The strains of music chimed its last cords as Dennis ended the service. Michael stood outside his office and watched as his friend bid the congregation goodbye at the church’s front doors. Many in the crowd looked at Dennis with an inquiring expression. Some were blunt enough to ask why Michael came into church with an ax and if it was safe to return.
The latter question surprised Michael.
I haven’t been the most social person around but I didn’t think these people who know me would think I’d be a danger to them.
I don’t care if they think I’ve turned into a lunatic. That’s their problem, not mine. I have more important things to worry about.
Dennis dodged the inquiries with a smile and changed the subject each time Michael’s name came up. Michael felt remorseful that Dennis had to keep fielding questions and had to assure his churchgoers that there was no need for them to be alarmed.
I’ll have to apologize for putting him in this position.
Dennis opened his office door.
“I’m sorry for hacking at the floor.”
“Forget it. There isn’t a lot of damage.”
“I’m not very good with an ax.”
“I’m glad.” Dennis walked around his desk and sat. “Do you have a ride home?”
“I’ll walk. I’m feeling like a caged lion.”
“You need to stay in control.” He pulled out a bottle of wine. “Jesus drank wine. So can you.”
“Are you going to join me in a glass this time?”
Dennis grimaced. “I prefer water.” He avoided Michael’s stare and opened the black book. “Besides, one of us has to be stone cold sober in case you decide to lose it again.”
Michael dragged his hands down his face. “I’m not sure I can do that.”
“You have to.” Dennis leaned back in his chair. “People like me are not supposed to show weakness. We’re supposed to be strong, like some sort of religious superhero, never doubting when troubles confront us in this world, never losing direction with our faith.”
Michael shook his head. “You’re stronger than I am. Still don’t know how you do it sometimes.”
“I remember who is there for me no matter what problem I’m facing. If He isn’t, I get on my Harley and take a ride.” He smiled, trying to lighten the mood a bit. He uncorked the bottle. The sweet fruit smell of the red wine tingled Michael’s senses. “We’re human too,” he said. “I worry like you. I have sadness like others. I get angry when some dope on the street calls me a child abuser. Do you know how that feels?”
“Who called you that?”
“It doesn’t matter who.” He poured a few ounces of wine into a glass. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to bring positive change in this world. I’ve had many sleepless nights worrying about those who can’t clothe and feed themselves, even some right here in our town.”
“Why do you continue to do this?”
Dennis handed Michael the glass. “Because I get to meet and help people like you.”
“But why me?” Michael asked, taking a sip of wine. “You’ve been there for me for so long. Even when I ignored you.”
Dennis didn’t answer.
“I don’t deserve it but thank you.”
“You do deserve it.” Dennis placed his bookmark inside a drawer. “I also hurt and become depressed at times.”
“When do you get depressed?”
“When a child runs away from me because his parents told him to stay away from bad people like me.”
“When did this happen?”
“Not too long ago. It was at my nephew’s birthday party.” He opened a bottle of water and took a sip. “I remember being so excited about seeing him. I had just returned from a missionary trip in Kenya. So it had been a while since we’ve been together. When he saw me arrive, the little guy ran over and jumped into my arms.
“One of his classmates came over and looked at me and said, ‘My daddy says you touch children in private places. Why are you touching Danny? My daddy says to stay away from bad people like you.’ Well, the boy ran away and my nephew cried. I put him down and walked out.”
“I’m sorry.”
Dennis crossed his leg and tented his fingers on his lap. “Have you ever looked at me and thought I may be a child molester?”
“I don’t think that way.”
“Well, you don’t because you’ve gotten to know me. How did you feel about me before that?”
Michael hesitated for a few seconds, weighing his thoughts. “I hadn’t gotten to know you as well as I do now.”
“You see, we all have preconceived notions of who people are and how they behave.”
“I didn’t make any assumptions about you in that way.”
“But you were suspicious?”
“Yeah, for a split second.” Michael shifted in his seat. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. You’re human. I’m human. I’ve made my share of mistakes.” He hung his head for a brief moment. “I felt so sorry for myself after my nephew’s birthday that I canceled a prayer meeting.” He took a gulp of water. “I sat in my bedroom staring at the walls, angry and bitter. I wanted to quit and even drafted a letter of resignation.”
Michael took another sip of wine to wet his parched throat. “Why didn’t you quit?”
“Because I remembered the night when I heard God’s call. It was shortly after I lost my wife and daughter.”
“Lost?”
“Well, my wife left me and took our daughter.”
“Why?”
Dennis pointed to the bottle of wine. “I drank too much. Lost my job, ignored my family and hit rock bottom.” He took another slow sip of his water. “Then while I was stumbling along one Christmas Eve I heard a choir singing
Silent Night
. I went in and sat in the last pew and listened to the words.
“I saw the happy faces in the church. Many came up to me and said hello. I don’t know why I happened to be walking on that street during that time. But there was a reason. Had to be.” He lowered his head. “It just had to be that God was asking me into His life despite my weaknesses.”
Michael took a few more sips and stopped. “I shouldn’t be doing this, too.”
“Doing what?”
“Drinking. I’m no different than my father or the creep who killed Vicki.”
Dennis’ face reddened and he cleared his throat. “It was terrible, I know.”
Michael felt the anger that still lingered in his gut, even after all these years, start to surface. “They should have fried the punk for driving drunk and plowing into my wife’s car.”
Dennis took a deep breath, wiped his forehead and took another sip of water. “Was he drunk? People make mistakes. We need to forgive.”
“Well, he wasn’t legally drunk. But so what?” Michael raised his voice. “I’m sitting here without my wife and now my daughter is missing. And you’re talking to me about forgiving the killer?”
“Killer is a bit extreme.”
“What?” Michael slammed the glass on the desk so hard, wine spilled out. “If I had the chance I’d flick the switch myself.”
“We’re getting off track here.”
Michael pushed the glass away. “Don’t offer me any more wine.”
Dennis corked the bottle and stared at his water.
Michael got up and paced. “I’m not like you. I can’t be cool like you. I’m losing my mind. I want to rip that floor up piece by piece. I don’t even know why I was there. I know you said there’s always a reason when God opens up a path. I can’t figure it out.”
Dennis pulled out a notebook and pen. “Tell me what happened on the trip. Tell me what Jesus said about forgiveness and redemption. Tell me what your wife said.”
“My wife? Why?”
“Just tell me what Jesus said.”
Michael rubbed his forehead, tempering his urge to tell Dennis to stop repeating the same question about forgiveness. He knew Dennis was right. Michael had to stay calm. Getting into an argument with his friend wasn’t smart. After all, Dennis had the book. Perhaps by talking to him something might click.
As Michael regaled all that he had witnessed, Dennis scribbled his account of the time travel journey. Dennis seemed fascinated by the Sermon on the Mount Jesus delivered and peppered Michael with several questions. By the time he had finished his story, Dennis had filled half of the notebook.
Michael cleared his throat, his voice hoarse from talking. “Do you have any more water in there?” he asked, gesturing to the small fridge.
“Help yourself.”
Michael opened the small fridge and took out a bottle of water. After drinking half of it, he continued, “I tried to save Leah’s husband but I’m not sure if the cloth I used was given to me to save him. I thought I was back there to change this. But now I’m not sure.”
“Let’s see the cloth.”
Michael showed him.
“This is incredible,” Dennis said, seeming to lose his train of thought as he examined it.
“Now what do I do? How do I find Elizabeth?”
Dennis held the cloth close to his nose. “I need to review the book more. Maybe I can find a clue or a special message that can help you get back.”
“What if I can’t?”
The phone rang and Dennis held up a finger. “Hello. Yes. This is he. Okay. He’s here. Why? Sure, I’ll tell him.” He hung up the phone and rubbed his chin. “Are you sure you didn’t see Elizabeth at all today?”
“Yes. Why?”
“That was a Detective Brady from the County Police Department. They’ve asked for a court order to take your car. They say there’s blood in it.”
“What?” Michael backed up, knocking over a chair. “Whose blood?”
“He didn’t say. Look, I’m not here to judge.” Dennis stood. “Are you telling me everything you know?”
“Of course.” Michael raked his hand through his hair. “Blood? How?”
“Let me drive you home. The police will be there. Cooperate with them.” He put his hand on Michael’s back. “I’ll be there to support you, no matter what.”
“I’ll do whatever they want me to do.” He concentrated on breathing and not collapsing from fear. “Do they have any proof she might still be here?”
“He didn’t say much.” Dennis waved him toward the door. “Come on, let’s go. The quicker you answer their questions, the quicker you’ll get some answers.”
The dead end street was illuminated by red and blue flashing lights. Dennis parked the car on the corner and Michael jumped out. His sister met him by the curb.
“Connie, what’s going on? What did they say?”
Her hand trembled as she touched his arm. “They said they think there might be blood in the car. I didn’t give them the keys.”
“Give them to me,” Michael said. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”
Connie dug into her pants pocket and handed it to him.
Dennis walked ahead of Michael toward a man wearing a dark suit. “I’m Pastor Dennis of the Lady by the Bay Church.”
The man nodded to Michael who stood beside the pastor. “I’m Detective Brady. Is this the person in question?”
“I’m Michael Stewart.” He gave the detective the set of keys. “Here, you don’t need a court order.”
The neighbors milled around, chatting and pointing to his car. A large, wide truck rumbled up the hill, accompanied by a loud siren.
“Let’s clear this area,” the detective yelled through a bullhorn.
Michael read the lettering on the side of the truck.
Crime Scene Unit
.
“Crime scene?” Michael’s voice hitched. “What? Is Elizabeth hurt?” Bursts of bright dots danced before his eyes. “What’s going on? My daughter’s been a victim in a crime? Has she been found?”
“I’ll ask the questions for now.” The detective put his bullhorn on the ground and took out a notepad and pen. “What was your daughter wearing this morning before she disappeared?”
Michael heaved a deep breath to calm himself. “I don’t know.”
The detective stopped writing and arched his eyebrows. “You’re telling me you haven’t seen her at all today?”
“Yes. No.” Michael looked up at the sky. “I mean, she left for a morning class before I got up.” He glared at Connie, remembering it was her fault he was hung over. “She left me a note instead of waking me up. So no, I don’t know what she wore this morning.”
The detective continued writing. “Go inside and get us your daughter’s hair brush.”
Michael struggled to breathe. “You should be out looking for my daughter, not asking about her hair.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“What? No.” He rubbed his temple, hoping to clear his thoughts. “I mean, yes a little. I had a glass of wine at church.” He stepped closer to the detective. “Give me a breathalyzer if you want. I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes if it’ll help you find my daughter.”
“Then go in your house and get us her hairbrush,” the detective said in a commanding tone. “We’ll also need a recent picture of your daughter.”
“Can you at least tell me why you need these things?”
The detective looked at him carefully, analyzing Michael’s every movement. “We’ll need her picture so we can pass it along to the different agencies.”
Michael clutched his chest, sure that his heart would crash right through it. “Do you think she’s been hurt?”
“We’ll know more once we conduct our investigation.” For a brief moment, Michael thought he saw sympathy in the detective’s eyes. “Things would go a lot faster if you’d get us that hairbrush and picture.”
Michael steadied his nerves. “Yes, of course.” He raced back inside his house, up the stairs, and into the bathroom. He opened the cabinet door on her side and grabbed two hairbrushes and hurried back.
Panting, he handed the items to the detective. “Here they are.”
The detective gave them to a woman, who placed the brushes inside a big plastic bag and labeled it.
Two gloved men opened Michael’s car door and scoured through it, taking samples of debris off his dashboard, the seats, and the glove compartment. One of the men handed a crumbled piece of paper to the woman. She deposited it into another plastic bag.
Michael paced, trying to burn off nervous energy. He walked toward his sister. “Did you see any blood when you were in the car? We’re the only two who were in it today. I didn’t see anything. Did you?”
“There were some dark brown spots on some tissues and on a piece of paper on the floor.” Connie shrugged. “It didn’t look like blood to me.”
“Where on the floor?”
“On the passenger side. I thought it was magic marker so I didn’t think anything of it. Your car is such a mess anyway.”