THE 13: STAND BOOK TWO Read Online Free Page A

all measure, he felt himself break in a new way, when Boz’s seemingly childish statement came rushing back to him.
    “Jon, Jesus Christ loves you.”
    He had finally let go and cried out to God. It was like some huge weight had lifted. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he had peace. Even though he was broken and beaten nearly to death, he had peace. He had no misconceptions of getting out of there. And he hadn’t asked God to do that. Rather, he had come to grips with the fact that he would most certainly die in that cell. But the idea that there was a God who loved him and cared for him gave him the strength he needed to just let go and die. So that’s what he had asked for.
    God, please, just let me die
.
    He was ready. He had closed his eyes and drifted off. But it never happened.
    Now, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness in this room, he realized he was somewhere different. This definitely wasn’t the prison camp. The room looked more like a dirtbag motel room. There was a bureau at the foot of the bed with a small television sitting on top. A small round table with a couple of fold-up chairs sat beside the bed. To the left was a little alcove with a sink and a small mirror with a single low-watt bulb hanging from the ceiling.
    He tried to lift his head to look around but immediately put it back down, as he felt the pounding race down the back of his skull through his shoulder and into his back. His teeth were chattering now. He was so cold.
    He lifted his hand to feel his face and noticed that he was soaking with sweat. But how was that possible? He was cold. How could he be sweating?
    Forget how bad he hurt. He had to find out what was going on. Where was he? How did he get out of the prison camp?
    He took a few deep breaths and pushed himself up on his elbows. He lifted his head and waited as the pain coursed through his body. There was a time when he had been trained to take the pain and use it. To master it. To let it turn into anger that would fuel him when he had no strength. He had no need for the anger anymore, but he needed the energy for sure. He waited as the pain ticked through his muscles. He focused his mind and felt his body begin to come alive. But just as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, the door to the room opened. Blinding white light from the outside rushed in at him. He lifted his arm to shield his face and saw the outline of a figure in front of him.
    “Mr. Keene, you’re awake!”
    Suddenly, everything came back to him. He had asked God to let him die. And he had passed out. But then they came for him again—or at least that’s what he had thought. He remembered starting to cry, thinking that even though he’d cried out to God, maybe God hadn’t heard him. That he was too far gone. That somehow God had turned His back on him, as he had turned his back on God for so many years. But it wasn’t them. It was someone else who had come for him.
    He had barely been conscious. He was in so much pain. But then he had heard the voice. It was a nice voice. One that wasn’t yelling or laughing at him. And he remembered now that he had recognized the man. But from where? Who was he?
    And then he remembered.
    “Mr. Keene, please lie back down. You’re not completely well. Your fever seems to have broken. That’s good,” the man said as he came into the room and closed the door.
    The man grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him back down on the bed. He looked up and tried to focus on the man’s face. It was him. It was the same man that had come for him in the prison.
    He laid his head back down on the pillow and realized how hard he was breathing. What little energy he might have had, he had just expelled completely trying to sit up.
    “There,” the man said, placing the pillow behind his head. “Just lie there for now.”
    The man sat back down in the chair beside the bed.
    “Mr. Keene, I don’t know how much you remember. But I—”
    “I