The Retreat by Dijorn Moss

Author:Dijorn Moss
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2010-09-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

The alarm woke Chauncey up and seemed to only cause a minor disruption in the sleep of his roommates. He avoided hitting the snooze button and switched the alarm off. The paleness of dawn peeked through a small curtain opening. Chauncey got up, put on a black sweat suit, and grabbed his Bible as he exited the door.

The ocean water was gray and choppy. Seagulls had already started their routine of flying about. Chauncey found a spot on the beach next to the rocks where he planned on having a morning devotional. He brushed some of the sand off the rocks and sat on one of the smooth stones.

He saw all the endless footprints in the sand and thought about the poem “Footprints.” He loved the last line of the poem, where the author sees a single set of footprints, and how that was when God carried him.

“Lord, I’m looking for you to carry me today.” Chauncey lifted his hands up in praise.

While his eyes were closed, Chauncey imagined his brother lying in his hospital bed. In the midst of crashing waves and the smell of seaweed, Chauncey contemplated how sin was completing its work with Henry. The scary thing was that Chauncey did not feel anything for his brother. He was not even concerned with his brother’s soul burning in eternal fire. In Chauncey’s mind, he had done all and sacrificed all for his brother. The turning point came a year ago when Henry barged into Chauncey’s home uninvited.

“Get out of here, Henry.” Chauncey pointed at the door.

Henry continued to ravage through the living room of Chauncey’s home, breaking anything that was not of value.

“I need the money.” Henry smashed a porcelain vase. “They going to kill me unless I have it.”

Chauncey was petrified with anger and fear. His baby brother was possessed. He seemed demonic and hell-bent on destroying himself and anyone who stood in his way. “You need Jesus. The devil’s got a hold on you.”

“I need the money! I promise I’ll get help afterward.”

“That’s what you always say, but it’s all lies.”

Henry began to rub his head as if voices in his head were getting louder and louder.

“You know it would break Momma’s heart to see you like this. Let me help you,” Chauncey pleaded.

Henry stopped his pacing and then locked eyes with the gold necklace around Chauncey’s neck. The chain was a gift from Chauncey’s mother. It did not carry much value in Henry’s case, but, nevertheless, it was priceless to Chauncey. A chill crept along Chauncey’s spine. He recognized the look on Henry’s face. It was the same look his father used to get whenever he craved something to support his heroin addiction. That same looked caused Chauncey’s father to beat his mother’s head into a kitchen counter until she gave him all of her valuable jewelry. All except the cross that she gave to a twelve-year-old Chauncey, who was too badly beaten to protect his mother.

Twenty years ago, their father ran up

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