by Steven Hunt
Without raising his head, he added, “I know what you’re thinking. The same question everyone has asked. With such drastic change, how was it possible that Jane and I didn’t suspect something was going on? The simple answer is Jane and I trusted her. Like most parents, we thought she wouldn’t be involved in the things other kids were doing. She knew right from wrong. She was our daughter and our daughter wouldn’t do those things. I’m sure all parents of first-time juvenile delinquents have thought the same.”
He raised his head, but closed his eyes. “My thoughts were self-centered and my actions anti-ascetic. We were naïve.” He opened his eyes. Christy watched him. “Perhaps Mandy is a master of diversion. Or maybe manipulation. I don’t know. Regardless, Mandy’s behavior changed and she dispelled any notion that anything was amiss. She vindicated herself of all suspicion with thought-out, rehearsed answers.” The baseball lump in his throat grew into a cantaloupe. He tried swallowing around it.
“You are close with her, are you not?”
Not trusting his voice, he nodded.
Again Christy waited until he continued.
“She and I have—had—a special relationship. When she was younger and while most of her friends were either shopping or baking with their mothers, Mandy wanted to hang out with me. I didn’t know why then and it still puzzles me to this day. But we had fun.” He chuckled. “We played catch in the park, worked on the cars, mowed and raked the lawn; you know, things a father might do with a son. But Mandy didn’t care; she liked spending time with me. She still enjoyed wearing pretty dresses and getting her hair and nails made up like other girls, but the best times I remember were the ones when she wore her grungy clothes and we played hard. We sang and laughed until we cried.” The pace of his words quickened with the excitement of the memory.
“We raced each other down the street, played basketball, and even went fishing.” He stopped smiling as he glanced around the dingy boxcar, reminded that he was years away from that wheat field playing hide-n-seek with a young Mandy. His shoulders slumped. With a trembling voice, he said, “She was my little girl.”
“She is still your girl.”
He shook his head. “No. I lost her a long time ago. We quit doing the things we enjoyed as she got older. We hardly even spoke to each other after the crash. It was like…we were strangers.” The imaginary cloak that had kept him down for many months grew stronger. His chin fell to his chest from the weight of his burdens. Defeat knew him and called his name.
“Please continue.” Christy prompted.
Teddy glared at her. He resented her for making him remember. He mumbled, “I don’t know if I can go on—”
“I know you can. Now continue.”
Teddy walked to the door, looking outside. Dawn was still hours away. If he could only put up with Christy until then, he’d run and not have to listen to her ever again. He’d flee without looking back.
As he turned toward her, he realized he couldn’t resist her. Those eyes full of compassion and love, but yet mysteriously filled with knowledge and understanding held him captive much like the evil fog and cloak.
“OK.” He sighed. “I’ll tell you another one.”
He returned to what he now thought of as his hay bale, sitting close to her. Christy’s eyes followed him, waiting. “About the same time that Mandy changed, the bottom dropped out of my business. In college, I developed a software program that would assist law enforcement with tracking vehicles. It’s similar to a program the military uses when a soldier ‘paints’ a target for bombers to destroy. It involves laser technology and the use of a small satellite. The laser is manufactured to ‘paint’ a vehicle without endangering an officer by having him exposed by manually planting a tracking transmitter on the suspect’s vehicle. The laser is shot with a special, non-lethal rifle onto the target vehicle and locked in place. The element that makes this system unique is that there isn’t any tale-tell signs to alert the vehicle’s owner that his car has been tagged. Wherever the car goes, the marking lock will follow. The lock lasts up to two weeks before it terminates the contact, unless reapplied. By use of the satellite and computer software, my program keeps the officers advised of the vehicle’s location, direction, speed, and—by using a special algorithm—it can determine if any additional weight—such as passengers, weapons or drugs—has been added to the base weight of the car. An additional component of the software can short-circuit the car’s electrical system, essentially shutting it down and eliminating the potential for a high-speed pursuit.”
Teddy straightened, stretching his back, before continuing, “My best friend in college, Frank Bethel, majored in business so it was a no-brainer when we became partners. Who could ask for a better partner than a man’s best friend, right? Working long days and many nights, one better be able to tolerate his partner, at least. Before we knew it we were managing five hundred employees and manufacturing the software and lasers. Law Enforcement Assistance Proprioceptors, Incorporated—or LEAP for short—filled requests from all the major police departments and federal agencies in North America, Canada, Great Britain, and Australia. Business was booming.”
His shoulders squared, and he sat more erect. “Things were great for several years until the Supreme Court agreed to hear a case based on the arrest of a drug kingpin in Omaha. The Omaha police had purchased our program and used it to track this dealer’s car. After he loaded his vehicle with over two hundred pounds of marijuana, methamphetamine, and cocaine, in addition to twenty or so automatic weapons, his car was stopped and he was arrested. In court the kingpin claimed my laser program was an invasion of his privacy and the evidence found in his car should be excluded as ‘fruit of the poisonous tree.’ The justices ruled in his favor. They said his privacy had been violated, probable cause had not been properly obtained, and the conviction was overturned.
“Because of the court’s decision—even though the appeals are still ongoing—the business failed almost overnight. We were forced to lock the doors and refund millions of dollars, bankrupting us.” His head dropped. He sat still for several moments.
“Why are you doing this to me?” He didn’t raise his head or look at her. Instead, he stared at the loose straw on the boxcar floor next to his feet.
“What am I doing, Teddy?”
“You’re beating me down. I can’t continue to remember these things. They hurt too much.” He shuffled his feet.
Christy scooted closer to him. “It is not my intention to do you harm. To be healed of your depression, you must first know what caused it. The only tool we have at our disposal to uncover the reason is your memory.”
He nodded while pursing his lips.
“Please continue.”
He inhaled a deep breath through his nose. “Frank had wisely made other investments so his financial situation didn’t look as bleak as mine. All of my money had been reinvested into the business. I was ruined. I couldn’t make the mortgage payments on my home and I couldn’t pay the utility bills. After several months, the sheriff started foreclosure proceedings.
“I resorted to searching the sofa for change for Mandy’s school lunches. I wasn’t able to keep my wife in the life that she’d grown accustomed. My wife and I—whom I also met in college—started drifting apart. I don’t imagine it was a hard decision for her to run into Frank’s arms after…well, you know.”
“Are you sure she left you?”
Teddy closed his eyes, fighting the images of his past. “I saw it with my own eyes. Saw all the signs. She’d grown secretive. Used to be we shared all the details of our days around the dinner table. Before I left we didn’t even talk—not even to say good morning. I noticed her talking more on her telephone and she began leaving the room when it rang—even if I was the only person in the room. Do you know how that made me feel?” Teddy searched Christy’s eyes for empathy. “It made me feel like a second-class citizen. In my own home! I had become the person who least mattered in my wife’s life. I even heard Jane lau
gh—the same special laugh she used with me when we dated. That tore me up. I remember that laugh as the one she’d used when flirting. I’m not proud to admit that I followed her on several occasions and she always went to Frank’s home. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened. The morning I—” he almost said tried to kill myself, but stopped. “—left, I watched her pack several bags. She and Mandy got into her car and left. That was the worst day of my life and the day she left me for him.”
“That must have been very painful for you.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees while cradling his head with his palms. “You don’t know the half of it. Losing everything is a big hardship, but that can be overcome. Losing my wife and daughter…I don’t know how I can ever come back from that. I could’ve started over, but without my family by my side, what’s the point? Losing Jane and Mandy hurt me the most.”
“So why are you here? Why are you not at home fighting for them?” Christy leaned toward him.
“When I watched them drive away, I felt—” His chin vibrated. His grandfather always told him that a man should never cry—it was a sign of weakness—and he’d lived his life with that as his motto. Lately that had been a problem. He displayed every sign of an emotional breakdown sans the tears. His emotion choked his words. “—a sense of finality.”
“So, Teddy, is it safe to say that you will do anything to get them back?”
He could only nod. He didn’t trust his voice to speak. All the signs of an emotional collapse were present and the tears had to flow sometime. Didn’t they?
When would the pangs stop? He’d grown weary of feeling this way, of being in a dark place. Of being alone. Of feeling worthless.
“Even if that means doing what I ask you?”
Again, he gave a nod.
“OK, but you have to trust me. You will essentially be starting over. Back to the basics. My job is to show you those basics of life so you can enjoy the enrichments with which you have been blessed. Your life can be rewarding again. You will laugh. You will be happy.” She smiled. “You will be taught faith, hope, and love for these are from which happiness is born. You will be given the tools to make your life complete and have the strength to combat the darkness. You do not need money, a large house, a flashy car, and the most up-to-date electronics to be successful. Learn these simple lessons of life and everything else will fall into place.”
He raised his head to look at her, even at the risk of seeing into her powerful eyes. How could faith, hope, and love restore what he had lost? How would the basics of life battle the dominant cloak of depression? And the thick fog of confusion? These questions and more welled in his mind.
But, what choice did he have? Who else had come forward to help? Without Christy to guide him, what were his chances of beating the darkness and regaining his wife and daughter?
“One other thing, Teddy. You also must forgive the man who took your parents’ lives.”
His head shot up. “What? No!” He stood. “I can’t.”
“You must.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you will not receive my help. You will not conquer your depression. And you will never see your family again.”
Teddy rubbed the side of his forehead. If he apologized, he would be able to return to his family—the one thing that really mattered. However, if he refused to forgive, he’d be destined to walk this world without them, never to see them again. Always wondering what they were doing and if they were OK. Was his anger worth the loss? “I don’t know where he is. How can I forgive if I can’t find him?”
“You must forgive in your heart. The rest will take care of itself.”
He paced as he said, “This is hard for me.” He stalked from one wall to the other before continuing. “A mistake—to drive intoxicated—was made and that mistake took my parents’ lives. I never considered that this man’s life could be worse than mine until you mentioned that he had turned to finding peace from a bottle. After what I’ve been through I understand the strong desire for peace. We are two men in search of the same quarry. We’ve just traveled different roads. He chose the quick way of numbing his pain by alcohol and I tried to take the permanent route of death.” There it was. He admitted he’d tried to commit suicide. No taking it back now. With his confession, tension lifted from his shoulders, making them feel lighter than normal. He turned his head from side to side, enjoying the new freedom. “Neither path is the way to peace and happiness.”
He faced her. “If the lessons you’re speaking of take me to a fuller life, then I guess I owe the man some gratitude. I know that sounds weird—me thanking him for killing my mom and dad—but that’s not what I mean. I mean without their accident, I would still be fumbling around in depression without any end in sight. And that is not a good place to live.”
Christy smiled as she nodded and pointed to his bale. “Come. Sit.”
Once he had seated himself, she continued, “To keep you focused on the tasks, there will be a time limit.” She paused as her eyes met his.
“If by Christmas Day—seven days from now—you cannot prove that you have applied these basic elements to your life, you will never see Jane or Mandy again. If by Christmas morning you have not completed these lessons, you will die.”
9
The winter mix—a combination of snow and freezing rain—began thirty minutes after leaving Pastor Joseph’s church and now fell in increments of moderate to heavy. The frozen whiteness coated everything and covered the streets, making them slick and dangerous. Thick cloud cover forced nightfall to arrive prematurely. The hair on her arms bristling with stress, Jane clamped her fingers around the steering wheel as they inched along the curvy, mountain road toward home. Having already slid twice and not being able to see any road markings, her focus lay on the smooth area between the mountain on one side and the cliff’s edge on the other. The defused light from the ice-blanketed headlights cut a slim path through the treacherous weather.
Mandy, normally ecstatic about the snow and the approaching holiday season, stared out the passenger window, mute.
Seeing her daughter emotionally crippled tore at Jane’s heart. Any child of Mandy’s age shouldn’t be saddled with this type of situation. She was falling apart. And there wasn’t much more Jane could do to stop Mandy’s plunge of despair. One more crisis—even a minor one—would leave both of them unable to help Teddy and ingrain a scar on their psyches too deep to heal. But to discontinue now would doom Teddy, especially since she suspected the sheriff of doing the absolute minimum that was required by law and his personal set of morality principles. As a mother, it was Jane’s duty to try to help Mandy, even if it meant her own destruction. She would sacrifice all she had, including her life, for the teenager sitting next to her.
“What’s wrong, Mandy?” Any distraction from driving in this deadly storm would not be considered safe, but the storm Mandy sloshed through could be just as deadly if not steadied. And Mandy needed her.
“Nothing.” was Mandy’s curt reply.
“Come on, honey. Talk to me.”
Through the minor light being projected from the orange dash lights, Jane saw her daughter’s puffy eyes as Mandy turned to face her. Sniffling, Mandy asked, “Are you all right? Are you OK with Dad gone?”
“No. Of course not. I want him back as much as you do.” What was Mandy thinking? What had caused her to question her love for Teddy?
Mandy shifted toward the window again. “Then maybe you need to concentrate more on getting him back and worry less about me.”
“Ouch!” Over the past months Mandy had mastered the art of spewing harsh words; words that cut deep into quick.
Without turning around, Mandy muttered, “Sorry.”
Jane alternated her eyes between the road and Mandy. “I want my old daughter back—the one with the huge heart and gorgeous smile. What do you say? Think we’d be a better team if we aired our concerns?”
&nb
sp; “I don’t know,” came from the passenger seat.
“You’ll feel better…”
“You’re not gonna leave me alone ’til I do, right?”
Jane nodded. “Right.”
“If it’ll make you stop trying to analyze me, I guess I will.”
She even speaks like Teddy when she’s annoyed.
Mandy pulled her left leg up into the seat, tucking it underneath her. “The last time I said anything to Dad was the night I told you guys that I’d become addicted to narcotics. Remember?”
Of course she remembered. How could a parent forget something like that?
“When I close my eyes I still see the look of disappointment and hurt on his face. He didn’t deserve the attitude I put out there. My addiction wasn’t either of your faults. It’s all me.” The tears on her cheeks reflected the glow of the dashboard. “My last words to him were ‘Are you proud, Dad? You raised a drug addict.’ I didn’t know that I’d never see him again.” Her voice hitched with the sobs. “I…I don’t want that to…b-be my last words…to h-him. I love him…and I should’ve…told him.” Mandy covered her face with her hands as her shoulders shook.
Jane risked taking her right hand off the steering wheel to rub Mandy’s back. “We don’t know that we’ll not see him again. Like Pastor Joseph said—” Jane’s eyes darted to the road, then back to Mandy—“we need to believe that God will bring him home to us.”
After several minutes, Mandy raised her head. Her crying had slowed and the hitching breaths were fewer. “We need to find him, Mom. I can’t live with the guilt that my last words to him had been to hurt him. I don’t know what I’ll do if something’s happened to him and I can’t tell him I’m sorry. Why was I such a snot?” She slapped her forehead with her palm.