Barrett found his lips moving. Words tumbled out his mouth in a rush, his voice hoarse and wet with blood. “God, have mercy on me. I know you sent this angel to take me from earth. I deserve hell. I truly do. I’m rotten to the core. But I pray you will forgive all my sins and let me live with you and your son. I don’t need a mansion; just a small room will be fine.”

Barrett tried to stand again but couldn’t make it to his feet. His depleted strength quavered. His legs had turned to jelly. But he didn’t give up and struggled forward. Barrett didn’t want the angel to come and take him away. He figured the angel waited for a specific moment or event to happen, and when the moment came the angel would leave his post and escort him into the afterlife.

So he crawled army-style, inching ever closer to the squad car. God, if you would grant me just one wish, please let me stay alive long enough to make it to my car and call in. I finally want to do my duty. I want to protect and serve, he said silently.

Barrett squinted. His vision had all at once doubled. He saw two squad cars and two angels. He crawled toward the center of the squad cars, thankful Arcadias shot him with only a 9 millimeter and not a .45 filled with hollow points. He wouldn’t be alive now had that been the case.

Even as his organs shut down one by one, Barrett felt himself coming alive. For perhaps the first time ever—or at least for a very long time—he was doing something that didn’t solely benefit him. Serving others and putting their needs before his own made him feel good inside. A pity he had to reach death’s door to learn the value of selflessness.

Ten feet of grass and blacktop separated him from the squad car. He wished he could crawl faster. He felt like he moved no quicker than a slug. And like a slug leaving a slime trail behind him, Barrett’s escaping blood smeared the grass. To reach the squad car he needed time to slow down to a standstill. And yet his time on earth raced ever faster to its conclusion.

Barrett tasted blood, could feel it trickling out his mouth. He knew he bled internally. Its okay, I’m almost to my car, he told himself.

Seconds later, or maybe minutes later he reached the squad car. The light-shrouded angel seemed even more enormous this close up—a giant testament to power and purity. His stoic expression still hadn’t changed. He looked down at Barrett without pity. Only expectancy shone in his fierce blue eyes.

Barrett wanted to rest. He’d never experienced exhaustion this profound. But he couldn’t rest. He had a job to do.

Luckily he’d left the door open. He didn’t know why he’d done that, but he was glad he did. Barrett reached up and grabbed the seat restraint belt dangling beside the seat. He tried to pull himself up. But he’d grabbed the belt with his right hand—bloody from pressing against his wound. His grip loosened and slipped off. He collapsed into the grass.

Barrett listened to his lungs whistle as he lay there in the soft grass. He felt content to let the end come. But at the same time he wanted his last act on earth to mean something. Besides, he knew his late mother was watching him from above. Susan Barrett had read her Bible daily, praying just as often, and went to church all her life. Barrett wanted to make his saintly mother proud.

So he reached up his left hand this time. He grabbed the belt and hung on to it, while gathering his legs underneath him. But it took so long for his legs to comply. They had grown heavy and swollen and moved in awkward jerks.

To make the call to dispatch he would need to get to his feet one more time. It seemed like such an easy and natural thing to do. But the simple task posed an insurmountable challenge he couldn’t overcome. Barrett looked up at the imposing angel. “I could use some help here. You mind giving me a boost?” He barely recognized his voice. The words came out in gasping pants, muddled and garbled with pooling blood.

The angel moved from his post and held out his glowing hand. Barrett lifted up his bloody right hand and grasped the angel’s hand. Barrett immediately felt warmth enter his fingertips and move up his arm and into his upper torso. His whole body began to tingle.

The angel lifted him up as if Barrett weighed no more than a sack of feathers. And then the angel dropped him gently across the seat and console.

Barrett grabbed the police radio. He pushed the talk button, concentrated fiercely at pronouncing the words intelligibly. “Officer down at Whitcomb…Bed and Breakfast. Hostages…in…side,” he panted just before taking his last shallow breath.

As the dispatcher replied frantically back, Barrett felt his soul levitate up through the squad car’s roof. He realized then that the angel held him tenderly in his arms. They ascended through the night sky; all lit up like giant fireflies. When they rose above the roofline they stopped and hovered just above the widow’s walk.

Barrett looked down at the house. “Will the hostages make it out okay?”

“They are still in danger,” the angel said in a deep and melodic voice. “But help is on the way. Your conversion isn’t the only miracle taking place tonight.”

A smile broke across Barrett’s anguished face. He felt so pure, his soul—dirty and condemned only moments before—had been scrubbed clean and made pure.

Barrett noticed movement nearby. He turned his head and witnessed an amazing sight. The sky opened like a stage curtain being peeled back. A wondrous world, astounding and majestic came into view. He saw a golden city shaped like a cube. A towering wall shimmering with jewels surrounded the city.

“You did well tonight, Josiah. Your heart softened when it counted the most. And now it’s time for you to meet your king and to receive your reward,” the angel said. And then they entered the spiritual portal and headed for heaven, leaving earth behind.

Chapter 34

Inside the VFW hall, volunteers picked up folding chairs and placed them in wheeled carriers. Other volunteers picked up trash and balloons and helped the custodial staff spruce up the place.

The presidential candidates had long ago climbed aboard their campaign buses and moved on to the next campaign stop, and the audience had also filed out, no doubt their opinions generally unchanged by anything spoken during the debate.

Newton Laskey pulled out his cellphone. He needed to call his wife and tell her he was on his way, and that he’d be home in forty-five minutes to an hour.

His longsuffering wife was a gem. She’d put up with his crazy working hours for way too long. She kept bugging him to take some time off and go on a vacation with her. She wanted to see Europe. He supposed he should relent. Their anniversary was coming up soon anyway. Maybe I should surprise her and buy some plane tickets, he thought.

The FBI boss started to punch in his home number, but stopped when he felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned and saw Otis Grant, one of his special agents. The troubled look on Grant’s face told him his night just took a detour. “Is there something the matter, Otis?”

Grant nodded solemnly. “I overheard one of the deputies talking. A Copeland Police officer has been shot.”

“That’s terrible. Is he going to make it?”

Grant balled his fists. His muscular shoulders strained at his suit jacket. “He died calling for backup. And it gets worse, Newt. The shooting was at the Whitcomb Bed and Breakfast Inn. That’s where Annie lives with her husband. The cop said there were hostages inside when he called dispatch.”

“Let me guess, Annie is a hostage. She has a knack for getting kidnapped.”

“We should go over there, Newt. I miss Annie. The pretty lady has moxie. Besides, the Copeland Police force is a two man operation—the chief and one other officer. They’re down to only the chief now. They could use our help.”