As he drew closer to the picture, he could see figures in a big field, running with what appeared to be an object in their hands.
“Sit down, Michael. I’ll get you some tea.”
“Could I help you?” he asked, turning away from the picture.
“I’m fine. Rest. We’ll talk. George always said talking was better than any medicine a doctor could give you.”
He relaxed in George’s chair, feeling the texture, staring at the beautifully kept phonograph. “Do you still use this machine?”
“Yes, it still works,” she replied over the clanging noise of a pot being filled with water.
His mind drifted back to Elizabeth, the church, and the tunnel. He noticed his cell phone was nearly out of battery power. Then he dug deep into his pocket to make sure he had his recharger with him. He tried to call out but couldn’t get reception.
Stinking town. When are they going to put up a to
w
er?
“Would you mind if I use your phone?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry. We don’t have one anymore.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Too many crank phone calls.”
“How do you reach people?”
She smiled. “We walk. We write letters.”
He plugged in his phone and the recharger as she placed a tray on the coffee table. Her hands shook as she poured the steaming water over a tea bag in a ceramic cup.
Michael listened to her delightful stories of George. The times they shared a dance while listening to their favorite songs, the endless walks around the town. Michael couldn’t help but wonder why no one else showed up at tonight’s wake. But it would be rude to ask so he remained quiet.
“I’m not sure what I’m going to do now without George,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
Michael put his empty cup on the coffee table. “When my daughter comes home, we’ll both stop by and visit.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, taking a sip from her cup. “Pastor Dennis told me about your situation. Have you heard from her?”
“No.” He glanced at his cell phone. “Not yet.”
“Can the police people help you?”
“I hope so.” He shrugged. “But I honestly don’t know.”
His stared at the small particles of dust on the floor.
She touched his hand. “George was right. He said many times we are only given what we can handle in life. We used to argue about that all the time.”
“I’m not sure I can handle this one.”
“You can and you will. You must stay strong for your daughter.”
“I don’t know how I’ll ever find her.”
“You must have faith. George always was vocal about this.”
“I don’t have much faith right now. I’ll lose my mind if my daughter doesn’t come back home soon.”
She was silent for several seconds, deep in thought. A few tears trickled down the side of her face. “I have faith God will take care of me while George is away.” Her voice trailed off as her final words broke up in sorrow.
Michael crouched down and held her hands. “It’ll be okay. I’m here.”
“I’m going to miss that big old lug. He was my best friend.” She waved her hand. “No, I can’t cry. George would want me to be strong and not be so sad.”
Michael squeezed her hands tight. “I know exactly how you feel.”
“You are such an affectionate man,” she said. “Very different from my George.”
“I don’t know about that.”
She gave him a surprised look. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “You seem uncomfortable with the compliment.”
He nodded in agreement. “Perhaps it’s time I finally realized it’s okay to show your emotions.”
She gripped his hands back with some strength. “It is.”
“Mrs. Farmer, could I ask you a personal question?”
“Why, of course. What is it?”
“How did George die?”
She hesitated, wiping her tears with a lace hanky. “So terrible. I found him outside the door, bleeding. There was a hole in his side.”
“Do the cops know?”
“Yes.”
“What did they tell you?”
“They’re still investigating.” She sniffed and shook her head. “They said all evidence pointed to suicide.” She touched his hand again. “George would never do such a thing. He loved life. He loved me. No, he would never take his life.”
“You seem certain,” Michael said.
“Because I am,” she responded, sitting straighter. “He talked to me before he died.”
“What did he say?”
“It was hard to understand him.” She paused.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you.”
“No, I’m fine. George said a road man did this to him.”
“A man on the road?”
“I guess.”
“You told the police what George said?”
She nodded. “But they said there was no evidence of an intruder or anyone in the area who could have attacked him. They insisted this was self inflicted. But they did say they’d keep the case open.”
“Did George describe this road man to you?”
“After he told me it was a man, I didn’t wait around,” she said. “I went to my next door neighbor and asked them to call for help. By the time I got back he had died.”
The next day Michael went to the church to check out the basement. After spending a few hours waiting for a miracle to happen, he went home and checked his answering machine.
Allison left him a message. This time, it sickened his heart. He immediately erased it.
She’s delusional. Vicki and I had separated at that time.
He sat in his recliner and stared at the TV screen, waiting for Elizabeth to come dancing through the door like she had done so often after landing a great mark on a test.
The banging on the door shook him out of his wishful thinking. He opened it, hoping it was someone coming to tell him that they found Elizabeth.
It was Connie. She pushed the door wide open. “Come on, I’m driving.” She grabbed his coat from the hall closet. “We’re going to Dad’s for dinner.”
He walked passed her and slunk back into his chair. “Have fun.”
“Let’s go.” She put her hands on her hips. “You need a hot meal and Dad really wants you there.”
“Are you kidding me?” he said, exasperated. “He wants me there? The last time he invited me to dinner, Vicki was alive. Give me a break.”
“Well, come for the food. You won’t have to pretend to like my cooking today. He’s ordering out and he’s paying for it too.”
“Like I said. Have fun.”
“It will be good for you to get out of the house.” She put her arm under his and tugged. “Like it or not, he’s your father.”
“I don’t like it and I don’t owe him anything, especially my time right now.” He shrugged her hand away. “Does he even know what’s been happening to his granddaughter?”
“I’ve told him a bit but not everything,” Connie said. “He has enough to deal with right now and he’s worried about you.” She pointed to the stairway. “Go get washed up and changed, and fake a smile if you have to, but you shouldn’t be alone today.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He pounded his fist on the arm of his chair. “I’m not anywhere without my daughter.”
She blew a strand of hair away from her face. “You’re impossible. Call if you change your mind.” She opened the door and left.
An hour later Detective Brady called. “I’m checking in to see if your daughter has contacted you. Or have you heard from one of her friends?”
“Nothing.” Michael closed his eyes. “I would have called you immediately if I’d heard something.”
“Just to remind you, don’t leave Northport, Mr. Stewart.”
Michael gritted his teeth and slammed the phone down.
And where I intend to go and find my daughter is off limits, even to the cops. Catch me if you can but if I find a way back into the tunnel, I’ll be leaving Northport.
The next day, Michael forced himself to shower and shave but had no energy to look for something different to wear so he wore the same clothes. He met Susan for George Farmer’s funeral service.
Michael kept his head bowed, clutching his stomach at times, mostly staring at his fidgeting fingers.
Should I talk to Allison? She’s been talking to them. Maybe the police know something I don’t. Maybe I’m missing something she might have learned from the detective. She could help me.
He contemplated running downstairs to dig into the ground once more.
If I got back, why would I even return?
“Everyone, please stand,” Dennis said.
Michael rose like a robot as Susan sang along with the choir, her voice a pleasant interlude from his hidden turmoil. After the service ended, they walked out into the frigid air.
Black Friday clearance specials enticed shoppers to the streets while the firemen decorated Main Street in anticipation of Santa’s arrival after the town’s Christmas tree lighting.
As they followed the hearse in a black limousine, Mrs. Farmer dabbed a few tears away with a pink tissue. She held onto Michael’s arm as they arrived at the cemetery. The rows of headstones chilled his spine as he helped her out of the car.
Dennis led them up a hill to a spot near a copse of trees. A cold wind smattered him in the face as the trees’ vacant branches crackled back and forth. Dennis concluded the service with a prayer and the casket was lowered into the ground. Mrs. Farmer wept as Michael wrapped his arms around her for comfort. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said.
They remained quiet on the trip back to Northport as Mrs. Farmer stared out the window. Michael was lost in his own thoughts.
Why are we here? What is the purpose? Am I here now for Mrs. Farmer? Is this the reason why I was able to get back and Elizabeth hasn’t? Maybe God has a plan for Elizabeth there? What is the plan? Can you tell me, Lord?
He was distracted by the sights and sounds of the town’s holiday celebrations. Men hoisted lights up onto the roof of the firehouse while vendors handed out hot chocolate and cookies.
After bringing Mrs. Farmer back to her home, Michael asked Susan to take him to the church.
“You’re not going to go postal in the basement again, are you?” she asked.
He didn’t respond, distracted by a motorcycle speeding away from the church parking lot. “Where’s he going?”
“Who?”
“Dennis. Follow him. I need to ask him if I can have the book.”
“Can’t we wait?”
“No. He does this every Friday afternoon. He disappears sometimes for the rest of the day. I have to see the book now. I don’t have time to search around for it and I don’t know where he keeps it.”
“I’m not going to be able to catch up with him on that Harley.”
“I’ll drive.”
“All right. Do you know where he might be going?” Susan asked.
“If I knew that, then I would just give you the address.”
She gave him an irritated look. “Call his cell.”
“He won’t hear his phone driving that noise machine.”
Dennis drove onto the Northern State Parkway. It was only a couple of exits before he got off and pulled into a crowded parking lot. The black and white lettering – Mental Health Institution – stood out against the tall, five-sided stale yellow brick building that overshadowed two other small structures. Dennis utilized the narrow parking space up front while Michael whirled around the lot twice before finding a spot.
“Wonder who he’s visiting here?” she said.
“No idea. Stay here,” Michael said. “I’ll be right back.”
“You sure you …” Before she could finish the question, Michael barreled through the main door.
The reception area was serene with soft music playing in the background. A woman wearing a bright red headband was answering the phone behind a black, wooden desk. She flashed a big smile as she hung up. “May I help you?”
“Yes, I was supposed to meet my friend here, Dennis. I saw him come through this way. Can you tell me where he’s gone?”
“Oh, you mean Pastor Dennis?”
“Yes.”
“Please sign the sheet and I’ll give you a visitor’s pass.”
Michael became visitor number 328. He stuck the sticker on his jacket.
“Through those glass doors you’ll see a bank of elevators on the left,” the receptionist said. “Take it to the second floor. Pastor is visiting his friend in room 217.”
As the door opened, he heard weeping sounds coming from down the hallway. He took a few feeble steps, bothered by the profound squeakiness of his sneakers. The number 217 was painted in black above the door frame. The crying was more audible as he slanted his head at an angle to look inside. Two men were holding each other, standing, and appeared to be grieving. He recognized Dennis’ long hair.
“My son, I hope you can forgive me,” Dennis said.
“Pastor, it wasn’t your fault. Please let it go. I was looking for someone to blame. It’s why I said that. But I’ve taken responsibility now. It’s been a long time since I’ve accepted it.”
“I know. It’s just that at this time of the year it bothers me more. You are a wonderful friend. I thank you for your forgiveness.”
The embrace ended and the men stepped back from each other.
Michael’s knees felt like jelly and he almost dropped to the floor. He opened his mouth to say something but no words came out. He thought his heart would race right out of his chest. He clenched his hands into fists and stormed to the elevator. He rushed past the front desk in the lobby. “Is everything all right?” inquired the receptionist.
He didn’t answer and instead sprinted to Susan’s car. “Go home. Now.”
“What do you mean? What happened?”
“I can’t talk about it right now.”
“Is something wrong with the pastor?”
“I have to talk to him alone.”
Susan saw the determination and seriousness in his stance. She didn’t question him any further and left.
Michael stood near the door with his arms folded and watched the sun start to give up its strongest light of the day. It was an hour before Dennis strolled past him. “Hello, Pastor.”
“Michael?” he said as he spun around. “You scared me. What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same thing,
Pastor
.”
He tapped Michael on the shoulder. “What’s with calling me Pastor?”
“
Pastor,
you haven’t answered my question.”
Dennis avoided Michael’s glare. “I’m here to help a friend.”
“Is this where you go every Friday?”
Dennis stepped back. “Is that important to you?”
“You might say so.” Michael took a few steps toward Dennis, his arms still folded over his pounding chest. “When someone passes themselves off as my friend and I see them hugging the punk that killed my wife, I’d say it’s important to me.”
“Were you spying on me?”
“No. I was here to ask you for the book. But I’m glad I followed you.” He clenched his fists. “Or should I call you Judas?”
“You had no right to follow me and listen in on our conversation.”
“No right? The pastor or so-called friend of mine spends his Fridays consoling the monster who ruined my life, took away Elizabeth’s mother and you say I have no right?” Michael raised his voice. “I don’t know what planet or even century you come from,
Pastor
, but I would say you are the lowest of the low.”
Michael stood directly in front of him, his face hot with anger, inches away from Dennis. “I should punch you right now. I’d go to hell I guess for striking a man of God. But it might be worth it to do so.”
He pulled out a coin and showed it to Dennis. “Maybe I should give you this.” Michael slapped the blood money into Dennis’ palm.
Dennis closed his hand around the coin. “You need to forgive, Michael. You need to know that this person you have spent so much time hating made a mistake.”
“Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? We’ve changed the meaning of killing to
a mistake
. Well, let’s all hold hands, sing Kumbaya and watch the doves fly above us. That punk deserves to die.”
Dennis shook his head. “No, he doesn’t. He has much love to give. He’s shown it to me. He deserves your forgiveness. He has given me his.”
“Excuse me?” Michael threw his arms up in the air. “He’s given you his? And why do you need his forgiveness?”
Dennis took a deep breath. “I should have told you sooner. You deserve the truth.”
“The truth seems to be absent here.”
“Not anymore.” Dennis leaned against the building. “I know how terrible it was the night your wife died. Do you remember the article about the accident in the newspaper?”
“I remember every horrid detail.”
“Do you remember what Robert said?”
“Yeah, he blamed everything and everybody that night. The weather, the road, how dark it was. The truck with the high beams on the other side that blinded him. So what? The cops never verified any of this.”
“No, they didn’t. And couldn’t.” Dennis lowered his head. “The guy driving the truck was me. And I did have my high beams on. Maybe I did blind him. I wasn’t paying attention to the other side of the road.”
Michael staggered a few steps back and didn’t respond. He glared for a few seconds and walked back to him, grabbing the collar of Dennis’ coat. “What? Are you saying you had something to do with my wife’s death?”
“I don’t know.”
Michael tightened his grip, taking deep breaths, trying to control his rage. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to. But I wanted to help you heal first.” He could see Dennis’ throat working. “I wanted to support you and Elizabeth. Help you both move forward and –”
“Stop with that healing crap,” he shouted. “Don’t say my daughter’s name, you lying hypocrite.” He pushed Dennis against the building and walked away.
“Michael, I made a mistake,” Dennis called out. “I’ve asked Him for forgiveness. I ask you.”
“Keep the coin, Judas.”
A few hours later Michael was back at the church. Exhausted but filled with adrenaline surging through his body, he hurried to the basement. Small pieces of cement still lay on the floor where he had swung his ax. He fell, sweeping away the debris with his hands. “Lord, help me. Show me the way back to Jerusalem. Help me bring Elizabeth home. I’m begging.”
He stared at the old, gray floor, hoping for a miracle, holding his aching head, rocking back and forth like he did in bed as a child, trying to fall asleep at night.
No miracle arrived. No sign was given.
How can I change this? What do I have to do?
He cupped his hands over his eyes for a brief second, then swung at the ground, yelling. “Open! Open now!” His anger echoed up the steps and into the church.
“Michael,” Dennis said, catching his breath after running down the stairs. “I know I’m the last person you want to see but let me help you.” He held out his hand.
Michael swatted it away. “Stay away from me.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Michael didn’t say a word, numb from all the honesty.
“I’ll stay with you all night if it’s necessary.” Dennis sat beside him. “I don’t know why this has happened. But after reading about some of the situations the previous pastors have described, perhaps there are reasons for it. Maybe there’s a reason why both of us are together now. Maybe we were brought together for a higher purpose.”
”I don’t care about some stupid higher purpose right now. How can you even sit here with me?”
“It’s the only thing I know how to do. It’s why I became a pastor. I’m trying to seek forgiveness like many.”