Eli
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And if they weren’t consumed by the grief, there was their sense of personal failure. True, they may not have been the ones to lynch Eli, but that didn’t stop them from feeling responsible. Over and over again, Conrad wondered if he should have done more, been more persistent, stood firmer, refused to desert him at the park. And yet, what he felt was nothing compared to what he was sure Jake was going through.
The big man sat in the front seat, sullen. And devastated.
Since denying Eli at the courthouse, no one had seen or talked to him in nearly twenty-four hours . . . until he had showed up at the motel last night—drunk, face swollen from hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 321
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crying, clothes and hair a mess. Whatever torture he’d been through must have been excruciating. And it had not left him unchanged. In many ways he was a different man. Silent, full of remorse, and broken. Very, very broken.
Conrad felt Suzanne shudder and knew that she was crying again. Was there no end to the indignity, to the suffering?
As he looked out the window into the early morning, his mind drifted back to Friday afternoon—and to the thoughts he’d reflected on ever since the killing. He couldn’t share those thoughts with the others, not yet, but that union he understood to have happened, that bringing together of justice and mercy, was still very much on his mind.
In the old world, the one before the accident, when he heard of Christ dying for his sins, he simply chalked it up to being part of his culture—a lathering televangelist, a dangling necklace, a peeling fresco. But what he’d seen was the slaughter of a real human being, a loving, giving person, the greatest person he’d ever met. The slaughter of a love that had looked him directly in the eyes and said, “I’m doing this for you—it’s all for you.”
The memory still gave him chills.
Trevor pulled the car onto Cumberland Avenue and after about a mile took a left. As he did, Conrad began to experience that sensation again—the one of Julia being present.
Suzanne sat at his left, and he could have sworn Julia was sitting at his right. The feeling was so strong that he actually caught himself stealing a peek over at Maggie, just to make sure. But of course it was Maggie. There was no Julia. How could there be?
Trevor turned left again at the 1400 block and a moment later, they saw it. Although it was 7:30 on a Sunday morning, the place was bustling. Yellow police tape had been stretched from one corner of a two-story brick building out to the nearest parking meter, where it ran along the other meters until it reached the opposite corner and stretched back to the building. It blocked off not only the entrance but the entire front sidewalk. It didn’t, however, discourage the media from setting hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 322
322 up. One or two reporters had already begun filming their stories from the edge of the tape.
And there, in the midst of it all, stood McFarland, scout-ing with his cameraman for the best place to make his report.
As they slowed, Conrad leaned past Maggie and rolled down the window. “Gerry?” he called. “Gerry!”
McFarland turned and spotted him. “Hey, Connie!” He motioned for him to join them. “You won’t believe this.”
“Stop the car,” Conrad ordered.
Trevor obeyed.
Maggie opened the door and stepped out, allowing Conrad to do the same. But his feet had barely hit the pavement before an officer banged on the hood of the car, motioning for Trevor to move on.
“They’re with me,” McFarland called out.
“I don’t care who they’re with, they’re not stopping here.
There’s parking over the next block.”
“He’s media.” McFarland jabbed a thumb at Conrad.
“Move it!” the officer barked.
A baffled Maggie looked unsure whether to get in or stay out.
“I said move it!”
Reluctantly, she ducked back into the car. Conrad leaned down and shouted into the window. “I’ll meet you across the street. Just give me a couple minutes.”
Trevor nodded and the Toyota lurched forward.
“Find out what you can!” Suzanne called as they pulled off.
Conrad gave a nod and immediately heard McFarland say,
“So, your boy keeps making the news even when he’s dead.”
Conrad turned. He was cool and matter-of-fact. “You knew about the lynching, didn’t you?”
McFarland blinked at his candor.
Conrad repeated himself, this time feeling his anger rise.
“You knew they were going to kill him, didn’t you?”
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The big fellow shook his head. “No,” he said almost sadly.
“I did not know that. I knew about the deal with Keith Anderson, I knew the arrest was coming. But the lynching, I hadn’t a clue.”
Conrad stared a moment, unsure whether to believe him.
Not that it made much difference.
“Take a look at this, Connie.” McFarland turned and started toward the building. “You won’t believe it.” With some effort the big man ducked under the police tape. Conrad followed. They crossed the sidewalk and climbed the six steps to the entrance. When they arrived at the open double doors, McFarland came to a stop.
“When the police got here, these doors were just like you see them now. Both standing wide open. And the funny thing is, there are no marks showing forced entry.”
“What about other doors?” Conrad asked. “The back?
Maybe a window?”
McFarland shook his head. “Nothing.” He motioned for Conrad to follow, and they entered the building. “Because of your man’s disturbing habit of raising folks from the dead, and those nasty rumors that he would do the same for himself, they posted not one but two guards over at that desk the last couple nights.” He motioned toward a mahogany recep-tionist counter to their left.
“And what did they see?” Conrad asked.
“Nothing.”
“What?”
McFarland cleared his throat. “They said they were asleep.”
Conrad threw him a look. “Both of them?”
“That’s what they say.”
“While on duty?”
“That’s the story.”
“And they’re saying it publicly?”
McFarland looked at him a moment, then answered. “They are now.” He motioned for Conrad to follow. “Come on.”
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Beyond the mahogany counter were a handful of windowed offices, each with yellowed venetian blinds. To the right was an old elevator and a set of stairs. They headed right and took the stairs down into the basement. Conrad felt the air cool as they descended. When they hit the landing and turned, he saw glass doors leading to a moderate-sized room.
Though the walls, ceiling, and tile were dingy, the doors were much newer. Through them he saw two officers and a pho-tographer drinking coffee and talking.
McFarland pushed open the doors and they entered. The place looked like some sort of laboratory. Each wall had a counter and at least one stainless-steel sink and set of faucets.
In the center sat an old-fashioned operating table, complete with a surgical lamp hovering above it. To their right was the only wall without a counter. It contained what looked like a half-dozen stainless-steel freezer doors—each four feet high and two and a half feet wide. Nothing unusual for a morgue.
However, the second door from the left was slightly different.
It had been blown off its hinges and lay on the floor below.
And the brushed, stainless-steel surface around the opening had been melted to a smooth glass finish. It was as if some great energy had erupted from inside the vault. An energy so intense that it had melted the surrounding steel.
At the moment a lab technician was kneeling beside the opening, carefully scraping samples. Directly behind her, against the far wall, rested a steel table th
at had obviously been rolled out from inside the vault.
“What happened?” Conrad asked.
“You tell me,” McFarland said. “That was the freezer his body was in. And that”—he motioned to the table—“was the gurney it was on.”
Conrad started toward the freezer, but McFarland held out his hand. “I wouldn’t get too close if I were you. We’re not sure what happened in there.”
Conrad nodded, then turned back to the table. At one end sat a neatly folded sheet. It was a blotchy beige and brown, hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 325
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its edges slightly singed. “Where’d that come from?” he asked.
“It covered the body.”
Conrad stared silently, trying to piece it together.
“Any ideas?” McFarland asked.
He shook his head. “You?”
The big man sighed. “The official theory is somebody broke into the building and stole the body.”
“That’s absurd,” Conrad scoffed. “You said yourself there was no forced entry. And both guards falling asleep, then openly admitting it? Come on, who are you kidding? And this
. . .” He motioned toward the destroyed freezer compartment.
“I don’t know what happened here, but it sure doesn’t look like someone just rolled out the body and took it.”
McFarland nodded. “And that half-baked cloth over there.
To take the time to neatly fold it before leaving?” He shook his head. “I know what you’re saying, but what other story—”
“Connie.”
Conrad turned to see Suzanne barging through the glass doors, an officer catching up from behind, grabbing her arm.
“Ma’am, I told you this is a restricted—”
“I saw him!” she shouted breathlessly.
Conrad’s mouth dropped. “What?”
The officer tightened his grip and began pulling. “You’re going to have to come with—”
“Eli!” she cried. “I saw Eli!”
v
Julia continued to watch her father. The episode with the tear had been nearly thirty minutes ago—already a distant memory. Now her mind reeled again with the words her mother had spoken earlier. “He stumbled, Jules. We all stumble.” And the realization still left her stunned. All this time, all of these years she’d thought he’d purposely let go, that he’d purposely hurt her. But that wasn’t true at all. He’d tried to save her, but he had failed. It was as simple as that.
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“You’re only as good as your word.”
It had been his life’s motto. And hers. The truth he had taught her to live by. But maybe, just maybe it wasn’t the entire truth. Maybe there was more.
“The trick is being able to forgive ourselves and get back up.”
Maybe failure is to be expected. Not condoned, but considered part of the process. The human process. She scowled hard at the body, trying to understand. That’s not to say we don’t strive to be good, that we don’t strain with every fiber of our body to do right. But when we fail, when we stumble and fall, we don’t lie there in defeat. And we don’t despise others who have also fallen.
“The trick is to forgive ourselves, and to forgive others . . .”
It seemed to be a two-part process. Striving for perfection, yes, but there was more. Striving for perfection, while relying upon . . . she searched for the phrase. Striving for . . . And then it fell into place: Striving for perfection, while relying upon . . . grace. That was the word, the missing ingredient . . .
grace.
“Mom!”
She turned to see little Cody racing around the sliding door towards her. She barely had time to rise from the chair before he threw himself at her, hugging her waist with all of his might.
“Sweetheart, how . . . what are you . . .” And then she saw Ken round the corner.
“Hey, Jules.” He smiled softly, then glanced at her mother.
“Suzanne.”
Julia gave him a nod while at the same time indicating her displeasure. Then she knelt beside her son.
“Mom, it was the coolest thing. They gave us some chicken and chocolate cake and some headphones and we got to watch a movie and they gave me this lame pin.” He pretended to roll his eyes as he displayed the plastic airplane fas-hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 327
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tened to his shirt. “And Dad said maybe we can go to Disneyland or Universal Studios and . . . is that Grandpa?”
Julia looked tenderly at her son and brushed the hair from his eyes. Even though she was irritated that her request had been ignored, she was still moved to see her baby boy. She always was. “Yes, that’s your grandpa, Sweetheart.” She had a sudden impulse to pull him back into an embrace, but knew better. Even now he was starting past her toward the bed. She quietly watched as he arrived and stared at the bandaged head.
“You sure that’s him?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Hi, Cody.”
He looked up at Suzanne across the bed. “How ’bout coming over and giving your grandma a big hug?”
The boy grinned and scampered around to her.
Julia turned back to Ken who had entered the room, already raising his hands. “I know, I know you said you didn’t need us. But I figured . . . you know, maybe Cody should see his grandfather at least once before he passes on.”
Julia shook her head, almost amused.
“What?”
“You never could lie, could you?”
He gave a shrug. “It was the best excuse I could find.”
“So you flew all the way out here just to hold my hand,”
she said. It was a touching gesture, even though it did annoy her.
“He’s your father, Jules. We’re . . . your family.”
She looked at him. Despite her irritation, she was grateful to be surrounded by people who loved her, people whom she loved . . . well, as best as she knew how.
“How’d you get him past the nurse?” she asked. “He’s under twelve.”
Ken grinned. “Just turned on some of that ol’ Preston charm.”
Julia nodded. He did have charm, no doubt about that.
And love. At least for her. Funny, despite all the things she hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 328
328 had done to him, all the ways she’d failed him, he was always there for her. Always ready to understand and to forgive. As far as she could tell, the guy loved her more than she loved herself. He certainly forgave her more, she knew that. Forgiveness. There it was again. What had her mother said? “The key is in being able to forgive.”
“Look!”
She turned to Cody, who stood at the head of the bed, pointing. Her father was breathing heavily again—deep, uneven breaths.
“Is he going to die now?”
Suzanne knelt beside the boy and wrapped her arms around him. “Soon,” she said softly, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Very soon.”
“Does it hurt?” he asked. “It looks like it hurts.”
“No, they gave him medicine to take away the pain.”
“All of it?”
She nodded. “All of it.”
The breaths came harder, more desperate. Julia stared down at the heaving chest. She sensed Ken moving to her side.
“Has he been doing that long?” he asked.
Julia nodded. “But not like this.”
The head rolled slightly on the pillow, then the entire body gave a jerk.
“Mom?” Cody looked up at her.
“He’s okay, Sweetheart. He’s just getting ready to leave us.”
“Now?” Cody asked.
“I think so.”
The head moved again. There was another desperate, gasping breath. And another, even more urgent. Then, ever so softly, Julia heard her mother begin to sing:
“Jesus loves me, this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.”
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As she sang his body seemed to relax. The breathing grew less frantic.
“Little ones to Him belong,
They are weak but He is strong.”
She paused a minute to explain to Cody. “It makes him feel better. I think it makes it easier for him. You want to sing with me? You know the words, don’t you?”
The little boy nodded. She resumed:
“Yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me.”
Softly, he joined in on the last line.
“The Bible tells me so.”
The two took a breath and repeated the verse a little louder.
“Jesus loves me, this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.”
Julia looked on, moved by the earnestness in her son’s voice, by his unquestioning faith.
“Little ones to Him belong.”
He looked up to his parents. “Come on, we’re supposed to sing.”
“They are weak but He is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me.”
Ken joined in. Quietly, hesitantly.
“Yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
The Bible tells me so.”
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Her father’s body shuddered again. He made another effort to breathe, but it came out more as a grating, wheezing gasp.
“Come on, Mom!” Cody looked up at her, his eyes full of concern. “We’ve got to sing. For Grandpa.”
They began again:
“Jesus loves me, this I know.”
Julia opened her mouth. At first there was nothing .
“For the Bible tells me so.”
Then, ever so faintly, words began to form.
“Little ones to Him belong,
They are weak but He is strong.”
And with the words came the tears. Tears spilling over and tracing down her face.
There was another wheezing gasp, worst than the last. He was trying to breathe, but no air would come. Urgency filled Cody’s voice. It filled all of their voices. Urgency mixed with hope . . . and faith. The time had finally arrived.
“Yes, Jesus loves me.”
With each word, Julia’s voice grew louder. More because she willed it than felt it. But if willing it was the place to start, then willing it was where she would begin.