This wasn’t the first time his daughter spoke to him when she wasn’t there. His wife had been seven months pregnant with Jhana-Merise when he’d first heard his daughter’s voice. It had been a warm September morning, his wife asleep in his arms. He’d thought it was his wife talking to him. Her voice was muffled and he couldn’t understand the words. Was she speaking some other language in her sleep? It wasn’t the first time she’d mumbled while dreaming. But he realized this was different, for the voice kept repeating the same phrase. “Nos es Unus. Nos es Unus.” He realized it wasn’t his wife’s voice. It wasn’t like any voice he’d known. Maybe he was the one dreaming. But the voice spoke to him again and said, “Don’t be afraid, Father. I come with love for all.” And while there was no way he could yet know what his unborn daughter’s voice would sound like, after the voice came to him again, he knew it was her. He’d never forgotten that sound or those words. And after Jhana-Merise was born, and spoke her first words, there was no doubt it was the same voice. The voice that had called to him from the womb. She was calling to him now.

Vincente paced in the corridor outside the room where they’d taken Jhana-Merise. He stared at Arama who was waiting there. Something about her was familiar.

Yes. She was the nurse when his wife first came in for cancer treatment. Jhana-Merise was with them a few of those times. She was five years old then. He remembered how Arama had developed a friendship with his daughter. It was a connection cut short by his wife’s death a few months later. He was struck at how much came back to him of their connection years ago.

He remembered Arama telling him that her mother had died when she was young, too, and how she’d taken on the sole care of her father when her sister left for America.

Strange how much intimacy occurs in tragedy.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said to Arama.

“It’s good to see you, too, Mister Salva. I know Jhana-Merise will be fine.”

And as much as he resisted hopefulness, he had hope in the presence of Arama’s gentle spirit.

9

9

The night air was cold. Twilight surrounded Julian and Dominique as they made their way across the Mosul desert. Black smoke rose from the warehouse behind them into the darkening sky.

“We should be dead,” Dominique said.

“But we’re not,” Julian snapped.

He winced in pain from the beating and stumbled.

Dominique reached to support him.

He pushed her away, regaining his balance.

“What the fuck were you trying to prove in there, talking about love? Did you think it would save you?”

“I thought it might save us all.”