Chapter 12.

"…This whole thing called faith never made sense to me until that night Krys was in the hospital," Fox said. "That was the best and worst night of my life. Faith made sense to me when I finally said, 'God, I can't do this.' I hit rock bottom. That's when I realized He loved me and wanted to help me. I knew my father didn't just believe in a religion. I knew why he called it a relationship…because there was a God he believed in who cared about my pain."

Falco said nothing at first. "Your dad dying, your mom dying, that night in the hospital? Some relationship. And you still believed in God?"

Fox nodded. He waited for Falco to reply, but Falco turned away. For the first time all that afternoon, he was silenced. As he remembered the sound of Katt smacking against the floor in a shower of vodka, glass and blood…the sound of Fox's car screeching before smashing into the telephone pole…the nights he spent throwing up after a long night at the bar…nausea welled up inside him.

And then he remembered what Fox had just said.

God cares about my pain.

"I want to do it." Falco sobbed and nodded. "I can't do this anymore. This is my rock bottom, McCloud. And you said the God of the Bible is even bigger than this, right? Well, I want to know Him. It's about time."

Some relationship, indeed. Falco prayed for a miracle. He prayed for deliverance. He prayed for his stomach to stop churning, his head to stop pounding, his mind to let him rest at night. He still suffered through the DT, he slept only a few hours that week, orange juice wasn't his new habit, and this…this was the worst.

"Why, McCloud?" The knot in his throat tightened. His stomach churned, dreading to hear the answer. "Why this?"

Fox said nothing at first. His eyes flicked at the GPS. One more mile, and Granite Hills would emerge through the pine trees. His eyes narrowed, his face grimacing as he tried to think of an answer. He opened his mouth to say the words, but he paused, and his face grimaced even more.

"When my dad died, I asked God the same thing. 'Why this?' I still don't have the answer, Falco. Not even a hint."

Fox finally turned to Falco. "It's not going to be an easy program. It takes a little time—"

"No, it takes a lot of time."

"I know, but I've heard great things about it. You'll still get to do a lot of what you love—working out, swimming, games—but you'll get to do it with people who know what you're going through."

Falco nodded. He let out a trembling breath, and a tear spilled out of each eye. "Why doesn't God just heal me? I prayed all week for God to just take away the cravings, but He won't."

"I've wondered that, too…why God left this huge hole in my life where my father should be. I don't know. Some people get healed as soon as they pray. Most of the people I've met have had to go through a process. As far as we know, that's the way God wants you to go so you can be free. You will get better, Falco. I know you will. It's just going to take time."

Granite Hills came into view, a pinewood lodge with steep green roofs, a chandelier hanging over the porch, and balconies looking out over the lake. Falco pulled up between two cars and put the car in park, and he put his head against the steering wheel. Tears fell down his face.

"Falco, I know how it feels to face a fear. Getting up here is easy, but the last steps will hurt the most. But maybe this isn't the way to go. That's why you could always pull into reverse."

Falco still looked at the lodge. "You'd really let me go back after we made the arrangements?"

"Of course. I can tell David you changed your mind."

Falco turned to Fox. His jade eyes didn't bat away. Then Fox glanced at the keys in the ignition. He reached out his wingtips, but he pulled back a little.

"When you told me about this last week, I said 'No.' I said I was countin' on a miracle, but that's not the whole story. I was scared." Falco sighed and shook his head. "Look, McCloud, I've got a drinking problem. I've got a bad drinking problem, and I know I've got a bad drinking problem. I know I need to be here. Because when I told myself I wouldn't go to Granite Hills, I couldn't sleep. The last night was the first night I could sleep, because I chose to take you up on your offer. That's what gives me peace."

He pulled the keys out of the ignition. "Here. Take 'em."He tossed the keys, and they jingled as Fox caught them in his paw.

"But what if you need to—"

"They've got cars up here. Besides, you need a second car, Krys needs to take Marcus to kindergarten…and I already went to the DMV, anyway."

A somber smile lined his muzzle. "Thank you."

"Just visit me every now and then. Bring some of the team with ya."

Fox nodded and held out a paw to shake. "Of course I will."

"Don't make it a routine or anything. You've got a life—"

"We'll come up whenever we can. And Falco…we'll pray for you every day."

Falco shrugged. No surprise there. Fox always said things like that. He and Fox walked up to the lodge, and Falco heard his own heart slamming against his chest. He looked up just as someone came outside. It was David, a muscular Doberman with green eyes and a gray polo shirt. He held out a paw and smiled. "Hey, Falco. You ready to check in?"

"Yeah, one second." Falco turned to Fox. His beak opened halfway, trying to form the words to say. Instead a shaky breath came out, and then a smile. "I never thought I'd say this, but tell Slippy I said thanks…for savin' my life."

Fox smiled back. "I'll do that. He'll want to see you, too."

Falco's beak hung open for a moment, and he shrugged. "Bring him on up if you like. And would you tell Katt I love her and I miss her."

Fox smiled and nodded. "I will."

There was a pause. They stared for a moment. Falco opened his beak again to say something, but he just nodded. He would thank Fox some day…another day.

With a deep breath, Falco picked up his bags and followed the Doberman up to the porch. With one last look at Fox he nodded, and Fox waved a paw.

Walking into the lodge felt like trudging through mud. On the phone, David told him the core of his addiction was in the mind, not in a chemical imbalance. Falco wanted to deny it, and to take medicine to help himself, but something bigger than Falco had led him to addiction in the first place. He knew it because he felt his fear rise at the thought of exploring the unknown. He knew the strongest drugs wouldn't touch a shadow.

What troubles you, Falco Lombardi? he said to himself.

It had to be something bigger than just alcohol, something that explained why he shattered a bottle of vodka over Katt's head, why he attacked Murdoc the bartender, why he took Fox's car and planned to commit suicide in his apartment were it not for the telephone pole. Whatever troubled him had to be something too big for him to fight alone.

I can't do this. Falco paused his train of thought for a minute as warmth blossomed in his chest. But maybe that's the point.

And he remembered a verse Fox taught him last week.

Not by might, nor by power, but by the Spirit of God.

One step at a time. Falco's body still ached, every step felt like trudging through mud, and his heart pounded with every step. One step at a time…that was all.

I'm going to be OK.

And so he walked up the steps to the twin pine doors. With each footfall, a wave of peace washed over him.

All was well. It would have to be.

A/N: I've wanted to change this chapter ever since I wrote it. I spent a lot of time thinking of it. I started writing it, only to run out of ideas. But over the last several years, material has presented itself.

I've lived long enough to realize that God uses both instant transformation and lengthy processes to change people's lives. They're both miracles—just in different timespans. I've simply seen God work on longer timespans in many of my battles. That's why I feel this new ending is stronger and more realistic. I've got to write what comes from the heart.

Thanks for reading,

~ John