Page 144 of Lethal Danger

“I’m so sorry, Lord. I got so focused on myself, I didn’t realize how selfish I’d become. Didn’t see I’d made an idol out of my idea of freedom.”

The other verse Hawthorne had loved enough to memorize sprang to his mind.

So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.

That passage was still true, too. No matter how much Hawthorne thought he was free once he escaped the cult, he’d been a slave of Satan and sin.

Until Christ set him free. To be a slave to Jesus Christ instead, yes. But only in Christ could true freedom be found.

Hawthorne knew that, but he hadn’t lived it. Without recognizing it, he’d voluntarily submitted himself again to a yoke of slavery like his favorite verse said. That slavery was his selfishness.

His desire for freedom became the top priority dictating all his choices, making him reject Jazz and keep his sister at arm’s length. He’d become a slave to his own desires for freedom and doing whatever he wanted. Which ironically meant he wasn’t free at all.

“Please forgive me, Lord. And show me how to live out the freedom I have in you, the freedom to reject my selfishness and choose to serve you instead. The freedom to be in relationships and sacrifice my own desires for others. Remind me how much better it is to be a slave of Christ, living in obedience to You, than to be a slave to my own selfishness.”

He knew from the promises of Scripture and his own experience that living for Christ instead of himself would yield much greater happiness and joy than the selfishness he’d been living for in recent years.

But what about the people he’d hurt along the way, thanks to his bullheaded focus on his own wants and his fear of relationships? Like Jazz. The memory of the hurt in her eyes stung like a stab wound in his chest.

She would probably never forgive him, even enough to let him be her friend. He’d completely destroyed any possibility of telling her about Christ, too. Why would she want to listen to him about God when he’d been such a pathetic example of how a Christian should live?

The voice of the GPS told him to take another turn. Good thing, since he’d been too preoccupied to notice the intersection he should’ve recognized coming up.

Rebekah was the one who might pay the biggest price for Hawthorne’s mistakes. But with the reminder that he needed to serve God, not himself, Hawthorne was ready to do anything for his sister.

He only hoped he wasn’t too late.

Forty-Two

A tremor shook through Jazz’s body as rain soaked every inch of her clothing, including the PK-9 windbreaker. But the rain had little to do with the way her body was shutting down, a cold chill creeping through each limb until she felt numb all over.

Uncle Pierce stepped onto the loading platform of the Flying Dragon ride. It was the spot where the ride operator usually stood to ensure passengers were secured into the long gondola by the cushioned metal bars that were supposed to encase their arms and waist, along with a seatbelt.

Funny thing, Uncle Pierce wasn’t concerned with safety. He’d held his gun on the girl and threatened to shoot her to get Jazz to climb into the seat compartment for two.

Now he bent over the girl in the seat next to Jazz and tied the teen’s hands behind her back with pre-cut rope sections he’d apparently brought for the purpose. He’d forced the girl to put duct tape on Jazz’s mouth and tie her hands in the History Center, threatening the terrified hostage with the gun until she had tightened the knots to his liking. He’d repeated the same tactic before Jazz slid her feet into the compartment for her legs in the ride, having the girl tie Jazz’s ankles together first.

“This is ironic, don’t you think? You’re going to die at the Tri-City Fair. The place you and Joan loved so much. Maybe there will be some comfort in that for you.” His amused grin didn’t suggest he cared either way.

It was a good plan, really. The thought came to Jazz’s numb brain, devoid of emotion. Kill Jazz and the girl, whoever she was, in a way that looked like another act of hate against the fair. No doubt Uncle Pierce’s idea was that the police would think Butch had put them in the ride without being strapped in so they would die, and he could blame it on the fair and the cult.

But the police would find Butch’s body. An autopsy would show he’d been choked to death. They would look for a killer.

Judging from Uncle Pierce’s gloved hands, and the fact he’d put his hostages on a ride close to the History Center, he was planning to leave without a trace. Get away with another killing without anyone ever suspecting him of the crime.

If Butch had invited Uncle Pierce there to blackmail him, the security supervisor must have shut down the cameras in Sector Three in addition to not scheduling any patrols in that area. Uncle Pierce was smart enough to have figured that out. And realized it meant he could get in and out without anyone knowing.

Except Jazz.

“I guess this is goodbye.” Uncle Pierce took a step back and leveled a stare at her. The smile was gone, but in its place was that look of loathing that shook Jazz to her core. “Thirty years too late.” He spun and hopped down from the loading platform, disappearing into the sheets of rain.

Lightning lit the sky, allowing her to glimpse his form as he went somewhere closer to the ride on the ground below. Probably going to the controls.

Thirty years. The duration of her life.

A crack of thunder shook the ride. But her life was already crumbling beneath her.

The man she had thought was her ticket to the happiness she’d always longed for hated her. So much that he wanted her dead.

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