CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
SALVATION
Charlie's truck pulled into the parking lot on the other side of the gate. He jumped out of the cab, fumbling with the keys as his eyes met mine with the expression of someone who might've just seen a ghost.
I imagine Charlie Corbin had seen more than his share of specters in his lifetime.
One side of his mouth curled into a smile, but he said nothing as he worked with haste to unlock the gate.
Meanwhile, my father climbed out of the passenger side, and it took every bit of strength left in me not to collapse there on the sidewalk.
“Noah!” Dad exclaimed, desperate, as he charged through the gate the moment Charlie had it opened.
The air was forced from my lungs the moment his body collided with mine as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. His hand cupped the back of my head as I pressed my face to his shoulder, an agonizing sound of relief emitting from my throat.
“You’re here,” I whispered, uttering the same words I’d spoken the moment he told me over the phone where he was.
Here. In Massachusetts. Right inside the cemetery gates.
He had come to find me—but of course he had. Because he was Soldier Mason and he was a hero. It was what he did. And I couldn’t begin to comprehend the vulnerability and weakness he’d felt, realizing there was nothing he could do but wait.
“Thank you, God,” he uttered, breathless, holding me to him like his very life depended on my life being preserved. “Thank you, thank you, God.”
He kissed my temple, his hold on me tightening, and I released a sob against the solid structure of his shoulder.
“I was so scared,” I admitted in a trembling whisper.
“Oh God, Noah. I've never been more terrified in my life,” he replied. “But you're here. You're alive. That's all that matters now.”
Then he gripped my shoulders and took a step back, his eyes scanning my body. I seemed to wither under his investigative, wandering gaze, terrified he’d see the secrets hidden beneath my skin. Terrified he’d know by a single glance the horrors I’d endured. Terrified he’d no longer see me as a man.
“Are you all right?” he asked, and without uttering a word, I gave my head a quick shake. He frowned. “You’re hurt?” He frisked his gaze over me again, as if he hardly believed it when I was here, standing before him. “Where?”
“I’m …” I sucked in a deep breath and diverted my gaze, where my eyes landed on a blue-eyed woman with wild, curly blonde hair, standing beneath the overhead glow of a nearby lamppost, and the air was stolen from my lungs.
She stood there quietly with her hands lying over her belly.
She exhibited patience and calm, though I knew she was anything but in this moment.
She held her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying and gnawing, as her eyes roved over me, just as my father had.
Assessing. Searching. Trying to find if she could read the wounds I wore and understand what had happened to me without asking.
I knew I’d have to tell her.
I knew she’d need to know.
I just needed to find the words, but I didn’t have them now.
Not for her and not for Dad.
He looked over his shoulder to see her, and he sighed, reluctantly releasing his hold on me.
His eyes reflected regret, as if he just now realized he’d been selfish and disrespectful by brushing her aside with his own concern for me.
But I needed him to know that it was both of them—him and her—I had lived for.
I snagged his wrist in my hand before he could back away, and I looked into his eyes as I tapped my temple.
“You were in here,” I muttered quietly. “Everything you taught me. You kept me alive.”
He nodded solemnly, and I thought he might say something else. But instead, he just laid a hand against my arm and offered a gentle smile.
Then he took a few steps backward, keeping his eyes on me, as if he couldn’t quite believe that I was here, alive and standing before him.
He blinked a few times, his eyes welling with tears, before giving his head a shake.
Then he turned and pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked toward where Charlie stood, silently observing with his head bowed and his hands folded at his waist, as if in prayer.
Meg took the opportunity to hurry the few steps to close the gap between us.
Her hands lifted to press her palms to my cheeks as my fingers dug into the tangled mess of her hair.
I inhaled for what felt like the first time in days, weeks maybe, breathing her in as my forehead touched hers, and finally, I began to cry.
“Oh God, Meghan,” I whispered so quietly that I barely heard my own voice above the cacophony of the world outside our little bubble, once again whole and complete with my hands on hers and her breath being pulled into my lungs.
“You came back to me.” She squeezed her eyes shut, digging her fingertips into my cheeks, holding on with every bit of strength she possessed, and I held her just as tight.
“Oh my God … you came back to me. I was so, so, so afraid you were gone, but you came back. How? How did you come back? I don’t understand … ”
My throat worked with a swallow as the tears streaked my cheeks to lie within her palms. What was I supposed to say?
I had made a promise—I had given the man in black my word—but how could I keep those secrets from her?
Didn’t she deserve to know the means in which I’d been returned to her and our life together?
I had vowed to never keep something from her again, but, dammit, how was I supposed to explain this all to her when I could hardly believe it myself?
“You kept me alive,” I said, speaking only part of the truth. “Memories of you, the hope of seeing you again … you kept me safe.”
Her eyes opened to stare into mine. More tears spilled from her eyes as she nodded within my grasp, as if she understood.
Then I added, lowering my voice, “And … there was … this guy. He—”
“Wait.” Her eyes opened wide, and her jaw dropped with shock and awe. “The man in the mask?”
I furrowed my brow, the tips of my fingers grasping tight to her scalp. “You saw him too?”
Slowly, she nodded, unblinking and bewildered, and somehow, knowing she’d also experienced a mysterious interaction with the man who’d saved my life made him all the more real.
“Did he do something to you? Did he say anything?”
Then she hurried to shake her head. “N-no, he didn’t do anything to me. He didn’t touch me. He just … told me to stop looking. He … he said he wouldn’t be able to save us all if I kept looking for you.”
“You were looking?” I asked as I lifted my head, glancing around as if that man might be here right now, watching over me like the elusive angel of death that he was.
Or maybe he wasn’t an angel of death at all.
I’m alive now, aren’t I?
“Yeah,” she replied. “Me and your dad. We came up here to search for you, but we didn’t get far. Just the funeral home, and that was it—”
“The funeral home?” My eyes met hers as a rush of sudden recollection made impact with my weary, tired mind. “You went to the funeral home?”
She narrowed her eyes and nodded. “Y-yeah. Why? We thought since it was the last place you—”
“Who did you talk to?” I asked, flitting my eyes between her and the speculatory gaze of my father, now standing with his arms crossed over his chest.
Are they safe? I wondered. Am I?
She reached out to take my wrists within her hands, and she gasped quietly, her fingers gently rubbing over the wrapped bandages there. She lifted my hands to her assessing gaze, shaking her head.
“Oh God, Noah,” she whispered. “What did they do to you?”
“No, we’ll talk about that later,” I promised, and I would. I’d tell her everything. But she needed to give me answers first. “Who did you talk to, Meg? Please.”
“We talked to Shawn,” she admitted, her eyes dancing within mine. “And, um—”
I lifted a brow as I asked in a low, secretive tone, “Abraham?”
“Yes,” she confirmed. “B-but … why?”
“What about the third one? There’s a third brother. Did you meet him?”
She shook her head. “No, they said he wasn’t around. Why are you asking me this?”
I pulled my hands from her grasp to remove my shattered phone from my pocket once again, remembering something that the man in black had said to me. The one and only clue he’d given me about his identity.
Genesis 18:23.
Meg stood before me, her arms reaching out to wrap around my waist, needing to touch me, to ensure the reality that I was here and alive—safe. Dad slowly made his approach, Charlie moving in behind him, as I stood on the sidewalk outside the cemetery gates with an internet browser open and typed.
Then, with my heart thumping loudly in my ears, I read aloud, “’Then Abraham approached and said, ‘Will you sweep away the righteous with the wicked?’”
Abraham.
Meg looked up into my eyes and asked in a voice edged with worry and fear, “What does it mean?”
My eyes once again swept the surrounding area, as if that suit-wearing, cigarette-smoking, masked vigilante might be here right now, lurking somewhere within the shadows, blending into the darkness.
And I thought about what I’d been through, the pain and abuse and torture I’d endured in the past week of my life. The death I had wished, begged for, and even now, as I wrapped my arms around Meg’s shoulders and pulled her against my chest, I wondered if I would’ve been better off.
But then I thought about the little fire burning inside her. That tiny spark of hope, the promise of a new beginning and the chance to further embark on the only dream I'd ever wished to come true.
A life with her.
Meg.
My angel on the phone line, guiding me toward salvation when I had just been thirteen, and the angel in my mind, preserving my sanity as Benjamin Nolan had tried his hardest to rob me of every thread of self.
And it was all because he’d thought my existence was worth saving.
Abraham.
The second angel to save my life.
And there were questions to be answered—so many questions that would live forever in my mind—and I was sure I’d live through countless nights, awake and wondering. But unlike the restlessness I’d experienced before, there was peace now in knowing those questions would be left unanswered.
As long as I was still questioning, still wondering, I was still here.
Alive.
I swallowed, nodding toward the shadowy night, and my arms held Meg tight as my eyes met my father’s, and I said, “It means we go home and we live our lives.”
And we never ever dig up a past that’s meant to stay buried.
Never again, I promised myself.
Never again, I promised her and the baby I would soon hold within my arms.
Never again, I promised that man in black.
Never again.