Darkness Follows

by Mike Dellosso

  Sam climbed to his feet and started his own retreat. He wanted no part of this. Whatever Tommy was going to do was between him and God now.

  Tommy hit Gomer again, hard. The dog let out a weak holler. With a grunt his brother landed another blow. Then another, and another, and another, until Gomer no longer resisted and lay still and silent.

  But Tommy didn’t stop. He kept beating, grunting, swearing.

  That’s when Sam turned and bolted.

  Twenty-Three

  STEPHEN LINCOLN SAT AT HIS MAHOGANY DESK, STUDYING the Gettysburg Address. November 19, 1863. He never tired of reading it.

  Four score and seven years ago our forefathers brought forth, on this continent, a new nation …

  Outside his office his staff busied themselves with the duties of the day, other senators made deals in their offices or returned phone calls or mulled over pages and pages of legislation, and the citizens of the United States of America went about their lives, working, shopping, relaxing, laughing, crying. And they were all oblivious to the battle, the civil war, raging within Stephen Lincoln.

  … conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.…

  He was going to define himself with this next speech; he was going to set himself apart from the other presidential hopefuls and take that proverbial road less traveled.

  Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived, and so dedicated, can long endure.…

  He had to do it. It was a risk; he knew it was. His advisors told him if he went through with it, his career was as good as dead. All the momentum he’d managed, all the ground gained, the capital earned, would be lost. But if he did not, he would forever despise his own image in the mirror.

  The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here.…

  Stephen Lincoln aimed to be a man of honor, a family man, a patriot. He had one life to live, and if his lot was to run for president of the United States, then he would do so on his convictions and with honor. He would not run as a politician. Besides, the American people were wise to the game played in Washington—the promises, the lies, the talking points, the mudslinging—and they deserved more.

  It is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced.…

  The world thought he was going to speak on the abortion issue, and he would, but his speech would be so much more than that. For at the heart of that issue stood the sanctity of life and the inherent right of liberty and freedom for all.

  It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us …

  Lincoln was convinced America was a troubled nation, deeply wounded and broken. Government had grown too big and the people too powerless. She needed to return to her roots, to the principles she once embraced and upon which she was founded.

  … that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion …

  She had strayed, and he saw it as not only his duty but also his passion—and dare he say, his responsibility, maybe even calling—to bring her back. His speech, delivered in Gettysburg on the same date in November that the other Lincoln delivered his, would kick off his campaign to restore America … and quite possibly be political suicide.

  … that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain …

  A knock sounded on the office door.

  “Come in.”

  Jeremy Pitts, his prematurely balding, bespectacled speech-writer, entered. He set a packet of papers on Lincoln’s desk. “Here’s the first draft of your Gettysburg speech.”

  Lincoln leafed through it. “Thanks, Jer. I’ll read over it right now and get back to you.”

  “Good enough.” Jeremy exited the office, closing the door behind him.

  Fifty-two pages.

  Lincoln ran his thumb over the edges of the papers. It would have to lose a few pages. He didn’t want to bore the people with a superfluity of words. The message would get lost in the muddle. No, he had to keep this short. The other Lincoln’s was the model. He had spoken for two minutes, and his speech far outweighed the two-hour monotony of that day’s other speaker, Edward Everett.

  Lincoln turned to the computer screen and read the Address again. That final sentence captured the essence of his own message.

  … that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that this government of the people, by the people, and for the people, shall not perish from this earth.

  Twenty-Four

  SYMON WAITED. THE SCHOOL WAS QUIET FROM THE OUTSIDE. It was almost two thirty, and a few parents had arrived early to wait in line for their little ones. Symon watched patiently from across the street, from the Intrepid, enjoying the sunshine and cool air. The few trees on the school’s property, nearly barren of leaves, cast long jagged shadows across the lawn. The days were getting shorter, bringing darkness sooner. Symon liked the darkness, found it comforting and safe. The memory of being in the closet, smelling his mother’s Miss Dior while his stepfather used her as a punching bag, surely had something to do with it.

  He had no recollections of school, though. He figured he must’ve gone because he knew things. A lot of things. And since he was now in Gettysburg, he tested himself.

  He knew the battle had taken place between July 1 and 3, 1863. He knew ninety-five thousand Union troops and seventy-five thousand Confederate troops had clashed, with over fifty-one thousand casualties. He knew about Devil’s Den and Pickett’s Charge and Jennie Wade. Abraham Lincoln, the sixteenth president of the United States, had given his famed address here. And Symon could recite the entire thing.

  He also knew Senator Stephen Lincoln of Pennsylvania would be giving his Gettysburg Address here on November 19.

  That turned his attention back to the school and the target. The clock on the dash said 2:42. The kiddies would be emerging soon, and she would be with them.

  Twenty-Five

  MOLLY TRAVIS CHECKED THE DRIVEWAY FOR THE twenty-first time. Yes, she was counting. Sam had been gone over three hours, with no word, and she was past the point of worrying. Almost two hours ago she had tried calling his cell phone and heard the familiar ring tone upstairs in the bedroom; he’d forgotten it. Shortly after she heard a distant siren and nearly panicked.

  She opened the phonebook and found Gettysburg Hospital, but she resisted dialing the number. She was overreacting. She needed to relax, give Sam some space. And trust. But that didn’t stop her from checking the driveway one more time.

  And it didn’t stop her from worrying. It couldn’t. She worried by nature. Sam was always telling her to stop fussing over things and just let them happen. Things had a way of working themselves out, he would say. But she knew he worried too. She knew he fretted constantly about his health and their finances and Eva’s teeth that the dentist was already saying would need braces in a few years and making the mortgage payment and keeping in touch with clients and on and on, around and around.

  He was under so much pressure. And what was she doing to alleviate it?

  She looked out the window at the empty driveway one more time.

  Oh, Sam. I’m sorry for smothering you. Please come home soon.

  The phone in the kitchen rang, and Molly jumped. She’d heard about this, the “phone call.” “Ma’am, I’m sorry to inform you that …”

  Please, God, no. Please don’t let it be about Sam.

  It rang again. Maybe she’d let the answering machine get it. If it was important, then she’d pick up.

  Another ring. No, she needed to answer it, even if it was what she feared most.

  Running to the kitchen, she grabbed the receiver from the wall on the fourth ring. The plastic was cold in her hand. “Hello?” She held her breath, anticipating the response of an unfamiliar yet professional voice on the ot
her end: “Is this Mrs. Travis?”

  Instead it was a familiar voice.

  “Molly, it’s Beth.”

  Relief eased over Molly, and she almost started to cry. “Hey.”

  “Eva was in school today, right?” Beth’s voice sounded slightly panicked.

  Whatever relief Molly had felt was short-lived. Now the cool winds of fear blew over her and put the prickles down her back. “Yes. What’s wrong?”

  The moment’s pause gave Molly time to conjure all sorts of bad scenarios.

  “Um, I’m here at the school, and no one seems to know where she is.”

  “What do you mean they don’t know where she is?”

  “When I got here to pick up Eva and Lucy, she wasn’t here. Miss Stambaugh said she was—”

  “Wasn’t there? What do you mean?”

  “Miss Stambaugh said Eva was with the class when they left to go to the carpool line, but when I got there she was gone.”

  Molly pressed the phone so hard against her ear it hurt. She loosened her grip and took a deep breath. “What’s the school doing now?”

  “Well …” Beth hesitated. “The principal called the police.”

  “Oh—” Molly pressed her left fist against her mouth to stop the sobs that pushed themselves up from her throat. Her eyes burned. This couldn’t be happening.

  “They’re on their way. Molly, Miss Stambaugh is sure Eva never left the school. She swears she was with the class right up to the carpool line. She must have gone back into the building.”

  Molly felt no consolation. The words were hollow, without meaning or substance. Her baby was missing. “I’m coming. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  She clicked off the phone and let the tears flow. But there was no time for crying. She had to go. She thought of Sam, but she had no way to contact him. Sam! She let out a scream of frustration and grabbed the keys to his work truck.

  The school was only minutes away, and when Molly arrived, a police officer was already there. He stood at the school’s main entry, talking to Beth and Miss Stambaugh. Getting out of the truck, Molly felt as though her surroundings had shrunk. The sky, with its crisscrossed contrails and wispy clouds, was like a giant hand pressing down. The school’s trees loomed close, their bony arms seeming to form a cage around her. The sidewalk appeared to writhe and slither under her feet.

  Mr. Godin met Molly on the walkway. “Mrs. Travis, we’re sure she’s in the school somewhere.” He was a small man with a narrow head and pointy face. A man Molly never cared for much.

  “How could this happen? How could you let a little girl out of your sight?” Politeness was the last thing on her mind at the moment.

  She hustled up to the officer, a bulky middle-aged man.

  “Mrs. Travis?”

  “Has anyone checked in the school yet?” Molly looked from the officer to Eva’s teacher.

  Beth stepped alongside and put her arm around Molly’s shoulders. “All the teachers are looking now. Officer Richardson just got here.”

  “We’re sure she’s inside,” Mr. Godin said again.

  Molly pulled away from Beth and pushed past the officer into the building. The smell of the empty school hit her, and she thought of other times she’d been here with Eva. Book fairs, school plays, talent shows, assemblies. The place was usually buzzing with children. She’d never seen it this desolate, and it made her all the more nervous. The silence mocked her. If everyone was so sure Eva was in here, why was the place so quiet, so vacant?

  A woman’s voice called Eva’s name. Molly hurried down the hall toward the sound, classrooms on either side, her sneakers chirping on the tile floor. Rounding a corner, she ran into Kristy Krakowski, the newly married first-grade teacher.

  “Mrs. Travis, I’m so sorry this has happened, but she has to be in here, she has to be somewhere. I saw her just minutes before they left the classroom with Joan.” Tears glimmered in Kristy’s eyes. “We’ll find her. I know we will. She has to be OK.”

  Molly didn’t say anything and kept walking. She saw one of the fourth-grade teachers step out of a classroom. His eyes widened, and a shadow of empathy moved over his face.

  “Oh, hi, Mrs. Travis. We’ll find her.” And he was off to the next classroom.

  The whole experience was unreal, like walking through a dream. Eva’s name being called through the rooms and hallways. Teachers and janitors here and there, looking and talking in hushed tones. Doors opening and closing. Heels clicking on the tile. Cell phones ringing.

  “Eva!” Molly called.

  Suddenly there she was.

  Eva. Her daughter. Her little girl. The blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail with loose strands at the temples. The freckles. Those big cerulean eyes. At the sound of her mother’s voice, she had emerged from a utility closet and stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped, eyes fixed on Molly.

  “Eva.” Saying her baby’s name brought tears that blurred Molly’s vision. She wiped at them and ran to her daughter. Picking her up, she held her close and cried into her hair. “I found her!” she hollered. “She’s here.”

  Within seconds the hallway was packed with people chattering amongst themselves. Molly held Eva and wouldn’t let go. Beth was there, her hand on Molly’s back. She was crying too.

  At last Molly released Eva, wiped her tears again, and knelt before her little girl. “Eva, baby, why didn’t you go with Miss Beth? What were you doing?”

  Eva looked from Molly to Beth and back. There was no fear in her eyes, only a childlike innocence. “I’m sorry, Mommy. Jacob told me not to. He told me if I did, that something bad would happen.”

  Twenty-Six

  WHEN SAM PULLED INTO THE DRIVEWAY, HE NOTICED HIS work truck had been moved. He glanced at the dashboard clock. 4:12 p.m. He’d totally lost track of time. Was it Molly’s day to pick up Eva and Lucy from school? If so, she’d had to take the truck and wouldn’t be happy. He thought about backing out and leaving, just driving away and never coming back. But that wasn’t an option. He loved Eva and Molly too much. Yes, Molly and he had their differences. She was too mothering and he was too stubborn. But they loved each other and, for the most part, overlooked those character flaws. It’s what had kept them together for thirteen years.

  Lately, though, he’d grown more and more irritable and restless. Ever since the night he heard Tommy’s voice. It was as though his brother had returned and brought all the rotten memories with him. Those memories now haunted Sam, reaching out of the past and digging spidery fingers into his head.

  Steeling himself for Molly’s wrath, he killed the engine and exited the Explorer. He would be the next thing killed if he didn’t handle this right. He’d apologize and tell her he was a jerk. And now that he’d proven he could drive, he would volunteer to help with the carpool.

  Sam stepped up onto the front porch. Opened the door.

  Molly came at him from the kitchen. “Where’ve you been?” She held a dishtowel in hand like a horsewhip, and her face said she was mad.

  Sam wondered if she’d chosen the best murder weapon. Flogged to death by dishtowel lacked a certain ring. Regardless, he raised both hands in defense. “Hold it, Molly, just hold it. Before you lay into me, I’m sorry I got home so late and you had to take the truck to get the girls. I lost track of time.”

  She twisted her face into a question mark. “What? Do you know what happened while you were gone?”

  “No. How could I?”

  “Right, how could you? Your phone was upstairs the whole time. I got a call from Beth saying Eva wasn’t there when she went to pick her up.”

  “Not there? Is … is she OK? Is she here?”

  “She’s fine. She was hiding in the janitor’s closet.”

  “What? Did something happen? Did she get scared?” He couldn’t help thinking the worst. There were male teachers in that school and … He pushed away the thought.

  Molly shook her head. “No. Nothing like that. At least, not that she’s saying.”
r />   Not that she’s saying. Kids usually didn’t say anything. Anger coursed into Sam’s blood; the room felt like it had grown ten degrees warmer. “But we don’t know for sure.”

  Molly looked to the top of the staircase then back at Sam. She lowered her voice. “Eva says Jacob told her not to go with Beth. He said if she did, something bad would happen.”

  Sam ran his fingers through his hair. “Oh, man. That’s crazy. This Jacob thing is getting out of control. Is that normal?”

  “Does it sound normal?”

  “Is she in her room?”

  Molly nodded. “Don’t be hard on her. I don’t think she even realizes she did anything wrong.”

  Sam walked past his wife and up the steps. Of course he wouldn’t be hard on Eva.

  When he entered her room, she was seated Indian-style on the floor, playing with her dollhouse, arranging miniature furniture and accessories and the family. Her eyes widened when she saw him. A smile stretched across her face, bunching her cheeks.

  “Daddy!” She jumped up and ran to him.

  “Hey, baby girl. How’s it going?”

  Arms still wrapped around his waist, she looked up and said, “My people are having a yard sale. Wanna buy something?”

  “Sure.” He sat on the floor next to the house. “Let’s see what they have that I could use.”

  Eva plopped beside him and reached for a tiny water basin and pitcher. “You could use this to wash your face after you shave.” Then she giggled. “But it wouldn’t hold enough water.”

  “Hey, are you saying I have a big face?”

  “Daddy. You know what I mean.”

  “I’ll take it anyway. How much?”

  “Um.” She put her finger on her chin and pretended to think. “Five dollars.”

  “Ha! A bargain,” Sam said. “Sold.” And he gave her five pretend dollars.

  “Thank you, sir.” Eva put the imaginary money in her pocket. “I hope you like it.”