THE PRODIGAL – A Short Story – Pt. 4

Part 1 of this 4 part short story can be found here.

Part 2 can be found here.

Part 3 can be found here.

*  *  *  *  *

Gabriel looked into the congealed liquid that had once been coffee with a little creamer, not seeing the disgusting film that had formed on the top while he sat trapped in his thoughts.

He was barely conscious of the rest of his family whispering in the corner of the room.  What filled his mind, as if in slow motion, was the scene that had played out only hours previously.

He looked at the hands that held the styrofoam cup, expecting to see the blood that had covered them.

At least Nick hadn’t gotten away.  They had decided to shoot it out with the police and had both been killed a mile down the road.

But the damage was done …

He fought down the rising sense of panic, the need that was overpowering his control.

He didn’t understand it, couldn’t grasp the source of so much yearning.

He stood abruptly, unmindful of the coffee that sloshed over the rim to run down his fingers and onto the floor.

He needed to go.

When he finally became aware of his surroundings again, he was shocked to see a stained glass window glimmering in the late afternoon sun.  He looked around at the rows of pews and the small altar.

He grimaced and sank into the front pew.

“I take it that it is You that is pulling at me?”  The question was directed at the cross that hung behind the pulpit.  “Hounding me?  Making me feel things I have fought against all my life?”

He waited, as if expecting an answer; then shook his head.

“I’ve made such a mess of things.  I’ve wasted my life, and now my dad is fighting for his because of what I have done.”

Anguish began to wash over him in waves, pulling sobs from deep inside.

“He’s going to die because of me.  Why did he step in front of that bullet?  Why didn’t he let me take my own punishment for the things I have done?”

“Because he loves you.”  The sound of that dear, sweet voice brought his head up.  “Because you are his son, and he is willing to die for each one of his children.”

She looked up and gestured toward the cross.

“The same as He was willing to die for your sins because He loves you.”

The clarity that opened in Gabriel’s heart and mind was not something to be ignored.  Suddenly he could see what he had purposely blocked out all of his life.

And with the seeing, a small crack began to form in the wall he had built up over the years.  As realization and a simple understanding began to chip away at that wall, a sense of divine love and forgiveness melted the shards of anger from his heart.

He reached out and took the hand that had held his so gently when he was small, wrapping his fingers around her smaller ones.

Closing his eyes, he relinquished control and prayed for the first time in years.  When he opened them, he turned to look at the only woman he had ever truly loved, and smiled.

He watched the tears fill her eyes as she read the peace that now filled his.  When she raised a hand to cradled the stubble-covered cheek, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

“I’m so sorry, Mom.  For all that I have put you and Dad through.  For all the pain I’ve caused every one.  Can you ever forgive me?”

“Oh, honey, of course I forgive you.  And so does your dad.”

The way she said it brought Gabe’s eyes open.

“Is he going to be alright?”

Those blue eyes smiled through the tears and she nodded.

“They’ve stopped the bleeding and repaired the damage the bullet did.  He should make a complete recovery.”  She glanced at the cross.  “Praise God, it hit him where it did.  The surgeon said that another inch to the left, and it would have killed him.”

Gabriel closed his eyes.

Praise God, indeed.


© Drusilla Mott and, 2012

THE PRODIGAL – A Short Story – Pt. 3

Part 1 of this 4 part short story can be found here.

Part 2 can be found here.

Gabriel rested a booted foot against the porch rail, staring across the lawn to the fields beyond.  In the distance, he could just make out the white steeple of the village church, rising above the tree tops.

He frowned.

Yesterday had seen a change in the old behaviors of the family, and he wondered where it had come from.

Childhood Sundays had been spent in heated battle about the necessity of going to church.  He had repeatedly dug his heels in as his parents insisted that he accompany the rest of the family to that white building.

But yesterday had been different.  There had been no battle, no insistence.  He had been invited, then the subject dropped.


The change confused him, unsettled him.  He had ended up going because of it.

The frown deepened to a scowl as feelings rose in him that he was unused to.

Feelings of peace and belonging.  Feelings of warmth and caring.

Feelings of being searched and drawn.  Of being guided and called.

Gone were the ties that bound.  Gone were the fences and cages that had been surrounding him, even if only in his mind.

He felt liberated, no longer closed in by restriction and expectation; but as if he had been given an invitation to freedom beyond any of his human understanding.

He rolled his shoulders, surprised at the ease of movement, the loose independence that now rested on those shoulders.

Had that feeling of confinement been reality, or had it only been in his own mind?

He had an uncomfortable feeling that it was the latter, and the realization did not sit well.


The sound of that soft voice pulled his attention out of his thoughts and to the woman that had given birth to him.

“Yes, Mom?”

“I have a pot of coffee brewing.  Would you like a cup?”

He studied the aging face, surprised to still see a small sliver of the youthful beauty that had drawn a man like Joseph Concannon.  He nodded and stood slowly, mindful of the still healing bones, to follow her to the kitchen.

“Stay sat.  I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”  When he hesitated, she said, “We can sit out here.”

He nodded again and sank back into the rocking chair.  The sound of a vehicle on the long drive pulled his attention to the dust that followed the large black SUV.

Tension coiled tight in his midsection as he stood once again.  He took a step back and called through the screen door,  “Mom stay inside until I tell you to come out.”

“Why?  What is it?”

“Just do as I say, please.”

He heard her raised voice, but was moving toward the steps and could not make out the words.  The screen door squeaked open and slammed shut as the SUV slid to a stop at the base of the steps.

He slid an eye sideways to see his dad close beside him.

“Dad, please go back inside.”

“No son, I won’t.  This is my home and I’ll not allow hoodlums to trespass.”

Gabe knew he needed to keep his attention on the men that were now climbing from the vehicle, and let the argument slide.

“Well, Gabe, this is a mighty fine spread you guys got here.”

He waited while the man gazed out over pasture and barns to the foothills in the distance.  There was no point in answering the statement.  Then Nick turned back to face the house.

Gabriel looked into eyes black as obsidian, all the while conscious of the man that was moving to stand outside of his peripheral vision.

“You should have no problem paying me what you owe me.”  He turned that dead gaze on the burly man standing next to his son.  “Should you Pops?”

Joe stared into eyes empty of any and all feeling and shook his head.

“The beating your man gave him has kept him from getting a job.  You’ll have to wait a little longer for your money.”

Nick smiled icily at Joe, then turned to Gabriel.

“Now, Gabe, you know the deal.  You know what happens when someone borrows money they can’t repay.”

“Nick, I lost my job.  And haven’t been able to get another.  You’ll get your money as soon as I have it.”

But Nick shook his head and glanced at the man now standing the other side of Joe.

“Not good enough Gabe.”

He lifted his chin slightly.

What happened next, happened so fast there was nothing Gabe could do but watch in horror as Joe stepped in front of the bullet meant for him before going to the ground with a loud moan.  He heard his mother scream and then sirens could be heard ahead of the cloud of dust that followed the flashing lights.

He dropped to his knees, reaching for the man that he had battled with during his youth, only semi-aware of the two men climbing back into the SUV.

“I’ll be back, Gabe.”

The threat behind Nick’s words only barely registered as he pressed his hand against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

“I’m sorry, Dad, I’m so sorry.”

Joe shook his head and whispered, “No, son, I’m sorry.  I was too hard on you, I can see that now.”  He closed his eyes.

“Stay with me, Dad.  Please, stay with me.”

The eyes opened again.  “I love you, son.  I always have.”

“Dad, please, fight.  Don’t give in.”

But those eyes that had held both anger and love, both reprimand and forgiveness closed on a soft sigh.

** Next Friday … the conclusion **

Part 4, the conclusion, can be found here.

© Drusilla Mott and, 2012