Water Walker (The Full Story, Episodes 1-4)

by Dekker, Ted

  Honestly, I felt as though I might be able to walk up to a bathtub and make the water float in the air if I wanted to, because in my mind’s eyes, the very water that had once been my grave was now life.

  When the tears had subsided and Kathryn had run out of ways to express her remorse, she stood and paced, but even then new tears came. She couldn’t keep from looking at my leg.

  “I don’t understand, Eden.” She sniffed and wiped the tears seeping from her eyes. “I just don’t know what to think.”

  “There’s nothing to think, Mother. What’s done is done and there’s no harm.”

  “You keep saying that, but all I can see is harm.” Guilt seemed to have a strangle hold on her, but that was her journey to take. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, sweetheart. You have to believe me.”

  “You can’t hurt me.”

  “Of course I can! I did!” She stared at me with red eyes. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before . . . I . . .”

  “It’s okay, neither did I. But we see now, right?”

  She stared at my leg. “I see it but it’s still hard to believe. How could your leg just . . . heal?”

  “I don’t know how, really. I just let go. My old beliefs about how the world worked had to die. I had to see that the troubled sea posed no threat to me.”

  Her face wrinkled with sorrow again.

  “That’s what I’ve put you in, isn’t it? A troubled sea.”

  “No, Mother. It was and is my choice to see or not see trouble in the sea. It’s all so plain now. I had to confront my troubles to learn they were only of my own making. I had to take that journey. It’s like walking through the valley of death to learn that death is only a shadow, even there. Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . .”

  “I will fear no evil,” she said, finishing one of her favorite psalms.

  But she was still gripped by worry. Not the same kind of fear that had held her captive for so long, but anxiety nonetheless.

  It was Zeke, I thought. She had to figure out what to do about Zeke.

  “Now what?” she said.

  “Now we are free, Mother,” I said. “If you want to be.”

  “Free from what? I can’t just . . .”

  She was getting hung up. And no wonder—she had four decades of bad thinking habits to unlearn and she hadn’t had the benefit of growing up in a monastery as I had. Nor had she met an Outlaw yet.

  Well, there was me. I guess I was an Outlaw too now.

  “Free from whatever you think keeps you safe,” I said. “You get to step out of your own boat.” Not having been on the lake, she might not fully grasp that analogy so I used more familiar language. “It’s up to you to walk into the valley of death and find only a shadow.”

  She stopped her pacing and looked at me for a long time. Then looked down at my leg. When she lifted her head, I knew she’d made a decision—I had learned to read my mother’s resolve from a hundred paces.

  “What are we going to do about Zeke?” she asked.

  “I’m not going to do anything about Zeke,” I said.

  She set her jaw and gave a curt nod.

  “Well, I am,” she said.

  28

  KATHRYN HAD spent two hours swinging wildly from states of great peace to places of terribly anxiety. The battle in her mind refused to give her any final emotional resolution. It was amazing how moments of complete clarity could so quickly fog into moments of confusion and fear.

  But Eden’s leg isn’t broken. How’s that possible?

  And then she’d remember.

  She paced, and she tried to make herself busy around the house without truly knowing what she was doing, and she listened to Eden telling Bobby how beautiful he was while she played blocks with him in his room, seemingly oblivious to the war raging in her mother’s mind.

  But surely Eden knew as well as she did what had to be done. Kathryn had to undo everything she’d done, of course.

  The problem was, she kept teetering on the brink of exactly what did have to be done. Was undoing everything really the wisest thing?

  Yes, of course it was. She’d subjected her own daughter to a life of expectations she herself couldn’t possibly satisfy. And she’d been courting that realization for days now without realizing it. For months, even. Maybe even since the first time she’d baptized Eden.

  Once having taken that step years earlier, she’d silenced all her reservations and refused to look back for fear that doing so was only a demonstration of weakness in her own flesh.

  How she’d come to see her guilt so clearly in Eden’s room, she wasn’t sure. But the moment Eden had suggested she’d done nothing wrong, the floodgates had opened and Kathryn had seen just how much she had done wrong.

  In truth, she’d been a monster deserving of her own drowning. The fact that Eden didn’t see it that way only filled her with more guilt, and following that guilt, a terrible need to right all she’d done wrong, even if Eden didn’t think of it as wrong.

  Eden, whose leg was no longer broken.

  So she had to undo what she’d done, and that meant freeing them from Zeke’s control.

  But was that really the wisest thing to do?

  She couldn’t just confront him. What if he lost his mind and killed them all? She couldn’t just run to the police, could she? Zeke would never be so careless to allow it. He no longer trusted her. He’d already taken the cell and cut all the telephone lines. He would undoubtedly have a guard in place, or the road blocked.

  Even if she did get past him and made it to the authorities, what then? She would go to prison and leave Eden without a mother to care for her. Was that fair?

  She could hold back and look for an opportunity, but it was only a matter of time, maybe today, before Zeke discovered that Eden’s leg was no longer broken. Then what?

  It doesn’t matter, Kathryn. She threw the dishtowel she’d been dragging around for no particular reason onto the table and set her jaw.

  It doesn’t matter what then. Eden’s right. Only your own fear is keeping you from facing the truth.

  There was only one way to step into the valley of death, and that was to step into that valley. There was no skirting it or finding a better way around or running away from it.

  She had to do this, as much for herself as for Eden.

  And she had to do it now, on her own, before she lost the courage.

  Kathryn walked to the door, snatched the keys off the nail on the wall, turned the handle, and stepped out into the sunlight.

  The sound of the insects in the swamp stopped her cold, there in the doorway. For a moment she became Eden. A young girl who’d awakened five years ago to the same sounds. This was the sound of her prison, reminding her in every waking moment that she was trapped in swampland with no way out.

  Kathryn swallowed hard. It was her prison too, wasn’t it? It always had been.

  She had to undo what she’d done. Yes, she had to.

  Walk, Kathryn. Just walk.

  She closed the door behind her, stepped down from the porch, and headed to the truck, refusing to lift her eyes to scan the perimeter. Was there a guard there? She didn’t care. She just had to walk.

  Walk, Kathryn.

  Problem was, she did care. She cared enough to be terrified because she knew that Zeke owned her and was waiting.

  Yea though I walk into the valley of the shadow of death, I will slay that vile beast and make the path right . . .

  No. No, that wasn’t right. I will fear no evil. I will walk and I will fear no evil. Just like Eden. Just like my daughter.

  So she walked. But she still felt fear.

  She felt fear when she opened the truck’s door and climbed inside and she sat there for a full minute, rehearsing what might or might not happen.

  She felt fear when she started the truck, put it into gear, and started down the driveway because now she was moving, and moving meant closing the distance between her and Zeke.

&nbs
p; She felt mind-swooning fear as she guided the truck down the long gravel road, driving far too slow because fast meant sooner, and she wasn’t that brave yet.

  She felt a chilling spike of fear when she saw Claude’s white truck parked on the side of the road past Zeke’s house. She was right; Zeke wasn’t taking any chances. The only way in or out was through him.

  By the time she made the turn and pulled into Zeke’s driveway, her fear was so acute that her vision blurred. She brought the truck to a stop, turned off the motor, and tried her best to gather herself.

  Yea though I walk, yea though I walk, yea though I walk . . .

  She whispered the mantra, hoping to gain strength, but barely heard the words much less found any power in them.

  I will fear no evil, I will fear no evil, I will fear no evil . . .

  But she did. So much that she considered turning back to rethink a better plan because the one she had in mind was doomed to fail.

  At any moment, Zeke would come out, wondering why she’d come and even more, why she was sitting in his driveway like a dead duck. She had to get to his phone and she had to do it now. Just get to the phone in his office, which was the only one she knew of, and make the call to the authorities, and that was all. Just that.

  Taking a deep breath, Kathryn opened the door and stepped out. See, now it was too late to turn back. And, surprisingly, that simple thought gave her a moment’s courage.

  She smoothed her dress, cleared her throat, and headed to the steps. Then climbed them, one at a time. Then she was there, facing the door.

  Then knocking on it, thinking, Yea though I walk, yea though I walk, over and over despite the fact that she drew no encouragement from the thought.

  It’s not supposed to feel good, Kathryn. You’re only reaping what you sowed. It’s supposed to feel like death because . . .

  The opening door cut her thought short and she found herself face to face with Zeke, in the flesh, wearing dark pants and a white button-up shirt with a starched collar.

  She felt like a schoolgirl caught red-handed, and she hated herself for feeling like that.

  “Good morning, Zeke.”

  In answer he cocked his brow—that condescending look that said, What now, Kathryn?

  “Nothing,” she said, as if answering his unspoken question. “I just . . . Do you mind if I come in?”

  “Nothing?”

  “No . . . Not really . . . I just . . .”

  She stopped herself there, struck by her own words. Nothing? Was her experience with her daughter earlier nothing? Was the well-being of her daughter nothing? Was the privilege to be Eden’s mother nothing?

  Was Eden nothing?

  Something deep inside of her seemed to flip over, and a surge of anger replaced the fear sucking at her life. Not just anger . . . rage. In fact, for the briefest moment she imagined tearing into the monster before her and ripping his tongue out. Now tell us what to do!

  But she immediately recognized the danger of showing any emotion similar to rage. If she failed, Zeke might go to the furthest extremes to protect himself.

  “Actually, it is something,” she said. “May I come in?”

  He gave her a shallow grin and swept his hand into the house. “Be my guest.”

  “Thank you.” She stepped past him and scanned the room. “Is your wife here?”

  He closed the door and walked past her without answering. This was his way, always keeping her off balance. She’d known it all these years, but had never thought of his manipulation as anything more than a shepherd’s steady rod.

  “Spit it out, Kathryn. I don’t have all day.”

  “No . . . no, I suppose you don’t.”

  He slipped his hands into his pockets and faced her. “No need to suppose. Just know. Know that I have little patience left for your ineptitude and failures. Know that you’re lucky I didn’t break your leg. Know that I’m still considering it.”

  She felt her heart pound. Anger felt far better than fear, but she had to let him think it was fear. Easy enough, because at least half of it was.

  “Yes, Zeke. Of course. You won’t need to do that. I swear you—”

  “Don’t tell me what I won’t need to do. Just tell me why you’re here so early in the day.”

  “It’s almost ten o’clock.”

  “Now you think I’m too stupid to read a clock?”

  “No, Zeke. I’m sorry.”

  “For what? Hmmm? Sorry for what? For mocking me? I give you one simple task, easily accomplished by anyone half your strength using a few basic tools and you can’t even do that for me, the one you owe your very life to? Is that it, Kathryn?”

  She stared at him, stunned by his coldness.

  “Or is there something else you’re sorry about now?”

  Had he always been this way and she not able to see it?

  “I’m sorry . . . I was just sorry for suggesting that you were too stupid to—”

  “Do you know how deeply I hate you every time you use those words, Kathryn? I’m sorry only reminds me of your failure. You come in here and tell me about your sin, and I’m not above God. I too hate sin. So don’t tell me I’m sorry and, for the love of God, stop doing whatever it is you’re sorry for. Both he and I could use a break, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Her head was spinning.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. So be a good woman and just lay what you have on the table. Trust me.”

  She had to remember her purpose. She had to distract him and get to the phone in his office. The only way to distract him was to first earn a measure of his trust—he was far too cagey to let his guard down unless she proved herself.

  “I’m concerned about Eden.”

  “Is that so? I broke her leg, didn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  “She can’t stand on it, much less walk, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “There’s no telephone, no boat, no way to swim through a lake infested with alligators, no wings to fly out on . . . That about covers all of our bases, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. But that’s not my concern. I’m worried about her.”

  “What’s there to worry about? I told you we’d put a cast on soon enough. So she walks with a limp the rest of her life—every Garden of Eden has its rotten fruit.”

  His indifference was bone deep.

  “What if she dies?” Kathryn said.

  That put a dent in his armor, she thought, as he hesitated.

  “Well, that depends on when she dies,” he said, stepping over to the kitchen center island to his right. He reached for a cup of coffee next to a frying pan. By all appearances, she’d interrupted his breakfast preparation. Which meant that his wife wasn’t around or she likely would’ve made it for him earlier. “If she dies after the money’s transferred we have nothing to worry about.”

  He took a sip from his cup and set it back down.

  “If she dies in the next twenty days, we’d have a problem. The thirty-day cure requires she accept the money when it’s transferred. So, technically anyway, she needs to be alive. What makes you think this is a concern?”

  She knew most of what he said, but she hadn’t realized just how little regard he had for Eden’s life. A hum went off somewhere in her head; the room seemed to narrow.

  “I think her leg might be getting infected,” she heard herself say.

  “Oh? What makes you say that?”

  “She woke with a fever. Her leg’s swollen pretty bad.”

  “So you’re saying that you don’t trust me.”

  “No.”

  Zeke approached her and stopped within arm’s reach. She dared not avert her eyes from his.

  “If you trusted me, you wouldn’t be here to tell me what I already know, now would you? But the truth is, you think I’m too stupid to have thought about infection. You probably think the penicillin shot I gave her when I broke her leg was just for grins?”

  The revelation surprised her.
She had no idea he’d given her a shot.

  “I just thought—”

  “Don’t. Think,” he snapped.

  “Yes, Zeke. I’m sorry, I just—”

  He slapped her face with an open hand, hard enough to make her stagger. She gave up a soft grunt, knowing better than to cry out in his presence.

  “I told you not to speak that word,” he said, turning his back on her. “You both sicken me.”

  For two hours, Kathryn had contemplated a dozen scenarios as to how she might accomplish the simple task of getting to the phone, knowing that only in doing so could she undo what she’d done before Zeke learned more than he knew and made any undoing impossible.

  She’d left no option unconsidered. She’d thought about using seduction and quickly abandoned the notion. She’d toyed with the idea of using force and turned her attention elsewhere with even more haste. She’d considered wit, lies, speed, stealth, screams, blackmail, explosions, poison, and even more seduction, and in the end landed on using any and all means, depending on what presented itself, because walking into the valley of death didn’t come with a plan any more than walking on water did.

  But none of her scenarios had anticipated the blind rage that darkened her world when Zeke said those four words.

  You. Both. Sicken. Me.

  She was moving before any conscious thought told her to move. Pushed by indignation so deep that her very cells forgot their need for survival, she lunged for the counter, scooped up the frying pan, and blindly swung the cast iron weapon with all of her strength as she turned his direction.

  To her surprise, the back of his head was there, in the skillet’s pathway. His skull stopped the pan’s momentum with a loud, hollow thunk.

  He didn’t cry out. He didn’t have time to mount a defense. He didn’t even try to turn.

  He simply dropped to his knees, swayed there for a second, then toppled over, face down, unmoving.

  Kathryn stood over him, breathing hard, at a complete loss. She’d hit him. She’d hit Zeke. She’d knocked him out.

  This simple realization was quickly followed by another one.

  He’s going to punish me for this. He’s going to kill me.