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What's In Your Closet?

By Rhonda Gibson

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Prologue
Summer 1911
Dry heaves replaced her tears.
There was no more moisture left in her body, and yet, she wanted to cry. She wanted to feel the stickiness of salty moisture. If only the tears would come, she’d know there was still time.
She gently pulled the seventh scripture from her Bible. The simple movement took most of her remaining strength. He would read them and know how much she’d always loved him. She laid it close to her.
Why hadn’t he returned and let her out? How long had she been in here? Without sunlight, she couldn’t be sure. Where was he? If he didn’t hurry, it would be too late. Already her skin felt stretched to its limits.
Her thick tongue choked her. She prayed silently, for she could form no words aloud now. Lord, please forgive the one who has locked me in this dreadful place. Please, keep my husband safe; draw him to You. I know he is a good man. I’ve left clues so that when he finds me, hopefully he will see how great my love is for him. I hope Your word will help him come to You, and that You can help him forgive as well. Amen.
She wanted to pray for herself again. Never would she have envisioned she’d be murdered so cruelly. Maybe her husband would make it home in time to save her; if not, she could only hope he’d be able to forgive.
She leaned her head against the wall. It occurred to her that he wouldn’t make it in time to save her. As a last resort, she begged the Lord for peace and sudden death.
Peace washed over her, but it would be another two days before death wrapped her in its cold arms.

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