A Future and a Hope

by David Mathews

  “The number’s not in service,” Caleb muttered dejectedly. “Go figure.”

  “I’m sorry, Caleb. That’s disappointing, I know.” She set the basket of clothes on the counter, walked over to him, and gave him a hug. “It’s not the end of the world. A minor setback, perhaps. Just a bump in the road, that’s all.”

  “A bump?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. “Mom, all it’s been for the past six weeks is one bump after another. I’m sick and tired of bumps. This road I’m on is shaking me to pieces.”

  His mother looked him squarely in the eye. “Caleb, what makes you think you’re the only one on this road right now?” The sharpness of her question pierced his grumbling spirit. “Have you seen your father lately? How tired he looks? How his shoulders sag? He’s spent every bit as much time on this bumpy road as you have. Maybe even more. And he’s not complained one time, to my knowledge.”

  Caleb felt ashamed for his self-pity. He’d seen the strain on his father’s face, and the heartbreak and concern in his mother and sister. Ellie’s disappearance was taking its toll on all of them. He reached out and grabbed his mother, enveloping her in his arms.

  “Mom, I’m so sorry. I know it’s been just as hard on you guys. And I know you love her as much as I do.”

  She smiled at him. “Yes I do. I think the world of Ellie. She’s a real treasure.” She picked up the basket of clothes. “Caleb, you remember Proverbs three, five and six, don’t you?”

  “Sure. ‘Trust in the LORD with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.’”

  His mother tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “Well?”

  He thought about the verses. They were the words of King Solomon imparting wisdom to his son.

  “I take it you’re telling me that God is going to straighten out this bumpy road I’m on, right?”

  “Yes, I am. And yes, He is. As long as you acknowledge Him in all your ways. Give God the glory when the road is smooth and when it’s not. He’s in control of it all.”

  Caleb couldn’t help but grin at his mother. “Even the bumps?”

  She laughed. “Even the bumps.” Then she headed down the hallway to put away the laundry.

  “Caleb, I have good news.” His father was calling from his insurance office in downtown Baxter. “I talked to Mr. Thornberg this morning, and he just called me back. He’s located the current phone number and address for Ellie’s father.”

  “Really? That was fast,” Caleb replied, somewhat out of breath. He was lying on the living room carpet doing his stretching exercises and upper body cardio when his father’s call came. “Where did he find them?”

  “The Fulton County Criminal Court records, of all places. Apparently Ellie’s father is required to keep his contact information current with the county.”

  “Ellie’s father has a criminal record? Did he say what for?” Caleb sat up on the floor with the phone to his ear.

  “He mentioned public intoxication, petty theft, forgery, check kiting, and insurance fraud. Non-violent crimes. But he served time for the last three, though. And he’s also got a number of DUIs in several states.”

  “Doesn’t sound like a very nice guy. I hope he’s treating Ellie right,” Caleb muttered. “Dad, why would a man like that snatch away a daughter he hasn’t seen or cared about in twenty years?”

  “That’s something we all want to know, son. And hopefully we’ll have an answer soon. Are you ready for the information?”

  “Just a minute.” Mindful of his still-mending bones, Caleb reached carefully for his crutches and gingerly got on his feet. He hobbled into the office and grabbed a Post-it note and pen. “Okay, give it to me.” He jotted down the phone number and address. “Got it. Thanks, Dad. Tell Mr. Thornberg thanks for me, too, will you?”

  “I’ll be sure to do that. But son, before you make the call, let me caution you. This man is a convicted criminal. So please be careful. And don’t do anything illegal.”

  “I will. And I won’t. Do anything illegal, that is.”

  His father chuckled over the phone. “That’s good. Listen, Caleb, why don’t we pray together before you make the call?”

  Just as he had done the previous evening, Caleb placed a call to John C. Smith. Armed with the new number supplied by the lawyer, he was cautiously optimistic that he’d soon have the information about Ellie he’d so desperately pursued over the past six weeks.

  The phone rang three times, and then was answered.

  “This is John. I can’t take your call. Leave your name and number. I’ll call you back.”

  The gruff voice was flat, almost sullen, showing no emotion at all. Caleb tried pairing the voice with the description Jim McCready had given him, but the mental picture he came up with was a very vague one.

  The “bee-eep” of the answering machine informed Caleb that it was his turn to speak. Finally, he was making first contact with the mystery man. With a slight tremble in his voice, he spoke into his phone.

  “Um . . . Mr. Smith? My name is Caleb Sawyer. I’m your daughter’s fiancé and I’ve been desperately trying to find her since the accident. Make that frantically trying to find her. I’m sure you have a very good reason for removing her from the hospital in Columbus, but I can’t understand why you won’t let me know how she is or where she is. If you could just put yourself in my shoes, you’d understand how awful the past six weeks have been. My family and I are really hurting right now. Please, if you would just return my call as soon as possible and let me know how Ellie’s doing or where she’s at, I’d be truly grateful. I love her and I really miss her. So does my family and all her friends. By the way, I’m not angry with you or anything. I just want to—”

  “Bee-eep!” The tone interrupted him mid-sentence, informing him that the recording had ended.

  Caleb slowly lowered his phone. Well, that was that. He’d done everything he could. Sometime soon, maybe within the next few minutes even, John C. Smith would discover how badly he missed Ellie. And how badly he needed to hear from her.

  Hopefully, his appeal would find a soft spot in her father’s heart and cause him to quickly return the call. That is, if there was a soft spot in the man’s heart.

  All afternoon and into the evening he nervously waited for his phone to ring. Perhaps Ellie’s father was at work, or didn’t have his cell phone with him.

  A dozen possibilities ran through Caleb’s head. In spite of the doubt that continually nibbled away at his optimism, he clung to the hope that John Smith might have been touched by his heartfelt plea, just as Ellie had been touched four years ago when she showed up at Edwards to meet him after reading the note he’d placed in her locker door.

  Around eight o’clock, unable to stand the suspense any longer, he called a second time. Again, he was forced to leave a message.

  Caleb tossed and turned that night. He found himself back in the hospital, bandaged from head to toe like a mummy, with just his face showing. Ellie passed by him in a wheelchair. She was battered and bruised.

  He staggered after her down the long, eerily-lit corridor. Suddenly, a man with curly brown hair and diamond studs in both ears jumped out of the shadows. He grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and rushed her toward an elevator at the far end of the hall. He pushed the button and turned Ellie around to back in.

  The doors opened. To Caleb’s horror, there was no elevator. Only a gaping shaft. He shouted a warning, but no sound came out. Flashing a wicked grin, the man stepped back. Ellie reached out both hands toward Caleb, silently pleading for him to save her, but he couldn’t reach her in time. The wheelchair toppled backward and disappeared down the shaft.

  Caleb bolted upright and looked around. He was no longer wrapped in bandages, but entangled in bed sheets and drenched in sweat. He took a long, cool drink from the water bottle on his nightstand.

  The nightmare had been so real. Too real. He glanced at the clock. 12:47 AM.
This was going to be a long night.

  Caleb awoke late Saturday morning, only to be greeted by a headache, chills, and a temperature of a hundred and two. His body ached all over, especially his left leg where the rod had been implanted. His mother gave him two ibuprofen and a cold washcloth for his forehead.

  He slept off and on until three that afternoon, too exhausted to even get out of bed. But he kept his phone within reach, just in case.

  By evening, the headache and chills were gone, and his temperature had dropped to one hundred point eight. He felt well enough to down some chicken soup, but he still ached. The tension of the past few days had finally overtaken him. At nine forty-five he was ready to call it a day. But before turning out the light, he made another attempt to reach John Smith. He was not surprised at all when the call went to voice mail. This time, however, he left a more forceful message.

  Sunday morning, his mother wanted to stay home from church with him. His temperature had all but vanished, and the ibuprofen had done its job on the aches and pains.

  “Mom, I’m fine, really,” he insisted. “I don’t need you to stay with me.” He grinned at her. “I’m a big boy now.”

  “Alright,” she conceded. “But can I get you a drink or some reading material before we go?”

  “No thanks. I’ll probably sleep the whole time anyway.” His parents and Cassie left soon after that. Lying in bed, in the quietness of the empty house, he found himself wondering what he should do if John Smith continued to ignore his calls. No matter. He would keep knocking on the door until it opened. Literally, if he had to. He’d give Ellie’s father one more day to respond, and then he’d pay the man a visit.

  He’d have someone drive him to Atlanta. B.J. perhaps, or his father.

  Caleb allowed his emotions to rise to the surface. But soon they boiled over.

  The more he thought about John Smith, the more he detested him. The despicable low-life had, with cruel and malicious intent, spirited away his fiancée without so much as a shred of human decency. The man needed to be confronted. Held accountable for his actions. And justice for Ellie needed to be served.

  Caleb reached for his cell phone and forcefully punched the redial button. This was the jerk’s last chance!

  The phone rang once and went straight to voice mail.

  “Bee-eep.”

  “Mr. Smith, this is Caleb Sawyer again. I don’t know why you haven’t returned my calls, but I’m through with this little game you’re playing. And I’m through being nice about it. I’m giving you until tonight to call me back, or else tomorrow morning I’m driving up to Atlanta, and I will track you down and I will confront you face-to-face. I’m not going to let this thing go, count on it. I’m going to find out where Ellie is, one way or another!” He paused for dramatic effect. “You have until tonight.”

  This time, Caleb disconnected the call before the recording ended.

  The ring tone of Caleb’s cell phone jarred him out of his daze. It was Sunday evening, and he was lying on the living room sofa, more asleep than awake.

  His caller ID revealed the Atlanta number of John Smith. Aware that his hands were trembling, Caleb steeled himself and took the call.

  “Hello?”

  There was a short pause on the other end. Then the gruff sounding man from the voice mail recording spoke. “Are you Caleb Sawyer?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is John Smith.”

  Caleb was primed and ready to restate his ultimatum to Ellie’s father. To stand his ground and not back down. But the reality and relief that he was finally speaking with the real John Smith hit him hard, and gratitude overtook his anger.

  “Mr. Smith, I really appreciate you calling me back. You can’t even begin to imagine how much I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

  To his utter surprise, the voice on the other end suddenly took on the same conciliatory tone. “You’re right, I’m sure I can’t. I apologize for not contacting you sooner.”

  Now that was unexpected. An apology up front? It knocked him back on his heels for a moment. He’d been prepared to demand answers and make threats. But now . . . now he wasn’t so sure. With his dad’s warning ringing in his ears, he decided to take a softer approach.

  “Sir, why haven’t you given us any information about Ellie?” he pleaded. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

  John Smith hesitated again before replying. “I know you want answers. But would you allow me to explain myself first?”

  Caleb sighed impatiently. At least the man was cooperating. That was more than he’d anticipated. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

  Ellie’s father launched into the reasons for his actions. It sounded rehearsed, almost as if he were reading his lines from a carefully crafted script.

  “For the past few years, I’ve been wondering about my daughter, where she is and how she’s doing. I’ve been feeling really guilty and ashamed for not stepping up and being a part of her life, and I’ve been thinking recently about trying to reconnect with her. Then one day, I was in the lobby of this hotel in downtown Atlanta, and I happened to be admiring a row of pictures on the wall. The artwork was incredible. I remember thinking that the artist must be very gifted. You can imagine my shock and amazement when I saw that the artist was Ellie Thompson, my own daughter! After that, I really wanted to find her. But I was hesitant because I knew she’d probably be angry with me for abandoning her. I was afraid she would want nothing to do with me if I contacted her.

  “But then in December, I heard about the accident on the five o’clock news. When they mentioned her name as one of the victims, I felt compelled to finally do the right thing. I immediately drove down to Columbus to show my support for her. When I got to Good Sam and learned the extent of her injuries, I determined to take responsibility for her, hoping that through my show of compassion she might eventually allow me back into her life. My decision to transfer her to an Atlanta hospital was so that she could receive better care from the specialists there, and so I could be nearby to supervise her care and recovery.”

  Caleb interjected himself into John’s explanation. “But why have you kept us in the dark all this time? Do you have any idea what that’s done to me? To my family?”

  Ellie’s father sounded genuinely penitent. “I can only beg your forgiveness for that, now. You see, my guilt over not being in her life, and my fear of losing her again got the best of me. I wish I could give you a more legitimate reason than that, but I can’t. When the hospital informed me that another family was there who were somehow involved in her life, I panicked. I was afraid they’d take her away from me and I’d lose my one chance to get back into her life. I assumed it must be one of her foster families. Yeah, I’ve heard all about them. I know how they treated her. But honestly, I didn’t know she was engaged until you called a few days ago and identified yourself as her fiancé.”

  Caleb wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily. “Then why did you wait until now to return my calls? Why didn’t you call me right back and tell me where she is? Explain that!” he demanded forcefully.

  There was a long silence from John Smith. So long, in fact, that Caleb feared he’d crossed the line. Pushed the man too hard. Wasn’t he finally being forthright and open up to now? What if he reacted by getting angry and shutting down altogether?

  Caleb quickly backtracked. “I . . . I didn’t mean to sound so demanding.”

  Ellie’s father finally answered. He spoke haltingly, as if he didn’t want to share what he was about to say. There was an alarming sadness in his voice.

  “Ever since your first call, I, um . . . I’ve been trying to figure out how to explain this to you. How to prepare you for this.”

  A foreboding chill shot down Caleb’s spine, and his heart beat faster. “Prepare me for what?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

  “When Ellie was brought to Atlanta, she was in serious condition. But after those first few weeks she started showing signs of improvement. Mo
vement in her hands and feet, that sort of thing. The doctors said they were encouraged and cautiously optimistic about her chances for recovery. But then she took an unexpected turn for the worst. I was told it had to do with the type of trauma her brain had suffered. A delayed symptom of some sort. I don’t remember the exact term for it.”

  He took a deep breath and exhaled before continuing. “Caleb, there’s no good way to tell you this, but . . . but Ellie never regained consciousness.” His voice choked up. “I’m afraid she didn’t make it, son. She . . . she passed away two weeks ago.”

  The shock wave of that statement hit Caleb with the force of a nuclear bomb blast. His mind and body went numb. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.

  The cell phone slipped from his hand and fell to the living room carpet with a muffled thud. Then the aftershock of reality hit.

  “No . . . ” he moaned softly. “No, no, no!” He violently shook his head in disbelief.

  “That can’t be true. It’s not true!” He grabbed his hair with clenched fists.

  From somewhere deep within him, a whimper rose. It grew and developed into a low, painful groan, slowly building in volume and intensity until at last, unable to carry the weight any longer, he delivered a full-term, agonizing wail.

  “NO-O-O-O-O-O-O!”

  Caleb’s blood-curdling scream brought his parents rushing into the room. He sat hunched over on the edge of the sofa with his head in his hands, rocking back and forth violently, and moaning to himself. His terrified mother flew to his side and tried to cradle his head in her arms.

  “Caleb, what is it? What’s happened?” she cried.

  He continued the rocking motion. Agonizing groans of “No, no, no!” spasmodically slipped past his lips.

  His father noticed the cell phone on the floor and picked it up. He held it to his ear. “Hello! Hello?”

  He knelt down on his knees and tried to remove Caleb’s hands from his head.

  “Was that Ellie’s father on the phone just now?” he asked gently. “What did he say, son?” Caleb continued to rock without answering. “Bad news about Ellie?”