One by One

He walked to the front door, grabbing the car keys from the wall. “Hey, Jason.”

“Yeah?” Jason’s voice came from the kitchen.

“I’m heading to the store. You need anything?”

Something clattered into the sink. “Candles.”

“Candles?”

“Maybe ten or fifteen.”

Shaking his head, Doug went outside. He would ask questions afterward. That’s the way things worked with Jason, and with him so frail now it was hard to refuse his requests, however mysterious.

As he sat in the cold car, waiting for the engine to warm—he always forgot to start it early—he stared at the little house dwarfed by two towering ones. Broken and unwanted, like they had been. Maybe that’s why he knew it was the place to rent. A little different than living in Charles’ mansion, but a lot different than living on the streets.

God had been very good.

Doug’s phone rang as he stood in the aisle of canned foods, his arms full of groceries. He managed to shift them all to one side and pulled it out of his pocket. Charles’ number. “Hey?”

“Hi, Doug. Where are you?”

“Shopping.” He quickly moved his left arm, but even so, a pack of bacon slipped to the floor. “Why, where are you?” he grunted.

Charles laughed. “Fair enough. I’m working.”

“Sure sounds like it.”

“Are you all right?”

A tin of biscuits fell and rolled down the aisle to someone’s feet. “I’m losing all my groceries.”

“Oh. Well, why don’t you call me back when you’re done?”

Doug hung up and quickly caught another bacon pack, shaking his head. Why did Charles always call at the worst possible times? He tried to move out of the way of a woman with a cart, but she stopped.

“Would you like a cart?” she asked with a friendly smile above her checked scarf.

“Oh, I …”

She picked up the three items inside it, saying, “I didn’t get as much as I thought I would, so I don’t need it.”

“Thanks,” he called as she walked away, and then let loose his armload. He disliked carts, but the situation seemed to require one. Good thing he hadn’t been holding Jason’s fifteen candles.

By the tills stood a rack of red plaid coats, a big sign above them boasting CLEARANCE. Doug fingered one and looked at the price. Jason needed a new coat badly—but if he got one now, he would just give it away with everything else.

Maybe he could hide it until Jason’s birthday. It wasn’t right to give away a birthday present, was it? And that was only three weeks away.

He added the coat to his cart.

Back in his car, he called Charles. “Okay, what’s up?”

“I had an idea. Why don’t you and Jason come over this evening and I’ll tell you about it?”

“Jason made plans for us already.”

“Oh?”

Doug leaned back in his seat and scratched his head. “He wants to go hand out coats and stuff, and he asked me to buy fifteen candles.”

Charles stayed silent for a moment, and then he said, “Good old Jason. Well, why don’t you come over after that. If it’s not too late.”

“What’s too late?”

“Ask Jason. I’ll probably be up late anyway.”

“Okay.”

“See you later, Doug.”

“Yeah.”

What kind of idea this time? Charles was always having ideas. His most lucrative one had been computer software, but the rest were usually good in other ways. Like his idea to spend a night in the park like a homeless person—it had changed Doug’s and Jason’s lives forever.

It must be a good one if he was so eager for them to hear about it.

“I’m home, Jason,” he called as he stepped in the door. He had to find out where Jason was before sneaking the coat inside.

The house lay quiet.

His heart jumping with worry, he hurried into the living room and found Jason sleeping on the couch, the coats and hats piled under his head for a pillow.

A sigh huffed out of him. Jason seemed to be doing okay, but you never knew, and with the doctor’s grim predictions …

He put away his purchases, set a pot of water on the stove for spaghetti, and then pulled his pile of textbooks onto the kitchen table. Thirty years old and going back to school.

He flipped open the top one and saw again Charles’ note, written in black ink above the book’s title.

For Doug

We all know it’s never too late to turn a life around.

Charles

‘’A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps.’ Proverbs 16:9

Charles had done so much for him: finding him a job, buying him the materials to start his studies before he could afford it himself, giving him a place to stay until they had found the rental house …

… the Lord directeth his steps.

God had done so much more for him—had given His life for him. And that’s what had made all the difference in his dingy, doomed world.

The miracle of forgiveness.

Charles had just been the means to show the miracle to Doug, and that’s what Jason was trying to do: show the miracle again and again.

“Thank you, God,” he said under his breath, flipping to his bookmark.

Supper was just ready when Doug heard Jason coughing. A little later he came slowly into the kitchen, his eyes as tired as they had been before he slept.

“Good nap?” Doug asked, shoving his books aside.

Jason shrugged, sinking into a chair at the table. “Never quite feels long enough. But hey, I’m here.” He put his chin in his hand. “Good studying?”

“Yeah. I feel like I’m actually getting somewhere.”

Jason took the bowl Doug gave him and twisted some noodles onto his fork. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The minutes ticked by in silence, Doug eating quickly as he watched the second hand tick its way around the clock face. Never could stop time, however much you wanted to.

“Dougie, you should call your parents.”

Doug met Jason’s serious gaze, then glanced at the almost untouched food. “You should eat more than you do.”

Jason frowned. “That’s a dodge if I’ve heard one. If they’re going to be glad about what’s happened, why don’t you just tell ‘em?”

“Because they don’t know everything that’s happened,” Doug said irritably, getting up and dropping his bowl into the sink. “You don’t understand.”

He trudged to the living room, shoved the coats into a garbage bag, and carried it out to the car. Jason didn’t understand because he didn’t have parents to call—at least he didn’t know where they were.

The crisp air pinched his face and the snowy driveway squeaked under his boots. Jason was right; it was going to be really cold by night time. He had better get the car started so Jason wouldn’t freeze.

He went in for the keys and met Jason in the entry. “Car’s not warm yet.”

Jason pulled on his jacket. “Night’s cold already.” His fingers went through a hole partway down the sleeve, and he gave a little chuckle that turned into a cough.  “Think I need some patches.”

Ordinarily Doug would have been annoyed, but now he hid a grin. Only a few weeks and Jason would have a new coat, one that wouldn’t need patches for a long time.

“Well, I guess we can go now, if you’re ready. Want my extra sweater?”

Jason shook his head as he pulled a hat onto it. “Nah.”

Doug followed Jason outside, ready to grab him if he slipped. Jason moved slowly across the packed driveway. Too slowly. He looked old and exhausted, like he had hardly any strength left.

“Watch that smooth spot,” Doug said suddenly.

Jason turned a scowl on him. “Stop trailing me, would you? I’m okay.”

Doug swallowed an answer and went to the other side of the car. He was just trying to be helpful; wasn’t that a good thing? He pulled his door shut a little harder than normal and started the car.

Jason sank into his seat, his head nearly touching the ceiling. “My bad, Dougie. Sorry.”

“Okay.” He turned up the heat and looked at his friend. “Where are we going?”

“That empty warehouse on Clay Street.” Jason’s tired eyes were lighting up, the way they always did when he was putting his plans of mercy in action. “Lots of guys hang out there when it’s cold. And Tyler said that’s where I could find him.”

Doug raised an eyebrow. “Better watch out around Tyler. One wrong word and he’ll be at your throat.”

Jason shrugged. “He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“That’s the kind of thing people say before it happens.” Doug grabbed Jason’s arm. “Watch yourself, you hear me?”

“You superstitious?” Jason cracked a smile.

“No. I’m sensible, and I’m trying to look out for you the way …”

He cut off the painful words. He was trying to look out for Jason the way Jason used to look out for him. The reversal of roles was a distressing one, because it meant Jason wasn’t all he used to be. In a sense he was more than he used to be, but …

“Are we going?” Jason asked.

“Yeah, we’re going.”

When they got out, a block away from the warehouse, the temperature had dropped even more. Doug pulled on his hood and crossed his arms against the cold. “You remember—”

“The night you pretty much died?” Jason came around the car and stopped beside him, shivering. “I remember, ‘cause I took you to the Bailey kid’s house and then I went and cried myself to sleep somewhere.”

“You didn’t.”

Jason silently gazed at him, and then said, “I’m capable of such things. You don’t know what it meant to lose you.”

Doug kicked a block of salty snow from the fender, then shook himself to get rid of the achy feeling Jason’s words gave him. “Well, let’s get going.” He looked up. “You’re freezing.”

He pulled open the trunk and the bag. “You’re gonna wear one of these coats.”

“Am not. They’re for people who need ‘em.”

“Which includes you!” Doug said, frustration rising in him. “Here you are, living on borrowed time, and you won’t—”

“I’m living on God’s time, same as everyone else. Grab the bag and let’s go.” Jason turned and started up the sidewalk, some of his old energy in his pace. 

I’m trying, God. But Jason’s not an easy person to help. Keep us safe, please, as we go try to help these guys who don’t know You.

He heaved the bag onto his shoulder and followed Jason’s form, dark against the snowy town. Cars sped past them, lights blazing, exhaust puffing into the frosty air. Somewhere in the distance a siren sounded.

“Hey, wait up!” Doug called, but Jason kept going. He only managed to catch up at the crosswalk because there was a red light.

On the other side of the street stood the warehouse, dark and lifeless in appearance. It had been abandoned because of structural issues, and two of the garage doors had stuck partway open, creating an entry and exit for anyone who chose.

But the lifeblood inside still flowed. When they reached the door and Doug looked in, little spots of light flickered inside, lighting up haggard faces—a dim flashlight here, a cigarette there.

“You brought the candles?” Jason asked, pausing.

“Uh … no. You never mentioned it.”

“What?” Jason sighed. “Can you go back to the house and get ‘em?”

“But—oh, whatever. Sure.” Doug dropped the bag on the ground. He was done arguing for the night.

When he returned fifteen minutes later, Jason had the bag empty and was sitting against the wall with a group of interested faces around him.

“What didya do?” one man asked.

Jason stroked his scraggly beard. “Stepped into the road like I planned to.”

Breathless admiration surrounded him.

“And what do you know, the plan didn’t go as planned. But hey, my friend Doug’s here with something for you all.”

“Good stuff?” a smooth voice asked as several looked up at Doug.

Tyler. Doug glanced at the sharp eyes and scarred mouth, and suddenly felt ridiculous for bringing a bag of candles. He handed it to Jason. “They’re from Jason, not me.”

“Okay, Jay-bird, show us what you got.”

Doug glanced at the other side of the circle and saw Clay Osborne squatting there, a dirty blanket around his shoulders. Between Clay and Tyler, things could get ugly really fast.

“‘Course it’s good, otherwise I wouldn’t bring it,” Jason said. He slowly dumped the bag, and the fifteen little glass jars rolled onto the concrete. Tyler seized one and held it close to his face.

“Candles!” he exclaimed. “What good are candles, Jay-bird?”

“You don’t know?” Jason asked.

Doug watched in apprehensive amazement. Jason really believed he was living on God’s time, because here he was in a group of desperate men, handing out candles as if they were something wanted. As if there wasn’t the slightest chance of the men getting angry for being led up to something and then disappointed.

Jason pulled a lighter from his pocket and set one of the wicks aflame. Then he looked at everyone.

“So?” said Tyler, his scar twisted in a sneer. “We all know what candles are for, and what good do they do us out here?”

With a shrug, Jason put away the lighter. “Guess you’re one of those guys who likes darkness better than light.”

“I’m not,” said one Doug didn’t know. He sounded like a teenager. “Light some more; it’s too dark in here.”

“Go ahead. Light ‘em with the first one.”

Clay rocked back on his heels, humming a strange tune, then breaking it with, “You preaching at us, Scarecrow?”

Doug caught his breath and tensed for action.

“Nah. Does it sound like I’m preaching?”

Clay muttered something and then started humming again, while the young man lit the rest of the candles one by one and the others sat in watchful, moody silence.

It was funny how beautiful a group of candles could be in a dark warehouse with lean, drug-ravaged men around it. It seemed to have an effect on them, for slowly tense postures relaxed and faces lost their grimness.

“Still think darkness is better, Clay?” Jason asked quietly.

“I still think you’re preaching,” Clay snapped, scrambling to his feet. He glowered at Doug as he walked past. “Take your scarecrow home and leave him there.”

Doug bit back a retort. But really, he kind of wished he could take Clay’s advice. It was too cold, and Jason was so tired—though he always looked strongest when he was doing the work he loved.

“Light ‘em one by one,” Jason murmured.

“Like us.” Tyler gave him a crooked smile. “One gets a good hold of stuff, then gets his buddies to go with him.”

Jason shook his head. “That’s like blowing ‘em out, don’t you think? How many of us do what we do but wish we didn’t?”

“Sounds like preaching to me,” someone grumbled.

“All I’m gonna do is finish my story, and then you’ll be rid of me. Unless you’d rather I go now.”

“No, finish the story!” the young man said.

“Yeah, finish it,” Tyler seconded. “‘Cause according to where it’s going you shouldn’t be here.”

No one seemed to remember that Doug was there, and no one but Doug noticed Clay creep along the shadowed walls and stand listening. Doug cringed listening to the accident part. It made shivers inside him, and he struggled to block out the replays.

“So there you go,” Jason said in conclusion. “One man lit another’s life with hope, and through them they lit mine, and that’s why I’m here right now.” He slowly pulled himself to his feet. “Keep the candles; they’re for all of you. And make sure Clay gets one when he comes back.”

The men looked after him as he made his way around them and up to Doug. “You’ll be back?” one asked.

“Hope so.”

“Thanks for everything,” another said, and a few added their gratitude.

As Doug and Jason reached the door, Clay stepped up beside them. “Thanks a bunch, Jay-bird.” He wore one of the coats and had a scarf wrapped around his neck.

“No problem, buddy.” Jason gave him a gentle slap on the shoulder. “See you later.”

“How’re you feeling?” Doug asked when they were back in the car.

“Fine.” Jason coughed. “Dougie, they all listened to me. Even Clay.”

“Yeah, and they didn’t light into you.”

“Nope. I didn’t expect ‘em to.”

Doug shook his head. “Anyway, earlier—”

“How can you ‘anyway’ this?” Jason asked sharply, his face alight with elation. “Didn’t you see? They all listened. They all let me poke seeds into them and they didn’t spit ‘em out. God’s making lots more happen, and He’s letting me see it.”

“That’s great, it really is.” Doug tried to infuse enthusiasm into his voice. “It’d be great to see their lives turned around.”

Jason sat back. “Something’s eating you.”

“I’m fine.” Doug pulled onto the road. He was too busy thinking of Jason’s problems and what was coming next in life to be able to rejoice in what had just happened.

I’m sorry, God. Please help me see what I’m s’posed to, where I am, not always trying to look ahead.

“Well, what were you gonna say?”

“Charles called earlier and asked if we could stop by tonight if it wasn’t too late for … too late. He has an idea.”

“An idea. He’s had a few of those.” Then he looked at Doug. “If it’s not too late for what?”

“For us.”

“You mean for me,” Jason muttered. “Well, it’s not, so sure, let’s go hear this great idea.”

Doug rang the mansion doorbell and then went inside, Jason behind him. This was the entry where he had stood, breathing in coffee aroma, right before the accident had happened.

The smell of fresh coffee hung in it now, even more sickening than it used to be. He swallowed down the uneasy feelings, slipped off his shoes, and went into the living room.

“Doug, good to see you!” Charles snapped shut his laptop and twisted his chair away from the table. “And you too, Jason. Have a seat.”

Doug pulled another chair from the table. “Nice try at aromatherapy.”

“Aromatherapy?” Charles asked, and then looked at the cup of coffee in his hand. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know when you were coming. I’ll go put it in the kitchen.”

“Nah, don’t bother. I survived it longer than this.”

“Where were you this evening?” Charles asked, looking at Jason. “Doug said you had made plans.”

“Talking,” Jason said. He looked exhausted now, and Doug knew the evening’s events wouldn’t be told with the same enthusiasm as earlier.

“We went out to that old warehouse,” he said. “Jason held all the guys spellbound with a story and fifteen candles.”

Charles laughed. “Jason’s good at that kind of thing. Was Mike there?”

“Um …”

“Yeah.” Jason looked at Doug. “The little guy who liked the candles so much.”

“Oh. I’ve never met him.”

Charles put his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. “He’s what, maybe eighteen? He lost his dad to cancer and tried to fill the emptiness with other things, which cost him his summer job and his high school graduation. I think God’s working on him, though. And every time I see him he talks about you, Jason.”

“They all talk about Jason,” Doug said.

Jason shrugged. “So, what’s the big idea, Bailey?”

Leaning back, Charles looked at the big clock ticking on the wall. “Well, it’s just an idea.”

“We know that,” Doug said.

“I’m thinking about selling.”

“Selling what?” Doug asked, but a glance at Jason’s face told that Jason knew what Charles meant.

“This house. This big, empty, useless fortune of a house.”

Doug sat in silence, trying to wrap his mind around such an idea. Sell the mansion? “But … but I thought you wanted to turn it into some kind of halfway house one day.”

“I’ve prayed about that for a long time.” Charles looked at him, his eyes and voice earnest. “I have the money to do it. But when I see what a difference people can make with a few dollars …” He gestured toward Jason. “I guess I just wonder if there isn’t a better way to go about things.”

“They don’t like it when they find out how you live,” Jason put in from the corner.

“Exactly. They think I’m doing it as some sort of charity, to ease my conscience, maybe.”

Doug frowned. “What about your business stuff?”

“Oh, I’m not leaving that.” Charles smiled. “But I want the money it generates to be used properly, not to keep some selfish bachelor happy with gadgets and new computers.”

Well. Things certainly were changing fast. Charles’ heart was the same, but gaining new horizons of vision. Doug stared at him, something pricking his insides. What good was he doing?

“Well?” Charles asked.

Doug shook his head. “I’m trying to think about it.”

“Do it,” Jason said, his voice firm with conviction. “I’ve wanted you to do it for ages.”

“I know you have, but I don’t want to do anything rash. Please pray about it for me.”

“We will,” Doug said. “But wow, you’ve unseated me.”

Charles laughed. “I thought I might.”

Doug looked at Jason, huddled on the couch. “Ought to go home now, though.”

“Of course.” Charles got up. “I’ll see you at church tomorrow, then.”

Jason shook Charles’ hand at the door. “I’m backing you a hundred percent, kid.”

“Thanks, Jason.”

Jason went out, and Doug shut the door. “Hey, look here. You want to sell the house and use the money for something good, and that’s great. But the problem is Jason can’t seem to keep any money at all. He spends everything on other people.” He frowned. “Where’s the balance? Because here I am trying to school, which takes up most of my paycheck, and …” He let the thought trail.

Charles stood silent, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. “Doug.” He paused, and then a note of apology entered his tone. “Jason doesn’t need to keep money for anything.”

Doug bristled at the words and tried to find an answer. “Why’d you have to go and say that?” he asked gruffly. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Charles winced. “I’m sorry. But Doug, Jason is the happiest and most fulfilled he’s ever been in his life. And I think what he’s doing is way beyond what I’ve been doing.”

“I know.” Doug pulled open the door. “Goodnight.”

“Take care of him, and trust that God’s only going to take him when his work’s fulfilled here.”

“Yeah.”

“Goodnight, Doug. See you tomorrow.”

The next Friday, Doug pulled his car into the mansion driveway and parked it, idling. Frost glinted on the windows except where the defogger had worked. He peered through the clear spot on his window. “Well, he’s got a sign up.”

“Hmm,” Jason acknowledged him.

Doug looked at him, the gnawing doubt starting afresh at his heart. Jason wasn’t really well enough to go out. Each day seemed to chip away at the little strength he had left.

Doug opened his mouth, then clamped it shut—arguing was a waste of time and Jason’s energy. They had just been through it back at the house, anyway.

“I’m not letting God watch me laze around while I’m still here!” Jason had exploded that afternoon. “I can rest when I get to heaven!”

And Doug had choked on all the ridiculous answers and trudged outside to vent his anger with a shovel on the snow-covered driveway.

Jason stirred now. “Here he is.”

Charles ran up and slid into the backseat. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I didn’t notice you at first.”

“Wasn’t really that long.” Doug backed onto the street.

Shivering, Charles pulled his toque further over his head. “It’s definitely less than comfortable out there.” Then he looked at Jason, leaning back with his eyes closed, and clamped his mouth shut.

“We’re gonna make this short,” Doug said quietly.

Jason cracked one eye open. “Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Well, too bad this trip wasn’t your idea.”

Charles cleared his throat, glancing at Doug in the mirror. “Well, let’s see how it goes.”

They drove in silence, threading through traffic to an old, dirty street. Doug shook his head. Last year’s ‘clean up’ of the homeless population had done little, if anything. In fact, the homelessness problem seemed worse than ever.

“Uh-oh,” he said when they turned onto a smaller street. Red and blue lights flashed ominously in front of the dilapidated storefront, reflecting on a makeshift campground.

Jason became alive. “Let me out, Dougie, I gotta see what’s going on.”

“Wait ‘til I park,” Doug said hastily, locking the doors so Jason wouldn’t jump out. He drove past the police cars and pulled to the side of the street.

Jason hurried onto the sidewalk and Charles sprang out, catching Jason’s arm as he stumbled.

“I’m okay,” Jason said stiffly.

“No, Jason …” Charles stared at him. “Please be careful.”

“I know my way around these guys way better than you do,” Jason continued.

Charles bit his lip and stepped back, glancing at Doug. Doug knew he hadn’t been referring to the situation ahead of them as much as physical weakness.

Jason set off for the camp.

“Bothers him that he’s not strong like he used to be,” Doug said.

“I know.” Charles sighed. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

They caught up with Jason as he reached an officer standing near one of the cars.

“What’s up?”

The officer looked at him appraisingly, hooking his thumbs in his vest. “Someone heard gunshots over here. Do you know anything about it?”

“Nah.” Jason shrugged. “Just got here.”

“We came to visit with the men here,” Charles explained.

The officer peered at him through the gathering darkness. “Charles Bailey, isn’t it?”

“Ye-es.” Charles’ voice came quiet with reluctance.

“Well. What are you doing out here? I’d heard you’d done some good work since the summer’s events—”

“I’m just trying to serve as Jesus did.”

Jason started walking past, but the officer stopped him. “Not until the coast’s clear, friend. It shouldn’t be long.” Suddenly his radio crackled and he stepped a little way off.

Charles drew a breath between his teeth. “Do you know what two things I hate most?”

“What?” Doug asked.

“Fame and journalism.”

“Got the wrong job, then,” Jason said with a little laugh. “God knows what He’s doing.”

Several officers approached their cars. The first talked with them briefly and then came back as the squad car lights shut off. “We’re done here,” he said. “But you might want to come back another day, when things are calmed down.”

“I know these guys,” Jason said.

The officer looked at him steadily, his breath rising in clouds of fog. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The cars pulled away into the night, leaving moonlight to illuminate the miserable scene. Murmuring voices came from inside the building.

“Maybe we should take his advice,” Charles said. “What do you think, Doug?”

Doug looked from his questioning face to Jason’s determined one. He shrugged. “I don’t know what’s best.”

“I’m not waiting.” Jason rubbed his scraggly beard. “You can stay out here if you want.” Then he turned and limped inside.

“For courage like his,” Charles said.

“With more sense,” Doug said, irritation pinching him. “If he gets in trouble …”

He walked to the doorway, and a slight figure ran out, his eyes wide and white under the moon. It was Mike.

“Oh, Charles, it’s you,” he exclaimed. “Tyler’s real mad because the cops were questioning him about guns, and he’s threatening everyone …”

Doug hurried inside. Good for Mike that he had found a friend in Charles—but what was Jason getting himself into?

Someone had un-boarded one of the windows, and a stream of moonlight came through the frosty glass. Men sat huddled against the walls or stood, talking nervously, wrapped in ragged blankets and tarps and coats.

In the centre stood Jason, his hands behind him, Tyler raging in front of him.

“They’re frauds!” Tyler shouted. “Every one! Live cosy lives and come out here every so often to have fun at our expense. If they cared ‘bout law and order they’d get us all out of this mess and not pocket the money given to do it!”

Doug shivered. He’d met a lot of rough characters in his life, but Tyler had even the old Jason beat. And Tyler’s eyes were shifting constantly with that strange, wandering look of a mind not all there.

Tyler thrust his face toward Jason’s. “What d’you say, Jay-bird, huh?”

Jason met his gaze, his thin face serious and … strong, somehow. “Sure seems like people should do more to help.”

“Exactly! If they’d only give some of their hoarded money—”

“Thing is, you don’t want help.” Jason lifted an eyebrow. “If you did, you’d go get it.”

Tyler stiffened, his big hands slowly closing into fists, blood pulsing by his jagged scar.

“Jason!” Doug said, but Tyler suddenly dove around Jason and out the door. Doug hurried next to his friend. “That … was …”

Clay loomed up beside them. “If that maniac had made one more move, I would’ve broken his neck.”

“Thanks,” Jason said. “Rather still be able to talk with him, though.”

“You’d think a scarecrow would scare crazy birds like him away.”

“How’re you doing, Clay?”

Clay shoved his hands into his pockets. “Warm, thanks to you. Tyler ever gives you trouble, let me know. I—”

“I’ve got a Protector,” Jason said calmly.

Doug frowned. If Jason meant him, he was in trouble. But no. Jason meant someone mightier—the God who had lifted them both out of the mess these guys were still in.

“Yeah, but—”

A yell from outside cut Clay’s sentence.

“The money-miser! Look at that!”

Doug’s blood froze at the triumph in Tyler’s voice.

“Where are your millions, miser?”

Then Mike screamed and confusion broke out. The doorway clogged with people curious to see what was happening, making an all-too-effective blockade. Doug pushed against it but couldn’t go through. There were too many voices, too many sounds to know what was going on, but Charles must be in trouble.

“Let me through!” he said.

Jason grabbed him. “Break the window.”

Before they even moved, Clay ploughed through the group, and Doug squeezed behind him.

“Stop!” Clay roared as he burst out the door.

Doug tripped, caught himself, and looked up in time to see Clay running up the road after another figure. The crowd behind him melted away, afraid of being accused of participation.

Against the wall, his head cradled in his hands, sat Charles. He was heaving as if he hadn’t had any air for a while.

Doug got down beside him, the cold pavement biting his knees. “You okay, Charles?”

Charles didn’t answer, just kept pulling breath into his lungs.

“Tyler just—lit into him,” Mike said tremblingly above them.

Jason dropped next to them with a grunt.

“Knocked his breath right out,” Doug said. “Charles, you hear me?”

“Mmm,” Charles groaned.

At least he was getting something back. Doug touched his shoulder.

“Lemme see your face, kid,” Jason said.

Slowly Charles lifted his head, still holding the left side. His nose was bleeding and a bruise was stealing over his cheek. But it was the dazed look in his eyes that made Doug frown.

“You dizzy?” he asked.

“Dizzy?” Charles asked thickly. “Yeah. And feels … like my jaw’s about to fall off.”

“You feel sick?”

“I don’t know …” Suddenly anger edged his voice. “I didn’t even do anything.”

He looked sick, and the anger—the first Doug had ever seen in him—clinched it. Doug said in a low voice, “Jason, I think he’s got a bit of concussion.”

“Wouldn’t put it past Tyler.” Jason sounded tired. “What then, doc?”

“Should prob’ly take him into emerg.”

Charles shifted; put a hand on the ground to get to his feet. “I’m okay. Just drop me at home.”

“Careful.” Doug grabbed his elbow and helped him stand. Charles swallowed hard and looked sicker.

“Got his knee … right under my ribs.”

Jason slowly, wearily picked himself up, and they made their way to the car.

When they were settled, Doug looked back at Charles. “Listen up. You can’t fall asleep.”

“Wouldn’t, anyway,” Charles mumbled.

“Really,” Doug said under his breath.

Jason cracked a grin. “You sure get to practice your stuff ‘round here.”

“Not funny.”

And it wasn’t. As he drove, anger burned inside him, crept all the way into his throat, made his hands throttle the steering wheel. He hadn’t backed the officer and Charles’ advice, and now things had gone bad. Now his friends were both hurting, and suddenly he was hurting somewhere deep inside.

Jason coughed. “Tyler and Clay might’ve killed each other somewhere.”

Doug didn’t answer. If he said something now, it most likely wouldn’t be nice.

“Hope they think about what I’ve told them.”

Jason the saint. Doug tightened his jaw. In the past six months, Jason had caught up, had far surpassed him. No wonder the guys listened to him—he actually acted like he had a changed heart.

Forgive me, God. I’m not what I should be.

He looked in his rear-view mirror. Charles had his head on his arms on the back of Doug’s seat.

“Charles, you liar! Wake up! Jason, wake him up.”

Jason tapped Charles on the shoulder. “Hey, buddy, get up. Doctor’s orders.” He looked at Doug with an amused lift to his brow. “As I remember, a year ago I left him in charge of keeping you awake.”

“What?” Charles asked, stirring.

“Gotta stay awake. We’re almost home.”

Role reversals. That had to be what Doug disliked most. And here another one had jumped him.

“When’s your birthday, Charles?” he asked sharply.

“September twenty-third,” came the muffled reply.

“Where d’you live?”

“In heaven.”

Doug slammed on the brakes at an intersection, though there was no stop sign.

“Sorry, shouldn’t joke.” Charles lifted his head. “Number three-twenty-one South Street.”

“Question is, am I taking you there or to the hospital?” Doug glared at him. “Your answers lean toward hospital.”

“Oh, don’t.” Charles winced. “Then the journalists will find me. I’ll answer more questions.”

“Sure,” Doug growled. “You know what you look like?”

“He looks like a kid who picked on someone too big for him,” said Jason.

Doug bit his tongue, and Charles drooped onto the seat again. What a mess. What would this mean for the future? Tyler wasn’t someone to be trusted; he had known that all along. And though Clay had stood up for them now, it could just as easily be him next time.

At the mansion, he left the car running for Jason and helped Charles inside.

Under the bright light in the entry, Charles’ face looked white except for the swelling bruise. He pulled his feet from his shoes and stumbled into the living room, where he laid on the couch, coat still on.

Doug followed him. “Hey, listen to me a minute.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“I have to get Jason home, but I’m coming back later.”

“Don’t bother.”

“I’m gonna bother.” Exasperation rose inside him. “You don’t understand concussions, but I do.” He lowered his voice. “How’re you feeling?”

“Beaten.”

“Light-headed?”

“Some.”

“Ears ringing?”

“Not now.”

“Sick?”

Charles opened his eyes. “I think anyone who has their stomach shoved against their spine is going to feel sick. Can I sleep now?”

“Two hours. I’m coming back.” Doug turned off the light. “If you take meds, use Tylenol. No aspirin.”

“Sure.”

“Aspirin’ll make things a lot worse, okay?”

Charles heaved a sigh. “Okay.”

The short drive home was quiet. After all the chaos, exhaustion was overtaking Doug, too.

“Wonder if this won’t be what turns Tyler around,” Jason said as he picked his way up the steps.

“How?”

“I don’t know.” Jason pulled off his coat, shivering. “God works in different ways.”

“I’m only good at walking by sight.”

“Aw, we all gotta grow,” Jason said. “Goodnight, Dougie. Sorry you’re worried.”

Doug shrugged and went into the kitchen, filling a glass with water and then watching the moonlight flicker through it. Walking by faith … it meant trusting in his unseen God, not seen circumstances.

“Hey, Dougie?”

He jumped, spilling some water over the edge, where it slid silver. “Yeah?”

“Things looked bad when I tried to do things my way last summer, but God worked it out.”

Doug heaved a breath. “Sort of. But you’re still … not well.” He turned.

Jason stood in the doorway, his face horribly thin behind the scraggly beard, dark spots under his eyes, his striped sweater hanging loose over him. Mild surprise lay in the tilt of his eyebrows.

“‘Course I’m not. Sin’s got its wages. The gift of God is eternal life, not life here in this mess of a world.”

The words tightened Doug’s throat. That was Jason’s favourite verse; he mentioned it all the time. And it hurt.

“I’m just glad He’s given some time to help other sinners like me. Might not see Tyler and Clay turn around, but others’ll carry things on.”

“Please stop,” Doug said. “You need to sleep.”

“I know.” Jason nodded. “You need to be able to move on. Like the Bailey kid selling his palace of his own accord … You’re a follower, Dougie, but you gotta be able to follow God, not just people.”

Doug didn’t even try to speak over all the questions and protests and feelings inside him.

“Not s’posed to stand by faith, not sight; we’re s’posed to walk.” He coughed and turned away. “‘Night, Dougie.”

“Goodnight,” Doug choked. He sucked a breath in slowly to calm himself. It would be nice to throw the glass and its shimmering water through the kitchen window … but what would that really do?

“No tears ‘til there have to be,” he muttered. “I don’t cry about things, anyway.” He drank some of the water to ease the ache in his throat, set the glass by the sink, and went to find some troubled sleep.

He woke with a start and rubbed his eyes until the numbers on his clock showed clear. 6:37. Worry dove into his stomach, making him hurry out of bed.

He had forgotten to set his alarm, had left Charles alone all night. How could he have done it?

Throwing on his coat and a pair of shoes, he ran out the door, nearly falling on the slippery driveway. It was bitterly cold. Frost clung fast to the windshield, and it took a while for him to get a clear spot to see.

Then he hurried to the mansion—hurried as much as he could. He heard Charles’ words from a few months ago. “God says to honour those in authority, so if they post a speed limit, we abide by it.”

His father used to say it, too. Doug frowned. He really should call his parents one day, like Jason was always telling him to do. But they had no idea …

He parked, scuffled up the steps, and then eased the door open. He had forgotten to lock it when he left last night. He had forgotten a lot of things.

Slipping off his shoes, he peeked into the empty living room, then the kitchen.

Charles sat limply on a stool by the counter, his arms folded on each other. His laptop lay in front of him, closed.

“Hey, Charles,” Doug said softly.

Charles turned. “Good morning. I thought I heard you come in.”

He looked really tired, but the vacancy in his eyes was gone. The left side of his face was a massive bruise. “Feeling better?”

“A little. It was a rough night.” Charles tried to smile, but it turned into a wince. “How was your night?”

“Could’ve been better. But I slept enough not to make it over here.”

“That’s good.”

Doug went to the tap and filled the electric kettle. When it was going, he opened a cupboard and rummaged through it. “What kind of tea d’you want?”

“Tea?” Charles asked wearily, rubbing one eye.

“No coffee this morning.”

“Okay, Dr. Erroll. Peppermint, then.”

Doug got the mugs ready and then emptied the dish rack of its few items while the water heated. Charles wasn’t even protesting, and Doug glanced at him. He had his head on his arms. Well, wouldn’t hurt him to sleep now.

But Charles sat up again and heaved a sigh. “I’m supposed to go to one of the offices today.”

“Oh.” Doug lifted the kettle as it beeped. “Too bad for that.”

“I was trying to convince myself to go, but I think I’ll just tell them I can’t.”

“Well, someone has some sense at last.” Doug poured the water, and then turned around to see Charles open his laptop and recoil.

“Ow, that’s bright.” Charles closed his eyes. “Enough to put a headache into overdrive.”

Shaking his head, Doug thrust a mug into Charles’ hands and turned the computer away. He pulled over another stool and sat down. “I’ll let ‘em know. What should I say?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Charles said, his voice pained. “Just tell them something.”

Doug pulled up the email inbox and stared. “What dread! You’ve got 2,300 unread emails.”

“Don’t even talk about it.”

“Well, which of these poor people am I emailing?”

“Start a new message and type in Brandon. It should come up.”

Doug obeyed, his incredulity escalating. “You’ve got eleven Brandon’s here.”

“Davies is his last name.”

The kitchen went quiet as Doug typed. Letter writing was not his strong point, especially to people he didn’t know. But Charles didn’t seem to care too much.

Hey Brandon,

I’m not feeling great, so won’t be in today.

Charles

“He’s gonna think someone hacked into your account.”

Chalres looked up from his mug. “What did you say?”

“Just the basics.” Doug read it aloud.

“Oh, I can dictate it, just so it … sounds a bit more like me …”

“Sorry, it’s sent already.”

Charles closed his mouth and stirred his tea in resigned silence. Doug closed the laptop and took a sip of his own. Other than the way Charles looked, it felt like when he’d lived here, having breakfast before Charles dropped him off at work.

“How does Jason feel about last night?” Charles asked.

“Thinks it’s going to be Tyler’s turning point. If Clay didn’t catch and kill him.” Doug studied Charles’ face. “I always knew we can’t trust ‘em.”

Silence. Outside, snow began falling gently past the window.

“Really, can we trust anyone?” Charles asked. “Besides God, I mean. We trust God to lead us and only allow what He wills, and that should be enough.” His eyes flickered to Doug’s face, a hint of a tired smile in them. “When I first seated myself at your fire, I considered that you might do this to me.”

“I’m glad that’s not on my record.”

“You did kick me, though, when I tripped and rolled myself up in your tarp.” Charles pressed his forehead in his hands. “Don’t let me laugh; it hurts.”

“It’s not even funny,” Doug said, but he had to grin. “Are you not angry at Tyler?”

“He wasn’t even in his right mind. I’m not going to be angry at a man acting under bondage.”

Doug sighed. Why couldn’t he be what other Christians were? Yes, everyone had to grow, like Jason said, but he seemed to need a lot more growth than other people.

“Sometimes it’s hard to follow someone we can’t see,” Charles said.

Doug started. It was as if Charles was continuing Jason’s words from last night.

“I always followed my older siblings—and then I happened on an idea, made too much money, and lost them all. I think they’re jealous that after Dad and Mom struggled to provide for eight of us, and most of them went into regular jobs, I became rich without even trying.” He bit his lip. “And I didn’t act the way I should have about it.”

“You never talk to them?” Doug asked.

“Oh, here and there. And as much as I could have done things differently, it all taught me to walk alone with God.”

There it was again. “Are they Christians?”

“Most of them. Dad and Mom, definitely. They live out of province, though, and don’t like travelling.”

“You almost went to see them last year.”

Charles smiled. “They feel bad about everything. They’ve always cheered me—and all my siblings—in our pursuits, and they were happy with my success.”

“My parents did that, too.”

“Why don’t you find your parents, Doug?”

The familiar, anxious irritation trickled through Doug. “‘Cause … they don’t know. I haven’t anything for them to be proud of.”

Soft sympathy replaced the inquiry in Charles’ eyes. “Did you have anything for God to be proud of when you went to Him?” He paused. “If your parents are who you say they are, they won’t care if you return broken … as long as you return.”

Doug swallowed the words along with the sudden tight feeling in his chest. Charles was right—but Doug had so ruined everything, had done and partaken of things his parents never dreamed of.

Silence again. Then Charles shifted and slowly got to his feet. “I think I’ll go rest for a while.”

“Good.” Doug nodded. “No reading, no screens.”

Charles looked at him with exhausted scepticism. “For how long?”

“‘Til tomorrow, probably. How’s your stomach?”

“Sore.”

“Prob’ly shouldn’t eat then, really,” Doug said with an admonishing look. “Not right away.”

“I’m going to rest.” Charles sighed. “Doctors.”

“I could’ve taken you to a real doctor last night, and you wouldn’t have had a choice.”

“You’re right. Thanks.”

“I’m going home to check on Jason. See you later.”

“Sure. Thanks a lot, Doug.”

As Charles left, Doug got up, took the laptop, and looked around the kitchen. There—the dishwasher would work. Charles never used it. He slipped the laptop inside and shut the door.

Then he sat back down to finish his tea. It was only seven o’clock; Jason wouldn’t be up for a long time. What day was it? Saturday, so two weeks and a day until Jason’s birthday. He grinned. Two weeks and he could garbage Jason’s tattered coat.

Jason walked into the living room, his footsteps waking Doug from his nap. “Hey, sleepyhead,” he croaked, rubbing his eyes.

Doug sat up, yawned, then stared at Jason in alarm. If Jason had looked like a scarecrow last night, he looked like a corpse now. His eyes were ringed with darkness and too big for his face.

Doug swallowed back the worry clawing at his words.

“Don’t look at me like I’m a ghost, ‘cause I’m not one.” Jason sank onto the couch. “Not yet. How’s Mr. Bailey?”

“Bruised and battered,” Doug said, but the words were nearly lost in a fit of coughing from Jason. Cringing inside, Doug went to get a glass of water.

Jason took it. “Thanks,” he said in a breath.

“Should’ve brought Charles here so I could watch both of you,” Doug muttered.

“Aw, I don’t need watching. I’ll be a good kid and stay away from trouble.”

Problem was, Jason was in trouble without getting into more. Borrowed time—how much more would he get?

“Want some breakfast?” Doug asked, chopping down the horrid thoughts.

“Already had it.” Jason’s face crinkled. “You okay? You look like you got sucker-punched yourself.”

“You didn’t actually eat.”

Jason shrugged. “Water’s a good breakfast.”

With an exasperated sigh, Doug trudged into the kitchen. He had just finished frying eggs when his phone rang. Charles. “Hey?” he said, picking it up.

“Hi Doug. I just—”

“You’re s’posed to be resting.”

“I remembered—hey, what’s that funny noise?”

Doug listened. “Must be in your head. Go back to bed and—”

“No, there’s something downstairs.”

“Something or someone?” Doug demanded. Had he forgotten to lock the door again?

Muffled sounds came through the phone, then a distinctive hum.

“Oh.” Charles’ voice was suddenly loud. “I accidentally turned on the dishwasher.”

“You what?”

“Accidentally turned on the dishwasher. It’s a finicky thing; you bump it the wrong way and it starts.” The hum stopped. “Anyway, I suddenly remembered something else that needs to be done. Where did my laptop go?”

Doug froze. “Uh … um … you’re not s’posed to use it …”

“I just need to cancel a meeting.”

“Uh … okay. I’ll come get it.”

“Don’t bother coming; you can just tell me where it is.”

“I—” Doug looked around the kitchen desperately, as if he’d find a solution there. Jason appeared in the doorway, and somehow it pulled him together. “I hid it. I’ll come get it out.” Then he hung up.

“What’s going on?” Jason asked. “You look like you’ve heard a ghost, now, too.”

Doug hurried past him and pulled on his boots. “Just … eat something. Eggs are on the stove.”

“Where’re you going?” Jason called.

“Charles needs something, is all. Won’t be long.”

Doug ran out the door to evade more questions. What on earth was he going to do? He had just made a terrible twelve hours even more terrible.

He hardly had the windshield defrosted by the time he reached the mansion. He had to get there before Charles snooped around and found it. Jumping out, he ran up the steps, through the doorway, and into the kitchen without taking his boots off. The room was empty.

He pulled open the dishwasher, and defeat fell on top of him. Gently he pulled the laptop out, tilting it. Water dribbled onto the floor to mix with his slushy footprints.

Then he looked up. Charles stood in the doorway, staring, his mouth open. For a long moment, they looked at each other.

“Why did you put it in there?” Charles found his voice.

“Why’d you turn the thing on?” Doug asked bitterly.

Droplets fell, one by one, from between the keys. With an angry sigh, Doug put the laptop on the counter. What did you say to something like that?

Charles walked over and flipped it open. “It might still work,” he said hopefully. He pressed the power button. Nothing. “Well, let’s dry it and let it sit for a while.”

As Charles grabbed a towel, Doug stepped into the entry. How in the world could Charles be so patient with his mistakes? Of course it was ridiculous to stick a laptop in a dishwasher.

And when Jason found out, Doug would hear no end of it. Except Jason wasn’t so much like that anymore.

God, I’m a big, blundering fool. Thanks for loving me anyway, and being patient with me like Charles is.

“Hey, Doug.” Charles poked his head around the corner. “If there’s something I’ve learned in the last little while, it’s that the end of a computer isn’t the end of the world.” He smiled. “And it’ll probably survive, anyway. They’re tough things.”

“I do everything wrong,” Doug muttered, burying his hands in his pockets. “Everything’s going wrong.” And he headed for the door.

“Doug,” Charles said, stopping him. “It wasn’t really your fault. I never use the dishwasher, and you knew it. I’m the one who started it.”

Doug went out. Charles said his name once more, but he kept walking. Jason was the only one who might understand—and even Jason didn’t realise how terrible things were because he wasn’t watching them happen to others.

Also, Jason was walking forward, sharing light and giving life to others even when it seemed like nothing would come of it. Charles was selling his house and planning to use his millions for good things.

And what was Doug doing? Blundering his way through life, trying to keep the people around him alive. Well, he had succeeded in that regard so far. But life was about more than survival, and why couldn’t he see past that?

He dropped heavily onto the battered driver’s seat and made the wipers flick fresh snow from the windshield. He’d better make sure Jason had eaten breakfast.

“You know what I miss about being a kid?” Jason asked after supper a week later. He was sitting on the couch, looking exhausted and sounding like he couldn’t get enough air. His Bible lay open on the couch beside him, its pages wrinkled and bent.

“What?” Doug asked as he put away his textbooks.

“Sledding.” Jason laughed, but it turned into a pained cough.

Doug spun around. “I’m not taking you sledding.”

Jason caught his breath, closed his Bible, and shook his head. “Nah, but we could go sit there.”

“You wanna just sit and watch people?”

“And talk to ‘em. My dad used to talk a lot to the other guys while I went down.”

Hmm. It had been a few days since he had taken Jason anywhere. Doug walked to the window and rubbed the foggy glass so he could see the thermometer. Minus five. Not terrible … but Jason wasn’t doing great.

“Feeling better today than when we went to see Mike last week,” Jason added.

Doug rubbed his eyes. He was pretty tired himself, with the worry and Jason’s coughing. And studying too late at night after he got home from work.

“It’s not much work to sit,” Jason pressed.

Doug sighed. “Okay. But we’d better bundle up.”

As he pulled on his coat, memories caught and shook him. Times when there was little they could do against the cold; those cold, dark nights when he’d wondered if his life would ever change.

His existence had seemed so meaningless—and now it wasn’t. He watched Jason go slowly down the steps. Now there was purpose to life, and Jason was filling it a lot better than he was. All the others guys were still buried under that avalanche of hopelessness.

God, I’m gonna do better. Help me. Please.

Children swarmed, skidded, and sped up and down the slick hill, while parents, grandparents, and older siblings stood watching. Doug parked as close as he could and then found a vacant park bench for Jason to sit on. It offered a good view of the happenings.

Doug walked to the edge and couldn’t help grinning at a little boy going down backward, laughing and yelling the whole way. He kind of missed sledding, too.

“Go for it, Reagan!” a man yelled, waving at the boy.

“Lots of fun,” Doug said to him.

He smiled, his face red with cold under the rim of an orange toque. “When you’re young enough and don’t have back problems.”

“Yeah.” Doug turned around to look at Jason. He had already gotten into conversation with an older man. Good old Jason. And here Doug hadn’t even pursued the conversation he started. He turned back, but the man had moved a little ways off.

Discouragement sitting thick in his chest, Doug wandered through the bystanders, hearing Jason say as he passed by, “You attend church around here?”

A little girl, braids awry and cheeks pink, ran up the hill dragging a sled. She paused for breath.

“How are you?” Doug asked.

She looked up at him, declared “I’m not!” and ran away.

He’d have to remember that answer; it might come in handy sometimes. He stood watching, checked again on Jason. He really needed to give Jason that new coat. Just over a week …

A voice came beside him. “Hello, Doug.”

He jumped a little and turned. “Hey,” he said with a grin.

Tall and lanky, even with his bulky beige coat and snow pants, Pastor Kline stood next to him. He had a welcoming smile and eyes that always looked serious and happy at the same time. “How are you doing?”

Doug shrugged. “Been okay.” Somehow he could never tell Pastor Kline ‘good’ if he wasn’t.

“I heard Charles had a run-in at a camp a week ago.”

“Yeah. He’s doing good now, though.”

“That’s good.” Pastor Kline waved a hand at a knot of children at the bottom—his three youngest, looked like. “How is Jason?”

Doug scuffed the snow with his boot, glancing at the park bench. “Been himself. He’s not been doing great.”

Pastor Kline nodded, his eyes full of sympathy. “Is there nothing to do about it?”

“Oh, you know Jason. Picked quality of life over quantity.”

“Since he’s living on God’s time.” The pastor smiled.

Doug couldn’t return it. “He’s what brought me here today.”

“I wondered.” Pastor Kline followed Doug’s glance at Jason, who now was chatting with someone else. “God always gives us new horizons, new things to wonder at and make us glorify Him. I’ve never seen a man change like Jason has.”

Jason. Jason. Jason.

Doug gritted his teeth and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Everybody talked about Jason. Jason this, Jason that, how’s Jason now, look at what Jason’s doing with his life.

He knew it was ugly old pride, but Doug was getting tired of Jason-talk. Of course, he liked it that other people thought highly of Jason because Jason was his friend …

“Problem is,” Doug said, suddenly warmed all through with conflicting thoughts and feelings, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m just a bump on a log, surviving ‘cause that’s all I can do.”

For some reason his words reminded him of sitting on the log by his little fire pit in the park … trying to survive. That was all he knew how to do.

“Give me a moment,” Pastor Kline said as he met his children where they came up, got them re-piled on the sled, and pushed them down. Then he rejoined Doug. “Sometimes we don’t see how far we’ve come.”

“I’m not where I was last year. But now I’m stuck.”

“Does God think you’re stuck?”

Doug scratched his head and watched the bustling hill. Of course God could do anything, take him anywhere. “I guess not. Charles is gonna sell his house, though, and Jason has a grip on some of the homeless guys …”

“Those are both good things, but Doug, they’re coming from a trail of small steps and small battles, taken and tackled one by one. Growth is slow—often so slow we don’t realise it’s taking place.”

Doug nodded slowly.

“And comparing ourselves to others hinders us; we forget that God looks at each of us, has a plan for each of us, and doesn’t compare us with each other. He doesn’t look at you and say, ‘You’re not a pastor like Kline, so you’re not as spiritual.’ He loves you for who you are and yet He wants to take you farther.”

“Shouldn’t I be doing more, though?”

“More than what?”

“Working and schooling and looking out for Jason.” Doug glanced at Jason’s bench, which now held two teenagers also, and then looked at Pastor Kline.

A little smile came to the pastor’s face. “That sounds like quite the task already. Keep seeking God and be faithful in what He’s given you. I think that when new doors open, you’ll see them.”

A chorus of laughter climaxed his words, and his children collapsed at his feet, breathless. “Will you come down, Daddy? Please?”

“Sure I will.” Pastor Kline put a hand on Doug’s shoulder. “You’ve got my number, Doug. Call me anytime.”

“Thanks. Prob’ly see you at Bible study tomorrow.”

“Great! I’ll see you then.”

“Have fun.”

Doug made his way through the crowds again. ‘Small steps’ Pastor Kline said. Sure, small steps were important, but why did he get the small ones while his friends went running?

He stopped next to Jason.

“Well, I mean, I’m a Christian,” the girl was saying, pushing her red hair from her glasses. “I don’t cheat people and I try to love everybody.”

“She’s a good person,” said the boy, smiling at her.

“Problem is, God says there’s no one good but Him,” Jason said.

“He can’t mean it point-blank,” said the boy. “Obviously there are people doing good things for others and living honestly and God won’t send them to hell.”

“D’you believe God loves you?”

The girl pushed her glasses up her nose with a little laugh. “Of course. He loves everybody.”

One of Jason’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “How can you believe that, if you aren’t gonna believe the other things He says? How can you trust that He loves you?”

“That’s … that’s a good point.” Perplexity shaped her face.

“We’ve got to go now.” The boy stood up. “Have a good one, bud.”

“God does love you,” Jason said as the girl got up. “And He wants to save you from hell. But you gotta turn and give your life to Him.”

“I’ll think about that,” she said, and then the boy pulled her away.

“Tough wicks,” Doug said.

Jason looked up and shrugged. “Some candles don’t wanna be lit. But maybe God’ll use my words to melt some wax away.”

“We should head.”

“Yeah.” Jason pulled himself to his feet.

“I’ll make some cocoa to warm us up.”

“One by one,” Jason murmured, looking across the milling people. “God lights ‘em one by one.”

“Hello?” Doug mumbled into the phone, blinking sleep from his eyes.

“How are you, Doug?” Charles asked.

A sigh pulled itself out of his lungs. “Tired. Took Jason to the hospital last night.”

“Oh, no. What happened?”

“He was throwing up and not breathing good.” Worry throttled Doug’s chest. It seemed even the borrowed time was running out.

“Did they keep him?”

“Nope. Jason fought and they let him go. Not much they can do, anyway.” He looked at his clock. Nine-thirteen. “I should get up. Thanks for being an alarm clock.”

“I’m so sorry I disturbed you. I just wanted to check in because it’s been a while. And you weren’t in church on Sunday.”

“Yeah.”

“You have today off of work?”

“Yep. I told them what was up and they said not to bother.”

“That’s great.”

“Thursday’s only a half day, anyway.”

“Oh, that’s right. Well, I’ll let you go. Let me know if anything happens.”

“I will.”

“And say hi to Jason for me.”

“Sure.”

“Bye, Doug.”

“Bye.”

Doug shoved his phone onto the nightstand and stared at the plant on the shelf near the door. Mrs. Kline had put it there—a prayer plant, she called it, with its leaves that folded every night. It didn’t look much healthier than his prayers had felt lately.

Oh, God, I wanna trust You.

He closed his eyes, and images from the night crowded in. Jason huddled, sickened, on the couch, and glaring lights and doctors and nurses and someone saying, “He’s alright this time,” and Jason saying, “I’m not gonna stop living ‘til I die.”

Something big and painful filled Doug’s throat, and he sat up.

You give times and seasons and You know what You’re doing. Help me to be more like Jason—his trust and purposefulness—and more like You. Please keep him from pain. He bit his lip and swallowed. And keep me through mine.

That evening, after the Klines had dropped off supper and Charles had helped them eat it, Jason collapsed on the couch and opened his Bible.

Charles pulled on his coat. “Thanks for having me, Jason.”

“Glad you came. Your laptop still working?”

“It works just fine.”

Doug glared, but he couldn’t keep it up because it cracked a grin out of Jason’s fatigued face.

“I’ll see you around, kid.”

“Sounds good. Goodnight, Doug.”

“Goodnight.”

As the door closed Doug went for his textbooks, but Jason’s voice stopped him. “Hey, Dougie.”

Doug turned around and jerked at Jason’s sickened look. “You feeling bad again?”

“You think I ever don’t feel bad?” Jason asked bitterly. “‘Course I feel bad, but that’s not what I wanna say.”

Mirrored bitterness rose in Doug, and he slowly took a breath to stop any words. God, help me …

Jason dropped his head in his hands, silent except for his rough breathing.

“I shouldn’t have—” Doug ventured.

“I shouldn’t have. Forgive me.” Jason looked up and met Doug’s eyes. “You’ve done lots for me—way more than you should’ve and more than I’ve noticed. Thanks for sticking with me through this.”

“Oh, stop,” Doug said, for a blurry film was coming over his eyes. He cleared his throat and asked gruffly, “Want some water?”

“No thanks.”

Doug went to get himself a glass, and when it had cleared away the stickiness in his throat, he returned.

“What I wanna say,” Jason began, “Is I was thinking about what Kline said a few weeks ago about Elijah. Remember?”

“Sorta.” Doug sat on the armrest of the couch.

“He said how Elijah kept on working until God took him—prophesying and parting the water and blessing Elisha.”

A sinking feeling slid through Doug.

Jason thumbed the pages of his Bible. “I wanna be like him.”

“So?”

“I’d kinda like to find Clay and Tyler tonight.”

Doug shook his head. “You’ve not been well enough to go out the past week, let alone last night’s craziness.”

“Just for a bit. Haven’t seen Tyler since he knocked up the Bailey kid.”

“But—”

“Elijah kept going.”

“He didn’t have cancer and—­”

“Please, Dougie?”

Doug stared at the floor. Jason looked awful, felt awful, yet the light still burned strong in him. They hadn’t gone out to see the guys lately—Jason was too tired and Doug never went without him—though Charles had kept in touch with Mike and talked with a few others.

“Okay … if you’ll be done when I say so.”

“Deal.” Jason grinned. “I owe you big-time.”

Jason felt bony even through his coat and sweaters as Doug helped him over the treacherous ice by the warehouse. The cold evening lay quiet except for the vehicles rattling past, and as they reached the doorway the streetlights winked on like a trail of candles.

Doubts and regrets wallowed in Doug. But he had said he’d bring Jason, so here they were.

“It’s the scarecrow!” Clay exclaimed from somewhere in the dimness, and then he appeared next to them. “Hey, did someone pull the stuffing out of you?”

“Be quiet,” Doug said, though he regretted it immediately, especially at Jason’s reproachful look.

“Wasn’t much left anyway.” Jason chuckled, coughed, and put a hand against the doorframe.

“Let me get a seat,” Clay said. As he returned with a black milk crate, other men came from the shadows, some with the shaky, ravaged look of addiction, all with the hollow, hopeless expression of lives sunk in misery with no visible way out.

Jason sank onto the crate. “How are you guys?”

“Oh, just great, don’tcha think?” said one, rolling his eyes.

“Been better,” said another.

A third added, “Haven’t we all!”

Clay crouched next to Jason, his eyes shifting in the dim light coming from the door. “Got a story for us, Scarecrow?”

“Sure I have.” Jason propped his elbows on his knees. “If that’s what you want.”

“Free escapism,” Clay said, and then started his strange humming. Jason didn’t seem to notice.

“Starts with a little boy who loved his dad. They went fishing and played basketball and biked to the ice cream store. And then one day his dad disappeared.”

Doug leaned against the doorframe. Old memories resurfaced—times he had had with his dad as a kid. He had loved his dad, despite the constant pressure to do more and become more.

“The boy’s mom wouldn’t tell anything, just went on as if nothing had happened, but she didn’t have time for him like his dad. So he went and found other people who did.”

“Who?” someone asked in the pause.

“His buddies at school, playing pranks and trying to have fun, but going about it the wrong way. And then a few years passed and he was twelve, and he found out what made his mom so strange and angry. She had drugs in the house.”

“That makes you happy!” cried someone. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, yes, I know what I’m talking about.” And Jason paused again, coughing this time.

The way he said it hit Doug like a fist. Jason’s story … was about Jason. A story Doug had never heard before.

Jason cleared his throat and shook his head. “He decided the best way to make it through life was to do what she did. But he wouldn’t tell her, ‘cause even though she hurt him all the time he loved her and wanted her to be proud of him.”

As the heartbreaking story unfolded, Doug looked at the listeners. How could Jason hold them spellbound with this? They had all seen or experienced similar things—well, maybe that was why.

“As the kid got bigger his problems got bigger, and after bailing him from jail three times his mom kicked him out.”

“Lousy mom,” Clay said, breaking his hum, and then added under his breath, “Like mine.”

“Well, this kid went to a friend’s house and asked for help, and the friend said of course—if he’d go to church with the family. But—”

A shadow loomed from the doorway and the next instant Clay was on his feet.

“Whoa—” Jason said, but Clay’s roar overpowered him.

“It’s you!”

“It’s me,” Tyler said, his voice eerily calm after the outburst.

Doug stood closest to him, and he stood frozen. How could he get Jason out? Because Tyler wasn’t just angry, he was in an influenced, unpredictable rage. Something seemed to burn in his eyes as he gazed at Clay.

The other men drew back like ripples of water from a dropped stone.

“You were the one,” Tyler muttered, “You did it, made everything go wrong, you ruined him …”

Jason stirred. “Why don’t you sit—”

The words were the only trigger needed, and Tyler yanked a gun from his ragged pocket and pointed it at Jason. Then everything moved fast.

Clay tackled Tyler, Jason disappeared behind them, and Doug found himself trying to make it past. Suddenly the gun slid across the floor toward him. He seized it and pitched it through one of the few windows still intact, where it disappeared in a shower of shattered glass.

He spun back to see Tyler holding Clay to the floor and smashing his face with his fist. Before Doug could reach them, Jason bent over and laid a hand on Tyler’s shoulder.

Tyler jumped as if he had been electrocuted, mangled emotions crossing his face. The next moment he had Jason pinned to the wall.

Doug froze again, his heart raging inside him. This could be really bad—but one wrong move could make it worse.

Jason looked unblinkingly into Tyler’s face, his slight weight resting in Tyler’s hands. Tyler fumed and muttered, but when Jason started coughing he seemed to snap out of his distraction.

“Why were you here, Jay-bird?”

Jason heaved a breath and somehow managed a smile. “‘Cause my God loves you and you don’t realise it.”

“I wasn’t here,” Tyler snarled.

“God loves everybody else, too.”

“Sure looks like it.”

Please, God, keep Jason. Doug clenched his fists in agony. Tyler could explode again at anything …

A shadow darted into the doorway and a breathless voice said, “Doug.”

Doug clamped a hand over Charles’ mouth and pulled him away from the others. “Be quiet,” he hissed. “Jason’s in the hands of a time bomb.”

“We have to do something,” Charles whispered when Doug let him go.

“Whatever we do’ll set it off. What are you here for?”

“You pocket-dialled. All I heard was a lot of commotion and I thought you might be in trouble.”

The words broke into another part of Doug’s whirling thoughts. “Uh … Clay is.” He moved slowly away. “Watch Jason for me?”

Charles nodded, his face tight.

As Doug dropped to his knees, Clay’s eyes met his. Clear eyes considering the battered condition of his face. He looked like he had gone through a gauntlet of baseball bats.

Clay moaned and slurred something unintelligible.

“We gotta get you help,” Doug said softly, but even while he checked Clay over, he listened anxiously to the voices behind him.

“I was where you are,” Jason said, “And I didn’t want God when my friend Doug talked about Him, ‘cause I didn’t stop to think who He is.”

“Useless,” said Tyler.

“Truth is, we’re useless without Him. If we say yes, He’ll save us from our twisted lives and give us purpose.”

“If He loved me, He’d show it.”

“How?”

Doug strained for the answer.

“Getting me outta this.”

Jason gave a little laugh. “He’s not gonna make you come out of it. You’ve gotta choose, Tyler. D’you love darkness or light?”

A loud ring broke into the dark stillness. Doug turned around as Charles fumbled to silence his phone and Tyler ran out and disappeared.

Jason dropped, as if Tyler had been the only thing holding him up.

“Jason!” Doug scrambled up and hurried to him.

“I’m alright.” Jason lifted his head, but then hunched over, coughing helplessly.

Doug spun around, and then his conscience made him pause. Oh, God, quiet me. You’re in control of this crazy world—I’m not.

“Hey, Charles!”

“Yes?”

Doug jumped, because Charles stood right beside him. “Call an ambulance. Clay needs help …”

“You saw what happened.”

“But people know you; they’d prob’ly think I did it myself.”

Hesitation flickered but, setting his jaw, Charles said, “All right. You’re going to need to talk to the police, though.”

“After I get Jason home.” Doug winced as Charles gripped his shoulder.

“Doug, you need to go sit down with Jason and stay there.” Charles’ brow curved with concern. “You’re ghost-white.”

“But—”

“Please, Doug.” Charles pulled out his phone.

He felt white—if that’s what this drained, ready-to-collapse sensation came from. He went and slid down next to Jason, looking out the big door.

Jason had his head on his knees, and his breath rasped.

“Jason?”

He looked up, his face haggard. “Glad you came here.”

Biting his lip, Doug braced his chin in his hands. Too many feelings sweeping through him. If only he had another ten things to smash through the window.

“God’s time, Dougie. And it’s not yet.”

Doug’s voice cracked. “That—that could’ve been you.” He gestured toward Clay, who lay under Charles’ watch.

“But it wasn’t.” Jason nudged him gently. “I know it’s tough on you, and I’m sorry. I really owe you now.”

“Forget it. You did lots for me when we met.” His head felt woozy suddenly, and he closed his eyes. The hum of the city came through the door and hovered around them.

“Tyler needs a new coat,” Jason said.

Sirens wailed louder and louder, and Doug shakily got to his feet to meet them, wondering how Jason had noticed a single coat in the fray.

The fitful night ended in an early morning. Doug went to the store as soon as he could and bought Jason’s favourite pancake mix, along with some extras that he normally considered too expensive.

It wasn’t Jason’s birthday until tomorrow, but they’d have a celebration, that’s what they’d do. A celebration because they were alive and God was good.

When he got home, he stuffed his purchases in his coat and turned his back to the living room so he could sneak them to the kitchen. His peripheral vision showed that Jason had made it to the couch while he was gone.

He dropped everything on the counter and then went back. “Morning, Jason.”

As the words left his mouth something crammed down inside him, so hard he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. But he could see.

Jason sat bowed, his head on one arm on the armrest, his Bible laying closed beside him. He wasn’t having trouble breathing or looking tired or pained.

He looked like he was in perfect peace … like he was in heaven.

Vaguely Doug knew that he was feeling Jason’s wrist for blood that didn’t pulse, and then he went into the kitchen and stood looking at the clock on the stove.

Borrowed time … God’s time … who cared what kind of time it was? All that mattered was that it was up. Over. And it wouldn’t come back.

The neon numbers changed one by one—it could’ve been ten or forty times—and finally Doug pulled his phone from his pocket.

“Hi, Doug,” Charles answered.

Doug leaned against the counter, his mouth empty of words.

“Hello?”

He cleared his throat, his mind fumbling. “Uh …” He swallowed. “Jason’s dead.” He didn’t even hear what Charles said, but dropped his phone on the counter and trudged to his room.

Sunlight flickered on the frost crystals peering in his window. And there next to him stood the prayer plant, its leaves unfolding for the new day. He slammed it off the shelf and dirt splattered the floor, while the ceramic pot crushed the leaves and rolled under the bed.

Then he leaned against the wall and cried.

A little while later the front door opened and shut, but Doug stayed where he was. Let Charles see the mess and the hurt. It didn’t matter.

“Doug,” Charles said softly next to him.

“I’m okay.” Doug gruffly cleared his throat, choking a little. “Need some water.” He went to the kitchen, where the cheery breakfast items lay sprawled. He shoved them into a bag and thrust the bag into Charles’ hands. “Take this when you go. I don’t want it.”

“But—”

“I don’t want it.” Doug finally met Charles’ eyes. The concern and grief laying there made it hard to breathe again, and suddenly his stomach turned. He bent over the counter and laid his head on his arms. God, help me through this … help me. It was all he could think to say. Help me.

Two blurred, roller-coaster weeks later, Doug stood rummaging through his dresser for a clean pair of socks—most of them were in the wash basket—and as he slid a rumpled pile of stuff aside he uncovered the red plaid coat.

It lay neatly folded, brand new. Doug hitched a breath and pulled it out, and Jason’s voice echoed in his head.

“Tyler needs a new coat.”

Tyler—after all the damage he had done. Jason would give the coat to him, but …

He threw it on the bed and continued his sock search. Snatches of Jason’s little graveside service ran through his mind.

“The gift of God is eternal life,” Pastor Kline had said—Jason’s favourite verse. “Eternity with God—that’s offered to all of us, and that’s what Jason is enjoying right now.”

God had taken Jason up to be with Him, and like Elisha, Doug was left without his leader. But Elisha kept going, went back and parted the river the way Elijah had before and continued on to serve God.

Doug sank onto his bed. Oh, God, I wanna be more than a survivor. I wanna live for You like Jason did. The prayer was braver than his heart, and he shut his eyes tight. Shine Your light in me like you did Jason. I don’t need a double portion—even a half would do.

He took the coat and went to find his shoes.

Before long, he stood by the warehouse with all its memories. If the guys didn’t know where Tyler was, he would have to think up another idea. He went cautiously to the door, his heart hurting. He had never come without Jason. “Hey, Mike?”

“Gone out,” said a man sitting out front in the evening sunshine with a guitar on his lap. “A bunch of them went to the shelter for food.”

“Oh. Tyler been here?”

The man quirked an eyebrow. “Tyler?”

“Big guy with a scar.”

“Oh, him. He walked out of here like, three minutes ago.”

“Which way?”

“Hmm … right?”

Doug gripped the coat tighter. “Thanks,” he said, and started up the sidewalk. Slim chance if Tyler had a head start, but it was worth a try.

The sun glinted on snow-covered roofs and dangling icicles. The sharp air pinched Doug’s face and bit his nose.

So much had changed since those freezing nights in the park and the night he had met Charles. Good old Charles. He had done so much in the past year, in the past two weeks when the world seemed to spin in different directions.

“Hey, where’s the scarecrow?”

Doug jerked and found Tyler’s face looking down at him. Tough and ravaged, but sober. “Gone where he wanted to go.”

“Where’s that?” Tyler demanded.

What would he do when he found out? Doug bit his lip, then flinched when Tyler seized his shoulders.

“He didn’t die.”

Doug nodded.

Tyler stood still, and then his face fell into a different kind of sombreness. He looked like a kid who had been slapped and told to stand in the corner, like he knew he had to but couldn’t quite believe it.

“He was ready,” Doug said lamely, “Though he wanted to see you … you …”

“See me burn up like a candle,” Tyler muttered, shoving him and turning around.

“Hey,” Doug said desperately, “I was gonna give this to you.”

Tyler slowly returned, his scar pulsing, his hands clenching the tattered edges of his coat sleeves. He stared at the plaid coat when Doug held it out.

“I was gonna give it to Jason on his birthday.” Doug cleared his clogged throat. “But that was a day too late.”

Tyler took it, feeling its thickness between his fingers, but his dark eyes stayed locked with Doug’s. “So the scarecrow isn’t the only one,” he said.

“Only what?”

“Only …” Tyler groped for words, scanning their icy surroundings, and then burst out, “Candle.”

“God has a lot of ‘em.” Doug shoved his hands in his pockets. “And He uses ‘em to light other ones, dark ones. You don’t need to be all fixed up to go to Him, don’t need to have anything to be proud of. He loves you, but He won’t make you love Him, much as He wants you to.” He shook himself. Where had all those words come from? “But you prob’ly don’t want me preaching.”

Tyler slipped on the coat and tested the sleeve length. It fit him perfectly. Then he looked once more into Doug’s eyes. “I think I know now.”

Doug watched him go up the street, a bright red spot in the crisp snow and ice-laden buildings.

After a late supper, he sat at the table in the empty kitchen. Jason would have been dancing over Tyler’s words, but what kept coming back to Doug were his own. You didn’t need anything to be proud of—had Charles once said something similar?

The sunlight left the window, and then snowflakes pattered on the glass.

Our sins’ll be white as snow. Thank You, God. For all You’ve done.

Silence lay over the dim kitchen. He had nothing to be proud of—except his friend Jason, who had long told him to do what now pressed inside him. The number might have changed, but he could try.

With unsteady fingers he pulled out his phone, dialled, and put it to his ear. His pounding heart almost drowned the ring.

“Hello, it’s Derek.”

Doug gulped at the familiar voice. “Uh, hi. I’m—I mean, it’s Doug. I—”

“Doug?” There was a pause. “Were you the one contacting about the lawnmower?”

“I’m your son—Doug Erroll. I—”

“Doug!” His dad’s voice changed, held a host of things it hadn’t the moment before. “Really? Doug, where are you? We’ve prayed so long—”

There was no way to answer even if Doug had tried.

His dad’s voice muffled a bit; he must have turned away. “Shelley! Shelley, come here! Doug’s on the phone!”