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And these are the MCs arcs, if that helps anyone👇
Leo: Redemptive; learns that God (who he once believed in) was never to blame for the abuse and Leo is not to blame for the pain his brothers have felt, nor is he to blame for not protecting them “enough”
Joshua: Positive; learns that he doesn’t have to be perfect, do all the right things all the time, and do everything just right for God to love him…God loves him anyway
Jakob: Positive; learns to forgive his father, stepmother, stepbrothers, and half-sisters for what they’ve done (especially his father and stepmother), finally releasing himself from hatred, which he comes to learn hurts him and those he loves more than those he hates, keeping him bound.
Reuben: Positive; learns that there are people in his life that love him and will never leave him, and that he doesn’t have to be afraid of being alone. Learns that more than anyone else, God will never, ever leave him for any reason.
Wolfgang: Positive; comes to God when he begins to understand who God is. Learns what a father is supposed to look like, and learns that it is sometimes okay to be alone and to even be sad, so long as you still hold onto hope. Also learns the power of courage.
What is strength?
Strength, my son, is being who God has called you to be.@freed_and_redeemed
Ooh, I understand. M’kay, so I cannot write a book without a dual POV, lol, I think it’s impossible for me at this point. XD
When I first started writing from a dual POV, I gave each POV a chapter, but as I starting writing better stories, I noticed that I was adding unnecessary stuff to the chapters, just to make them long enough. I was writing too long in a character’s POV and it was slowing the story down. (Now, writing whole chapters from one POV and then switching in a different chapter did work for me in one of my books, but the other ones, not so much.)
What I would recommend is just write from the POV that is the most appropriate for the scene. Which character has the most at stake physically, emotionally, etc. in this scene? Their POV may last a whole chapter or only a scene or two… and that’s okay! What I’ve learned is that if you write from an unnecessary POV for a whole scene or chapter, it’s going to slow the story down and you’re probably going to struggle writing it.
So yeah, that’s the one thing that I think really helped me with this. Write the POV character that has the most at stake in a scene. And you may not pick the right character the first time. That’s totally fine. There are drafts for a reason. 😉
I hope this helps!!Write what should not be forgotten. — Isabel Allende
@esther-c Tysm for your advice!! 💖 @rae @koshka @elishavet-pidyon @smiley @keilah-h @savannah_grace2009 @lightoverdarkness6 @whalekeeper @anyone-else
Another Riker scene!! And, finally, a Leon scene😂💖 Because apparently Leon/Riker are still running free in my mind even tho I thought I would take a break from them. XD
(and I apologize for anything that sounds out of place; this is unedited 😂)
Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, casting colorful rays of light upon the pews and the people standing between them.
Voices lifted together as one: men, women, and children alike; Ezekiel and the church pianist led the small yet passionate congregation through each hymn.
Some were familiar; some invoked memories of the very few church mornings he’d attended as a child and even a teenager before he ran away from home, the services he unwillingly went to with much argument on his part. Others brought memories of his mother, beloved Jennie, singing as she went about her daily chores and motherly duties.
The songs had been one spot of light in the darkness, something he remembered even when the pain was so harsh he wished to forget everything.
Voices drifted off and the final hymn came to a slow close.
Riker bowed his head along with everyone else but didn’t dare to open his lips, instead listening to the prayer Ezekiel prayed. Despite the fact that he’d begun attending Calvary church, despite the fact that he had and was reading his mother’s Bible, her most prized possession before her passing, it still didn’t seem right to speak directly to God.
Nor did anything in his mother’s Bible ever make any sense. He’d attempted to make sense of some of it, but every effort he made proved fruitless.
Regardless, Riker was giving such beliefs a chance.
Ezekiel finished praying and gave a final goodbye and blessing.
Riker slipped into his coat, picked up his mother’s Bible, and maneuvered his way between wooden pews. He made for the doors; he ducked his way out of the building and into the chilly October afternoon, striding down the sidewalk.
He wasn’t quite so sure what he believed, but he was willing to try what Isaiah, Fin, Jennie, and so many others believed.
It wouldn’t hurt, right?
Unless God truly didn’t want him. Unless God really couldn’t forgive him.
Riker chewed his bottom lip; Ezekiel encouraged him to let go of such thoughts, even told him that God would forgive him.
He promised that no matter what Riker did, no matter what sins he committed, God would be faithful to forgive him if Riker only asked.
Somehow it still seemed impossible.
Ezekiel…Isaiah…Jennie…Fin…they all said Christ came to die, to suffer, to take the sin of the world upon him. They said Christ came for sinners, for men like Riker, regardless of what sins, or how many, they had committed.
They said Christ came to reconcile humanity to God himself, to bring back what was lost when sin entered the world.
But if they were right, if God did want humanity, was Erich right? Had Riker, all along, been the one pushing God away even though God wanted to come near?
Riker crossed the street and walked the stone walkway up to a white house; he ascended the few steps and strode onto the small porch.
If they were right…if Riker had been wrong his entire life…then what was God really like? What did the God he thought despised him really think about him?
Riker unlocked and eased the front door open, stepping into the main foyer of his father’s home; the wood creaked beneath his shoes and a muffled groan carried from somewhere inside the house.
He removed his worn dark brown coat and hung it on a coat hanger. He rolled up his white shirtsleeves to his elbows and strode into the small living room.
Franz stirred on one of the couches, mumbled, cussed, and used one hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight streaming through a thin sliver between the curtains that permitted some light, clearly nursing a hangover. “Where were you?” He snarled, his eyes suddenly closing shut.
“Church,” Riker replied simply, setting his mother’s Bible on the small coffee table. He crossed over to the curtains, drawing them entirely closed.
Franz scoffed and scowled. “Church? What kind of fool do you take me for? You haven’t been inside a church since the day you married that fanatical wife of yours.”
“My wife is not fanatical, and I’m not lying. I was at church, but I’m home now. Do you want anything to eat?”
Franz chuckled. “Church? That has to be the most foolish thing you’ve ever—”
“Maybe you should try it sometime.” Riker retorted.
Franz growled and rose to his feet, every movement slow but somehow precise.
Riker bit his lip as reality set in. His heart thudded against his ribcage.
One edge of Franz’s lips twisted into a cruel smile, and he took a few more steps forward, standing before Riker, looming over him as he always had. His dark eyes narrowed, and a single hand gripped Riker’s left wrist. “Don’t hold that tone with me, boy. You don’t speak out of turn, and you don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. Understood?”
“Yessir.” Riker whispered, his eyes downcast.
Franz’s grip on his wrist tightened. A single finger rested on the bottom of Riker’s chin; he tipped Riker’s face up, and father and son’s eyes met. “You will never hold that tone with me again.”
A quick turn of his hand, a quick twist of Riker’s wrist, and Riker bit back a small cry of pain, a few drops of blood gracing his bottom lip rather than a sound.
Franz nodded and stepped away. “Good. And I am hungry.”
Riker slowly nodded, massaging his left wrist and wiping small amounts of blood from his bottom lip. Franz turned around, picked something up, and faced Riker again. “And Riker?”
“Yes, Father?”
“This came for you a few days ago. Though you don’t deserve it, take it.”
He glanced up at his father; his eyes roved to the letter dangling from his father’s fingers, and his breath hitched in his throat. It was…was—“Yes, the woman finally wrote to you. Not sure why she would, I wouldn’t, but here it is.”
Riker slowly took the letter from his father’s grip, his heart beating what felt like a thousand beats a minute. He hadn’t seen her…heard from her…in over a year. And it was…it was unmistakably his wife’s scrawling, beautiful script.
Riker retreated to the kitchen as his father laid down to rest once more, quickly opening his wife’s letter. Dated from May, it was months old, but it was still his wife’s. ‘Leon will never read a letter from his wife again.’ Riker chewed his bottom lip, sighed, and shook his head, tossing aside the thought.
He slid a letter out of the envelope; a small picture fluttered onto the table. Riker’s eyes glazed over the black and white picture. A small girl, a little baby, curled up in a blanket, eyes closed, beautifully and blessedly asleep.
He slowly opened the letter, his grip firm but his hands shaking. Within the folds of the paper laid another picture, one of Iris, Jonathan, Naja, Eli, and the same baby that had a picture of her own.
Riker gently set the picture down along with the one of the small baby, wiped moisture from his eyes, and dove into the letter full of his wife’s beautiful handwriting.
My dearest Darling,
Oh, Riker, I miss you so much. So much has changed, and I think of you every single day. I’m thankful the war is over and that God has brought an end to the darkness, but I can’t stop thinking of you. Oh darling, I hope you are safe…I pray you are well. My parents have done so much to help me and the children, helping us adjust to a life so different than the one we’ve had to leave behind. The children grow so fast and have learned English even faster, certainly faster than me. I don’t know how you taught yourself English, Riker, I truly don’t. The children have adjusted so well. Eli is learning American Sign and communicating so much better. Naja and Jonathan love America, as do I, but we all miss you. We pray for you every single night, that you are safe, that you are well. I say an extra prayer for you every night before I sleep…oh, Riker, dearest, I miss you more than words could ever express. In October of ’44, God brought another gift into our world…Lily Jennie Schind. It’s hard to believe she’ll be a year in only five months. Please, Riker, wherever you are, however you feel, please come home to us. I cannot bear the thought of living life without you, my husband, my protector, the love of my life, the other part that makes me one. It doesn’t matter what you’ve done…the sins you’ve committed…God can and will forgive you if you only ask. Send my love to Jennie and Angelina. But most of all, I send my love and my prayers to you, oh dearest, oh Riker, because I cherish you more than words could express.
With every ounce of my love for you, Iris.
Tears moistened his cheeks, sliding out of his eyes that wished to hold the flood back but failed.
“I love you and miss you too,” He whispered, soft.
~*~
Voices lifted together as one throughout the house, some of which very off-key, but beautiful, nonetheless. The spontaneous singing, though it spoke of things Leon could no longer have in his heart to believe, brought about the sight of everyone together that was still something precious, even beloved.
As the voices trailed off and the hymns came to a close, Louisa spoke gently. “That was beautiful,” she wiped a tear or two from her eyes, “I am so happy we can all spend time together like this, like we are all family.”
“We are, Louisa. Through Christ, we are all family.” Miriam Altmann replied. “And Jehovah has blessed us immensely. Out of the pain, Adonai has brought purpose…more than we could ever imagine.”
Leon drummed his fingers on his knees, seated on a single couch, Isabel settled in his lap.
How did they believe so faithfully—so easily? Isaiah and Miriam lost their middle child! Louisa lost her only daughter. How could they still believe…still trust that God was somehow good?
Leon was neglecting the alcohol, for his kids’ sakes, but trusting God? No, he wouldn’t do it. It was a mistake. He wasn’t going to sit around and wait for God to abandon him again.
“Daddy.” Isabel whined, her fingers tugging at his white undershirt. She released a gentle cough, followed by a quiet sneeze.
“You’ve been coughing and sneezing, Isabel…are you sure you feel okay, cupcake?”
She’d claimed to be fine, excited about Isaiah, Miriam, Adela, and Yosef’s visit more than anything, but her cough and sneeze, though not severe, was beginning to become concerning, to say the least.
Slowly, Isabel shook her head. “No, Daddy…I don’t feel good.”
Leon pressed a kiss to his daughter’s forehead and pulled his lips away. Warm? More than warm, even—it felt noticeably hotter, as if she were running a high fever.
Leon laid a kiss on the top of Isabel’s head, on top of her curls and brushed her hair away from her ears; his fingers hesitated and his breath hitched in his throat. The back of her ears…red…red spots. What was…how…why—“Isaiah!” He cried, voice strained, even desperate.
Isaiah quickly crossed over, concern etched into his features. “Leon? What’s wrong?”
“Her head is warm, and her ears, Isaiah. The backs of her ears have red spots on them.”
“Let me see.” Isaiah whispered; he sank onto the couch beside Leon; Leon gently adjusted Isabel’s position and held her curls out of the way. Isaiah seemed to inspect Isabel’s ears, whispered what Leon already knew to be a quiet prayer, and met Leon’s gaze once more. “She’s had a small cough and a runny nose the past few days?”
Leon mustered nothing more than a nod. Was it worse than what they thought? Had they waited too late…was it…was it something dangerous…deadly…oh God, no—“Leon, look at me. We’ve still caught it early, and we can take care of her. The only concern this minute is making sure Albert and Elias stay away. I believe Isabel may have measles.”
Leon’s breath hitched in his throat once more. “Measles?”
Not everyone survived measles; not everyone could recover from measles. There were times where it was possible to contract other diseases while still sick with measles—Louisa’s concerned but somehow calm voice interrupted the silence. “I will pack Albert and Elias’ things. I have a friend that will be willingly to take them in, so I can remain here and help Leon care for Isabel. I have already had measles a long time ago.”
“And I will get the aid and second opinion of a doctor with supplies.” Isaiah whispered with a smile. “And I, Miriam, Adela, and Yosef will help wherever needed. We have all had measles. Have you had measles, Leon?”
Five years old, stuck in bed, with a high fever, a hard cough, and red spots that covered his entire body. He remembered long days and long nights, spent mostly in tears from fear and pain. Otherwise, it was mostly a blur.
But he wasn’t the only one that caught it…that much he could remember. The coughs he heard from the other room, until they eventually became silent. The sudden disappearance of the one that always sang him lullabies, even when he first got sick. The one who sang to him, loved him…borne him and brought him into the world.
Measles had weakened her…measles had taken his mother. In her weakness, measles that led to pneumonia had stolen her…stolen her…stolen her away just as genocide had stolen Aadelheide.
And now Isabel stood, looking as if she barely remained standing on her feet, slowly contracting the disease that had taken Leon’s Ema away so many years ago.
And he could…he could…he could lose…lose—“Leon, Leon!” The firm hands gripped his shoulders pulled Leon from his reverie, and only then did he feel the moisture clinging to, coursing down, his cheeks. Isaiah’s eyes bore into his, full of concern. “Can someone take Isabel to her room and help her change into something more comfortable? Leon, come with me.”
He was barely consciously aware of Isaiah gently leading him out of the house, into the fresh October air outside. But even the freshness, even the brightness of a Sunday afternoon could do nothing to sooth Leon’s reeling mind or his pulsing heart.
“Leon, this is something we can help Isabel overcome. She will be—”
“You don’t know that, Isaiah…you don’t know that.”
“I, Louisa, Miriam, Yosef, and Adela survived measles, and I believe so did you, unless you’re just willing to contract it for Isabel.”
“I-I’ve had it—”
“So, you know that some people do survive. It isn’t a death sentence, Leon…she will be fine. We will pray for her, we will search for some way to help treat her, and she will survive—”
“Not everyone does, Isaiah.”
“Leon—”
“My Ema didn’t…didn’t…” Leon’s voice cracked.
Isaiah’s dark brown eyes widened. “Leon, I didn’t—I didn’t know.”
Leon swallowed, hard. He folded his arms across his chest and forced his eyes closed, holding back whatever tears still wished to fall. He wouldn’t let them fall—he wouldn’t cry anymore.
It was so long ago. It didn’t…it didn’t hurt anymore. Did it? Did it still hurt? Did it still squeeze his heart, though not as severe as Aadelheide’s death did, did it still squeeze the breath out of him when he thought about it?
He’d been so young. But what child didn’t yearn for a mother’s love? What child didn’t want a mother that would love them unconditionally? What man didn’t ache for a mother to confide in?
His father had loved him, there was no doubt about that.
Yet he still missed his mother. Yet her death still tried to steal his breath. Yet her loss had still created a yearning within him for a mother to love him, a mother to be there when no one else was.
His missed his Abba. His missed his Ema. He missed Aadelheide.
He was alone…abandoned…forsaken by the one who he once thought never forsook a soul. He thought God was supposed to love him. He once believed that God cared. But how could he have just stood by?
How could he let the war occur? How could he let millions of innocent people endure starvation, torture, and brutality? How could he let men be maimed? How could he let women suffer? How could he let children be orphaned? How could he let babies die?
He wished he could believe—some nights he wished he could still hope in the God he once hoped in.
But the parts opposite those, stronger than those yearnings, knew it couldn’t happen. He couldn’t be broken again. He couldn’t be let down again. God hadn’t saved his mother. God hadn’t saved his father. God hadn’t saved Aadelheide.
How could Leon trust him to save Isabel?
How could Leon trust him to care about Leon’s brokenness?
How could Leon trust him to not abandon him?
How could Leon trust him to be there when all else failed?
What is strength?
Strength, my son, is being who God has called you to be.yay, Riker! You’re on the right track at least!
Aww, poor Leon. but seriously let go of your hate, man.
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
Yesss yess yessssss I’m so excited for him ✨✨ (and worried, but that’s a conversation for another day 😭👀)
And yes, the poor guy. He’s been through a lot…gotta give him a lot of grace🥰
What is strength?
Strength, my son, is being who God has called you to be.I’ll just add him to the list of characters who need lots of hugs lol
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
@keilah-h Good plan 😉
he certainly needs it
What is strength?
Strength, my son, is being who God has called you to be.I have three kinds of favorite characters:
- Deadly tail-kicking characters
- Charries with trauma
- Charries that are both
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
Did KP shut down today for anyone else?
Communist jokes aren’t funny unless everyone gets them.
@theducktator yeah it did, I wonder why.
Where'd I get ya this time? The liver? The kidney? I'm runnin' outta places to put holes in ya.
Yeah, and it was weird, cuz it was different from when it ‘normally’ shuts down. Glad it’s back 🤷♀️
Home is where your massive, overflowing collection of LEGO bricks is.
Remember when I said I was also nervous for Riker??? Well, I’m at that nervous moment😬
What is strength?
Strength, my son, is being who God has called you to be.@koshka @elishavet-pidyon @esther-c @keilah-h @rae @savannah_grace2009 @lightoverdarkness6 @grcr @theducktator
Well….ermmmmmmmm
I kinda feel bad about this, with everyone getting so happy for Riker/Leon
but ermmmmm
yeahhhhhh
here we go
😭👀😅😬😭
TW: MENTIONS OF SICKNESS/DISEASE. MENTIONS OF DEATH. MENTIONS OF BLOOD. VIOLENCE. RELAPSE. JUST SADNESS, OK?????
A cough carried through the air; quiet, strained voices spoke in whispers, likely so Leon wouldn’t hear whatever was being spoken. But not a word mattered…not a secret could stay hidden.
Isabel was worsening.
And he knew it.
A door opened; Isaiah, Louisa, and an American medic stepped out of Isabel’s room, closing the door tight but gently behind them. Leon slowly met their gazes. “So?”
“…She’s contracted pneumonia overtop of the measles,” the medic replied in slow but precise German with a hint of an accent, “but it’s not an uncommon thing for such a thing to occur, and I will get some medicine to treat the pneumonia.”
Pneumonia overtop of measles was what had taken his Ema—“Don’t worry, Leon, she will get through this.” Isaiah whispered softly, gently.
“You don’t know that.”
“Leon—”
“We don’t know if she’ll be fine, Louisa. We don’t know if she will make it. We don’t know if she will survive. We don’t know if anyone will be able to save her.” Leon blurted, voice strained.
“Have faith, dear—”
“Have faith? Have faith in what, Louisa?” Leon chuckled; he rolled his eyes. “Are you telling me to have faith in God? Faith only brought me heartache and death. Faith only brought me disappointment. Faith only let me down. Faith only broke me.”
“You have known the Lord your entire life, Leon. Please don’t leave him so easily.” Louisa whispered, almost pleaded.
Leon’s fists clenched at his sides; he felt an anger he hadn’t felt in weeks surge within, washing away anything but the bitterness against the one he thought was supposed to love him unconditionally. “I’ve known a lie my entire life, Louisa, not a God who actually loved me.”
Tears brimmed Louisa’s gentle blue eyes. Slowly, shakily, she said, “Leon, child, that’s just not true—”
“Not true? What about it isn’t? You didn’t see the disregard for life inside that camp. You didn’t see the hopelessness. You didn’t see men starved, beaten, tortured, and murdered for no other reason than that they were unwanted—”
“Maspik.” Isaiah interjected sharply, but not unkind. ‘Enough.’ The Hebrew was enough to stop Leon’s words in their tracks, leaving them to dangle in the tense air.
The medic slowly faced Louisa. “I’m afraid I must go, Frau Schneider. I will do what I can for Fräulein Isabel, and I hope to return soon.”
“Thank you so very much. Allow me to show you out.” Louisa replied softly; her voice and that of the American’s faded, and Leon finally dared to meet Isaiah’s gaze.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Why? You shouldn’t hold that tone with your mother-in-law, Leon. She was only trying to comfort you. You treated her harshly, Leon, and that is not fine. You are not fine, and you need to realize that. Pushing God away is creating more problems.”
“Problems? Pushing God away is the only way I can protect myself from heartbreak.”
“Leon, God has never and never will abandon you—”
“How do you explain the camp, Isaiah? How do you explain what’s happening to Isabel? How do you explain that God just stood by and let almost everyone I loved die before it was time? How do you explain that God just sat idly by on his throne and let millions of people suffer and fall to the Nazis? How do you explain that God just allowed Riker to kill my wife, allowed Aadelheide to die when I still needed her!?”
He was tired of answers. He was tired of excuses. He was done with easy answers and solutions that didn’t satisfy. People said God cared. People claimed God loved those that loved him. Followers of Christ seemed to believe that God would do anything in his power for those he loved.
How foolish of Leon to believe a lie for twenty years of his life.
How could God be good if he allowed evil to flourish? How could God care when he didn’t hear Leon’s pleas? How could God love when he didn’t do anything to save those that called on him? How could God protect when he allowed his children to suffer?
How could God take Leon’s mother when Leon had only been five? How could God steal away Leon’s father when Leon had only been twenty? How could God allow Leon’s wife, his beloved Aadelheide, to be taken when Leon had just been shy of twenty-five?
How could others be right? How could what they said, what they believed, be true?
God didn’t care. God didn’t love humanity. God didn’t hear pleas. He sure hadn’t heard Leon’s.
Days…weeks…months…spent in the camp, crying out to God, pleading for mercy, for release, for comfort, for God to come through, for God to be faithful as so many said he was.
Yet not a plea had been heard. Yet not a prayer had been answered.
Leon received no mercy, no release, no comfort. God hadn’t come through. God hadn’t been faithful. Aadelheide had died, and God didn’t care one bit.
“…But what I do know is that no matter how dark it is, no matter how bad it seems, the darkness cannot stop His light from shining through.” Isaiah said gently, the last of his words finally resounding within Leon’s ears.
Leon stepped away; he angrily swiped tears from his eyes with the backs of his hands. “But it’s not true, Isaiah. It’s not. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t love me.”
“The enemy is lying to you, Leon—”
“No! No…no, Isaiah…it…it’s more than-more than that.”
Isaiah’s dark eyes dimmed with what Leon could only assume to be worry. “Leon…”
Leon backed away; his feet stumbled beneath him and his legs threatened to give way, but he didn’t let them—he didn’t allow himself to crumble.
He staggered into the bathroom adjacent to his own room. He closed and locked the door and fell against the wall, allowing his knees to rise to his chest.
A sob crawled its way out from his lips; Leon buried his face in his knees to muffle the ensuing wails.
Comfort that offered no comfort…answers that provided no real answers…peace that brought no peace—Leon buried his face further.
He wanted to forget about the loss. He wanted to numb the pain. He wanted to stop the grief squeezing him from the inside out.
Leon swiped tears from his eyes, from his cheeks. He stumbled to his feet and crouched in front of the sink. He opened the cabinet. He rummaged his hand through the contents inside. His fingers found glass.
Something he’d abstained from for weeks…a crave that had finally begun to quiet. Something one used as medicine, as a way to numb, as a way to try to heal what couldn’t be healed, a way to quiet the thoughts that invaded incessantly.
Leon pulled out the glass.
He’d avoided it for weeks. He’d done things differently for his kids’ sakes. He’d decided to live differently…to try something else, or nothing, to sooth his pain.
But Isabel was worsening…God did nothing…and the pain squeezed every bit of breath he still possessed. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to wonder about what could have been but was never to be. He didn’t want to think about how the God he thought loved him abandoned him to the cruelty of the Nazis.
Leon popped the top off. Leon tilted up the bottle.
And the burning alcohol tasted wonderful on his tongue.
~*~
“I’m almost five and a half! The nurses say I’m growing fast.”
Riker adjusted his position in the grass and smiled up at Lina, who stood in front of him, clutching her crutches and smiling from ear to ear. “You are. And you’re walking so well. You’ve had so many people help you.”
Lina giggled. “You my favorite.” She flounced onto Riker’s lap, her frilly, light blue dress fanning around her. She looked up at Riker, her bright blonde curls fanning her chubby face. “You my favorite person in the whole world.”
Riker smiled softly, aiding Lina in setting her crutches aside. Maybe be still didn’t deserve her love, maybe he still didn’t deserve her appreciation—“Riker, Riker, the nurses say Mutti and Daddy are in Heaven.”
“I’m sure they are, Lina.” Riker murmured, soft.
Lina smiled. She reached for Riker’s arm and began to gently play with his fingers, moving them around whichever way she wished. “The nurses say Mutti and Daddy are with Jesus. I don’t know Jesus, but Fräulein Leah says Jesus is nice. She say Jesus loves me. Does Jesus love me like you do, Riker?”
Riker tucked a loose curl behind Lina’s right ear and nodded. “I think he does, Lina.”
How could anyone not love sweet children like Lina? How could anyone not love the most innocent of lives, the most innocent of human beings?
“I love you more, Riker!”
Riker raised a single eyebrow. “Do you?”
Holding onto his shoulders for support, Lina slowly and shakily rose to her feet. She held out her arms and stretched as far as possible, slightly swaying with how far she stretched her small arms. “I love you this much!”
Riker chuckled, smiled, and adjusted his position in the grass once more. He slightly curved his palms inward and stretched out his arms as far as he could. “And I love you this much.”
Lina wrapped her small arms around Riker’s neck. Riker hugged her tight, resting his chin on her curls.
Lina pulled away and smiled playfully. “Crutches! I run, and you can catch me.”
“Just be careful.” Riker whispered, handing her the desired crutches. He slowly rose to his feet, giving Lina a few minutes to walk away.
Though she couldn’t quite run, she could walk faster than she’d been able to in months. It was hard to believe—sometimes it seemed miraculous.
“Riker, Riker, come catch me!”
“Okay, okay, but you asked for it.”
He began a slow “run”, placing plenty of room between him and Lina, following her through the small grassy area, Lina giggling, Riker unable to hold back a smile.
Color illuminated the sky above, and he pressed forward, quickly grasping Lina and gently but quickly pulling her into his embrace.
Lina cheered. “You caught me! My turn, my turn-!”
“Look, Lina, the sunset. That’s what you wanted to see, isn’t it?”
Slowly, Lina’s gaze cast upward. She gasped and her bright blue eyes widened. Stuck within the confines of the hospital, she hadn’t seen a sunset in months; with some persuasion, the nurses and doctor had agreed to allow Riker to take Lina out, so long as they returned before complete darkness settled.
And the awe in Lina’s gaze…the sheer beauty of childhood in her demeanor…made it all worth it.
“Pink, and purple!” Lina cried, pointing up at the sky awash with color. “And orange…and red…it’s so pretty!”
“It is.”
Lina pointed out each individual color, often crying out in delight, hugging Riker and watching the sky as if it’d been painted by a talented artist.
“There you are again, living free without thinking about all of the people you murdered.”
His heart thudded against his ribcage; his breath hitched in his throat. Slowly, Riker turned on his heel, Lina still held close, firmly. “…Joash?”
The burly man chuckled, stumbled, and righted himself, eyes bloodshot, posture rigid with what Riker already knew to be fury. “It’s me. I’ve failed to end you more than once now, but I won’t be stopped this time.”
“Joash, wait—”
“Wait? Do you expect mercy? Do you expect-expect,” Joash’s words slurred together; he chuckled again, swayed on his feet, and placed his arms behind his back, “-ahh, no matter. I’ll be ending you today, making sure you can’t murder anyone…anyone else…”
Riker set Lina down, nudging her behind his own body. “Joash, wait. Lina doesn’t deserve to be a part of this—”
“You’re the one that has her with you. Not my fault.” Joash slurred. “You’re about to meet the devil, Schind…I would get ready—get ready to meet him if I were you.”
He pulled his arms out and slowly raised up his right hand. Sunlight revealed the telltale silver glint of a pistol.
No…no, not with Lina close—not—no!
Riker took a single step forward. “Joash, it doesn’t…it doesn’t have to be like this. Let me take Lina somewhere safe, then we can—”
“You’ll run like the coward you are…nah, I’ll take my chances here.”
Joash stepped forward. He stumbled. Gunfire. The whizz of a bullet. Lina stepped to the side to peek. Riker screamed her name, muffled by the pounding in his head.
A loud cry penetrated the air.
He hadn’t moved fast enough.
Riker sank onto the wet grass, scrambling, tears already falling down his cheeks in droves. “Lina! Lina! Lina!”
She writhed and cried, flat on the ground. Just below her small shoulder…a…a…a—Riker’s form hit the ground with a thud. He groaned, rolled, and kicked out.
Breath fresh with alcohol, Joash smiled cruelly, pinning Riker to the ground. “It’s finally your time to die, murderer…time to die.”
No….no! Not…no—Lina needed to get to a hospital to be treated. And his wife…his kids…no, Riker couldn’t—he couldn’t die! Not Lina…not Iris…not his kids…they didn’t deserve it—they didn’t deserve the suffering—Riker forced his eyes closed, unable to move his legs, unable to push Joash off despite every ounce of strength within him.
Voices cried out; a gunshot rang through the air; a hefty form thudded against Riker’s own. His eyes opened; Riker groaned and forced his way out from underneath Joash’s dead frame.
He wiped blood far from his own off his cheeks. An American knelt over Lina, staunching the blood flow, gently and quietly soothing her cries.
Another crouched beside Joash and slowly stood to face Riker. “Do you need aid?”
His breath hitched in his throat; tears burned his eyes. Riker shook his head, head pounding, lips unable to speak. His throat felt closed. His head felt stuffed. His legs felt leaden, and his heart seemed to stop.
The two Americans left taking Lina and Joash with them, noting they would be back to ask questions later, noting that Lina would be safe…that she would live.
But they couldn’t promise such a thing.
Riker’s legs buckled beneath him; he collapsed back into the grass. He wiped blood not his own away and stared at his blood-stained hands. Lina was injured…Lina could be harmed for life again…Lina could…Lina could…Lina could die.
A sob erupted. More followed. His body convulsed with sobs and tears coursed down his cheeks.
He pounded his fists into the dirt and screamed.
Lina could suffer for life. Lina could lose everything. Lina could die.
The reality of such a loss, such a life being stolen away stripped away and revealed that what he hoped was something that was never to be.
How stupid of him to even believe for a moment that redemption could be for the likes of Riker Schind.
What is strength?
Strength, my son, is being who God has called you to be.Poor things. Please don’t let Lina die! She’s so sweet!
Communist jokes aren’t funny unless everyone gets them.
@theducktator I know😭💖 but don’t worry, she’ll be alright <3
What is strength?
Strength, my son, is being who God has called you to be.
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