The man sleeps on his back, his mouth partially open. There is no sign of the mother I saw in the pictures. He’s young. Only twenty-five. Perhaps I should feel bad for cutting his life thread, but that is the price. A life for a life.
Not wanting to wake the child, I walk up to him and point the gun. Slowly lower it until it’s an inch away from the middle of his forehead. A giggle threatens to escape. The poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow runs through my head. There was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, she was very good indeed, but when she was bad she was horrid.
Good. Horrid. Makes no difference. I breathe in and out. My hand steadies and I pull the trigger. It feels different pressed up against his forehead than it did the last time. He jerks and is still. The entrance wound is about the size of one of those chunky beginner pencils. Something wet is on my lip. My finger comes away red with a bit of tissue on it. My gag reflex kicks in and I bury my mouth in the crook of my elbow, breathing shallowly so I won’t puke.
A small mew sounds behind me. A plea for help. I whip around. Feel a surge of adrenaline. The room is heavy with silence. Eerie. The beige pillows are marked with shades of crimson, scarlet, burgundy, and bright apple red. Like a Pollock painting.
The little girl straight out of a Dr. Seuss book stands there, thumb in her mouth.
“Are you an angel? I saw the flaming sword. My dad sent my mom to heaven.”
She’s wearing a sleeveless purple nightgown printed with unicorns. There are cigarette burns and bruises in the shape of a hand and fingers marking her skin.
I should leave. But I can’t. Kneeling down, I look her in the eye. “He will never hurt you again.”
“He hurt Bruiser. They took him away and said I can’t have him back.” Tears well up in her eyes. “I miss him a terrible lot.”
“I know. Go get the phone.”
She glides out of the room. My heart is racing. It’s all over. The voice within is unhappy.
The child comes back. Holds out the phone.
“Dial 911 but don’t hit send. Not until I’m gone. Do you understand?”
Her eyes are huge. “Are you going back up to heaven?”
“What?”
“You’re an angel. I know. I prayed for an angel to take my dad away so he wouldn’t hurt anybody no more.”
“No, kid. I’m the monster in the closet.”
She ponders this as I worry about how long I’ve been in this house.
“You don’t look like a monster.” The kid throws her arms around my waist, hugging me tight. I freeze. “I’d never be scared again if you were in my closet.”
Stepping back, I look at her. She isn’t screaming or crying, and I worry she’s now as damaged as I am. As I walk out of the room, she trails me to the front door. I push the sheet aside and look out, and she says, “You are an angel.”
“Don’t forget to call when I’m gone.”
Once I’m away from the house, I jog to the Jeep. Get in and slam the door. A single tear falls on the steering wheel as I drive away.
This is the end. She can identify me. I might as well drive to the nearest police station and turn myself in. But I don’t. I wait until I’m on the highway, and when a song I don’t like comes on, I take the next exit. Go through my routine. Change my clothes. Change back into Hope. A few more exits and I hit a drive-thru for another sweet tea. Throw a paper towel full of shell casings into the trash as I exit the parking lot.
Sunday morning. Jackson’s Duke t-shirt hangs down to mid-thigh. A green smoothie helps me wake up. Flooding my body with good things. The news is on for background noise when the announcer’s voice goes all serious. A reporter stands outside a house I recognize. Her face is somber, though I arch a brow, seeing the barely contained glee in her eyes. She’s thinking maybe this is her big story.
There’s crime scene tape across the front door. The woman looks into the camera. “The authorities aren’t saying anything other than a homicide occurred here late Friday night.”
An innocent face appears on the screen. “An angel took my dad away. But he’s not going to heaven with my mom. He’s going to the bad place.”
A quick check online provides a little more information. No matter what the cops and child psychiatrist asked her, the kid says an angel with sparkly wings, a sword made of fire, and pretty blue eyes saved her. There was a small meth lab in the room I passed. The one I thought smelled odd. The hospital found traces of drugs in the child’s system. No one could take her account of the assailant seriously. The child will be placed in foster care. I smile as I put my feet up on the kitchen chair. Staring out the window, I hear it. The voice is back. Seductive and dark. No one’s coming for you. Choose another who must pay.
CHAPTER 21
WHEN MY AFTERNOON UNEXPECTEDLY FREES up, I take it as a sign and walk the few blocks to the courthouse. There are two cases I want to sit in on. It’s the same old story. One man is convicted and given probation. The charges against the rough-looking woman are dismissed. Apparently the police didn’t completely follow protocol, and their actions tainted the case.
The looks of relief are the same on both faces as they exit the room. It makes me sick. But the voice inside of me whispers and I smile. They won’t be smiling for long.
As I’m leaving the courtroom, someone calls my name.
“Hope. I haven’t seen you in a while. What are you doing here?”
“Grayson. Was this your case?”
“It was one I took over from a coworker. You might have heard about the guy who was shot?”
“I remember reading something about it. I’m sorry. How’s he doing?”
“It’s a long recovery.” He stands there in his uniform, shifting from foot to foot. “Did you know the woman?”
“No. I was supposed to meet Jackson for lunch but he bailed. I don’t know if it was something I ate or what, but I felt dizzy. This was the first open door. I stepped in to sit and hope it would pass, when the judge came in. It felt weird to get up and leave. Sorry it didn’t go your way.”
Grayson grips the back of the wooden bench so hard I can see the veins standing out on his hands.
“This isn’t her first time in court. She did this before.”
I watch the muscle in his cheek twitch.
“We have to keep moving forward with education. That’s how people will learn. How the judges will understand an animal isn’t a coffee table to throw away at will.”
“I think it’s great you’re trying to educate people. I’m sure in time it will pay off.” I pick up my tote bag from the bench and sling it over my shoulder. “I’ve got a meeting I’ve got to get back to. We’ll all have to get together for a drink.”
“That’d be great.”
He watches me leave. There’s a ringing in my ears and a watery sound. It’s the blood moving through my veins. The sun warms my chilled skin as I walk back to my office. Was the explanation plausible? Perhaps. But I have to be careful. Can’t have Grayson thinking I’m interested in animal welfare. He’s a perceptive guy. I worry he sees too much.
It was a stupid risk to take. I stab the keyboard, angry with myself. No more attending court cases. Anonymity is what will keep me from a tiny, windowless room. Like the alligator, I must become a ghost. So from now on, all of my investigations will take place in cyberspace.
As I sit at my desk staring at the monitor, a different scene is playing out in front of me. Stupid girl. I hadn’t been in a courtroom since I was seven.
There are so many people talking to me. Someone leads me into a room where a scary man dressed in black sits, looking down on everyone. Colin and Julia Fraser, otherwise known as Gram and Gramps, are with me. Daddy’s parents died a long time ago. I never knew them. Gram tells me Daddy is going to jail. And I’m going to live with them. Leaving Florida behind. Moving to Kansas and starting over.
I have to sit in a little box next to the judge, raise my hand, and promise to
tell the truth. A stern-looking man in a suit asks me questions. When I tell them what happened to Mama and Max, I cry and cry. The man sitting with Daddy tries to say it was that big ole gator who killed my mama. He says she was still alive when Daddy left.
He’s a liar. I may only be seven, but I know grown-ups lie a lot. I don’t understand everything that’s happening until Daddy, wearing an orange outfit, calls out to me.
“Katherine, don’t you forget about me, you hear? You know Daddy loves you.”
Gram pulls me tight to her side. They both hate to fly, so we will be driving all the way from Florida to Kansas. It’s all those miles together with them where I developed my love for road trips. By the time we get to their house, I’ve made up my mind.
“I don’t want to be called Katherine anymore. I want to be called by my middle name. Hope.” I sit in the back of their big car, feeling the air blowing across my skin and waiting to hear what they’ll say about this declaration.
Gramps looks at me in the rearview mirror. He winks then turns to Gram. “I’ve always loved the name Hope. What about you, Julia?”
“I think it’s a fine name.”
And just like that, it was done. A year later, Gramps sits me down outside on the front porch swing. He tells me Daddy got into a fight and was killed in prison. Says I’ll be living with them for good. I’m happy. They never go to war. There’s always plenty of food and hugs. I don’t ever want to live with my daddy again.
“Am I a bad person?”
Gramps unwraps a peppermint and pops it in his mouth. The smell fills the air. “No. You are not bad. We can’t pick the family we have. Sometimes we get good ones and sometimes they’re bad. Your daddy had a lot of problems. And your mama, God rest her soul, loved him anyway.”
He puts his arm around me and pulls me close. “But that’s no excuse, Hope. We have a responsibility to do what’s right. No matter how difficult it may be. You know it’s just like with Mr. Williams.”
“With his cow, you mean?”
“The law said the cow belonged to him. But I knew what his son was doing to that poor animal. So Henry and I took that cow one night, took him far away to live with someone we know. A place where he’ll live out the rest of his life in a sanctuary.” He meets my eyes. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“I think I get it. Sometimes what the law says isn’t always the most right thing to do.”
He pats my shoulder. “That’s right, honey.”
Kansas healed me. Let me put the past away and forget about it. Florida faded away. I went to college at Kansas State University. And before I graduated, I landed a job working for a water utility in North Carolina. It was hard to leave them both. They were like parents to me. I loved them fiercely.
While I was growing up, I never told anyone I’d lived in Florida. Always went by Hope. I didn’t want anyone to ever connect me to that girl from the news. Gram had a picture of me. Covered in blood, curled up against Max. I found it in her things when I was looking for some of her costume jewelry to play dress-up with one day. For a long time, I looked at the news clipping before I put it back. I never said a word about what I found.
After I graduated, I had two months before I started my job in North Carolina. Plenty of time to pack and make the drive. We took so many road trips as I grew up. Saw so many places. I’d flown a couple of times but hated it. The cramped seats, people cranky and mean to each other. Being in that small space made me feel trapped. In my car I controlled where I went and what I did. When I stopped and where I ate. There wasn’t anyone else bitching and complaining. My schedule was all that mattered.
Gramps sat me down before I left. “It’s time you take these.” My daddy’s guns.
“I don’t know if I could ever shoot another human being.”
He was serious when he said, “If someone is truly coming after you, you will save your own life and pull the trigger. You keep pulling it until there’s nothing left.”
He showed me again how to use it. “Now you’re ready to go.”
If only he’d known how prophetic those words would turn out to be.
CHAPTER 22
FROM THE TIME I WAS little, I saw things differently than other people. Felt more strongly. Desired solitude instead of playing with other kids my own age. Why? I don’t know. Cells came together slightly differently when I was formed, perhaps. Who really knows why each of us is different? The world doesn’t like different. It beats you down and tries to make you fit into a box. Fuck the world.
One last email, turn on my out-of-office message, and I’m off. It’s mid-May with no sign of the heat abating. At least we’d had rain. Wild thunderstorms that made me run outside late at night and spin around, arms stretched out to the sky.
Sneaking out early on a Wednesday makes me feel a little guilty, so I worked through lunch. By now I should have expected the condition of the house I was checking out. Don’t any abusers have nice homes? If they did, I had yet to see one. Though Sean’s home was okay…except for the hole he’d hacked in the front door. How is the little girl doing? Her name is Elsa and I bet she loves having the same name as a queen, though this Elsa came before the movie.
The drive takes about an hour. How can anyone live here? The place looks battered and unloved. The porch sags in the middle. And the lawn. It’s more like a junkyard. If the house wasn’t hidden by trees, I’m sure people driving to work every day would call to complain. The house practically sits on the road, which poses a problem. It’s a busy road, so I take a chance and drive up the dirt driveway.
“This here’s private property. Can I help you?”
I put the window down partway and give my best wide-eyed I’m-so-lost look. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize. I got totally turned around. Give me a minute and I’ll be out of your hair.”
The man nods. It takes everything I have not to blurt out why? Why would you treat an animal so horribly? But I have to be smart. Criminals who brag about what they do, tell their victims why they’re going to kill them—they’re the idiots who end up getting caught. Not me. I want to be a ghost. Slip in and slip out with no one the wiser. Despair flows through me. So many victims are waiting for me to rain down justice. I feel tired before I’ve really begun.
There’s a pasture behind the house. Easing further into the driveway, I notice it backs up to woods. There’s another driveway leading off to the right. Good old Walt. Excuses, excuses. He stated he lost his job, didn’t have enough money to feed himself or his own family, let alone the horses. So why didn’t he surrender the horses to someone who could care for them? No, he preferred to let them starve. He may have avoided prosecution by surrendering the horses, but in my mind it’s too little too late. Glad he feels he made the right choice, because it’s going to cost. There’s always a price for our actions. If not while we’re here on earth then it’s wherever we go next.
Slowly I turn around, grateful I thought to smear mud across the back of the Jeep, partially obscuring my tag. Driving through a muddy puddle I saw along the way provided nice spatters to match. The windows are down as I inch down the driveway. The man is sitting on the sagging porch watching me, a baleful look on his face. His phone rings and I let off the gas even more. Thank goodness it’s an automatic. If this were a manual I’d barely be able to keep it from stalling in first. Snippets of conversation float through the windows.
“… When you see your mom tonight, be sure to ask her for some money. And don’t forget to stop and buy beer when you come back on Saturday.”
As the vehicle moves further down the drive, I strain to hear. He’s still glaring in my direction, so I don’t dare stop.
“… Well then, I’ll see you Saturday.” He stands up. “Naw, I’m just going to watch the ballgame tonight.”
The game? I hope he doesn’t have money on it, because he won’t see the outcome.
Malcolm called. The sheepdog had been spotted. Grayson was confident today was the day. A homeowner sai
d she could see the beast asleep under the kids’ swing set, in the backyard across from her.
She sounded embarrassed. “He doesn’t bother anyone, but I hate to see him running loose and looking so ratty.”
“We’re on the way. Don’t go outside. You might spook him.”
He met Malcolm down the street from the woman’s house.
“I’ve got a tranquilizer gun ready. What’s the plan?”
Grayson pointed to his right. “He usually comes down the hill and cuts to the right. I’ll give chase; you go around the side. When he runs past, dart him.”
Malcolm scratched his neck. “I’m starting to believe the stories.”
“What, that he’s some kind of ghost?”
“Could be a robot sent by the government to spy on folks. Like those drones we’re gonna start seeing everywhere.”
“You make a good point. How long have we been after him?” Grayson locked the vehicle and made his way up the street, careful not to let the dog see him. Through the trees he could see the dog sleeping. So far, so good. He approached from the left. Grayson was one yard over when all of a sudden the dog rolled to his feet, looked both ways, and cocked his head. The dog made eye contact, seeming to say screw you, before he turned and ran.
Grayson swore and ran after the dog. By the time he caught up to Malcolm they were both leaning over, hands on their knees, sucking in air.
“He never came my way. That damn dog must’ve smelled me and went a different direction.”
“We’ll have to brainstorm with everybody, see if anybody else has a better idea.” Grayson climbed into his truck. He waved to Malcolm and headed back to the office. Tonight he had a date. It would be good to try again. He wasn’t meant to be alone. Liked being in a relationship. Everything about it. From waking up together to hanging out on the weekends. Heck, he even watched all those girly shows with whomever he was dating. His divorce was final—it was time to dive back in. Too bad Hope wasn’t available. He liked her intensity.
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