Dane

Bert ushered him back into that little office, making small talk about work and weddings. Dane just grunted, his mind spinning. He knew he didn't have time for this, but he also kind of needed it.

​​

He took the seat Bert offered him—it was unlikely his dad was coming for him now, after all—and waited.

Bert sat in his chair and smiled, his hands on his lap. "How's married life treating you?" he said.

Dane swallowed. "He's got her."

Bert's brows pinched together. "Who's—wait… Your father?" Bert asked breathlessly, that smile falling off his features.

Dane nodded and rubbed a trembling hand over his face. "He's… shit, Bert, he's got her."

"Have you reported it?!"

"Of course. But you know they can't do anything. Not really."

"Dane, I'm so sorry, I—"

"Don't be. It's my fault. I always knew. I shouldn't have… shouldn't have gotten together with her. I put her in danger." His voice caught.

"That is the biggest piece of bullshit I've ever heard," Bert growled and Dane looked up, surprised. He didn't think he'd ever heard Bert swear. "Don't you let that man make you blame yourself for the things he does, Dane. Do we have to have the conversation we had after Talia's death?"

"No," Dane huffed. "You know, Lila lectured me about that a few months back, too."

"Good. She's a good woman clearly. She'll handle herself well. And you'll get her out. That's what you do, right?"

Dane stared at Bert, and Bert looked away, his false courage wavering. "What are you going to do?" he asked quietly. "Is there anything I can help with?"

"I, um… I wanted to ask you something."

"Anything."

He swallowed hard and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You tell me straight, Bert."

"I always tell you straight, Dane."

Dane took a deep breath then nodded. "Does God help bad people, when they're doing the right thing?"

"God will help anyone who really wants it. He says 'he who calls upon the name of the Lord will be saved.' So the question isn't whether He'll help you, Dane, it's whether you want Him to."

Dane sneered. "I don't need heaven, Bert. I need help here and now."

"He'll do both," Bert replied.

"Even if I'm bad? Even if I hurt people—or people get hurt because of me?"

"What are you planning, Dane?" Bert asked quietly, his eyes flicking up to make sure the door was closed. "I won't say anything. I know you can't afford to have a replay of last time. But… tell me what you need. Tell God what you need. If you really want His help, He'll help you."

"Who wouldn't want God's help?"

"Someone who really wanted to handle it themselves. Who didn't want help, they just wanted magic, and they asked God like he's some kind of wizard in the sky. Do you want help, Dane, or do you want a spiritual security team?"

"Both? The thing is, God wants me to be a good guy, right? But I can't fight him without being bad. It's the only way. What does God do with that, condemn us both?"

"There is no condemnation for the person who is in Christ Jesus—that's in Romans eight."

"I don't need a doctrine lesson, Bert. I need to know if I'm damned. Does your Jesus help bad people?

"That's the only kind of people he helps."

Dane raised his eyebrows skeptically. "I think maybe you and me define "bad" differently."

Bert sat back and sighed. Dane couldn't stand the silence. "What does God think of someone who does the wrong thing, but they do it for a good reason. To help someone who's good?"

"Well… Rahab lied to hide the spies and God called her righteous for it."

Dane chewed on that for a moment. "Did Rahab get something out of what she did?"

"Yes. They saved her and her family because she helped them."

Dane's breath came a little easier. "What if it involves… violence? Or… what if it's bad things, Bert. Not just lying."

"You'd be surprised how bad God thinks lying is, Dane. But I know what you're asking and now I need to ask you: What are you planning?"

"I can't tell you."

"Let me help you. Please, son."

Dane shook his head. "I won't get you wrapped up in this, Bert. Answer my question. What does God think about violence?"

Bert sucked in through his nose. "Violence that stands for truth—for the truth of God, and for the innocent—that kind of violence God will do Himself. Jesus used a whip and turned over tables to clear out the temple. In public."

"So… how bad can a man be—for good reasons—before it's too much for God to stomach?"

"Tell me what you think you have to do."

"I think I have to walk into the lion's den. And I don't think I'll get to walk out."

Bert sat back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his nearly-bald scalp. "God shut the mouths of the lions when Daniel was thrown to them."

"I'm not being thrown. I'm walking in. Of my own free will."

"Sure, but—"

"Bert… I'm not the prisoner in this equation. I think… I think I have to be the lion."

Bert frowned, his forehead pinched and lined with worry. "You know… the way Jesus saved us was by taking on the sin Himself. He… he took the blame for me. For you. He took the burden so we don't have to. If we accept that. Then he walked into hell and defeated the enemy. If that's what you're doing, Dane—and I'm not saying you are, or that you should. But if what you're doing is walking where others don't want to go because you're going to get rid of the cancer… I think God's got a big heart for that."

Dane couldn't hold the man's gaze because his friends eyes were beginning to shine. So he turned and scowled at the window. Was that was he was doing?

No. Not quite.

"Can I give you a piece of advice, Dane?"

"Sure," he said, without thought.

Bert sat forward again, locking eyes with Dane. "If you ever get yourself in any situation you can't handle—if it ever goes bad for you, Dane, you yell for Jesus. You hear me. You tell him you need help and you cry out to him like a baby for its mother." Dane snorted, but Bert remained serious, and didn't drop his eyes. "You'd like the real Jesus, Dane. He was kind and gentle to the messed up people who couldn't protect themselves—and he kicked ass and took names against the powerful men of the day. Sounds like someone else I know."

Dane squirmed. "That's not the Jesus I got told about."

Bert just nodded. "You just remember what I said: If you ever find yourself in a situation you can't solve, if you can't save yourself—or someone else—you ask him, and he'll do it for you."

"And the violence?" he asked through his teeth.

"Self defense and the defense of others are the two times God says go for it. But the question is, is violence really the only way?"

Dane gave him a pointed look and Bert nodded soberly.

"Are you sure you can't tell me what you're doing?" Bert asked quietly.

Unable to sit still a moment longer, Dane pushed out of the chair. "I gotta go, Bert. But… thank you. Thank you for always caring about me no matter how long it's been. And thanks for always coming when I ask you to."

"I'm just trying to be like Jesus, Dane. But the truth is, that's not hard with you. You're easy to care about."

Dane stifled a snort and reached his hand out to shake Berts.

But the man pushed out of his chair and walked around the desk to pull Dane into a strong hug. "Be safe, Dane," the older man whispered in his ear. "Come back."

Dane swallowed the lump that appeared in his throat and nodded, suddenly very uncomfortable, and stepped out of Bert's grip.

"Thanks again, Bert," he said hoarsely, turning for the door. "And thanks for helping us last week. I'm really glad you were there."

"Me too," Bert said, clapping him on the shoulder as he walked out.

Dane said something else, but didn't know what it was, he was so desperate to get out of there. His skin crawled with excess emotion—and self-loathing. Because he knew. He was starting to see he'd always known. He'd just been too much of a coward to do it.

But it was too late now. There were no other options. All that was left to see now was whether he, Dane Daniels, had the balls to go through with it.

He strode out of the Police Station dry eyed and his hands no longer shaking.