Evidence of Mercy (39 page)

“It matters because Christ forgave me.”

“Forgave you for what? What terrible thing have you ever done?”

“Oh, Jake,” she cried. “I do terrible things all the time. And the morning of the crash when we were in that plane, knowing we could die the minute we landed, I just sat there. I didn't care what would happen to you if you'd died. I didn't even try to tell you what I knew. What could save you. But he didn't turn his back on either of us. He forgave me and let me start over. He let me see—”

“Lynda, you couldn't have saved me if you'd tried. I thought I had all the answers. Maybe I still think that. I was a creep then, and I'm probably still a creep, and you were justified in how you felt about me in that plane.”

She shook her head. “You don't think it's important because you don't believe. But I do. And I want to obey now, but if it means forgiving Keith . . .”

“Keith Varner hasn't asked for your forgiveness.”

“That doesn't matter. I still have to forgive him. And I hate myself for not being able to do it.”

L
ater that night, when she had gone back into the house and lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling and wrestling the monsters of memory and despair, Lynda tried to tell herself that she
could
forgive Keith, that maybe she already had. But as she drifted into a shallow sleep, she dreamed about cars blowing up and planes crashing and houses burning and about that panic that comes right before death between realizing it's going to happen and surrendering to it. Like a running theme through those images, Keith appeared here and there, laughing, cursing, escaping. . . .

She awoke in a cold sweat and looked around at the room full of distorted shadows; she had left the lamp on. Trembling, she reached for her radio and turned it on. Maybe the noise would block out the fears, override the terror.

But her heart was beating too wildly for her to go back to sleep, so she got up and wandered around the quiet house. What if the dream were a warning? He is smart, after all. What if he
had
found some way to escape?

She went back to her bedroom; the dresser mirror caught her reflection as she passed, and she stopped to study it. She wasn't the same person she'd been before the crash. She was different. More fragile in some ways, tougher in others.

Would she ever stop being afraid?

Sitting down on the end of her bed, she pressed her face into her hands and tried with all her heart to pray for peace of mind. But the words wouldn't come, and she found herself unable to pray, unable to ask for help, unable to surrender.

She thought of going to Jake's door and waking him up, but the idea seemed crazy. She would have to wait until morning. And then, perhaps she'd look into counseling. Maybe she needed professional help. Maybe she needed her preacher to teach her to pray again. Maybe she needed a gun and a security system and a bodyguard.

Maybe none of this was really over yet.

CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

I
wish I'd killed him.”

Paige's words would have surprised Lynda if she hadn't struggled with the same thought herself. Paige sat at her new desk—Sally's desk—with dark circles under her eyes, indicating that she hadn't been able to sleep either.

“I had the chance,” Paige added quietly.

“Don't say that,” Lynda whispered without much conviction as she sank into the chair across from Paige's desk. “You did the right thing. The only thing you could have done.”

“Brianna's still having nightmares.”

“Aren't we all?”

Paige's tired eyes met Lynda's, and she shook her head. “The DA asked me to testify at Keith's sentencing. It's amazing that he confessed and didn't even try to negotiate away the death penalty. I think maybe he really wants to die.”

“The DA called me, too,” Lynda said.

“So I guess, indirectly I have another chance.” Paige propped her chin on her hand. “I keep having visions of sitting up there in front of him, telling the judge to give him the chair while he watches me with those persuasive, hurt eyes. He'd be so shocked that I went through with it.”

“So are you going to?”

Paige shrugged, despair evident on her face. “I don't think I can.”

Lynda was quiet, not questioning, for she knew the dilemma.

“He's Brianna's father. I don't want her growing up with that kind of stigma. And I guess when I come right down to it, I don't want that guilt. I don't even know if I believe in the death penalty.”

Lynda was quiet for a moment. “I used to be against it right across the board. But now I'm not so sure. I've never been the victim before.” She thought that over for a moment, hating herself for not being able to choose one side of the line or the other. “I guess it's time I decided what I really believe.”

“Are you going to testify?”

“I don't know,” Lynda whispered. “The judge's pre-sentencing investigation has already probably told him all he needs to know. My testimony wouldn't make that much difference.” She sighed. “Maybe I'm just wimping out. I don't know what to do.”

Paige accepted that. “Jake probably will.”

Yes. That would be his way of getting some measure of revenge. She almost hoped he did.

But the reality of that hope only drew her deeper into a pit of depression that seemed impossible to escape.

L
ynda didn't sleep for the three nights before the day she was to testify at the sentencing, and that morning as she drove Jake to the courthouse, she still wasn't sure whether she would even go in when she got there.

Her dejection hadn't escaped Jake's notice, and reaching across the seat, he stroked her hair. “You don't have to do this, you know.”

Lynda nodded. “I don't know if I will.” She glanced over at him. “Do you think I'm a coward?”

“No, Lynda. When I think about you, a lot of different words come to mind, but coward isn't one of them. I don't think it's fear that's keeping you from wanting to testify.”

“Then what is it?”

“Indecision, maybe? Those people in there want to know how we, the victims, feel about what should happen to Keith Varner. And you can't really tell them if you don't know yourself.”

She reached the courthouse and pulled into a parking place then sat there for a moment, making no move to get out. “But you're sure, aren't you, Jake? You think he should be put to death.”

Jake's face hardened slightly. “I'd do it myself if I could.”

She dropped her head back on her headrest and stared at the courthouse—the same building where Keith had attacked Paige and tried to take Brianna such a short time ago. She remembered Brianna's terror that day—and on another day, cowering under a table. . . .

“Let's go in,” she said quietly.

Jake shot her a surprised look. “Really? You're going to testify? What are you going to say?”

“I'll decide when I get in there,” she said.

Jake got his wheelchair out of the back and slipped into it, and she followed him in. The building seemed too warm, and she found it hard to breathe. At the entrance, a few reporters rushed toward them with questions about their testimony, but they both threw out “No comment,” and kept walking.

By the time they reached the courtroom, Lynda felt as if she might hyperventilate. Jake glanced back at her and noticed the perspiration on her temples and above her lip, and he handed her a handkerchief. “You okay?”

She sat down next to him. “Yeah. Fine.”

The DA spotted them and came toward them. At the same time, the door at the front of the courtroom opened, and the bailiffs brought Keith in.

His eyes were bloodshot and he hadn't shaved. He searched the room frantically. Lynda knew he was looking for Paige, but when his gaze rested on her, her heart jolted.

All her anger rushed back in a tidal wave of memory, and she thought again about Brianna and Sally. Yes, he deserved death. And he deserved to hear her say it.

Why then did she still feel so divided? Could she really get up there and say what the DA wanted her to say?

Standing up, she pushed past the DA and Jake. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I can't do this.”

Jake caught her arm, and the DA looked crestfallen. “Lynda, what's wrong?”

Tears came to her eyes, and she glanced back at Keith, whose back was to her now. “I just don't know what I believe anymore,” she whispered harshly. “And I can't sit up there and say something if I'm not sure.” She looked down at Jake, expecting condemnation, but all she saw was concern. “You do what you have to do, Jake. Call me when it's over, and I'll come back to get you.”

And before he could respond or the DA could talk her out of it, she shot out of the room.

A
t home, Lynda sat in the quiet, trying to decide why she was so angry with herself. Was it because she thought she'd wimped out or because she hadn't? Or was it even deeper? Did it have to do with this forgiveness issue that had plagued her since Keith's arrest?

Praying for her enemies had always seemed so logical, so easy—when she'd had no enemies. Loving had been a breeze—when she'd never really hated.

Now she was being tested. She had been tested before, but those other tests she had failed, and God had taught her through that failure how fruitless she was to his kingdom. How useless.

And if she'd learned anything in the past few weeks, it was that the only true joy she'd found was in being obedient to him. Maybe that was why her heart was so heavy now. Maybe it was because she was resisting.

Pulling her feet up onto the couch and wrapping her arms around her knees, she dropped her head into the circle of her arms and tried to pray again.

But this time, instead of praying for her fears and her trauma and her decisions, she prayed for Keith.

And as she did, his tremendous guilt became real to her, as did his grief. He had lost his wife and his daughter. Even though he'd caused those losses, that didn't change the level of pain he suffered. She didn't pray for his release or for some miraculous acquittal—for she knew that God was a just God and that crimes held consequences. Instead, she prayed for a change of heart, for light in his darkness, and for his salvation.

And she prayed that God would help her find a way to forgive him.

The moment she ended the prayer, she felt a great weight lifted off her, and peace replaced it.

A car door slammed. Through the window, she could see Jake getting out of a car. The car backed out of her driveway, and Jake rolled toward the door.

She opened it before he knocked. “Who brought you home?”

“One of the guys from the DA's office,” he said. “Are you all right?”

She smiled, probably for the first time since Sally's funeral. “Yeah. I think I am.”

Jake came inside, and he gazed at her for a long moment. “I was the last witness to testify, so they gave it to the jury right afterward. They agreed unanimously on the death penalty. The judge accepted their recommendation, Lynda. He got death.”

She pulled out a chair and sat down slowly. “I figured he would.” She let out a long breath. “It sure didn't take long.”

“No, the jury wasn't out very long,” he said. A slow, gentle smile changed his expression. “You really are better, aren't you? What happened?”

“I had a long talk with the Lord,” she said. “And we got a few things straightened out.”

“That's good.” Then, as he gazed at her, he saw the pain return to her eyes. “What is it?”

She let out a deep, ragged breath. “I have to go see him,” she whispered.

“
What?”

“You heard me,” she said. “I have to.”

He rolled closer, as if by touching her he could chase away this madness. Taking her hand, he said, “Lynda, you can't. No one expects you to do this. Probably not even God.”

“You're wrong,” she whispered. “I think God does expect it. And I'm going.”

“What will it prove?”

“I don't know,” she said. “Maybe nothing.”

Jake looked out the window, and she saw the intense struggle on his face as he groped to understand. “This is crazy, Lynda. I want you to think about it.”

“I already have,” she said. “I'm going tomorrow, before they transfer him to the state penitentiary.”

He gaped at her again, his face a study in disgusted bewilderment, but after a moment, that look faded, and he sank back in his chair. “You can't be talked out of this?”

“No,” she said. “If I could, I would have talked myself out of it already. It's not something I
want
to do, Jake, believe me; it's something I
have
to do. I was going to let a man die unsaved once before—I can't do it again
.
That's as clear to me as it was to you when you testified today.”

Silence screamed out between them as he stared at her, and finally, he broke it. “All right,” he said finally. “But I'm going with you.”

B
ack in his apartment that night, Jake searched the New Testament for the reasons Lynda might have chosen to pray for her enemy, to visit him in prison. As he read through Matthew, Mark, Luke, and finally John, he saw it there over and over. This was why, then, she felt that God wanted her to go, why it was so important to her.

When she'd left the courthouse that day, she'd been confused about what she believed. She must have come home and decided. And tonight, rather than depressed, she seemed centered, peace-filled, and eager to do what she'd decided to do.

He lay awake for a long time that night, thinking back over Lynda's active concern for him and for Paige and Brianna, her determination to do God's will even when it meant sacrifice, and the way she had made him feel less like a shell of a human and more like a man with a spirit. A man with a soul.