Seek and Hide: A Novel (Haven Seekers)

by Amanda G. Stevens

  “Have you killed anybody?” Marcus threw the words at Chuck without turning around.

  The silence behind him pressed at his back. His hand flipped the lock easily this time, though his limbs weighed him down. Time to escape the prying, the caring.

  “Yes,” Chuck said.

  Yes what? Wait … Marcus faced him. Chuck’s face was calm, but his arms crossed like a barricade. Behind him, still holding Elliott, Belinda stared at her husband. One hand covered her mouth.

  “Vehicular manslaughter,” Chuck said. “Broad daylight, the week after New Year’s, coming up on twenty-seven years ago.”

  “Chuck.” Belinda rocked the baby as she approached him. “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do, woman. Make us some coffee.”

  “No.” Marcus stepped further into the room. “No coffee, but …”

  Chuck led him to the living room and sank into one of the paisley-upholstered chairs. Marcus perched on the edge of the other one. His feet still wanted to walk out the door. But the ache inside wanted something else.

  A slow sigh eased from Chuck as he leaned back. “Sunny day, the streets just looked wet. She was twelve years old, out walking the puppy she got for Christmas.”

  “And you … hit her?”

  “We had a little car, rear-wheel drive, wimpy little thing. Slid right through a stop sign, spun out, jumped up on the sidewalk.”

  Marcus pushed to his feet, paced the length of the room. He had no right to know the things Chuck carried, and this sounded like the heaviest of them all.

  “Her name was Payton. She died in the hospital the next day.”

  “Why are you telling me?”

  “Know what I did after that girl died? The same thing you’re getting ready to do. Decided I didn’t deserve anyone’s concern. Told Belinda to find herself a husband that didn’t kill kids.”

  Chuck scrubbed at his face, and another sigh poured out.

  Marcus’s feet stalled at the mantel, and his fingers rubbed the gold frame of a wedding photo. Chuck, his hair solid black. Belinda, her frame slimmer but her smile unchanged.

  “I treated her bad, Marcus. I treated everyone bad, but Belinda … I said some really crappy things. And she stuck by me. Until I came through to the other side.”

  “What’s … what’s on the other side?”

  “Deciding that there’s something more important than hating yourself.”

  Marcus picked up the wedding photo, and the rounded edge of the frame dug into his fingers. “It’s not that, it’s …”

  “My marriage was worth more, Marcus. My family was worth more. I’m betting you’ve got people that are worth more. And even if you didn’t, this mission of yours—you wallow and hide for a year like I did, and dozens of people will end up behind bars that you could’ve helped.”

  An hour ago, Marcus would’ve thrown the picture at Chuck’s head. Now he clutched it in both raw hands, staring down as if the beaming bride and groom knew something he didn’t.

  “I can’t pay for what I did.” Still leaning back against the chair, Chuck eyed him on a downward angle. “All I can do is take the acceptance that people gave me anyway. That Belinda gave me.”

  “You don’t have to pay for it.” The words barely hit a whisper, but they crumbled the fortress inside. God was here, had never left. Stiff legs carried him to the other chair and lowered him into it. God, is that what I’m doing? Paying for … everything?

  “With Jesus, there’s nothing left to pay.” The memory of Frank’s voice burned behind Marcus’s eyes. He knew that already. He blinked hard, swiped at his dry face, rubbed his thumb over the picture frame’s decorative ridges.

  Chuck scowled his confusion.

  “God has to pay for it,” Marcus said. But even this? Failure at the thing God had given him to do?

  Frank would say yes. Would tell him anything else cheapened the payment Jesus made.

  Chuck grunted, shifted in his seat. “Well, I don’t know about God. But I know that if you keep making yourself pay, you’re going to hurt more people than just you.”

  The nod came stiffly. The burden of the last two days bowled him over. I know You want me to keep up this fight. Am I doing it wrong? The weight didn’t disintegrate or even become lighter. He breathed beneath it, raised his head, leaned back against the chair, closed his eyes. So heavy. But he had to carry it. Jesus, I don’t feel strong enough. Make me stronger. Show me the right way to protect them all.

  And help me stop trying to pay.

  When he opened his eyes, Chuck glowered at him.

  “I should go,” Marcus said.

  “You ready for that yet?”

  “I’ll call a taxi.” Somebody to drive him wherever the heck he asked. He’d prayed. But the weakness still weighed him down.

  “It’s no bother, driving you home.”

  Taxi was better. Nobody would know or care if he stopped and … “I’m okay.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Yeah.” He surged to his feet, dug out his phone. Searched and found a number, listened to the line ring. A cold fist squeezed his gut.

  “Red Cab, how can I help you?”

  He closed the phone.

  Chuck stepped around him, stood in front of him with arms crossed and a creased frown.

  “Chuck, I …” His head ducked, chin to chest. God. Please help.

  “What’s going on?”

  Would it be okay? To tell him? “I … if you could … I can’t …”

  “Spit it out, son.”

  He spoke to the burgundy flecks in the carpet. “I need you. To drive me. Please.”

  “I told you that’s no problem.”

  “If you don’t, I’ll go and—and drink. And I can’t drink. I’m—I’m—”

  A warm hand clapped his back. “How about some coffee?”

  The brewing scent he’d failed to notice before wrapped around him, an embrace that thawed him inside. “Please. Yeah.”

  Belinda leaned into the living room. “How are we doing in here?”

  “He’s going to stick around for some of your gourmet hazelnut. Then I’ll take him home.”

  A smile flitted into her eyes. “Nothing but gourmet for you, son.”

  50

  Marcus hunched into his coat and rubbed his arms. He’d parked the rental in the adjacent parking lot. In a few more minutes, he’d have to head to his first client’s house. The store opened at 9:00, and now it was almost 8:30. Janelle should have shown up by now.

  No. She hadn’t been arrested. She was just running late.

  Her pink Volkswagen—“strawberry,” she called it—skidded into the parking lot as he was stomping his feet for the last time, counting down one more minute before leaving. She shuffled over the ice to the door, bundled like a little kid in her purple coat, blue ski mittens, white scarf, and a yellow wool hat that covered her salt-and-pepper hair all the way to her ears. A moment after she disappeared inside, light shone at the crack in the door.

  Marcus stepped out from under the naked oak tree and crossed the parking lot. His work shoes slid on the ice. His gloved hand flailed a moment before steadying against the side of the building. He pushed the door, and it actually opened. A bell tinkled over his head.

  Janelle’s voice rose from behind the counter. “We don’t open until nine.”

  “You should lock the door,” Marcus said.

  Her head popped into view. “Marcus!”

  “Why don’t you lock the door?” She’d get herself robbed, or worse.

  “What’s the point? I’ll be—” She rushed around the counter, still wearing her mittens and coat, and tried to smother him in a quick but hearty hug. “—Unlocking it in twenty minutes anyway, and I’ll be alone with customers all day long, and oh my goodness what on earth are you doin
g here?”

  “I can’t stay.” She released him, and he turned both steel bolts on the door.

  “Really, the lock’s not—”

  “No customers till I’m gone.” He headed for the back room, and she followed.

  “Is everything okay? Have you decided to come back to us?”

  He turned the storeroom knob—she didn’t lock this at night?—and walked down the stairs. He switched on the lone bare bulb. His throat tightened. The hours he’d spent here wrapped him up in a blanket of memory. Huddling with the others, sitting on this cold floor, talking about truth and life, listening to Abe’s quiet, level voice, to all their voices as they talked to God.

  “It’s not the same without you,” Janelle said.

  “There’s two things that I came for.”

  “Okay.”

  Marcus reached into the inside pocket of his coat. He’d wavered over which Bible to give her, Jim’s or Karlyn’s. In the end, Karlyn’s had fit into his coat, and Jim’s hadn’t. He brought out the small burgundy book and offered it to her, but she didn’t take it.

  “Is that …?” she whispered.

  “It’s Karlyn’s. They’d both want you to have it.”

  “Oh, Marcus, oh …” Her hand, still mitten-clad, hovered over it. She pulled off her mittens, and they dropped to the floor. Then her hands settled together on the leather cover.

  “Janelle. Here.” Marcus guided her hands around it. “It’s yours.”

  “I have a Bible?”

  He nodded.

  A small cry burst from her, then tears that coursed down her cheeks. She clutched the book to her chest and bent over it. Under his hand, her shoulder quivered with sobs. She cried until Marcus wondered when she would stop. The tears dried gradually, and then she looked up at him.

  “I’ll never, ever be able to thank you, much less repay you.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not a debt.”

  Her hands tightened around the Bible. “I’ll never give this up, Marcus. No matter what they do.”

  She should know how Aubrey found this Bible in Karlyn’s locker, years before Marcus or Janelle knew them. She should know Aubrey was gone, like Karlyn but not like Karlyn at all. But he couldn’t say it.

  “Janelle, I … there’s the second thing too.”

  “What is it?”

  He gently shifted her to face him. Her eyes glistened with tears and gratitude and trust. “You might not see me anymore.”

  Her lip wobbled. “But, Marcus, you—”

  “You’ve got to tell them, tell Clay and everybody. If I can come, I will, but you can’t call me anymore. Ever.”

  “Wh-why?” she whispered.

  “Because.”

  A tear squeezed from her eye. “You’ll come to the wedding, won’t you? Phil and Felice, they’d be so happy.”

  “No.”

  “Just the wedding? Just this one last thing?”

  Cracks widened inside him. “I can’t.”

  Her gaze fell to the Bible, and her hand caressed its cover. She lifted her head again, hurt and confusion replaced with fear and knowledge. “You’re fighting them. Aren’t you?”

  “Janelle. Don’t.”

  “How else could you possibly have a criminal’s Bible? You’re in danger, so you’re staying away, to protect the rest of us.”

  “They can’t know,” he said.

  “You don’t think they’ll figure it out?”

  “If—if they do, then okay. But you can’t tell them. Please.”

  More tears dripped down her face. “If that’s what you want.”

  “Thanks.” He jogged up the stairs, opened the door. After he’d gone two steps toward the front of the store, Janelle grabbed him in a hug.

  “I’m so glad God made you part of my life,” she said against his coat, “even for a little while.”

  His eyes burned. He hugged her back, squeezed her shoulder, stepped away. “I … you … all of you—”

  A smile curved her lips. “I’m glad. That we matter to you, as much as you matter to us.”

  He nodded and crossed to the door.

  “Wait, one second.” Janelle disappeared into the storeroom. After a minute, she reemerged to follow him to the front door, the Bible vanished from her hands. He’d bet she’d be locking that storage door after today.

  He didn’t pause on his way out the door and across the parking lot. They’d said everything they could. At the edge of the lot, something tugged him to turn around. Janelle stood framed in the door, that ridiculous cracked door. She raised a hand and waved. Marcus turned back around and crunched through the ice-topped snow. His breath frosted the air and disappeared. Would he ever see his own breath again without remembering how Aubrey’s wasn’t there?

  Two streets over, as he started the truck, his phone vibrated in his pocket. If Janelle was calling him, he was going to— But he didn’t know this number.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Marcus.”

  “Lee.” Both his hands gripped the phone. He trembled. “Are you—?”

  “I’m all right. Listen to me.” And then she stopped talking. How could he listen if she stopped talking?

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  “All right. Obviously, there’s insufficient evidence to hold me further. I’m being released. I wanted you to know as soon as possible.”

  Somebody could hear her side of this, maybe his, too. “Okay. Good. I’ll come get you.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’ve already called a cab. I’ll talk to you later today.”

  “No.”

  “Marc—”

  “Cancel the cab. I’m coming.” Silence invaded, but she wouldn’t win this. “Lee, cancel it.”

  “All right.” Her voice had lost a layer of its ice.

  “Are you at the Schoenherr building?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Thanks to the rental’s tendency to fishtail and the fear of being pulled over, the drive actually took fifteen. Marcus found a parking spot marked “Visitor” and crunched up the salt-spattered walkway. He pushed through the revolving door into a small, sparse lobby with wheel-spoke corridors leading away. An oak desk stretched along one wall. Marcus approached the gray-haired woman perched behind it. She stared at him like a hawk ready to catch a mouse. He wouldn’t be surprised if even clerks here had been trained to read crime on a person’s face. A few weeks ago, nobody could read more in his eyes than the misdemeanor of being a Christian. Now, she could scroll down a whole list of felonies, from his forehead to his chin.

  “What exactly can I do for you?”

  “I’m picking up a friend.”

  “Fancy that.” She stabbed a manicured talon toward one of the hallways. “They’ll probably be waiting there on the right.”

  “Thanks.”

  The hallway opened like the jaws of a snake. Why hadn’t Lee waited for him at the door? His gut tightened with every step. No doorways appeared on the right. Somebody opened the next door on the left and stepped into Marcus’s path.

  Marcus halted as Jason turned. He didn’t try to hide the look that sized Marcus up.

  “She called for a ride?” Jason said.

  Marcus nodded. Close enough.

  Jason nodded back. Quiet settled, but he didn’t move aside.

  Act innocent. Marcus stepped forward. “Somebody said she’s down this way.”

  “She’s brilliant, you know. We’re releasing her, her lawyer’s ready to file a suit, and all the time she’s guilty as—” He shook his head.

  “No,” Marcus said. “She isn’t.”

  “Tell me one thing.”

  Marcus shrugged.

  “How does a dirt clod like you end up with a woman like th
at?”

  Enough. Marcus pushed past him. Get Lee and get out. His feet propelled him toward the first doorway on the right.

  “Brenner,” Jason said from close behind him. “I’m not stupid.”

  Keep walking.

  But Jason kept pace. “Buying diapers? You knew she had that kid. All I’m left wondering is if you knew who the kid was.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m going to prove that Lee is guilty of kidnapping. She’s going to be locked up for the next twenty years, with guards that don’t give a crap and cellmates who’ll get a real kick out of her educated vocabulary and her rigid personal space.”

  Marcus whirled. Charged. Reached for a handful of suit coat. No. Don’t. This is what he wants. His hand jerked back empty, dropped to his side, but his fist still strained the blood-stained tape over his knuckles. He turned his back on Jason and headed for the doorway.

  “Don’t get comfortable,” Jason said.

  Marcus crossed the threshold.

  She had waited for him by the doors. A wide glass pair of them stood across the room. Sunlight glared from outside, magnified by the snow. Lee sat in a chair that faced the whole room, backed against a wall. Her attention flicked toward the movement of his entrance, then fixed on him. Dusky circles sat under her eyes. Had they kept her up all night?

  She stood as he reached her. “Marcus.”

  “You’re okay? What did they—?”

  “I would like to leave.”

  Of course. She’d been imprisoned for the last twelve hours.

  Twelve hours. That was all. Aubrey had been alive less than a day ago.

  He motioned Lee in front of him and shepherded her through the doors, hands clenched at his sides. She shivered once as they walked. He led her to the pickup truck and opened the passenger door.

  “What’s this?”

  “Rental.”

  “Where is your truck?”

  “Totaled.”

  Lee studied him as if she hadn’t seen him in years. “Last night? Were you injured? Your hands are—”

  “Get in.”

  They drove a few minutes before she spoke. “What happened?”

  “I—Lee, I’ll tell you … everything, but I … You talk first. What made them let you go?”