Page 38 of Delta
Felicity takes a deep breath. “Let’s not worry about that right now, okay? Right now, I want you to focus only on pretending as though you know none of this. They cannot suspect you do.”
“Mattheus can’t be trusted?” Given that he drugged me, I’m assuming not, but I want to hear it from her.
“No. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s worse than his father.” Her voice cracks a bit toward the end. Just enough of a waver that I can feel her pain. Her disappointment. That she tried to keep him kind, and he followed the darkness anyway.
“I have the phone.” I hold it up. “I can call him.”
She shakes her head. “That one is being monitored. Give me the message, and I’ll make sure they get it.”
“How?”
“I’ve lived in this prison a long time, darling. I’ve learned a trick or two about moving in the shadows.”
Chapter 11
Dylan
The Bible sitting on my countertop has never been louder than it is right now.
I grew up on God’s Word. It was as familiar to me as breathing. Memorizing verses was literally a sport in my house. Yet, I’ve barely touched it in the past decade. The anger I’ve carried in my heart ever since I was captured and watched my team slowly fade away in that pit, each of them dying after what they were put through—it made having faith seem impossible.
How could I have faith that God cared when He did nothing to save my brothers-in-arms?
When He didn’t break down the prison walls so we could gain our freedom?
Of course, I know the answer. Bad things happen in this world. It’s just a part of life. Sin, darkness, evil…it’s something everyone in this world faces. But trying to wrap my mind around that when I feel like I’m better off dead is simply not something I’ve been able to do.
I haven’t been able to forgive myself for surviving.
Heart heavy, I pull open a drawer in my kitchen and stare down at the photograph sitting on top. Seven smiling men. The day before they were sentenced to die in a pit, in a country very few knew they were in, where it was unlikely that anyone would ever know what happened to them.
I can still hear their voices.
The crying.
The pleading.
I shove the photo back in and slam the drawer shut. Delta sits up on his bed and eyes me curiously. “I’m good, bud,” I tell him, then take a deep breath.
But I’m really not.
Because right now, all I can picture is Emma in that pit. Is she scared right now? Have they hurt her? Will we ever find her?
Will I ever see her again?
“Why her?” I ask aloud to my empty house. “Why did You let them take her?” Resting both hands on my counter, I hang my head low.
“You’re not safe. Anyone willing to go to those lengths to get to you is not trustworthy.”
“I know.”
She’d spoken those words so calmly that it caught me off guard. I shouldn’t be surprised. Not really. Where I struggle to even have faith these days, Emma puts all of hers in God. She trusts Him with everything that she is.
She always has.
Is that what brings her peace now?
And if so, how do I reach that level of peace too? How do I find some kind of normalcy when I’m haunted by everything in my past?
