Page 26

Twenty Five

Prodigal Son

T ristan knew he had died, but this was the last place he had expected to find himself.

He was in heaven. He didn’t know how, but he was certain this was heaven. Perhaps it was because of the ethereal brightness, or that everything he laid his eyes on was breathtaking and made of gold, or the peace in the air itself.

And he was the most unworthy of people to end up here.

Why was he here?

The angel who brought him had left the moment they arrived. Tristan hadn’t gotten the chance to come out of his stupor and ask him anything. The angel had merely given him a nod and flown out of sight.

He took a hesitant step forward, and then another before he grew confident. Not knowing where to go, he walked ahead. But before he had taken more than ten steps, a voice stopped him from behind.

“Tristan?”

It was an unfamiliar feminine voice.

Tristan whirled around in its direction, and his eyes widened. “Mom?”

The young woman smiled, and her eyes twinkled. “You know, I was always impressed with how you managed to capture me in that painting just from a figment of your wonderful imagination and, of course, our mother’s old photos.”

Tristan gaped at her— this was his sister! His lost little sister. At that moment, the name his parents had selected for her years ago, the one he had forgotten until then, rushed back to him.

“Merabelle,” he whispered, in undisguised awe.

His sister nodded. She was glowing with joy. She picked up her snow-white gown and ran toward him. Tristan opened his arms almost absently, and she crashed into him, laughing melodiously.

“It’s so good to finally see you, my brother.” She kissed his cheek and pulled away to look at him, her eyes shining with untamed pride. “The prodigal son is finally home.”

Tristan was at a loss for words, but his sister waited patiently until he formed his response. “I can’t believe this.”

Merabelle tilted her head sideways with soft understanding in her eyes. “I know. But know that you are here because Jesus wanted you to.” She cupped his face. “It is truly so good to see you, Trist.”

Trist . She called him by his nickname. Like they had known each other all their life.

He supposed, in a way, they did.

“Come here.” He smiled and pulled her back into the hug. “I’m so happy to see you, too.” He was , even though he couldn’t quite believe this. “I thought of you often, wondered what it would’ve been like to have you… alive.”

She squeezed him. “I know.”

“If you are here, does that also mean—?”

“Yes.” Merabelle pulled away with a chuckle. “Right behind you.”

Tristan turned. A few feet from him stood a woman who looked identical to his sister, watching them with the happiest smile on her ethereally beautiful face. They almost looked like twins, and Tristan would’ve mistaken her for another unknown sister of his because of her youthful face. But this time, he was certain this was his mother.

“My sweet, sweet boy.”

It really was her. Tristan’s memories of her were filled with that same phrase.

He took a hesitant step forward. “Mom.”

His mother’s smile widened. She opened her arms. “Come here.”

Tristan closed the distance between them and fell into her embrace. He was no longer the little boy who used to fit into her arms perfectly; he was grown and taller than her now. He clutched her close.

The mother he had murdered unintentionally.

Tears burned behind his closed lids. He didn’t deserve to be held like he was still her little boy. He didn’t deserve the unbridled love pouring from her. But he didn’t want to pull away either.

“I never thought I’d ever see you again,” he whispered. “Dad always believed you were in heaven and that one day, he’d reunite with you. But me? I had no such hope. I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t follow your footsteps in faith, Mom. I… I buried my faith with you.”

“I know, sweetheart,” his mother said, her voice as sweet as honey. She reached up a hand to stroke his hair. “And that’s why you’re here. Why Jesus wanted you here.”

“Because I lost my faith?”

“Because you found it.”

Tristan pulled back to look at her. “I don’t understand.”

His mother only smiled, brushing a hand over his cheek. “Why don’t you hear it directly from Him?”

“I-I’m going to see Jesus?”

“Everyone who walks in through that gate is deserving of it.”

Tristan still didn’t understand, but he decided to wait until he saw Jesus.

He stared at his mother, and he couldn’t help but shake his head at how youthful she looked. Almost as young as she had been when she died, but even more beautiful.

“What?” she asked, amused.

“I was just thinking that you were supposed to look like you’re my mother, not my sister.”

She laughed, joined by Merabelle, who came to stand next to them. “That’s what happens when you’re in heaven.”

“You never grow old?”

They both shook their heads. “And the old become young.”

Tristan looked at the two women who would’ve held his world if they had been on earth. Then he remembered—again—he was the reason they were here in the first place. He was finding it very hard to dwell on something that worried him; heaven was truly heavenly. So, before it slipped from his mind, Tristan launched right into the subject.

Or he tried to, but his mother beat him to it.

“Jesus told me you’ve been carrying the guilt of our death all your life and have been beating yourself up for it.” A light frown that looked almost unreal on her face tugged her smile down. “Why, darling? Why were you berating yourself?”

Tristan’s throat closed. “Because it was my fault.”

His mother sighed and cupped the side of his face. “How could I throwing myself in front of you to save you, knowing full well I was going to get hurt, ever be your fault? Honey, I acted on my own instinct. Okay, I didn’t really think I was running into my demise, but the moment I saw you… writhing in pain, my heart exploded.” Her eyes glistened with love. “A mother couldn’t watch such a sight. So I ran to you. And I don’t regret it a bit.”

“Y-you don’t?”

She shook her head with a small smile. “No. But I truly wish you didn’t have to grow up without me and Merabelle—and your expected siblings if I were there. I wish you didn’t have to know the pain you endured since you were a boy, the loneliness, and… everything . I truly do. But all the pain, it has a purpose. Without the pain you endured, your life wouldn’t have been the same.”

For the first time since he was in heaven, Tristan thought of Alexa. And his chest tightened.

“Lexa…”

Merabelle smiled. “That’s exactly what she meant.”

Those words had been exactly what Alexa told him years ago, too. And he had denied it, denied God…

“I want to see Jesus,” he said abruptly.

Neither woman looked surprised at his declaration. They only smiled wider—if that was possible—and prouder.

And Tristan knew, for the first time in his life, he had done the right thing.

“Tristan.”

The voice that called him from behind made something inside him shift. Goosebumps rose all over his skin. He froze for a moment, then he turned.

To face the God he had accused of failing his mother all his life.

All he saw was the outline of a person in the bright, white light that was walking toward him, and Tristan dropped to his knees.

“My son.”

Tristan cast his awed gaze to the ground and frowned. “H-how can you call me that?”

“Because I have called you by your name,” Jesus said, moving closer and closer to him until Tristan felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. “You are mine.”

His throat closed up. “I don’t understand.”

He felt Jesus smile down at him. “I knew you before I formed you in your mother’s womb. I wrote your story before the foundation of the earth. I have loved you even when you hated me. I have never forsaken you, Tristan. I have been with you in every step of your life. I have been waiting, my son, for you to return to me.”

“ R-return to you?” he stuttered, baffled.

“Your dad has never told you this, but after you got cursed and your mother decided to follow me, you were quite fond of me. You loved it when she told you stories about me. You’d beg her to repeat them every night before you went to bed. You loved attending church and seeing a lot of people gathered to worship me. You even used to be in the spotlight with your shout-singing and praising me without shying away from people’s attention.

“But of course, after your mother died, the enemy planted seeds of doubt in your heart. As you grew up, you began to question me for allowing her death. Because you believed I could’ve prevented it. Eventually, you grew bitter and declared that you had nothing to do with me. But still, I was impressed by how you didn’t become an atheist already and call me a myth. Most people did at that point.”

Tristan didn’t know what to say. He dropped his head into his hands and sank lower to the ground. Jesus’ hand didn’t leave his shoulder, and Tristan felt Him crouch down in front of him.

“I am so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with remorse.

“You are already forgiven, my beloved,” Jesus said, His voice soothing every last bit of tension from Tristan’s body. “You received it the moment you asked for it on your deathbed.”

Tristan leaned forward until his forehead touched the shining ground. And then he wept. Gut-wrenching sobs, rattling his entire being with their force, escaped him. He reached out a hand and gripped the end of Jesus’ robes.

Jesus’ other hand came over his head, stroking his hair gently, and the next moment, Tristan found himself in His arms. He cried harder. Like he had never done in his life.

The love he didn’t deserve wrapped around him, filled him, and overwhelmed him. It was at that moment that Tristan knew it.

He was loved. Not only by Alexa’s irrevocable love but One that was greater still. The love that found a wretch like him worthy and sacrificed Itself for him on a cross. One that never stopped running after him even as he kept running away from It.

What did he have to give this ineffably loving God, for all that He had done for him?

“I only want your heart,” Jesus said, as though hearing his thoughts.

Of course, He could hear my thoughts, Tristan told himself. He was God.

“Then, it’s yours,” he managed to choke out. “Whatever you ask of me, I will give. I’m all yours.”

Immediately, Tristan felt undone. It wasn’t like how Alexa’s love did to him. This was him being freed . Like Jesus had inserted a key into the lock of his heart and now it was His.

The comfort, the joy, the freedom, the forgiveness… it was a foreign feeling altogether. He felt like a new person on the inside. For a man who was cursed his whole life, the taste of freedom was sweeter than honey.

Then, a thought stuck out to him. Did this also mean his curse was broken? Well, he was dead…

“Yes, it is,” Jesus answered his unspoken question, still holding him. “Your curse broke the moment you got that lightning strike, and so did the memory spell on everyone.”

“So, Merissa had the spell connected to my curse.”

“Precisely, beloved. She took advantage of Jude’s pining for Alexa and used it on him, to have him carry out her plan in the promise of him getting back Alexa. But little did the poor boy know he was being played by his own mother. She didn’t care for him a bit. She only wanted her revenge to be carried out successfully. When he finally came to this realization, it was too late. He went to his mother’s place and confronted her. At first, she tried to twist her lies, but then she admitted she had been only using him.

“Jude felt betrayed. In his agony, he told her he was going to destroy everything he had stood by to help her accomplish. He said he was going to help you and Alexa meet again when he returned to the States. And he meant it. Merissa realized he was serious, too.” Jesus took a painful, deep breath. “So she eliminated him.”

The shock that went through Tristan was so great that he pulled away from Jesus to look at Him—only to blink and avert his eyes from the blinding glory covering His face.

“She killed him?” Tristan whispered in horror. “Her own son?”

“Yes. And for the last one and a half years, there has been no sign of him in the States,” Jesus continued solemnly. “His father and stepmother believe he’s still with his mother, that he had left them to join her. The truth would wreck them. I haven’t told Tiffany yet. But the time has come for her to know.”

“I-I can’t believe it…” Tristan whispered, shaking his head. His mother had died trying to save him. Whereas Merissa killed her son to save her plans from being blown up. The woman was eviler than Tristan thought she was.

“My cousin had no humanity left in her, honey. Not after she chose the darkness,” his mother said softly from behind. “Not even for her son.”

Jesus sighed. “All she wanted was for your father to suffer. She wanted to relish in his devastation. Speaking of which, she landed in the States two days before your birthday. She has been waiting for the first lightning strike. The news of your death has reached her, and she’s planning to attend the funeral tomorrow.”

Tristan’s gaze hardened on the golden floor. “She’s going to laugh watching my dad break.”

A beat of silence, and Jesus said, “She’s not.”

Tristan’s head snapped up and he averted his gaze—again. “What do you mean?”

“I’m going to send you back.”

He gaped at Jesus, keeping his eyes below Jesus’ face.

Jesus placed a hand on the side of his face. “You didn’t die because you were cursed to, my son. You died because I called you to me; I wanted you to have this experience. And when your time here is up, after you’ve spent some time with your mother and your sister, I am sending you back. Earth is where I want you to be, for now, until it’s time for me to return and gather my bride.”

Tristan vaguely recalled hearing about Jesus’ return in a sermon when he used to attend the church with Alexa—even though it was just to hear her sing. And he had always thought it was a delusion.

He closed his eyes in shame now.

“It is alright,” Jesus said. “That was a time you didn’t know me. But now you do, and I expect you to uphold it for the entirety of your life on earth.”

Tears burned in Tristan’s eyes. “I promise, I will not let you down again.”

“There’s one more thing.”

Tristan’s eyes flew open, but he didn’t look up this time. “What is it?”

He felt Jesus smile. “Your powers are not part of the curse.”

The breath left his lungs. “It’s not?”

“I gifted them to you, to make your endurance easier. And you have impressed me so far by not using them for ill purposes. You have used them well, and I have decided to let you keep them when I send you back.”

Tristan didn’t miss the fatherly pride in Jesus’ voice. The sensation squirming in his heart was more than he could take and he threw himself back into Jesus’ embrace.

Jesus’ loving arms wrapped around him and held him close like he was a treasure.

Oh, he felt so unworthy to be treated this way. But he loved it. And he wanted it. When he returned to earth, he was going to make sure nothing stopped him from being the treasure Jesus counted precious.

“Thank you, for… everything ,” he said. Yet, even saying everything didn’t feel like enough. But he knew that Jesus understood.

“I’m just happy you’re home, my little lamb.”

Tristan thought he had run out of tears, but at those words, they streamed down again.

“Just remember, I have always loved you. And I will love you throughout eternity. No matter what life might throw your way, I will be by your side. Even when I’m silent, even when you don’t understand, know that I will never forsake you. I didn’t bring you this far for nothing, and I’m able to carry you throughout the future. Just… trust me when nothing makes sense, and you will soon know.”

The openness in Jesus’ voice felt like a glimpse of His heart. And at that moment, Tristan knew he loved the Lord.

A moment passed before Jesus spoke again. “My son, there is someone here to see you.”

Jesus didn’t release Tristan until he finally pulled back, turning over his shoulder to see the newcomer. His breath hitched, his body stilling at the sight before him.

Standing between Merabelle and his mother was a man who looked much younger than he did in the pictures Tristan had seen. A man Tristan had always wished he could meet. And now, here he was, looking down at him with a warm, fatherly smile.

“Mr. Ford,” Tristan breathed.

Alexa’s father smiled even wider. “There’s no need for formalities here in Heaven, Tristan. Besides, you’re my future son-in-law. Please, call me Mark.”

Tristan remained kneeling until Jesus stood and gently pulled him up. “Go on, beloved. I’m sure you two have much to talk about.”

With an encouraging pat on the shoulder, Jesus stepped back. Tristan turned to Him abruptly.

“You’re not leaving, right?”

“I’m never leaving you, Tristan. I’ll be right here.”

Tristan exhaled, nodding gratefully before turning back to Mark Ford. He met the man’s gaze, and a smile pulled at his lips.

“Alexa is going to be ecstatic that I met you.”

* * *

Tristan opened his eyes.

A deep sigh escaped him as he saw the dark ceiling overhead. He was back, and he was going to miss his mother and sister. The thought of Merabelle made him smile. Until they were reunited again, he would cherish the memory of the time he got to spend with them in heaven.

He would also miss his future father-in-law. Talking with Mark about Alexa and receiving his blessing had been a dream come true. He couldn’t wait to share the experience with her—and with Cassie—along with the heartfelt message their dad had entrusted him to deliver.

Right now, he needed to get out of here as soon as possible. Recalling Jesus’ words before he was sent back, Tristan realized he was in a funeral home, and the funeral arrangements were taking place here.

He was in a coffin, and there was no one in the room right now. As Jesus hinted, he’d have a few more minutes until someone came in.

He sat up. He was wearing a tailored, black suit. After carefully getting down from the coffin, he teleported to the side of his house, purposefully avoiding the inside.

The rain was pouring down in a blizzard, so there was no one in the courtyard. He saw several cars in the driveway and recognized his dad’s, John’s, and each of his family members’. Even dear old Valero’s yellow Porsche was there. But not the one he had been looking for.

Where was Alexa’s car?

Tristan peered around the corner. The portico was empty, and he teleported there. His heart pounded against his ribcage. It wasn’t every day you died and came back to shock your loved ones. He didn’t know what to expect of their reaction, but he was more than ready to walk in there, take Alexa into his arms, and tell her he wasn’t leaving her again.

Taking a deep breath and sending up a silent prayer, he walked toward the entryway.

Every head snapped in his direction; every face gathered in the room was familiar. Most were his dad’s colleagues, Valero among them. They were all dressed in black, and the color of their skin went as white as snow at his sight.

“Hi,” Tristan greeted them awkwardly, wishing just this once he could read their thoughts like Edward Cullen. He smiled. “I assure you, I’m not a ghost.”

None of them moved or attempted to speak. They didn’t even blink.

Valero’s eyes were bulging out of their sockets.

Tristan walked past them and turned into the living room. The first to see him was one of his sisters. Her eyes flew wide—just before she let out an ear-piercing shriek, pointing in his direction.

Every eye turned to him. The room fell into a pin-drop silence. All but another one of his sisters.

“It’s Trist’s ghost!”

At least she looked ecstatic.

Tristan chuckled. “I’m not a ghost.” He ran his eyes over each of their faces, making sure to keep eye contact as he spoke. “Ghosts can’t do this—” He clapped his hands together. “Or this—” He slapped a hand against the nearest wall. “And definitely not this—” He reached for the empty flower vase from the table and lifted it before setting it back down.

His enthusiasm dropped as soon as he had seen every person present. “Where is Alexa?” he asked abruptly, turning his eyes back to his stunned dad and then to Cassie.

But none of them were in a position to provide him with an answer. Tristan teleported to his room, but she wasn’t there. He went to his art studio and library, but she wasn’t there either.

Then he teleported to her house, in her room. He called out for her, teleporting in and out of every room before going back to his living room, which had turned into chaos with frenzy.

His sudden appearance earned another series of shrieks.

“Where is my Lexa?”

“At the bridge,” John blurted out from somewhere in the room. “She said she’d be back for the funeral—she wanted to be alone.”

The stone bridge.

A chill went down Tristan’s spine. No, no, no.

His fear must’ve shown on his face because Cassie stepped in front of him and caught his arm before he could teleport away.

“She wouldn’t even think about it,” she said firmly. “She loves you too much to give up like that.”

He relaxed slightly.

In his peripheral view, Tristan saw his dad approaching him. Cassie dropped his arm, and Tristan pulled him into a tight hug.

“I saw them, Dad,” he whispered. “I saw Mom and Merabelle. They told me to tell you that they love you and they’re looking forward to the day you’ll reunite with them. But for that to happen, you should follow Jesus with all your heart, soul, and mind—and those are my own words.”

He pulled back to smile at his still-stunned dad. “I saw Him, Dad. Jesus. He forgave me and gave me a second chance. Remember what Mom wrote in her diary before she died, that Jesus promised her I would be saved from my curse, and we should wait for His perfect timing no matter how long it will take? We have been so foolish not to believe it, Dad! Death had no power over me in the first place; this was all part of Jesus’ plans. And the next time, I decide to stick with them.”

A tearful smile stretched across his dad’s face, and he shook his head. “I am dumbfounded.”

“Aren’t we all?” Tristan pulled him into another hug. “Listen, Dad. Merissa is here. She landed a few days ago, and she’ll be coming to my funeral.”

His dad’s grip on him tightened. “Then she’ll know in no time that there isn’t going to be one.”

“Actually, I don’t want you to cancel the funeral. It’s time Merissa paid for her crimes. She will be given the chance to repent, and if she doesn’t take it, Jesus promised He would fight the battle for us.” He pulled back to look his dad in the eye. “Make sure my return is kept a secret until the funeral. Call the funeral home, as well as inform everyone here, to keep the news to themselves for now. We’re going to lure her into a trap. But first, I need to go get my girl.”

Dad didn’t look like he had absorbed everything Tristan said, but he nodded, a determined look crossing his face. “Promise you’ll tell me all about your mother and sister?”

Tristan smiled. “I promise.”

“And please, for love’s sake, don’t teleport right in front of dear Alexa and scare the life out of her.”

Tristan chuckled guiltily, stepping out of his embrace. “I won’t.”

“Take a coat with you!”

But Tristan had teleported already. And he landed right where he had that fateful day he saved her. He turned and saw her car a few feet behind him. Exactly where she had parked Cassie’s car that day.

But she wasn’t inside.

His panic surfaced. Where else could she be in this downpour?

Tristan stalked toward the bridge, his eyes roaming everywhere until they landed on the curled-up form of a drenched girl. On the same spot Alexa had stood that day.

He stopped in his tracks. Then, he ran to her. Just like he promised he always would.