The Heaven Trilogy (115 page)

“He, he, he, he, he, ha, ha ha ha ha ha!”

Jan held his breath with the suddenness of it. It was the picture from the cover of
The Dance of the Dead
, only here, painted on Helen.

If Glenn's senses hadn't already snapped, they did in that moment. He roared and swung a huge fist at Karadzic's face. Bone smashed bone with a sickening thud and Karadzic staggered backward. Like an unleashed tiger, Glenn sprang at Karadzic while the commander was still off balance. But Karadzic set himself and the two large men collided.

Glenn shook like a leaf now, his lips pressed white with desperation. With a thundering roar, he ripped the gun from Karadzic's grasp and jumped back.

Helen's laughter echoed through the room, and Glenn jerked the pistol toward her in a blind fury.

The reprieve was what Karadzic needed. He snatched another gun from behind his back and jerked it up in line with Glenn. But the American's gun was already steadied.

A boom crashed through the room. Jan's heart stopped its beating.
Oh, God!
He clenched his eyes shut.
Oh, dear God!

Laughter pealed about him. Helen's laughter. In death? She had joined Ivena and—

Jan snapped his eyes open and stared at Helen. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open and she was still laughing.

Then Glenn's huge body fell, like a side of beef. His head bounced off the concrete a foot from Jan's. His eyes were open and there was a hole in his right temple.

Helen was still laughing, seemingly oblivious to the struggle around her. Her mouth was open with delight and tears wet her cheeks.

Karadzic faced her, sweat pouring from his skin. He took a step back and his eyes skipped around. It occurred to Jan that he was terrified. The big man opened his mouth in a moan.

Jan looked at Glenn's torso again, and this time he saw the black handle wedged under his shoulder. The gun!

Jan glanced up at Karadzic. The man trained his wavering gun forward, as if struggling against an unseen force. They had been here before. Only this time it wasn't the priest's laughter Karadzic would silence. This time it was Jan's wife's. The realization passed through his mind and he thought his chest would explode. Still Helen did not stop her laughing.

Jan reached out his right hand and grabbed for the gun under Lutz's body, keeping his eyes on Karadzic all the while. The man was transfixed by the sight of Helen. At any instant the gun in his hand would buck.

Cold steel filled Jan's hand. His world swam. He found the trigger and pulled the pistol out in one quick motion. A groan broke from his throat and he heaved the gun up in Karadzic's direction. He yanked the trigger.

Boom!

The slug hit his old commander somewhere below the waist, but Jan kept jerking on the trigger.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Click
. The gun was empty.

Karadzic staggered back, wide-eyed, his own weapon unfired. He stared at Jan, wavering on his feet. Several blotches of red spread on his shirt. His nose was twisted and bleeding.

The man fell face forward on the concrete and lay still.

The room grew quiet.

Karadzic's woman had gone white. She eased toward the door, glanced one last time at Karadzic's lifeless form, and ran from the room. One of the guards ran out behind her, blinking in disbelief.

Only then, with Helen hanging from the cross, Jan lying in a pool of his own blood, and the last guard cowering against the far wall, did it occur to Jan that they were alive.

He dropped the gun and pushed himself to an elbow. He saw Helen looking at him in silence, and immediately collapsed to his side. Pain shot up his spine and he groaned.

Helen looked at the remaining guard, who still stood trembling. “Please, please,” she begged. “Please help us.”

The guard suddenly rushed across the room with a drawn knife and Jan's pulse spiked with alarm. The man ran to the cross and his blade flashed. It severed the cords. Helen fell free. The guard caught her, quickly lowered her to the ground, and ran from the room.

Jan's world began to drift. The universe had been created for moments like these, he thought. It was an odd thought.

Jan felt his head being lifted and he opened his eyes. She'd managed to crawl to him and lift his head in her arms. She was sobbing.

“Forgive me! I'm so sorry, Jan. Forgive me! Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. I was so wrong. I was so, so wrong.”

Her words floated in and out. She'd never said such things, but then she'd never been who she was now. Jan's body trembled, but this time with an unspeakable joy. The fruits of love. The universe was indeed created for moments like these.

He stared up at her, a dumb smile spreading across his face.

Helen leaned over his face. He felt her hot tears fall on his cheek. Then her warm lips on his own. And on his nose.

“I love you, Janjic.”

She kissed him again, around his eyes.

“I love you, Jan Jovic. I will love you forever. With Christ's love, I love you.”

She began to cry again and Jan lost consciousness, in the arms of an angel. In the embrace of true love.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Six Months Later

A LIGHT New England breeze swept over the tall black cliffs that held the Atlantic Ocean at bay, and lifted Helen's hair from her shoulders. Before her, as far as she could see, whitecaps dotted the blue sea. In either direction, green grass rolled with the hills. It was the ideal setting to convalesce, she thought. Beautiful and healthy and perfectly peaceful.

She sat in the gazebo across the small glass table from Jan and breathed the salty air deep into her lungs. He sat in his wheelchair and stared at the ocean, wearing a loose cotton shirt and looking stunningly handsome.

Fifty yards behind them, their white colonial house sat stoically on the lawn. She would be in there preparing supper for them about now if it weren't for her knees. But they'd hired Emily to do more than nurse them to health, Jan insisted. On a day as bright as today Emily would probably serve them on the sprawling veranda.

Helen faced Janjic. “I love you, Jan.”

He turned to her and his hazel eyes reflected the sea's green, smiling in their wrinkles. “And I'm mad about you, my dear.” He extended a hand and rubbed her pregnant stomach. “And you, Gloria.”

They'd already decided it would be a girl and they would call her Gloria, because of the glory that had set them free.

Helen smiled. “Thank you for bringing me back.”

“What, to America?” He chuckled. “Did I have a choice?”

“Sure. We could have stuck it out in Bosnia.” She looked out to sea. “Of course, you wouldn't have gotten the new book deal for
When Heaven Weeps
. Nor the movie.” She smiled.

“And I wouldn't have the luxury of living my life in peace with my bride and my child,” he added. “Like I said; did I have a choice?”

“No, I guess not.”

“My only regret is that you're not well enough to serve me hand and foot.” He smiled wide. “A celebrity deserves no less, don't you think?”

“Jan Jovic, how could you say such a thing? Don't worry, my knees are better by the day. I'll be at your beck and call before you know it.” They laughed.

Helen stood and walked behind him. Ivena's red-and-white flowers cascaded over the thatchwork, spreading their sweet, musky scent. They'd brought a shoot with them six months ago and planted it along the south wall of the house and here, by the gazebo. Only Joey's Garden of Eden also featured the new species of lily and there it had nearly taken over the botanical garden's east wall.

Helen drew Jan's hair back, bent over and kissed behind his ear. “It's you I worry about, my dear. I don't know what I would do without you.”

“Then let's make sure you don't have to live without me,” he said. “I've lived through worse. You think a hole in my liver will hold me back?”

He said it with courage and she smiled.

Helen leaned over and kissed his other ear. “Well, I promise that I will love my wounded solider until the day that I die. And I have no intention of going anytime soon.”

She laid her head on his hair and closed her eyes. How could she have possibly betrayed this man? The memory of her treachery sat like a distant pain at the back of her mind—always there but incomprehensible. An insatiable love for this man had replaced her addiction in whole.

The details of the last few months were written in black-and-white for the world to read in Jan's new book. The fact that Glenn's estate owned the legal rights to
The Dance of the Dead
was now irrelevant. His old book wasn't the complete story—he'd told them clearly enough at the news conference.
When Heaven Weeps
was. And as a new property it wasn't under the restrictions of the old contract he'd signed with Glenn's company.

Neither Roald nor the council could argue with that. Jan had graciously omitted their most ugly moments from the story. But not the woman that they had scorned. Not Helen. Jan had put her on nearly every page, both her ugliness and her beauty. Mostly her beauty, Helen thought.

She kissed the crown of his head.

He pulled her hand. “Come here.”

She walked around the chair and sat in his lap.

He took her chin and looked into her eyes. “You're everything to me. You're my bride. You make my heart pitter and my knees weak. You think I would leave that for the grave?”

“No. But maybe for the laughter.”

“I have the laughter already. I carry it in my heart, and it's for you.”

Helen smiled and leaned forward. “You're very sweet, my prince.” She kissed him lightly on the lips and then pulled back. His eyes were on fire with love.

“I love you. More than life,” he said.

“And I love you. More than death.”

She kissed his lips once again. She could not help herself. This love of theirs— this love of Christ's—was that kind of love.

SHOWDOWN

Just keep telling yourself.
“IT'S ONLY A BOOK.”

Of all the novels Ted Dekker has ever written.
this one

TAKES YOU FURTHER . . .
CUTS DEEPER . . .
PLAYER FOR KEEPS.

From the mind of Ted Dekker.
the ultimate Showdown

HAS BEGUN.

PRAISE FOR TEDDEKKER'S NOVELS

BLESSED CHILD
“Blessed Child
is the best novel I've ever read.”

L
OWELL
W. P
AXSON
, chairman, PAX-TV

“Bill Bright and Ted Dekker have written a fast-paced thriller of apocalyptic dimensions. The book will move you to wonder.”

C
HARLES
W. C
OLSON

“What a beautiful picture of the love God has for us.”

T
IM
L
AHAYE

“
Blessed Child
is a letter from God's heart to every Christian! A cutting edge call to the church. It confronts us with towering truth.”