Not in the Heart by Chris Fabry

“Need to visit the little boys’ room.”
    I opened the door to the lobby, took the stairs, and headed to the street.

C HAPTER 11
    Ellen drove home, leaning closer to the vent and reaching out a hand for a little cool air to counter the hot wind whipping at her hair. It made no sense to use the air conditioner but she did it anyway. Full blast. It was like putting an ice cube in a volcano.
    Her thoughts turned to Truman and his offer to relieve her for the day. She didn’t need a break from Aiden; she needed him to pay attention to their son. She knew what it would mean to him. And while she questioned if Truman would really follow through, she had to at least give him a chance. She had prayed for this. So why did she feel conflicted?
    She had prayed for more, of course. That Truman would lose his addictions, turn into a better husband, a better father, and be the man she wanted him to be. Complete healing for Aiden, that Abby would become interested in spiritual things, and that God would give Ellen herself the ability to hang on and believe in the midst of the unbelief.
    Deep within she knew that a turnaround for her husband could only come from God. Truman couldn’t work all of his addictions away; he had to be changed inside, and frankly, that possibility seemed as far away as complete healing for Aiden. The tiny spark of hope she’d carried for Truman was just an ache now, a fleeting thought. Like trying to cool a car in the Florida heat and humidity with all the windows down.
    Lost in her thoughts, she pulled into the driveway and sat a few moments, staring at the house, unable to move. The weight of life pressed her into the seat and it was like moving buckets of sand to open the door and move both feet. Fatigue was one thing. That was with her every waking moment as the fear and dread of Aiden and what might happen next washed over her, even through her dreams. The crushing weight was knowing what needed to happen and that she could do nothing but hope and pray and wait.
    As she opened the front door, she sensed someone behind her and turned to see two men. One held a knife to his chest. The other pushed her into the house. She didn’t have time to scream—or the energy. They closed the door behind them.
    â€œWhat do you want?” she said breathlessly.
    The one with the knife nodded to the other, and she studied their faces. The big one had acne scars and dark hair that piled on his head. The one with the knife was thinner with eyes like a fox. Cunning. Calculating. He moved toward her and she backed into the kitchen.
    â€œSit,” he said.
    She fumbled with a chair and obeyed, staring at the knife and the man’s face. When he reached out, she recoiled, but instead of touching her, he grabbed her purse and pulled out her cell phone.
    â€œWhat’s this about?” she said, her voice shaking.
    â€œWhere’s your husband?”
    Books falling in the bedroom. Things being scattered.
    â€œHe’s not here,” she said.
    â€œWe know that. Where is he?”
    â€œMy son is sick,” she said, then regretted it. Endangering Aiden was the last thing she wanted.
    The bigger one returned, shaking his head. Fox leaned forward and put the knife to her neck.

C HAPTER 12
    I wandered through the lobby looking for a local map but found none. Finally I got desperate and asked the newcomer at the information desk to help me find Oak Street. I could have hailed a cab, but with the cash running low and my legs aching for movement, I decided to hoof it.
    It doesn’t matter what you think of me for leaving without seeing my son. Nothing you could say or think would make me feel any worse. And as I walked along the streets, carrying the bag, I couldn’t help but think what a depressing sight I was to even the casual bystander. With the bandage on my face and the black-and-blue eye, all I needed was a guitar and a harmonica and I might have been able to make cab