Tessa (From Fear to Faith) Read Online Free PDF

most of the way to the door was a huge heap of trash. In the middle of the room stood a battered Formica table and a single-burner stove connected to a propane tank.
    The first deep breath I took scalded my throat and set me to coughing. Was it worse than usual in here, or had I forgotten how bad it was? I longed to crack the door for fresh air, but Walter had strictly forbidden that. My best recourse would be to move ahead and get the job over with as quickly as possible.
    Taking an empty glass coffeepot from the counter, I wiped it out with a paper towel and set it on the table. Walter usually worked in the sink, but I preferred the table because the lighting was better. I reached over and lifted a gallon-size can of camp fuel down from the cupboard. The can was full and much heavier than I expected. It slipped from my fingers and fell, smashing my left big toe.
    The pain was intense. Rage boiled up in me. I could almost hear Walter’s caustic laughter. Without thinking, I pulled back my right foot and kicked the can as hard as I could.
    Instant pain shattered through my partly healed ankle and leg. I doubled over gasping. How stupid can I be?
    Over by the refrigerator, the fuel can lay on its side, dented nearly in half and leaking fluid into a growing puddle.
    “So sit there!” I hissed at it, as I hobbled around the table to the only chair, a very rusty kitchen stool. “See if I care.” I’d have to mop up the mess before Walter returned, but for now, the sight of the ruined can appeased some of my anger.
    My ankle, though, was hurting terribly. Within minutes it began to swell. Knowing what would happen if I didn’t address this, I retrieved a handful of half-melted ice from the refrigerator and began to massage it.
    The rhythmic motion was soothing. I could feel the pain seeping out of my ankle. The anger and anxiety seemed to seep out with it, leaving me relaxed and almost sleepy. Even the smell in the room was less noticeable. I knew I should get back to work, but I delayed, not wanting my ankle to start hurting again.
    Time slipped by. I was daydreaming when the soft bump of a car door jerked me to reality. Walter’s back, and I haven’t even started. Now what? Leaping up, I began frantically rearranging the junk on the table so I would look busy. I strained my ears for footsteps on the porch, but all I could hear was a buzzing in my head.
    My heart settled back into place. I could have been mistaken. But it was definitely time to get going.
    I didn’t pause to ask why I was feeling so dizzy. My thoughts revolved around how furious Walter would be if he returned to find nothing had been done.
    Hobbling over to the counter, I hoisted down a new can of fuel, pried the cap off, and began pouring the clear liquid into the coffeepot. The pot was brimming before I realized I’d made another stupid mistake. Several inches in the bottom would have been plenty.
    “What on earth is wrong with you?” I scolded myself, as I pawed through the junk on the counter for a funnel. My voice sounded distant, drowned by the ever-increasing buzz in my ears. I set the funnel on the can and began pouring the extra back in. Fuel dribbled down the side of the pot as I poured, splashing the table and the front of my jacket. I dabbed at the mess with a wad of dirty paper towels and tried to move on with the next step of the process.
    But something was wrong. I had a weird sense of being disconnected from my body and my surroundings. I kept tripping over my feet and dropping things. The buzzing in my head had grown to a steady roar. Why was Walter running the air compressor?
    My mind seemed to be full of sticky molasses. I lost all sense of what I was doing. In total confusion, I decided to look at the instructions to see if the place had caught fire yet. With clumsy hands, I pulled the poster-sized sheet off the front of the refrigerator. Why was the room reeling around me? Breathing heavily, I leaned on the table and stared