THE LAST CALL - Ch9
1094 Words
Chapter 9 – The Breaking Point
The night air was thick with silence, save for the occasional howl of a stray dog or the distant rattle of a passing motorbike. In the dim light of a streetlamp, Kelvin sat on the front steps of the rehabilitation center, shoulders hunched, eyes red. His bandaged arm throbbed with a dull ache, but it wasn’t the pain from the injury that burdened him—it was the weight of regret.
Inside, the other boys slept, but sleep had refused to visit Kelvin. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw Jerry's bloodied face during the arrest, Mama Kelvin crying in the hospital hallway, and Pastor James with that look—not of disappointment, but of sorrow.
"Why didn’t I walk away when Timi did?" he muttered to himself.
Behind him, the door creaked. Uncle Sam stepped out with a flask of tea in hand. “Still up?” he asked gently, walking over and sitting beside Kelvin.
Kelvin nodded, not looking at him. “I don’t think I can ever sleep like I used to. Not after everything.”
Uncle Sam took a sip, then passed the flask to Kelvin. “You’re not supposed to sleep the same way again. You’re not the same person.”
Kelvin scoffed. “And what am I now? A criminal in rehab? A disappointment to his mother?”
Uncle Sam didn’t flinch. “You’re a man in transition. The past is a place to learn from, not a place to live in.”
There was a pause. Crickets chirped from the bushes.
Kelvin finally whispered, “Do you think God can still forgive me?”
Uncle Sam placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “He already has. The question is—can you forgive yourself?”
At the same time, miles away, Jerry stared at the cold ceiling of his prison cell. The small window allowed a faint sliver of moonlight, casting a soft glow on his bunk. The cell was silent except for the quiet breathing of his cellmate. Yet Jerry’s mind screamed with noise.
His fists clenched as he remembered how things spiraled out of control. The robbery, the gunshots, the police sirens… the shame on his mother’s face when she visited.
“Why didn’t I listen? Why didn’t I stop?” he whispered hoarsely.
The door opened. Pastor James stepped in with a Bible in hand.
“Thought you might still be awake,” he said softly.
Jerry turned away. “What’s the point, Pastor? My life is over.”
“No, it’s just broken,” Pastor James replied, pulling up a metal stool. “And broken things can be mended.”
“I don’t deserve a second chance.”
Pastor James opened the Bible and read, “While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
Jerry swallowed. His throat was dry, but his heart was stirring.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” he said, voice cracking.
“Begin with this,” Pastor James said, handing him the Bible. “Start reading. God will meet you on every page.”
Meanwhile, Timi was adjusting to a new rhythm of life. Each day, he attended church fellowship, worked part-time at a local printing press, and mentored younger teens in his neighborhood. He had become something he never imagined—an example.
But the guilt still lingered.
One afternoon, he sat with Ejiro outside their house, watching little boys play soccer with a ragged ball on the street.
“You ever feel like you got out too easily?” he asked suddenly.
Ejiro looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean—Kelvin’s in rehab, Jerry is in prison. And me? I’m out here like I was the saint.”
Ejiro shook her head. “You chose the narrow road, Timi. And it wasn’t easy. You walked away when you could’ve stayed. That took strength.”
“I wish I could help them more.”
“You are,” she said. “Every time you speak to someone, share your story, pray for them—you’re helping.”
Timi nodded slowly. But a plan was forming in his heart.
He would visit Jerry.
The next visiting day at the prison was hot and crowded. Families stood in long lines, clutching bags of food and supplies. Timi held a Bible and a small bag of toiletries. As he walked through the gates and into the visiting area, he saw Jerry being led in.
Their eyes met.
Jerry looked thinner, but his gaze was clearer. Timi felt a knot in his throat.
Jerry sat down, silent.
Timi leaned forward. “Hey... it’s been a while.”
Jerry said nothing.
Timi opened the bag and slid it across. “Just some stuff you might need.”
Still silence.
“I just wanted to see you,” Timi continued. “To say... I’m sorry. I should’ve spoken up earlier. Maybe we wouldn’t be here.”
Finally, Jerry spoke. “I was angry at you.”
“I know.”
“You walked away.”
“I had to.”
Jerry nodded slowly. “They gave me a Bible... I’ve been reading it.”
Timi smiled. “Then we’re walking the same road now.”
Jerry looked at him. “It’s hard.”
“It always is. But you’re not alone.”
Back at the rehab center, Kelvin was journaling as part of his therapy. The counselor had asked him to write a letter—to the person he had hurt the most.
He began:
> Dear Mama...
I don’t even know how to begin this letter without crying.
You warned me. You prayed for me. And I ignored you.
But you never stopped loving me. Not once.
They say God uses broken things.
Well, I am broken, Mama. But I want to be used by Him.
If you can still find space in your heart to trust me again,
I promise I’ll never waste your prayers again.
Tears dropped on the page. Kelvin wiped them away and folded the letter.
The next morning, he handed it to the counselor. “Please help me send this to my mom.”
In the coming weeks, their paths continued to evolve.
Jerry joined a prison Bible study group.
Timi started a mentorship class at the church youth center.
Kelvin began speaking during evening sessions at the rehab—sharing his story, one chapter at a time.
Change was slow.
But it was real.
And heaven was watching.
- Writer
