average patron. But to me, Brock always seemed more interested in looking out for us girls rather than looking at us.

“I did,” he admitted.

“Why?”

“I got into the wrong line of work when I bounced at strip clubs,” he said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that I didn’t realize how much I felt like protecting you girls from all of those slime balls that just saw you all as a piece of meat,” Brock explained testily. “I couldn’t ignore the reality of what you girls were doing and how you all ended up there. Believe me, I had more than one girl tell me her life story, and they were never heartwarming tales. I just couldn’t compartmentalize it like other bouncers, bartenders, and you performers.”

Maybe my fantasy wasn’t far off after all! And I definitely wasn’t the only one that dreamed about Mr. Storm. Most girls talked about wanting to do unmentionables with him. He was big, very muscular with no fat, and movie star handsome despite the scars on his face. His nickname at the club was even Scarface.

He chuckled lightly. “Every time I checked up on you, I feared finding out that you were doing hardcore stuff with guys.”

“The lesbian stuff didn’t bother you?” I wanted to know.

“Not near as much as the thought of watching you being abused by guys, all the while acting like you loved it.” he replied. “By the way, how much of it was an act, or are you…”

“I’m bisexual,” I replied a little too quickly. “But to be honest, I haven’t been intimate with a guy since I was a teenager.”

Why did I tell him that last part?

“You didn’t answer me about Sophie,” he said.

“We broke up a few months ago,” I told him. “Due to religious convictions.”

“Did she take it hard?”

“She’s the one that broke up with me.”

His utterly baffled expression made me giggle. Obviously I had just been at a church service. Besides, if he knew about Sophie and me, and a lot of people did because of social media, she clearly was the wild one in our coupling. She had short dark hair, dark eyes, and a tough, don’t mess with me, countenance. She also was heavily tattooed, pierced, and had a penchant for heavy metal music.

“So would you still be together if she hadn’t?”

I shrugged. “To be honest, these last few days with my Aunt Belle I’ve hardly thought about Sophie. I’ve just been relishing the hope of a fresh start at a new life. I’m really getting into the Bible. Aunt Belle gave me some very interesting study guides, and they’ve been absorbing most of my days right now.”

“Maybe we could go out to dinner or something,” Brock blurted, then suddenly looked sheepish. “And then study the Bible together afterward, I mean.”

Was he trying to ask me out? Or did he just want to study? I wondered just how close he was to the guy I dreamed of? There’s no way he could possibly live up to my fantasy, but who could truly live up to a fantasy? I wanted to find out if he was a sex creep or not. But even if he had been, it seems he’s a regular church attendee now. “So did you just check on me, or do you like watching porn?”

“Both,” he said with a little smirk.

I felt myself blush, but at the same time I felt a surge of disappointment. “Okay, then.”

“But I didn’t know that you retired. I haven’t checked on you in well over a year.”

“How come you quit checking on me?” I asked, feeling strangely hurt.

“It didn’t feel right looking at that, you know, stuff when I began seeking God,” he replied.

Now I felt relief flood over me before I inquired. “I thought you weren’t a convert yet, and that you were still agnostic.”

Our eyes locked, and Brock looked a little confused. Oh my, I could look into those calm, acorn-colored eyes for hours. That is, if they also didn’t make me feel so uneasy.

“I don’t think agnostic was the right word, because I do believe in God.”

He paused, gazing up into the gently swaying tree branches and stirred the air with his right hand.

“Surrender,” he finally uttered. “I don’t know about surrendering fully to Jesus. I want to, but I still have issues. Free will is a strange thing, but without it you can’t have love. I never realized how much I loved myself until I tried to love Jesus.”

“So you don’t love Jesus?”

“I’d like to think I do. I mean, I’m seeking Him. I study the Bible, and I come to worship here on a regular basis. But I still have issues.”

“What kind of issues?”

“Deep-seated sin.”

“Belle tells me repeatedly that Jesus accepts me just as I am,” I told him.

“So have you fully surrendered to Jesus?”

“For where I’m at,” I said shrugging. “But I’m brand new at this stuff. The way I see it, I’ll always be growing and learning. I’m already infinitely better than I was a week ago at this time.”

Brock smiled warmly at me. My heart thumped a little faster.

“It’s funny,” he said. “You’ve been seeking not even a week while I have for almost a year, and yet you seem ahead of me already.”

“It’s not a competition, Brock. If we keep talking, you might not be thinking that for very long.”

He nodded. “I want to clarify something. When it came to looking at porn, I only viewed the stuff you were in. To be honest, I became a little obsessed with you. I suppose our shared incident had a lot to do with it.”

Now I went from feeling relief to feeling a little paranoid. Was Brock the stalker type? Was he maybe stalking me the night I was almost raped? Is that how he had been there to help me? The thought had crossed my mind before from time to time, but I always returned to my image of Saint Brock, my dream guy.

“There was just something about you,” he said a little dreamily. Then he paused, his eyes leaving mine, and roaming down my body. My dress had hiked up over my knees, and I quickly pulled it down and pressed my legs together. Brock laughed. “Like that.”

“Like what?” I asked with a puzzled frown.

“Your act wasn’t entirely an act. You’re the ultimate good girl next door, who gave into temptation.”

My dream guy seemed to be infatuated with me. Yet this frightened me more than it intrigued me. Groping for something to say, I said “I’m hardly a girl, I’m going on thirty.”

He seemed to perceive that I was starting to get creeped out as he gazed solemnly at me with those calm light brown eyes. Oh how I loved those eyes! They erased the creepy road he had started down. He emitted a humorless chuckle, and said “I’m sorry.”

An awkward silence ensued so I asked “How did you end up here? I know you had mentioned a book that Pastor Samson wrote. But surely you didn’t move to eastern Iowa because of a book.”

“No, I didn’t,” he affirmed. “It was a few things that all came together. I was on vacation, and driving from Florida to Minnesota. I thought I would stop and check out Captain Kirk’s church. As you can see, it’s rather quaint and appealing, and he’s an excellent preacher.

“Plus, a guy I worked with was from Iowa, and his brother lives only about ten minutes from here. He fixes up old cars and motorcycles out in the country on an acreage. He had quite a demand. So when he found out I liked turning wrenches, he invited me to not only come to work with him, but room with him in the big old farmhouse he lived alone in.

“I thought about it all through my vacation. When my R and R was over, I went back to Miami, gave notice, and put my condo up for sale. I went from a condo in walking distance to the Atlantic ocean, to an old farmhouse surrounded by a sea of corn. But I grew up on a small farm outside the Twin Cities, so I don’t regret a thing. I love the peace and solitude where I live.”

His eyes settled on mine, and for a long moment, we just looked at each other. It was then I realized that I was probably staring dreamily at him. I could feel a little smile my face. He wore his own far out expression as his lips parted, and his face inched a little closer to mine. Was he going to kiss me? Was I going to let him? My own face seemed to move ever so slowly toward his when we were both jolted back to reality.

“Hey, kids,” my Aunt Belle greeted as she walked up to us. “Sorry to interrupt, but we have a little surprise in the dining room. Can you two come up?”

Brock and I looked at each other, then back to Aunt Belle, and we both said “sure” at the same time.

As we walked into the church’s dining area, a dozen people shouted, “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks,” Brock and I said at the same time. Then we both looked at each other with a puzzled frown.

“April 23 is your birthday?” Brock asked me.

“Yes, yours too?”

“Yeah.”

“What year?” I asked.

“1983,” he replied. “You?”

“1988.”

“This makes sense, then,” Brock said, waving a hand at the festivities.

“What does?” I asked.

“I was wondering who could have known it was my birthday today,” Brock replied with a big grin. “This was actually all for you.”

Brock and I had the same birthday. We ended up at the same church in Iowa nine years after we had last seen each other in Minneapolis. We also both appeared to have a thing for each other. It seemed like, what do they call it, synchronicity?

Forgive me for being a pessimist, but I thought that something was bound to go out of synch.  My feelings proved to be right.

CHAPTER 2

BROCK STORM

I wondered when or if I would ever see Destiny Knight at Cotton Creek Cove Fellowship. When I began attending almost a year earlier, it didn’t take long to discover that she was related to Belle Knight. After all they had the same last name, they bore an uncanny resemblance to each other, and they both were adult entertainers from Minnesota. Then Belle confirmed my deductions by asking for prayers for her niece, Destiny.

I had never told Belle that I had known Destiny. Belle had become a well-known minister to women in the sex industry. However, she was widely criticized for having a niece that was actively doing porn and feature dancing around the country. Not once did I ever hear Belle criticize Destiny, though. Just the opposite as a matter of fact. Belle exhibited love and concern for her long lost niece, and now it looked like her prayers might have been finally answered.

I spied on Destiny all through the service. I had a hard time concentrating on the sermon. Her honey blonde hair was twisted in a French braid. Her bright blue eyes looked wide and innocent, contradicting her past. She was shrouded in a long, light blue dress that illuminated her stunning arctic blue eyes. She wore saddle shoes with white ankle socks. Her look was retro of the 1950’s.

Looking at Destiny in church, you never would have guessed that the wholesome appearing beauty was a former porn star. She had no tattoos, no piercings beyond each ear lobe, and no cosmetic surgery. Then again, playing the sweet girl next door was always part of her shtick. Maybe it wasn’t entirely an act.

I was in a dilemma. Did I approach her to see if she remembered me? Or would she be embarrassed with how we were associated? After all, I didn’t even really know her. We were simply acquaintances from nine years ago. I did save her from being raped, however, and possibly saved her life in the process.

Then again, if she was going to start attending Cotton Creek Cove, we were going to cross paths sooner rather than later. I might as well get it over with. But it made me nervous, apprehensive, even feeling shy. But why?

In my relatively short time doing security at night clubs, she was the only girl that really got to me. Was it her cute, good girl persona? Maybe she was a better actress than I gave her credit for. Yet if it was entirely an act, what was she doing here at church? And not only in attendance, but appearing genuinely interested in the preaching?

In the lobby after the service, Belle and Destiny were chatting with Mary Gold Weston, one of the main pillars at Cotton Creek Cove. As I approached, Destiny’s back was mostly toward me. Belle faced Destiny, as well as myself, as I walked toward the trio of ladies.

“Hi, Brock,” Belle greeted cheerfully. “I’d like you to meet my niece.”

“Hello, Destiny,” I said as Belle’s niece turned to look at me.

Her eyes widened as a startled look appeared on her face. She took a step back, and as a gasp, said my name. “Brock!”

What an idiot! Just pop over and say hi. Just a couple of old chums from the strip club days. Then to my relief, a big grin appeared on her face, and she added. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me,” I replied lamely with a weak smile. I was apprehensive as to where this might be going.

“Brock, how are you?” Destiny asked sweetly and with growing excitement.

“I’m good,” I said a shrug. My smile grew bigger, and I relaxed a little bit.

“I can’t believe it,” she said as if in wonder. “Talk about a small world!”

Then she stepped toward me and we awkwardly embraced. Amazingly, it felt familiar. But how could it? Especially since this time she wasn’t naked, frightened, and trembling uncontrollably, like she was on that awful night almost a decade ago. To my surprise, tears began to fill her eyes when our hug broke. Belle stared at us with a stunned expression, her mouth hanging open.

“Belle, this is the man I told you about the other night,” Destiny said wiping at her eyes. “Brock saved my life nine years ago.”

Belle gazed at me in wonder, almost as if I had two heads. Then she put her hands on her hips, and her countenance turned stern.

“You know,” Belle began to playfully scold. “I’ve been around the block a few times in my life. But you, Mr. Brock Storm, have got to be the most mysterious man that I have ever met. So all of the times that I petitioned the congregation to pray for my niece, you knew exactly who I was talking about?”

I didn’t reply. I just shrugged.

“Answer me, young man,” she said sternly, but I could see merriment dancing in her eyes.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “I knew who you were talking about.”

Destiny’s head was bowed. From what I could see, she had a strange look on her face. I couldn’t tell if she was feeling humbled or amused. Maybe it was an odd mixture of the two.

“Forget about that guy from the Dos Equis commercial,” Belle said. “I think you have to be the most interesting man in the world.”

Destiny glanced at me with a little smirk.

“Aw, shucks, ma’am,” I said with a little grin, and the three ladies chuckled.

“Belle and Mary, would you mind if I had a word with Brock alone?” Destiny asked.

“Of course not, dear,” Belle said, but then seemed to eye me with suspicion.

“Would you mind?” Destiny asked me.

“Not at all,” I replied, but with a questioning arch of my eyebrow.

“Is there some place private?”

“Come with me,” I said as my curiosity continued to grow. “I’ll show you a really nice place.”

We went outside and she followed me like a trusting little girl. She was probably comfortable with me because of our shared ordeal. There were also all the times we crossed paths working the club. Her job was to entertain lustful men, while my job was to make sure lustful men behaved.

But Destiny didn’t know how I had changed over the years. She didn’t know that I had become a killer, and had developed a blood lust. Would she be following me so readily if she knew the evil that lurked in my heart? If she knew I was the chief hypocrite in this church’s congregation?

“I love it here,” Destiny cooed as I took her into a canopy of pine trees.

The area was about a football field’s length from the back of the church. There was a circle of twelve big, old, white pine trees. A half circle of them formed on the east side of Cotton Creek and a half circle formed on the west side. Interspersed to the north of the circle of pines were about twenty cottonwood trees and to the south were at least twenty more.

We sat on a couple benches that faced the back side of the church. The house of worship was actually an old, renovated barn. Behind us, and to the west, were forty acres of open meadow with wildflowers before at least one hundred acres of forest in a preserve. There were hiking trails through both the meadow and the woods. We sat on a bench under the canopy of evergreens with the rippling creek five feet below. The flowing water gurgled a relaxing melody through dozens of rocks.

“It’s so peaceful here,” Destiny said in wonder as she took in the majestic beauty of the area. “I mean it certainly looked picturesque from a distance, but it is absolutely amazing up close.”

“I love it here,” I told her. “I’ve come here often to get my head together.”

She looked at me. “How long have you been going to Cotton Creek Cove?”

“Almost a year.”

“So you’re a member?”

I shook my head. “Not officially.”

“So do you live in Cedar Rapids?”

“Outside of the city, in the country.”

“Do you work here then?”

“I refurbish old cars and motorcycles with a friend of mine.”

“I see.”

“How did you end up here?” I asked, changing the subject off of me.

“Oh,” she replied as if slightly startled by the question. Then she told me about her girlfriend leaving her. Her depression, her suicide contemplation, and then looking up her aunt.

We were silent for about half a minute after she finished. Then she inquired. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve always wanted to know how you saved me. I mean, how did you end up at my apartment the night that I was almost raped when you should have been doing security at the club?”

“Well,” I began. “My first concern came when I noticed that you were getting rather chummy with Jezebel Black. Second was when I saw how obsessed that psycho gangster Malcolm Reed was with your act. Last but not least, I knew that you left with Jezebel that night.

“So fifteen minutes after you both leave, I saw Jezebel come back into the club by herself, and Malcolm Reed was nowhere to be seen. I guess I had a gut instinct that they were setting you up.

“I had recently given Paige Moyer a ride home, and she mentioned you lived in the same building as her. She pointed out which one was your apartment on the fourth floor. So the night you left with Jezebel, I went to your place, and I climbed up the fire escape and peeked in your window. By the way, sorry about invading your privacy.”

“Are you kidding me?” Destiny exclaimed, and then laughed. “If you hadn’t looked into my window, I might be dead. I for sure would have been raped.”

“Yeah, okay, so I look into your window and I saw Reed with a knife at your neck as he was tearing your clothes off. You foolishly had your window unlocked.”

“Hey, like you said, I was on the fourth floor.”

“With a fire escape going right up to your kitchen window.”

“I know for a fact that the fire escape didn’t start till the second floor,” she defended. “You must have climbed up the drainpipe from the first floor.”

“I did,” I admitted. “But it wasn’t the hardest thing that I’ve ever done. So I snuck through your kitchen window. When he set down the knife to undo his pants, I struck. I believe you know the rest.”

“I do,” she said quietly as she gazed at me as if in contemplation of something.

I recalled how Destiny was frozen with fright as I called 911. She was staring at Reed, who was unconscious from my round house kick to his head as he tried to undo his pants.

“Are you okay?” I had asked her when I got off the phone.

Her face darted to mine, and her eyes were vibrating with shock and fright.

“Are you okay?” I repeated a little more urgently.

She jumped to her feet and threw herself at me. I held her as she trembled uncontrollably and whimpered. We stayed like that until the police arrived several minutes later. I still wondered if she would have taken such comfort by me holding her, if she had known that a cold-blooded killer lurked in the depths of my soul?

KNIGHT STORM

CHAPTER 1

DESTINY KNIGHT

I winced as I downed a third shot of rum. Then I stared at the lethal pills in my hand. I had enough of them to kill a horse, so it ought to be sufficient for my one hundred fifteen pounds. One or two more shots and maybe I would have the courage to ingest all of them.  

My booze buzzed brain puzzled over something after a fourth shot of rum. Did it take courage to die by my own hand or courage to find the will to live? I couldn’t figure it out, so I let the pills trickle between my fingers and fall to the table. The hangover would bring back my anxiety and depression with greater intensity. So maybe tomorrow.

I had spent almost a decade as an adult actress and exotic dancer. More realistically, I was a porn star and a stripper. I use the word “star” loosely, though. Out in public, I was rarely recognized. When I was noticed, it was usually by some creepy guy. But put me in a strip club or at an adult entertainment event, and I was a little bit like a rock star.

I grew up in in Minnesota, a suburb of St. Paul. I’d like to tell you that I got into adult entertainment because of daddy issues, but that wasn’t the case. Yes, my dad left my mother for another woman and started another family. Yes, it messed me up to a large degree and added to the rebellion that already had been lurking in my soul. Other than expecting me to accept his new family, my father did not harm me comparatively speaking.

After nine years in the sex industry, I have met countless women, girls really, that had not only daddy issues but mommy issues as well. So many lives severely damaged by sexual, physical, verbal, and psychological abuse. In far too many cases, all of the above. I was actually way more stable than most of my former colleagues. So what was I doing with all of these deadly narcotics? I wasn’t even thirty years old yet. By the law of averages, I hadn’t even lived half my life. But my one bright spot in an otherwise dismal existence was gone.

It had been more than two months since Sophie, the love of my life, had left me. We had been together for more than four years. I sometimes thought she and I were soul mates and wondered if our love would last forever. But she claimed to have found God, or vice versa, and she declared lesbianism to be wrong or sinful or some such. Yet she tearfully kissed me goodbye before she walked out of my life, leaving me with her half of the bills.

Sophie was a former porn star and stripper like me. Most of the time that we were together we lived in southern California and Las Vegas. Three months earlier, she and I both had decided that it was time to get out of the sex industry, even though we were both making substantial money. We chose Iowa City, Iowa, as our place to settle. It was about halfway between both of our hometowns, St. Louis for her and St. Paul for me. We resided just a couple miles of the highways known as the Avenue of the Saints.

I shook off the memories of Sophie and went to bed. I had a dream that had been recurring since Sophie had left me. In the nightmare, I’m way up high on a mountain hiking trail. As I make my way along the trail, the path keeps getting narrower and more sloped. As I’m slipping and falling, a woman who seems like an older version of myself tries to take hold of me but always misses. Then I start to fall, jolting awake.

The night I dabbled with suicide, I had the same dream again, only with a different outcome. This time the woman grabbed hold of me, and we fell back a short distance onto a big, flat rock that had a lush, dark green carpet of grass that was more pristine than a putting green. We were safe!

I awoke with a start as I realized that the woman in my dream was not an older version of myself, but was my aunt Annabelle, my father’s sister. I had only met her a handful of times when I was just a kid. I remembered that my self-righteous, adulterous father had disowned her before I was born, because she had been a stripper.

But now she ran some type of ministry where she helped former strippers, adult entertainers, and prostitutes, so I guess he admired her now. My dad was a walking contradiction if ever there was one. I absolutely despised the man, yet I still had a sliver of love for the guy that had been my daddy when I was little.

I immediately went to my computer and looked my aunt up. She had a website about her ministry, and I was stunned to discover that she was based out of Cedar Rapids, a city only twenty miles north of where I lived! I would have guessed that she lived on one of the coasts or at least the St. Paul or Minneapolis area. Dare I contact her?

Three years previous, during a rare conversation with my father, he told me that I should contact his sister and talk to her about getting out of porn. When I refused, he taunted me by saying that it was just as well because Annabelle was embarrassed that her niece was in porn when she was involved in an anti-porn movement. My dad’s words struck me hard, even though I viewed him as a major hypocrite.

 My fingers froze on the keyboard. How would Annabelle Knight react to me? Would she judge me and scorn me? What if she knew that I was suicidal? I was afraid to call her, but I found out where she lived and decided to drive by her home, just to kind of snoop.

My hands shook a little as I slid on my favorite pair of old jeans and a light pink top. I guess it was fear of the unknown. Would she accept me or reject me? Would she be warm or cold? After all, my own father said I was an embarrassment to her. What did I really want from her anyway? I didn’t have a clue, and yet something in my brain pushed me to go. I dropped my car keys twice before I actually made it to my car. I wasn’t inebriated, just a bit hung over. Still, I wondered if I should drive, given my emotional state.

Aunt Annabelle lived in a brown ranch house in a pleasant, middle-class neighborhood. The house was surrounded with colorful flower beds. A light green Ford Focus sat in her driveway. With my pulse quickening, I pulled my cherry red Dodge Viper in behind the Focus.

I got my courage up. I took several deep breaths, telling myself to remain relaxed and friendly. I went to her door. I rang the doorbell and waited anxiously. Nobody came, so my shaking finger went to the doorbell again as my heart pounded harder. I pushed it again, but then I turned and quickly walked back to my vehicle, feeling something like a panic attack coming on. I started my car and fled. I almost felt like I was playing ding dong ditch in my haste to leave.

About two blocks from Annabelle’s house, I saw an older woman jogging. Her gray-blonde hair was in a ponytail, which was pulled threw a Minnesota Twins baseball cap. As I slowly made my way past, I realized the woman was my aunt. She smiled brightly in my direction and waved. Her pleasant, neighborly gesture gave me the confidence to approach her.

I turned the Viper around and gave her time to get ahead of me. She stopped in her front yard and bent over, breathing hard from the exercise. I pulled behind her Ford Focus for a second time as Annabelle began to pace around her yard in a cool down walk. She eyed me curiously as I exited my car.

Her face was rather wrinkly, making her look every bit her age, which had to be around seventy. Despite the signs of age, she was very pretty. Her body was slender and toned. She filled out her dark purple stretch pants and matching top as well as most thirty-somethings. She eyed me warily as she approached my car. I got out of my car and stood. When she got a good look at me, shock and surprise filled her face as her jaw dropped. I thought about sliding back into my car and making a getaway.

“Are you Destiny Knight?” she asked with wide eyes before I could escape. I bit my lower lip and nodded meekly.

She half gasped and half laughed a couple of times as she put a hand to her chest. She made her way quickly around my car and stood in front of me, grabbing both of my hands in hers. Her smile was even brighter than before.

“Why, I haven’t seen you since you were sixteen or seventeen years old,” she told me. “I tried to get a hold of you a few years ago. Your dad gave me your number, but I never heard back.”

“I’m truly sorry, Aunt Annabelle,” I replied. “I had a lot going on. It was rude of me not to respond to your messages.”

“I understand,” she said, still beaming. “It’s so good to see you, honey, and please, just call me Belle. I’d give you a hug, but I’m all sweaty.”

“I don’t mind,” I said as I was overcome with emotion and feeling very lonely.

I practically threw myself into my aunt. She hugged me tightly. When we broke away, she kissed my cheek. The love that she showed me was overwhelming. When was the last time my own mother kissed my cheek? Maybe when I was five or six years old. Much to my embarrassment, I began to weep. Then I noticed my aunt’s cheeks were tear-streaked, too.

“I feel kind of like a prodigal daughter,” I told her.

“Is that why I have the pleasure of your visit, honey?” my aunt asked with such love in her voice and eyes that I felt myself opening up.

“I’ve been having a reoccurring dream about you,” I told Belle. Then I explained the dream about the mountain trail, and then how I had Googled her and discovered that she lived only twenty miles away.

“It was a dream nearly thirty years ago that saved me,” Belle said quietly.

“How?” I asked, intrigued.

“After I retired from the sex trade,” she began, “I felt completely void and empty. In a nutshell, I was regretting my past and dreading my future. Just like you. I was finding it unbearable to adjust to the real working world. So the day before my fortieth birthday, I had a syringe with enough heroin in it to overdose two sumo wrestlers.

“I was about to shoot the drugs into my veins when I began to wonder what would be next. I had always considered myself an atheist up to that point. But a young guy that I worked with at the time and really respected used to talk to me about God. I never thought that he was getting to me until I was about to end my life. So I pulled the needle out of my arm and went to bed. When I got out of bed late the following afternoon, I went for a walk in Green Square Park here in town. Who do you suppose I ran into?”

“The young guy that you worked with?” I surmised.

“Yes, him and his wife,” Belle replied. “Their names are Jake and Mary Gold Weston. It turned out that Mary Gold had dreamt about me, even though we had never met. They had been on their way to dinner at the Dragon, a popular Chinese restaurant in the 1980s. Mary Gold had had a strong urge to go for a walk in Green Square Park. It was she who recognized me from her dream and pointed me out to Jake. Jake was stunned when he told his wife that he knew who I was.

“In a nutshell, they could tell that I was in a very dark place, and they told me all about Mary Gold’s dream and her urge to come to the park. I ended up breaking down and telling them how close I was to ending my life. They insisted on taking me to dinner. Then we went back to their place, and Mary Gold and I stayed up all night talking, praying, and studying the Bible.”

I realized that my mouth hung open as my aunt finished her miraculous tale, and she swiped a couple of tears from her cheeks. I marveled as it occurred to me that I was experiencing something unbelievably similar to her right then and there. I too had been contemplating suicide. I also had a strange dream. I too had felt an urge to go to a certain destination.

“Do you know what’s really weird?” I said quietly. “I was considering ending my life last night. I decided to procrastinate another day, and then I dreamed about you again. More profoundly than before.”

“Oh, sweetie,” my aunt said as she took me in her arms again. “Let’s go inside. I shouldn’t be hugging you, though, when I’m a sweaty, smelly pig.”

“You’re fine,” I laughed, wiping tears from my cheeks.

Belle insisted on making us a spaghetti supper with a delicious tomato, garlic, and lentil sauce. She and I talked long into the night. I went to church with her that weekend. Everyone she introduced me to was super friendly, and I immediately felt at home.

I did have a blast from the past, however. There was a guy that I knew from almost a decade ago, and it couldn’t have been more unexpected, especially given how we knew each other. Talk about a major coincidence! He and I running into each other in a church of all places, and in the middle of Iowa!

Brock Storm had been a bouncer at a club I frequented in Minneapolis when I first began exotic dancing ten years earlier. I didn’t know him well, even though I shared a moment with him that I considered the most special encounter I had ever had with a man. It occurred moments after he had saved me from being raped and most likely murdered. What on earth was he doing at this church outside of Cedar Rapids, Iowa? Was I glad to see him or mortified? I couldn’t tell at first.

Brock had acquired an additional scar on his face since I had seen him last, giving him a rather unique look. When I knew him nine or ten years ago, he’d had two significant scars on his face. The old scars were a two-inch line from the left side of his mouth that curved up, giving him the constant appearance of wearing a sideways, sinister smirk, and a jagged lightning bolt that ran from the left side of his eye and slanted just above his temple into his hair line. The new scar, at least new to me, started at his left cheek bone and ran over to his ear. From where I sat, it also looked like about half an inch of the top of his left ear was gone.

Brock’s appearance was interesting. If you looked at the left side of his face, he looked somewhat hideous due to the scars. If you looked at his right side, he looked like a male model. I absolutely freaked when I first saw him. Then when his warm, gentle, light brown eyes looked into mine, I knew that I definitely was glad to see him.

CHAPTER 13

ANNABELLE KNIGHT

In the early morning hours of Wednesday October 22, 1986, I was planning on committing suicide.  It was one day before I was to turn forty years of age.  I was going to shoot up enough heroin to overdose twice.  

I had poked the needle into my arm, and my thumb was poised to compress the syringe. Then I had my first real thought of what came next.  I had arrived at a point in my life where I considered myself an atheist. But lately I was becoming an agnostic because of that pesky Jacob Weston.

But he wasn’t really a pest. He was an amazing young man, who inadvertently played a role in saving my life. With the needle still in my arm, his face from a couple days ago loomed in my mind’s eye. Our brief, simple conversation began to echo in my head.

“How are you Belle?” He had simply asked. But it wasn’t just a greeting, an attempt to exchange pleasantries. Jacob genuinely wanted to know because I could see it in his eyes. And believe me, I’ve been looked at by a lot of male eyes.

“Well, I’m contemplating suicide, Jacob. How are you?” I thought. Then I mustered up my best acting ability, faking a smile. “Fine, how are you?”

His eyes lingered on mine for a couple seconds as if searching. I wanted to somehow hide within myself. Yet at the same time I felt something like love for this young man. I would realize later that Jesus was reaching me through His devoted follower.

“I’m good,” Jacob said with a smile as he then went about his day.

As I watched him walk away, I had a strong desire to meet his wife. What was the woman like? The young lady who was fortunate enough to call Jacob Weston her husband. How would my life had been different if I had met a Jacob before I ever took my first drink, my first drug, or undressed for a room full of men?

So now that I would no longer be living, was there an afterlife?  If so, would I be entering something better or worse?  I was in the biggest catch twenty two of my life.  I couldn’t stand living on this earth anymore, but I feared what might come next.

I had spent twenty years in adult entertainment.  I was raised by a single mother who had brought numerous men into our home throughout my upbringing.  Unfortunately, a couple of those men deemed it their right to sexually molest and violate me.  It was a devastating situation in my life, but eventually it showed me that there is an illusory power in sex.  So I decided to use it to my advantage.

I didn’t care what my mother thought of my life decision. But my little brother was a different story. He was embarrassed when it got around our neighborhood that Belle Knight was a stripper. When he became distastefully religious, his embarrassment turned to judgement.

By the time I met Jacob, I had been retired from stripping for just over a year. I had been unable to find a decent job over those twelve months. But my resume was simply exotic dancer, nude model, and occasional prostitute. The only real job I ever had was a brief stint as waitress at truck stop when I was a teenager.

I had a good bit of money put away, but it wasn’t enough to live multiple years on.  I saw no real future for me, and I hated looking at the past with all of the sleaze.  The thousands of male hands that had pawed my body like demonic phantoms.  With all of the sex, drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes ingested, my life had been one continuum of sordidness.

I looked at the needle in my arm, and my thumb poised to inject a lethal amount of drug into my vein. Jacob loomed into my mind’s eye. I wondered what he would think or say when he heard the news? I hated the thought of disappointing him. I hated the fact that he would know that I had lied about being fine.  

I decided to hang on for at least one more day. Maybe on my birthday I would bring about my death day. I pulled the syringe out of my arm.  I’m eternally grateful that I did.  Later on that day, I had a miraculous encounter with a beautiful angel, and her name was Mary Gold Weston.

I spent most of the day in bed.  Somewhere around three or four in the afternoon I felt compelled to go for a walk in Green Square Park, which was only a couple of blocks from my apartment.  Something about the busy world bustling around me when I was so lonely and hurting inside brought on a wave of depression so strong it was almost disabling.  

The beautiful Indian summer afternoon seemed to mock my pain.  I found a quiet bench in the park and wept bitterly.  When the torment subsided, I strolled the park, dragging my feet through some autumn leaves when I heard a familiar voice call out to me.

“Hey Belle!” It was Jacob Weston’s voice that beckoned me. How could that be?

He was walking toward me with a woman who must have been his wife.  I had a feeling of dread because I was sure that it was obvious that I had been crying.  Without being able to look in a mirror, I could feel that my eyes were puffy, red, and bloodshot from alcohol and poor sleep.  

“Hey, missed you at work today,” Jacob said with his typical big, infectious grin.

“Yeah,” I croaked. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

His smile faltered and I knew that he noticed that my puffy, red eyes probably looked like boiled tomatoes.

“Are you okay?”he asked with a concerned expression.

“Yeah, I’m feeling better,” I lied. “I think I had some type of bug.”

“Oh, Belle, this is my wife, Mary,” he said. “Mary, this is Annabelle Knight.  She works at Lake.”

“Nice to meet you, Annabelle,” Mary said, extending her hand. Her smile was as warm and friendly as her husband’s.

I took her soft, yet strong hand in mine and marveled at how cute she was.  With her large eyes and small nose, framed with silky auburn hair, she looked like a Precious Moments figurine come to life.  Her alabaster skin and complexion couldn’t have been more lush and feminine.  Next to her my skin probably looked like leather. Given my emotional state, I truly felt like an old hag.

“Nice to meet you,” I told her. “Please call me Belle.”

“I’m so glad to meet you, Belle” she said. Despite my state of being, I was intrigued to meet Jacob’s wife. But he eyed me with concern, and I felt my unease continue to grow.  Knowing Jacob, I figured he wasn’t going to just pretend nothing was wrong.  

“Is something wrong, Belle?” Jacob asked, as he put a gentle hand on my arm. Something about that simple gesture of affection caused a surge of emotion that I fought unsuccessfully to control.

“No,” I croaked the obvious lie as I shook my head.

Having someone care even a little bit about me when I had never felt more alone in my life caused tears to come like a tiny storm cloud.  Embarrassed, I turned and began to briskly walk away, saying over my shoulder, “I’ve got to go.”

But Jacob grabbed my wrist, stopping me. “Hey, Belle, what’s wrong?” he asked in a soft, soothing voice. “You can talk to us. We won’t judge, we’ll understand, I promise.”

I shook my head and felt my whole body quiver.

“Annabelle,” Jake said calmly, yet sternly. Even though I was old enough to be his mother, he felt like a father figure, and it drew me in.

“Please,” he continued. “I’m not trying push anything on you.  I know you don’t like religion.  But I believe that God miraculously sent us here so we would run into you.”

I was skeptical, but I gazed at him with my look telling him to proceed.

“Mary had a dream about you last night,” Jacob told me. “She had never seen you before, not even a picture.  Yet she pointed you out to me a minute ago, and said you looked like the woman from a dream she had last night that troubled her.  That’s when I told her that I knew you! This is stunning!”

Yes it was! I didn’t know what to make of it. I glanced at Mary.  She watched me, her eyes brimming with tears. I spent two decades in the sex industry, coming across hundreds of attractive women.  Mary Gold was in that moment, and to me still is today, the most beautiful woman I have ever met.  The thing is her physical beauty is second to her loving personality. She and Jacob were a perfect match!

Mary Gold took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Please talk to us, Belle. I believe God sent us here for a reason.”

My mind reeled until it settled on a thought that I had never embraced before.  I considered that there really is a God, and just maybe he loved Annabelle Knight!

MARY GOLD

When Jake and I went to Green Square Park and he saw a woman that he worked with, I was absolutely stunned.  I don’t recall ever meeting Annabelle Knight previous to this encounter in the park.  I knew of her because Jake had previously talked about her and described her quite thoroughly. He told me that he thought she was troubled, and he felt an extra burden for her soul.  

But she was in my dream, I just knew it! In my nightmare, I was a nurse in an old mental hospital while Annabelle was a hysterical patient.  She tried to stab me with a knife, but Jake knocked it out of her hands.  Then she grabbed it again and tried to stab herself, but I stopped her.  She fell to her knees sobbing, asking for my forgiveness.  

I forgave her and she grabbed me in an embrace.  I thought her actions were violent at first, but she clung to me in some sort of desperation.  We began to rise in the air and the next thing I knew we were outside rising higher and higher.  It became frightening as we soared high above the earth. Then when we began to plummet back to earth, it startled me awake.

It was one of those dreams that kind of affects your day whereas you feel off kilter somehow.  Jake and I had planned to go to dinner at a Chinese restaurant downtown. Then afterward we would go to prayer meeting at our church at 6:30.  

We parked about a block away from the restaurant at 5:05 and began to walking toward the Chinese diner.  As we walked, I had a strong urge to go the opposite direction and take a relaxing stroll through Green Square Park.  It was almost a need, so I petitioned Jake.

“Boy, that will push it for us to be on time for prayer meeting,” Jake said, as he glanced at his watch.

Jake was really uptight when it came to being on time. He hated to be late for anything.  So I brought out my strongest weapon when I wanted to get my way with him.

“Please,” I said with wide eyes and a little pout. “I really feel like I need a little exercise.  My head needs clearing or something. Besides, it’s a beautiful day. Before you know it, winter will be here.”

“Oh, alright,” Jake said with an easy smile.

We weren’t but two steps into the park when I spotted a woman who looked like the person from my dream the previous night.  It felt like my jaw dropped to my shoes.

“That’s her!” I said, pointing with stunned disbelief.

“Her who?” Jake asked. “What are you talking about?

“That looks like the woman from my nightmare last night!”

“Huh?” he frowned.

“That’s her!” I declared again. “Over there, walking through the leaves.”

“Hey, I know her! That’s Belle Knight!” Jake almost shouted. “I work with her at Lake. She was the woman in the mental hospital?”

“Yes.”

“Have you met her before?”

“No, I don’t think so.  I mean maybe, but honestly I don’t think so.”

“Whoa, seriously?”

“Seriously. But you did describe her in great detail.”

Jake called out to her. When she saw him, she looked stricken as if she wanted to flee.  She looked distraught and horrible. Whatever was going on with her, my heart went out to her.  Jake introduced us.  Her eyes were puffy and red as they were in my nightmare. 

Jake noticed it too, and he asked her if something was wrong.  She shook him off, but Jake persisted.  Then she began to weep.  Jake told her about my dream and then how I felt compelled to go for a walk in the park. Then low and behold there she was.  Belle gazed at me in utter disbelief.  

There was so much emotional pain and hopelessness in her face that I felt my throat tighten, my eyes filled with tears, and leaked down my cheeks. Then she broke open like a burst dam and a flood of words tangled in deep emotional pain spewed forth in a rush. She confessed to us her suicidal tendencies and just how close she was to taking the plunge. And I mean a literal plunge with a syringe filled with an overdose of heroin.

What miracle in how God led us to this troubled soul!

BELLE

            I felt like life was extending me an olive branch, and I took a firm grip. I ended my brief bio by telling them about the previous night.

“Late last night,” I said with a small, hoarse voice. “I almost ended my life. But I decided to hang on another day.”

I tried to laugh, but a sob came out instead. Mary Gold’s arms opened and she stepped toward me. I went into her embrace like a small child needing her mother and more sobs came in a torrent. She was so delicate, yet strong. The way she smelled was like a flowery meadow lit with bright sunshine. Looking back, I marvel at how much comfort I took from a woman that I had just met.

“I’m sorry,” I said when my crying jag ended. I pulled away from Mary Gold.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Mary Gold said with a sweet voice, her own face tear stained. I felt loved.

“This is so embarrassing,” I said, finally able to smile.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” she said.

“Come have dinner with us,” Jacob said. “My treat.”

I was actually hungry since I hadn’t eaten anything since the day before. But I politely declined, not wanting to impose.

“Please join us,” Mary Gold pleaded, touching my arm. “I really want to get to know you in the worst way.”

Then she frowned, glanced at Jacob, then smiled. “Maybe I should say best way. Please?” Again, her face exuded such exquisite love I couldn’t say no. But I couldn’t say yes either.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Absolutely!” Mary Gold exclaimed.

“I don’t want to get in the middle of your romantic dinner,” I told them.

“Ah,” Jacob responded, waving a hand. “There’s nothing romantic about it.”

Mary Gold looked at Jacob, and Jacob looked at Mary Gold. Mary Gold tilted her cute little face at him inquisitively, and he began to back pedal.

“What I mean is,” Jacob said. “When we’re together, there is constant, abiding love, and romance, whether we are alone or not.”

He aimed a charming smile at Mary Gold, and she giggled. She patted his cheek, and I genuinely laughed for the first time in I don’t know how long. I couldn’t say no to this lifeline.

“I would love to join you, then.” I said. “If you’re sure that I’m not imposing.”

“Great!” Jacob declared, then surprised me by pulling me into a hug.

When Jacob hugged me, I felt something that I had never experienced in my life. And that was a father’s love. I was a day away from turning forty and Jake was young enough to be my son, but that is what I felt. I clung to him and began to cry again.

The right side of my face burrowed into his chest. He didn’t say a word, but simply held me with one arm as he stroked my hair with his other hand. We must have stayed that way for a minute or two as I relished the comfort. Then realizing what kind of woman I had been, and paranoid of what his wife might think, I pushed abruptly away from him.

“I’m sorry,” I told Mary Gold, choking on my words. “I never had a father. I couldn’t let go of him for some reason. I know that sounds stupid since he’s young enough to be my son, I just never…”

“Oh honey,” she said, rubbing circles on my back. “You have absolutely no reason to apologize.”

So, I went to dinner with Mary Gold and Jacob. Afterward we went back to their apartment, and Mary Gold and I stayed up the entire night talking. I poured my whole soul out to her that night.

With gentle persuasion she tried to talk me into giving my life to Jesus. I told her that I was too great of a sinner to do that right then. She insisted that Christ would accept me right where I was in my life. Then with her sweet, melodious voice, she began to softly sing to me the hymn “Just as I am.”

I couldn’t say no to her or the feelings of peace I was experiencing. I reluctantly knelt with her and surrendered my life to Christ. From that moment on I never looked back.  It was the strangest day of my life. As the sun began to rise, I ended up crashing on their couch.

Looking back now, three decades later, I marvel at the day when my own mind almost ended my life. Then that same day, having more than a chance encounter with two Godly people that turned me onto the path to life eternal. They say that God works in mysterious ways. I say that is an understatement.

I’ve been told that my testimony has saved other people. Not only from outright suicide, but suicide on the installment plan through a self-destructive lifestyle. I have been involved in a women’s ministry for thirty years. The primary focus of my ministry is young ladies in adult entertainment.

A few years ago, my niece, Destiny joined me in this endeavor. She too had been in adult entertainment, briefly as a stripper and then several years doing porn. She was almost raped and murdered when she was a teenage stripper. Several years later, her rapist was released from prison and put a hit on her. He hired a deranged cult to fulfill his murderous intentions.

Ironically, the man who saved her from being raped, and likely murdered, had reunited with her after many years. The timing of their reacquaintance couldn’t have been more perfect. He once again protected her from potential violence.

Destiny’s tale of woe and redemption will begin next week with the Johnathan Embers story ‘Knight Storm.’

People have asked me if thinking about Jacob Weston really saved my life. I believe it did. I was just putting pressure on the syringe of my lethal overdose, and the thought of him asking how I was a couple days before stopped me. If it wasn’t for that, what would have stopped me? I suppose God could have given me another thought, but He didn’t. It was Jacob and his thoughtful concern for me.

 The lesson is this. Never underestimate the potential of a simple kindness, no matter how small. And no matter how bleak life gets, don’t give up hope!    

THE END

CHAPTER 12

MARY GOLD

When Jake and I climbed onto his motorcycle to ride to the pastor’s house,  I couldn’t be more thankful to God! The most all around, attractive man that I had ever met wanted to marry me! Me, nerdy, clumsy Mary Gold Horner. As I snuggled into Jake’s back side, the air never felt more refreshing, the sunlight shimmering through trees never more vibrant, and the birds never sang more blissfully.

How would the Pastor and his wife react? Would he marry us next week? Next month? Would he insist we do premarital counseling for an extended period of time? I was ready to get married right that day if it was actually possible.

Pastor Kirk Samson and his wife are wonderful people.  With his long white beard and white hair, he looked sort of like a Santa Claus.  I say sort of because for a man in his mid-fifties, he was incredibly lean and fit. This was due to a healthy diet, a running habit, and years of practicing karate.

You would never guess that Mrs. Samson was a black belt in karate herself.  She was barely over five feet tall and petite. She couldn’t have been much over one hundred pounds. At five foot eleven,  I am a bit tall for a woman, so around Mrs. Samson, I felt like a giant.

As well as being known as “Pastor Samson,” our church’s leader was also known by the moniker “Captain Kirk.” He received this nickname after achieving the rank of Captain during his time in the army, where he served as a Chaplin. He was also a veteran of the Vietnam war.

Even though we dropped in unannounced, the Samson’s greeted us with warmth and delight. We didn’t waste any time letting them know the reason for our visit.

“Wonderful!” Pastor Samson declared with a big smile.  He went to the piano and began playing the wedding march.

“Have you set a date?” Mrs. Samson asked when the pastor finished playing.

“As soon as possible,” Jake declared.

Pastor Samson’s face fell and my heart sank a tiny bit.

“You don’t mean today?” Pastor asked as his eyebrows arched. “Are you to trying to elope?”

“We don’t have a marriage license yet,” I said.

Pastor looked relieved. “I see.”

I wasn’t a girl that always dreamed of a big wedding. In fact I wanted just the opposite.  The thought of a huge wedding with hundreds of eyeballs watching terrified me.  I simply dreamed of being a mother and having a loving husband with a home in the country that had a white picket fence. This fantasy actually became reality less than a decade after Jake and I tied the knot. And we tied that knot tight!

On Saturday July 12, 1986, right after church, with both of our families present, I became Mrs. Mary Gold Weston. The time that we got married couldn’t have worked out better.  Jake already had that week scheduled off for vacation, and we both decided that we urgently wanted to get married.  Our desire to be intimate had become intense, yet we waited almost a year before we even kissed for the first time.

There are those who have insinuated, ‘yeah, well you got married in less than a year. It’s recommended that you court for at least two. That’s not exactly overly disciplined.’ My reply is that Jake and I crammed at least two, maybe three years, of getting to know each other as friends in that first year. That is compared to the average couple. We talked daily, and often long and deeply.

Having lived by the Bible since childhood, I’ve never understood the current mindset on sex, dating, and marriage.  Physically speaking, I found Jake attractive enough to have sex with the day that we first met. Yet I wouldn’t have even considered having sex with him outside of the marriage commitment.

The modern norm seems to indicate that couples should wait multiple years before marrying.  Yet more often than not, couples cohabitate long before the recommended two years. As a friend of Jake’s once put it, ‘I wouldn’t by a car without a test drive.’

I understand that sentiment from a worldly standpoint. But the Bible instructs us to come out of the world. And as I have always endeavored to have the Kingdom of God within me, I don’t view sex casually. Uniting your privates, with another person’s privates, is the most intimate activity you can do. As a matter of fact, it can even procreate life.

Let me just conclude the matter with this thought. It was worth the wait! The night of our wedding was the most exciting time of my life. I also couldn’t imagine deeper feelings of love for another. That is until I held my child for the first time. Yet that child came from those feelings of love. And it was consummated at the end of that beautiful, sunny, summer day in 1986.

The first night of our honeymoon was incredible.  We found a quaint little hotel in northeast Iowa, which overlooked the Mississippi River.  I had heard so many women talk about losing their virginity outside of marriage, and it seemed it was often a negative experience.  They felt a sense of something lost, of being used, or even violated.  I was so grateful to God that I felt the opposite.  It was so nice to lie in bed after having sex with a clear conscience, and to offer a silent prayer of thanksgiving for what had just happened.  To know that Jake and I were now truly one in the physical as well as the spiritual sense.  That day and night we became a family, even though it was just the two of us for the time being. But it was only temporary.

On May 8, 1988, I was given the best Mother’s Day gift ever when I gave birth to a beautiful little girl, Jamie Annabelle. The significance of our daughter’s middle name will be explained later. On July 8, 1990, we were blessed with a son who we named Matthew Mark.

On Labor Day weekend 1991, Jake and I were sitting on a bench at a playground, watching our daughter play in a giant sand box as her little brother napped on my lap.  It was a beautiful afternoon, sunny with a high of seventy five.  I couldn’t believe that we were the only family at the playground on such a gorgeous day.  There was dryness in the air and you could feel autumn looming in the distance.

Jamie was playing on a backhoe apparatus with two levers connected to a scoop that moved the sand around.  When she was done playing on it and was climbing off, she caught her little foot on the seat and went down hard.  She got up crying and Jake was immediately at her side.  In less than half of a minute with him, she went from sobbing to giggling.  

My heart swelled with gratitude for what a wonderful father and husband this little family had.  It was something I had thought countless times already.  My own father had abandoned his family to satisfy carnal longings. I knew in my heart that Jake would never leave or forsake us like my own dad did.

As I watched my husband and daughter, I did something I had never done before.  I put myself in my daughter’s shoes and imagined for a minute what it would be like to be a little girl with Jake as my father.  I fully realized then that a husband is a type of father even to his wife, and vice versa the wife to the husband.  I had a share with my children with similar love, attention, and protection that he gave to them.  And I nurtured and cared for many of his needs as I did our children.

When I thought that I couldn’t possibly love my husband more than I already did, a fresh wave of love and emotion surged through me, causing me to catch my breath.  My hand went to my chest and my eyes clouded with tears as Jake returned to my side while Jamie ran to a toddler slide.

“Hey,” Jake said soothingly as he noticed my tears. He put a reassuring hand on my leg, chuckling. “She’s alright.”

“Oh, I know she is.  She’s more than alright,” I told him as I cupped a hand behind his head pulling his face to mine, kissing him with passion.

“Wow, what’s gotten into you?”

“You get into me,” I said with a seductive smile.  I began singing softly to him Rod Stewart’s song that goes ‘you’re in my heart, you’re in my soul.’  He joined me, but after several lines we didn’t know how it continued and we laughed.  Then he cupped a hand behind my head intending to continue the lip lock. But I pulled away and put my lips to his ear.

“Tonight, big boy,” I said teasingly.

That night our third and final child might have been conceived.  Luke John was born May 25, 1992, on Memorial Day, exactly one week before his due date.

JAKE and ANNABELLE KNIGHT

A month after Mary Gold and I were married, a woman named Belle began working at Lake Produce through a temp service. She was around forty, and really quite beautiful in a rough sort of way.

She had long blonde hair, big blue eyes, and a chest that seemed a bit large for her slender frame. Yet overhearing conversation, she never had any cosmetic surgery. Her demeanor was gentle, yet somehow tough. I began to notice that her eyes often seemed sad and weary.

I would eventually find out that she was a former stripper and nude model. In the world of adult entertainment, she had been a minor celebrity. But now that she was getting too old for that profession, she was in a transitory position in life. Given her melancholy moods, the transition didn’t seem to be going well.

She and I actually had our first spiritual conversation after I witnessed her, Lon, and Mervin smoking marijuana. Although I didn’t partake with them, I had gained Lon’s trust that I wouldn’t tell on them.

After work one day, I came upon the three of them in the parking lot. Lon had just fired up a huge joint, took a big pull on it, and passed it to Belle. Belle took a hit and passed it to Mervin. Mervin took a drag, and a small cloud emerged from his mouth.

Lon scowled at him. “Don’t puff it like a cigar, inhale it and hold it.”

“I did,” Mervin replied sheepishly. But when his turn came again, he held it, but didn’t inhale.

“You did it again,” Lon scolded. “Listen, weed don’t grow…” He stopped talking and with a puzzled frown, scratched his head. I think he was going to say weed don’t grow on trees. But when he said weed don’t grow, it threw off his buzzed mind. Then he simply declared. “Weed’s not cheap. If you’re gonna smoke it like a cigar, just get a cigar.”

When Mervin’s turn came around again, he no sooner pulled the wacky tobacky away from his lips when Lon’s strong right hand clamped over Mervin’s mouth, and his left hand anchored on the back of Mervin’s head.

Mervin’s eyes bulged from their sockets as he squirmed frantically. But Lon had at least fifty pounds on him, plus he was just simply a lot stronger. Mervin flopped around like a rag doll for several seconds, then Lon’s hand lowered just enough for Mervin to snort two streams of smoke from his nostrils.

I began laughing hysterically, doubling over, and slapping my knee. It was then that I noticed Belle barely smiled. When the mirth subsided, I said to her. “Is everything alright with you, Belle?”

She looked a little taken aback by my question. Then she shrugged. “Yeah, why?”

My toes curled, afraid to offend her. I was concerned she would tell me to mind my own business. But I felt like God was pressing me to communicate with her. “I’ve just noticed you often seem sad. I wanted to let you know I’m not just a co-worker, I want to be your friend, and I care about you if you ever want to talk.”

“Wow,” she said, smiling just a little bit bigger than the antics with Lon and Mervin. “I didn’t think any guy ever noticed me with my clothes on.”

My mind froze. I didn’t know what to say to that. I thought it was likely she would simply brush me off, but I wasn’t expecting her to comment on her former profession. I hemmed and hawed, and then she did actually laugh. “I’m sorry, Jacob, I know I’m old enough to be your mother. The thought of me in my birthday suit probably creeps you out. That’s why I don’t do it anymore. We all get old and withered.”

“Did you like being a, um, you know?”

“Stripper,” she said matter of factly as she pulled a pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of her jeans. She lit one and blew a stream of smoke skyward. “Did I like taking off my clothes in front of drunk men? No, but the money was good. But it wasn’t good enough that I can retire at forty.”

“There’s more to life than money,” I replied, not knowing what to else say in the moment.

“Is there?” Belle asked with mild sarcasm.  

I wished Mary Gold were here. But I knew she would be beyond uncomfortable with the pot smoking. Maybe I should have to, but Jesus reached people where they were. As long as I didn’t participate, and they weren’t uncomfortable by my presence, I wanted to see if there was an opportunity to witness the hope that was in me.

Laughing at Mervin certainly wasn’t a good witness, but I apologized to him after talking to Belle. He was surprisingly good natured about the situation, and even laughed about it himself. My conversation with Belle didn’t seem like a good witness either. But, unbeknownst to me, I planted a tiny seed that Mary Gold would end up watering and then harvesting in the not too distant future.

“There is,” I told her. “You ought to come to church with my wife and me.”

“No thanks, I’ve been down the religion road before. It seems to be a dead end.”

“Ours is different.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

“It’s not about religion, it’s about Jesus,” I tried, lamenting that I was so inadequate at sharing my faith.

“Oh, Jacob,” she said with a smile, yet her eyes still looked drawn. “You are sweet kid, and I believe the real deal. I hope time doesn’t steal your zeal. The world’s a little brighter with people like you in it. Your wife is one lucky girl.”

“Thanks,” I replied. I didn’t want to become a pest, but did want one more question answered. “Why do you call me Jacob?”

“Isn’t it your name?”

“Well, yeah, but almost everyone calls me Jake.”

“I like Jacob better,” she shrugged. “Because I’ve met a lot guys, and you’re a rare one. I believe that you could see God face to face and your life would be preserved.”

“Genesis chapter 32,” I said with a smile.

She smiled back with a wink. Oh how I wished I could arrange for Mary Gold to talk to Belle. As opposite as the two women were, I just had a feeling they would connect. Maybe I could find some reason for my wife to come out to Lake Produce Inc and meet her. But I needn’t arrange a thing. For God was soon to do the arranging Himself!