Prophet (30 page)

BACK AT HIS DESK,
John hammered away at his computer, whacking out excess words, tightening the rhetoric, rephrasing, clarifying, editing with a vengeance. And it was
vengeance.
He was angry. He was a pro. He was going to write like a pro and report like a pro, and Tina and whoever else had it in for him was going to like it, and that was all there was to it.

And if any more of this hallucination stuff tried to force itself on him, he would ignore it, overcome it, do whatever he had to do to stay in control of his life.
His
life! He banged his desk in anger and even mouthed the words, “It’s my life!”

The phone rang. “Hello!” Oops. He really sounded angry.

“Dad, this is Carl. I’ve got something.”

John held the receiver against his ear with his shoulder so he could keep working. “Yeah?”

“Deanne Brewer got the names of Annie’s teachers from last year. She’ll call them tonight at their homes to ask for those attendance records, and then I suppose they’ll have to check and get back to her.”

“Okay. Good.”

“And I think Rachel Franklin found somebody.”

John forgot about working. He held the receiver with his hand. “She found somebody?”

“Yeah. It’s real touchy. The girl won’t give her name or anything, and she won’t talk to us. She says she might talk to Deanne.”

John had to be sure. “Now . . . this is a girl who rode on the van with Annie Brewer?”

“That’s what Rachel says.”

“Who is she?”

“Rachel doesn’t know anything about her.”

“Well . . . she must know something. Did they go to school together or what? How did Rachel find her?”

“Hey, like I said, it’s touchy. Remember Rachel telling us how she went to that other place to have another pregnancy test?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she went back there and talked to a counselor about all this, and the counselor called her back today. It turns out that one of the girls who’s been coming to her for counseling says she was on that van with Annie.”

John’s pulse was quickening. “So . . . all right, what’s this girl willing to do?”

“The counselor said—now I’m getting this from Rachel, I haven’t talked to the counselor yet—the counselor said that this girl might talk to Annie’s mom, but she doesn’t want anyone to know who she is or even to see her, and the counselor has to be there.”

“What about a reporter? I wonder if she’d mind a woman reporter being there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Find out. Get on it.”

“Okay. I’ll get right back to Rachel and then call Deanne. But I don’t know how this thing’s going to turn out.”

“Thanks, Carl. Good work.”

“I love it.”

They hung up, and John looked around the room for Leslie Albright. She’d be perfect for this, if it ever developed.

What was it Carl said? “I love it” or “I love you”?

CHAPTER 13

THAT SATURDAY LESLIE
Albright picked up Deanne Brewer, and they drove together to a small, storefront location between a laundromat and a used bookstore just off Morris Avenue, an obviously low-budget operation in a low-rent building in a run-down district. If Leslie had not called first and gotten clear directions, they may have had trouble even finding the place. It was Deanne who first spotted the posterboard sign in the window: “Human Life Services. Free Pregnancy Tests, Counseling, Referrals, Support Services. Abortion Alternatives.”

Leslie parked just across the street, turned off the engine, and then looked at Deanne. “Well, are you ready for this?”

Deanne was uneasy but gave a firm nod. “Oh, I’m ready. I know I’m not going to like it, but I’m ready.”

They got out.

“Better be sure you lock it,” Deanne said.

They locked the doors and crossed the street. Leslie was here as a friend, not a reporter. She was on her own time, with no plans as yet to make a news story out of this. She was here just to listen, to get the facts for John since he couldn’t participate. Since she felt she owed him some favors, she’d let him talk her into it. Besides, at the very worst it would be a chance to see a side of the issue she’d never really seen before.

And she’d never taken a close look at anything like this place before either, this humble little enterprise with the pretty curtains in
the weathered windows and the simple painted sign to identify the place. While doctors could make over a thousand dollars per day in large, abortion-providing clinics with paid staffs, here was an organization mostly run by volunteers and operating on donations. She was impressed by how unimpressive it was.

Marilyn Westfall, the director, was waiting for them and met them at the door, introducing herself. She was a lady somewhere in her forties or fifties, professional in her demeanor, and soft-spoken, especially now. “Please come in and have a seat. We’ll talk for a bit.”

They stepped inside without speaking, careful not to make any noise, as if a baby were sleeping somewhere. The reception area provided a small table with coffee and cups, four padded chairs, and a coffee table with literature—obviously pro-life—arranged on it. Deanne and Leslie sat down on one side of the table, and Marilyn sat across from them.

Mrs. Westfall explained in a quiet voice, “The young lady you’ll be talking to is waiting in a counseling room. For our purposes today we’ll give her a pseudonym; we’ll call her Mary. I told her I would speak with you first so we could all understand and agree on the conditions for this visit.

“Just to give you some background, I’m a licensed counselor, married, with two grown children, and I donate my time here twice a week. Mary came to us about a month and a half ago, post-abortive—psychologically distressed from the abortion experience—and I’ve been working with her on a regular basis.

“Now you can call it coincidence—I think God had something to do with it—but just a few weeks ago she told me about a particular struggle she was having.” Mrs. Westfall spoke carefully, slowly. “She’d been living with the knowledge that your daughter, Mrs. Brewer, was there at the clinic at the same time she was and possibly could have died from the abortion she received.”

Deanne only nodded, expecting this.

Mrs. Westfall continued, “Well, she told me about this in confidence, so I couldn’t take any further steps until Mary was ready to do so herself. But then, right about the same time, Rachel Franklin came to us—and I understand Rachel’s already told you about that.”

Leslie nodded. “That’s right.”

“So you recall that while she was here she read some of our literature and pieced together her theory that Annie died from a septic abortion. She later shared that with me. Well, that put me in a bind. Two girls coming to the same conclusion at practically the same time, and here I was in the middle, unable to tell either about the other . . . until this week. I understand Rachel had told your friend . . . uh . . . Carl?”

“Yes, Carl Barrett, and his father, John Barrett.”

“Mm-hm. She told Carl and his father about her theory, and then Rachel came back to me and said they wanted to talk to someone who’d actually been there and seen Annie getting the abortion . . .” Mrs. Westfall allowed herself a muffled laugh. “Isn’t it amazing how God works? I shared all this with Mary, and she said she’d like to tell what happened, but only to you, Mrs. Brewer, and I agreed that she should. So here we are.

“Now, this might seem a little strange to you, but here is how she wants the interview done: she’s going to be inside the counseling room, and I’ve moved a screen in there for her to sit behind because she doesn’t want anyone to see her; she doesn’t want anyone to know who she is. I told her you were going to bring a friend along, Mrs. Brewer, someone to give you support, and that’s fine with her, because I’ll be there giving Mary support, so she’ll have someone and you’ll have someone.

“Now as we discussed over the phone, Mary does not want to be tape recorded, but if you’d like to jot down any notes about times and places, that’s fine. She wants you to know what happened; she’s just very concerned about protecting her privacy.”

“We understand,” said Leslie.

“So what we’ll do is go down the hall to the counseling room, and I’ve arranged two chairs in there for you, on this side of the screen. We’ll go in, get you seated, and then I’ll go behind the screen to be with Mary. All right?”

They rose, and Mrs. Westfall led the way to the counseling room, passing a tight little office with a telephone, desk, copy machine, and literature, and then a large room filled with maternity clothes, baby clothes, toys, and folded cribs.

The last door on the right was the counseling room. Mrs. Westfall knocked lightly, said “Hello, we’re here,” and opened the door. Quietly,
as if approaching a timid deer, Leslie and Deanne went into the room and sat in the two chairs on the near side of a collapsible screen. Then Mrs. Westfall went behind the screen, out of sight.

“Mary,” she said, “I’d like you to meet Deanne Brewer, Annie’s mother.”

There was no response from behind the screen, so Deanne ventured a gentle “Hello, Mary.”

“Hello,” came a young woman’s voice.

“And Mrs. Brewer has a friend with her, Leslie Albright.”

“Hello,” Mary said first.

“Hello, Mary.”

Mrs. Westfall said, “Mary, why don’t you just tell Mrs. Brewer what happened, what you know, and then, if it’s all right with you, perhaps Mrs. Brewer or her friend Leslie would like to ask you some questions. You don’t have to answer any question you’re uncomfortable with, all right?”

“All right.” Then there was an awkward pause. They could hear the girl fidgeting, not knowing what to say.

Mrs. Westfall helped with, “You were a classmate of Annie’s, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“And . . . well, why don’t you tell them how you found out you were pregnant?”

“Mrs. Hannah told me.”

“And Mrs. Hannah is . . . ?”

“The nurse at school, at Jefferson.”

Leslie got out her notepad and started jotting down the details.

“And when was this?”

“Last year.”

“In May?”

“Yeah, it was on a Tuesday.” It sounded like Mrs. Westfall was looking at a calendar somewhere. “That would be . . . May 21st, right?”

“Right.”

“Tell us about that.”

“I thought I was pregnant, and so I went to see Mrs. Hannah, and she gave me a pregnancy test, and the test came out positive, and she asked me when my last period was and figured out I was about seven
weeks pregnant.”

“And how did you feel about that?”

“I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. But the first thing Mrs. Hannah said was, I didn’t have to tell my parents. She said nobody had to know and we could get me an abortion right away and nobody would have to find out about it.”

“And what about the father? Did he know?”

“No. I never told him. I don’t even talk to him anymore. I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing.”

“So . . . Mrs. Hannah told you you could get an abortion right away and that your parents wouldn’t have to know . . .”

“Yeah. And then she asked me if I had some money to pay for it, and I said no, but she said that was okay because she could file for state assistance and the state would pay for it, no questions asked. Mrs. Hannah had the forms right there in the office. So I never had to pay any money, and I think the clinic got paid a few months later, but they’re set up for that. Anyway, she set up an appointment for Friday and told me there’d be some other girls going.”

Deanne’s eyes began filling with tears.

“So,” Mrs. Westfall prompted, “did you go to school on Friday?”

“For the morning. And then, instead of having lunch, I went to Mrs. Hannah’s office, and then me and two other girls got on this van that came from the clinic and they took us over there and we got our abortions.”

Leslie asked, “And that was the Women’s Medical Center?”

“Uh-huh.”

Mrs. Westfall prompted, “And you knew the other two girls?”

“Yeah. One of them was Annie.”

Deanne tried not to make a sound, but she couldn’t keep from crying.

Mrs. Westfall asked, “Are you all right, Mrs. Brewer?”

Deanne could hardly answer. “I’m all right. I want to hear it.”

“We can stop for a moment.”

“No . . . no, I want to hear it. I
have
to hear it.”

Leslie took Deanne’s hand, and Deanne received her comfort.

“Go ahead . . . please,” Deanne said.

Mrs. Westfall asked Mary, “This is one of the big, important questions,
Mary. Did you see Annie receive an abortion at the Women’s Medical Center?”

“Not the whole thing.”

“Well, tell us what happened.”

“Well, the van took us there, and we went in and they had us fill out some forms—stuff about diseases we’ve had or drugs we were taking or allergies . . .”

“Well,” said Mrs. Westfall, “medical history, I suppose.”

“Yeah. And then there was a consent form that said we agreed to have the abortion and we were aware of the risks.”

“Did you read the form before you signed it?”

“I didn’t understand it, and I didn’t have time. Everybody was in a hurry. A bunch of other women and girls were there, and it just seemed like everybody was in a hurry. But there were some girls in the waiting room before us. They were already there when we got there, and they went first, and then . . . um . . . the other girl . . .”

“The one who wasn’t Annie?”

“Yeah. A counselor came and got her, and she went first . . .”

“What do you mean when you say a ‘counselor’?”

“Well, they had some women there who kind of took you through the whole thing. They answered your questions and tried to make you feel relaxed, things like that.”

“All right.”

“So then my counselor took me into one room, and when I was in there sitting on the table I could see Annie through the doorway, out in the hall with another counselor. They were going to put her in the room across the hall, and I remember her saying . . . well, I don’t want to say the other girl’s name, but see, the other girl was done, she was on her way to the recovery room, and Annie was talking to her, asking her how she was, and I remember Annie sounded scared.”