Grace

by Richard Paul Evans

  After a few minutes I took a deep breath then slowly exhaled. “I can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t, or won’t?” the young policeman said.

  My mother said gently, “Eric. If you know where she is you need to tell us.”

  “I can’t.”

  Officer Steele started, “Young man, if—”

  My mother interrupted him. Her voice was still calm. “Why can’t you tell us, Eric?”

  “They’ll hurt her.”

  “Who will?” she asked.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  Officer Steele looked at his partner, then at me. “Son, we’ve met with Madeline’s parents many times. I’m sure they would never let anyone hurt her. They are as concerned as any loving parents would be for their daughter.” He turned to my parents. “Her poor parents…”

  I glared at him. Was he really that stupid?

  The young policeman joined in. “Son, you’re harboring a fugitive. Do the right thing here and tell us where she is.”

  I looked at the floor for what seemed like ten minutes. I could hear the clock in the kitchen ticking.

  “Eric!” my father shouted. I jumped. But still I said nothing. I don’t know how long we were there. I felt like a fugitive myself held up in a house surrounded by the police. Give yourself up. There’s no way out of this, Eric. My brain ached.

  “Tell us where she is, son,” Officer Steele said gently.

  I took a deep breath then slowly let it out. “She’s in the clubhouse.”

  Officer Steele turned to my mother. “What did he say?”

  My mother looked at me sympathetically. “The boys built a clubhouse in the backyard,” she said.

  Both the policemen were immediately on their feet, no doubt excited at the prospect of being the heroes who found the missing girl and brought her home. To me they were the enemy, as stupid as all adults seemed to be those days. And my parents had been complicit, abetting the enemy.

  “Take us to her,” the young policeman said.

  In times of high stress I’ve found that my mind fixates on the trivial. I suppose it’s a defense mechanism. Suddenly all I could see was the guy’s feet. They seemed impossibly large, like frogman flippers. I just stared at them until my thoughts were broken by the sound of my dad clearing his throat. I looked up at him. He had the gray look of disappointment in his eyes but I honestly didn’t care. His disappointment in me couldn’t be a fraction of mine in him. For the first time in my life I measured my thoughts against his with equal value. No, more so. My actions came from love and duty. His came from ignorance. I suppose it was at that moment I became a man.

  Officer Steele walked to my side, grabbing the back of my arm. “Let’s go.”

  “I need my boots.” I walked to the kitchen to get them. I considered making a run to the clubhouse to tell Grace, but Officer Steele followed me back. I picked them up and returned to the front room. I sat on the floor slowly putting them on, but I could only delay so much.

  We went out the front door, then turned back down the driveway, trudging through the snow. I felt as if my feet were carrying me against my will.

  Even the moon betrayed Grace that night. It was bright and naked, only slightly blistered by thin, black clouds. It turned the snow-packed ground luminescent. I felt like Judas leading the Roman soldiers to Gethsemane. At least Jesus knew he’d been betrayed. It sickened me that Grace had no idea what was coming.

  Then I grabbed on to a thought as frantically as a drowning man grabbing a life preserver. Maybe she did know we were coming. Maybe she had, like me, heard the police radio. Of course she had. I heard it all the way down the street. Or maybe she had seen it all in the candle.

  We stopped a few yards in front of the clubhouse.

  “This it?” Officer Steele asked.

  I didn’t answer. It was a stupid question.

  He walked over as if inspecting Joel’s and my work. He pointed at the door. “Is this the only door?”

  My father, leaning on his crutches, turned to me. I nodded.

  The officer put his hand on the front of our structure and leaned in close. He knocked sharply on the door and said, “Madeline, it’s Officer Steele of the Salt Lake County Sheriff’s Office.”

  We all stood there staring at the door. There was no sound.

  “Madeline, we’re not going to hurt you. We’re here to make sure you’re all right.”

  Nothing stirred. The policeman got down on one knee and pushed the door open. It was as dark as a cave inside.

  “She probably left,” I said angrily. “She probably knew you were coming.”

  He looked at me. “How would she know that?”

  “She just knows things.”

  “Get me a flashlight,” Officer Steele said to his partner.

  Officer Buttars left, the sound of his flipper feet clomping through the thick snow as loud as if he were stomping bags of potato chips. With those paddles he should have just walked on top of the snow. I could feel my mother’s gaze on me but I didn’t look at her. I didn’t look at anyone. My eyes were fixed on the little door, fearing that Grace would suddenly appear. As the minutes passed, I started to feel some hope that maybe she had run away.

  It seemed an eternity before the younger policeman returned carrying a long silver flashlight that no doubt doubled as a truncheon. He handed it to Officer Steele who pushed open the door, panning inside with the light until he fixed on one point. Then he looked back at his partner and nodded.

  My heart stopped. I could only imagine Grace curled up in the corner, shaking and frightened. I wanted to run and tackle him and yell for Grace to run. But I didn’t. I just stood as frozen by guilt as fear.

  “Are you Madeline Webb?” he asked. I couldn’t hear Grace say anything but from the officer’s body language I knew that Grace had responded. “Let’s go, Madeline, it’s time to go home.”

  Only then did I hear Grace’s soft voice. I don’t know what she said, but the sound of it sent chills through me. More than anything I wanted to run. The Bible talks of a sinner feeling shame so great that he wishes for a mountain to fall on him. At that moment I wished for that mountain. Or one of Khrushchev’s missiles.

  The officer stood back from the door. And then I saw her, her hands in the snow, her head crowning at the entrance. She pushed herself up. She had nothing with her but her coat.

  “Are you okay?” Officer Steele asked. She nodded slightly. She didn’t look at me. I didn’t know what I would do if she did. “Have you been kept here against your will?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not going to try to run away from us are you?” the young policeman asked. “We don’t want to handcuff you.”

  “Don’t touch her,” I said.

  Only then did she look at me, and I saw in her eyes that she was no longer mine to protect. I had lost the right to speak for her.

  Officer Steele put his hand on her shoulder and gently pushed her forward. She walked ahead of us, flanked by the policemen. My parents walked behind me. When we got to the driveway the young officer opened the back door of the patrol car and Grace got in. She didn’t even look at me.

  My parents and I stood there at the edge of our driveway. I had never felt more alone in my life. I felt estranged even from myself, brimming with self-hate. In the darkness beneath the trees the policemen were no longer people, like Grace, they had turned to shadow, like shades in the land of the dead, on the banks of the river Styx.

  The patrol car’s engine roared to life, then its headlights blinked on, momentarily blinding us. The car pulled out of our driveway, crunching and spinning on the icy gravel.

  I just stood there. After all we’d been through, just like that she was gone.

  My dad said, “Let’s go to bed, Eric. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Then my mom said, “You did the right thing.”

  At that moment I saw that my parents were as capable of evil and stupidity as anyone who has ever walked this pl
anet. They were as capable of evil as me.

  I walked into the house without a word. I kicked the boots from my feet and trudged off to my bedroom. The room was dark; as usual Joel had gone to bed hours earlier. I took off my pants, then climbed under the covers. The prospect of sleeping seemed ridiculous. I felt sick to my stomach. I wished I could vomit the whole night away.

  I suddenly became aware of Joel’s breathing. I don’t know why but the sound filled me with rage. After a minute Joel said softly, “Did they take her?”

  For a moment I couldn’t speak. All the rage and fear and anger twisted my mind into a horrible, tight knot. Then I exploded, throwing back my covers and glaring wild-eyed at my little brother.

  “You told them! You said you’d never tell and you did!”

  Even in the dark I could see his eyes, wide and frightened. “No I didn’t. I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “You’re a liar!” I hissed. “And she’s going to get hurt. Do you know what her father will do to her? And it’s all your fault.”

  His voice cracked. “I didn’t tell anyone, Eric. I promise.”

  Deep in my heart I knew he was telling the truth, but my heart wasn’t in control. “I’m never going to talk to you again. Never. I hate you.”

  My words fell off into silence. I could hear Joel softly crying beneath his covers, whimpering over and over, “I didn’t do it.”

  I had committed my second act of treason of the night.

  CHAPTER Thirty-five

  I had a dream that the whole world turned to glass.

  Those who had much to hide were very afraid.

  GRACE’S DIARY

  FRIDAY, DEC. 28

  I don’t know what time it was when I woke the next morning, but no one was home. I looked over to Joel’s bed. It was made. I just lay back in my bed looking at the ceiling, following its cracks with my eyes, trying to distract myself from what I felt. My heart ached in a way I had never felt before. Grace was gone. I had cut off my brother and I had unmasked my parents as the sinners they were. I had never felt so alone in all my life. It was the first time in my life that I truly wanted to die.

  What seemed unbelievable to me was that Grace was still out there. Was there a chance that she would be okay? Maybe the police were telling the truth and her parents really wanted to take care of her. Right, and Kennedy and Khrushchev were playing croquet together.

  Even if she weren’t hurt, I had betrayed her. It was no use trying to believe that everything was okay. It wasn’t. And it never would be again.

  CHAPTER Thirty-six

  The greatest pain of most trials comes from the uncertainty.

  To free ourselves of pain we must first submit to it.

  GRACE’S DIARY

  WEDNESDAY, JAN. 2

  Wednesday morning came like the flu. My thoughts about seeing Grace at school couldn’t have been more divided. Half of me couldn’t wait to see her. The other half was terrified. I wondered what she would do.

  I looked for Grace in the halls. At lunch I walked around the lunchroom, then I walked to her locker. I didn’t see her. At least, I thought, I would see her in Spanish.

  I got to class early, then I waited outside the classroom until the bell rang. As I walked into the room I glanced toward her desk; it was empty. Then I sat down in my seat, glancing every few seconds at the door. Only after the tardy bell rang did I believe that she wasn’t coming. It made sense that she wasn’t there. After being away from home that long, her parents probably wouldn’t let her out of their sight. Then again, they might have discovered that she was pregnant. In those days unwed mothers sometimes just disappeared, whisked off to other cities so as not to shame their family. Part of me was relieved that she hadn’t come, but it was equally matched by disappointment. I missed her. Even her hating me wouldn’t change that.

  I don’t remember hearing anything in class but my mental absence seemed to pass unnoticed. The final bell rang and, like everyone else, I began gathering my books when Mrs. Waller tapped a ruler against the blackboard to get our attention.

  “Class, please stay in your seats for just a moment. I need your attention.”

  The class quieted.

  “As you know, one of our classmates, Madeline Webb, had been missing. We heard today that she passed away over the holiday. For those of you who were close to her, I’m very sorry.”

  The class rose around me and flowed past my desk. I sat there unable to move. Suddenly the tears started to come. I covered my eyes and put my head down on my desk and began to shake. I don’t know how long I sat that way before I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m so sorry, Eric.” Mrs. Waller stood next to my desk.

  When I could speak I asked, “What happened?”

  She hesitated. “I can’t tell you.”

  I looked at her, my eyes wet, dark and direct. “It was her stepfather, wasn’t it?”

  She didn’t answer me.

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “He’s in jail, Eric.”

  I began to sob. She stood there with her hand on my back with no idea what to say.

  I purposely missed the bus. I walked home, glad for the pain and cold. I now understood why Grace had cut herself. I wanted to cut out my heart.

  For the first time since I started school in Utah, my mother was home when I got there. From the way she looked at me I knew that she knew about Grace. I walked past her without speaking. I went to my bedroom and slammed the door. I hated her for knowing what had happened.

  She followed me and stood outside my door. “Eric.”

  I wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of needing her sympathy. “What do you want?”

  “Did you hear…”

  “Did I hear what?”

  She paused. “Did you hear about Madeline?”

  “What about it?” I said.

  “I’m sorry,” she said and walked away.

  CHAPTER Thirty-seven

  To hate is to feel strong and to be weak.

  GRACE’S DIARY

  For the next two days I didn’t speak to anyone in the house. I could see the pain my silence caused them and it made me glad. Whether it was misery looking for company or the pursuit of vengeance I don’t know. I wasn’t really that introspective. It was probably a little of both.

  Every time my mother tried to speak to me I walked away from her. Disrespect wasn’t tolerated in our home but this time neither of my parents challenged me. Maybe they realized what they’d done and felt the guilt I thought they deserved. Or maybe they instinctively sensed just how close I was to the edge. I was close. There was something new inside me. Something that felt strong. It had no heart, no reason, and, most exquisitely, no fear. It was hate. It welcomed a confrontation. It hoped for one.

  I had decided to run away. I had already packed what I needed and decided to leave the night of Grace’s funeral. I had a pretty good idea of what running away would entail. I had taken care of a runaway. I could take care of myself. Even if I couldn’t it didn’t matter. If I had learned one thing from all this it was clarity. I knew who the enemy was. And I would do anything to punish them, including hurt myself.

  Friday night my mother came to my room. I was alone, as Joel had slept with my parents every night since I’d turned on him. The light was off and I was in my bed, though a thousand hours from sleeping. She knocked once, then stepped inside, staying close to the doorway.

  “Eric, can we talk?” she asked softly.

  I didn’t answer but rolled to my side. I could hear her swallow. She just stood there, a shadow, wondering what to do. Finally she said, “Madeline’s funeral is tomorrow at noon. We’ll all be going. I hope you come with us.”

  I didn’t answer. She sighed. “Good night.”

  She shut the door.

  I shouted after her. “Her name isn’t Madeline!”

  The next day I slept in until eleven, showered, and got dressed. I stayed in my room until it was time to go, then I walked out a
nd got in the van before anyone else did. No one spoke to me.

  The funeral was held at a small church near her home. Before the service they had an open casket viewing. I climbed out of the van and walked inside, apart from my parents. I followed the signs to a small room.

  I wasn’t prepared for what I saw, but I don’t know how I could have been. There was Grace in a wooden casket. The inside was lined with pink satin. She looked like she was sleeping. My heart felt as if it were being torn apart.

  A short, stout woman with black hair stood next to the casket. She looked frail and her eyes were puffy. I knew who she was and I immediately hated her. I hated her for her weakness and her betrayal of her own daughter. Now she stood by her side. I wanted to shout at her. Hypocrite! Why weren’t you at her side when she needed you?

  My parents stood in line and walked up to the casket. Joel held my mother’s hand. He was crying. My parents paid their condolences to Grace’s mother, which only made me angrier. They deserved each other. A party of traitors.

  I kept my distance, standing at the side of the room torn between my hate and unspeakable sorrow. I wanted to wake her and run away with her, but Grace wasn’t there. Grace was life and spirit and there was none of that here. It was just a body in a box. Grace had gone someplace else. I wished I could have gone with her.

  Sometime later the minister said they would be closing the casket and if anyone wanted to give the deceased their last regards now was the time. A few people walked to the casket and kissed Grace. Then her mother fell on her, crying, “My baby. My darling baby.”

  Everyone in the room watched, moved by the emotional outburst. Many of them started to cry as well. A man in a suit comforted her. I just stood there, watching the drama unfold like bad theater.

  I didn’t sit by my family for the service. I sat alone staring at the back of a pew while people who didn’t really know anything about Grace talked about her as if they suddenly cared.