Cradle Robber

by Staron, Chris

  Wade stood and arched his back, surveying his office. His desk sat in one corner of the living room next to pushcarts overflowing with transistors and circuit boards. It was more of a workshop than a living space. The old couch sat against a wall, facing the wrong way, as did the end tables and lamps. All of the curtains were drawn. He liked it dark, not to mention the added privacy. No need to keep the place clean or cheery since nobody ever visited. Functionality reigned supreme.

  Why bother having nice things when he could save the world? A fancy living room, friends..., they got in the way of achievement.

  Wade shuffled across the carpet until his hand touched cold steel. An unassuming door hid the best secret of them all. He opened it and stared into the garage. Cool air tickled his face. Sleep tugged his eyelids shut. No. Not enough time for rest.

  If only Wu hadn't tried using a mouse in the transporter. That stupid rodent was going to haunt him for weeks.

  What if they’d moved forward with human experiments as he initially suggested? Disaster.

  It gave him pause. Play it safe. No more rushing to get things accomplished. Yes, he managed to get an apple across a room, but in order to achieve his ultimate goal, the subject must arrive in one piece with all of its legs in the right place.

  Sleep was out of the question until he fixed it.

  Wade stared into the garage. There sat the beast, the tool of his revenge, more powerful than the transporter, thousands of times more complex. If he couldn't get a simple mouse across the room, what made him think he could get this machine to work?

  Failure was not an option. Lives depended on his ultimate success.

  It had to be perfect before he tried it out. But he was losing patience.

  Revenge. A chance to set the world straight.

  It was almost ready.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Wade sat in the back of the church with a box of tissues clutched in his lap. A sniffle. He dabbed his face as yet another tear rolled down his cheek. The bulge of used tissues in his suit pocket grew by the minute.

  How embarrassing. Grown men didn't cry at weddings. Wade pulled another Kleenex from the box and blew his nose.

  Tom stood by the altar, hands clasped in front of him, handsome in his black tuxedo. A line of men extended behind him, all trim and staring down the aisle. Flowers decorated everything from the end of the pews to the stairs. A choir sang from the balcony.

  Doors opened and everyone stood and faced the back of the room as Linda emerged. Her white wedding dress was simple but elegant. The veil over her face could not cover her bright smile. Camera flashes snapped all around the room.

  The congregation sat when she reached the front of the church and the pastor began his sermon.

  Wade covered his face in shame, fighting the jealousy that tumbled in his stomach. This should have been his wedding. The bride, church, and pastor were the same. Linda was his not too long ago. One decade separated two realities—one where he married Linda, and one where this cruel ceremony twisted the knife in his heart. Ten years—the blink of the eye. He’d lost her.

  He traded all of this for a silly heap of metal that might not work. For a disfigured mouse and nights spent hunkered over blueprints and computer terminals. Was it really worth the sacrifice? The lonely nights?

  Yes. He did it for justice. Nobody else stood up to fight when Angela died. They wrote her off as a confused kid who made some bad decisions instead of seeing reality. He alone knew the truth. He understood the pressures that caused the incident that night.

  The church faded and Wade slipped back to the night Angela stepped in front of the train. He didn’t fight it. Memories rushed in. Self-pity pulled him into the past.

  The smell of antiseptic. It burned his nose that night.

  Friends and family crowded together in the emergency room as they waited for news. Would Angela live? Why was she in front of that train?

  He and Linda left the graduation party as soon as they heard. Everyone did. They landed in the ER at Indianapolis General with dozens of others, all dressed in luau garb. Grass skirts, flowered shirts, and coconut bras. The crowded ER bulged with friends and family, a fluorescent-lit nightmare.

  Linda, breathless, clutched his arm. “What do we do?”

  Linda. She was so beautiful then, back when she was his, before he threw it away for revenge. He remembered the look on her face, the wide eyes, flushed skin, as she panicked over the thought of losing Angela, the girl they poured so many hours into mentoring.

  She squeezed him around the waist. “It’ll turn out all right. God is a God of healing.”

  Sobs blocked his words. He pushed his chin into her shoulder, exposed in the center of the waiting room, fighting a nervous breakdown. “I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  She shushed him. “It’s not your fault.”

  Defiant, he knew the truth. As Angela’s after-school mentor through MissionFocus, he should have seen the writing on the wall. Angela was depressed, suicidal. If he was not responsible, who was?

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No, it’s not. How could you know she was going to do that?”

  Fire burned in the pit of his stomach. Guilt sank its claws into his conscience. “I should have known.”

  “You couldn’t have.”

  “There must have been signs.” Wade gritted his teeth. “Sadness, bad grades.... Good girls don’t commit suicide.”

  Linda arched her head back and pulled away from him, searching his eyes. “Nobody is saying suicide.”

  Wade held on to Linda like she might slip away. Thank God she came with him.

  Some of the other volunteers from MissionFocus were there too. Each of them gave three or four hours every Monday night to do a big youth group in the city. Together they worked with kids in detention, runaways, and jailbirds—his fellow warriors in the faith.

  Kids from MissionFocus wandered around the waiting room. Half the cheer leading squad huddled together in a corner. Athletes and nerds sat next to each other forgetting their self-imposed caste system out of shock.

  But one stood out above the rest. The cloud of pain cleared from Wade’s mind long enough to think.

  A teenage girl crouched in a distant corner of the hallway, her dark hair tucked under a purple and black striped hooded sweatshirt. Her body quaked, knees pulled to her chest to block as much of her from view as possible. No mistaking her identity.

  Ericka, Angela’s best friend. She would know something. She could unlock the mystery.

  Wade sobered fast, like a drunk with police lights in his rear view mirror. He pulled away from Linda and crept toward Ericka as if approaching a wild animal in the woods. Linda followed close behind. The hallway was bare with white walls and pressed wood doors. Signs pointed to blood labs and examination rooms. He bent down next to the girl and placed his hand on her shoulder.

  “Ericka, it’s me. I’m here.”

  Ericka stared at him, makeup running down her cheeks. The pretty white blouse under her hoodie displayed elaborate bloodstains.

  Angela’s blood from the accident.

  Ericka saw the whole thing.

  “Go away,” murmured the girl as she buried her face in her hands.

  Wade leaned in close. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Please.…”

  Linda sat down on the ground and put her arms around the young woman. “It’s okay, honey.”

  Wade followed Linda’s lead and sat on Ericka’s other side. They huddled together in silence for many minutes while she wept. Linda rocked her back and forth.

  “It’s okay. We’re going to get through this. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Yes I did.”

  Linda took her hand. “No you didn’t. We can’t blame ourselves for the actions of others.”

  “She saw us.” Ericka sniffled, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve. “She saw us. I didn’t mean for it to happen. It just did. Angie saw us, and then she ran in front of the t
rain. I couldn’t stop her. I went after her and then.…”

  Wade offered his clean white handkerchief. “What did Angela see?”

  Ericka swallowed hard, catching her breath. “Carter.”

  Carter. The name that would stick in his craw for a decade. Handsome and thin, all the girls at MissionFocus loved him. The volunteers did not.

  Wade gasped. “Angela’s boyfriend?”

  “I let him into the house. We were going to watch a movie. That was it. I swear. But one thing led to another. I was kissing him, he found a blanket.…”

  There it was. The scenario laid itself out before Wade like a map. Angela snuck out of her parent’s house and ran to her best friend’s place after the graduation party. When she approached the front door she saw Ericka and Carter fooling around. Heartbroken, she threw herself in front of the train. A terrible outcome.

  Ericka beat the back of her head against the wall. “It wasn’t my fault.”

  Wade tried to calm her, placing his hand between the wall and her head. “You couldn’t have known she was going to—”

  Ericka buried her face in her arms. “Carter promised to pay for everything.”

  “Shh. It’s okay, sweetie. It’s okay.” Linda laid her head against Ericka’s. They rocked back and forth, staring at the vending machine across from them.

  The young woman tried to speak, but words didn't come.

  Linda shushed Ericka and pressed the girl against her. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

  Ericka’s voice hollowed, her eyes vacant. An attempt at words failed, then another. A gurgled swallow. Her lips parted.

  “They couldn’t have a baby, not with her in college.”

  The air left the room. Baby? What was she was talking about? The girl was hysterical, carrying on. How could they make sense of it all? There was no logic to the story. Wade wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. He pulled back his shaking arm. Sharp pains rocketed from his heart, across his shoulder.

  “Baby?” Linda’s expression dropped. The knot in Wade’s stomach tightened more. “Angela was pregnant?”

  “Not anymore.” Ericka coughed hard. “She did what Carter said. She went to the clinic a few weeks ago. They took care of it. I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. He said he wanted to watch a movie. I didn’t think it was wrong.”

  Angela aborted a baby. The sweet, innocent girl he mentored aborted her child. She devoted herself to her career, college, church, the works. Angela was a good girl. On the outside, she went to fundraisers and decorated the gymnasium for prom. But in private, she fooled around with one of the biggest screw-ups ever to grace the doors at MissionFocus. His wonder girl turned up a phony. This ‘A’ student with the brilliant smile threw her life away for a few hours of passion. What would her parents think when they found out?

  Everything shifted. Wade’s heart turned cold. He stood and ran out the door, not bothering to look back. No more need for explanation.

  He messed up. He missed the signs of Angela’s depression, of her pregnancy, and her abortion. He dropped the ball. It would not happen again. He’d do the right thing and get her loser boyfriend to the hospital to face the music.

  He marched blindly into the void.

  # # #

  Wade stepped back.

  One. Two. Three.

  BAM, the sole of his shoe connected with the front door, shuttering the lock. Splinters jumped onto the porch. Wade stepped into Carter's house.

  Vague shapes formed in the darkness of the living room. A rattle sound echoed as his feet hit beer cans that littered the floor. Deep bass assaulted his ears, music playing from somewhere inside the house.

  Bum bum bum.

  Bum bum bum.

  Someone was home.

  Sliding his hands up and down the wall, he located the light switch.

  Snap. A burst of light filled the room. The bare bulb revealed heaps of clothes amidst an ocean of pizza boxes, empty beer bottles, and soiled dishes. A brown mouse ran under the couch, knocking over an empty Chinese food container.

  Disgusting, but expected. Carter’s mom rarely came home, and, when she did, she passed out drunk on the couch. Wade had dropped the boy off two weeks earlier and there she lay, mouth open, arms dangling over the edge of the cushions. Maybe the youth group should come down and help make sense of the place. First things first: get Carter to the hospital before it was too late.

  He often drove Carter home from his AA meetings and court appearances. As a result, he knew his way around the house as well as he knew his own. Four or five times a year he deposited the boy into this hole when his protégé was too buzzed to get out of the pickup truck on his own.

  Not his finest moments, but someone had to be there for Carter since his mother didn’t care.

  Wade dragged his feet along the carpet to create a path, running his left hand against the wall for balance. The room boasted no photographs or artwork, nothing to show that a family lived here. Deep brown stains speckled the paint as if a flash flood of dirt recently rolled through.

  He poked his head into the kitchen. One of the cabinet doors hung from its bottom hinge as it dangled precariously over the linoleum. Half a dozen soda boxes sat on the counter. Trash overflowed the can. No sign of the boy.

  He felt around, but didn't find the light switch for the hall. Holes in the drywall, stains on the carpet—the place reminded him of a film about an insane asylum, only now he felt crazy. A knot in his stomach pulled tight. Why bother coming there? Did Carter have to know about Angela’s demise?

  Yes. Too many young men slept around and ran away when their consequences caught them. A dozen boys at MissionFocus did it every year. Multiply that by almost twenty years as a mentor and you get a lot of broken lives. Carter ought to know what his actions cost Angela and her family. If Wade didn't tell him, nobody would.

  He drew a deep breath and knocked.

  Dubstep music droned through the door with its dissonant melodies and computerized beats. No answer. He knocked again, louder this time.

  “Carter? It's Wade. I need to talk to you.”

  No response. He tried the knob. Unlocked. With a shove, he pushed back a pile of clothes on the other side. He stuck his head in. Dark wood paneling covered the walls. Dresser drawers lay scattered in all directions, while the dresser itself was tipped against the bed. A poster of a naked woman beckoned to him from across the room. Red light rolled from a lava lamp on the nightstand, creating a Martian glow.

  Wade entered, kicking through piles of trash, headed for the stereo. Time for the noise to end. But where was Carter?

  Chick-chuck.

  The barrel of a shotgun pressed against Wade's temple. Panic froze him in place, his muscles tightened. Sweat stung his eyes.

  Carter stepped into view, his thick black hair messed up, saliva heavy in his mouth. Whiskey emanated from his breath. The boy motioned to the door with a twitch of his head.

  “Get out of here.”

  “I have to tell you about Angela.”

  Something caught under his heel and Wade struggled to keep his balance. It was a shoebox with a needle and surgical rubber band inside. Everyone knew Carter drank and experimented with marijuana, but nobody told him Carter shot hard drugs. Tingles of terror rippled across Wade's body. What else was the kid capable of?

  “Carter, put the gun down.”

  “Get out.”

  Carter's head twitched and he kicked the stereo, tearing open a speaker. The noise died. Silence enveloped them, more terrifying than the repetitive musical beat. Time to gain control of the situation. Stand up like a man and take charge.

  Wade planted his feet and stood tall, arms raised to show he meant no harm. “Angela was hit by a train. They don't know how much time she has left. I thought you should know.”

  The fire left Carter's eyes and he lowered the gun. Air rushed into Wade's lungs for what felt like the first time in days. Good. Maybe the kid wasn't too far gone.

  “What? H
ow?”

  “I'm sorry, Carter.” Wade placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. “She stepped in front of a train. You couldn't have known she was going to do that.”

  A sniffle. Moisture welled up and Carter cleared his throat. Finally, a breakthrough. Maybe this was the tragedy that finally woke the kid from his sleep. Angela's death could have saved her boyfriend from the grip of drugs. All it took was the gentle nudging of the Spirit and a mentor willing to listen.