Prism - By Rachel Moschell Page 0,108

At the prison, it had been explained to him that after the beheading his body and head would be carried off by the doctors, who would then reattach the two items and bury Sami in full accordance with Islamic burial laws. None of Sami’s family had any intentions of burying their wayward relative in the Christian manner.

At the moment, whether his dead body would be laid in the ground facing Mecca or not was the last thing on Sami’s mind.

Standing before the executioner’s block, Sami’s eyes blazed across the gathered crowd one last time, not surprised to see neither his mother nor his father here to witness the gory sight. Several feet behind one of the policemen’s opaque shields, a pale face peeped out from under a nondescript black chador veil.

She came.

Sami’s heart surged within him and he stared at her, taking in the last beauty he would ever see in this place called earth. He met her weeping eyes calmly, intensely begging her not to cry and give herself away.

I’ll see you again, my sister.

And then time for scanning the solemn crowd was up; Hourmazd and the other guard forced Sami to his knees. Hot fingers grabbed his temple like a vise, twisting his head to one side, plastering one cheek against the icy concrete. A filmy coating of dust and pebbles had settled onto the block, and Sami’s hand instinctively jerked forward to swipe the scratchy debris off his cheek, then pulled up short against the biting metal cuffs.

Urgent hands still held him down, kneeling, and Sami realized he was facing the crowd, saw that Ava was looking up towards heaven.

I could have married you. Sami swallowed and his Adam’s apple grazed the abrasive stone. We could have gone away to Germany or Canada together. We could have had six or seven little Iranian babies, who would have grown up hearing about Jesus every day and playing whatever kind of music they wanted, for Him. You would end up wide-hipped and disheveled from all those children, and I would get bald and wrinkly. But we would sit together by the fireplace every night with our children, singing with the guitar and loving each other.

A ream of black cloth descended in front of Sami’s vision and cinched in a hard knot behind his skull. The blindfold pressed his lashes tightly against his cheeks, leaving him blind, each beat of his heart echoing slowly in the darkness. The pressure of the hands against his head and back disappeared and an unearthly hush descended upon the park.

The charges against him were read out loud, a list of things Sami could never imagine becoming. Rape. Treason. Worship of Satan A mullah began to pray loudly in Arabic, and Sami waited with his temple to the icy block. In prison he had been warned; if he moved, the blade could miss and he wouldn’t be killed at the first fall of the scimitar.

A dove cooed overhead. Heart pounding in his chest, Sami waited in the darkness, knowing that in just a minute more he would see the light.

1

Karate Gone Bad

SHE LAID THE GUITAR CASE ON THE SMOOTH TREE stump among the pines and cried, knowing only the trees would hear. A few tears later she stopped, scrubbing her face on her soft tiered skirt, never one for prolonged weeping. She let her eyes run over the battered case, balanced on the ancient stump like an offering, then carefully opened the dented clasps. The honey-colored Taylor guitar still nestled in emerald velvet.

This had been Noah’s guitar. Wara sniffed loudly and smiled, remembered him grinning from the stool at the front of the café, playing this guitar and singing his heart out. She cradled the Taylor across her lap and began to pick her way through a few chords.

It had been three months, and it still hurt. His arm had been around Wara when the bus went over the ravine, but she was thrown out the window to safety.

Noah hadn’t made it.

Since then she had been here in Montana, living with her parents on the ranch that was her childhood home. Life as a missionary in Bolivia was over, dreams smashed to pieces with the shattered glass of the bus where Noah died. A new chapter was about to begin, and honestly, Wara really didn’t think she was ready. Staying here on the bench in the little sheltering circle of trees on the ranch was sounding better and better all the time.

A sharp crack sounded