Page 57 of Canyon of Deceit
Alina closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cave wall. Had she given up on rescue? Had they hurt her? Fury burned hot in my soul. No child should experience the greed of controlling men.
THIRTY-ONE
BLANE
I lay in excruciating pain that kept me awake and thinking. My ruminating resembled racing mustangs, and the infection in my arm had spread. I touched the blood-red and swollen bandage, where the stitches had popped, and heat radiated through to my fingertips. Yep, my arm needed medical treatment. Oh, yeah, today was my birthday. I might not make it through the first day of my thirty-fourth year with both arms... or my life.
My thoughts dwelled on scenarios of what might be happening where I had no control. I’d given Therese a tutorial to help her negotiate with Chandler and his sidekick. I’d always believed good overcame evil. With that animal, I doubted my convictions.
The fever caused my teeth to chatter. I stoked the fire and stared into the low flames. Wendy’s face came into view... I sat on the beach at night with a crackling fire and Wendy by my side. The gorgeous, dark-haired beauty had become a challenge to me. I proclaimed my love and begged we give ourselves to each other. If she loved me, she’d show her feelings. She said God reserved sex for marriage. And the conversation came up repeatedly.
A lifelong commitment never occurred to me, so I lied andpromised her whatever she wanted to hear at the time. What a shallow and immature kid. No surprise I despised myself now.
To her credit, she never broke her resolve. Why she put up with me was a mystery. Maybe she saw something in me worth holding on to. What did she see worth dying for?
Therese had pointed out that Wendy made the decision to drive my truck. But I handed her my keys with final words that would send me straight to hell. Since then, I blamed God and myself, mostly myself. A bit ironic to blame someone I didn’t believe in. Or did I?
I wanted a perfect deity to be in control, but I sure didn’t measure up to a good man. I’d seen so much violence from those who wore greed and selfishness like scout badges. I’d fallen over that cliff too, hit the rocks of shame and self-loathing. The accusing demon chased me, always nipping at my heels.
I love and forgive you, Blane. Forgive yourself.
I shivered, and the hairs on my neck tingled. The voice again, the One who had spoken to me moments before. Clear. Audible. Real. Searing heat radiated from my head. Fever. Delirium. No voices. Probably dying.
Forgive yourself, Blane.
I bolted and grabbed my broken arm, throbbing with the quick move. “Who are you?” I whispered.
But the One who’d spoken my name wasn’t a mystery. The voice was the One I refused to accept as sovereign. Had God shown up to walk with me into the hereafter, one with more misery than I’d ever known? My grandmother had urged me to turn my life over to Jesus. Instead my spiritual life flattened at zero.
Sharp pain sent lightning through my body. If I recognized God’s voice, then heaven and hell had to be real places. Maybe my disbelief in God stemmed more from my anger at why this world was so prone to blackness, and why He did nothing about it. He created this mess and allowed good people to suffer. I groaned with the anger.
My body protested each breath, and I questioned surviving until morning. My fever had spiked, and chills shuddered through me. Guess God would escort me to Satan’s doors. I deserved it.
I studied the stars, picking out the constellations. Normally I’d sense immense isolation and sadness in staring at the vastness above me. Odd, I didn’t feel alone. I must surely be dying.
My thoughts turned to Therese... Her honey-blonde hair and blue-green eyes, the oval face of an angel. A woman of strong faith and a friend of humility. Even with Wendy I hadn’t thought of having a lasting relationship. And here I was, dying under the stars with a ton of regret and wishing I had a huge do-over. A life with Therese, building a home, having kids, growing older with gray hair, wisdom lines, and memories. Not happening but what a dream.
She would tell me to put the past where it belonged if only for a couple of hours until I drew my last breath. I never imagined I’d reach out for salvation, but the pull—no, desperate need—had tugged at me since I’d said yes to finding Alina.
Here I am, God. I forgive myself for Wendy’s death. While I’m at it, please forgive me for blaming You. I’ve got a wagonload of sins, so I’m confessing and believing You are here. I have no idea if I’ll live one more hour or day or more, but I’m Yours. Thank You for Jesus...
—
The sound of muffled voices roused me from a world where pain burned like a furnace in my body. In the darkness I saw no one. Had I died? If so, how was I supposed to handle life from now on? Should I feel anything? Were the voices demons or angels?
“Blane,” a voice said. A man, I think.
I struggled to respond, but verbal and physical paralysis seized me. My body clung to the ground as though invisible strength held me tightly.
“Get his vitals. Start an IV,” the voice said.
I must be alive. Someone poked and prodded. I moaned.
“Blane, if you can hear me, I’m Dave with the FBI rescue team. We saw your signal for help.”
I attempted to raise my hand and wiggle a finger.
“Good. You can hear me. Looks like you’ve broken your arm. I’massuming Therese Palmer set it. We haven’t heard from or seen her. Chandler’s out there somewhere with Jurg Falin and Alina Ivanov. We—”
