Chapter 24

Samson woke with a jolt. He sat upright, then leaned against the wall, his breathing labored. He'd had a dream about Delilah. It was the first time he'd thought about her in a while. The agony of losing his daughter had made it too painful to revisit thoughts of her even though he'd finally forgiven her. He'd prayed for Delilah's soul and then let her go.

But the dream had been vivid and brought back feelings he'd thought were dead and buried. It wasn't the hurt that had returned; it was the joy and hope she'd restored to him. In the dream, he'd seen her standing in a beam of light with her arms out to him, welcoming him. Did that mean she'd died too and was waiting for him in death? Or did she represent hope?

He stood and paced the room. God had never spoken to him through dreams before, so he had no reason to think He was now. But the feelings that had stirred wouldn't be silent. The hope that had erupted before he woke was an unwanted distraction because it awakened more than he could bear. There was too much grief and hurt outside the confines of this place and his death.

His chest tightened so much he pressed his hand to his heart and leaned against the wall.

"Am I having a heart attack?" After all this planning, would God take him before he had a chance to fulfill what he thought he was meant to?

He slid to the floor, anxiety choking his breath. He grunted as he tried to settle his increasing heartbeat.

Then the tears came, and he leaned onto the floor, letting the sobs out because they brought relief from the fear that had begun to paralyze him.

When he came back to himself, he sat up, wiping his face. "What was that?"

You're not free.

God's words drifted into his mind.

"I know I'm not free. I'm in a cell. That's why I'm going to blow this place up. Then I'll be free. I'll be with you."

I want you to be free now. I want you to know real freedom.

"I don't understand."

You want to die.

"Of course I do. I've got nothing to live for."

Then blow yourself up.

"But then I can't take the others down with me. I can't stop what they're planning. Isn't that why I'm here?"

You think I need you to stop them? You don't think I can do it another way?

Samson slouched. "No. You don't need me for anything. I'm the one who needs You."

If you want to die, you can do it yourself. If you want to fulfill the purposes I have for your life, then I want you to be free when you do it.

"This whole time I've been doing it for me, not you." He leaned his head against the wall. "How can I keep getting it so wrong? So what do I do?"

You already know.

He did, but it was a hard thing to admit.

He'd used his need to stop Demir as an excuse to not forgive him.

"But he killed my daughter."

God didn't hesitate to put a picture in Samson's mind of Jesus hanging on the cross.

Humanity killed my Son. And yet…

The tears came again. "Okay. You're right. I'll forgive him. I'll let go."

A weight lifted, and the tightness in his chest lessened. He breathed deeply, surprised it had been that easy. He'd found it harder to forgive Delilah.

Then it came. The urgency.

It's time.

He stood. Now it made sense. In God's grace, He'd given Samson the opportunity to let go of everything and be free in a way he'd never experienced his whole life. He was almost weightless as the reality of what had happened struck him. His life wasn't his own. It was the first time in his adult life that he knew he'd given himself completely to God. If Demir died today, it wouldn't be because of Samson's anger or rage. He had no malice or fear or grief. His heart flooded with a surge of joy. If only he'd done this sooner.

Samson thought God had been waiting for something else, but the whole time it had been Samson He'd been waiting for.

He walked to the door and pressed his hand against it, then his ear. The certainty of God's word that it was time had brought an expectation that the guard was approaching, but there was no sound.

He tried the door, but it was locked.

The adrenaline that had sprung into his system would need to be subdued, so he walked in a circle around the room, flexing his hands.

"When you said it was time, I thought you meant now."

He slowed his breathing as he march across the room. Focusing on his steps.

"One, two, three, four." Turn. "One, two, three, four." Turn.

He thought of those he'd be leaving behind, everyone he could think of. Even the women he'd left in his wake, ignoring the shame that heated his face until it eased.

"Forgive me, Father. There's so much I did that was wrong."

When he ran out of names, he thought over his life and thanked God for every good thing he could think of. "The garden I was able to build to remind myself of my mom. There was so much I didn't deserve, yet you still gave me so?—"

He heard footsteps and closed his eyes. "This is it. Lord, give me the strength and wisdom I need."

The door opened, and the same young man stood with his rifle, pointing his flashlight so that Samson would retreat against the wall, covering his face.

"Put these on," he said, and Samson felt the cuffs hit his chest and drop to the floor.

"You afraid I'll throw up on you again?" he said as he crouched down to retrieve the cuffs. "Would you mind pointing that thing somewhere else?"

The light slanted away, and Samson reached around on the floor until he found the cuffs, then locked his wrists in.

"Hey," he said when he stood, realizing this was the last chance he had to speak to the guard. He should have paid more attention. He could have done more. "I know you don't want to hear this, but Jesus is real."

"You're right. I don't want to hear it."

"Please. You don't know how much time you have left on this earth."

"More than you. Now shut up and get moving."

"He wants you to know Him."

The guard hammered the butt of his rifle into Samson's chest. "I told you to shut up."

Samson grunted as he was shoved down the hall. He put his hand on his ribs. "That hurt."

"It was supposed to."

"You're not going to get me to stop. Have you ever heard the good news?"

This time, he was hit in the head hard enough to knock him to the ground. "You want to know if I've been to church? Yeah. When I was a teenager, I went to impress a girl. She wasn't impressed with me, and I wasn't impressed with church. Now stop talking or I'll shoot."

Samson rubbed the back of his head as he tried to stand. But his head spun, and he tilted to the wall. The guard kicked him as he attempted to stand again.

"Give me a second," Samson said.

"It's your own fault."

He couldn't risk saying any more. The guard could knock him out, or worse. But that didn't stop the pang of loss for this man.

"Sorry."

"I don't care. You don't think I have better things to do than be your escort?"

Finally, back on his feet, Samson shuffled down the hall. He opened his mouth, desperate to get his message across, but he didn't speak. Then they reached the door, and it was too late.

"You know the drill."

"Yeah." Samson entered the room, then turned and held out his hands.

The guard unlocked one side of the cuffs, and Samson grabbed him, dragging him into the room before head-butting him. He didn't let him drop to the ground right away but lowered him slowly.

"I'm so sorry." He shook his head, finding it difficult to move forward, but finally he dragged the guard to the table and transferred the cuffs, attaching his arm to a table leg.

It didn't take him long to expose the bombs hiding under the pile of debris. He moved them into an empty box, then carried them to the door before looking back at the guard one more time.

"God, if there's any chance at all, will you visit him before the end? Give him one more chance like you gave me?"

Then, he shut the door and locked it before hurrying down the hall.

Delilah laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. She twisted her head one way, then the next, focusing on the change in the pattern of the white paint. She'd barely slept, despite her conversation with Ryan. She knew what he'd said was right. It was crazy for her to think it was a good idea to confront Demir. She didn't even know what she would say. But she wanted to look him in the eye. She wanted him to know…what?

When she realized what it was, she squeezed her eyes tight. It was an impossible hope she hung onto that Samson might be alive. She knew he was dead. He had to be. Demir would have no reason to keep him alive, even if he'd wanted to torture him for information.

She sat up in bed at the thought. "Please, God, don't let him have been tortured. It would be better to know he'd died immediately than to know he'd endured so much pain."

But she needed to know. She needed to hear from Demir that Samson was dead. That he hadn't suffered. But he had no reason to tell her. "Make him tell me the truth. I need to know. I need to let this go."

She got out of bed and dressed. It might not make any sense to go to the embassy, but that's what she was going to do. Maybe just the act of going there would be enough.

Before she left the building, she went into the restaurant's dining room. It was dark and silent. No one would be in for a few more hours. She had applied for a several jobs and didn't expect to be here for much longer. That was the one thing she knew for certain.

She and Luca barely spoke anymore. After Marc had been arrested, he'd asked her directly if she'd been involved, and she hadn't lied to him. But the police never came, so she hoped that meant they wouldn't. There had been so much damage already done.

After one last look around, she left and walked to the bus stop.

The sun was warm, and she knew God was calling her to the light, but she kept her focus on the shadows, worried this trip was going against His direction.

Then, as her stop neared, her resolve faltered. She clenched her teeth, unwilling to give in now. She'd see this through, no matter what.