And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? Then I said, 'Here am I, send me'." Isaiah 6:8
In the darkest moments of our lives, we have the least to lose. When everything has been emptied, and all has been stripped away, even hope. Those can be the times when a person can be used by God to a maximum capacity. When a person can be set on fire and keep walking. And sometimes that's exactly what God needs.
When no one else will stand up. When everyone around that person has too much to risk. An unlikely hero can be found in the most unlikely person. When God says, who shall I send? That person says send me.
And in that moment, all that emptiness, all of that hollowed out part of that person is filled. Not with money, not with love, not with hope or joy, but with a mission. And there is nothing more dangerous than a person with nothing to lose.
********
The man in the cowboy hat stepped closer to C.D. His boots continued to click against the pavement with every step. He stopped just in front of C.D. and spit a thick brown stream of juice onto the asphalt.
"What you doin' out here?"
"I'm a free man, Sheriff. Didn't you hear? Your side lost, I can go wherever I please."
"Don't give me that civil rights horse shit. What's in your pocket? I seen you foolin' around back there when I was pullin' up."
The sheriff reached forward, pulling C.D.'s arm and spinning him around. The top of the flask shaped bottle protruded from his back pocket. He pulled it out and held it up against the light from his cruiser. The golden liquid splashed around inside. He lowered his eyes to C.D.
"You still on the clock?"
"No sir, headed home."
"You know it's against the law to have an open container? Hell, I can smell it on you. If I lit a match, I bet you'd catch fire."
The sheriff turned, reared back his arm, and threw the bottle as far as he could. It spun head over end through the air. In the distance, it smashed across the railroad tracks separating the gas station and the wood mill.
"Last thing we need is another death. After what this town's been through. We've had enough tragedy. Now what say I pretend I never seen that bottle, and you ain't about to drive this car. You were just about to walk home for all I know. And when I drive away, for all I know that's what you'll do. See, I ain't such a bad guy now am I?"
The sheriff tipped his hat to C.D. and turned to walk back to his car. C.D. spit loudly on the ground where he had stood. The spotlight dimmed and the headlights turned away from him as the car pulled out of the parking lot. The taillights left a trail of red off into the darkness.
The door of C.D.'s cab creaked open as he slumped down behind the wheel. His hands gripped it tightly as he wrung them around it angrily. Then, his right arm stretched out and his fist slammed down loudly against the dashboard, in front of the passenger seat.
A small orange light broke through the darkness as the glove compartment fell open. There, laying inside, was a new unopened bottle of whiskey. He pulled it out and shut the compartment again. The cap made a small snapping noise as he twisted it off for the first time. He turned it up and took a long, hard swig.
The burning sensation flowed through his throat and up into his eyes until they burned. C.D. rested the bottle between his legs and turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared awake. A mixture of twanging guitar and bass bled through the speakers. Blues music filled the car.
As he pulled out onto the road, he began to drunkenly sing along. The lights of the gas station disappeared behind him, and the hiss of the mill grew quiet.
*****
Redman's keys jingled in his hand as he shut the door to the car he was driving. The night air was damp and warm. Frogs croaked along the edges of the water and crickets chirped in the distance. Hot Wells was located on the edge of the swamp, miles outside of town. Cypress trees sprouted out of the dark waters and let their limbs droop back down to touch its surface.
Redman placed both hands on the roof of the car, and hung his head in despair. The thought of what he knew he had to do, alone in the darkness, was weighing on him heavily. A quiver ran through his throat, but he choked the emotion back down. The roar of the nocturnal insects grew louder in his ears as he delayed the task for as long as he could.
He looked at the keys in his hand and thumbed through them until he came to the one that unlocked the trunk. He made his way to the back of the car, put one hand down on the top of the trunk and inserted the key with his other hand. A deep sigh escaped his lungs as it turned inside the lock. A click echoed out across the water.
As the lid lifted, a dim light illuminated the area in front of him. Three black trash bags lay inside an otherwise empty trunk. Redman pressed his finger into the one that lay nearest to him and the contents gave way like mush.
His lip began to shake. With a finger from each hand, he tore at the bag slowly, stretching the plastic to it's breaking point until a hole broke free. Through that hole, a blood stained human nose and mouth looked back at him. The mouth hanging open as if it were about to speak.
Redman stumbled back on his heels and spun around just in time for the vomit to spill out onto the ground. His stomach rolled, and a sense of anxiety engulfed his body in a sweat. Again, the contents of his stomach released into the dirt. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The face in the bag was a familiar one. The brother of the man who had stabbed him with a screwdriver the week before. But Redman had already gotten the sense of what to expect after the conversation with Preacher. Still, seeing his lifeless face detached from his body and lying in a bag was unsettling to say the least.
He spit the remaining taste of bile that lingered in his mouth and made the dreaded steps back to the car. He quickly closed the hole back up and pulled the bag from the trunk. The contents sloshed around inside. He held the bag steady to ensure no droplets of blood spilled out onto the ground.
Jutting out into the dank swamp stood a weathered, wooden pier. It ran just above the water's surface. Old wooden planks ran along the floor, accompanied by rusty nails sticking out in random spots like infected teeth forced out by a swollen gum. His footsteps clapped against the pier, sending the noise out into the night.
Redman rested the bag on the ledge and gave a look into the greenish, brown water below, only visible by the reflection of the moon above. The water was as still as glass. He picked the bag up again.
"In another life, my friend."
The black bag hit the water with a splash, and its weight engulfed itself. A few bubbles were its last dying breath of reality. Then, it was gone. What wasn't eaten by a gator would surely be picked apart by turtles, leaving nothing but bones at the bottom of the swamp.
Two bags remained in the car. What he assumed were the torso, arms and legs. He slung one over his shoulder and the second one he lugged along at his waist. Both bags met an identical fate as the first. Through moss and peat they sank.
After it was done, Redman collapsed onto the ground and leaned against a post at the entrance of the pier. He pulled a soft pack of cigarettes from the front pocket of his tattered military jacket. He tapped the pack against the back side of his hand until one popped out.
He held the stick of tobacco between his lips and sucked as the flame of his lighter reached the tip. It lit his face up in the darkness, as it burned brightly, red and then orange. He exhaled a plume of smoke into the air.
Just as his thoughts began to drift, his entire body tensed as his attention was drawn. A little ways down the highway, a pair of headlights lit, breaking through the night. The car sat on the shoulder of the road and the sound of the engine cranking caused Redman's breaths to quicken.
The car pulled onto the road slowly and headed right in his direction. The sweating anxiety returned, crawling up his back. The headlights pointed directly at him and washed over his whole body. The lights blinded him.
As the lights faded from his eyes and he adjusted, the car pulled up until it sat with its side facing Redman. It was an old square bodied car with an unusual paint job. A deep purple with yellow lettering along the side. "C.D.'s Cab Service".
