DIVINE INTERVENTION
"Honey, wake up. Honey, wake up."
"Go 'way," Jim Reed pulled the bedcovers over his head and turned away from
his wife, Jean, who was trying to awaken him. He wasn't ready to get up.
His body ached and he was bone tired. As a patrol officer for the Los Angeles
Police Department, he worked long, hard hours, and last night's shift had
been no exception.
"Jim, you have to get up, or we'll be late!"
Reed felt his wife sit down on the bed next to him. She leaned over and
kissed him a few times on the neck, trying to entice him to wakefulness.
She did smell good, and her lips were soft against his skin. He snaked
an arm out from under the covers and circled her tiny waist, pulling her
against him. He snuggled into her warmth.
"Jim!" she squealed. "This isn't helping! It's after eight o'clock. We're
going to be late for church if you don't get up."
"Aw, hon," Jim moaned, his voice muffled by the covers. "God'll forgive
me if I don't go just this one Sunday."
"He will, but I won't. This is Bill and Bev's last Sunday, remember?
The Sunday School class is having a farewell brunch? I made coffee cake
and blueberry muffins." Jean pried Jim's arm out from around her middle and
escaped his grasp.
Bill and Bev Kimbrell were the teachers of the Sunday School class Jim and
Jean were members of at their church, Covenant Christian. Bill was a professor
of mathematics at a local junior college and had just accepted a position
at the University of Colorado. Their move from Los Angeles to Boulder was
scheduled for Friday, so this was to be their last Sunday at the church.
Jim didn't want to miss that; he counted the Kimbrells as good friends and
role models for him and Jean.
Can't miss saying good-bye to Bill. Ever since I lost Dad, he's been
more like a father to me than a teacher. "Oh, yeah, I forgot." Jim forced
his bleary eyes open and pulled the covers down so that his face was exposed.
Jean reached out a slender hand and brushed Jim's tousled hair off his forehead.
"What time did you get in last night, Jim? I'm afraid I was really out
of it, especially after you called to say you'd be late."
Last night. What a night. He really didn't want to relive last
night. Jim had just finished his probationary period with the LAPD. He
worked in LA's Central Division, out of a two-man radio car designated 1-Adam-12.
His partner, Pete Malloy, had over eight years on the force, and as far
as Jim was concerned, knew everything there was to know about police work.
Jim soaked up knowledge and procedures from Malloy like a dry sponge, and,
in the process, grew to deeply respect and care for him not only as a colleague,
but a good friend. He depended upon the older man for his very survival
sometimes, not only physically, but emotionally as well, because sometimes
the weight of the badge was overwhelming. Pete Malloy helped him deal with
those overwhelming emotional issues, having been through it all before, usually
more than once.
But last night....I still can't figure it out. I don't know why Pete
would deny what he did! It doesn't make sense.
"Honey?" Jean prompted.
"Oh, I got in about 1:30." Jim didn't tell her he'd spent the next several
hours lying awake rehashing the night's events.
"No wonder you're so tired, sweetie." Jean leaned over and kissed him again.
"On any other Sunday, I'd let you sleep in, but I didn't think you'd want
to miss saying goodbye to Bill and Bev. Besides, I'm going to need help
hauling Jimmy and all the goodies into church."
"It's okay, love. Of course I don't want to miss saying goodbye to Bill
and Bev. I'll get up." He threw off the covers and sat up, unable to hide
a grimace as sore muscles protested.
"What's wrong?" Jean asked quickly. "Something happened last night, didn't
it?"
Something happened, all right. I still haven't quite figured it out.
"I got in a little tussle with a suspect," he admitted, keeping his voice
casual. He'd have to tell his wife the whole story eventually, but not until
he'd figured it all out for himself.
"Any blood or broken bones involved?" Jean reached out and lifted Jim's
t-shirt, looking for injury.
"No, silly," Jim playfully slapped her hand away. Apparently, Jean had
a scale on which she rated his injuries. If no blood or broken bones were
involved, she didn't worry too much. "Just a strong man, high on speed,
who objected to me putting on the handcuffs." He also didn't tell her that
he wound up on the ground in that tussle, and that both he and the suspect
had taken a tumble down a small incline. That was why he was so sore. "I'm
a little stiff, that's all."
"You're sure?" Jean pressed.
"I'm sure, hon." To prove his point, Jim smiled, pulled her to him and kissed
her.
"Well, if you're sure. Go take a hot shower, and I'll rub you down with
something if you need me to."
"I don't want to sit in church smelling like a medicine cabinet. Where's
my little buddy?"
"Playing in the playpen. Take your shower before you go in there to see
him, or he's liable to scream when you leave."
"Okay." Jim kissed his wife again, then allowed her to pull him out of
the bed. He moaned theatrically, but Jean only laughed this time.
"Too late for sympathy, big guy. If you wanted some, you should have made
your tussle last night sound worse."
"I'll try to manufacture some blood next time," Jim called after her retreating
form.
Jim shed his t-shirt and boxers and stepped into the shower, turning the
water temperature as hot as he could stand it. He let the near-scalding
water flow over him as he flexed the tight, sore muscles and let his mind
wander, once again, to the strange occurrence that ended his and Malloy's
shift last night.
It began at 10:53 p.m. when the dispatcher tagged them with a 415 fight
call in a neighborhood near one of the college campuses. They rolled on
the call code 2, and at 10:58 p.m. reached the location where they found
two men fighting on the sidewalk. The fight was noisy and violent, and they
bailed out immediately to break it up. It turned out that had been unnecessary.
One of the combatants caught sight of them and yelled a warning to his adversary.
After that, they had both taken off in different directions.
Pete ran after the suspect who peeled off and ran down the street. Jim
chased the one who decided to go cross-country. Jim wasn't exactly sure
what Pete had to do to catch his guy, but his partner had collared the guy
quickly enough. Jim had a little more trouble corralling his man. He'd
chased him through a grassy field before taking him down with a flying tackle.
Then came the scuffle he'd told Jean about, which was lengthy and rough,
ending with the tumble down the hill. Jim's training and natural strength
had prevailed over the wild, drug-induced actions of the suspect, however,
and eventually he'd cuffed the man and walked him back up the hill. That's
when things got weird.
As Jim approached the street where the chase had begun, he had to pass a
small copse of trees. The street in question was lighted only dimly by one
vapor light on each corner, so the darkness was nearly complete in that tree-filled
area. Jim brought the suspect up onto the sidewalk and started back toward
the black and white.
That's when it happened.
Jim clearly heard Pete call out to him, "Jim! Look out behind you!" Jim
turned, then Pete shone his flashlight so that Jim saw a man advancing on
him, brandishing a knife. Jim let go of his cuffed suspect, pushing him
away, then defended himself against the third man. A quick feint and a kick
to the hand fooled his assailant and disarmed him, and Jim was able to subdue
him quickly, again by tackling and wrestling with the suspect. Pete showed
up to help within seconds, and between the two of them they corralled all
three men.
Pete called for back up to help in transporting the men and while they waited,
both leaning against the fender of the car, the really weird thing
happened. As he stood in the scalding shower, Jim remembered the conversation
verbatim.
"I don't know where that third guy came from, Malloy."
"Me, either. I didn't know he was anywhere around until you tackled him."
"Huh?" Jim looked at his partner as if he'd lost his mind.
"I said, 'I didn't know he was anywhere around until you tackled him.'
Where'd he come from, anyway?"
"Malloy, quit joking around. You saw him."
"No, I didn't." Malloy shook his head and frowned at Jim.
"Pete," Jim was almost laughing, wondering what Pete was trying to prove,
"of course you saw him. You warned me."
"Reed," Pete's voice suddenly turned impatient. "No, I didn't see him,
and I didn't warn you."
"Okay, whatever joke you're trying to pull, it isn't working."
"I'm not pulling any joke! What are you jabbering about?"
"You called out to me. You said, 'Jim, look out behind you!' Then you
shined your flashlight on him so I saw the knife."
It was Malloy's turn to chuckle. "You're the one playing a joke, partner.
I didn't yell, and I didn't shine my light. My flashlight was in the belt,
and I was inside the car settling my prisoner. I didn't even look
your way until I heard the scuffle."
Jim blinked at his partner. "You didn't warn me?"
"No."
"You didn't shine your light?"
"No."
He and Malloy looked at each other without speaking, then Jim laughed again.
"Okay, if this is a test, I'll play along."
"Reed!"Malloy was clearly exasperated. "This isn't a test! It's not a
joke!"
"Yeah, well, that's what Brinkman told me the other day when he pulled that
flying drunk story on me. I'll read your official report...you have to
tell the truth there."
"When you read my report, it'll say the same thing I just told ya. I didn't
know the third man was there until I heard you scuffling with someone and
I looked up through the window of the black-and-white. I saw you tackle
the guy, saw you had your hands full, so I came to help." Pete's voice held
more than just a little bite of irritation.
"But I heard you," Jim objected. "I saw the light."
Pete sighed. "You probably saw the knife pick up the vapor lamp light and
reflect it." Malloy inclined his head toward the street light on the corner.
"There's not enough light put out by that puny little thing to see if you're
standing right under it! I was standing a half-block away!"
"I didn't shine my light. I didn't yell out. What else can I say? Now,
how about dropping it?"
What else, indeed? For the rest of the shift Malloy continued to deny that
he'd done anything except help Reed mop up once he realized his partner could
use some help. But Jim knew -- he knew he had heard Pete's voice
warn him, and the light that shone on the suspect, revealing the knife, had
not come from any puny little vapor light. Jim couldn't figure out what
Pete was up to. Malloy usually played it straight with him and even protected
him from practical jokes the older officers on their shift tried to pull
on him. Jim figured eventually Malloy would try to pull something over on
him once he got off probation, but he never figured that it would be about
something official. True to his word, though, Malloy's official report had
mentioned nothing about noticing the third suspect until he'd heard Jim scuffle
with him. Pete's obvious irritation with the whole affair kept Jim from
saying anything more about it as they'd labored through the rest of the paperwork
and the booking process for the three men.
The obvious answer had been to ask the suspects what they'd heard and seen.
Jim did that as he put them in the holding cage. He asked both of the ones
he'd dealt with if they'd seen a light or heard a voice. Both of them denied
having seen or heard either. After he'd questioned them, Jim had turned
to see Pete scowling at him from a distance. Pete shook his head and walked
off to the coffee room, while Jim stewed in his own juices.
Thinking about it all had kept Jim awake almost three hours after he'd crawled,
exhausted, into bed at 1:45 a.m. Pete obviously thought Jim was loony, and
Jim thought Pete was trying to pull something on him. They hadn't parted
in the best of moods. It bothered Jim that he and Pete hadn't resolved their
minor disagreement. He normally would have talked it out with Jean, but
she'd been sound asleep when he got in, and besides, what could he tell her?
He didn't know himself what the problem was.
"Hey, you!" Jean's voice filtered through the roar of the water. "You
gonna stay in there all day? We're gonna be cutting it close!"
"I'm coming out," Jim replied. The water had gone cold anyway.
The shower had done little to rejuvenate him. Exhausted as he still was,
going to church was probably the best thing for him. Maybe some quiet meditation
would help him clear his head.
*******
"You want me to take Jimmy or the goodies?" Jim asked, as he parked their
sedan in the church lot.
"You take Jimmy," Jean instructed. "I need to get in there and help set
up the food. Besides, if I let you take the food, there's no guarantee it'll
make it to the classroom."
She smiled to take the sting out of her observation.
"Well, if you'd fed me before we left I wouldn't be so hungry." Jim pouted.
"We're having brunch here!" Jean huffed. "You don't need to eat twice."
Jim rolled his eyes and eased out of the car. He was still sore and more
than a little grumpy. "A piece of toast woulda been nice," he mumbled.
"You know where the toaster is, don't you? Don't forget Jimmy's diaper
bag!" Jean reminded.
"I won't."
"You know where to take him, don't you?" Jean gathered up the box in which
she'd put the coffee cake and muffins.
"Jean! Of course I know where to take him." Jim's voice rose in volume
as his irritation level rose as well. "Now, just go on and you girls get
the food set up. I'm gonna die of hunger."
"Please don't embarrass me by eating three plates of food. They'll think
I don't feed you."
"Well, today, you didn't!" Jim groused. He opened the back door so he could
take his son out of the car seat.
"You certainly are grouchy today. Good thing you did come to church."
Jean shot over her shoulder as she walked away.
"Hey, come on, little buddy," Jim cooed to his seven-month old, ignoring
the discomfort bending over the car seat induced in his back. He couldn't
decide which was worse; the sore muscles or the growling stomach. "Let's
go to the nursery. You get to play with all those toys and have all those
nice ladies kiss all over ya. Being a baby's a pretty good gig, kid. Enjoy
it while you can." Jim lifted his son out of the car seat and made sure he
was fully clothed. He gathered up the diaper bag, slung it over his shoulder,
and made his way toward the church building, giving Jimmy a kiss on the head.
Somehow holding this little one in his arms made him forget his troubles
for a while.
Jim found himself limping as he maneuvered through the parking lot into
the building. His right leg was cramping up, probably from sitting confined
in the car. He hoped it would work itself out before he had to sit through
a couple of hours in church. He paused for a moment and flexed his foot
to ease the cramp, and when it passed, he headed for the nursery.
Jim greeted friends as he made his way through the church to the nursery
area, stopping occasionally to let someone ooh and ahh over Jimmy and comment
on how much he was growing. Jim was more than happy to show off his son,
since he thought he was about the most perfect baby that ever had been born.
Jim thought he'd about run the gauntlet of blue-haired ladies and little
kids who stopped to admire Jimmy when he ran straight into the day's guests
of honor, Bill and Bev Kimbrell.
"Good morning, Jim!" Bill stuck out a hand and waited for Jim to extricate
a hand to shake it. "Nursery duty today?"
"Morning, Bill, Bev. Ah, Jean went down to the room with food for the brunch,
so I got to bring the boy in for once."
"Oh, Jim, Jimmy is so adorable! He's growing like a weed!" Bev exclaimed.
"May I hold him?"
"Sure," Jim handed his boy over to Mrs. Kimbrell. Jimmy went readily enough.
He was a friendly baby, and hadn't gotten to the stage where stranger anxiety
would be a problem.
"Aww, you beautiful little boy!" Bev cooed, bouncing him gently. "I can't
believe we're having to leave and not get to see you take your first steps."
"Not to mention we'll be hours away from our only grandchild," Bill echoed.
"We're going to miss all of you guys, but I think we'll miss the little
children most of all."
"We're certainly going to miss you," Jim assured them. "It just won't be
the same without you."
Bev gave Jimmy a little kiss and a hug, and Jimmy responded by cooing appreciatively.
"He's just so sweet, Jim. He looks so much like you."
"Thanks," Jim beamed. "We're proud of him, anyway. Nice to know I can
do something right."
The Kimbrells laughed at that. "Would you mind if I took him to the nursery?"
Bev asked. "Consider it a going away present."
"Not at all." Jim draped the diaper bag over Bev's shoulder, then leaned
over to kiss Jimmy goodbye. "Bye-bye. Daddy'll come get you after church.
Be a good boy."
"Wave bye-bye to Daddy, Jimmy," Bev picked up one of Jimmy's chubby hands
and wiggled it at Jim as she took him off.
Jim returned the wave and watched to make sure that Jimmy didn't cry when
he realized he wasn't coming along. But Jimmy didn't disappoint him. The
boy continued to coo and gurgle contendedly as he was carried off.
"He really seems to like Bev," Jim commented.
"One thing I know for sure after being married to Bev for 28 years is that
she's really got a knack with babies. It's gonna be hard on her, leaving
the grandbaby and then all the little ones here at church." Bill sighed.
"It's gotta be hard leaving your family," Jim agreed, as they moved off
together toward the meeting room, "but you'll find a new church in Boulder
and there'll be babies there, too. You're the kind of people who make friends
easily."
"I hope so. We've been in LA for twenty years. Boulder's going to be a
big change."
"Think of that smog-free mountain air, Bill. Your lungs won't know what
to think!"
They had a laugh over that, then Bill tapped Jim on the shoulder. "You're
limping, Jim. Job-related injury?"
Jim shrugged. "Kinda. I'm just sore."
Bill stopped and looked at him curiously. "Last night?"
"Yeah. Got into a little tussle with a suspect. It was nothing."
"Guess I'll have to pray harder next time." Bill frowned.
"What?" Jim asked.
Bill reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a picture. He handed it
over to Jim. "I was packing up my study at home last night. I had to teach
through Friday, end of the term, you know, so I didn't start packing up until
yesterday. I found that picture in the drawer."
Jim took a look at the picture and grinned. "The Fall Festival we had here
this year...the dunking booth." Jim found himself blushing a little. The
picture was one of a sopping wet Bill crawling out of the dunking booth pool.
On the edge of the picture was Jim, laughing, having been the person who
dunked his Sunday School teacher.
"Oh, yeah, the dunking booth. You say that so casually. You rascal, you
dunked me four times that night! Four!"
"My fast ball was really working that night," Jim admitted. "Besides, you
kept saying I couldn't possibly hit the target again. I took that
as a challenge."
"I'm not sure I've forgiven you for that," Bill teased.
"Think of it as having donated twenty bucks to a good cause. Besides, you
got me back later."
"Somehow, a pie in the face wasn't quite the same." Bill smiled again.
"But I'm off topic. I found this picture in the drawer last night, and I
started thinking about you and Jean, when suddenly I was just overcome with
a terrible feeling about you. I felt like I had to stop whatever I was doing
and just say a prayer for you. So I did. But apparently I was either too
late or I didn't pray hard enough...'cause you're limping. Why are you
looking at me like that? You don't want me to pray for you?"
Jim realized he was gaping at his friend and closed his mouth with a snap.
"What time was this?" he asked.
"Oh, it was kinda late. In fact, it was a little after 11. I remember,
because when I looked at the picture, the grandfather clock in the foyer
struck 11. I studied the picture for just a little while, and that's when
the feeling hit. So I guess it was about 11:02 or so."
"Do you remember what you said...in the prayer?" Jim's throat was tight.
"What, you gonna analyze it?" Bill grinned, but he sobered when he saw how
serious Jim was.
"Do you remember?" Jim repeated.
"Yeah. I said something like, 'God, wherever Jim is, whatever he's doing,
just protect him, keep him safe, and take him home safely to Jean and Jimmy.'
That's about it." Bill shrugged, then looked at Jim closely. "Are you
all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Not a ghost," Jim whispered, as last night finally began to fall into place
for him. "But maybe an angel."
It was Bill's turn to look confused. "What?"
"Bill, I think you might have saved my life last night." Jim didn't know
why the thought terrified him, but he found himself trembling. Sweat broke
out on his back.
Bill took Jim by the arm. "You look like you need to sit down. Let's get
in here and you can tell me about it." The older man steered him into an
empty room and settled him in a chair. He then sat down across from Jim
and looked him in the eye. "What happened?"
Jim took a deep breath, clasped his shaking hands together, and, in an unsteady
voice, related to Bill Kimbrell the strange events of last evening. As the
story progressed, Bill began to smile. By the time Jim reached the end,
the smile was a broad grin.
"Well, I'll be. I'll be. Looks like you got visited by a real, live, angel,
Jim! You're not crazy, and your partner wasn't playing a trick on you.
You were just at the center of a miracle. You witnessed first-hand the power
of a simple prayer."
"It certainly explains everything that happened," Jim conceded, after a
moment's reflection. "I mean, Pete claims he was in the black-and-white,
but I heard him, and saw the light, from across the street. But if it
was an....why did it sound like Pete?"
"Easy. You're trained to respond to your partner's voice in an instant,
right? You two depend on and trust each other, right?"
At Jim's nod, Bill continued, "God knows what He's doing. If a strange
voice had called out to you, would you have reacted as quickly? Or would
there have been a split second of indecision as you wondered who on earth
was calling to you?"
Jim nodded again. "Probably so. It was just us out there responding to
the call. I wouldn't have expected anyone else. I would have been startled.
But I was the only one who heard the voice. Or saw the light. Neither
Pete nor the suspects saw the light OR heard the voice."
Bill continued to smile. "Then you have something in common with Jesus'
disciple Simon Peter. Remember when Peter was imprisoned by Herod? He'd
had James put to death and had similar plans for Peter. But the Bible says
that 'the church was praying earnestly to God for him.' The night before
Herod planned to put Peter on trial, he was sleeping, chained between two
guards. God sent His angel, who illuminated the jail cell with a bright light.
Peter's chains fell away, and the angel spoke to him, giving him instructions
to get dressed and follow him. Peter walked out of the prison and through
the gates to freedom. The guards never saw a thing, and the Bible records
that Peter thought he was dreaming...seeing a vision. It wasn't until after
he was freed that Peter realized he'd been visited by an angel."*
"I remember the story. I guess you're right about the parallel," Jim shook
his head and laughed nervously. "But if that was divine intervention, why
am I shaking? Why do I feel so...frightened about it?"
"Something else you have in common with your Biblical ancestors. Think
about almost every time an angel interacted with a human in the Bible. What
was the first thing almost every angel always said to the human?"
Jim thought back. "Uh, let's see..." suddenly he grinned, as the light
dawned. "Don't be afraid."
"Exactly. Coming face to face with the Almighty or one of His ambassadors
is an awesome thing. We can't be touched by His hand without coming away
feeling something. And this fear you have...it's not fear at all. At least,
not the kind of fear you mean. It's awe. It's the incredible realization
that out of all of humanity, God chose to intervene in your life...your insignificant,
ordinary life."
"You're right," Jim agreed. "I mean, why me? I'm nobody special. Policemen
die every day in this country. Why not me, last night?"
"Who knows what reason God had for sparing you last night, Jim? Maybe it's
so you can save someone else's life next week. Maybe it's so you can be
an inspiration to some young person five years from now, and they won't throw
their life away on drugs. Maybe it's just to rear that beautiful boy of
yours to be a preacher, or a missionary, or a doctor so that he can
save lives in the future. The fact is, though, Jim, that God did
spare you, and that puts a lot of responsibility on you. That's what's scaring
you."
"Wow," Jim breathed. "It is...humbling. How can I thank you, Bill? Thanks
for thinking of me, and intervening. If you hadn't...." Jim trailed off,
thinking of what Jean might be going through now, if he hadn't been warned.
"If it hadn't been me, it'd have been someone else. God always provides.
I'll tell you what, though." Bill took the picture back from Jim. The young
officer had been clutching it through their entire conversation. "This picture
is going with me to Boulder. I brought it here with the intention of giving
it to you, but I think I won't do that, now. I'll put it in my new home office,
and every time I see it, I'll remember to say another prayer for you. Apparently,
you need them!" Bill put the picture back into his coat pocket.
Jim was embarrassed when he felt tears of gratitude sting his eyes. He
blinked them back and dropped his head. He had a lot of things to be grateful
for today. There was a lot of praying of his own he needed to do. After
a minute, he pulled himself together. "Thanks, Bill. I'd appreciate that."
Bill Kimbrell clapped Jim on the shoulder. "Glad to do it, buddy. Now,
what say we go get something to eat. I think I'm hearing your stomach growl
over here."
Jim stood, glad to find that his legs felt stronger. Now, if he could just
get them to stop hurting.
"You're a fine young man, Jim," Bill stuck his hand out for Jim to shake
again. "I know God's got a great future in store for you. He just wants
to make sure you're around for it."
"That's a reassuring thought," Jim grinned. He suddenly grinned wider.
"Something funny?" Bill asked.
"Yeah, my partner's face...when I lay this story on him!" Jim laughed out
loud, suddenly feeling a whole lot better. What a shift this is gonna
be!
***
Reed looked up from where he was tying his shoelaces when he heard Malloy
enter the locker room. His partner was discussing the afternoon Rams' game
with Brinkman.
"If the offensive line would do its job, then Gabriel wouldn't have to throw
on the run," Malloy observed.
"But that Packer defensive front is the best. It's not a fair test," Brinkman
argued.
"Maybe not. But one thing's for sure, if something doesn't change, the
Rams won't be in the Super Bowl this year."
"Playoffs start in a couple weeks. We'll see. Hello, Reed. You're an early
bird today," Brinkman greeted Jim.
Jim straightened from his task and stood. "Hello, Brinkman, Malloy. Yeah,
I got an early start."
Pete wrinkled his nose. "You smell like a hospital, Reed. Am I gonna have
to sit cooped up in the car with you like that all day?"
Brinkman sniffed. "Yeah, smells like horse liniment," he agreed with a
grin. "What happened, Jim?"
"It's nothin'," Jim shrugged it off. "Took a little tumble last night and
I'm a little sore, that's all. Jean insisted. Said she got tired of me
moaning and groaning."
Brinkman grinned and started to laugh, turning to head for his locker.
"Now that's the best opening for a rude remark that I've been given in a
long time, Reed. But it's Sunday, so I'm gonna give you a break. I'm gonna
get dressed."
"You made him blush, Bob," Pete called after him.
"All right," Brinkman's muffled voice came back.
Jim tried to get the flush on his face and neck under control, but the more
Pete grinned at him the worse it got.
"You're something else, Reed," Pete finally quit grinning and shook his
head. He sobered quickly, though. "You really all right?"
"Oh, sure. Like I said, I'm just sore. You know how Jean worries. She
thought a good rubdown would make me feel better. And she was right." Jim
smiled, remembering Jean's reaction when he told her the full story of what
had happened last night. At first her mouth had dropped open like his own
had. Then she cried a little, but after he'd held her for a while and she'd
thought about what had happened, she settled down and insisted on taking
care of the aching muscles.
"Now maybe I'll blush," Pete cracked, apparently mistaking the reason
for Jim's smile.
Jim rolled his eyes. "Everybody's mind is in the gutter today," he accused.
But the smile widened. He was glad to see that Pete didn't seem to be irritated
with him any more. Jim glanced at his watch. They had a full 20 minutes
until roll call. Now was as good a time as any to lay the story on Pete.
"Malloy, before you get dressed, you got a minute? There's something I
want to talk to you about."
"Like last night, maybe?" Pete asked, quirking an eyebrow.
Maybe he IS still irritated. Jim found his mouth dropping open again.
"Yeah," he managed to get out. Suddenly he felt nervous about telling Pete.
What if he thinks I'm crazy?
"I'm listening," Pete's voice took on a longsuffering tone.
"Not here," Jim glanced around.
"Lead and I'll follow," Pete spread his hands.
Jim nodded toward the door. "Small interrogation room?"
"Why not?"
Jim led the way to the small room, usually used by detectives when it was
busy at the station and by file clerks when it wasn't. It was the room where
Jim had faced his first shooting review team on a night that seemed so long
ago. He really hated this room, but it was the most private place he could
think of at the moment.
Pete closed the door, then leaned up against it and crossed his arms. "I'm
gonna talk first," he said before Jim could say anything. "I'm sorry I got
cross with you last night. I was tired and I really thought you were trying
to deliberately irritate me. I should have known better. I don't know exactly
what happened, but I realize now you were shook up about it. I should have
talked with you about it then instead of gettin' all sore. I'm sorry."
"Aw, Pete, I don't blame you for being sore. You must have thought I was
an idiot, carrying on the way I did. I'm the one who should apologize.
I should have known that you wouldn't lie to me about something as important
as that. I'm sorry I kept on about it." Jim dropped his head a little and
the blush returned. "I know I have a habit of doin' that."
"No kidding," Malloy drawled.
"Sorry," Jim offered again.
"It's okay. After twelve months, I'm gettin' used to it. So, are we square,
now?"
"No. Well, yeah, but no. I mean," Jim took a breath and tried to start
over, "that's not all I have to say. I know what happened."
"You do? Did you stay up all night worrying about it?"
"Almost," Jim admitted. "But it was this morning at church when I finally
figured it all out."
"Daydreaming during the sermon again, huh?" Pete grinned. "Or was it a
divine revelation?"
"More like the latter. Pete, I know you didn't call out and warn me. And
you didn't shine your light."
"Okay, good, because I sure didn't. So what did happen? Did you finally
realize that you just have good instincts and you felt something goin' hinky
and that's what you reacted to? And that the light came from the
streetlamp?"
"Oh, no," Jim shook his head. "Not at all. You didn't warn me,
Pete, but I know who did."
Pete's brow furrowed. "Reed, you and I were the only ones out there beside
the suspects."
"Wrong. Somebody else was out there. The somebody who's always out there,
and everywhere." Jim looked his partner straight in the eye to judge his
reaction. When Pete remained silent and looking at him expectantly, Jim
forged ahead. "It was an angel, Pete."
Pete blinked. "An angel," he repeated.
Jim nodded. "You wanna know how I know that?"
"Yeah, I do."
Jim explained the story to Pete, watching his face for a reaction. Somehow
Pete managed to listen to the whole tale without interrupting and without
changing his facial expression. When Jim finished, he paused for a beat
then prompted, "Well?"
"That's some story, Jim," Pete said quietly.
"It is, isn't it?" Another pause. "So now are you convinced I'm nuts?"
Pete shook his head. "I don't think you're nuts."
"You don't?"
The exasperation returned to Pete's voice. "Reed, I don't know what you
think of my spiritual condition, but I assure you I'm not a total heathen."
"I didn't mean to imply...."
"I know you didn't," Pete smiled. "Jim, I might not be in church every
Sunday, but I do believe in God." He paused and gave him a meaningful look.
"And in angels."
Jim smiled back, feeling a whole lot better now that he knew Pete believed
him.
"And I do pray, every day." Pete's smile suddenly turned into a lopsided
grin and he got a twinkle in his eyes. "Every day I pray for patience to
put up with you for eight hours. How do you think I survived your probation
period without losin' my mind?"
For the third time that day Jim found himself open-mouthed and speechless.
"Close your mouth and let's go, Reed, or we're gonna be late for roll call.
And we'll need another angel to save us from Mac's wrath."
Jim followed his partner out the door. Pete's just one more reason
I need to say 'thanks,' God. Thanks for everything.
*This story is found in Acts 12:1-11
