When Heaven Weeps by Ted Dekker

pistol from his belt and shoved it against the priest’s forehead. He spun the girl toward the priest and released her. “You think your dead Christ will save your priest now?”
    â€œSir . . .” The objection came from Janjic’s throat before he could stop it.
    Stop, Janjic! Shut up! Sit back!
    But he did not. He took a single step forward. “Sir, please. This is enough. Please, we should leave these people alone.”
    Karadzic shot him a furious stare, and Janjic saw hatred in those deep-set eyes. The commander looked back at the girl, who was staring up at the priest through the pools of tears that rimmed her eyes.
    â€œI think I’ll shoot your priest. Yes?”
    Father Michael gazed into the little girl’s face. There was a connection between their eyes, shafts of invisible energy. The priest and the girl were speaking, Janjic thought. Speaking with this look of love. Tears streamed down their cheeks.
    Janjic felt a wedge of panic rise to his throat. “Please, sir. Please, show them kindness. They have done nothing.”
    â€œSometimes love is best spoken with a bullet,” Karadzic said.
    The girl stared into the eyes of her priest, and her look gripped Janjic with terror. He wanted to tear his gaze away from the girl’s face, but he couldn’t. It was a look of love in its purest form, Janjic knew, a love he had never seen before.
    Nadia spoke softly, still staring at the priest. “Don’t kill my priest.” Her voice whispered across the courtyard. “If you have to kill someone, then kill me instead.”
    A murmur ran though the crowd. The girl’s mother clambered to unsteady legs, gulping for air. Her face twisted in anguish. “Oh, God! Nadia! Nadia!”
    Nadia held up a hand, stopping her mother. “No, Mother. It will be okay. You will see. It’s what Father Michael has taught us. Shh. It’s okay. Don’t cry.”
    Oh, such words! From a child! Janjic felt hot tears on his cheek. He took another step forward. “Please, sir, I beg you!” It came out like a sob, but he no longer cared.
    Karadzic’s lips twitched once. Then again, to a grin. He lowered his gun from the priest. It hung by his waist.
    He lifted it suddenly and pressed the barrel to the girl’s head.
    The mother’s restraint snapped and she launched herself at the commander, arms forward, fingernails extended like claws, shrieking. This time the second in command, Molosov, anticipated her move. He was running from his position behind Janjic as soon as Ivena moved, and he landed a kick to her midsection before she reached Karadzic. She doubled over and retched. Molosov jerked the woman’s arms behind her and dragged her back.
    Nadia closed her eyes and her shoulders began to shake in a silent sob.
    â€œSince your flock has failed to prove its faith, you will renounce your faith, Priest. Do that and I will let this little one live.” Karadzic’s voice cut through the panic. He looked around at the women. “Renounce your dead Christ and I will leave you all.”
    Ivena began to whimper with short squeaky sounds that forced their way past white lips. For a moment the rest seemed not to have heard. Father Michael stiffened. For several long seconds his face registered nothing.
    And then it registered everything, knotting up impossibly around his shattered cheekbone. His tall frame began to shake with sobs and his limp arm bounced loosely.
    â€œSpeak, Priest! Renounce Christ!”
    THE PHONE rang, and Ivena jerked upright. Her heart slammed in her chest. Oh, Nadia! Oh, dear Nadia. A teardrop darkened the page by her thumb. She closed her eyes and let the book close on one finger.
    The phone rang again, from the kitchen.
    Oh, Nadia, I love you so much. You were so brave. So very, very brave!
    Ivena began to cry then; she just could not help it. Didn’t want to help it. She bowed her head and sobbed.
    She had done this a