In Things Unseen

by Gar Anthony Haywood

  Still, Michael couldn’t imagine what he might say to Carrillo to appease her. Adrian’s teacher was standing on his front porch now, less than an hour after he had left Diane’s, and there was no time for Michael to decide what was or wasn’t safe to say to her. She had brought her boyfriend along with her, so being completely honest with the woman was the very least of Michael’s options.

  “I guess you know why I’m here,” Carrillo said, after offering Michael an insincere apology for this impromptu late-night visit.

  “I think so,” Michael said, glancing at the grim-faced young man standing beside her. Elliott, he’d said his name was. Heroically handsome and steeled with confidence, he was already reading Michael’s eyes for the slightest hint of disingenuousness. “Diane told me you’d been by to see her today. How are you feeling?”

  Carrillo went rigid. With a bitter smile, she said, “Frankly, I feel lousy. How do you think I feel?”

  Michael said nothing.

  “I’ve gone through hell since yesterday morning and things will only get worse if you don’t help me.”

  “Me? How can I help?”

  “By telling me the truth. With Elliott here as my witness. Adrian has been gone for almost a year and the three of us all know it: you, your wife, and me. You led everyone to believe he died in an accident at Lakeridge Park. I don’t know how and I don’t know why, but. . . .” Carrillo paused. “You did.

  “Then yesterday, you sent him back to school like nothing ever happened, and of course I reacted as you would expect. I was terrified.”

  Michael offered no response.

  “Are you going to deny it?”

  “Deny what?”

  “That you faked Adrian’s death!”

  Michael glanced at Carrillo’s friend, to let him know how much sympathy he had for them both. “I’m afraid I have no choice.”

  “You have no choice?”

  “I can’t admit to something that’s so obviously untrue, Miss Carrillo.”

  “Bullshit!”

  The man named Elliott reached out to take her arm. “Laura—”

  “No!” She jerked free of him. “He’s lying. He knows he’s lying!” She began to cry. To Michael, she said, “You want everyone to believe it’s a ‘miracle.’ That Adrian was dead and now he’s alive, just because God made it so. But it’s a trick. A hoax. And I’m not leaving here tonight until I hear you say it!”

  Michael fell silent again, the way he might have while arguing with a lunatic. He turned his attention once more to Elliott, whose growing discomfort was impossible to miss.

  “My fiancé is not in the habit of making wild accusations, Mr. Edwards,” Carrillo’s boyfriend said. “And I don’t believe she’s suddenly lost her mind. I admit what she’s describing sounds incredible, but if she says you and your wife know more about what happened to her at school yesterday than you’re admitting, I’ve got to believe her.”

  Michael gave him an even look. “Are you saying you do believe her?”

  Any hesitation on Jeffries’s part would have been enough to answer the question, but that and his need to reset his jaw before speaking again left no doubt.

  “Yes,” he said, and Michael couldn’t remember ever hearing a man tell a more courageous, and unconvincing, lie.

  “You think Diane and I faked our son’s death eight months ago, then just decided to send him back to school yesterday because. . .because what? What reason could we have possibly had to do such a thing?”

  Of course, Elliott had no ready answer, leaving him to color with embarrassment as he wilted under Carrillo’s withering gaze.

  Michael turned back to Adrian’s teacher. “And who else besides you remembers this accident at Lakeridge Park? If we did all the things you’re accusing us of, how is it you’re the only one complaining about it?”

  “I don’t know. If I knew all that, we wouldn’t be here,” Carrillo said, her anger dwindling. “Maybe you aren’t alone in this. Maybe you’ve paid everyone at school to look the other way.”

  “No.”

  “You’re religious fanatics. You have to be. You’re looking for publicity, trying to bring glory to God, or some such nonsense, at my expense. But why? That’s what I need to know. Why?”

  “Miss Carrillo. I’m sorry about what happened to you at school yesterday, and so is my wife. Adrian and his classmates are very fond of you and we hope you’ll be back at school very soon.”

  Carrillo turned to her fiancé. “Elliott!”

  “But it’s late and I don’t know what else to tell you that I haven’t already said.” Michael took the door in his hand, directed a small nod at Jeffries. “Good night.”

  “Wait!” Elliott leapt forward at the last minute. “Just one more question. Please.”

  Michael waited.

  “Miracles. Acts of God. People being healed and brought back from the dead. Do you believe such things are actually possible?”

  It was meant to be a trap, a question that would incriminate Michael if he answered honestly. Jeffries and Carrillo studied him as if he were a fish wriggling on a hook, Adrian’s teacher even showing a slight smile.

  “Yes. I believe in all kinds of impossible things,” Michael said, his gaze fixed on Carrillo. “Because I think this world would be a very sad and lonely place if I didn’t.”

  * * *

  Diane slept that night in Adrian’s bed. Long after he’d fallen asleep, she’d crawled in under the covers and held him close, as she had when he was a toddler. She smelled his hair and listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, and prayed for strength in the days to come.

  Things were happening too fast. It seemed like every other hour, someone was turning up who remembered the accident and knew something incredible had happened to bring Adrian back to her. First Laura Carrillo, then Michael, and now Milton Weisman. Who would be next, and how many would there be in the end?

  This wasn’t the miracle she had prepared herself for. She had thought it would be hers and hers alone, a test of one woman’s faith against that of all mankind. That was a fight she could win, a fight she could control. But this. . . .

  She had no worries about Michael. The disbelief with which she had known he would greet Adrian’s return had been mercifully short-lived. His faith had brought him through, and after their dinner tonight, Diane had no reason to think he would ever do anything to jeopardize the great gift they had been given. Carrillo and Milton Weisman, however, were a different story. Carrillo appeared to have no real faith to speak of, and Weisman, from what Diane could remember, was a secular Jew. If Diane and Michael couldn’t convince them both to accept Adrian’s resurrection as the act of a compassionate God, an act that didn’t require their understanding or an explanation, what damage might Carrillo and Weisman do? Was Adrian’s return unconditional, or only as permanent as the pair’s skepticism would allow?

  The sense it was the latter was growing stronger by the minute.

  Still, Diane was not one to cave in to fear. If the little boy in her arms proved nothing, he proved she was not alone. God was with her. And if she had to fight to hold on to what she had, what she had lost and now regained, He would give her whatever she needed to prevail.

  Diane was certain of it.

  THURSDAY

  NINETEEN

  “WELL? WHAT DO YOU THINK?”

  “What do I think? I think it’s very sad, of course,” Flo said.

  “Sad?”

  “Yes. That poor thing will never see the inside of another classroom as long as she lives. I don’t care what Marx told you.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “What? Was I supposed to say something different?”

  Flo hadn’t wanted to hear about any of it. Allison practically had to bar the kitchen door to get her to sit still for the ten minutes it had taken Allison to describe
all she’d learned about the Laura Carrillo affair. Given her way, Flo would have grabbed her breakfast on the fly and left for work without any conversation whatsoever, but Allison wasn’t putting up with that shit today. A few minutes at the breakfast table together before they both went their separate ways was not too much to ask, especially when Allison had something good to talk about for a change.

  At least she thought the news was good. Obviously, Flo didn’t agree.

  “This isn’t just about a teacher going postal in the classroom, Flo. This story is bigger than that.”

  “It is?”

  “Yes. Think of all the themes it has the potential to touch upon. Mental illness. Drugs, maybe. The stress on public school teachers to perform, even at the grade-school level.”

  Flo shrugged. “Okay.”

  “My God. Are you telling me you aren’t the least bit curious to know what could have caused this woman to suffer such an off-the-wall delusion? That a little boy in her class died, was buried, and has risen from the dead like Jesus fucking Christ?”

  “Am I curious? Sure, I guess so. But you just ran down all the likely explanations yourself, Ally. Either she’s crazy, on drugs, or the victim of some kind of stress-related nervous breakdown. And in any or all of those cases, it’s a sad story, like I said, but hardly an earth-shattering one.” Flo glanced at her watch. “Hey, I’ve really gotta go.”

  She pecked Allison on the cheek and got up.

  Before she could get to the door, Allison blurted out, “What about the fourth possibility?”

  Flo stopped, raised an eyebrow. “The fourth possibility?”

  “That she’s as sane and healthy as you or me and is simply telling the truth. The boy was dead but is alive again.”

  Flo smirked. “What?”

  It had only been something to say to stop Flo from leaving. Now that she had to answer for it, Allison was just as struck by the inanity of it as Flo.

  “Maybe that’s the real theme to be explored here,” she said, flying blind. “The viability of Old Testament miracles in modern times.”

  Whatever humor Allison’s partner had found in their discussion to this point vanished. “Miracles have no viability,” Flo said. “In modern times, or any other. Really, Ally.”

  She let the admonishment serve as a parting shot and walked out.

  In the sudden quiet, Allison checked the time on her phone, saw it was only a few minutes after seven. Too early to call Laura Carrillo, whom she intended to interview to start her day. She finished her coffee, fighting to keep her loneliness at bay. With no other sound competing for her attention, she could hear her wristwatch counting off the seconds. She sat there for several minutes, fidgeting, then gave up and tried Carrillo at the number she’d found online.

  Her call went through to voicemail. The woman who’d recorded the outgoing message didn’t identify herself, but she sounded like a perfect match for the vivacious brunette in all the photos on the Yesler website. Allison left her a brief message, and wondered before she even hung up how many times she would have to duplicate the act before Carrillo returned her call. Assuming she ever would.

  Allison had been planning to give the teacher a chance to connect by phone before forcing herself upon Carrillo at home, but she realized now she lacked the patience for such a passive approach. Flo’s unflagging negativity had lit a fire under her, so that every minute spent doing nothing held the bitter aftertaste of failure. Her Uber driving assignments could start coming in at any moment, and she had to make whatever time she had between them as productive as possible.

  She got up, dropped her coffee cup in the sink, and rushed out of the house.

  * * *

  For the second day in a row, Howard Alberts stopped Diane in the carport at Yesler as she was dropping Adrian off.

  “There’s something I think you ought to know,” he said, looking even more grim than he had the day before. “That is, if you don’t know already.”

  “What is it?”

  “A reporter visited the school yesterday asking about Laura Carrillo. Somehow, she got wind of what happened in Laura’s classroom and intends to write some kind of story about it.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “My feelings exactly. Ms. Marx spoke to her briefly but didn’t tell her anything of substance, beyond letting her know we’d prefer she not write anything at all, for Laura’s sake as well as Adrian’s. Unfortunately, she seemed determined to go ahead with the story. I take it you haven’t heard from her?”

  “No.”

  “Well, so far, so good. But I’d bet even money you will eventually. Naturally, you’re free to talk to her if you want. I can’t stop you. But frankly, Laura’s going to have a hard enough time getting through this thing as it is. If what happened to her here Tuesday goes public, regardless of what we determine were the reasons for it, I’m not sure she’ll be able to survive it with her teaching credentials intact.”

  He was trying to guilt Diane into silence, surely more interested in protecting himself and Yesler than Laura Carrillo. But Diane knew he was right: any news story about Carrillo’s breakdown could do both her and Adrian more harm than good.

  But would Laura Carrillo see it that way? Or would she jump at the chance to tell her version of things to the world at large, regardless of the consequences? Diane feared it was the latter. Michael had called her this morning about Carrillo’s visit to his apartment last night, and if they hadn’t known before she would be trouble, they definitely knew it now. The teacher hadn’t waited even a day to seek Michael out after bolting from Diane’s home, apparently unmoved by Diane’s arguments for accepting what had happened as the will of God.

  From what Michael had said, it sounded like his conversation with Carrillo, and the fiancé she had brought along to bear witness to it, had left her more angry and humiliated than ever. Michael had rejected all her accusations as nonsense and shut her boyfriend’s support of them down to a benign whimper. It wasn’t hard for Diane to picture Carrillo today talking to this reporter for no other reason than to exact a measure of revenge.

  “Does Miss Laura know?” she asked Alberts.

  “Yes. I called her yesterday as soon as I found out myself. I made it clear to her that talking to anyone about the incident before the district has finished investigating it would probably not be in her best interests.”

  “And she agreed?”

  “Of course.” He seemed surprised by the question. “Why wouldn’t she?”

  Diane said, “If she comes back, you won’t let her anywhere near Adrian, will you?”

  “Who? The reporter?” Alberts shook his head. “Not a chance. You don’t have to worry about that.”

  “What was her name? In case she calls us?”

  “Hope. First name Allison. She didn’t mention to Betty who she works for, so I assume she’s just a freelancer.”

  “Allison Hope. I’ll pass it along to Michael. Thank you for the warning, Mr. Alberts. If we hear from her, we’ll be sure to let you know.”

  Diane drove off, suddenly in a great hurry to get home.

  * * *

  Laura was still in bed at nine a.m. Elliott had tried to rouse her before leaving for work but she had ignored him, too tired to take up the argument they had only dropped last night for the sake of sleep.

  It was their worst fight ever. Some of the things they had said to each other cut right down to the marrow. Come the dawn, Elliott had been nearly as remorseful as he was angry, but Laura regretted nothing. As far as she was concerned, Elliott deserved every insult she had peppered him with, and more. He had failed her miserably.

  She had wanted him by her side when she confronted Michael Edwards, thinking she could count on the man she loved—the man she planned to marry and build a family with—to defend her from any attack Edwards might make on her sanity or character. If he really
loved her, Elliott should have been able to play that role easily. Gladly. But no. When Edwards had given him the opportunity to state his faith in Laura, Elliott had frozen. Muttered some weak response and gone mute.

  He didn’t believe her and he never would. His doubt was like a dagger to her heart, and throughout their ride home and well into the night, Laura had struck back, saying everything and anything she could to hurt and humiliate him the way he had humiliated her. She had woken this morning certain she would never be able to forgive Elliott, or care enough to try.

  After he left, however, and she’d had some time to reassess matters alone, she realized the magnitude of her hubris. She loved Elliott and was not ready to lose him. Over the last two days, she had placed him in an impossible position, one that demanded he profess a belief in something she was still struggling to believe herself. She had given him every reason to think she was insane, yet was asking him to behave as if nothing she was telling him deserved his incredulity or scorn. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t reasonable. He was only reacting precisely how she would, were he the one talking about dead children walking the earth instead of her.

  The only logical explanation for what was happening remained the most obvious: she was sick and needed help. No matter how real her “memories” of the past eight months seemed, there was no way to reconcile them with the collective memory of everyone else, with the possible exceptions of Adrian’s parents. And they were only possible exceptions because of Diane Edwards’s bizarre talk of miracle resurrections. Who was to say the woman wasn’t completely deranged?