A Scarlet Cord (38 page)

The detective paused and eyed Joel. “That would be you,” he said finally. “I hope you were worth it.”

Joel acknowledged his judgment with a nod. The detective walked with him to the edge of the woods. “Unless you hear or see something,” Nathanson told him, “don’t veer too far off the paths—we don’t want to lose you, too. It gets dark in there sooner than out in the open.” He glanced up at the sky and his brow furrowed. “Stop to listen for a reply every minute or so.”

Again, Joel nodded soberly.

Nathanson looked at his watch. “I’m gonna give you half an hour—forty-five minutes tops. After that we’re sending the dogs in. The volunteer crew has already combed the woods twice, but we’re talking close to seventy-five acres, so it’s likely we could have missed something. Oh—” The detective handed him what looked like a hair ribbon, knotted and crumpled. “The little girl lost this. She was wearing overalls this color. That should make her easier to spot.”

Joel took the ribbon and curled it into his fist. “Do you need this?” he asked. “In case you have to use the dogs?”

Nathanson shook his head. “No. Someone brought some of her clothing. We’ll get a better scent off that.”

The detective turned away, and Joel started up the trail. Something about that orange ribbon got to him. Made it all too real. He wanted to fall to his knees on the side of the trail and weep. But he couldn’t afford that luxury. He had to find her. He had to.

For the first two hundred yards the path was wide, and the overgrowth was well contained. But as he went deeper into the woods, the trail rose and tapered, and there were places where it dropped sharply into a narrow ravine. Fortunately the gully was dry in most places and shallow in the rest. Still, he couldn’t help but recall an old warning that a child could drown in half an inch of water.

“Jerica!” he shouted, his imagination urging him on. “Jerica!” He wondered if Melanie could hear him in the park below. Over and over, he called the little girl’s name. And while he listened for a response, he sent up a silent, anguished prayer.
Oh, Father, help me find her. If only I could find her and give her back to Melanie … that would be something … something that might make up for what happened. Make up for my leaving them. For the pain I’ve caused
.

Joel glanced at his watch and was surprised to see that its phosphorescent face was glowing in the dusky half-light. He hadn’t realized how dark it had gotten. He looked up at the trees above him and saw through the lacy branches of red oak and dogwood that the sky beyond was still bright and blue. But deep in the woods the tall pines and the tight-knit foliage and vines blocked out much of the sunlight. The air was cooler here, dank and mossy smelling. The nascent leaves rustled overhead, and all around him there was a constant creak and rasp of branch rubbing branch. Myriad insects and birds added to the eerie symphony.

Joel shivered involuntarily. He called out her name again with greater urgency. “Jerica! Jerica, it’s Joel! Can you hear me? Jerica? C’mon, babe, answer me … please!”

He looked at his watch again. He’d been in the woods for twenty-five minutes. He’d probably covered over a mile on the winding trails. It would take him fifteen, maybe twenty minutes to get back out if he didn’t stop to holler or listen. He wanted so desperately to be the one to find her. He trudged on, kneading the limp orange ribbon in his fist.

“Jerica!” he shouted again.
Please, God. Please. She’s got to be all right. Help me find her. Please
. He stopped again to listen. The
chirrup
of insects answered him, building to a deafening crescendo. He needed to start back, but what if she was just around the next curve in the trail? What if she was injured—or even dying? He walked faster. “Jerica!”

He walked a few yards and stopped again. Suddenly the woods fell silent.

Dead silent.

The cicadas stopped singing, as though they ran on electricity and someone had pulled their plug. The breeze that had caused the hemlocks to whisper was stilled. For one fleeting moment there was not a sound in the entire woods.

Except for a faint, mournful wail that Joel heard from behind him. It seemed to be coming from a secondary path he’d just crossed. He heard the sound again—briefly and below him, it seemed. He strained to listen, willing nature to hold its breath one minute longer.

There it was again. The mewling sound came from beneath him. He backtracked and took the lesser trail, peering into the grey-green haze of vegetation that framed the sound. As his eyes adjusted, he realized that some twenty feet off the trail was a rift. He scrambled cautiously over the tangle of tree trunks and dead limbs until he could see into the ravine.

He listened again. Silence. Then a flash of light caught his eye. He glared into the dim light in the ravine, desperate to see what was below. He heard a rustling of leaves, and again he saw a flicker of light, and then a patch of orange. Pumpkin orange. Like the hair ribbon in his hand. He scrambled down the steep terrain and crossed the rocky bottom of the creek bed. He could see the heap of orange on the other side clearly now. It looked limp and lifeless. His heart stood still. He forced himself to breathe.

“Jerica?”

To his amazement, the crumpled heap shuddered and struggled to sit upright.

“Jerica!”

A hoarse whisper-soft voice spoke his name. “Joel?”

“It’s me, sweetie.” He plowed through the tangle of vines and jagged rocks on the creek bed and hunched down beside her, searching her tiny form for signs of injury. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but she didn’t seem to be bleeding. And she was moving her limbs and speaking clearly. Those were good signs.

He reached out and touched her forehead lightly. It felt cool and dry against his palm. “Jerica? It’s Joel. Are you okay?”

“Joel?” There was disbelief—suspicion—in her voice. “Is it really Joel?”

“It’s me,” he repeated. “It’s me.” He resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and crush her to himself, afraid she might have injuries he couldn’t see.

She leaned to peer up into his face. “Oh, Joel. I found you,” she cried. “I found you!”

A sob crawled up his throat, and it was all he could do to smother it. “Yes, sweetheart.” He laid a gentle hand on her dirt-smudged, petal-soft cheek. “You found me.”

Thirty-Three

“Are you okay, honey? Does anything hurt?” Joel eyed Jerica carefully. “Did you
fall
down here?”

The little girl frowned and shook her head. “I climbed. I didn’t want those people to find me.”

“What people?”

“Those people that were yelling at me. And that old man that was chasing me. I didn’t want them to talk to me. They were going to make me go to jail.”

She didn’t seem to be delirious. In fact her voice—her vocabulary—was far more grown-up than he remembered. She was taller, too. Looking at her gangly arms and legs, it struck him that he had missed out on a whole year of her life. Again, he felt like weeping.

“No, honey. Nobody wants to put you in jail. They’re all just worried about you. Your mommy is worried about you.”

Jerica rolled onto her hands and knees and struggled to stand.

“Wait a minute, sweetie. Sit down. Let’s make sure you didn’t break anything. Can you wiggle your fingers and toes?”

She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind, but she plopped back down on the ground. She held up her arms and wriggled her fingers, then looked down at her feet. He could see the outline of her toes squirming inside small, muddy tennis shoes.

“Good … good,” he said. He squeezed her feet through the shoes
and patted her legs gently. The soles of her shoes emitted a flash of light, matching the rhythm of his pats—the flicker he’d seen from the trail.
Thank you, Lord, for that crazy fad
.

Gently, he palpated her arms and legs. When he was fairly sure that nothing was broken, he helped her stand and brushed the dirt and leaves from her overalls. “Are you okay?” he asked again.

She nodded, her eyes as dark as coffee beans. “Are you going to take me back to my mommy?” she asked solemnly.

“Yes, Jerica, I am. Your mommy is worried sick about you. She’s been looking everywhere for you. We were all worried.”

She didn’t respond.

“Here,” Joel said, holding out his arms, “let me carry you.” He put his hands around her waist and lifted her into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. He felt her warm, sweet breath on his neck, and he wanted to hold her that way forever.

He climbed up the embankment to the main trail. Jerica felt like a weightless bird in his arms. And he felt as though
he
could fly.

A thousand images swirled through his mind in the twenty minutes it took him to walk down from the trail. Jerica was quiet on his shoulder, and he thought perhaps she’d fallen asleep.

Sweet memories of the times he and Melanie and Jerica had spent together in Silver Creek filled his thoughts. He remembered a smaller Jerica grinning at him across the T-ball field. He saw her and Melanie, faces aglow from the candles on a birthday cake they’d made just for him. He heard the music of their laughter—mother and daughter—and envisioned their beloved faces that held smiles that were meant for him alone. It was as if his life—the fleeting time he’d shared with Melanie and Jerica—passed before him. They said that happened before you died. He couldn’t help but think that when he emerged from these woods it would indeed signify a death of sorts.

But he could not grieve any longer. There was no sorrow left in
him. He’d been privileged to help Melanie in one of her darkest hours. He’d been given one last chance to say good-bye. To see their faces. Even to hold Jerica in his arms. And for that he would always be grateful.

As he came closer to the trailheads and began to catch pulses of light through the trees from the emergency vehicles, he found himself torn between slowing his steps to savor these final minutes as long as possible and hurrying to Melanie to ease her agony over Jerica. He shook his head, put his selfish desires aside, and quickened his pace. He grew breathless as he came down the last wide steps carved into the foot of the mountain.

He heard someone shout, and then pandemonium struck. From the corner of his vision he saw the ambulance backing up to the entrance to the hiking trails. He saw the dogs being led back into the K-9 vehicle. A cadre of reporters and television camera crews crowded toward him. He watched Detective Nathanson and several other law enforcement officers jogging to meet him. And then he saw Melanie sobbing for joy in the arms of the tall, handsome man.

Now she pushed away from the man and broke through the crowd, racing toward her daughter, crying out her name. Joel put a protective hand on Jerica’s head and hurried toward Melanie.

At the sound of her mother’s voice, Jerica stirred in his arms, and he moved her from his shoulder to the cradle of his arms so that Melanie could see her face, see that she was unharmed.

Melanie was only yards away now, arms outstretched, tears streaking her face. Joel kissed the top of Jerica’s head one last time, then he held out his offering. Melanie dropped to her knees, and Jerica slid from his arms and ran into her mother’s embrace, nearly bowling her over. Mother and daughter knelt together on the rocky ground and held on to each other as if they would never let go.

He did not want to leave them. Didn’t want to let Melanie or Jerica out of his sight. But neither did he want to cause them more distress than they’d already suffered.

He reached out and put a tentative hand on Melanie’s arm. “I … I’m glad she’s all right,” he told her.

She looked up, as if noticing him for the first time. Her eyes seemed to reflect all the sorrow and regret that was in his heart. “Oh, Joel. How can I ever thank you? I’m so sorry for … putting you through this.”

Her words were ludicrous in light of the fact that it was his fault they were here in the first place. “I’m just … glad she’s safe. Everything will be all right now.” He wished he could make those words true for Melanie, wished he believed them for himself. He reached out to touch her again, thought better of it, and pulled his hand away.

Just then, Melanie’s friend appeared and nodded curtly to Joel. Then he knelt and put a gentle hand on the little girl’s shoulder and stroked her face. “Are you okay, sweetie?” He brushed a strand of tangled hair off her forehead.

Joel watched them, feeling invisible. And numb. He turned away and started walking, skirting the perimeter of the command center, which was already beginning to disintegrate.

A firm hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned to find a policeman eyeing him.

“Mr. Ellington?”

Joel nodded.

“Could you come with me, please? We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

If she lived to be a hundred, Melanie didn’t think she would ever feel such gratitude as she felt now, holding her daughter in her arms. She wept tears of joy, and then, as she thought again of what could have happened, she felt a flash of anger. She was tempted to spank some sense into her daughter. What had Jerica been thinking, running off
like that in a strange place where she knew no one, was familiar with nothing?