Miracle on Voodoo Mountain by Megan Boudreaux

Author:Megan Boudreaux
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2014-11-01T04:00:00+00:00

THIRTEEN

The Start of Everything

If you do it with love, you can’t mess up.

—Father Blessing

At the police station I was asked to empty my purse, my pockets, everything. I did what they said, trying to look scared. And once again, I didn’t have to act; I was truly feeling it.

A moment later the police escorted Pastor Joe inside. That’s when I remembered the plan—we were both going to be arrested and questioned, a ruse so that Pastor Joe would not know who turned him in for selling children. As far as he knew, I was in trouble for buying a child. They sat me down in a nearby waiting room, Gabriel still on my lap. Pastor Joe followed and was told to sit next to me. “He is the last person I want to sit next to right now,” I wanted to scream.

A police officer looked at me sternly. “What happened?” he asked.

Seriously? I thought, confused. What am I supposed to say?

“What happened?” the officer repeated louder.

“Nothing,” hissed Pastor Joe.

The officer pulled out a plastic bag with the wad of hundred-dollar bills inside. “Obviously, this isn’t nothing!” he yelled.

Pastor Joe looked at the ground. The police officer looked over at me. “Who is that?” he asked, pointing to the child on my lap.

“Gabriel,” said Pastor Joe.

“Gabriel who?”

Pastor Joe looked at me, puzzled. I returned his stare, equally confused, and then I felt a quick flash of anger. You don’t know his last name. You were about to sell me a child from your orphanage, and you don’t even know his last name. Sick.

The officer walked out, and more police arrived, some of their faces familiar. At last, I thought, and breathed deep. The new group of police officers began to argue loudly with the officers at the station, wondering why Pastor Joe and I were being questioned in the same room. I had seen enough television shows to know that wasn’t exactly the correct procedure. The next thing I knew, Gabriel and I were being whisked away to another room. My possessions were returned to me in a plastic bag, and, relieved, I thought my time was over as they led me down a hallway and sat me in a chair outside the common holding cell, full of people. I tried not to turn around because I didn’t want to see the hands sticking out between the bars. The gray walls were greasy, and the stench from inside was revolting.

The men inside were directing comments my way. “I haven’t seen my family in three days,” said one. “They don’t know where I am.”

“I’ve been in here for nine days, and they haven’t even told me why,” said another man. On and on it went, the desperate men inside the locked cell, trying to plead their cases to the back of my head. My heart hurt, thinking about the injustices locked up in that tiny, dark, five-by-five-foot space.

Finally I couldn’t take it any longer and grabbed some granola bars from my purse to silence their pleas.

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