Page 18 of Rescuing You

Get us out of here, Lord. Rescue us.

Leila longed for her Bible. There were promises in there about how God rescued captives, and she needed to know them, all of them. She could only think of one, the one Jesus had recited in His hometown. Something about proclaiming freedom for captives and releasing prisoners from darkness.

Why hadn’t she memorized it?

I promise, if I ever get my hands on another Bible, I will read it faithfully. I will memorize verses. I will do whatever You ask. Just get us out of here.

As if God might be swayed by her bargaining, but what else did she have? She needed Him to move.

Please.

She stopped at the window and peered out. It was dark now. The days were too hot and too bright with nothing—no trees, no clouds—to protect the land from the burning sun. The nights were dark as pitch, so black beyond the compound that it seemed as if the rest of the world had disappeared, as if the compound were all alone in the universe.

Iraq was a land of extremes.

Leila longed for Munich, the city she’d made her home, where people of all colors, ethnicities, and faiths coexisted. Yes, she’d dealt with some there who made assumptions about her because of how she looked, but for the most part, she felt accepted, even embraced, by the locals. She could look different and believe different things without fear of persecution.

There were places in Iraq where that was true. Not here.

She had to get out. She was not going to live the rest of her life here. She was not going to become the bride of a madman.

She was not a commodity to be traded for power or influence or wealth.

Please, God.

She’d taken to sleeping during the daylight hours, prowling her room at night, determined to be ready when rescue arrived.

In the courtyard, the guard sat at the table, smoking his cigarette and scrolling his phone. He would be replaced in a couple of hours. They were always the same men. Always complacent as if there were no real cause for worry.

The building Jasmine had called the guest-house was dark. Was her sister asleep? Prowling, like Leila was?

Was she sick?

Based on her pallor, the skin-and-bones feel of her, something was wrong. She needed medical attention. The sooner the better.

Hurry, Michael. Please.

Would he come himself?

Probably not. He had no military experience.

Still, she hoped.

She longed for him. Longed to see him. Longed to feel his arms around her.

Hours later, she’d given up pacing and was seated on her bed, facing the window. Waiting. Praying. The moon outside her window was barely a sliver. Otherwise, all was dark.

All was silent. All was still.

And then a figure appeared in the window.

She gasped and jerked back.

“Shh. It’s me, it’s me.” The man dropped his feet to the floor and crossed toward her.

Even though she’d been hoping for him, she didn’t believe it.

“Michael?”