Page 157 of Finding Noah

“You came back to me.” She squeezed her eyes shut, digging her fingertips into my cheeks, holding on with every bit of strength she possessed, and I held her just as tight. “Oh my God … you came back to me. I was so, so, so afraid you were gone, but you came back. How? How did you come back? I don’t understand …”

My throat worked with a swallow as the tears streaked my cheeks to lie within her palms. What was I supposed to say? I had made a promise—I had given the man in black my word—but how could I keep those secrets from her? Didn’t she deserve to know the means in which I’d been returned to her and our life together? I had vowed to never keep something from her again, but, dammit, how was I supposed to explain this all to her when I could hardly believe it myself?

“You kept me alive,” I said, speaking only part of the truth. “Memories of you, the hope of seeing you again … you kept me safe.”

Her eyes opened to stare into mine. More tears spilled from her eyes as she nodded within my grasp, as if she understood.

Then I added, lowering my voice, “And … there was … this guy. He—”

“Wait.” Her eyes opened wide, and her jaw dropped with shock and awe. “The man in the mask?”

I furrowed my brow, the tips of my fingers grasping tight to her scalp. “You saw him too?”

Slowly, she nodded, unblinking and bewildered, and somehow, knowing she’d also experienced a mysterious interaction with the man who’d saved my life made him all the more real.

“Did he do something to you? Did he say anything?”

Then she hurried to shake her head. “N-no, he didn’t do anything to me. He didn’t touch me. He just … told me to stop looking. He … he said he wouldn’t be able to save us all if I kept looking for you.”

“You were looking?” I asked as I lifted my head, glancing around as if that man might be here right now, watching over me like the elusive angel of death that he was.

Or maybe he wasn’t an angel of death at all.

I’m alive now, aren’t I?

“Yeah,” she replied. “Me and your dad. We came up here to search for you, but we didn’t get far. Just the funeral home, and that was it—”

“The funeral home?” My eyes met hers as a rush of sudden recollection made impact with my weary, tired mind. “You went to the funeral home?”

She narrowed her eyes and nodded. “Y-yeah. Why? We thought since it was the last place you—”

“Who did you talk to?” I asked, flitting my eyes between her and the speculatory gaze of my father, now standing with his arms crossed over his chest.

Are they safe? I wondered. Am I?

She reached out to take my wrists within her hands, and she gasped quietly, her fingers gently rubbing over the wrapped bandages there. She lifted my hands to her assessing gaze, shaking her head.

“Oh God, Noah,” she whispered. “What did they do to you?”

“No, we’ll talk about that later,” I promised, and I would. I’d tell her everything. But she needed to give me answers first. “Who did you talk to, Meg? Please.”

“We talked to Shawn,” she admitted, her eyes dancing within mine. “And, um—”

I lifted a brow as I asked in a low, secretive tone, “Abraham?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “B-but … why?”

“What about the third one? There’s a third brother. Did you meet him?”

She shook her head. “No, they said he wasn’t around. Why are you asking me this?”

I pulled my hands from her grasp to remove my shattered phone from my pocket once again, remembering something that the man in black had said to me. The one and only clue he’d given me about his identity.

Genesis 18:23.

Meg stood before me, her arms reaching out to wrap around my waist, needing to touch me, to ensure the reality that I was here and alive—safe. Dad slowly made his approach, Charlie moving in behind him, as I stood on the sidewalk outside the cemetery gates with an internet browser open and typed.

Then, with my heart thumping loudly in my ears, I read aloud, “’Then Abraham approached and said, ‘Will you sweep away the righteous with the wicked?’”