Randy Singer - Fatal Convictions

And then her face transformed. The melting skin hanging from her skull was restored to the classic beauty that had stirred the hearts of so many men. The flames disappeared, and she was dressed in white, sitting on a black stallion. Like Hassan, she held a sarif in her right hand, her horse stamping and snorting beneath her. “Allahu akbar!” she shouted.

She turned to Hassan, and he nodded as they spurred their horses and charged ahead together. Just before they plunged into the horde of infidels before them, Hassan stole a final glance at his sister. She had the same look of fierce determination he remembered from their days growing up together. But this time, it was not the rebellious fire that he had seen so often in her eyes. It was the fire of complete devotion.

They rode side by side, swords swinging in every direction, infidels dropping around them in a futile attempt to dislodge the warriors from their horses. Hassan wielded his sword with all his might, his muscles glistening with sweat and growing weary as he struck blow after blow. As always, the infidels kept coming, mostly Americans and Jews with possessed eyes and heinous laughs. There were Sunni Muslims opposing him as well, including some faces he recognized from his childhood. An arrow dropped him from his horse, and he was swarmed by hundreds of infidels. But Nara had circled back, creating a swath through the enemy as she tried to rescue her brother. Just as he reached out for her, an infidel’s sword swung through the air, slicing toward his neck…

Then came the calm. He was standing on the golden carpet, before the magnificent throne of Allah. This time, he was not alone.

He stood next to Nara, her chin held high, and Allah smiled at them both. He placed a crown of virtue on each of their heads. The crowd began to chant- “Allahu akbar!” -but the noise could not drown out the words of Allah himself.

“Welcome to your reward!”

Hassan awoke with a start well before dawn. He was clammy with sweat, and it took him a moment to get his bearings. The dream… He focused immediately on the vivid details of the dream before it left the recesses of his memory. Dreams were a gift from Allah, clarity of purpose in a world filled with confusion. He struggled to recall every facet.

He tried to reconcile the dream with the theological realities he knew. Khalid Mobassar would be in hell unless he was redeemed by a member of his family. Nara, always rebellious, would surely follow him, but in Hassan’s dream she had become a warrior like him. Could this be her lot in life?

The Sunnis in his dream reminded Hassan of his cowardice as a child. But this morning, they also brought back memories of why the bullies had ceased their relentless attacks.

After the day Mukhtar was beaten and Hassan ran away scared, the two boys had started taking an alternate route home. But the next week, even on this new route, Mukhtar and Hassan found themselves walking down the sidewalk heading straight for the same gang of boys one block away on the other side of the street.

Hassan quickly reached into his pocket and found the money that he hoped would satisfy the bullies. This time, he and Mukhtar would run together. If they caught Mukhtar, Hassan would stop and offer them his money. If it wasn’t enough, Hassan would take a beating along with his friend. He had learned that the emotional wounds of cowardice hurt more than any physical wounds the Sunnis could inflict.

But for some reason, the Sunnis only glared at Hassan and Mukhtar and never crossed the street to confront them. They talked among themselves and narrowed their eyes, putting the fear of Allah into Hassan’s heart, and yet they allowed the Shia boys to walk by unmolested.

Two months later, when Hassan got into an argument with another kid at school, he found out why the Sunnis had backed off. The kid taunted Hassan, asking, “What are you going to do-get your sister to fight your battles again?”

When Hassan confronted Nara, he learned that his sister had indeed walked up to the Sunni gang and called out the leader in front of all his friends. She had challenged him to a fight, and when he tried to laugh her off, she attacked. Perhaps because of Nara’s rage, or perhaps because the boy felt awkward fighting a girl, she more than held her own. The boy eventually retreated, claiming that he did not want to hurt Nara. Nara shouted curses at him as he left.

When Hassan initially learned about his sister’s actions, he was humiliated and furious. But now, as he looked at Nara lying motionless on the floor, he felt only gratitude and sympathy.

Allah had never revealed his will to Hassan in a dream before-at least not the way he had last night. Hassan had heard of other great warriors who had received a direct word from Allah. In some ways, it made Hassan jealous. Wasn’t he every bit as passionate for Allah as the others?

But last night, on the tile floor of this deserted vacation home in the Outer Banks, Hassan had experienced his own encounter with the ruler of the universe. The orders from his superiors no longer mattered. Allah had spoken.

The dream called for a new plan. One of Hassan’s own making. One that fulfilled the prophecies in the dream.

Nara was destined to be a great warrior and a passionate follower of Allah. His first order of business would be to convince her that her father’s ways were wrong. Someday, according to the dream, she would follow him to paradise. Like her brother, Nara would arrive on a river of blood.

But what thrilled Hassan even more was the certain knowledge that today was his day to bring great glory to Allah. This was the day he had been dreaming about his entire life. Events had transpired that now demanded he pay the ultimate price. For the sake of stopping the heresy of his traitorous stepfather. For the sake of preserving the legacy of his real father.

But most of all, for the sake of Allah.

Today, he would fight. Tonight, he would enjoy the fruits of paradise.

Alex met with his client at the Virginia Beach City Jail at 6 a.m. on Monday. Khalid was still in his orange jumpsuit and flip-flops. All the conviction and fire were gone from his demeanor. He seemed to be a mere shell of the man who had been sitting next to Alex when the case started. He spoke barely above a whisper, and his bloodshot eyes reflected the sad recognition that one of the things he valued most-his relationship with his wife of thirty-three years-had been damaged beyond repair. He was hanging on by a few tattered threads of his devout faith.

“Until Friday, I believed deep in my soul that we would win this case and justice would be served,” he told Alex. “But now, whether we win or lose is of no great consequence to me. I’ve already lost the most important things.”

Alex tried to fortify his client for the day ahead. He wanted to say something encouraging. But the sad truth was that things were about to get worse for Khalid, not better.

“We’ve got to discuss some things I learned last night,” Alex said. “You’re not the only one who didn’t get any sleep.”***

Hassan knelt next to his sister and removed her hood. Her eyes were still closed and her breathing was steady. As soon as the drugs wore off and she recognized him, he would be committed to his new plan.

He went to the bathroom and completed the ceremonial cleansing. He came back into the tiled game room and performed the morning salat. The rhythmic ritual of the prayer put his mind and soul at peace. When he finished, he sat in a corner and waited. He had to leave by 8 a.m. whether his sister had regained consciousness or not. He could leave a note behind, but he wanted to see the look on her face.

Allah had given him a new mission. Hassan had always been the consummate soldier, carefully executing the orders of the Islamic Brotherhood and Hezbollah without ever wavering. But today was different. This plan had come straight from Allah’s lips to Hassan’s heart. He prayed that Nara would wake up soon. She needed to hear what Allah had given him to say.