Shattered Justice (29 page)

“Oh, Dan,” she’d said. “It’s a sanctuary within Sanctuary. It’s perfect for you and the kids.”

Dan and the kids.

Annie blinked back tears, walking through the living room,
touching books, knickknacks, throw pillows … anything the kids might have touched.

For years she’d thought of her brother in terms of Dan and Sarah, like it was one word:
DanandSarah
. It only made sense, because they were so much a part of each other. It took Annie almost a year to finally start thinking of her brother as
Danandthekids
. Again, one word. All connected.

Now?

She jerked to a halt in the hallway and rested her forehead against the wall. Now what? How would Danny come back from this? He’d survived losing Sarah because of the kids. They pulled him out of grief’s abyss, back into life. They became his reason for going on. Reminded him there was still living to do.

She turned her head, and her forehead bumped against something. Opening her eyes, she pulled back, focused. And a small cry escaped her.

Dan, Sarah, Shannon, and Aaron. They all smiled at her from a family portrait, taken over three years ago. Annie laid her hand on the picture.

Jesus, how is he going to survive this?

“Annot?”

She spun on a gasp.

“Easy, little sister, it’s just me.”

Kyla. The sight of her brought the wash of tears Annie had managed to hold back, and she fell into her sister’s arms, weeping.

“Here, drink this.”

Kyla handed a warmed-up cup of tea to Annie, noting her younger sister’s drawn features. Annot was so sensitive. Such was the price of an artist’s temperament, she supposed. Thank heaven she didn’t suffer from the same quirks.

But there was no defense against this kind of news. Sarah’s death … that had been terrible. But she’d been an adult. Somehow, losing children …

It was crazy. Senseless.

Kyla didn’t do senseless. That was more Annot’s world. Ever since they were children, her little sister spent her time living in her imagination, seeing colors where there were none, singing songs she heard in her head.

Then there was Annot’s room. Chaos. That was the only way to describe it. Kyla’s room, by contrast, was clean and well ordered. A place for everything and everything in its place.

Until Annot came in, that was. Then Kyla spent all her time putting things back after her sister pulled them out and left them in the middle of the floor.

It drove Kyla nuts.

And yet, she loved Annot. Treasured her, probably for the very reasons she drove her nuts. For her free spirit and open heart. Both of which were breaking at this moment.

Kyla stepped over Kodi—the huge, black beast sprawled out on the floor in front of the couch—and sat next to her sister. Kyla tried twice to speak, but her voice wouldn’t work.

Annot nodded, patting her hand, and the understanding in that gesture was almost Kyla’s undoing.

Father, this isn’t right! You know how much those children loved You. How much Avidan loves you! How could this happen to them? How could You let those children die? And like this?
She caught her breath.
Oh, Father, not like this!

Annot took her hands, and Kyla forced herself to speak. “Do you know when Avidan will be here?”

“Soon. I got a call about fifteen minutes ago saying they were on their way.”

Kyla stared down into her coffee. “Are they sure? Both of the children …?” She couldn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

Annie looked down at their linked hands. When she could speak, the words came out ragged. “They’re both dead, Kylie.” She tightened her grip. “We have to pray. Now.”

“Of course—”

“No!” Annot pulled at their hands, the action as desperate
as her cry. “You don’t understand! We have to beg God to help us. To give us the words. For Dan.” She clenched her teeth, fighting against a flood of emotion. “Because I’ll tell you something, Kylie, I don’t have
any
idea what to say to him. All I feel … all I know right now … is
anger
.”

Annot was gripping her hands so hard they hurt. Kyla eased her hands free and took hold of her sister’s shoulders. “I know this is crazy, but none of it—” she gave Annot a gentle shake
—“none
of it changes who God is.”

“How could He let this happen?”

Her sister’s wail broke her heart, and Kyla pulled Annot close, embracing her, letting her weep against her. The storm raged, then slowly, surely, subsided.

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

The whispered words brought a flood of memories, of times Annot would come to Kyla’s room after a nightmare, seeking safety … when her younger sister came to her with a broken heart after some boy hurt her.… All their lives, Kyla knew, no matter how her little sister shone, she needed Kyla. For comfort. For security.

Hearing that long-ago little girl voice of Annie’s now … Kyla’s lip trembled. She choked on a sob. And tears streamed down her face.

At the first hint of her pain, Kodi was there, laying her snout on Kyla’s leg. Annot almost smiled.

Though it was beyond Kyla’s comprehension, Kodi absolutely adored her. Kyla sniffed back her tears, looking down her nose at the walking fur machine. “What’s this about?”

Annot allowed a smile. “You know what they say, ‘all creatures great and small.’ ” She shrugged. “Maybe Kodi wants to pray with us.”

Kyla dropped a hand on Kodi’s broad head—and she wasn’t sure who was most surprised at the action, Annot or herself. “ ‘Where two or three gather …’ ” She took Annot’s hand again. “Well, it can’t hurt.”

“Exactly.”

Bowing their heads, the two went before God, crying out their pain.

“Father God—” Kyla gripped Annot’s hands tighter, needing her sister’s strength to get the words out—“we’re so lost. We want to help our brother, but don’t know how to do that in the face of this … insanity.”

“Lord,” Annot came in, “Dan has been through so much. Please, Father, please, put your hand on him. Even now as we’re praying, touch him with Your peace. Your presence.”

“Don’t let the enemy win in this, God. Don’t let him tear apart our brother, your son. Your warrior. Dan has fought for You, for others, all his life. Please, somehow help him endure this terrible loss. This …” Kyla struggled, seeking the right words. Suddenly they came to her. “This horrible injustice.”

Annot’s fingers gripped her hands even tighter. “Kylie’s right, Lord. This just isn’t right!” Her words broke, but she pushed on. “I don’t understand why this had to happen, but I know You, God. I know Your love. And somehow … somehow You’ll make things right. For Danny. For all of us. Because Your justice doesn’t fail.”

As the prayer went on, Kyla felt it. A cloak of calm, settling over them. As though it soaked up their tears, bound their broken hearts, and imparted God’s peace.

When their words ran out, and the amens were said, Kyla settled back. The tension pinching her temples eased. She even stroked Kodi’s ears. “It’s going to be all right.” As she spoke the words, she felt such … confidence. An almost reverent relief. As if the deep, unanswerable questions had been answered, though no words had come to them.

The sound of the front door opening brought both sisters to their feet. Annot told the dog to stay, then she took Kyla’s hand and they went to meet their brother.

At the door, they jerked to a stop.

Avidan stood there. Hands limp at his sides. Face ravaged
by shock. Sorrow. Though he looked at them, his eyes were blank. As though he didn’t recognize them.

Or didn’t see them.

“Danny?”

Dan flinched, his head jerking. He blinked, and Kyla could almost see his eyes, his mind, come into focus. With a hoarse cry, he came toward them. They rushed forward, opening their arms. Kyla felt shaken to the core when, in the wake of this shattering sorrow, their big brother became a terrified, weeping child.

Kyla and Annot did what they could for him. They offered arms to cradle. Whispers of shared sorrow and comfort. Hearts filled with prayer.

And the unmovable anchor of truth. Truth they knew and believed but couldn’t speak. Not yet.

God was with them.

TWO ELEGANT CASKETS. SIDE BY SIDE. ADORNED WITH
blankets of flowers, stuffed animals, and cards.

It was the most horrific sight Dan had ever seen.

He practically cowered at the back of the church narthex, hands buried in his pockets, counting the seconds as they dragged by. Waiting to be free.

Annie and Kyla stood at the front of the church, reading notes and remembrances about Shannon and Aaron. He listened as story after story was shared, some drawing sobs, some stirring laughter.

It would be his turn soon. But he wasn’t ready. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. Putting them in his pockets seemed too casual. Keeping them at his sides was stiff. Uncomfortable. Folding them in front of him looked stupid.

Are you nuts? Who cares where you put your hands? Just get up there. Say something
. Anything.

He peered through the doorway at pew after pew of mourners. Adults. Children. Teens. So many had come to say good-bye. They were sitting there, listening—and waiting for him. He was supposed to walk up the aisle, stand before those two cases holding his children prisoner, and face a church full of grieving friends and family. To say … say …

What?

What was there to say? No words, spoken or otherwise, mattered. Nothing would help this make sense! Nothing!

Bitterness dug its claws deep as it clawed across his heart, his spirit.

How could this have happened? How could he possibly be here again?

Lost.

Desperate.

An aching emptiness where his heart used to be as he stared at a casket—no,
two
caskets, this time. Caskets for his children.

And his heart.

“Mr. Justice?”

Dan turned at the broken voice. Jayce stood there, eyes red, swollen.

“Mr. Justice. I’m so sorry.”

He wanted to speak words of comfort, of shared love for these two now lost to them. To embrace the stricken boy standing there, hands clenched together so tightly they were white.

But he couldn’t.

Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

He was no longer made of flesh and blood. Instead, he’d turned to stone. Cold. Unmovable. A statue staring down at the living, unable to care or feel.

“Mr. Justice?”

The confusion in Jayce’s voice tugged at him. Almost drew him out of the pit closing in on him. A plea rose from within him.

Don’t close the boy out. Please, don’t do that to him. He doesn’t deserve it
.

Deserve it?
Deserve
it?

Did Aaron and Shannon
deserve
to die? Did Sarah? Did he
deserve
to suffer this kind of pain? Loss?

What did
deserving
have to do with
any
thing?

He stared at Jayce, watched shock then pain twist the boy’s features. The color drained from his young face, and he spun—

Only to run square into Shelby Wilson as she slipped into the narthex. She caught Jayce, took one look at his face, and turned to Dan. “What’s going on?”

His stare transferred to her. This woman he’d been dating, who touched his heart in ways he never expected. Who brought to life emotions he never thought to feel again.

And as he looked at her, he felt … nothing. Not for her. Not for Jayce.

My children are dead. My life is over
.

“Dan?” Shelby hugged Jayce with one arm, reaching out her free hand toward him. “Dan, please. Let me help.”

He lowered his gaze to her outstretched hand. That small, warm hand. Hands so like Sarah’s. And Shannon’s. But his wife and daughter’s hands weren’t warm. Not any longer.

Sickened to the core, he turned, forced his marbleized limbs to move. Walk away. From the funeral.

From death.

From everything.

And everyone.

“Jayce, it will be okay.”

He wanted to laugh. To show Miss Wilson he didn’t believe. No, even more, that he didn’t
care
.

“Dan’s just … he’s hurting right now. So much that he can’t
think straight. He’s saying things he doesn’t mean. Can’t mean.” Her hand trembled on his shoulder. Was that supposed to be a comforting touch?

Think again.

“He cares about you. Please don’t think he doesn’t—”

Jayce ran.

Her voice called after him, but he didn’t stop. Just kept his feet moving, pounding the ground beneath him.

All Miss Wilson’s talk, all her reassurances were just words. Stupid, empty words.

Jayce knew the truth. Saw it in Dan’s eyes.