Grace in the Shadows

by Karon Ruiz

  Wide awake, Dalton felt a tug in his spirit to pray for each family member. He got to his feet and headed to the staircase. When he reached the landing, he entered the master bedroom. Curled up in a sleeveless nightie, Sammy had her back to him. Without touching her, he positioned his hand over her head and prayed silently. Give her back to me, Father. Show me what to do. He prayed another ten minutes then left the room.

  No surprise his son’s door was locked. Dalton pressed his hand against the wood and whispered, “Thank You for Gordy. I don’t deserve such a son.” He confessed his inadequacy as a father. He admitted again that his addiction had blinded him to the most formative years of his son’s life. “Time is short, Father. Restore what the locusts have eaten.”

  Grace’s door was wide open. Dalton couldn’t wait to plant kisses on her cheeks.

  When he entered her room, he stopped.

  Her bed was empty.

  Where was she?

  He looked around the room, making sure. But … the flashlight he’d left for a nightlight! It was gone too. Where could she be? Where would Grace go in the middle of the night, with a flashlight that had to be dimming with low batteries?

  Maybe to see her grandmother? He hurried down the stairs and tapped lightly on the office door.

  It took two raps before she stirred.

  “Just a minute,” Shirley said. The door creaked open. She’d thrown on her robe and carried a LED lantern. Her hair was chaotic and her eyes barely open.

  “Sorry, Shirl … uh … Mom. Is Grace with you?”

  “No, son.” The wave of the light affirmed what Dalton didn’t want to see. The other side of the hide-a-bed was empty. Shirley strode to the kitchen and he followed.

  “I just came from there,” Dalton called after her. “She’s not downstairs.”

  “Look on the patio. She loves looking at the moon.

  They both searched the outside with no success.

  “I’ll check the garage,” he said. “Would you look in the living room?”

  “I’m on it.” His mother-in-law headed inside.

  Dalton shone a light around the stacked boxes that nearly reached the garage ceiling as he called Grace’s name. When he got back to the patio, he heard Shirley call him.

  He found her peering through the double-door entryway.

  “It was open,” she said.

  They followed the walkway, aiming their lights. Grace’s Barbie doll lay face-down on the cement.

  He picked it up.

  A chill chased up his spine and air stalled in his lungs.

  ***

  “Sammy! Wake up. Grace is missing!” Dalton shook his wife’s shoulders.

  “Grace?” Sammy leaped out of bed and hurried to the landing, shouting the girl’s name as she ran. After she inspected the empty bedroom, Sammy knocked on their son’s door.

  “Gordy?” She pounded louder. “Gordy, open up!”

  The door opened. Gordy rubbed his eyes as Sammy pushed past. Dalton followed. She grabbed his flashlight and scanned the carpeted room, strewn with books and dirty clothes.

  “Where could she be?” Sammy flew down the stairs. Gordy and Shirley hurried after her. Dalton followed.

  At the bottom of the stairs, he heard Sammy calling their daughter as she ran from the living room to the kitchen to the den.

  “Listen to me, Sam!” Dalton hollered.

  After emerging from the den, Sammy dashed to the breakfast room, shouting, “She’s not here!”

  “Would you please slow down?” Dalton shouted.

  She stopped. Twisted around, glared at him. “What?”

  “Mom and I think she went outside.” He pointed to the open entryway, then handed her the Barbie. “I found it on the pavement.”

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Sammy grabbed the doll and barreled past him. He and the others ran after her.

  When he got outside, Sammy was frantically waving a flashlight near the paloverde trees on the edge of the driveway. “Grace!” she screamed. “Grace … where are you?” Her mother headed toward her.

  Dalton wheeled around to check out the opposite side of the house. He turned to Gordy. “Come on, son, let’s search near your mom’s cactus garden.”

  They sprinted through the dark, jumping over shrubs to an area in front of the living room where Sammy had planted an assortment of cacti. That’s when he saw them. Adult-size foot prints marked a muddy trail that looped through Sammy’s prized Century plants.

  They followed the prints through the prickly plants. “Watch out, Dad,” Gordy said, pointing to a jumping Cholla. They carefully navigated around the deadly bush.

  Then Dalton froze.

  His heart hammered. “Look, Gordy.” He pointed to the screen leaning against a shrub.

  When they drew closer to the house, Dalton swept the area near the open window with his flashlight. A cigarette butt poked out of a cakey footprint. Someone had been here, peering through his window. Standing … watching … long enough to finish a cigarette.

  “Go get Mom and your grandmother, quick!” he ordered his son.

  Gordy took off running, yelling, “Mom … Grams … over here!”

  Realization formed in his head. His daughter was missing.

  Oh Lord! Where is Grace? Please help us to find her.

  The window had been pried open. The nightmare he had in the E.R. flashed through his mind. “God … please … let her be okay.”

  This couldn’t be happening. Not to Grace. Not to Sammy.

  Was he being punished? Would—he gulped—Grace die? Was this what he got for depriving Matt of his last hours with Charity? Was this divine retribution?

  Words echoed through his head.

  You deserve this.

  You earned this.

  This will end badly.

  He shook himself. He had to stop it, pull himself together. Stop listening to that voice. It wasn’t God’s voice. It was the enemy.

  With every ounce of self-control, he pushed away all the thoughts, all the voices. He looked up at the starry sky. “I refuse to think that way. I know You’ve forgiven me,” he said. “Please, Father. Help me find her.”

  Moments later his family joined him, their frenzied light beams scoping the ground.

  When Sammy saw the screen and open window she pressed the Barbie to her chest and fell to the ground, screaming at the heavens. “Gra a a a c e! Dalton … someone has taken my baby!”

  Dalton ran to her, caught her arms and pulled her up. For a moment, she let him hold her. But only for a moment. She wiggled free.

  “Dad … Mom … what’s going on?” Gordy’s voice cracked.

  “This can’t be,” Shirley said.

  “What, Grams?” Gordy asked again. “What can’t be?”

  “Grace’s gone, son. The window’s wide open and there are footprints here.”

  Gordy stuck his face through the opening and looked, then twisted around. “We’ve got to call the cops, Dad. Now!”

  “The phones don’t work,” Sammy said. “We’ll drive into town.”

  Mom emerged from the darkness, handing Dalton a bottle. “I found it over there.” She pointed to a barberry bush.

  Dalton held it up and read the label. Desert Durum. The same kind he’d swigged in the mountains. From the bottle he’d taken from Matt.

  His mind raced, connecting some dots. Matt in the neighborhood earlier that day. The muddy footprints. The cigarette butt. Now, the liquor bottle.

  “Remember that fight I had with Matt Connor at the bus stop?” he asked. “He hit me with a whiskey bottle. This is the same brand.”

  “So?” Sammy asked.

  She didn’t see it. But he did. He knew the truth as well as he knew how undeserving he was of God’s forgiveness. “Matt took Grace.”

  “That can’t be … are you sure?” Her voice notched.

  “He told me he’d get even.” Dalton never imagined it wo
uld be something like this. “The man’s crazy. Come on, Gordy. Let’s go.”

  “Not without me,” Sammy said.

  Dalton shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “You don’t get a vote. I’m going.” She strode away, her back stiff with resolve.

  “Take her with you, Dalton,” Shirley said. “Gordy and I will go to the police station.”

  Within minutes his family had changed, climbed into their shoes, and collected car keys before congregating in the driveway, brandishing flashlights.

  By the time Dalton opened the VW’s back door and tucked his loaded Ruger into his pocket, Sammy had started the engine. He hopped into the passenger seat as she revved the motor before slamming it into first gear and barreling through the rocky gravel.

  “We’ll find her, honey.” Dalton touched her arm. She didn’t react, but shifted to second, leaving a wake of flying rock behind them. Dalton looked out the back window. Gordy and his grandmother kept a safe distance from airborne stones as they followed in the Olds.

  ***

  Samantha squinted through the windshield. The streets of McCormick were pitch black.

  Good thing Dalton hadn’t spoken since they’d left the house. They’d had a few tender moments back there when he’d held her, but as she drove through the dark, she ruminated through the past few days and became more and more angry. The man beside her had destroyed their marriage and now their daughter might be in the hands of a mad man.

  “You haven’t missed the turn, have you?” Dalton interrupted her thoughts.

  “I know where I’m going.”

  “Left on Jefferson. Two intersections, then left again.”

  “I know. I’ve been there a hundred times.” She bit her lip and tried to quell her emotions but finally let go. She turned to him and bit out, “If anything happens to Grace, I will never forgive you.”

  He didn’t look at her, hung his head.

  “You’ve ruined everything, Dalton. I’m not sure I even love you anymore.”

  There. She said it out loud. He needed to hurt the way she hurt.

  Silence ensued and she scrubbed a hand over her face. Why had she said that now? Please don’t hold this against me, Lord, she prayed. Find Grace. Please!

  Dalton twisted toward her. His expression was clouded with sadness. “I understand your feelings, Sammy. I only hope that’s not true.”

  “If you hadn’t ripped people off and hurt that grieving father, God wouldn’t be punishing me.”

  “That’s what you think?”

  “Of course.” She pressed the brake as they approached Caliente Drive.

  “He’s not punishing you.”

  “Sure feels like it.” Sammy stopped, scanned both sides of the intersection before easing the Volkswagen through. “Our family’s lost everything. And now … Grace … I don’t even want to think about what could happen to her. God must have turned His back or this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “God loves you, Sammy.”

  “I don’t feel very loved.”

  “He’s not to blame for what I’ve done. He gave us free will. I abused it.”

  “Don’t, Dalton.” He had the gall to preach at her?

  Life made no sense.

  Hadn’t she been faithful? Hadn’t she served other people and given to the needy? And what was her reward? An addict and a thief for a husband and now her innocent daughter in the hands of a lunatic. She stopped at Desperado and turned left.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Desperado

  _________________________________________________________

  Thursday, 2:35 a.m.

  Connor Home

  “Park there.” Dalton pointed to the ranch-style home that neighbored the Connor’s. Sammy pulled the VW next to a stone wall that jutted around a circular driveway. The stretch of desert separating the residences would hopefully conceal their approach. Dalton patted the gun in his pocket, grabbed a flashlight from the floor, then faced his wife.

  “Would you pray with me?” he asked.

  “Of course.” Her tone, more conciliatory, was not inviting. But she agreed. He’d take it.

  He took her hands in his and pleaded for help from on High.

  Once he was done, Sammy snapped her hands back and climbed out of the van. Dalton followed her through the field using the flashlight to navigate around the cactus. When they reached the Connor’s driveway, he turned off the light.

  “You stay here,” he said in the calmest voice he could manage.

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  He let out a heavy sigh. He deserved this, but could she put it on hold? At least for the time being. “Can you please keep watch over there?” Dalton gestured toward a stone wall sandwiched between the front window and the entryway.

  She walked to the wall and leaned against it. She stared at him with her best fight face, but her trembling betrayed her. “I feel so useless out here. I need to find her.”

  “Having a second set of eyes will help,” he encouraged.

  Dalton crept through the carport. He recognized Matt’s old Buick with a tent trailer hitched behind. He took guarded steps. Sweat dribbled inside his t-shirt. Seeing a beam from a flashlight, Dalton dove in front of the wagon’s front bumper.

  Peering past the headlight, he saw Matt coming his way. Dalton twisted around, rushed to the car’s opposite side and crouched in some weeds near a fence. He crawled toward the back. The tent camper leaned to one side.

  Creak! The sound of a door opening startled him. He popped his head up and peeked. Matt disappeared into the shed. Dalton flicked on his light and looked through the trailer’s window. Several boxes towered to the canvas ceiling. From the black letter labeling they contained food and camping supplies. The one that said, “Charity’s clothes” filled him with dread. What was this man up to? Goose flesh spread across his arms. His fingers tingled as he gripped the gun and switched off the light.

  When Matt appeared at the camper’s door, Dalton ducked, gripping the Ruger.

  ***

  Samantha’s agitation escalated. Dread crawled up her arms and snaked around her chest. She was wasting time out here doing nothing. She had to find Grace. She peered around the corner into a long driveway. Matt’s station wagon was parked near the back. Dalton was nowhere in sight.

  She stood a moment in indecision, then hurried around to the opposite side of the house. Yes, just as she’d hoped. A wooden gate led to the backyard. Except when she fished for a latch, she found a padlock.

  Samantha sucked in a deep breath and hoisted herself, only to fall backwards, landing in a muddy puddle. She got up, wiped away the sludge on her backside, then took a running leap. She pulled herself to the top, scraping her stomach. She gritted her teeth, toppled over, slammed her sore knee against pavement.

  “Owwww!” Samantha smothered the cry of pain, got to her feet, and hobbled toward the backyard.

  Rounding a corner, she looked around the yard. She’d been here on more than one occasion, including a few of Charity’s birthday parties. A sliding glass door near the patio framed one side of the Connors’s family room. She tugged at the locked screen, then meshed her face against it and peered through. Nothing moved inside.

  She turned to the yard again, searching for another option. The bright red Dutch door caught her eye. The back door that led to the kitchen. Relief swept over her. She skirted around a patio table, then twisted the doorknob. Unlocked. She slipped into the laundry room.

  ***

  Matt thought he heard a noise while loading the last box. Probably a cat but he couldn’t take any chances. Not with his precious girl inside. He entered the shed and got to his knees. Then he crawled out, hugging the ground, using the camper as a shield.

  Peering past a tire he saw a silhouette of a man gripping a pistol.

  Matt scanned the carport. He needed a weapon. A stack of used brick from when he pulled down the d
ecrepit old fire pit was piled near the fence. Perfect. He grabbed one, studied his target, and heaved the brick at the stranger’s head.

  Crack! The intruder toppled over, letting out a loud groan.

  Matt lunged at him, seizing the gun from a limp hand, then tipped the man’s face into the moonlight.

  Baxter!

  He pushed the unconscious minister’s head into the dirt. He lingered over him imagining what he’d like to do to him. But there was no time. If Baxter knew his plans there was a good chance others did too. Waiting till morning was no longer an option. He had to find Carla and leave before sunup.

  ***

  Moonlight spilled through the kitchen window. Samantha inched her way forward, crouching across ceramic tile. When she reached the end of a granite island, she peeked into the family room. A small form, covered with a quilt, slept on the Connor’s sofa. Slivers of moonlight splashed over the patchwork. Long golden curls glistened in the light.

  She placed a hand on Grace’s arm. “Grace!” She spoke softly but with urgency. “Honey, wake up!”

  “Mommy?” Grace rubbed her eyes. Samantha scooped her baby into her arms and hugged her tight. “Come on, we have to hurry.” She yanked her daughter’s hand, pulled her to her feet, in the direction of the sliding glass window.

  “Be very quiet, Grace.” Samantha whispered.

  “Stop!”

  Samantha twisted. Matt loomed in the shadows, pointing a gun at them. Samantha shoved Grace behind her.

  “Give me my daughter!” he commanded again. “Now!”

  His daughter? The man had gone over the edge, delusional in his grief. “Matt … ” She’d have to tread lightly. And where was Dalton? Was Matt waving Dalton’s gun around? Oh, God, help us! “Matt. This isn’t Charity. This is Grace.”

  Matt moved closer, aiming the pistol. Yes, Dalton’s Ruger.

  Terror tightened her throat, strangling her breath. “What have you done with Dalton?”

  He ignored her. He leaned to the side, looking for Grace still behind Samantha. “Come to Daddy, Charity-bug.”