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Never Forget the Truth

By F D. Adkins

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Emotions wage war inside me, battling for control of my body. Fear of failure paralyzes my muscles, while anger and frustration at not being able to enjoy what should be the happiest time of my life force blood through my body in violent pulses. With trembling hands, I grip the handle of my Glock nine-millimeter pistol so hard that my white knuckles ache. He’s here. I know he’s here. Sweat beads erupt on my forehead and run down my face. Or maybe it’s tears, I think. At this point, it doesn’t matter. Both sweat and tears reflect the turmoil tearing away at me.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I move my left hand from the gun and rest it on the bathroom doorknob. I pause for a second, take a shallow breath, and hold it as I try to absorb the words running through my head. Never Forget… be not afraid… for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest. In an attempt to make no sound, I twist the knob in slow motion and crack the door open an inch at a time until I can peek through. I knew it. My chest tightens, and a sharp pain stabs through my sternum as my eyes peer across the room and fall on the open bedroom door. The door was closed. I am positive that I closed it.
With a quiet step, I shift to the side of the bathroom door and press the front of my body against the wall. Three. Two. One. I fling my right foot out and kick the bathroom door open. Keeping my torso shielded behind the wall, I lean around the casing just enough to scour the room. Nothing. Maybe he’s under the bed.
I press my lips together and still my breathing as I clutch the handle of the gun in my right hand and steady it with my left. With the tip of my nine-millimeter pointed at the bottom of the bed skirt, I pad toward it with soft steps, wishing I could quieten the sound of my pounding heart. A glimpse of movement in my peripheral vision sends my reflexes into action. In a swift motion, I swing my arm around and aim at the door.
“Ellie, no. It’s me!”
“Get back,” I almost yell. “He’s in here.” Panic floods through every syllable.
“Ellie,” Steve takes a step into the room, “put the gun down. No one is in here.”
“He’s here. Please get back.” My voice cracks. I swallow and try to think fast. I need to convince Steve to listen to me. “I heard something, and the door was open. I know I closed the door, Steve.” My words quaver with hysteria, and I start to talk faster. “I pushed on it and counted to seven to make sure it latched. It was closed.”
“Yes, it was.” Steve takes another step. The dark skin on his face is tinted red with alarm. “But I opened it. The noise you heard was me trying to find my phone charger.” He glances around the room. “I thought I might have left it in here last night.”
I look at him through narrowed eyes and scratch my head. “Didn’t you tell me that you and Spencer were going to the store before breakfast?”
“We were, but then I decided to wait because I think I’m going to need a few more things to finish the room.” Steve lets out a long sigh as he runs his hand in a fast swoop through his dark brown hair. “Would you please put that gun down?”
“Oh,” I say aloud as I realize that I still have the gun aimed out in front of me. I drop my arm to my side and let the tears pool in my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I mouth the words because I can’t seem to get any sound to come out.
Steve’s strong, muscular arms drape around me, and he pulls my head into his chest. He strokes my brown hair and tucks a loose twig behind my ear. “Ellie, honey, I know that nightmare still haunts you, but he can’t take our baby. He’s dead. Why can’t you accept that? Agent Morgan has reassured you, and you even did your own research.” He pulls back and gazes down at me with soft eyes. The same dark brown eyes that drew me in when I woke up in the training facility. “Try putting your personal feelings aside and look at it from a professional standpoint. You work for the FBI, and you’ve seen the evidence. He received the death penalty. Uncle Dukakis even witnessed his execution, and you have been to his gravesite. If that’s not enough, he was fingerprinted at the prison, and not just his thumb, but all his fingers. Ellie, the fingerprints all matched and identified him as Dennis Denali. We have a lot of things to fear right now with the outbreak of crime and the uprising against the government, but my father is not one of them. And, besides that, with all the security features we have added, this house is like a fortress.”
“I’m aware of all of our alarms and robots and cameras and lasers and high-tech surveillance gadgets, but if he wants in here, nothing will stop him.” I drag my feet over to the bed and drop onto the mattress. I squeeze my eyes closed and try to put my thoughts in order, but I can’t decipher which ones make sense and which ones don’t. “You’re right. Maybe it’s just pregnancy hormones,” I croak out. “I know I have obsessive-compulsive disorder, but I have always been able to distinguish the obsessive thoughts from the rational ones. I mean, I sometimes lack control over my compulsive rituals, but in my mind, I have recognized that it was an obsessive thought triggering my compulsions.” Tears stream down my cheeks and drip from my face. I swipe both hands beneath my eyes and wipe them away. “But not this time. Even though I’ve seen the proof, right now, the danger is so real in my mind. I’m scared, Steve. I’m so scared. I’m going to be a mother. A mother is supposed to protect her child.” I roll my eyes up at him. “What if I can’t protect my baby?”
Steve sits on the bed next to me and scratches his fingertips across my back in a gentle motion. “Okay, let’s think this through like you would any other obsessive thought. First,” he pauses, “I’m not going to say it. You are.” He stares into my eyes with a smile spread across his face.
I return his stare, remembering the words he wrote on the note the day we met. “Never forget. ‘Be not afraid…for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest.’”
“That’s right.” He pulls my head over onto his shoulder. “Ellie, God has never let you down. Let Him carry this worry. This baby is His creation, another one of His masterpieces. And He already knows everything that’s going to happen in this child’s life. Your stress is not going to change that.”
I nod without lifting my head.
“Second, I think it’s safe to say that no mother is better qualified to protect her child than you. You work for the FBI, and I’ve seen your fighting skills. It wasn’t that long ago that you rendered two strong men unconscious with a kick to the head.” He gapes at the floor and lets out a heavy breath. “But, Ellie, I have to be honest. No, my father is not an issue, but your job is. You are seven, almost eight months pregnant. With the rebellion going on in this country against authority, anyone associated with the government or law enforcement has a target on their back. As your husband, I’m supposed to protect you, and I’ve installed every security feature imaginable on this house, and some that aren’t even imaginable. But I can’t keep you safe when you leave here. Will you please take early leave? Please.”
“Hmmm. Aren’t you contradicting yourself?” I ask.
“I’m sure that’s how it sounds, but no, I’m not. Choosing to leave this house and go into a federal building is no different than jumping off a bridge. The danger out there is real. Law enforcement has no control, and they are outnumbered. Yes, God is in control, but you shouldn’t intentionally put yourself in danger.”
I use my hands and push myself up off of the bed. “It’s not like I am out in the midst of the chaos. Since I’m pregnant, the bureau will only let me work inside the office. I like my job. Please try and understand. It gives my mind something to focus on, and I need that.” I look down at my protruding belly. “I’ve already had to give up my morning run, and I can’t even go for a walk outside because it isn’t safe.” I notice the frown lines on my husband’s face and a thought stops me for a second. If our roles were reversed, how would I feel? My shoulders slump because I know I wouldn’t feel any different than he does. “Alright, I’ll think about it.” I reach out my hand and smile, thankful that God has given me a husband who really does love me the way the Bible says a husband should love his wife. “And now that we have concluded that our former president is not hiding under our bed, let’s go and get some coffee and toast. I’m starving.”
“Sounds good,” Steve agrees and rises to his feet. “Herb has the coffee ready, and I want to show you some paint samples for the baby’s room.”
I lean over the bed and use my hands to smooth the wrinkles in the bedspread where we were sitting.
As we walk toward the door, Steve places his hand on my stomach. “He is rambunctious this morning. Are you sure you should have coffee?”
“Fine. I’ll have water.” I blow a puff of air out of my mouth.
“We do have decaf, you know.”
“No, thanks.” I roll my eyes up. “That sort of defeats the point of having a cup of morning coffee.”
“Hey, is your mom still having everyone over for dinner tonight?” Steve asks, picking up a stack of paint samples off the table in the hallway.
“Yes. She says we are doing some wedding planning, but my gut tells me she is up to something else. I’m just not sure what.”
“As long as she is cooking, she can be plotting anything she wants,” he mumbles. “I wonder what she’s making for dessert. Ooooh… I hope it’s coconut cake with extra icing.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You know she always makes banana pudding for Spencer.” I stop at the kitchen door and shake my head.
Waves is standing in the center of the kitchen with his metal hands covering his eyes. His red mohawk quivers as he counts. “Seven… Eight… Nine… Ten… Ready or not, here I come.” He drops his hands. “Oh, Good morning.” His robotic voice always has a cheerful tone. “Spencer and I are playing hide and seek. And let me tell you, that little monkey is a whiz at this game. I can never find him, but as soon as he finishes counting, it seems he has already located me.”
“That’s because you won’t stop singing,” Herb drones with sarcasm.
Waves pauses and then wheels toward the door. “Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily….”
Herb’s black toupee bounces as he shakes his head. “He could at least learn a new song.” He places two cups of coffee on the table.
“Thanks, Herb, but I’m going to have water. Too much caffeine is not good for the baby.” I sit down in the chair, wondering why I find it necessary to use polite manners with Herb, Claude, and Waves. After all, they’re robots. But they have such human personalities, and they are so kind and respectful when they speak. Of course, that’s because they are programmed that way. After we stopped Dr. Eckert’s plan to stimulate mass murder across the country, Waves and Claude became part of our household too. Steve has made a few programming tweaks for added security, but for the most part, their individual personality traits are still the same.
Herb wipes his metal fingertips on his apron and leans over toward me. “No worries, Mrs. Ellie,” he lowers his volume, “your coffee hasn’t contained caffeine since you notified me of your condition. You have decaf with two splashes of sugar-free caramel.” He raises back up and straightens his red bowtie. “But I will get you some water too.”
Steve sits in the chair next to me and spreads out the paint samples. Spencer bounces up seemingly out of nowhere and leaps into his chair on the other side of the table. He lays an apple, a banana, and an orange in front of him and grabs our hands.
“I’m with him.” I lay my hand on top of Steve’s. “Let’s say the blessing first. I’m hungry.”
Steve flips his hand over and squeezes mine. “Father, we thank you for keeping us safe and for providing for our needs. And we thank you for blessing us with this child, Lord. We ask that you would please calm Ellie’s fears and keep her and our son safe. Help her to be able to enjoy this blessed time in her life. And Lord, we pray for our country. We pray that the fighting and the violence would stop, that these people would turn from the revenge they seek, and that they would put their trust and faith in you. Father, we lift your name and give you all the praise. In Jesus’ Holy name. Amen.”
I lift my eyes and touch the rim of my coffee mug to my lips.
“I thought you weren’t having coffee.” Steve glares at me.
“Well, I was recently informed that I’ve been drinking decaf for months without knowing it, so why stop now?” I take a bite of my peanut butter toast and move my eyes over the array of paint options spread on the wooden tabletop. “This is a lot of colors to choose from,” I utter through a mouth full of toast.
“I wanted you to see all of the options.”
I glance over and try to read Steve’s expression. The look on his face tells me that he already has a favorite. “So, which one do you like?”
He twists his mouth to the side as if he’s considering all the choices. “The norm is usually blue for boys, but I’m really drawn to this one.” He slides a paint card from the stack and hands it to me.
“It’s bright.” I notice the words printed in the lower corner, Canary Yellow. “I like it. It reminds me of the sun. And babies love bright colors. Let’s go with that one.” I reach for my coffee and freeze. “Uh oh. What time is it?
“Seven-thirty,” Steve answers. “Why? I thought you were off today.”
“I am, but…” I slide back from the table.
“You haven’t checked your seven o’clock text from Jillian.”
“No. And she is probably on her way over here by now,” I say, worrying about her coming out by herself with all of this pandemonium going on.
“Just eat. You probably left your phone in the bathroom. I’ll go look for it.” Steve pats my back and heads out of the room.
I hold the warm coffee mug in my hands, thinking about how I must get a bit of my OCD from my mother. My sister, Eileen, disappeared almost four years ago. That’s when my mother’s compulsive texts started. Even though we found Eileen and have endured much greater trials since then, my mother still sends a text precisely at seven o’clock, noon, three o’clock in the afternoon, and nine o’clock at night before bed to make sure I’m okay. And it’s always the same text.

Please text back that you are okay and always know Mom loves you.





Steve darts back into the kitchen and hands the vibrating phone to me.
“Oh, no. Twelve texts and a missed call.” I swipe the screen and type a reply as fast as I can.

So, so sorry. I didn’t realize the time. Everything is great! I love you too! Can’t wait for dinner tonight.





As soon as I hit send, the phone jingles. “Mom. I’m sorry,” I answer, hoping my apology will smooth things over. “I texted you just now.”
“Ellie, did you read my texts?” Mom spouts through the phone, and I can hear the tears hiding behind her choked words.
I swallow hard afraid to know what’s wrong. “I was in a hurry to let you know I was okay. What is it? You sound like something’s wrong?”
“Eileen.” Mom sniffles. “She’s been in a car accident. Your father and I are on our way to the hospital. It’s that new big one outside of Arlington. The woman who called said that she didn’t have any information about her condition. Apparently, the hospital is slammed with all of this rioting and craziness, and the woman’s job is contacting a relative and scaring them to death when someone is brought in.”
“It’ll be okay, Mom. Let me know if you hear anything else. Steve and I are on our way.”

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