FictionPress.com - let the words flow
| FictionPress.com - let the words flow |
|
| Home Just In Communities Forums Beta Readers Dictionary Search | Login Register Extras |
Christopher Reeves drummed his fingers on his desk as he waited for the Beaufort report. The situation had been tricky: James Beaufort, a well-respected member of the community, had been accused of domestic abuse by a neighbor who had heard the noises. When he had sent officers to investigate, however, the wife refused to tell them anything, and there were no physical afflictions that they could see besides a cut under her eye; she told them the cut was from a tree branch. A few months later, the neighbor had called again.
“Listen, I know I’ve called you guys before,” she had begun nervously, “but there are some really bad noises coming from the Beaufort house tonight. I mean, these are bad. I’m just afraid somebody’s gonna be seriously injured this time….”
Chris had sent four officers to check things out, and now, as they had just returned, he waited for them to type up their report and bring it to him.
He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. Things were fairly quiet around the city lately; the rest of the squad were out patrolling, except, of course, for the four officers doing the report. It was taking them a relatively long time, which led Chris to assume there was a lot of detail. He let his mind wander, thinking about the upcoming bills he would soon need to pay, the pile of laundry that awaited his attention at home, the last conversation he had had with his mother.
“Chris, honey, do you pray for your future wife?” Her voice floated into his head, and he felt the Spirit stir in his heart. At 30, he had never thought much about marriage, but had always figured that God would bring the right woman to him when the time was right… if the time ever was right. There were times when he entertained the idea of remaining single all his life, but he had never been quite sure whether God was calling him one way or the other. Waiting, he figured, would be the best option.
But the topic had become a favorite of his mother’s. As she lived about a thousand miles away, their last conversation had taken place over the telephone. “You should really start praying for your wife, you know,” she had told him. “It’s an important thing to do.”
“Mom, I don’t have time to think about marriage right now. Besides, there aren’t a whole lot of women who would want to marry a cop anymore,” he had replied, but the Spirit had moved in his heart nonetheless.
Particularly now, he felt a strong pull to pray for her, whoever she was. Leaning back a little farther, he tipped his head back, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. Lord, he began, I don’t know Your plans for my future, but if they include a wife, I pray you watch over her. Grow her into the woman you want her to be, and give her wisdom and the strength to do Your will. Help her—
“Chief?” Collins interrupted, poking his head through Chris’s door. “We have that report ready.”
“Good,” Chris replied, sitting forward again. “Go ahead and leave it on my desk. How’d it go?”
“Difficult,” Collins replied grimly, striding across the office to place the report on Chris’s desk. “He was hittin’ her, alright. It was pretty ugly by the time we got there. She’d lost quite a bit of blood from a head wound, so we called an ambulance. Not sure if she’ll make it. We called child services; they picked up the two kids. It’s a shame… they can’t be any older than six….”
“Thanks, Collins,” Chris said. “How’d the rookie do?”
“Pretty well. You were right about him; good instincts. He’ll do fine here.”
“Good. Your shift’s over for the night, Collins. Go ahead and go home.”
The officer nodded his thanks and left the office. Chris tried not to envy him; he himself had a night shift that night. Since he had nothing else to do for the moment, he leaned back in his chair again and, at the Spirit’s leading, continued to pray for his future wife—whoever she was.