Emma set her bag under her chair as she took her seat. The weekend had passed, uneventful aside from the night Dair had come over acting strange and Raphael had become a glow worm. The rest of the time had been quiet. It was her second week of school, and despite her desire to be with Darla, Wayne, Serenity, and Dair, she still felt there was a reason she was in this school at this time. God, or the Creator as Dair and Raphael referred to Him, wanted her here. She could feel it in her spirit.

Her mama used to tell her that when God wanted to use us to point people to Him, they would feel it in their gut. She said, ‘Your stomach will get tight, and until you start moving in the direction God wants you to go, there won’t be any easing of that feeling.’ That’s what Emma was feeling, and anytime she thought about leaving, that feeling would knot up her stomach again and only ease when she resolved herself to be exactly where she was.

“Hi, Emma,” Callie, the friend she’d made the first week of school, said, pulling Emma from her thoughts.

Emma turned to smile at the girl and felt her stomach tighten a bit. “Hey, Callie,” she said with genuine warmth in her voice. The girl had been on Emma’s mind continually since they’d met. Emma felt like their meeting was more than chance. At some point in the future, Emma was sure Callie would need a good friend, and Emma thought that friend was meant to be her.

“Did you have a good weekend?” Callie asked.

Emma shrugged. “I wouldn’t say it was bad, and I could say there were aspects of good. Mostly it was just two days that went by where I didn’t do a whole lot of anything.”

Callie’s brow drew together as she stared at Emma. After a few seconds, a smile spread across her face and she giggled. “You are a strange person, Emma Whitmore.”

Emma laughed too. “That’s not the first time I’ve been told that.”

Mrs. Sunders stood up at the front of the classroom, and the noise of talking died down as everyone turned to face her.

“I have some upsetting news,” she began. Her face was strained, and Emma could see dark circles under her eyes. “Joel McFadden has been missing for two days. He is in Mrs. Harris’ third grade class.” She paused and her eyes scanned over the room, meeting the eyes of the students. “I’m not telling you this to frighten you. I’m telling you so that you will be aware and take precautions. Do not walk outside alone. Don’t even be in your front yard alone. Do not talk to strangers, even if they ask for help and it seems urgent. You are to run in the opposite direction and get to someone you know. Please be safe.” She seemed like she wanted to say more, but after a few seconds she shook her head and picked up a book.

And so, Emma’s week began, with news of a child missing and warnings to guard against becoming the next victim. She doodled in her notebook as Mrs. Sunders began lecturing about American History. Emma was advanced well beyond her current grade level in History, like all of her other subjects, so she didn’t necessarily need to pay close attention. Her mind kept wandering to different things her mama, and even her daddy, had said to her in those last couple of days before they were killed. She didn’t understand why those days seemed to be stuck on repeat, replaying themselves in her mind. She felt as if someone was trying to tell her something but she was missing it.

“Are you alright?” Raphael asked as he knelt next to Emma’s desk. No one else could see or hear him, of course, so she had to be careful not to look at him or answer him out loud. She wrote a Y on her paper and tapped it for him to see her answer to his question. He gave a subtle nod and then stood back up and backed away until he was leaning against the wall at the back of the classroom. Emma wondered if he was bored. After all, his sole existence revolved around hanging out with an eight-year-old and going to school with her. She imagined that it was pretty un-majestic and mundane to an angelic being. She wondered if there was something more important he could be doing, like helping starving children in third world countries or fighting evil somewhere it would bring the most impact. Surely staying with her wasn’t near as important as other things he could be doing to serve the Creator.

Time passed and more thoughts bombarded her mind as she went through the motions of school. By the time lunch came around she had a headache.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Callie asked Emma.

Emma looked at her unopened lunch and noticed she was the only one who hadn’t begun eating. She pulled out her sandwich, courtesy of her personal angel, and unwrapped it. When she’d had asked how he got the food, he only shrugged and said ‘I’m sure your mama told you not to look a gift horse in the mouth.’ He’d been right, her mama had said that.

“A little, I guess,” she answered Callie.

“I can’t believe another kid is gone,” Callie said around the bite of sandwich she’d taken.

“What do you mean, another?” Emma asked.

“There’ve been more. I’m not sure how many but at least a couple per month since Halloween.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. “Two a month? They haven’t found any of them?”

Callie shook her head.

They sat there in silence, eating their lunch and thinking. Or, at least Emma was thinking. She wasn’t sure what Callie had going on inside her mind.

“I wish we didn’t have to do creative writing this afternoon. I’m not really good at writing,” Callie said, answering Emma’s question about what was going on in her mind. Apparently, she was done talking and thinking about the missing children.

“I can help you,” Emma offered.

“Do you like writing?”

Emma smiled. “I like anything that has to do with learning and school.”

Callie shook her head and a small smile appeared. “See, strange, just like I said.”

“Strange can be good,” Emma countered.

Callie thought about it and then nodded. “Yes, you’re right, strange can be good. Giraffes are strange and cute. That’s good.”

This made Emma laugh. She was being compared to the oddity of a giraffe. She guessed it could be worse. Callie could compare her to the bald rear-end of an orangutan, which was also strange.

They spent the rest of lunch making small talk. Raphael was around, mostly on the edge of the cafeteria. She assumed he was giving her space so she could make friends. She couldn’t really sit and talk to him or the other students might begin to question her mental stability. Emma didn’t want to draw attention to herself or her situation, at least not yet.

As she and Raphael walked back to Mr. Jones’ house, she was quiet. Her mind was still wrestling with her parents’ words.

“Might I ask what has you so sidetracked?” Raphael said.

She thought about how to answer him. It took a minute for her thoughts to form a coherent sentence. “My parents said several things to me in the last couple of days before they died. At the time, it just seemed like their usual pearls of wisdom.”

“And now?” he prompted when she stopped.

“And now I feel like they were trying to tell me something. But I don’t know if they realized they were trying to tell me something.” She shook her head. “That didn’t make sense. What I mean is, maybe they felt led to tell me these things for a reason they did not know or understand.”

Raphael nodded but didn’t say anything, so she continued to speak her thoughts out loud instead of wrestling with them in her mind.

“My daddy told me, two days before the day they died, ‘Emma Jean, do you understand that evil exists in the world?’ I told him, yes, I did understand that. Then he asked, ‘Do you understand why?’.”

“What did you respond?” Raphael asked, his eyes shining with interest.

“At first I was going to say yes, but then I thought about it and I said, ‘Are we supposed to understand?’ My daddy looked at me much like you’re looking at me right now,” she said with a chuckle. “So I’ll tell you the same thing I told him. ‘Isn’t it enough to understand that God is good? Isn’t that something that is better to grasp onto, rather than the understanding of evil or its purpose?’”

Raphael frowned and started to say something, but Emma held up her hand. “I’m beginning to see that he wanted me to dig deeper than that, and I am.” She tapped her temple. “This right up here is turning his question over and over, and I’m doing what Mama used to do. She’d stand in the kitchen washing dishes talking out loud to God. She did that all the time. She’d say things like, ‘I don’t get what you’re doing, Lord, but you do. So that will have to be enough.’ Or she’d say, ‘Explain it to me, God. Just make it plain as day so I can obey.’ I’m asking God to make it plain as day.”

“The Creator always has a purpose,” Raphael said. “And sometimes it is not for us to know or understand.”

Emma nodded. “I agree, but there’s no harm in asking, and maybe he’s waiting to tell me but wants me to come and ask for that knowledge instead of just giving it to me.”

They were both quiet after that, and when they reached Mr. Jones’ house they stood on the cracked, run-down sidewalk and just stared at the hovel. Emma didn’t want to go inside. She didn’t want to be around Mr. Jones at all. Sleeping outside sounded more appealing to her than being in that house. But, this was where she was. To what end, she didn’t know. So she took a step toward the front porch and another and another until she was up on the rickety wood by the door. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for what she would be faced with when she went inside. It might be just emptiness, or it might be a man wrapped in darkness and depravity. Whatever it was, she would face it as her mama taught her. ‘Emma Jean, everywhere you go, you go knowing that God goes with you.’ She latched onto that truth and pulled the door open and stepped inside.

The usual darkness of the house settled over her, but there was something more there this time. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was different. Emma went to her closet to drop off her backpack. Then she would figure out if Mr. Jones was in the house. She liked to be aware of where he was so he couldn’t sneak up on her.

When a walk through the house didn’t reveal him, she assumed he must be out. That was fine with her. She prepared herself a snack from some peanut butter and crackers she found in the cabinet. When she was done eating, she didn’t know what to do with herself.

“What should I do?” she asked Raphael.

“What do you want to do?”

She thought about it. What would she have normally done after school when she lived with her parents? Come home, talk to her mom about her day, play in her room, or watch a show on TV. But Emma was on her own now. And Raphael had been with her all day, so he knew how her day was. Watching TV wasn’t appealing because she didn’t want to be in the living room when Mr. Jones showed up again. So, finally, she answered him. “I guess go to my hovel under the stairs.”

“Very good, Mr. Potter,” Raphael teased, understanding her reference.

“Emma?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been wondering, why is it that you aren’t in some sort special classes for kids who have above average intelligence?”

“I was when I lived in Memphis. But when I transferred, they never said anything to me about it and I never brought it up.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Emma considered how to explain what she felt and not sound as if she was giving up. “Being in those classes would have reminded me too much of my mama. It’s not that I didn’t want to keep living or doing my best, not really. It was just so fresh, the pain, I mean. We spent so much time reading books together and doing homework together, I wasn’t ready to have to do that on my own.”

Raphael was quiet for a minute but then finally spoke. “There is no shame in taking time to heal, Emma. Nor is there an allotted time for how long it takes. Everyone heals in their own time.”

They sat in the closet quietly for a long time. Emma had her notebook in her lap and was jotting down thoughts that kept popping into her head. Raphael was silent, as he often was, just a calming presence. Later she would look back and realize that this moment had been the calm before the storm.

“I should go check on Serenity,” Raphael said quietly as Emma sat in the floor of her closet. “Dair was not himself when he was here last, and Serenity is not getting better. I will be back quickly. It’s quiet right now. Will you be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Raph. Serenity needs help. Go help her. Reginald isn’t here,” Emma told him, hoping he would go. She didn’t want Serenity to be going through something so hard by herself. From what Dair had said, she was having horrible nightmares full of demons. Emma wouldn’t want to have to endure such an ordeal on her own, and she didn’t want her friend to have to either.

Raphael gave her one last look before he was gone. The quietness in the closet was heavy. Usually, when Emma was alone, she didn’t feel so oppressed. But in that moment, she felt as though the weight of the world was on her shoulders. That strange feeling she’d had when she’d entered the house was back and growing. She felt as though something dark and sticky was covering her skin and a black hole was opening up inside her, swallowing any light that might shine in her heart.

Her hands broke out into a sweat, and her heart was pounding painfully in her chest. She tried to bring her mother’s words to her mind, tried to hear the words she’d often spoken about the Creator, but there was nothing, only silence. She forced herself to take a deep breath, but the air felt as thick as tar and none would fill her lungs.

She squeezed her eyes closed and bit the inside of her lip. What was happening? Some evil must be attacking her, but what? As she attempted to force air into her lungs, Emma heard the front door open and close. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no, no.” Her frantic plea reverberated off the walls in the small space. Her heart began to beat even harder, and she was sure that Reginald would be able to hear it.

“Little pet.” She heard him croon and felt the bile rise in her throat. He’d never called her anything other than girl. For the most part, he avoided her. The voice that had spoken those words did not sound like Reginald. The food she’d eaten for a snack was going to come up. That was inevitable. It was just a question of when.

“Come out, little pet, I can hear your breathing. You can’t hide from me.”

Emma clamped her hand over her mouth and tried to bring her breathing under control. Her shoulders shook as she fought the sobs that were threatening to burst forth. She knew what was going to happen. She knew it in her gut, but she didn’t know how to stop it. Her heart was beating painfully fast, and every muscle in her body was tense, ready to flee but with nowhere to go.

His footsteps were getting closer, and with each step, a little more hope seeped out of her. She was alone. There was no one to rescue her. Her mind reached out for God, and she wondered where He was. Her mama had said He was always there; He was always listening. Was He listening now? Did He hear the crazed voice of Reginald Jones? Did He feel the evil that radiated through the house, threatening to drag her to the very pits of hell that she’d heard about in church? Where are you? Emma thought as the closet door swung open and the eager eyes of Reginald met her fear-filled ones.

The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke enveloped her, and she gagged. The smile he showed her was full of dead yellow and black teeth, and his face was covered in a few days’ growth of rough hair. His shirt, which had once been white, was dingy and almost grey, covered in undiscernible stains. None of that is what plunged Emma into a tidal wave of panic. It wasn’t until her eyes dropped below the shirt and she saw the belt on his pants unclasped, the button undone, and the zipper down that she lost it.

She screamed and lunged forward in an attempt to catch him unaware and get past him, but he was surprisingly quick for someone so intoxicated. His arm snatched her around the waist and pulled her back against his chest. He held her close and managed to keep his legs mostly out of the way of her kicking feet.

“Feeling feisty this evening, pet.” He growled as he leaned his face against her neck. She felt his tongue against her skin.

Emma dry heaved and threw her head around wildly. She screamed and tried slapping him over her shoulder, but she wasn’t strong enough. He held her and cussed her and when he’d had enough of her struggling, he threw her small form across the closet. She hit the wall with a sickening thud, and pain radiated throughout her body. The impact made her bite her lip, and she tasted the blood as it spilled into her mouth and ran down her chin. As she pushed herself up, her ankle was grabbed before she could fully right herself, and she was jerked down onto her back. A fist slammed into her face, and she fought to keep from passing out as the pain radiated through her jaw and head. He hit her again and again, and nothing she said would make him stop. Eventually he did stop, though, and then Emma felt her hands being jerked over her head. A rope was wrapped around her wrist. He’d attached the rope to something heavy because when he let go she couldn’t pull her arms down. Her survival instinct kicked into overdrive, and she fought with a renewed strength. Her body flailed and she tried to roll but he was on top of her now and he was heavy, and so much stronger than her.

When Emma realized her fighting was completely futile she reached deep into her mind and closed her eyes tightly. She pushed herself away, not letting herself mentally remain where her body was trapped. She could still feel what was happening, but she almost felt as though it was happening to someone else. She grabbed onto that.

You’re going to survive this, she told the young girl who was enduring abuse and rape. You will be broken at first, but then you will heal and be stronger. She knew the bad things were happening to her, but if she could pretend it was someone else, someone that she could help, she could deal with the questions that were already being thrown at her. She heard the small voice laced with tears and pain. Why? Why is this happening? What did I do? I don’t want this to happen to me. I don’t want to be someone who has this experience in their past. Why, why, why? Please save me, please God, please save me. The voice pleaded over and over again. Don’t leave me here, don’t forget me, please hear me. PLEASE HEAR ME! I’M HERE GOD, I’M HERE! CAN YOU SEE ME? Emma wept. The voice was no longer someone else in her mind. It was her own. As dirty hands grabbed at her and her clothing was ripped away, she wept, her voice growing hoarse as she screamed out loud and in her mind. Mama said You would always be with me. PLEASE I NEED YOU. PLEASE.

What else could she say? Was there anything else to say? She didn’t know. Was there a right thing to say? ‘Emma Jean, remember even in the darkest of times that God is good. When you can’t remember anything else, you remember God. Is. Good.’ Her mother’s words reverberated in her mind as her tears continued to fall. It was as though her mother was sitting right there beside her. She could feel her fingers running through her hair and smell the flowering scent that was her perfume.

‘Mama, if God is good, why do bad things happen?’ she remembered asking her mama. ‘Why would God not stop the bad things from happening?’

‘Let me ask you a question,’ her mama said. ‘Why do heroes exist?’

‘To save people who need to be saved,’ she answered. Her mama nodded.

‘What does it take to be a hero?’

‘Bravery, sacrifice, willingness to act, courage.’

‘Correct, now how does someone gain those attributes? How does a person become brave if there is nothing to fear? How does a person learn to sacrifice if they don’t ever experience a trial that requires sacrifice? How does a person gain courage if there is never a reason to be afraid? How can we be extraordinary and do great things that God calls us to do if we do not ever face great adversity?’ Her mama tugged on her hair gently to make sure she had Emma’s full attention. ‘How can we learn to love our enemies and pray for them as the Good Book says if we have no enemies? How do we learn patience if we are never faced with a situation that requires waiting? God uses all things for good, Emma Jean, because He is good. Promise me you will cling to that. Promise me you will not forget that because one day it may be the only light you have to shine in the darkness.’ Her mother’s voice faded away, and the fingers that had been caressing her face and hair were gone but the warmth they’d brought remained.

“I promise,” Emma murmured, as she realized the weight was gone and her hands were no longer bound. Emma pulled herself into a ball and rolled onto her side. Her face throbbed, and her body hurt in a way she’d never known it could. She tucked her chin into her chest and let the pain flow through her. She cried because she had to. She needed to mourn what she had lost. She needed to grieve and feel the anguish that was threatening to drag her into the pits of hell. She could almost feel the flames beneath her feet and smell the sulfuric fumes. She could just barely hear the laughter of the demons as they cajoled her and belittled her. She shook her head, attempting to purge those things from her mind.

“I have heard you.” A voice smooth and as comforting as a warm fire on a cold, bitter night filled the small space.

Emma held still, her breathing slowed, though the tears still streaked her face. She was waiting. She was still and waiting because she wanted to hear that voice again.

“I have heard you, child. You are not forsaken. You are not alone.”

A breath shuddered out of her as she gasped on a sob. Her shoulders shook, and her lips trembled as she whispered. “Will you raise me up?”

“I will. In my time, you will stand mighty before your enemies. You will be faced with adversaries on all sides, and you will prevail. I will place you in a position of great command. Your words will be my words. Your decrees will be my decrees. I will take you broken and hurting, and I will restore you. Many will come to know me through your suffering. Many will hear your testimony and find hope, hope that leads them to their Creator. You will remind a nation that I am their God, and they are my creation. You will remind them of my promises. You will remind them of my commands. You will remind them of my sacrifice. I have torn you down, young though you are, so that I might build you up, stronger than you could have been.”

“You are good,” Emma whispered.

“I AM.”

“You are good,” she said again.

“I AM.”

“You. Are. Good.” She paused. “I am angry.”

“I am still good.”

“I am hurting.”

“I am still good. I feel your pain.”

“I don’t know if I will survive this.”

“I am still good. There is nothing that you have gone through that I have not endured. I am not unable to understand what you feel. It is the strength I give you that will sustain you.”

“I don’t want to hate.”

“I am still good. You are mine. There is no room for hate in my perfect love. I have called you to love not only your friends, but your enemies as well. There is no room for hate in love.”

Emma let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know what to pray.”

“I will intercede for you.”

“Because You are good,” she said.

“Because I am good. Because I love you. Because I created you. Because you chose me.”

“I’m afraid.” Her voice shook as she spoke. Her eyes were still closed and she knew, even if she tried, she wouldn’t be able to open them. She could feel his presence so strongly that she wondered if this was what Moses felt on the mountaintop when he was prevented from looking at the Creator’s face.

“Emma Jean, do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have summoned you by name. You are mine.”

She felt peace fill her. There was no other way to describe it. Even though she hurt and she was still crying, she felt a peace that she knew could only come from God. Her mama had talked about God’s peace, telling Emma that only He could give complete, true peace in the middle of turmoil. God was giving her His peace. He didn’t take away the pain, but He didn’t leave her alone with the pain either. She felt Him inside. She felt as though His words had been written on her heart. And she was grasping onto them as if they were a life raft and they were the only thing that would keep her from drowning.

Emma didn’t know how she did it, but she pulled herself up and dressed. She opened the closet door and walked to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door. She undressed and bathed, not thinking, simply going through motions. She washed her face, cringing as the water touched her bruised skin. Once she was cleaned up and re-dressed, she went back to her closet and shut the door. She didn’t know where Mr. Jones had gone. She didn’t care at the moment. She was trying to deal with emotions that threatened to debilitate her. She felt compelled to pull herself together. She needed to be thinking clearly when Raphael returned. She couldn’t leave yet, and she knew he would want to take action to get her removed from the house. She didn’t want to stay but she had to.

She didn’t know how long it was until the angel reappeared. His eyes landed on her face and his jaw clenched, his hands folding into huge fists at his side.

“I will get the human authorities, and we will get you out of here now.”

“No,” Emma said firmly, holding her hand up quickly to stop him. “I cannot leave, Raphael, not yet.”

“Yes, you can and you will. You need to be treated by a doctor, you—”

“No,” she said, cutting him off as she shook her head. “No doctors, no DHS workers, no counselors. Not yet. I have to be here. What if David had walked away from Goliath? What if Martin Luther King had walked away from the calling he was given to show people that God created all of us equal? What if Abraham Lincoln had folded under the pressure of those who opposed his ideas of a united nation and a free people? What then? I am where I am supposed to be, at least for the time being.”

“YOU ARE EIGHT YEARS OLD!” Raphael roared.

She pressed herself against the wall. She wasn’t scared of the angel, not in the least. But his presence could be overwhelming.

“You are not a boy with the responsibilities of a man. You are not a grown man facing people filled with hate. You are not a president attempting to lead a country that was tearing itself apart. You are a child, and you should not endure such evil.”

“Why?” Emma challenged. “Why I am I any more deserving than the next person? Why shouldn’t evil touch me? Why shouldn’t I endure pain? I don’t want to, nobody wants to, but that doesn’t mean that we can’t.”

“The Creator allowed this,” Raphael said through clenched teeth. “Why? To what end could this really serve?”

“Raphael,” Emma said gently. “Can I ask you a question?” Emma felt the tears gathering in her eyes as she stared at the angel.

He nodded, his arms folded across his large chest.

“How much more amazing is a God who can bring good from evil than a God who wouldn’t permit any evil in His works?” Tears fell down her cheeks, and her voice shook. “How much more powerful is our Creator because He takes horrible circumstances and brings about incredible change and healing and growth and love? It doesn’t negate the fact that the bad things that happen hurt. But how would we know joy if we never experienced pain? Would we truly be able to recognize joy? How can someone offer empathy if they have not experienced the trials and tribulations of another? How can we see the beauty around us if we never experience the darkness that covers it?”

“You ask me this when you have just endured something so terrible? A grown man attacked you, and you ask me these things?”

Emma wiped the tears though they didn’t stop falling. “I am not immune, Raphael. I am hurting. I am scared and so many other feelings I don’t know how to express, but I cannot let myself go down the path of anger and hate. I can’t. It will destroy me. I am eight years old, but I have seen people who have let their hardships destroy them and twist them into bitter, angry people with no happiness or joy in their lives. I want to smile again. And I will. I want to laugh again. And I will. I want to forgive. And I will. Because there has to be good that comes from this ugliness. There has to be a rainbow in this storm. There has to be.”

Raphael squatted, resting his forearms on his knees, and met her eyes. She could see the hurt there. He was broken for her.

“There have been times when I envied God’s children because you were created in His image. You are His beloved. And then there are times where I think I would never, ever want to be human. But then I meet someone like you, and I see why the Creator loves you. With all your flaws, your brokenness, your wickedness, your loveliness, He sees it all and He loves you anyway. You are lovely, Emma Jean, because you let your Creator inside of you, and you let Him make you lovely.” He reached out his hand to her, and she grasped it without pause. “I am honored, Emma Jean Whitmore, to know you. And I am so sorry that this has happened. To what end, only the Creator can know, and He will direct your steps, I know that. And as long as He will allow me, I will walk beside you.”

She couldn’t smile at him, not yet. But she squeezed his hand, letting him know that she appreciated his words. He released her and then picked up the blanket and wrapped it around her. Emma tugged it close and shut her eyes. Her mind kept trying to latch onto the horrible memories of what had happened, but she wouldn’t let it settle there. Without thought she began to sing. Her mama had always been singing something, usually an old hymn. But sometimes it would just be something she said God had laid on her heart. The words that flowed from Emma now were from deep inside her. They spoke of loss, sorrow, hope, and healing. They were words that her soul was pouring out in an effort to keep the darkness at bay. As she sat in the dim closet, she used her voice to reach out to her Creator, asking for Him to hold her together.

Emma fell asleep with those words on her lips and a tiny spark of hope beginning to burn.