The Last Sunday

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Danny St. John collapsed into Gideon Truman's waiting arms in the entry hall of Gideon's home in Hollywood Hills. It was 2:00 a.m. Danny coughed weakly. Gideon hoisted his arm around Danny's shoulder and carried him, limping, into the living room. The room was dark and still. The only sound was Danny gasping for breath. Gideon felt moisture on his bare arm as he laid the injured young man on the sofa.

“You're bleeding!” Gideon said in a panic. “What happened to you?”

The value Danny had assigned to his silence about his relationship with Hezekiah had been two million dollars. The money would buy his escape from the fear of being discovered by the media and, more so, of being hunted by Samantha Cleaveland. In his grief over Hezekiah's death, he reasoned this was the only way he could ever be safe. Danny knew Samantha would stop at nothing to remain the head of the ministry.

I know she killed him, and if she finds out who I am, she'll do the same to me. I have to get out of this city,
were the thoughts that had rushed through his mind each night since Hezekiah's death.
Make the woman who destroyed my life pay for me to leave the country and disappear. God, please forgive me.

“Who is this? How did you get this number?” Samantha had asked on the night Danny made the call that almost cost him his life.

“I'll ask the questions,” had come his breathy response. “Is this Samantha Cleaveland?”

Samantha removed the phone from her ear and pressed the
DISCONNECT
button. The phone rang again before she could return it to her purse.

Unidentified Caller glowed on the screen. Samantha dropped the phone in her purse. After the third ring there was a pause, and then the ringing started again.

Samantha snatched the phone from her purse and asked, “Who is this?”

“Hang up on me again and you'll regret it,” came the reply. “Now, answer my question. Is this Samantha Cleaveland?”

“Yes, it is,” she said calmly. “What do you want?”

“I know about Danny,” the voice said, waiting for a reaction.

“Who is Danny?” she asked impatiently.

“You know exactly who he is.”

“Look, whoever you are, I don't have time for this. Either get to the point or I'm hanging up and calling the police,” she said.

“Such impatience for a pastor,” he said sarcastically.

“I'm hanging up. Don't call me again, or I will call the police.”

“If you hang up this phone,” the voice said aggressively, “I'll be forced to turn over evidence to the media that proves that before your husband died, he was involved with a man.”

Samantha leaned forward in her seat. “What evidence?” she asked. “That is preposterous. My husband wasn't gay.”

“To start with, I've got a stack of e-mails full of language so graphic, it would make even you blush. There's some in there that even suggest you knew about it.”

“You're lying.”

“Don't call me a liar again, or this time next week you and Hezekiah will be on the cover of every tabloid in the country,” the voice said angrily.

“How dare you try to blackmail me! I've just buried my husband. What kind of monster are you?”

“You can save the grieving widow routine for your Sunday morning sermon. I know you were glad to get rid of him. He almost cost you millions. I wouldn't be surprised if you had something to do with his death yourself.”

Samantha froze after hearing those last words. With lightning speed and cold logic, she weighed the cost of either notion circulating in public and decided she could not risk even the rumors being discussed.

“What do you want from me?”

“Now, that's what I like. A woman who knows when she's been beaten.”

“There's no need to be sarcastic,” Samantha said coolly.

“You're not in a position to preach to me. In this relationship I'm the preacher. You do what I say. Got it?”

Samantha said nothing.

“I want one million dollars cash. You have seventy-two hours to make it happen. That gives you until Saturday to come up with the money.”

“A million dollars? You're out of your mind,” she said.

“I am? Then I guess I should hang up and let Gideon Truman decide if I'm crazy or not.”

“No, wait,” Samantha said quickly. “Don't hang up. I don't have that kind of money.”

“Bullshit,” the caller said. “You collect twice that much every Sunday morning. Why don't you take up a special offering this Sunday? Tell them it's so you can continue to do God's work.”

“There is no way I can come up with that much cash on such short notice.”

“Every time you lie to me, the price goes up five hundred thousand dollars. It's now at one and a half million.”

“You can't prove any of this. My husband was not gay,” Samantha said emphatically.

“Two million,” the voice said calmly.

Samantha paused to regain her composure. “What will you give me in return?” she finally asked.

“My word that you will never hear from me again,” the voice said sincerely.

Samantha scoffed. “The word of a blackmailer.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a keeper of secrets.”

“I'll need more time,” Samantha said hesitantly.

“You don't have more time. I will call you in two days with instructions. If you contact the police, I will immediately send copies of every e-mail in my possession to all the major news outlets in the country. I know that sounds like a cliché, but I had to say it, anyway,” the voice said and disconnected the line.

Now Danny lay bleeding on the couch as Gideon rushed to the bathroom for a towel. When he returned and flicked on the living room light, he saw the full extent of Danny's injuries. Blood surrounded a hole in the sleeve of the dark blue jacket he wore. His eyes were puffy, and there were fresh scratches on one side of his face.

“I have to get you to the hospital,” Gideon said as he dabbed the blood on Danny's arm with the wet towel.

“No!” was the first breathless word Danny spoke since he had entered the house.

“You're hurt. It looks like you've been shot.”

“It's only a flesh wound,” Danny said, grasping his arm. “I'll be fine. The bullet just grazed me.”

“Bullet!” Gideon exclaimed. “You were shot!”

“No. Shot at. They thought they killed me, but he missed. I pretended to be dead until they left.”

“Who did this to you? Were you robbed?”

“No,” Danny said, avoiding Gideon's worried gaze.

“Then what happened?”

Danny rested his head on the cushion and said nothing.

“Danny, you have to tell me what happened. We have to call the police. This is serious. You could have been killed.”

Danny looked up into Gideon's caring eyes. In them he saw the same concern and love he had seen when he looked at Hezekiah. He could feel the exchange of pain pass between them as if they were one body and one soul. It both frightened and comforted him. No one before Hezekiah had ever made him feel so safe. No one had ever made him feel connected. Now Gideon, a man he had met as a direct result of Hezekiah's death, sat on the sofa next to him, tending to his injured arm and comforting his wounded soul after a narrow escape from death.

“Danny,” Gideon urged, “you have to tell me what happened. Are you in any type of trouble?”

Danny detected the hint of suspicion that hung on the end of his question.

“Do you know who did this to you?”

“Yes,” Danny answered reluctantly. “I know who it was.”

Gideon pried his eyes away from Danny's tormented face to give him room to respond. “Tell me who did this to you, Danny. Was it Samantha?” he asked softly.

Moments passed as the answer weighed on Danny's lips. The flow of blood slowly subsided as Gideon continued to apply pressure on the gash. Only the skin had been broken. The towel felt cold and wet in his hand. The tips of his fingers were now covered with Danny's blood.

“Was it Samantha?” he repeated.

Danny looked again at Gideon's face and softly replied, “Yes. They left me for dead.”

Gideon then bolted from the sofa and darted across the room to a telephone on a small desk near the window. Los Angeles slept at their feet. In the dead of night the skyline sparkled like a thousand stars.

“No!” Danny shouted weakly behind him. “You can't.” Danny made his way to Gideon's side and grabbed his hand. “Stay out of this, Gideon. I don't want you to get involved.”

“
Involved?
” Gideon said through anguished breaths. “I'm already involved. I love you, and I'm not going to let that woman get away with this.”

Still clutching Gideon's hand that held the phone, Danny froze when he heard the words. He looked sadly into Gideon's eyes and replied, “
Love?
”

Gideon looked embarrassed. He hadn't intended to make such a revelation so soon. Especially not under these circumstances. But now that the words had been spoken, he pressed on. “That's right. You heard me correctly. I love you, Danny St. John, and I'm not going to let anyone hurt you again.”

Danny quickly recovered from the shock and brushed the declaration of love from the air between them. “You can't call the police, Gideon,” he said, bracing himself for his own confession.

“Why not? She tried to kill you. It's attempted murder. She probably used the same gun she used on Hezekiah. She has to be stopped.”

“Listen to me, Gideon. It's all very complicated. And I don't really know how to explain it to you.”

Gideon returned the telephone to the cradle. And calmly he said, “Just tell me what happened.”

“Do you promise not to judge me until I've told you everything?”

“Yes, I promise,” Gideon said with a hesitant voice.

“Come back to the sofa and I'll tell you everything,” Danny said, guiding him by the hand.

The two men sat at opposite ends of the sofa, and Danny dramatically began his tale with, “I tried to blackmail her.”

“Blackmail!” Gideon jerked forward and shouted.

“You promised not to judge me until I told you everything.”

Gideon leaned back on the sofa with both eyes locked on Danny as he continued.

“I know it was wrong. I'm not sure what I was thinking. I was afraid. I was confused and . . .” His words trailed off as he tried to make sense of the nightmare he now found himself in. “I thought if I could get enough money, I would be able to just disappear. You don't know what it's been like for me since Hezekiah's death. Not only am I missing him more than you could ever imagine, but I'm also afraid for my life. I hadn't slept a full night until I moved in here with you. I look over my shoulder every time I leave the house. I can't walk down the street or go to work without thinking the same person she got to kill Hezekiah is following me.”

“But blackmail? How could you have thought you could get away with something like that?”

Danny looked at him sharply.

“I'm sorry,” Gideon said, leaning back again. “Go on.”

“One day, about a year ago, Hezekiah lost his cell phone, and he used mine to call her. I don't know why I saved her number in my contacts, but it's been there ever since he made that call. I guess even back then I was afraid of her finding out who I was, and thought if something every happened to me, maybe someone would check my contacts. I even put in the note section, ‘Question in the event of my untimely death.' Anyway, I finally got up the nerve to call her and ask for the money.”

“How much?” Gideon asked like the inquisitive reporter he was. His tone was now neutral and professional, but passion and fear percolated just beneath the calm surface.

“Two million dollars,” Danny said with unmistakable embarrassment. “I know it's crazy, but somehow I'd convinced myself that she owed it to me. She took Hezekiah from me. She ruined my life and relegated me to a paranoid state that at times was almost unbearable. I didn't know what else to do. I know I wasn't thinking clearly, but at the time it seemed like my only option.

“Convincing her that I was serious was easier than I thought. She tried to blow me off at first, but before I knew it, she was agreeing to give me the money. By then there was no turning back. I called her again two days later and told her to meet me at midnight in an empty parking lot in Griffith Park, just off Western Avenue, and she agreed. I told her to come alone. I should have known she would bring someone with her.”

Danny then recounted the events in the park as if he were narrating a movie.

“It was just past midnight when I approached her car in the parking lot. She looked so calm, almost smug, sitting in a disgustingly white Bentley. I tapped on the car window. She looked up at me, and I instantly felt like she could see right through me. It was a very frightening feeling. I motioned for her to roll down the window. ‘Hello, Samantha,' I said and bent down to the open window. ‘It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Danny St. John.'

“Samantha looked me in the eye and said, ‘I should have guessed it would be you, Danny. So you're the man who was sleeping with my husband.'

“‘Yes. I'm also the man who loved him. Is that the money?' I said and pointed past her to a bag on the passenger seat. ‘May I have it please?' I remember she kept trying to look over my shoulder, but I was standing too close to the car for her to see around me.