TW: This chapter involves a flashback to a violent wartime incident.

Author's Note: Since I didn't have a new chapter ready to post on Easter Sunday, I've got one for you today. I hope you all enjoy it. Thank you for your feedback and encouragement as you read. I love seeing all of your messages!

For those of you who have not yet encountered much Choctaw language in my stories (I've used quite a bit in my Beauty from Ashes series), you might be a little confused to see the letter v cropping up in places that look unpronounceable. Choctaw doesn't actually have the v sound as in English. In Choctaw, the letter represents the short u vowel sound, as in English bus. Often it's written with the Greek letter upsilon, but I'm not able to use that on this site.

Thank you to my beta readers, katbybee and Piscean6724, for all that you do! You are awesome! Kat is also my co-author for this chapter. She wrote for Mike in the scenes involving him and Beth.

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Glossary (Choctaw - English)

Nashoba – Wolf (Johnny's Choctaw name)

Halito – Hello

Ankana – My friend

Chin-himonali tuk – I was waiting for you

Vbanumpuli Willis Folsom sia – I am Pastor Willis Folsom

Vbanumpuli – pastor

Kvtash chinkana – Who is your friend?

Hattak pvt vmvnni – This man is my older brother (vmvnni only means brother if used by a male; used by a female, it means older sister)

Shilombish – Soul or spirit.

Achukma – Good

Svshki – My mother

Anki – My father

Iskhi – His (or her) mother

Inki – His (or her) father

Chi hullo li – I love you (spoken to one person)

Siushi – My son

Anakfi – My brother (a term used only by females for their brothers)

Hachi hullo li – I love you (when spoken to more than one person)

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Friday, 9 February 1973

Roy paced the floor of the small cabin just outside Battiest, Oklahoma, stopping every now and again to warm his hands at the wood stove. This whole trip was shaping up to be a disaster. They'd arrived yesterday only to hear that Pastor Folsom was away. No one knew where or when he'd be back — he'd arranged for a substitute to fill his pulpit this coming Sunday. The envelope containing Johnny's inheritance sat unopened on a small dining table. Roy had encouraged him to open it, but Johnny just said, "I don't want it. I just want Aunt Taloa."

Johnny was antsy and ill-tempered. They'd driven around the tiny town and out to his aunt and uncle's old ranch, where Johnny had spent his summers after his dad died, and some memories had returned, but not many. So far, they hadn't met anyone who remembered him well. Seemed everyone was trying to move on to somewhere more prosperous, as Johnny's aunt and uncle had done.

Roy was starting to think they should just leave, maybe drive over to Jones Academy in Hartshorne, where Johnny had attended school before the move to California. But Aunt Taloa had been adamant that they visit with Pastor Folsom, and Roy wanted to honor that. He wondered how the elderly lady was doing.

"I wanna go for a walk!" John shouted from the cabin's front porch, pulling Roy out of his contemplation.

"It's too cold, Junior," Roy shot back. He'd heard the same request from Johnny several times today and was getting tired of it. The weather outside was freezing, which made his joints stiffen up, and he intended to stay right here near the wood stove.

"Please, Roy," Johnny begged. "The woods are calling me. We've got coats and hats and gloves. You'll hardly feel the cold."

Roy sighed. That whine was driving him up one wall and down another.

"C'mon, Roy. It'll be good for us. Please?"

"Fine," said Roy with a groan. "Just let me bank the fire first." Out of sheer stubbornness, he took his sweet time. Finally, he grabbed his coat, gloves, and hat and pulled them on. Johnny was already wearing his.

"Finally!" Johnny trotted down the porch steps and headed for the woods. As he approached the tree line, he stopped and inhaled deeply, his eyes closed, a smile on his face. For the first time all day he was still. "Loblolly pine an' cedar an' all sorts of oak."

All Roy could smell was wood smoke. "You can sort all that out from just one breath?"

Johnny nodded. "Uncle Tahlako taught me. I know these woods like the back of my hand. We went hunting here. There's a lot more tree smells in the air, of course… lots of wood smoke too." He found a trail quickly and led Roy along it. Sometimes he would stop and think for a moment before turning left or right. Roy followed, working hard to keep up with Johnny's quick stride.

At last Johnny stopped at the base of a gigantic oak tree. "Heh… look up there, Roy." He pointed.

Roy tilted his head back. Above him, he saw the ragged remains of a tree house.

Johnny, meanwhile, was walking around to the other side of the tree. "It's still here!"

Roy followed, to find a crude ladder built into the side of the tree. John was already halfway up. Roy wasn't about to try it. "Be careful, Junior!"

But Johnny just kept scrambling upward. He didn't go as high as the tree-house platform, which looked like it would have collapsed under his weight, stopping instead to sit on a thick branch. "C'mon up, Roy!"

The thought of climbing the big tree brought a queasy feeling to the pit of Roy's stomach. He hated heights. Climbing for work was one thing. He wasn't getting paid for this. And anyway, he wasn't sure his stiff joints could manage the climb right now. "I'll just keep my feet on the ground, thanks," he called up.

"Uncle Tahlako and I built this tree house the first summer I lived with them. I spent lots of hours here, trying to talk God into giving my dad back." Johnny came scrambling down the tree again, coming down branch by branch instead of using the ladder. "Don't worry, pally. I know how to be safe." He jumped from the lowest branch and landed right in front of Roy. "Hi."

"Hi," Roy said drily. "Do you remember anything else?"

"Not yet." Johnny tapped his head. "It's in there. I can feel it, but I can't get to it yet. One way or another, it'll shake loose eve —" He stopped suddenly and tilted his head, his forehead scrunching up for a second. "Roy, do you hear that?"

At first Roy heard only the wind whistling in his ears, but as he strained to hear whatever it was that had caught Johnny's attention, he made out the faint beating of drums. And was that someone singing?

"C'mon, Roy. Let's go check it out." Without waiting for a response, Johnny darted ahead on the path.

Roy trotted after him, determined to keep up. "You know the way back to the cabin, right?" he called after John as they turned onto another trail.

"You don't?"

"Some things never change," Roy mumbled. Johnny had always had a better sense of direction than he did. As they walked, the drumming and singing grew louder. Soon, Johnny started humming along. Roy tried to make out the words, but they weren't in English. Must be Choctaw.

"What is that song? Do you understand the words?" Roy was growing increasingly curious. He was also surprised by the calming influence the music seemed to have on Johnny. He had slowed down, walking in time with the drumbeat, and seemed to be soaking in the music.

Johnny didn't answer. Roy figured he was too caught up in the music. The drumbeat was almost hypnotic. They walked for about twenty minutes before they went around a bend in the trail and saw the drummer not ten feet away from them. He had a fire going and behind him was a small structure, draped in blankets.

The drummer looked up and smiled at them. His smile reminded Roy of a crescent moon. His face was rugged, his hair silver. He set down his drum beater and opened his arms wide. "Nashoba! Halito, ankana! Chin-himonali tuk. Vbanumpuli Willis Folsom sia."

John elbowed Roy. "It's Pastor Folsom! He says he was waiting for me. I kinda remember him!" He stepped forward. "Vbanumpuli, halito."

The two men embraced briefly. Then the drummer looked toward Roy. "Kvtash chinkana, Nashoba?"

Now Johnny grinned. "Hattak pvt vmvnni Roy." He switched to English, turning to face Roy. "I told him you are my older brother."

"You're gonna have to translate more for me, Junior. I don't know a word of Choctaw."

The pastor stepped forward and pulled Roy's gloved hands into his own. "You will learn at least one word while you are among us. Halito. This is our word of greeting."

"Halito," echoed Roy. "I'm glad to meet you, Pastor Folsom. So, Johnny's aunt called to tell you we were coming?"

Folsom's brow knitted up and he shook his head. "Called? No. I have no telephone." His deep, guttural voice and his thick accent drew Roy in. "Taloa's shilombish — her soul — spoke to mine in a dream. She said Nashoba was coming home."

Roy nodded, though he wasn't sure what to think about that. On the one hand he was skeptical. On the other hand, he couldn't exactly argue that such a thing was impossible when the proof of it was standing right in front of him. Surely a pastor wouldn't lie about such things.

Folsom rested a hand on Johnny's shoulder. "Taloa told me of the harm that came to you, Nashoba. She says you have lost much memory and has asked me to help you."

"Can you, Pastor?" John ducked his head and dragged the tip of his boots in the dirt at his feet. "I wanna get better."

"I cannot help you, Nashoba," Pastor Folsom said gravely. "Only our Creator can do this. Today you will talk with Him." He glanced at the structure behind him. "I have prepared the sweat lodge for you. The fire is almost ready."

"Sweat lodge? But I thought you were a pastor." Roy was confused. He'd always thought things like sweat lodges were right up there with voodoo dolls and other ancient pagan practices.

Folsom grinned. "Yes, I am. I am a devout Christian, and I am also a traditional Choctaw. The sweat lodge is an ancient practice among my people. It comes from our pre-Christian days but can be used within the context of the Christian faith — just like your Christmas trees and Easter eggs. It is a place of cleansing and prayer, a place for healing, a place to release anger, guilt, and shame and to receive guidance from the Creator. This is what Nashoba needs, yes?"

Johnny was bouncing nervously, chewing on his lower lip. "Roy can come with me, right?"

Roy shook his head. Even though he was tired of being cold, the idea of sweating in a sauna didn't appeal to him in the least. He stretched his aching fingers, rubbed and pulled at them."Johnny, this is for y —"

The pastor silenced Roy with one firm glance. "Of course, Nashoba. Your brother is welcome to join you. It will do his aching joints much good. Besides, if I am not mistaken, he needs guidance too."

Johnny tilted his head and looked at Roy. "Ya do? What for, Roy?"

"Nothin'," Roy grumbled, with a pang of guilt. He wasn't about to admit it, but what Folsom said was true. He did need guidance. What if he couldn't pass the strenuous physical test for his recertification? What if Johnny couldn't come back to work or get any better than he was now? Roy wasn't prepared to commit to parenting his best friend, and yet he didn't want to abandon him either. So yes, he needed guidance. But he wasn't religious. He didn't pray. Neither did Johnny before all this business, at least as far as Roy knew. Didn't that disqualify them both from looking for help from a sweat lodge? He looked Pastor Folsom up and down. Something about the man's stern gaze melted his arguments away. "Sure," he said reluctantly. "I'll go in with you. Can't hurt, I guess."

"Achukma, achukma! Here is another word for you, Roy. It means good, excellent. You say it now."

"Achukma?" Languages weren't really Roy's thing, but he would make the attempt. Johnny snickered, but Folsom gave him an encouraging nod. Roy appreciated it, though he harbored no illusions of becoming fluent anytime soon. "So, what do we do now?"

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Dwight Hennessy was on his way to the North Campus for another session with Mike Stoker. He was feeling good about Mike's progress over the last several days. Jake had kept the tape of Beth's affirmations playing constantly, and gradually Dwight had been able to decrease the amount of sedation Mike required to remain free of the voice that plagued him. He still didn't talk much, and he still seemed haunted, but at least he listened. Today, Dwight had a surprise for Mike. Something he hoped his patient was ready for.

When Hennessy stepped into the room, Jake switched the recording off. Dwight slipped into a chair and leaned forward, his intense gaze on Stoker. "Mr. Stoker, today I want to talk about voices."

Stoker looked up at him through shadowed eyes. He didn't respond, but he made eye contact.

"Each time you awaken, it is to a recording of affirmations. Positive statements read by Beth for you to hear over and over again. She wrote most of them herself; others were given her by your coworkers and your friends." Dwight shifted in his seat and leaned back, his elbows on the armrests, his hands folded together in front of him. "Mr. Stoker, you alone can choose the voices you will listen to. Hera tried to make the choice for you by speaking so loudly that she drowned all other voices out. She drugged you to make you more receptive. And so she captured your mind. She offers you misery, self-loathing, a lifetime trapped in a mental institution. Beth's voice offers you something better. Beth's voice offers you freedom. She offers you self-worth. She offers you love." He cleared his throat. "The choice is yours, Mr. Stoker. Which voice will you listen to?"

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Mike shut his eyes for a few moments, concentrating on the voice he'd been hearing… the voice he'd loved for so long. Even though the tape was not playing right now, he still could hear her voice — Beth's voice — inside his head. Hera was there too, and she was angry. She was trying to get his attention. But his Beth, he needed her more. "P-please. I want Bethy. Play the tape again. I have to get rid of that other voice."

A second later, Beth's voice filled the air, expressing her love for Mike. He closed his eyes and listened, focusing on her words. And then he felt her hand in his. He didn't dare open her eyes, afraid as he was that she would vanish like the morning mist. But she didn't vanish. She was solid, real, present. She was kissing his face and wrapping her arms around him. "I'm here, Mike," she whispered. "I'm here."

"I need you Beth. I need to hear you. I don't want the other voice anymore." He had decided never to say the other voice's name again. "I hate her. Help me, Bethy." And then he dared to disobey the other voice. He blinked open his eyes and looked right into Beth's deep brown gaze.

She had tears streaming down her cheeks. "I know, darling. I hate her too. She tried to steal you from me. But you're coming back. You're winning this battle. We're winning it together." And then she covered his face with kisses.

"Tired, Beth. I'm so tired."

"Close your eyes, my love." Beth stroked her fingers through his hair and kissed him again. Then she began to sing a lullaby in Japanese, one she'd sung to the twins and to their little Sarah.

Mike closed his eyes, and for the first time since this whole nightmare began, he felt at peace… the evil voice quieted, his demons were held at bay. He had his Beth with him again and that was all that mattered.

He was vaguely aware of Dr. Hennessy telling Jake, "Come on. I think this session is over, and I'm sure you need a break." And then he heard the door open and close. He and Beth were alone together.

The tape was still running. Beth stopped singing and rested her head on Mike's pillow. Her arms still wrapped around him, she soon drifted off to sleep herself, the stress of the last months fading away as she clung to the man she loved.

Mike's arms came around her and he pulled her close. It briefly occurred to him that she'd gained weight since he saw her last. Not that it mattered to him. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, and she always would be. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. This time, his dreams were filled with memories of his life with her before… and the other voice faded into nothingness.

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Before conducting Johnny and Roy into the sweat lodge, Folsom instructed them to spend some time in quiet introspection. "You cannot sweat away your sins. Purification comes through confession and forgiveness. Before you sweat, you must ask the Creator to reveal to you any wrongs that you have done."

Johnny scurried up the trunk of an old oak tree to sit in its branches and think. Was it a sin that he enjoyed making Roy all nervous? He thought it was funny how Roy would stare at him with his mouth hanging open and his eyes kinda buggin' out. Maybe that was something he should be sorry for, but it was hard to work up much remorse for it. But he was sorry for breaking Mike and annoying Josh. He'd been beating himself up over that for a while now. He was also sorry for all the times he'd pestered Roy about things instead of listening the way he'd promised to do. He kept driving Roy out of his skull, at least that's what Roy said.

He didn't remember ever talking much with God after those days crying and begging in his treehouse failed to bring Inki back to him. But now, pleasant memories skittered through his mind of Sunday School lessons taught by Pastor's wife and listening to Aunt Taloa's sweet soprano voice warbling Choctaw hymns while Uncle Tahlako tried to find the right notes. And there was another woman's voice singing to him, even further back than Aunt Taloa's. Svshki, is that you? Maybe it was worth getting to know God again, especially if Pastor was right that God could help him.

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Roy leaned against the trunk of a tree. He couldn't name it the way Johnny could, but he found himself studying its trunk. His hands were gloved, but he could imagine how the rough, scaly, reddish-brown bark would feel under his fingers. Deep grooves ran upwards, leading his eyes to the top of the tree, which reached its great bare branches toward the sky.

He sighed, dropping his eyes back to the section of trunk right in front of him. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about trees right now. He was supposed to be thinking about himself and any wrongdoing he needed to confess.

He coughed out a wry laugh. Jo would love this. She kept to their bargain, but he knew she prayed for him. She wanted him to know God the same way she did. Oh, she understood how hard it was for him. Vietnam had hardened him. What kind of God would allow the awful things he had seen working as a medic there? Certainly not one he was interested in following.

And yet sometimes he wondered. Maybe Jo had it right all along. His wife was an incredible person. Kind, loving, loyal, a fantastic mother. Oh, they fought sometimes, but he loved her and he always would.

He wasn't a perfect husband. He knew that. The small stack of Playboy magazines sitting in his locker was ample proof of it. Chet had stuck them in there as a juvenile prank months ago. Roy had groaned and complained, telling Chet, "I'm a happily married man!" But he never got rid of them. Oh, he didn't look at them… much — it made him feel too guilty. He only indulged when he was fighting with Jo. Sometimes he felt like such a fraud. His little boy looked to him as a paragon of virtue, but he was just as broken and messed up as anyone else.

He was a messed-up friend, too. He kept losing patience with Johnny for acting like a little kid, and it wasn't even Johnny's fault. How many times on this trip had he just let loose and yelled at his friend and made him retreat into himself? He knew that his angry reactions and impatience pushed Johnny back into little boy mode, but he couldn't help it. "God, what's wrong with me?" he mumbled. For once in his life, he really wanted to know.

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"Mike? Mike! Wake up!"

Mike's eyes flew open. Beth was in a panic, shaking his arm, and the bed was soaked. He looked at her, suddenly wide awake. "Honey, what's wrong?"

"My water broke. It's three weeks early."

He sat up in bed. Her water? What the — a baby? Now it was Mike's turn to panic. He had no idea what to do, and he was trying to martial his thoughts into some semblance of order. After a few seconds of shocked silence, he reached to touch her cheek. "Hey, honey, it's OK." He pressed his call button.

But no one came. Later in the day he would find out the button had malfunctioned. Beth stiffened as her contractions came on. She grabbed his hand and squeezed hard. It hurt. He almost thought he felt something cracking, but he worked to keep his expression soft, calming. "Hey, breathe for me, Bethy. Focus on me and breathe through the pain." As soon as the contraction passed and she was relaxing against the pillow, he carefully pulled out his IV and held his hand over the wound. "I'm going to get help." Then he headed for the door, looked out, and hollered at the top of his lungs, "I need a doctor here now!"

"Mike!" Beth screamed. "It's time!"

He ran back in and washed his hands, trying to summon everything he remembered about birthing babies, which wasn't much. At all. He only hoped the doc would get here soon. He returned to the bedside to try to help Beth. The baby was already crowning. "Damn, honey. I think I need a catcher's mitt!"

Beth forced a laugh, but Mike could tell she was in pain. Tears streamed down her face as the baby slipped into its father's hands.

"It's… it's a girl, honey." Mike was crying too. After all these months of feeling worthless and rejected, suddenly a rush of joy coursed through him. He was loved. He had purpose. He had value.

Just then Doc Corrigan and two nurses came flying through the door and took over. Doc allowed Mike to cut his daughter's umbilical cord.

When it was all over, Beth lay in the bed, pale and trembling, the baby on her chest. "The boys," she whispered. "Someone needs to pick them up from basketball."

Mike sat next to her on a chair, his IV restarted, staring at his daughter. "Call the babysitter, she can pick them up. I mean, have the nurse call her."

Beth nodded. She gave the number to the nurse and then rested her head again and stroked the baby's downy head. "Uh, Mike… I was going to tell you at Thanksgiving, but…"

"But I disappeared." He cupped her cheek in his hand. "Oh, Bethy, I can't believe it. It's wonderful."

She scrubbed her sleeve across her eyes, wiping away tears. "Sometimes I was terrified she and the boys would be all I had left of you." She bent to kiss the baby's downy head. "Oh, Mike… what should we call her?"

"We could always use another Hannah," Mike teased.

She laughed, perhaps harder than the joke merited. "It's so good to hear you making jokes." Then she looked up at him, her eyes warm and bright. "I want to name her Michaela. Is that all right with you?" She reached to touch his cheek.

"I'm calling her Mikki," he said decisively. "And I get to pick her middle name. It's Elizabeth. Michaela Elizabeth Stoker. Mikki Beth. She has her mama's dark hair and," he looked at the baby's eyes, "unless they change, her daddy's green eyes."

Beth nodded and kissed the little girl on the forehead. "Mikki Beth. It's a good name. She represents the best of both of us."

"Mrs. Stoker," the nurse interrupted. "We're going to transfer you and the baby to Rampart. An ambulance is en route."

Beth groaned. "I wish I could just stay here." She grasped Mike's hand. "I don't want to go."

Mike leaned over her. "I wish you could too, but it's better this way. This is no place for Mikki. I love you both."

"I just want you to come home and for us to have our whole family together again. I'm so tired, Mike."

He nodded. It was what he wanted too. "You rest while you can, and I'll keep getting better. Soon, Bethy. Soon."

Her eyelids were starting to droop. "Soon," she whispered as they sank shut and she fell asleep.

Mike watched over his wife and new daughter until the paramedics came to take them to Rampart. One of them took a Polaroid snapshot of Beth and the baby for him. He cried when they left, because he missed them already.

Later that afternoon, Dr. Hennessy stopped in to visit him. "I hear you had some excitement with Beth today." He winked and passed Mike a cigar. "I shouldn't be giving you this, but I'm a stickler for tradition."

Mike smiled and showed him the photo of Beth and little Mikki.

Hennessy nodded his approval. "She's beautiful. They both are. Congratulations, Mr. Stoker." He took a seat next to the bed. "You have a lot to live for."

"I need to get outta here, Doc."

Hennessy offered to light the cigar. "I'm glad you feel that way. That's what we're shooting for. If all goes well, I think you'll be heading home within a week or two."

Mike shook his head at the offer. "Nah, I eat enough smoke thanks."

The doctor pocketed his lighter with a nod. "All right, then. We don't need another session right now — I just wanted to congratulate you. I'll stop by tomorrow morning to talk."

"Okay, that sounds good. Beth should be out of the hospital in a week or so. Hopefully I'll be ready to get out of here not too long after that."

"Mr. Stoker, it's good to hear you talk that way." Dr. Hennessy got to his feet. "I think that baby girl was just what you needed."

And for the first time in a long time, Mike's smile reached clear to his eyes.

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Not one sliver of light reached into the sweat lodge. Roy sat with Johnny and Pastor Folsom in the pitch darkness. When Folsom's grown son, Olin, had arrived to tend the fire and play the drum, the other three had stripped down to their underclothes and entered the small structure. At first, it was pleasant. Roy's joints stopped aching in the warmth of the lodge, and it was a lovely escape from the cold. But gradually, the heat became oppressive. Folsom sat by the exit, ready to open it in case either Johnny or Roy needed out. Roy wasn't sure how long they'd been in there, but he was on the verge of making a run for it. Only the thought of stepping into the bitter cold dressed in his skivvies stopped him.

Here in the darkness and the heat, the hypnotic effect of the drumming was magnified. Roy felt as if the sound were bearing him upwards, carrying him along one of those grooves in the tree trunk, up into gnarled branches that lifted him up, offering him to Heaven. At first he fought it, but finally he gave up. "I'm sorry," he murmured as all his failings loomed over him. As soon as he got home, the Playboys would go straight to the trash. He would learn patience with Johnny. He would stop yelling and fussing. He leaned his head back against the wall of the tent, then found himself slipping into a terrible memory.

Roy hadn't had a flashback to Vietnam for a long time, but suddenly he was there. At least, he saw himself there, watching the scene unfold as if it were on a movie screen. "No," he said, shaking his head. "I don't want to see this."

He felt Folsom's hand on his back, heard a comforting voice speak soothingly to him. "Let the vision unfold, Roy. Healing will follow."

Roy saw himself sitting in an Army Jeep with Captain Vic Sampson at the wheel. They had spent the day at Taffy Matthew's children's home, vaccinating orphaned Vietnamese kids, and now they were on their way back to the field hospital. Suddenly Vic pulled over and hit the brakes. It took Roy a minute to see what he'd seen — a body lying beside the road, partially hidden in the underbrush. An American soldier, based on the uniform. His hand moved. Roy and Captain Sampson jumped to the ground.

"Keep back, Sergeant. It could be a trap," Sampson ordered.

Roy obeyed. The Captain talked to the soldier for a few seconds and then looked him over carefully. He came back to the Jeep to get his medical bag. "He's Corporal Eddie Rivera. Viet Cong rigged him with explosives. We can't just leave him. I'm going to try to disarm it and pull him free. You keep back, Sergeant, and if that thing blows, you hightail it outta here and get back to camp. Got it?"

Roy nodded. "Yessir."

Sampson pulled off his dog tags and pressed them into Roy's hand, then gave him the photo he carried of his wife and kids and the pocket Bible he carried with him everywhere. "Send the photo and tags back to my wife. Keep the Bible for yourself. It'll do you good." Then he went back to Rivera's side. Roy watched from a distance. Vic disarmed the first bomb but must not have realized there was another one. As he went to lift Rivera into his arms, it blew. Roy saw it all — the captain and the man they'd stopped to help, both blown to pieces in front of his eyes, his own face and uniform splattered with their flesh and blood. His ears rang from the sound of the blast for a week.

Maybe he should have stayed. Maybe he should at least have looked for Rivera's dog tags. But he was terrified and in shock. The Viet Cong could be nearby, watching, ready to take him captive. He wouldn't survive that. He ran to the jeep, got in, and drove as fast as he could back to the relative safety of the field hospital. He still had Vic's pocket Bible. It was sitting in a box in his den. He'd never cracked the cover.

Now he found himself weeping on Pastor Folsom's shoulder as the flashback faded. "Why did I live? Vic was a better man than me in so many ways." But the pastor hadn't seen his flashback, hadn't lived it. He couldn't understand.

"Do not ask me, Roy. Ask God. Yell at him if you must. Release your anger. Don't mind me, son — I've heard it all."

And so, Roy yelled. He cussed. He cried. And when he was done, he felt as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He sank back, exhausted, falling into another vision. It couldn't be a memory, as he'd never stepped foot in Vic's tent. But now he saw the captain sitting on his bunk, reading a letter. Vic looked up and met Roy's gaze. Roy wanted to look away, to hide, but he couldn't move. Then Vic spoke to him. "I'm all right, pal. I was ready to meet my Maker, you weren't. It was my choice, Roy. My risk to take." He looked down at his letter once more, then back at Roy. "Hey, have you been taking care of my old Bible? I sure hope so. Give it a read one of these days."

The vision faded. Roy was back in the sweat lodge, desperate for a drink of cold water and a breath of fresh air. "Out," he mumbled. "Please." Pastor Folsom pushed the blankets away from the door and Roy stumbled out into the unforgiving cold.

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Johnny sat in the darkness. He didn't mind the cold as much as Roy did, but he liked the heat too. He got right down to business, doing as Pastor Folsom had told them. Outside they had been tasked with thinking of things they had done wrong. Now they were to bring those things before God and ask forgiveness.

He prayed in a whisper, hopeful that he wasn't disturbing Roy or Pastor. To be honest, he wasn't sure he was doing it right. "Well, God. I'm sorry. You know what I did. I keep messing things up for everyone. I broke Mike and I pestered Josh and I keep bugging Roy. And I'm always doing dumb things just 'cause I know they'll worry Roy and I guess that's wrong even if it is fun. And God, I haven't talked to you for a long time, I think. I don't really remember everything, but I do remember being awful mad at you after Anki died. That was pretty hard on a kid. First Svshki, then Anki. I still don't understand, God, but I want to get to know you again. So, I hope you're willing to forgive me."

A sense of peace settled over him, and he heard that voice singing to him. Not Aunt Taloa's voice, but the other woman. Ishki. She had died when he was only seven. Died of grief, Inki said. "I had a little sister," Johnny whispered, the sudden memory awakening a long-buried sorrow. "She died too."

The singing got louder, and suddenly Johnny found himself on a grassy hill overlooking a meadow. The fragrance of wildflowers floated on the breeze, a soothing balm to his aching heart. A woman sat on a picnic blanket watching as a little girl with almond-shaped eyes and a grown man gathered flowers together. They all looked up and waved to Johnny.

"Svshki!" he called. "Anki! Jesse!" He started running down the hill to join them, but an invisible barrier prevented him. None of them could cross it. He stood watching them, tears filling his eyes, dripping down his cheeks. He wanted so badly to join them.

Ishki raised her hand and began to sing. Her voice wrapped around him like a warm blanket. "Nashoba, you have work to do before you join us. But we are with you always," her song said. "You are never alone." And as she sang, the distance between them grew less and less until suddenly she broke through the barrier. She pulled him into her arms and kissed his hair and whispered into his heart and mind everything that he had forgotten. "Chi hullo li, Nashoba."

Inki came to him next and squeezed his shoulder. "Chi hullo li, siushi."

"Anakfi!" The giggly little girl tugged at his hand, so he knelt and gathered her into his arms. She was beautiful and love flowed from her. She pressed her rumpled assortment of wildflowers into his hands, jasmine and lavender and daffodils. He kissed her forehead and wrapped his arms around her.

And then the vision faded. Johnny was once again in the darkness, acutely aware of Roy's anguish and his own loneliness. He was also aware that something important had changed. He remembered everything. And the fragrance of wildflowers still hung in the air.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Johnny remembered everything. Not just life before his abduction, but every moment he had suffered at the Farm. Every hateful word, every lie he'd been made to believe, the cruel beating that would have killed him without Susanna's intervention. Susanna. His angel. The only bright spot in all those terrible months. He needed to get back to her, to thank her, to let her know that he loved her with all his heart, and he always would.

But first, he needed to release the anger and hatred he felt towards Hera and her hangers-on. As long as he clung to that, it would rule him. He remembered something Ishki had told him when he was a small boy. She had been harshly snubbed by the other women in their community. It was something to do with Jesse — she was born sickly, and the women said it was Ishki's fault. He remembered her praying for strength to forgive those women. When he asked why she did that, she said, "It is not for them that I forgive, siushi. Anger and hatred are harsh masters. When I forgive, I choose to be free of them. It is the only way to find joy again."

Johnny would probably bear the marks of his captivity for the rest of his life, but they did not define him. He refused to let hatred and anger be his masters — that would be as bad as belonging to Hera. He sucked in a deep breath and asked God to help him say the hardest words he'd ever had to say. "I forgive them," he whispered. Then he said it again, louder. "I forgive them." He knew it was more than words when he felt how forgiveness drove out the lingering darkness from his heart, replacing it with joy and freedom. He closed his eyes again. Soon the sweat would be done, and he would leave this lodge. He was happy to leave with his heart, mind, and soul intact and fully free.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

After drinking some water and getting some fresh air, Roy ducked back into the sweat lodge. The heat was hard to take, but he craved guidance and he still hadn't gotten any. And besides, it was better than freezing his ass off outside.

"I'm back, God," he mumbled. "If you're really there like JoAnne says, tell me what I should do."

But God was silent. Roy hardly believed in him, and yet he resented that silence. He wanted an answer, a voice from above pointing him in the right direction. He pounded a fist into a palm. "Come on, God. If you're real, show me. I have to figure out where to go from here. What do I do when we get back home and my partner can't work anymore, and I can't bear to go back without him?"

"That isn't how it'll go, pal."

Johnny. Roy had completely forgotten he was there. But now his hand had come down on Roy's shoulder and his voice sounded normal, like the old Johnny. Roy swallowed a sob, but he couldn't stop his tears. "I'm sorry, Johnny. I've been a terrible friend. All this time, I've just been making it harder for you."

"No, Roy. You've been a great friend. I never would've got here if not for you, and this is where I needed to be. It's no wonder the kid version of myself drove you nuts. But I'm back, Roy. I'm better. I remember everything. It's over, Roy. I'm ready to go home and get back to work."

"Over?" Roy was struggling to absorb everything Johnny had said. Why couldn't he get ahold of himself? "Really over?"

"Yeah. As usual, Aunt Taloa knew exactly what I needed." Johnny's voice caught when he said that last bit, as if he were fighting tears.

"Taloa Ward has passed on," Pastor Folsom said. "I saw her in a vision, crossing into the Happy Land — into Heaven, as you would call it."

"I saw her too," Johnny said, "with Uncle Tahlako and my parents and little Jesse."

Johnny got up, then reached down to find Roy's hand and tug him up. "C'mon, Pally. Let's go. We can start home tomorrow if you're up for it. I need to see Susanna."

Roy shook his head. "But I haven't heard from God yet. I asked for guidance, and he was silent. How can I just leave?"

Johnny and Pastor Folsom both chuckled. "Roy," Johnny said, "he wasn't silent. He just used me to give you the guidance you wanted. I'm going back to work. Are you coming with me or not?"

Roy sat stunned for a moment longer. God speaking to him through Johnny? The Phantom would go to town with that if he heard about it. But that didn't mean it wasn't true, did it? In fact, the more Roy thought about it, the truer it felt. "Yeah," he said finally. "Of course I am. We'll both have to recertify, but we can do it."

As Pastor Folsom pushed open the door and allowed daylight in, Roy reached up and clasped Johnny's hand. "Let's go get packed, Junior. We've got work to do back home."

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

Only when Johnny stepped out into the bracing cold air did he realize what he held in his hand. Jasmine. Lavender. Daffodils. The gift from his little sister. They were still fresh. He held them gingerly, blinking back tears. If God had spoken to Roy through him, he had spoken to Johnny with this. His family really was always with him, even if they were in the Happy Land. He looked skywards and held up the flowers. "Hachi hullo li," he whispered. Taking care to protect the precious gift, he pulled on his winter clothes again, thanked Pastor Folsom, then put an arm around his brother's shoulders and headed back to the cabin.