On The Wings of a Phoenix

By: Ridley C. James

Beta: Tidia

Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me. All those lovely men are property of Kripke Enterprise and The CW.

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Chapter 7/11

"Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist.
Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed." -G. K. Chesterton

Caleb opened the kitchen door, noticing the dim light. The hunters had already had dinner. He hadn't intended on being out so long, but a long drive, a walk and some thinking ate up the day.

"I kept some dinner in the oven for you." Pastor Jim stated, as he entered the kitchen from the library. "Why don't you wash up?"

Reaves gave the minister an appreciating nod. He was hungry; sulking had given him an appetite. He wanted to check in on Dean first. Caleb checked the boy's bedroom, but the twelve-year-old wasn't there. Tenderly, the psychic used his abilities, but came up with nothing except a worried feeling. He raced downstairs again, his ribs acknowledging the punishment of each hard stair.

Jim with a potholder on his right hand was pulling out a plate from the oven.

“Where's Deuce?” Caleb said with a huff, glancing around the kitchen, readying to scour the house.

“What's wrong?” Jim placed the plate down, and put up his hand to stop the younger hunter.

“I can't sense him…I don't know if it's my abilities or what.” Reaves rubbed a finger along his brow line.

Jim sighed with relief. He knew Dean's location. “He's at the pond.”

Caleb was not easily dissuaded. Dean was a strong swimmer, but anything could happen. “I keep seeing water. Are you sure he's okay?”

Jim offered him a patient smile. “I'm sure. I saw him take the row boat out.”

“What if…”

“Caleb, he's quite capable. He's been taking that boat out for some time now. I use to do the same as a boy on a lake nearby my childhood home. I think Dean and I share an affinity for water. Answers often lie just beneath the surface, you know.”

Caleb walked over to the living room window. “I hate it.”

Murphy followed, understanding that the younger man associated water with the tragedy that befell his family, as if living by it somehow drew the evil to them. It was also ironic considering Caleb's mother mostly painted seascapes. “It's impossible to control everything around you, my boy.”

Reaves could barely make out the water in the distance. Sure enough, Atticus and Scout were sitting patiently at the bank, watching the tiny wooden boat float out in the middle of the tranquil pond.

Jim placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder, and prodded him back to the kitchen.

Caleb sat in front of the plate of chicken and rice, with the pastor taking a seat across from him. Reaves took a forkful of the rice and chewed in silence.

“You're angry with me?” Jim leaned his chin against his hand.

Caleb swallowed before answering, taking his time. “I don't understand why you're allowing this.”

Jim had placed a pitcher of iced tea on the table and poured the younger hunter a glass to go with his meal. “If I didn't believe your father, John and Bobby so capable, I wouldn't. They will not let anything happen to him.”

Caleb grimaced. He knew the older man didn't mean the affront, but it was a stinging insult to Reaves's ears. “Like Joshua and I did?”

“I didn't say that, nor was that what I meant.” Murphy shook his head. He had to tread carefully with the young hunters and their tenacious feelings. “I trust you most of all with Dean's safety. I know you would do anything to protect him, or Sam. It's in your nature, and one of the reasons that I knew you were destined to be the next Knight. A great Knight.”

Caleb toyed with his food for a moment, knowing he should eat more. There was a sinking sensation in his stomach that belied his hunger. “I hate to break it to you, Jim, but I don't feel the same about the other hunters as I do Dean and Sam. I know you're counting on me to have this ethereal connection to the members of The Brotherhood, but it's nothing like the need to keep Sam and Dean safe. Maybe I'm not the man for the job.”

“What makes you say that?”

The psychic couldn't even explain the doubts to himself, let alone to Murphy, but he felt them eating at him just the same. The fear of not being there when Sam or Dean needed him was overwhelming sometimes. Like drowning. Again he thought of the water and had to use all his restraint not to abandon his dinner for a trip to the pond.

In the beginning he thought his protectiveness of the boys was because John had drilled it into his head so many times that he had to watch out for them, but that didn't encompass it either. He exhaled, heavily. “I'll do my duty, although I'm not quite sure what that is, but it won't be the same.”

Jim smiled. “My boy, I don't expect it to be the same. That is entirely the point.” He patted the oak table. “And it is not the time for you to know your duty. When it is, it will be as natural as breathing.” Murphy gestured to the pond out beyond the windows. “You'll take to it like a duck does water.”

Reaves frowned at the familiar enigmatic grin and the teasing simile. There was an elusive hint of something secretive lurking in the twinkling blue gaze. “But John doesn't seem to understand how it all works. He's been the Knight for a long time. He's not exactly passed anything down.”

“I believe Johnathan has tried to offer you a great legacy. He's taught you to take care of yourself, to fight the good fight, and to protect what matters most of all.” Jim sighed. “But of course there is a factor with John not being a typical Knight. Joshua was correct when he said that there was not much tradition in the current Triad, I'm afraid.” It worried Jim that he and the others would not be enough to sufficiently prepare the next generation.

“I know that Knights are usually from hunting families, like Sawyer's. His father has pointed it out to me often enough.” Caleb took another bite of chicken.

“True. But that is not the most important part.” He reached out and squeezed Caleb's arm.

“And despite what Harland Sawyer thinks, you also are from a very reputable hunting family. Your adoptive father is a Scholar, your honorary grandfather a Guardian. Harland can be quite the…”

“Dick,” Reaves supplied Bobby's favorite term for the other hunter, a slurring of his given name of Richard.

Jim's mouth twitched. “I was going to say traditionalist, set in his ways, a tad bit old fashioned.”

The psychic snorted and pushed the plate away. “And of course you're more cutting edge and avant-garde.”

“I was quite the rebel when I was in the field.” Jim stood up, picked up the plate and brought it to the sink.

“Are you going to ever tell me the story of how you became The Guardian?”

“Someday.” The older man turned on the faucet to wash the dish. “But now, I believe we both could use a walk by the water. John, Bobby and Mackland went to the local bar to unwind."

Caleb shook his head. “Who's watching out for whom in that bunch?"

“I asked Joshua to follow them.” Jim retorted with a smile, remembering the boy’s disgruntled protests.

They ambled their way to the pond, Jim pointing out the new roses on Emma’s flowering bushes and the quickly growing ducklings that waddled their way around the far end of the pond, well out of reach of Scout. The pup had found a favorite past time in chasing the yellow downed babies, much to the horror of Elizabeth and her drake, Mr. Darcy. Dean heard the two hunters and rowed in, slowly as his wrist protested the strain.

Dean kept his head down as Caleb and Jim pulled the wooden boat up onto the shore.

“You okay?” Reaves stuffed his hands in his jean pockets, feeling he had wronged the boy.

"Yeah." Dean looked up. "You?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Caleb replied, meaning he was sorry.

"I'm good too." Dean answered, signifying me too.

Reaves wrapped an arm around the boy's shoulder and they walked up to the house together.

Jim took a moment, looked out to the pond and then followed behind his two charges for the evening. He smiled. The next generation would make them all proud.

Caleb and Dean called it an early night. Mackland had wanted them on bed rest, but both had done anything but followed the doctor's advice. The next day, the hunters went about their duties. Bobby and Joshua went to investigate the ring while Mackland and John investigated airports and landing strips.

Reaves had set himself up in The Hunter's Tomb. He and Dean had decided to build a bridge--figuratively and literally. It was usually a favorite past time with the youngest Winchester, so in a way it was almost as if he were in the room with them, too.

Caleb winced as another sharp pain lanced through his skull. This had been the third time since the day had started. He rubbed at his eyes with a frustrated growl.

"Alright?" Dean noticed the wincing.

“Yeah.” The psychic picked up another piece of the bridge they were working on, glancing at Dean. “Just a headache.”

Dean handed him the model glue. “You want some more of that tea?”

“You're offering to play nursemaid?”

The twelve-year-old rolled his eyes. “I just don't want to hear your crying.”

“Right.” Reaves connected the next beam, carefully removing his hand. “Has nothing to do with you wanting to make nice.”

Dean sighed. “You want the fucking tea or not?”

Caleb glanced up. “Jim would wash your mouth out for that.”

“You going to tell him?”

The psychic smiled. “Not if you fix me a sandwich with that tea.”

“That's blackmail.”

“Take it or leave it.”

“Fine.”

“And Deuce, don't even think about spitting in it, because I will so kick your ass.”

The twelve-year-old grinned. “Would I do that to you?” Dean left the room before Reaves could offer up an answer. He made his way into the library and then down the hall towards the kitchen.

Dean had just stepped from the living room when he heard the knocking. Someone was at the back door. The Hunter's Tomb was insulated with reinforced walls and a steel door. It offered protection but also prevented external noise from entering. That explained them not hearing a car pulling in and without the dogs there was no internal alarm system.

He glanced over his shoulder, wondering if he should go back and get Caleb, but the idea of needing the older hunter to come and check things out for him had his pride bristling. Besides, it was probably Mrs. Olsen bringing over more frozen meals for Jim's visiting family. And even if it wasn't, Dean should at least have something to report back to Caleb.

Before he could completely make up his mind the knocking resumed again and Dean made his way to the door, peeking around the lace curtains. The porch light was on though it wasn’t quite dark and Dean easily made out the tall man he had met at the penthouse the day before.

Thoughts of his younger brother propelled him to open the door. “Hey. Is Sam okay?”

Peter Marcus smiled. “Hey. No…I’m mean, yes, Sam is fine. I hope it’s okay that I stopped by.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Sam asked me to come.”

Dean stepped back, his stance offering the invitation the business man was seeking.

“Dean.” Caleb come through the living room, frowning as he entered the kitchen and caught site of the twelve-year-old standing at the door talking to a man Reaves didn't recognize. The psychic’s headache had intensified, driving him to the kitchen to add a few aspirin to his order. “Who the hell are you?” He demanded.

“Chill, Damien.” Dean rolled his eyes at the psychic who had now bounded into the room, halting Peter from making a move. He gestured for Marcus to come in. “This is Peter Marcus. He works for Conner.”

Caleb continued to glare. “Not the best reference considering Charlie's last employees who visited here put me in the hospital.”

“Ah.” Peter smiled, finally accepting Dean’s offer. “You met the pet apes. At the office we like to call them Zeus and Apollo.” He winked at Dean. “Behind their backs of course.”

Caleb stepped between Marcus and Dean. “What are you doing here? Did Conner send you?”

“Caleb, he said Sammy wanted him to come.”

Reaves eyed the newcomer. “Is he okay?”

Peter sighed. “He was worried about his brother. He said he had some kind of nightmare last night, but his grandfather wouldn't let him call. In case you haven't noticed, Charles isn't the most compassionate of people. Too long working with blue-bloods and not enough with the warm-blooded population.”

“So you freely do the bidding of a seven-year-old now?”

The man shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a lousy chess player. He played me for my services.”

“Sounds like Sammy.” Dean moved his gaze to Caleb, willing the man to back down. “Right, Caleb?”

Marcus frowned then, studying Dean more closely as the boy turned to look at Reaves. He whistled, gesturing to the impressive bruising on the kid’s throat. “ Wow. It looks like Sam's worry wasn't unfounded. Are you okay?”

“I'm fine.”

“And he's not your concern.” Reaves was quick to interject. He didn't care if Dean was glaring at him or not. His headache wasn't letting up and he wasn't about to trust a stranger.

Caleb's phone chose that moment to ring. He lifted it to his ear and frowned as Dean motioned for Peter to join him in the kitchen.

“So, Sammy's okay?”

“Reaves,” the psychic growled, taking his frustration out on the unknown caller as Dean and Peter continued their conversation.

“I knew I recognized it.” Joshua's voice came across the line. “I should have recalled it instantly.”

“Sawyer?” Caleb sighed, moving towards the living room, but keeping his eye on Dean.

“The symbol on the ring is a fraternity crest.”

Reaves frowned at the barely contained excitement. The other hunter had complained endlessly about the research, but now sounded almost smug about his find. “Fraternity as in 'frat' boy? Like the whole skull and crossbones thing that the boys from Yale like?”

“Yes. A very elite fraternity found at your more prestigious Ivy League schools.”

“So you're telling me our killer is a socialite kegger?”

He heard the older hunter sigh in frustration. “What I'm trying to tell you is my father had business associates in that fraternity. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if your own grandfather was not a member.”

Caleb had never seen Cullen Ames wear any such insignia. “Your point?”

“My point is I had a hunch and followed up on it, which means you owe me, by the way. You'll never guess who belonged to that order while attending Harvard?”

Caleb felt his heart quicken. “Who?”

“Charles Conner.”

“What?” The psychic paced the floor. “That doesn't make sense. Conner was with us when Dean was attacked.”

“One of the advantages of belonging to such an organization is the contacts one makes. Generation after generation belongs to the same fraternal order. Business deals are forged years in advance, and as you know it is hard to say no to a member of one's brotherhood.”

“Damn.” The pieces fell together quickly, now that the outline was all in place. “The man works for Charles.”

“I surmised the same thing. In fact, I researched a little into Mr. Conner‘s whereabouts over the last few months. While he was doing business in San Diego, two young boys disappeared.”

“Oh shit.” Caleb's head whipped up, his eyes going towards the kitchen where he'd just left Dean and Peter Marcus. He moved towards the room, praying he was wrong. Reaves wasn't carrying a weapon. They were at the farm for Christ's sake. Jim had gone to the neighbor's one farm over.

“Caleb?”

Reaves heard Joshua, but the psychic didn't reply as he moved casually into the room.

Dean was standing near the sink. Marcus was leaning against the counter, smiling as he spoke to the boy. He lifted his hand to give Dean what Caleb instantly recognized as one of Sam's dragons. The psychic only prayed he hadn't come by it in any nefarious way.

“Your brother said to bring this to you.” Peter offered the white dragon to Dean. “He said it was his favorite.”

Caleb sensed more than saw Dean tense. His brother's favorite was Athewm, the green dragon. Always had been. “Thanks.”

Reaves gaze was focused on the exchange, more importantly on Peter Marcus's right hand. The gold band sparkled brightly, and Caleb didn't even need to move any closer to know there would be a cross etched in the insignia, the fraternity letters emblazoned in the four

corners.

“Dean, your Uncle Joshua wants to know what you want him to bring you home for dinner?”

“No I don't!”

Reaves gestured to the phone just as Joshua must have picked up on Reaves's deliberate wording.

“Uncle? Have you drank too much of that tea?”

Dean met the older hunter's eyes. Caleb could tell by the mixture of fear and confusion the kid's sharp mind was also filling in the gaps. “That sushi he likes sounds good.”

Caleb nodded approvingly. “Sushi,” he spoke calmly into the phone. “Stop at Mac's too, and pick up some wine. You know the year John and Bobby like.”

He didn't give Sawyer a chance to reply as he closed the phone, hoping Joshua had been around them enough to know Dean hated Sushi and Bobby would rather drink swill as wine.

“I see Sammy sent you a dragon?” Caleb forced himself to be calm as he surveyed the situation. Dean was in between him and Marcus. There was a shotgun stored behind the upright freezer in the corner.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Astorim, his favorite.”

On a good day Caleb never would have doubted his ability to handle the man. But Peter was big and Reaves had no idea what he might have on him. Then there was the idea that Dean was standing in Peter's reach, could easily be caught in the crossfire. Removing the kid from the situation had to come first.

“Speaking of his favorites…” Caleb took a half step into the room, still straddling the doorway into the living room. “Dean, why don't you go upstairs and get that blanket he loves so much?” Reaves favored Marcus with a half grin. “I'm surprised Conner got him to go to bed without it.”

Dean continued to hold Caleb's gaze as if he were walking a ledge and not trying to look down. “Right. I think it's in Pastor Jim's room.”

Along with a small arsenal. Caleb shook his head. “No. I saw it in the library.” Where the Tomb would keep Dean safe.

Reaves could see an argument building in Dean's green eyes. “Hurry up, Deuce. Mr. Marcus is probably anxious to leave.”

“That won't be necessary,” Peter said casually, but his tone grew colder. “I won't be going back to Conner's tonight.”

“We'll give it to you just the same.” Reaves jerked his chin for Dean to go up the stairs by the pantry. “You'll probably see him before we will.”

Dean finally broke eye contact with the older hunter, turning to start for the stairs. He had taken only a step when the sharp retort of a gunshot stopped him in his tracks.

The kid whirled around in time to see Caleb stagger back, stumbling into the chair closest to the doorway. “No!”

Reaves made a desperate grab for the table struggling to stay upright, trying to get a grasp on what had just happened. As soon as Caleb had made a move forward the bastard had reacted, jerking the gun from his pocket.

“Sonofa…” The psychic's dazed gaze met Dean's for one instant, trying to convey what he couldn't voice. Run, Deuce. Reaves's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the floor, bringing a chair down with him.

The twelve-year-old felt frozen in place by the surreal sight. He was incapacitated by his own fear and disbelief at seeing the blood-blossomed across the front of the older hunter's Auburn shirt, staining the tiger. He heard Reaves's voice echo inside his head ordering him to escape. But when the psychic fell, he was propelled to help him. “Caleb!”

Peter caught Dean roughly by the arm as he tried to race by him to go to the downed hunter. He would have to take him out quickly because he couldn't afford another fight like the last time. As momentum swung the child around, Marcus brought the handgun down across the boy's temple. The twelve-year-old crumbled in his arms, unconscious.

He would have to hurry. Marcus was sure the other men hadn't gone far. Peter had done his research, dug through Conner's files. He was more prepared than those bumbling idiots Charles had hired. All of the men surrounding Dean and Sam Winchester were dangerous, deadly if given the chance. Peter had denied the youngest one, Caleb Reaves, any chance. It was messy, but effective.

With a satisfied snort, he tossed Dean over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and started for the door. Peter wouldn't be deprived of his prize for a second time. This night would be his rebirth.

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

The Pastor opened the door to the kitchen, shifting the aluminum foil covered trays to one hand. The neighbors took pity on the old widower and always filled him with food.

Jim heard the moan, and his gaze went instantly to where Caleb was struggling to push himself up from the floor.

“Caleb?” Murphy reached out and caught the unsteady boy, dumping his precarious load on the table. “What…” His words were cut off when his eyes registered the gory stain at the same time his hand come in contact with the sticky wetness of the psychic's shirt. “Oh my God. You're hurt.”

“Jim…” Reaves ground out, trying to shake off the pastor's grip. “He took…Deuce.”

“Who, Son?” Murphy kept hold of the younger hunter, as he tried to guide him to one of the kitchen chairs. “Who took Dean?”

“That bastard…I let him get the drop on us.” Reaves tried to stand again, shoving Jim's hand away. “We have to go after him. I promised Sammy. I promised Deuce…”

“That can't be. How could…” Jim looked around, noticing the blood on the floor, the overturned chair. How could someone come into his home, assault and take one of their own. Of course, hadn't Charles Conner done the exact same thing by bringing his muscle to attack Caleb, and then his removal of Sam by underhanded treachery? Jim was failing at his job to protect them. His mentor Julian would be ashamed. The former Guardian had trusted Jim completely and he refused to let him down.

He pushed Caleb back into the chair, his voice hardening. “You're hurt, my boy. And they're gone. I didn't pass anyone on my way in so they must be headed for town. Let me take care of you and then we'll figure out our next move.”

“No! Damn it!” Caleb continued to struggle. “I couldn't have been out that long.” The younger man tried to stand. “It's not bad. I can track them. John can…” Reaves couldn't help the reflexive gasp as Jim pressed a dishtowel against the wound in his shoulder. “Jim, we have to save him…Please. God…don't let him get away.” The idea of the monster with Dean hurt worse than any physical pain.

The pastor didn't move from beside the younger hunter, but they both lifted their heads towards the door as they heard the crunch of gravel under tires. Car doors slammed and Atticus began to bark.

“It's Joshua and Bobby,” Reaves told him with a wince, his abilities rebelling the use even more after the added trauma. He had a sinking feeling he wouldn't be one damn bit good in tracking Dean.

Murphy nodded, but sent up a silent thank you he wasn't going to have to deal with the wounded psychic on his own. Joshua was always dabbling in the medical field and Bobby wasn't John, but he would work as an enforcer if need be. “That's good news, Son,” Jim told him, giving his leg a pat. “They'll help us get our boy back. Just calm down.”

“What the hell is going on?” Bobby demanded as he crossed the threshold, gun in hand. “Sawyer said we needed to come in…” His words trailed off as he took in the bloody site of Reaves and Murphy's pale, drawn features. “Jim?”

“Caleb's been shot.” Jim informed him as if it were an every day occurrence in their lives.

“Joshua, get the first aid kit.” The pastor ordered the other hunter as soon as he entered the room. Sawyer sent a brief glance in Reaves's direction before giving a curt nod and doing as The Guardian asked.

“Jim we don't…have time for...” Caleb clenched his jaw against the pain Jim's ministrations were causing and turned a pleading gaze to Singer. “That sick fuck took Dean. He works for Conner. We have to find him, Bobby.”

“What?” Singer held up his hands. “What are you talking about? Who the hell shot you?”

“Peter Marcus.”

“Who?”

“A guy who works for Conner.” Caleb looked at him. “He's the killer. I should have known.” On a normal day the psychic would have picked up the threat immediately, but at least now the sudden onset of the headache made sense. But then again, if Marcus wasn't supernatural… “Dean let him in the house. It was over before I even knew what was happening.”

Bobby knelt beside the boy, lifting Jim's hand and eyeing the wound. “Is the slug still in there?”

“No!” Caleb jerked away. “It’s just a fucking gash.” He growled in frustration.

“It’s more than a gash.” Jim sighed, noting all the blood.

“Did you not hear me! That bastard has Dean! Forget me. I've had worse.” And he had, making it all more unbearable. He had actually succumbed to a mere bullet wound, from some punk .38 special the guy probably picked up off the street from a two-bit dealer.

“I heard what you said, kid.” Bobby stood, grabbing the cordless phone off the wall. He jammed his hand in the front pocket of his jeans and came out with a crumpled piece of yellow paper. “I'm on it.” Singer nodded to Sawyer who had just barreled back into the room. “Take care of that, Slick.”

“Are you calling Mackland and John?” Jim stood once Joshua made his way to them. Sawyer set his plastic box on the table in front of Reaves.

“Already did.” Bobby nodded towards Reaves, dialing the number as he squinted to read his own scratchy scrawl. “The kid was able to get the point across that there was trouble.” His face darkened. “They're on their way.”

“Who are you calling then?” Caleb demanded, gritting his teeth as Joshua tore his shirt sleeve away to reach the wound easier.

Jim gave him a hard look. “Stay quiet and still until Joshua is finished.”

The psychic didn't even acknowledge the satisfied smirk he saw appear on Sawyer's face at the command. Instead his gaze returned to Bobby, who was punching the keys of the phone.

“Bobby?” Jim's voice held a controlled edge to it.

“I'm trying the hotel. We need to warn that idiot Charles that there could be trouble.”

Caleb felt bile climb up the back of his throat, mixing badly with the iron-taste of blood. “You don't think Sammy's in danger, too? That wouldn't fit with the pattern.”

“Neither does waltzing into the victim's house and snatching him right out from under his family's nose either.” Bobby growled when an electronic voice answered. “Goddamn voice mail.” He glared at Jim. “Didn’t you tell her the rule about always keeping her cell phone on when she’s working a job?” The grizzled mechanic winced with the loud beep. “ Manuela! It’s Bobby. Call me or one of the boys when you get this fucking message!”

“We need…Ow!” Caleb turned a fierce glare to Sawyer. “What the hell are you using…fucking acid?” He looked up at Bobby and then to Jim. “Manuela? Why the hell was he calling the nanny?”

“It’s a long story.” Jim avoided the question. He moved his attention to Sawyer. “How bad is it?”

“If he would stop moving around I might actually be able to see what I'm doing.” Joshua waved the bloody gauze at Reaves. “Perhaps I should sedate him.”

“Like hell…”

“Boys!” Jim snapped. “Enough.”

Both younger hunters fell silent and Murphy raked a hand through his wild gray hair. He calmly moved his gaze to Singer once more. “Call Mackland and Johnathan. Tell them what's happened.” Jim felt the weight of the world sitting on his shoulders. He couldn’t imagine Julian ever allowing a future Guardian to be kidnapped by a psychotic sociopath, a Scholar to fall into the hands of untrained fellows out of the ranks of The Brotherhood, and a Knight to be shot…all in the same week. It was time for him to get back to roots- to regain his center. “Instruct them to meet us in town at the church. We'll regroup there.”

What better place to hope for a miracle than in God's house.

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Onto Chapter 8

Home



Uploaded by Majs