When Heaven Weeps by Ted Dekker Read Free Book Online Page A

horizon now, walking straight toward Michael, singing his incredible song. He would have expected music to reach him through his ears, but this song didn’t bother with the detour. It seemed to reach right through his chest and squeeze his heart. Love and hope and sorrow and laughter all rolled up in one.
    He opened his mouth without thinking and sang a couple of the words. O child of mine . . . A silly grin spread his cheeks. What did he think he was doing? But he felt a growing desperation to sing with the man, to match the chorus with his own. La da da, da la! Mozart! An angel with the purest melody known to man. To God!
    And he wanted to laugh! He almost did. He almost threw his head back and cackled. His chest felt as though it might explode with the desire. But he could not see the children. And that stick was making an awful racket about his bones.
    Without ceremony, the world with all of its color and light and music was jerked from him. He was back in the village.
    He heard himself gasp. Uhhh! It was like having a bucket of cold water thrown at him while taking a warm shower . He was standing now, facing Marie’s fallen body. The spring gurgled on as if nothing at all had happened. The women were frozen in place. The children were crying.
    And pain was spreading through his flesh like leaking acid.
    Oh, God. What is happening? What are you doing to your children?
    His shoulder did not feel right. Neither did his cheek.
    He wanted to be back in the laughing world with the children. Marie stirred on the ground. The commander was screaming and now the women started to move, like ghosts in a dream.
    No. The colors of Father Michael’s world brightened. No, I do not belong with the laughing children. I belong here with my own children. These whom God has given me charge over. They need me.
    But he didn’t know what he should do. He wasn’t even sure he could talk. So he prayed. He cried out to God to save them from this wicked man.
    THE COURTYARD had become a wasteland, Janjic thought. A wasteland filled with frozen guards and whimpering children and moaning women. The ravens soared in an unbroken circle now, a dozen strong. A lone dove watched the scene from its perch on the house to his right.
    Janjic swallowed, thinking that he might cry. But he would swallow his tongue before he allowed tears. He had humiliated himself enough.
    Molosov and the others stood expressionless, drawing shallow breaths, waiting for Karadzic’s next move in this absurd game. An hour ago Janjic was bored with the distraction of the village. Ten minutes ago, he found himself horrified at beating the priest. And now . . . now he was slipping into an odd state of anger and apathy drummed home by the plodding footfalls about him.
    The girl with a flat face and freckles—the birthday girl dressed in pink—suddenly stood up.
    She stood on the third step and stared at the commander for a few moments, as if gathering her resolve. She was going to do something. What had come over this girl? She was a child , for heaven’s sake. A war child, not so innocent as most at such a tender age, but a child nonetheless. He’d never seen a young girl as brave as this one looked now, standing with arms at her side, staring at the commander across the courtyard.
    â€œNadia!” a woman called breathlessly. Her mother, Ivena, who had stopped beneath her heavy cross.
    Without removing her eyes from the commander, the girl walked down the steps and limped for Karadzic.
    â€œNadia! Go back! Get back on the steps this minute!” Ivena cried.
    The girl ignored her mother’s order and walked right up to the commander. She stopped five feet from him and looked up at his face. Karadzic didn’t return her wide stare, but kept his eyes fixed on some unseen point directly ahead. Nadia’s eyes were misty, Janjic saw, but she wasn’t crying.
    It occurred to Janjic that he had stopped breathing. Sound and motion had