He turned from the table and left the room. They should have sent the message to the Rangers ten minutes ago. As it was, the men would have less than fifteen minutes to retreat before Abdullah did his thing.

Whatever that was.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

TANYA COLLAPSED under a tree at the perimeter of the river clearing within minutes of Shannon’s hasty departure. It occurred to her that there might be creatures in the brown water a hundred feet off, but she’d lost interest in her own safety.

The madness of eight years was slowly unwinding in her mind; she could feel it as though it were a snake uncoiling. She did not know how just yet, but somehow this was all forming a collage with meaning. The notes were beginning to make music. The words were carrying a message. And it was all flowing through her.

She spent the first few hours in a haze, barely aware of the curious birds squeaking above or the parade of insects crawling over her shoes and legs.

The words she had spoken to Shannon were not her own. Oh, they had come from her own mouth and even her own mind, but her spirit had handed them off to her mind. She knew that because a warmth had started to glow in her spirit and it wasn’t her own.

God was warming her. He was holding her and breathing his words of comfort into her like a father whispering to a crying baby.

And with his breath came a new understanding of Shannon. An ache for him that burned in her bones. He had been tormented for years, she saw, much like she had been. But his tormentor had been from hell, grinding him into the ground. Her torment had been a gift from heaven, a seasoning to soften her spirit, as Father Teuwen had suggested. A thorn in her flesh, preparing her for this day. This colliding of worlds. This crescendo of clashing cymbals, like the finale in a grand symphony.

There was the matter of the dream and the bomb and all that, but in reality none of it seemed important to her anymore. Now it was all about Shannon.

Tanya lay her head on her forearm and closed her eyes. “Shannon, poor Shannon,” she whispered. Tears immediately flooded her eyes. That ache in her heart swelled for him. It wasn’t love as in the classical sense of romantic love, she thought. It was more like empathy.

“I’m so sorry, Shannon.” The sound of his name coming softly from her lips threw her mind back to a time when they spoke in hushed tones to each other. I love you, Shannon. I love you, Tanya.

What’s happening, Father? Speak to me.

Then Tanya tumbled into an exhausted sleep.