The Angel's Sword. (part one of Chapter 2)

Chapter 2

May 25Th, dawned bright and early. David Wyatt was up long before the sun, his pen making orderly letters on several different pieces of paper. He rubbed his eyes and read over the paperwork for the sixth time before signing is name and sealing it in the envelope.

"Morning, Dick," he said, and then looked up at the tall black man descending the stairs. "Coffee's on in the kitchen."

"How long've you been up?"

David shrugged, "Since around three. I couldn't get back to sleep and I had some work to do anyway, so I got up. I would've woken you if I thought you'd appreciate it."

Dick grinned. "Man, you couldn't've woken me if there was a demon in the house."

David dropped his pen on the red wood desk and held the bridge of his nose in his other hand. His best friend dropped down in the matching chair across from him and looked at him over the desk top.

"There a problem?"

David sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, hardly noticing how matted it was.

"I know it's an awful thing to say, but I wish he'd just kill the church instead of whispering all his lies and poisoning their minds." He slapped the desk with the flat of his hand. "I just wish I knew what he was up to."

Dick stood up and shrugged. "You know what they say. What you don't know can't hurt you."

"Don't be so sure." David pushed his chair back. "Anyway, I need to go. There's a reporter doing a story on the Orphan House and I have to be there before eight."

As he strode past Dick toward the door, Dick stopped him.

"Not like that you don't. You look terrible!"

"Thanks for the compliment." David glanced in the hall mirror and grimaced at his appearance. His very dark brown hair was an unruly mess. His shirt-- the same one he had slept in-- was so splotched with mud and holes that it was impossible to tell it's original color. Besides that, it carried a large rent in the left sleeve. He shook his head ruefully. "And for the warning."

Dick caught hold of Davids sleeve and put his fingers through the hole. It was surrounded by a dark stain.

"This isn't mud," he said in a low voice.

David shook his head, "I cut it a week ago, when I was fixing the Orphan House fence."

Dick laughed "Which one, your arm or your sleeve?"

"Both."

Dick pulled up the sleeve to reveal a jagged scar underneath.

He raised his eyebrows. "A week ago?"

David shrugged. "Maybe more."

Dick slapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah, whatever. You go get dressed and I'll make breakfast. If I know you, you haven't eaten yet."

"I had a cup of coffee," David protested.

Dick jerked his thumb toward the stairs, "Get moving, Dave."

David walked to the foot of the stairs and then, with his hand on the smooth banister, turned toward Dick.

"Yes, mama," he said sweetly, and ran laughing up the stairs, Dick chasing with a towel.

"I'm gonna get you for that Dave," Dick shouted jokingly up the stairs. "Just you wait!"

David slowed to a walk in front of his bedroom door, but he was still laughing quietly as he went in and shut the door behind him.

"Father GOD," he said aloud as he pulled off what was left of his shirt, "I know we are acting like teenagers, but it's such a relief to laugh, and it's hard not to around Dick." David paused for a second as he crossed the room to the walk in closet and took out a clean shirt. "Lord, thanks a lot for this day. I know that, as it says in the Psalms, Your mercies are new every morning. That I can forget yesterdays mistakes and know they've been forgiven..." David fell thoughtfully silent for a minute. Suddenly he chuckled mirthlessly. "If it weren't for that, I'd be dead right now, in more way's than one."

"Yahweh, help that reporter represent the Orphan House accurately. We're kinda low on money Father, and I was hoping that maybe the publicity might help. It's not that I don't want to keep paying the Orphan House bills, it's just that I might not be able to for much longer. You know what I mean.

"And Father GOD, about Camilla..."

His conversation continued through his shower and while he dressed. At times he spoke, but at times he was silent, just listening for the voice of his Creator.

About two and a half hours later, Mr. Wyatt pulled up in front of the Ellis Orphan House in a white, eighteen passenger van. He leaned forward in his seat and looked out the passenger window at the huge brick building where he worked (currently without a salary, which would make Ms. Ellis furious if she knew).

The Orphan House used to be a hotel, but when it went out of business fifteen years ago, Jonathon Ellis bought the building and moved it- in several different peices- out to the country. He died a few years later, leaving the non-profit organization to his wife.

David tapped his thumb on the steering wheel and glanced around for the reporters car. Other than his van and the Orphan House bus, the parking lot was empty.

"Thank You GOD," he mumbled.

He opened the car door and slid out of the front seat, nearly forgetting his keys for the fourth time that week.

The sound of footsteps caused David to pause with his keys in his hand. The gait was slightly uneven, as if who-ever was making the sound was limping. David reached further into the van to get his papers, nonchalantly going through them to make sure they were all there.

"Morning Dave. Is there stuff I can get?"

David turned and looked into the face of a blond-haired youth. His blue eyes and straight nose might have made him quite handsome if not for the ugly red scar that disfigured his face.

"Uh, yeah, there's some groceries in the back if you want to get it. Thanks George."

David slammed the car door, wincing at the noise. Loud noises had always made him uncomfortable.

"So how was the party?" He asked, heading to the back of the van to help with the large bags George was trying to get.

George shrugged. "It was okay." He paused and then smiled a crooked smile. "Suzie really had fun. She dived right into the middle of her cupcake. By bedtime she had frosting all the way up to her ears!"

David smiled at the picture. "Did Ms. Ellis enjoy it?"

George's face lit up with laughter, "I think she was embarrassed! Suzie kept saying that she was 102 and Ms. Ellis was four! Everyone had a great time."

"Except you."

George looked away and shouldered the canvas bag of groceries.

"I spent most of my time outside," he said. "It would have been better if Camilla was there, but--"

"She stayed in her room all night." David finished for his young friend. He was disappointed, but not surprised.

George nodded. "I went up to see her after it was over," he continued slowly, "but when I knocked she didn't answer. Dave I- I think she was crying. I thought you should know."

David reached over and briefly squeezed George's shoulder.

"Keep praying George." He said quietly. "I know it doesn't feel like it now, but GOD does hear you."

As George turned and made eye contact, David noticed that George would be as tall as him in a few months, perhaps less. He had grown a lot from the tiny, injured boy lying in the gutter.

Oh, yes, George's scars told a story, a story that made David cringe every time he thought of it. That human beings would do that to a kid...

"Dave?" George's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Hm?"

"You were remembering something weren't you."

David looked at the boy's expression. It hadn't been a question, because George already knew the answer.

"It's not important. Have you had breakfast yet?"

George looked at him a second before aswering. "Nope. Marilyn was making it when you got here."

"Well, c'mon then," David patted him on the back. "A growing boy needs food."

"Well, I'm sorry to dissapoint you," George said, a smile lurking around his lips, "but I don't think you're growing anymore!"

David laughed, "oh-ho, just shows how much you know." He slapped his flat stomach with his hand. "I'm growin' out!"

"Does that mean you need to excercise more?" George asked slyly.

David looked at him sideways. What could he mean by that?

George's sneakers hit the pavement as the long legged boy took off across the large parking lot.

"I'll beat you inside!" He called out over his shoulder.

David chased after him, at least a few yards behind.

George was amazed at how much heavier the bag seemed while he was running with it. It bounced painfully against his back with every uneven step.

George burst through the door, David not far behind. They were both breathing hard, and David was holding his side. George recovered quickly and glanced up at Dave, who was apparently still trying to catch his breath. George shook his head. Mr. Wyatt should have been an actor. After fifteen years, George still couldn't tell if he was faking or not.

Believe it or not, this second chapter doeshave something to do with the first one. Just be patient!