Story: "Daredevil - Part 15 (FINAL) - The Triple Chase"

Napoleon, a survivor from the Mutiny of the Bounty, and a demonic killer in the cobblestoned streets of Toulon, 1793.

This is Part 15 (the FINAL part) of the story.
If you haven't read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 , Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 , Part 11, Part 12 , Part 13, or Part 14 yet, please start there.

THE TRIPLE CHASE

TOULON, DECEMBER 1793

“Hold on, Samuel, just a little longer.” Jean’s voice was close by his ear, deep, soothing, but urgent.

Lamb’s eyes fluttered open.

Jean placed his hands on Lamb’s chest, on Lamb’s bloody, ripped-open chest, riddled with lead ball, and Lamb felt something like a tourniquet drawn tight around his heart.

“Ahhh.” The pain was gone, in an instant. “Did you … heal me?”

“I’m afraid not.” Jean’s features and his voice projected kindness, love, but also firmness. “This was your time, Samuel. Your time is up. I have merely slowed down the process. Now we have enough time before you must move on.”

“Enough time for what?”

“To save your soul.”

Lamb smiled, and there was an eternity of sorrow in that smile. “It is too late for that, I’m afraid.”

“It is never too late. Not until you draw your last breath.”

“No, Jean, you don’t understand. I sold my soul to the Devil, to the demon. It was me. I was the one possessed. I killed them. I killed Antoinette. I killed Destine and Esperanza. I killed Peter Skinner. I killed Christiane. These hands killed them all. And before that. Before that, I cursed God. I turned my back on God. I only cared about myself, only trusted my own mind and my own strength. I harmed others. I let a man, John Norton, die at the hand of cannibals at Tofoa. I envied and lied and stole. I was full of pride. I loved myself, much much more than I ever loved my neighbor. I didn’t love God, I hated God, I cursed God.”

Jean closed his eyes. “I have heard your confession,” he said simply, then opened his eyes. “But do you believe?”

“I do believe in God.”

“Yes, you do. Why?”

“How can I not? The world is wonderful and fearful. How could it not be the work of a great Creator? Without God, nothing makes sense.”

"So, you do believe that God is there. A personal God?

“Yes. He must be. I am a person, and I am greater than the fish in the sea, and certainly I am greater than the dead rock of the sea floor. I am greater because I am more aware. The Creator of this wondrous universe must be infinitely greater than me. He must be infinitely more aware, not just an impersonal force, but a person.”

“He is,” Jean said. “In fact, He is the ultimate person, the great ‘I AM’. But do you believe that God cares about us, we small, flawed humans?”

“I used to think, no. That is why I cursed God. I used to think God had abandoned us all to the hostile world He created. That God is indifferent. ‘God is cold perfection. By His measuring rod, we always come up short.’ That is what I used to say. I believed that He had given us up. Cast us aside, let the Devil and the deep blue sea have their way with us.”

“And is this no longer what you believe?”

Lamb formed the words carefully: “What I saw in Christiane’s actions, offering herself for her sister, well it made me think differently. In that act, I was reminded of the human spirit’s capacity of unselfish love, even sacrifice. God must care about Christiane, and those who are like her.”

“So, you believe that God is a person, who cares, who loves his creation, loves us, at least some of us, at least the good ones?”

“Yes.”

“Then you are very close. But something is still holding you back.”

Lamb’s sigh was soul-deep. “The Devil,” he said. “The Demon. He caught me.”

“The Triple Chase.”

“What?”

“God is the Hound of Heaven,” Jean said. “God is chasing us, all through our lives, and He never gives up, always hounding us, for our own ultimate good. And you are right, there are unseen beings, demons, devils, chasing us as well, for their own purposes, our own ultimate destruction, their great pleasure. But then there is the most dangerous hunter in the chase. Ourselves. Our own selfish, prideful nature, this is our most dangerous enemy, turning us away from God, trusting ourselves instead of Him, making ourselves the gods of our own lives. So, we are caught in ‘The Triple Chase’: God, the Evil One, and our own selfish pride.”

“I am not just an ordinary ‘sinner’. I’m so much worse. I sold my soul. I turned away from God. I am lost.”

“Lost? Do you think God just mislaid you, dropped you out of his pocket, and now He can’t find you? Sold? You think your soul is for sale? What would you pay for your soul?”

“I don’t understand?”

“What is your soul worth?”

“I suppose … to me … it’s all I’ve got, in the end, so … it’s … priceless.”

“So, then, how could you ever pay for it?”

“That’s my point. I can’t.”

“And to God?” Jean leaned closer. “What are you worth? What was he willing to pay for you?”

Lamb closed his eyes. Kept them closed for a long time. When he opened them again, they were clearer, brighter, wet-shiny. “I know what you want me to say.” His lips set in a tight line.

“Then, say it.” Jean put both of his hands on Lamb’s shoulders, gently, smiling, the kindest smile.

“God paid for my soul with … with His own life. That’s what you want me to say.”

“Yes, he paid for your soul with Christ’s life, and since Christ is God incarnated, God paid for you with His own death. And how much is that worth?”

“It can’t be that simple. I refuse to believe it.”

“Yes, you do, that’s true. You refuse. Why?”

“It can’t be that simple,” Lamb repeated. His lips set once more in that stubborn straight line.

“Why?”

“With all that I have done wrong, it can’t be that easy.”

“You think it was easy?”

“What do you mean?”

“You think it was easy for God, the Father, to give up His only begotten Son, His beloved child? Do you think torture and death was easy for Christ? Do you think what He did was worthless, useless, wasted?”

“No. No, I don’t. Of course, I don’t”

“Then, don’t you see? It’s not what you did, good or bad. Not what good you could ever do to try to make up for what bad you did. What you did, bad or good, is beside the point. It’s all about what He did. Just like Christiane for Beatrice. You see? Beatrice did not deserve it. Christiane gave herself, gave her life for her sister, out of love. That was not ‘easy’ for Christiane. But what if, after Christiane’s sacrifice, Beatrice refused to believe it could be that ‘easy’ and gave herself up to the demon, then, then Christiane’s death would be worthless, useless, wasted. If you don’t accept it, then Christ died in vain for you. He paid the price, but you’re not willing to deliver what He paid for. This, this is the only sin that can’t be forgiven, because you refuse to accept forgiveness, closing your ears, hardening your heart, letting your puny little brain try to out-reason God, second-guess God, instead of trusting. You are calling God a liar.”

“Oh, God, what must I do. Don’t let me ruin me.”

“Let go of doubt.”

“How?”

“Ask for help to let go of your doubt, to realize that God, the Father, now sees only his beloved child when he looks at each of us, and it’s all just love, through and through, no guilt, no ‘sin’, no ‘lost’. Let go of doubt. And I know, for you, for every one of us humans, this is impossible. Our faith is so small, not even a flare, just a small match against the night and the windstorm. But that is enough. He will take that small, flickering flame, and build a pure fire in your soul, burning away all doubt, and He will bring you home through His purifying Grace. His Grace is sufficient for you. Just have the intention to let go of doubt, the intention to believe. He will do the rest.”

“Yes.” Samuel closed his eyes again. “Yes, I believe; help my unbelief.”

A shudder went through Samuel’s body.

Jean could feel it, the spirit, the soul leaving, heading home.

* * *

Waves tall as houses crash down, breaking over the sides of the open boat, filling the little shell with water, and the rain is coming down hard and heavy from a purple-bruise-darkened sky, filled with low, threatening clouds.

Samuel Job Lamb comes to, finds himself in this small boat, tossed on a wild, black sea.

But he is not alone. In the stern of the boat, a man, sleeping on a cushion.

Samuel inches backwards towards the stern, moving like a crab, sideways, gripping the railing of the rolling boat, going hand over hand, fighting the wind and the whipping rain, until he is able to touch the man.

The man is sleeping, lying on a large pillow, a gentle smile on his face, as if he is a child held safely in his father’s arms, oblivious and unconcerned that the storm rages all around.

Samuel forces himself to let go of the railing, grabs the man by the shoulders, violently shaking him, yelling against the roar of the wind.

“Wake up! We’re going to sink! We’re sinking! We’re going to drown! Wake up! Don’t you care?”

The man’s eyes are open, all of a sudden, holding Samuel’s eyes in his own. Samuel has never seen eyes so alive, so kind, so brimming with love and joy and strength.

The man smiles, puts a hand on Samuel’s shoulder, stands up, facing the wind and the rain, draws in a deep breath, and cries out in a voice louder than the storm:

“Peace! Be still!”

Immediately, as soon as his words are spoken, the wind dies down, the sea is flat and still as a sheet of glass, the skies now bright blue, not a cloud.

The Man, the Son of Man, turns to Samuel, and says:

“Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

— THE END —