Peace, Be Still

The jet hummed with the strange, hollow stillness only airplanes seemed capable of creating.

Not silence.

Airplanes were never silent.

Engines droned beneath your feet. Air whispered through vents overhead. Metal creaked occasionally, like the aircraft itself was dreaming.

Somewhere beyond the closed cockpit door, instruments chirped softly.

Compared to the chaos we had left behind in San Diego…

the cabin felt like another universe.

Most everybody had finally crashed.

Bodhi slept stretched across two leather seats with Rachel curled against his shoulder beneath a blanket. One of his hands rested protectively over hers even in sleep.

Sasha lay against Bodhi’s feet.

Not Rachel’s.

Close enough to feel him move.

Far enough that Rachel couldn’t reach her without trying.

Kristy Lee sat farther forward with the rifle across her lap.

Still awake.

Still watching.

Gene occupied the seat nearest the cockpit door.

Every few minutes, he looked back at Kristy Lee.

Not obvious enough for most people to notice.

But I noticed.

Small checks.

Making sure she was still there.

Making sure she was breathing.

Making sure the world hadn’t taken her while his back was turned.

Funny the things you notice once life starts getting stripped down to essentials.

Most of the window shades had been lowered against the afternoon sun. Thin blades of light slipped around their edges and stretched across the carpet.

I leaned my head against the leather seat.

Closed my eyes.

Told myself I needed rest.

Instead—

the doorbell rang.

I opened my eyes.

I was standing in the Lost River house.

Except the house was empty.

No furniture.

No drugs on the counter.

No voices.

Only Marcus Reed standing in the middle of the living room.

Wrinkled shirt.

Puffy eyes.

Hands raised.

“I’m a good person.”

The doorbell rang again.

Marcus looked toward the door.

“Don’t tell John.”

The rifle cracked.

A red hole appeared between his eyes.

He fell backward.

I reached for him—

and the room became an airfield.

Jeb lay on the tarmac beside an open medical kit.

Blood spread beneath him in every direction.

I dropped to my knees and pressed both hands against the wound.

“Jeb.”

His eyes found mine.

“You said you had us.”

“I do.”

“You said this was your world.”

“It is.”

“Then why can’t you save anybody?”

I pushed harder against the wound.

Blood forced itself between my fingers.

“Jeb.”

Behind me, Marcus whispered:

“Don’t tell John.”

I turned.

They were both there now.

Marcus in my living room.

Jeb on the tarmac.

Two dead men in two different places.

Both staring at me.

The doorbell rang again.

I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t wake up.

Then—

warmth.

Pure warmth.

Not physical.

Not heat.

Something deeper.

It rolled through me slowly and golden, like sunlight pouring into cold water.

Every nerve in my body loosened.

Every worry dissolved.

The blood disappeared from my hands.

Marcus faded.

Jeb faded.

The ache in my shoulders vanished.

The noise in my head went silent.

Peace.

Not the kind people talk about in church because they think they’re supposed to.

Real peace.

The kind that reaches into the darkest corners of you and says:

Rest now.

I felt loved.

Completely.

Absolutely.

Not judged.

Not weighed.

Not measured.

Loved.

Tears rose before I even understood what was happening.

For one impossible moment, I understood why men abandoned kingdoms to search for enlightenment in deserts.

Why addicts destroyed themselves chasing one more high.

Why people spent their entire lives trying to feel close to God.

Because whatever this was…

it felt holy.

Then, beneath the warmth, something else appeared.

Fear.

Sharp.

Possessive.

Mine.

I wanted to hold on to it.

Hide it.

Protect it.

Like when I was seven years old and tried to hide Samson beneath my jacket after finding him shivering in a ditch during a thunderstorm.

Mama had stood in the doorway staring at me.

“What you got there?”

“Nothing.”

I’d held that tiny Chihuahua so tightly he squeaked.

Because I already knew:

If the world saw something beautiful…

the world usually took it away.

The warmth began to fade.

Panic replaced it instantly.

No.

No, no, no—

I straightened in my seat, breathing hard.

My hands rubbed against my arms as though I could force the feeling back into existence.

Withdrawal.

That was what it was.

God help me…

I understood addicts in that moment.

A soft voice came from across the aisle.

“You’re awake.”

My eyes snapped open.

Rachel sat across from me.

Watching.

The cabin lights had been dimmed while everyone slept. Soft blue floor lighting traced the aisle beneath us. Sunlight glowed around the lowered window shades.

Sasha was awake too.

Her head remained against Bodhi’s leg.

Her eyes stayed on Rachel.

“How long was I asleep?” I asked.

“A little while.”

Rachel studied me.

“You felt it.”

Not a question.

I swallowed.

“What was that?”

Instead of answering, she reached toward the built-in minibar.

When she sat back, she held two tiny bottles of bourbon between her fingers.

I couldn’t tell whether she had taken them from the cabinet or pulled them out of thin air.

That bothered me.

She offered me one.

“Drink?”

I stared at the bottle.

“No, thank you.”

“You don’t drink?”

“Not anymore.”

“Had a problem?”

“No.”

“Then why stop?”

“Because I decided to.”

Rachel considered that.

Then placed both bottles on the table between us.

Untouched.

Interesting.

Like she was recalculating.

“You were going to leave us back there.”

Straight to the heart of it.

I raised the shade beside me slightly.

Far below, desert and farmland stretched beneath the afternoon sun. Roads divided the earth into straight lines and hard angles.

“Maybe.”

“You were.”

No accusation.

Just observation.

“You looked at that service exit three times.”

I turned back toward her.

“You were watching me?”

“I watch everybody.”

The smile she gave me wasn’t flirtation.

It was assessment.

A scientist studying reactions inside a cage.

“You decided to stay,” she continued.

“Jeb got shot.”

“That isn’t why.”

No.

It wasn’t.

And we both knew it.

I rubbed a hand across my jaw.

“I don’t leave people in the middle of a bad situation.”

Rachel tilted her head.

“Even strangers?”

“Especially strangers.”

That answer interested her.

Up front, Gene rose from his seat and crossed to Kristy Lee.

He didn’t say anything.

Just rested two fingers against the inside of her wrist.

Checking her pulse.

Touching base with reality.

Kristy Lee looked exhausted, but she leaned slightly toward his hand.

Tiny movement.

Tiny intimacy.

Rachel followed my gaze.

“Oh.”

Her voice turned dismissive.

“That one.”

Something ugly lived beneath the words.

Not jealousy.

Contempt.

“You don’t like her,” I said.

“She complicates things.”

“You made her sick, didn’t you?”

Rachel barely glanced toward Kristy Lee.

“I warned Gene she would die if she came.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

A tiny shrug.

Cold.

Indifferent.

As though Kristy Lee’s suffering didn’t matter.

The warmth I had experienced suddenly felt much farther away.

Rachel leaned toward me.

“You’re very protective of people for someone who considered abandoning us.”

“I didn’t abandon you.”

“You thought about it.”

“Thinking isn’t doing.”

Rachel smiled.

“No.”

Her voice softened.

“But it reveals.”

That one landed.

She knew it landed.

Then she changed directions without warning.

“You’re wealthy.”

I blinked.

“That’s a strange observation.”

“It’s true.”

“I’ve done all right.”

“You’re famous.”

“Less now.”

“You’re respected.”

“Depends who you ask.”

“And yet none of it excites you very much.”

There it was.

The probing.

The searching.

She wasn’t making conversation.

She was digging.

“What exactly are you asking me?”

Rachel leaned back.

“Most people want something.”

“Everybody wants something.”

“Yes. But usually it’s obvious.”

Her eyes shifted toward Bodhi.

“Love.”

Then toward Gene.

“Redemption.”

Finally, back to me.

“But you already have money. Power. Fame. Influence. Most men spend their entire lives destroying themselves for those things.”

“I know.”

“So what do you want?”

Simple question.

Dangerous question.

The answer came easily.

“Peace.”

Rachel laughed softly.

Not mocking.

Genuinely confused.

“Peace is overrated.”

“Blessed are the peacemakers.”

That silenced her.

Not because I had won an argument.

Because she didn’t understand.

She might have known the words.

She didn’t understand why anyone would live by them.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied me again.

Longer.

Deeper.

Finally, she settled back into her seat.

“You are a very different man, Dan Callahan.”

The way she said it raised the hair along my arms.

Not admiration.

Observation.

The discovery of an unexpected variable.

I decided to push back.

“Who are you really?”

Rachel smiled patiently.

“You already know.”

“No. I really don’t.”

Her fingers tapped against the untouched bourbon bottles.

“Men have spent centuries asking that question.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“No,” she agreed. “It isn’t.”

The cabin seemed colder.

Or maybe I was finally coming down from whatever counterfeit peace had wrapped itself around my mind.

I looked toward Bodhi.

He slept with one arm stretched across the empty blanket where Rachel had been lying.

“You know he would die for you.”

“Yes.”

She said it casually.

“You don’t seem bothered by that.”

“He would want me to.”

No arrogance.

No pride.

Only certainty.

That certainty frightened me more than anything else I had encountered that day.

“What happened to you while you were gone?”

Rachel’s expression changed.

Not softer.

Older.

“People wanted things from me.”

“What kind of things?”

“All kinds.”

The cabin lights reflected strangely in her eyes.

“Healing. Power. Salvation. Eternal life. Revenge. Answers.”

“And could you give them those things?”

Rachel looked directly at me.

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

No uncertainty.

Just yes.

I should have dismissed it as insanity.

I should have laughed.

But after that morning—

after gunfights, dead friends, men worshipping the Dreamer, and impossible warmth flooding my soul—

I couldn’t laugh anymore.

Not completely.

“You sound very certain.”

Rachel leaned closer.

“I can give people what they truly desire.”

The warmth brushed the edge of my mind again.

Faint.

Tempting.

Like fingers against the back of my skull.

This time, I recognized the danger.

Not hypnotism.

Temptation.

That was worse.

Far worse.

“Gene doesn’t trust you.”

Rachel looked toward the front of the cabin.

Gene had settled into the seat beside Kristy Lee. One arm rested across the back of her chair while she finally drifted to sleep.

Even unconscious, she leaned toward him.

Anchored.

Rachel watched them with visible annoyance.

“Gene only remembers himself when she’s around.”

Something cold moved down my spine.

“You say that like it bothers you.”

“It complicates things.”

“Things like what?”

Rachel looked back at me.

“You ask many questions for someone who already decided to help us.”

“And you avoid answers for someone claiming honesty.”

That produced a reaction.

Tiny.

Real.

Her expression hardened enough for me to glimpse something beneath the mask.

Not anger.

Irritation.

Like a beautiful woman at a party realizing one person wasn’t charmed by her.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“You never answered me,” I said. “Did you make Kristy Lee sick?”

Rachel looked at the sleeping woman again.

Dismissive.

“Nothing she didn’t ask for.”

“That’s a yes.”

“I warned them.”

No concern.

No guilt.

Nothing human at all.

The cockpit speaker chimed.

My pilot’s voice filled the cabin.

“We’ve begun our descent into Callahan Field. Please return to your seats and fasten your seat belts.”

The seatbelt light illuminated overhead.

Rachel stood.

Conversation over.

Just like that.

She crossed the aisle and returned to Bodhi.

Sasha lifted her head.

Watched Rachel settle into the empty seat beside him.

Then Sasha stood, turned once, and lay down directly against Bodhi’s other leg.

Rachel fastened her seat belt.

The moment she touched Bodhi’s arm, he woke.

Like some part of him always knew where she was.

“There you are,” he whispered.

Rachel leaned against his shoulder.

Bodhi wrapped one arm around her and kissed the top of her head.

“I missed you.”

His voice was thick with sleep.

“I found you. We’re together now. I’m never letting anything bad happen to you again.”

Rachel nestled closer.

But her eyes remained fixed on me.

Watching.

Measuring.

Hungry.

Several minutes later, the landing gear lowered with a heavy mechanical thud.

The cabin vibrated.

The plane descended through the final layer of clouds.

Then the wheels touched Texas ground.

And for the first time since meeting Rachel…

I was no longer sure we had brought the right thing home with us.