Chapter Two

Noah pulled his Toyota into a parking space and shut off the engine.  He stared for a moment at the steering wheel, trying to hold back the tears that welled deep inside him.  Pulling the keys from the ignition, he opened the door and stepped out of the car. 

The cold November air cut through his thin dress shirt and slacks like a knife.  It stung his cheeks as it whipped mercilously around him.  He didn’t care about the weather...that was the least of his concerns. 

He sighed as he looked across the parking lot...Woodruff Park.  This is where his Dad had taken him as a kid; where he’d first skinned his knee; learned to ride a bicycle.  The ghosts of the past called to him in the sound of the breeze that enveloped the the open space.  Noah could almost see himself climbing the old jungle gym, calling for his Dad to watch as he did something, such as hang upside down or slide down the sliding board. 

He smiled as he could almost hear his father’s laughter...the laughter that always followed Noah doing one of those childlike feats of death-defying bravery.  Children were playing in the park today.  It was after school -- prime-time for kids to fight dragons, climb Mt. Everest, or whatever their little imaginations could come up with. 

It was soothing in a way, coming back here, albeit a little haunting.  However, it was Noah’s place of serenity -- where he felt at ease.  This is where he came when the weight of the world was too much for him.  He’d found the solution to many a problem sitting here in this park.  Or, when the solution didn’t come, just being here made him feel better.

Noah took his usual seat at a bench off by itself.  He closed his eyes and let the wind blow across his face.  He felt a slight chill on his cheek...like a little trickle of ice.  He raised his hand and wiped away a tear.  “Oh, God,” he whispered, “where are You?”

God didn’t answer.  There was only the sound of the children playing, the rustle of the leaves as they tumbled to and fro across the grass.

How nice it would be, Noah thought, if God talked to us like people did.  If He could just plop right down on the bench next to you and offer sage advice, the comfort of His fatherly voice soothing you with each word spoken.  Noah laughed.  “You don’t work like that, do You?”

The laughter quickly turned to sobbing as Noah buried his face in his hands.  “It used to be so easy, Father,” Noah said.  “But now I --” he stopped, looking up to the sky.  “I just don’t know.

“I don’t know who I am, I don’t know who You are.  I don’t know what You want from me.” He heaved a heavy sigh and looked toward the ground.  “I’m an embarrassment to You and my family.  I’m completely worthless.”

His mind shifted to the loaded gun behind the seat in his car.  He looked around nervously, searching for an appropriate spot.  It was quiet here, nobody would notice if he slipped off into the woods, and by the time they heard the gunshot, it would be too late anyway.  Once again, just as they had almost one year ago to the day, the voices began to taunt him.

They weren't like audible voices -- not ones he actually heard -- but internal ones.  They gnawed at his brain like a dog chewing a bone.  They supported his worthless feelings, encouraged them; told him it really wasn't worth the living.  The pain was too great, they would say.  There was no hope…no relief would ever come.

It was a lie that Noah fell for every time, no matter how much evidence there was against it.  The depression controlled the way his mind processed information.  Things that a “normal” brain might filter out, were computed and stored as fact in Noah’s head.

No one cares about you, Noah.  You’d be better off dead!

Noah put his hands to his ears.  “Shut up,” he whispered to himself, hoping to everything that no one was looking at him.  “Just shut up”

He stood up from the bench, a fresh set of tears drenching his eyes.  He made his way back toward the car opened the rear door.  The gun stared at him from the floorboard.  It’s shiny, menacing glare reflecting the sunlight that struck it from above. 

It was the same one he’d held to his head just one year before; the same one he’d threatened Abraham Lake with six months before.  It was the gun that Sarah had begged to him get rid of time and time again, but he wouldn’t listen, holding onto to it for sentimental reasons -- it had belonged to his father.

Perhaps there was more to him not getting rid of the gun than he realized.  Maybe subconsciously, he wanted to keep it around as a way out.  It somehow made him feel more secure knowing that there was a way if he so chose it.

As Noah reached into the car to pick up the gun, he was interrupted by a voice.  “Déjà vu, huh, Noah?”

Noah jumped and turned.  There was a young man with long blond hair facing him.  He wore a steady, comforting smile that exuded love.  There was something about him that Noah found familiar.  Perhaps it was the soft glow about him...or the aura of compassion that he put out.  Noah studied the face and a name came to his mind.  “Andrew?”

The man nodded.

“You’re back,” Noah began, a little shakily.  It wasn’t every day that you talked to the angel of death.  “I mean, what are you doing here?”

Andrew smiled.  “I think you know what I’m doing here, Noah.”  He motioned toward the gun.

Noah cleared his throat and stood silent for an awkward moment.  “I -- uh --” he stammered.  “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

“You tell me,” Andrew responded firmly.

Noah let out a nervous laugh.  “Well, you’re the angel of death.  You’d know better than anyone.”

“You’re in control of this one, Noah.  I can’t tell you if you’re going to die right now, only you can.”

“Up to me?”

Andrew nodded.  “There is an appointed time for everyone to die, Noah, but suicide changes the rules.  All I can tell you is that now is not your appointed time to die.”

Noah collapsed into the backseat of the Corolla.  “Andrew, I don’t know what to do.  I’m in so much pain.  All I can think about is ending the hurt.”

“How could you have so little respect for the life God gave you?  How could you have so little regard for the lives that would be torn apart if you killed yourself?  You have so many people that love you and care about you -- people that would give everything that they had if it meant that you could have just one second without pain.”

“I know all that, Andrew.  In my heart I know that, but this damn depression, it isolates me.  It keeps me from seeing all that.  I know it’s all there but it doesn’t mean anything.  And God seems so --"

"God is right where you left Him, Noah.  He's there for you to talk to and take comfort in.  Just because He doesn't answer you like you think He should, it doesn't mean that He's left you."

Noah stared at the gun in his hand then up at Andrew. 

"He gave you a free will, Noah," the angel said.  "God won't make you do anything, nor will He stop you from taking your life.  This decision is yours, Noah, but keep in mind that you will most likely die if you go through with this.  They'll be no turning back, no second chances.  You'll have chosen to end your life, therefore completely wrecking a divine plan that was put into place long before you were even thought of here on earth.

"God wants you to depend on Him.  He wants you trust Him that everything will work out.  You'll probably never know the significance this particular trial will have on your life, but you have to believe that God can turn anything around and make it good.  He's your Father, Noah.  He loves you."

"You make it sound so easy, Andrew," Noah snorted, wiping the tears from his face.  When the angel didn't answer him, he looked up.  Andrew was gone.  "Andrew?  Andrew?"

Noah stood from the backseat of his car and looked all around -- no sign of the angel of death.  The wind whistled in his ears, the voices in his head taunting him louder and louder.  He peered down at the gun in his hand. 

His hand shaking, Noah flipped the safety switch and prepared the weapon to fire.



"Jen!" Tracy Barnes squealed as her older sister walked into the back room at Charlie's.  It'd been a long time since the two had seen each other, with Jen off at college, and Tracy was a little surprised at how much she actually missed her.  They hadn't always gotten along too well until just recently.  And that was only due to some major prodding from their mother.

"Hey, Trace," Jennifer responded with a smile.  Tracy plowed into her sister's arms for a hug.  "Oww!  Watch it, killer.  Softball injury."  She feebly returned the hug.

Tracy stepped back with a concerned look.  "Oh, sis, I'm sorry!  Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine.  Just a little sore."  Jennifer saw Tracy staring uncomfortably at her so she decided to quickly change the subject.  "So, where's the birthday boy?"

Sarah stood, with much effort, from her chair and walked over toward Jennifer and offered a gentle hug.  "He hasn't gotten here from work yet.  He had to stop off and get a prescription filled.  How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Jennifer replied.  "Some old me.  You, on the other hand, are absolutely radiant!"

Sarah laughed.  "I'm fat, I'm swollen, I'm grumpy.  I'm the farthest thing from radiant, but thank you."

"Oh, you hush, Sarah," Marcie said.  "You look beautiful."

"Yeah, for a pregnant lady you don't look half bad," Tracy chimed in.

The four women laughed.  "Thank you, Tracy," Sarah said.  "Just wait until you're pregnant with Ike's baby.  I'll be right there to give you the same support you're giving me." 

Tracy blushed.  "Sarah!"

That made everyone laugh once again.  Tracy's face was beet-red.

Jen smiled coyly.  "Speaking of Isaac," she began, "I hear you two have become pretty serious."

Before Tracy could answer, Marcie spoke up.  "Oh, he emails her every day…sometimes twice.  She walks around the house with this silly grin on her face.  He even sent her flowers on her birthday.  She's got it bad."

"Mom!"

"That boy's quite a catch, Trace.  You'd better hold onto him."  There was a hint of jealousy in Jennifer's voice.

Tracy smiled.  "Oh, don't worry, I will."

"Yeah," Sarah spoke up, "you only have to compete with millions of other women in the world."

"Hey," Tracy said, confidently, "I have no competition!"

They all howled.  "Ooo! You go, girl!" Jen yelled. 

The door opened and a head popped in.  It was Charlie -- the owner of the restaurant.  "Hello, ladies.  Everything okay?"

Sarah made a motion and a noise like she was coughing, saying the words, "Man alert!  Man alert!"  They all giggled at that.

Charlie rolled his eyes.  "Holy cow, it sounds like one of my sister's old slumber parties in here.  All that's missing are the sleeping bags and someone's bra in the freezer."  He winked at Marcie.  "Someone named Isaac called and said, 'Dad took a wrong turn and we'll be there as soon as we can.'"

"I - I - I - s - s - a - a - c," Jen said, in a lovesick puppy tone.

"Shut up," Tracy snapped, with a half-grin on her face.

Charlie just shook his head and closed the door.

"Whoa, Mom," Jen said.  "Is that your new guy?"  Marcie nodded.  "Well, he's cute!"

"He is cute, isn't he?" Marcie replied.

Jen nodded.  She then looked over at Tracy, who had a scowl on her face.  When Jennifer's eyes met those of her sister's, Tracy turned away. 

"Alright, girls," Tracy said, trying to change the subject.  "We've got a party to get ready for.  We don't have much time."

With that, Charlie was forgotten as everyone hurried themselves to get ready for the soon to arrive guests.



"In an MMMbop, they're gone…"

The lyric from the song Taylor Hanson had sung hundreds of times rolled over and over in his mind as the foggy presence surrounded him.  All he could see in front of him -- all around him -- was the smoky terror that pushed its way into his body and mind.

There was no sound other than the eerie, disembodied voice that sung the one lyric over and over again in Tay's mind.  He thrust his hands to his ears in an effort to shut out the awful singing, but it didn't help.  The symphony of horror had ingrained itself inside his brain and wasn't going anywhere.

"Leave me alone," he screamed, shutting his eyes and tightening his hands over his ears.

The singing increased in volume…taunting him.  It mixed with a thousand other voices -- all singing off key and not in time with one another.  It was more than he could bear.

"Shut up!"

Suddenly, they stopped.  Tay opened his eyes.  The fog had lifted.  He was standing in what appeared to be a park.  There were children playing on a jungle gym off to his right.  The air was cool and crisp around him -- the wind whipped through his long, blond locks; howled at his now freezing cold ears.

He looked all around, hearing the sound of the children's laughter coming from the playground.  The tall, trees swayed in the breeze, whipping the leaves into a cyclonic frenzy on the cold ground.  Something off to his left beckoned to him…was calling his name.  Something was pulling him toward a patch of Georgia Pines. 

Pushed forward by some unknown force, Taylor moved robotically toward the trees.  Deep within his mind, not audibly, he could hear faint clicking sounds, like metal machine parts clinking together in some chaotic rhythm.  Something about the noise sounded familiar to Taylor…sparked a forgotten memory from the recent past.

He couldn't place it, yet it sounded so familiar.  It was something…something…

Oh, God, what is it?

As he approached the wooded area, Taylor's mind sparked.  He remembered where he'd heard the sound before. 

It was a gun…

…the sound of a gun being prepared to fire.

"God, no!" Taylor screamed, breaking into a sprint as he entered the trees.  Looming branches scratched at is face as he tore through the woods like some crazed man on a mission.  He plowed forward, faintly making out the shape of a person not too far up ahead.

Suddenly, the day turned to darkness.  The cold wind was replaced with a damp, musty feel that latched itself to his skin and clothes.  It was a place he'd been before…a place that had brought him much pain and agony.

It was Abraham Lake's basement.

A bright shaft of light illuminated a figure in the middle of the room.  Tay recognized the shape of Jesse Lake, the young man who'd attempted to save his life those six months ago.  He was lying on the floor.  Taylor looked into his eyes and saw the fear…the pain. 

"Jesse?"

A shot rang out.  Jesse Lake's body twitched for a few seconds, and then went still.

Taylor ran to the body and fell to his knees…tears stung at his face.  He grabbed Jesse's hand into his own, clutching it in the hopes the life that was inside him might flow out of his fingertips and into the lifeless vessel that lay before him.

 He buried his head in Jesse's stomach, still holding his hand.  "Oh, Jesse…no --"

Taylor raised his head and stared at the face again.  There was something different.  Jesse's rugged features were gone…replaced with a boyish, young face -- a familiar face.  Taylor's mind scrambled.

It was…

Oh, God, it was…

Noah

The darkness was replaced with light again.  Taylor was back in the park, huddled over Noah's cold and lifeless body.  He held tightly to Noah's hand…staring deep into the eyes.  Tears flowed freely now. 

He opened his mouth to scream.

"Noah, no!"

Taylor sat straight up in the backseat of his father's rental car.  He was hot and sweaty again.  His mind spun; his stomach wheeled.

"Tay, are you okay?" Zac asked.

"Dad," Tay said.  "Stop the car!"

"What?" Walker replied.

"Stop the car, Dad…stop it now!"

Walker quickly hit the brake and swerved to the right, hoping to everything that nothing was in his way.  An angry motorist gave him the finger as Walker crossed two lanes of traffic and veered into a parking lot, almost on two wheels.  The car almost fishtailed as he tried to regain control.

No sooner than Walker had stopped the car, Tay was out like a flash of light, running toward a wooden fence and hunching over it.  Taylor vomited violently, his insides heaved and the contents of his stomach ended up on the ground in front of him.



Noah had the gun loaded and was making his way toward the wooded area of the park when he heard the horns honking and tires squealing.  His attention was turned to the entrance of Woodruff Park as a burgundy Nissan Altima nearly caused an accident trying to enter the parking lot.  He watched as the car skidded to a stop not too far from him and someone in the backseat bolted out of the car. 

He moved quickly back to his car as the person hunched over the fence and hurled onto the ground.  Noah laid the gun back in the floorboard and slammed the door shut.  He stared at the young boy sprawled over the wooden rail.  Something about him was familiar.  The long, blond hair; the slender frame…it almost looked like…

No, it couldn't be…

It wasn't until another car door opened and a voice rang out, that it was clenched in his mind who exactly it was.

"Wow! Tay's puking!  Cool!"  A young boy, Zac Hanson, tumbled out of the driver side rear door and ran toward the front of the car.  Isaac, who was in the front seat, climbed out after him.

"Shut up, Zac," Isaac said.  "Leave him alone."  He walked over to the fence and put his hand on Tay's back.  "Are you okay, buddy?"

Noah watched in stunned silence as the two Hanson brothers, joined by their father, stood next to Taylor.  It didn't seem real.  They were in Tulsa recording the new album.  There was no way they could be in Manchester.  Yet here they were, right before his eyes.  He walked closer to them, making sure that it wasn't just a case of mistaken identity.

Sure enough, it was them, plain as day.  A big grin spread across his face. 

“What on earth are you guys doing here?” Noah called out.

They all turned, a little surprised.  Zac was the first to speak.  “Uh-oh,” he said.  “Busted!”

“Hey, Noah,” Isaac said, extending his hand.  “We were supposed to be surprising you, but it looks like that’s messed up now.”

Noah’s mouth opened.  “You guys flew in to surprise me for my birthday?”

“Yeah, well,” Isaac said, “that was the plan.”

“Until Tay started puking his guts out,” Zac said.  He ran over to Noah and collided into him, giving him a huge Zac hug.  “Happy birthday, man!”  He then started jumping up and down, playing an “air guitar” while singing, “You say it’s your birthday --”

“Zac, please,” Walker said, shaking his head.  He was much more concerned with Taylor.  “Son, are you okay?”  He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it out.

Taylor nodded, accepting the hankie.  “Yeah, Dad...I’m fine.”

“What happened back there?” Ike asked.

“I -- I --” Taylor stammered.  “I just got carsick.  That’s all.”  He gave a quick, nervous look toward Noah and then offered an uncomfortable smile.  “Hi, Noah.  How’s it going?” 

Taylor stepped forward and gave a Noah a hug, somthing Taylor had never done before.  Noah was a little stunned.

“I’m fine, Tay.  Thanks.”  There was something in Taylor’s expression -- something not right.  Noah looked him in the eye, only to have Taylor turn away from his gaze. 

Does he somehow know what I was planning to do?

Noah laughed uncomfortably.  “Well, guys, I guess we better get going.  I don’t want to be late to my own birthday party.  Do you guys know where you’re going?”

Walker smiled.  “Not really.  I’ve already made a wrong turn.  We were supposed to be there about fifteen minutes ago.”

“No problem,” Noah responded.

“Can I ride with Noah, Dad?” Zac asked.

Before Walker could answer, Taylor spoke up.  “I’d like to ride with Noah.”

“That’s fine with me,” Walker responded.

“But I wanna --” Zac stopped when he saw the look Taylor was giving him. 

Noah wasn’t sure what was going on, but he didn’t want to get in the middle of Zac and Taylor.  “Next time, Zac man.  Alright guys, let’s get going.”

Chapter Three

Chapter One

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