The Light at the End of the Tunnel (22 page)

A mind photograph of golden yellow splashed
into her thoughts. Where had she seen that? Oh, yes. Due to most of
their searching taking place much farther west, where the autumn
colors weren’t so spectacular as east of the Mississippi, they had
often seen golden groves of aspen, contrasted by the dark green of
evergreens. Not often had they strayed from their quest, but if
they managed to get even close to the mountains, occasionally, they
would take a side trip just for the scenery. They did one time make
it to the Platt River to see the sandhill Crane migration.

That had been spectacular. But all those
could-have-been-romantic times and nothing from the chaplain,
nothing but the perfection of gentleman. But thinking back she
realized they
were
romantic, for the simple reason that he
had been such a gentleman.

They had experienced plenty of winter snow
too…she saw Mrs. Tommerdahl approaching. This was the third day she
had shadowed the lady from a distance. To school with her children,
to the Laundromat, to the grocery, to Walmart, the lady put on a
few miles every day. But at two PM she had always came to the park
just to rest and watch the birds and squirrels.

She had always came to the bench where Nicole
now sat, hoping her presence would not scare the lady away…but why
should it? Mrs. Tommerdahl was friendly with everyone she met, and
helpful, and kind to senior citizens and young children she didn’t
even know. The more she had watched the lady the less she could
believe that such an angel of a person could ever abandon a child,
no matter what the child had done. And what on earth could an
infant even
do
?

But then she remembered her own baptism. What
could an infant do? Plenty, she guessed.

“Hi!” Mrs. Tommerdahl stopped just about five
feet away, “I hope you know you’re sitting on my spot.”

“I—“ Nicole was so surprised, and relieved at
Mrs. Tommerdahl’s friendliness, that, for a second or two she was
speechless.

“No problem, dear,” Mrs. Tommerdahl added, “I
actually had hoped for some company, as my kids both have
extracurricular activities today, so I’ll have an extra hour and a
half to sit, so, I hope you can stay for a while.”

“I can,” Nicole said, “My husband is extra
busy on the computer today so I thought I’d get out and enjoy the
fall colors.”

“Oh, I just love the fall colors!” Mrs.
Tommerdahl sat, “And these sugar maples are just gorgeous, but even
the maples can’t stand up against the mountain ash, as they have
all these colors plus shades of purple!”

And they talked on, for a whole thirty or
forty minutes or so about just fall colors, birds and squirrels,
just generally about the wonders of nature. At last Mrs. Tommerdahl
brought up her children, how many she had, their ages, how much she
adored them, “How about you, dear? Do you have children?”

“No, I—my husband and I—have discussed
adopting this young girl we met at a foster home.” Immediately
Nicole wished she had thought of something else to say, or at least
a better way of saying it, but, wait, she
was
glad to share
her feelings about Cassandra, because from the first moment of
meeting the girl she had felt a matronly love for her.

“Foster home? Well, it’s, of course, none of
my business but…well, I guess I just wonder why…a foster home? I
mean, and, if you know the foster parents, why would you want to
adopt their foster daughter?—Oh my!” Mrs. Tommerdahl threw her hand
to her mouth, “I apologize for such inquisitiveness!”

“It’s all right.” At least the woman had
allowed her time to think, “Our friends, the parents, don’t have
children of their own. They aren’t…
exactly
—good
parents—
oh!
They aren’t cruel by any means, they just don’t
know how, and, in my mind, they were never
meant
to have
children. I don’t understand how Family Services even approved
them.”

“So, where is this girl? Where are you
from?”

Where were they from? She didn’t have an
answer. They had been traveling so much that neither really had an
address, and she couldn’t use Riley Stokes’ ranch in Arizona. The
chaplain, of course, was from right there in Bradleyville, although
he no longer had a residence, and she didn’t want this woman to
think she had a brand new local friend.

How had their conversation shifted to her,
anyway?
She
was the detective, for Pete’s sake, but she had
no idea how to dig herself out—

“Oh my, there I am asking questions
again.”

“No, it’s all right.” Again she had received
a few seconds to think, “We haven’t been married that long—we just
came from Las Vegas—“

“Ooooh! I’d love to visit Las Vegas. Did you
gambol too?”

“A little.” And again the conversation went
far from where Nicole wanted it to go, but then, she also had no
idea how to broach such a subject as abandoning a child, plus she
was beginning to suspect that Donna Tommerdahl could no more
abandon an infant than she herself could.

But she herself
could
. She didn’t like
thinking of herself in such a way but she was sure that she
could
. Baptism by urine was bad enough, but the smirk from
the little shit sealed the deal—
yes!
That child she could
abandon in a
minute
!—Right after
strangling
him!

“I love my two children,” Mrs. Tommerdahl
said, slipping into a sort of melancholy mood, “I often wonder
about my first born though…what he would be like today?”

“First born?” Nicole couldn’t believe the
direction the conversation had suddenly taken, “A boy? What
happened to him?”

“He died, at just two weeks, from that…crib
syndrome thing.”

But there’s no death certificate! What is
the truth, Mrs. Tommerdahl?

“I signed the death certificate myself,” Mrs.
Tommerdahl continued, “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to
keep such things out of the public record?”

“I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t. Most people probably
don’t mind, and many maybe don’t even know the amount of personal
information that goes online…without any kind of permission!”

“You’re certainly right about that,” Nicole
said, but the vein was open, and Mrs. Tommerdahl had opened it,
“This of course is none of my business, but, why wouldn’t you want
your child’s death certificate to go online?”

“Because it’s nobody’s business! My son is
buried right over there.” She pointed.

A cemetery across the street. Nicole had not
noticed, and why would she have thought anything about it had she
noticed?

“I come here almost every day, just to be
near him for a short time.” Tears appeared. The very kind and
personable lady pulled a handkerchief quickly from her purse and
dabbed her eyes.

Nicole moved closer and put her arm around
her shoulders, “I’m sorry. Losing a child has to be the worst thing
a mother can face.” And that answered her question. Kenneth and
Donna Tommerdahl did
not
abandon their infant son in
Nebraska. So who
did
?

****

“I had to look for a while,” Nicole said,
“But I found the grave, Radford: Stanley Tommerdahl, and the date
was right. It said
‘Our Angel Who Lived Only Two Weeks.’

“So we’re back to square one,” the chaplain
said.

“Not quite. When I saw the grave and knew the
Tommerdahls hadn’t done it, something occurred to me.”

“That the marker could have been faked, yes,
but…what are you thinking?”

“We—
you
, Radford—you assumed that the
baby Les Paul was born again as soon as he was put to death, but
what if the spark of his presence just entered the new beginning of
a child? What if he just dived into that uniting of the sperm and
egg? That would place his birth nine months farther down the
road.”

“Or from six to ten months. Babies are born
early and late, correct?”

“Yes. But not
this
baby,” Nicole said,
“I suspect Les Paul was born on schedule: nine months to the
day.

Chaplain Radford Ohare looked at his new
bride with a wholly new respect, “You are one hot woman, my
dear.”

Chapter 35
Juvie

In the darkened theater Les Paul squeezed
into the row next to an older boy. If they stood next to each other
the older boy would stand several inches taller. Les Paul liked the
idea of another older boy to learn from, as Jasper had turned out
to be a real weenie, “What’s the movie?” he asked.

The older boy looked at him but did not
smile. His face changed not at all, “The Green Mile.”

“What’s it about?”

This time the older boy’s face changed, but
not to a smile, “Prison! Now shut the fuck up!”

“Okay….” He barely mouthed the word, and then
faced the screen where previews were still playing. He was glad to
be out of jail, but surprised at where they had taken him. A
juvenile detention center they had said. He wasn’t sure what a
juvenile was, but figured he soon would find out, and hoped the
older boy would allow the two of them to become friends.

Time passed and a very disturbing movie scene
began. A character he had actually begun to like was sitting in a
chair, a strange-looking, different kind of chair, and in shackles,
and the poor guy did not look happy…, “What’s gonna happen?” he
asked.

“They’re gonna electrocute him.” The older
boy grinned, “Watch! It’ll be funny!”

As he watched the events taking place on the
screen he began remembering—but barely—a recent memory where he
himself had also been strapped into a chair, much like the one in
the movie—

In the movie the man at the switchbox pulled
the lever down and current started moving through the man in the
chair. From his memory he could almost feel it going through
himself…it actually seemed to begin to hurt—

The man in the chair began to jerk. His face
began to contort. Les Paul began to feel pain too, much pain as the
electricity poured through the man’s body on the screen. He chanced
a glance at the older boy beside him.

The older boy’s face was a mask of grin,
grinning so hard he looked like he would soon burst—

The man on the screen finally stopped
jerking. Les Paul looked around. Some of the other boys were
leaving, one was crying, another puking—right from his chair—others
of the boys were laughing, and yelling, “Weenie-asses!”

“Babies!”

“Wusses!”

He didn’t know what to think. He had watched
the man die too, but it had not affected him as it had the other,
younger, boys, the ones who left. It crossed his mind to wonder why
it had
not
affected him. After all, he had come to
like
the character, so, to a point, it should have affected
him. It crossed his mind to wonder, but he didn’t, instead said,
“Bunch of cry-babies, huh?”

The older boy turned to him, his grin wide,
“You’re all right, kid, but we’ll talk after the movie, so keep
watching, and—again—shut the fuck up!” The grin went sour as he
turned away.

Les Paul decided he better do as told. This
guy was no Jasper. He felt his education was truly about to
begin.

****

The sun shone bright. The wind blew strong
from the northeast. A good direction, for he knew their man scent
would blow away from the mammoth herd. The creatures would not
smell them, or see them sneaking closer and closer until it was too
late, and their lances would be in at least two of the smaller
animals.

He was not the chieftain of the clan but he
was a leader. The people, including the chieftain, listened to his
words, but did not always follow them.

“
Who are those strangers?” he asked the
chieftain.

The chieftain didn’t know, “They appeared
this morning begging for food,” the chieftain said, “And we fed
them. Your hearth is distant, so you did not see their hunger.”

“
And the woman?”

“
She appears to be their leader, and said
they came from far to the south, where the great sea is.”

“
Do they want to join us?”

“
They haven’t said,” the chieftain
answered, “But I asked them to join the hunt. We can use their
extra lances. We might even bring down three of the beasts, and
then we can feast as well as prepare for winter.”

“
I do not trust them.”

“
Why?” the chieftain asked, “They have
done us no harm, and do not appear to be troublemakers, not like
those from the mountains.”

“
True, that time we were lucky to chase
them away and they did not come back. These three men, and the
woman too, look much stronger, like they will take what they
want.”

“
You worry too much, my friend. We will
let them join our hunt, and then we will see.”

The hunt happened…
Les Paul slowly
began coming out of the memory. He saw much dust and heard much
trumpeting and saw much blood as the beasts were attacked and
killed. He didn’t see the four strangers again and wondered about
them…and wondered about his suspicion of them—
why
—was he
suspicious? He felt they vaguely looked familiar too, and he felt
certain they were dangerous, and he felt strangely unfulfilled,
like the memory was not finished, and it bothered him. Normally he
just shook his head and forgot.

Strange how those memories that weren’t even
his could sometimes feel so close to his present day situation. The
recent memory put him with other people, his tribe, or clan. And
today he was with other boys, some younger, some older, but, yes,
this was like a tribe, or a clan, too. He felt like he belonged
here. And his new good friend, Pierce, had been speaking…

“You are one dumb little fucker,” Pierce
said, “Rape does not mean what you think—Cripes, what a dumb little
shit you are!”