Out of Time

Chapter Eight

For a moment, John was terrified as he stared into Art's cold expression, but suddenly, he remembered how the Lord had urged him to get in the car to begin with. His fear melted, leaving John feeling calm. Righting himself, John fastened his seatbelt. "I'll tell him, Art. Thanks for letting us know."

"Nice bluff! Do you really think you're going to survive this?" John noticed that the gun in Art's hand was identical to Matt's. He realized that what Matt had insinuated but never stated, was that Art was a traitor to the DTD.

God, You allowed this for a purpose. You are in control. I will be fine.

"Whether or not I survive is not up to you," John retorted. He dug out the Bible that lay at the bottom of his small pack; miraculously, it was untouched by Art's attempt to drown him.

"I think the gun in my hand would tend to disagree with you," Art pointed out.

John remembered a portion of Scripture and turned to the small concordance in the back of the Bible in order to find the reference. "I'm not so sure about that," John disagreed as he flipped through the pages. Not for the first time, John regretted not memorizing references. "You tried to smother me, drown me and stab me, yet here I sit. God will not allow you to harm me until He so chooses."

As he flipped through the Bible, a twenty-dollar bill worked free of the pages, making John grin. Touched by the Reverend's generosity, John tucked the money back into the Bible for safekeeping. Finally, he found the verse he was looking for.

"When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable and the mortal with immortality, then the saying will come true, 'Death has been swallowed up in victory.' I Corinthians 15:54." He read the rest of the chapter silently, taking comfort and hope in the words.

Art didn't say anything. He turned the heat uncomfortably high and turned onto a multi-lane highway. "Can you at least tell me why you want me dead?" John asked after a long pause in the admittedly strained conversation. "I mean, what did I do to make you hate me this much? Did I mess up your food? Cut you off at an intersection? Do I owe you money?

Art only scoffed. "I don't know you well enough for anything like that," he denied. "I'm sorry, but I have no choice. You seem like a nice guy though."

"Well, why?" John was confused by Art's attitude. "if you don't want revenge or anything, and you think I'm nice, why do you want to kill me?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"I'd like to at least try."

Art didn't answer for long moments. "You ever play with blocks as a kid? Build a tower, knock it down?" he finally asked.

John shrugged. "Sure, when I was little; you?"

Art ignored John's query. "If you knock over the stack from the top, you maybe topple a few blocks; hit the bottom one and you get the whole stack, every time. You, John David Cavill, are a bottom block. If want Jackson DeWitt to fall, I have to take you out." He shrugged, as if John's life were an inconsequential detail. "You really are the bottom block though; I will admit. They're the hardest to pry off of the base plate. I wish I'd killed you in the jail, though. Everywhere I leave you, you just make it more difficult for me."

John thought about what Matt had said under the buckeye tree. If he'd been right, it would explain Art's irritation, just then. "Who is Jackson DeWitt?" he asked instead of following through on his train of thought.

"It doesn't matter, does it? Once you're gone, he will be, too."

John grunted out a wry chuckle. "It would be nice to die knowing it was for a good cause," he suggested, not seriously expecting to die.