“Allie,” Scout said, “what did your dad do?”
“For starters, I’m positive he’s the one who beat Father Malcolm up. As soon as I saw him in the woods, I knew my dad was back in town.”
“What?” My stomach turned and I thought I’d lose my burgers and ice cream, digested as it was. Joe and I stared at each other and then at Allie.
Scout ran his fingers down his cheeks and chin. “You sure? And why would that be? And you can sit up. Your old man is nowhere in sight.”
Allie sat up, one arm around Siren. “Father Malcolm is the one who turned my dad in.”
We all looked at Allie. Scout said, “For … ?”
Allie rubbed Siren’s head. “Abuse. Sexual abuse.”
We blew out our collective breaths. Scout eyed Allie for a long moment and nodded his head. “You’re a brave one, young lady.”
Joe reached over and squeezed my hand. “My God,” he said.
“You swore again,” I said.
“I think this calls for swear-worthy language.”
“Okay, go!” Scout interrupted. “Go to the hospital now. I’ll follow you up there to make sure Cecil Baker doesn’t, and I’ll ask the cops to send somebody up there, too, to keep an eye out the whole time. Go while you can. Allie, you’re staying with us tonight. I’ll ask the cops for surveillance at our place, and I’ll deal with the aunts.”
“No, Scout,” Allie said. “You’ve got little kids.”
“No argument, Miss Allie Baker. You’re staying. Oh, and here.” He thrust a Tupperware container at her. “Leftover burger and potato salad from our picnic. When I told Susan and Janie what was going on, they were worried that you haven’t eaten today. Humor them and eat it. Now get going.”
“Thanks, Scout!”
So we went.
Twenty-Seven
Finding Father Again
July 4, the day that lasts forever
While Allie devoured the burger, Siren sat beside her, head cocked, hoping for handouts. She fed him the last two big bites and he licked her face in thanks. “Yeah, I love you, too, Siren. Now settle down, please.” After that, the loudest thing in the car besides maybe the pounding of our hearts was the sound of Siren panting. He stuck his head out the window frequently, tongue flapping like the official Fourth of July flag. Once he had to snap his head sideways to catch his tongue, as if he was afraid it would blow away if he lost control of it.
I still wanted to ask Allie a million questions, but it didn’t seem like the time. Trying to absorb what she’d just told us was enough.
At the hospital, Scout pulled into the parking lot behind us. The second Siren couldn’t see Allie, he sent up a howl. I grabbed his leash and got him out of the car. He wagged and smiled and licked my face. Gratitude.
Allie grinned. “He likes you.”
I rubbed his ears.
Allie tied Siren to the bike rack near the front door of the hospital, and when we moved away from him, he set up a yowl that could wake the dead. “Siren,” Allie said. “We don’t have time to calm you down.” She looked up at Joe and me. “See how he got his name?”
“Trouble’s coming?” I said.
“Trouble’s here,” Allie said. “Too late for a warning this time, Siren. Calm down.”
When Allie moved toward the hospital door, Siren set up a yowl again.
“I’ll just stay with him for a while,” Joe said. “You two go up.”
Scout pulled up beside us. “Looks calm around here. Cop said someone’s on the way. Don’t be long. Just talk to him and head out, okay? I’ll meet you at the fireworks. And—call. Remember to call.”
“Thanks. Bye, Scout.”
Joe sat down on the grass beside Siren. Allie rubbed Siren’s head. “Thanks, Joe. Be right back, Siren.”
Then she and I went inside.
The woman at the information desk frowned at us. “Visiting hours were over at nine.”
“We got called,” Allie said quickly. “That Father Malcolm is waking up, they said. Father Malcolm Dykstra. We need to see him.”
“Room 3411.”
“We know.”
The elevator doors opened at third floor, intensive care.
The nurse at the desk looked up and her mouth fell open. It was Zia, the nurse Allie had knocked on her butt.
“You!” she said. She narrowed her eyes at Allie. “You be careful?”
“I promise. I’m really sorry about knocking you over that night.”
Zia nodded. “I stay out of your way today. I wish you luck. I think is good luck that you are together again. Good, I think?”
“Yes!” I said and smiled at her. She smiled back.
At first, Father Malcolm’s room looked just the same. Same tubes, same respirator, same breathing noise pulsing air in and out.
“Hi, Father,” Allie said. “It’s just me again.”
A tall woman, with short dark hair and a white jacket, breezed in. Cheery but authoritative. All business. “Hi, I’m Dr. Rathburn. I’ve seen you here before,” she said to Allie.
Allie nodded. “And this is Sadie.”
“Father?” Dr. Rathburn leaned over the rails on his bed and put her hand on his arm. “Father? Allison is here to see you. And Sadie. Allie and Sadie. I think you want to talk with them.”
“He doesn’t know me,” I said.
“Allison is here,” the doctor repeated.
“It’s me, Father,” Allie leaned over him. “It’s Allie.”
This time, Father Malcolm’s eyes fluttered, trying to open. Allie moved her head closer, into his line of sight.
“Father?” Allie asked. Her voice was un-Allie-like. Timid.
His eyes fixed open, then fell shut, then fluttered again. The fingers protruding from his cast moved slightly.
“Talk some more,” Dr. Rathburn urged. “He can hear you.”
“Father? It’s Allie. Allie Baker. I came to see you. I brought my friend Sadie.”
“Aaaa … ” Father Malcolm said.
“Allie Baker,” Allie said.
“Aaaalleeee.”
“Yes!”
“Are … you … ” He stopped and breathed three times. “O … kay?” The respirator and his chest rattled.
“I am. Are you gonna be okay?” She leaned even closer, careful not to touch him. “Father, you have to get well. You have to be okay,” she said. “We need you.”
“Allieeeee … I … ” He stopped to breathe, tried to speak again, but it seemed to take too much effort.
“Father?” Allie said.
One corner of his mouth went up slightly. His whole face was still purple, his nose was still taped, and he was still attached to too many tubes, including the one pumping yellow fluid from his lower regions.
“Al … leeee … ”
“Father!” Allie said. “Did my dad do this to you?”
Dr. Rathburn stepped over to the side of the bed.
His response was first just heavy breathing, but then Father Malcolm’s head went up and down in a nod. A very slow, slight, but distinct nod. It took so much effort that his breathing became even louder. “Yessss … Al … leee … ”
“Oh my God,” Allie said. She put her hand on top of his. “I was right. I knew it.”
Dr. Rathburn put her hand on Allie’s shoulder. Allie straightened, stiffening at the touch. Dr. Rathburn said, “Allison. I’m going to go call the detective.” And she disappeared.
Allie leaned over again. “Father. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.”
Father Malcolm moved his head ever so slightly side to side. “No, Aaallleee. Not … not … .your … ”
Allie bit her lip and kept her hand on his.
“ … fault
,” he finished. “You … ” He breathed again, once, twice, three, four times. “Be … care … ful.”
We stood for what felt like a long, long time, hoping for more, but he was lost again, unconscious, exhausted from this effort. He was somewhere inside the rise and fall of breathing, as if this tent of a man was reduced to a bellows made of skin and could do nothing more than force air in and out. In. Out.
Zia came in, her shiny, smiley self. “How’s this priest? Did he talk to you?”
Allie said nothing, holding Father Malcolm’s hand, staring at him.
“Yes,” I said. “He did. He knows Allie.”
“Good.” Zia sad. “Very good. See? What I told you?”
“Dr. Rathburn just went to call the detective,” I said. Zia hurried out the door.
Allie leaned her elbows on the bed rails and put her head in her hands. She said, “Sadie, would you go check if Joe and Siren are okay?”
“Allie, they should be fine. They—”
“Please? I have a bad feeling. Really bad.”
I scampered down the stairs, two at a time, instead of taking the elevator.
Outside, Joe was sitting cross-legged and Siren lay curled up, sleeping with his nose on Joe’s thigh. I breathed out. Siren jumped up and wagged.
“I think you have a friend,” I said. I rubbed Siren’s head. “You okay?” I asked Joe.
“Yeah. What’s going on?”
“He woke up. Allie asked him if her dad did it, and he nodded yes.”
“Holy crap.”
Siren licked my hand and sat back down.
Then just as fast, he jumped to his feet again, snarling and barking toward the dark parking lot. I jumped back, afraid for my fingers. Joe jumped up and held tight to Siren’s leash. “Siren! What’s wrong?”
Siren’s snarling mouth was so close to us, we could feel his hot stinky breath.
“Siren, what is it?”
Siren snarled a growl that made me shudder. His hackles were up and he barked into the darkness.
“This gives me the creeps,” Joe said.
“Do you think he’s out there?”
Joe shrugged. “He is, somewhere. I sure hope not here.”
A Mankato police car eased around the corner. Out stepped Officer Rankin.
Siren barked.
“Siren, don’t you like cops?” asked Joe.
Siren’s rumbly growl subsided as Officer Rankin approached. “Whoa there.” Rankin extended the back of his hand to Siren. Siren sniffed and then stood still, letting Rankin touch him.
Rankin nodded to us. “Sadie, Joe. Allison upstairs? The doctor called me.”
We nodded, and Rankin went inside.
I smoothed Siren’s hackles. He looked up at me. Panting, still nervous, but calmer. He licked my face. Nervous, quick, wet licks.
“It’s a quarter to ten,” Joe said. “Almost time for fireworks.”
“Fireworks? I said. “Aren’t fireworks for people who need to create excitement in their lives? I keep forgetting this is the Fourth of July.” It was the longest day on earth, hands down. It was an eternity ago that we rode a bike race.
Twenty-eight
Allie, Father Malcolm, and
Cecil Baker
Still the Fourth of July
What seemed a long time later, the hospital door opened.
Siren leapt up and charged so fast, he jerked Joe right over. Allie stepped toward us, and Siren whirled and leapt at the end of the leash. She knelt beside him and wrapped her arms around him. He licked her face and wagged a million miles an hour. His tongue lolled out so far he could have stepped on it. She’d been gone maybe all of half an hour, and this was his greeting. She buried her face in his neck.
When she looked up at us, her face was the same color it had been when we found Father Malcolm in the ravine. “He’s dead. Father Malcolm.”
She sat down on the grass. Siren put his front paws and nose in her lap. “They’re moving him, and Dr. Rathburn said we can come up then and say a final good-bye.”
“Holy crap. That filthy, rotten bastard,” Joe muttered.
“Dr. Rathburn?” I said.
“No. Allie’s dad. Father Malcolm is dead. If Allie’s dad did this, he killed the priest.”
“It’s my fault,” Allie said, half-muffled against Siren’s head. “He’s dead because of me.”
“Allie,” I said, “that’s bullshit.”
Allie didn’t look up.
“He’s dead,” Joe said, “and it’s nobody’s fault but the guy who did this to him.”
Allie looked at me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. “My dad,” she said, “is a murderer. A murderer. My dad is a murderer. You can tell that to your fancy archeologist parents and see if they let you hang out with me. Another reason for me to disappear. Nobody should hang out with me. Look what happens.”
“Sadie’s right,” Joe said. “That’s bullshit.”
Allie bit her lip.
“Stuff happens,” Joe went on. “My brother died, and I blamed myself, and maybe I could have stopped him, but I couldn’t know—didn’t know—and none of that makes it my fault. This isn’t your fault at all, Allie.”
We were quiet again.
“Allie.” I sat cross-legged beside her and rubbed Siren’s ribs. He looked at me and then put his nose back on Allie’s thigh. “I get why you took off when you knew your dad was back—when you knew your dad did this. I get why you needed to hide from him. But I still don’t understand why you hid from us.”
Allie stroked Siren’s ear and said nothing.
“Allie. We need to know. Talk. Please.”
Allie bit her lip, hard, then said, “I told you that Father Malcolm turned my dad in.”
“Yeah, so? That doesn’t make you responsible. Or explain why you hid.”
“I told Father Malcolm what my dad was doing. In fact, Father Malcolm is the only one I ever told. And look what it got him. It’s what happens to somebody who knows what my dad really is.”
Joe leaned in toward Allie. “Look, Allie. Father Malcolm isn’t dead because you talked to him. Father Malcolm is dead because somebody who’s a low-down dirty horrible bastard, who is a despicable human being, beat him to death. If that’s your dad, I’m sorry. But it doesn’t have anything to do with you telling someone the truth.”
Allie looked up and shrugged. “It does. This happened to Father Malcolm because he knew too much. That’s why I hid from you guys. So you wouldn’t know too much … ”
Joe and I looked at each other. Maybe this was being in love. When you could say volumes with just your eyes. We both knew we could run, shut the door on this, be done, gone, and we both knew it was the last thing we would do.
“Allie,” I said, “too late. You’re my friend. Our friend. This is what friends do. They take shit for each other. They stick together. You’re not getting rid of us. We’re here—” I smiled—“to walk through the chicken with you.”
She looked up. “I get it. I think. Dad never let me have friends much.”
“Of course not. Friends talk. If you had a friend, you might have told somebody else what was going on. So talk.” I faced Allie.
She looked at us miserably.
Joe got to his feet. “Want me to take Siren for a walk? So you can talk to Sadie without me?”
Allie shook her head and rubbed Siren’s front leg. “No, thanks. I want Siren here. And you might as well hear, too, Joe. Sit down.”
Joe sat back down.
So Allie talked.
“When I was almost twelve, I told him—Father Malcolm—in confession. My dad made me go to CCD and to confession. He believed in it like some sort of holy whitewash. If you go to confession, it will take care of rest of you
r sins or the shit in your life or something.” She stroked Siren’s ears.
“Yeah? And?”
“So I told Father Malcolm that Dad used to get my mom drugged or passed out drunk to get her out of the way. He dealt drugs, too, so there was always something around. Then he’d come to my room. First he just touched me. Then more and more, and then he forced himself on me … like at least once a week. Started when I was nine. The first time, I thought he’d split me in two.”
We were silent, shocked.
“And Siren tried to tear him apart ’cause he knew Dad was hurting me and I was trying to get away,” Allie continued. “Dad kicked Siren—broke his ribs once, after Siren attacked him. I grabbed Siren and lay on top of him, and wouldn’t let go, and I was crying and screaming that Dad would have to shoot me to get Siren and I didn’t care if he did. Shoot me, I mean. I wanted to just die.”
Siren looked up into Allie’s face, panting a smile, every time she said his name.
“After that, Dad used to tie Siren up outside. Usually he had to drug him—put drugs in some meat—so he wouldn’t go crazy tied up away from me when he knew I was in trouble.” Allie ran her hand down Siren’s ribs. She didn’t look up.
“If I made noise, he put a pillow over my mouth so no one would hear me scream or cry. I thought I was gonna suffocate, so I quit crying. Instead, I shut down. He didn’t let me have friends, so I closed off the world.”
Allie pulled her free knee—the one not under Siren’s head—up to her chest and held it in her elbow, her face buried in it. I could hardly hear her. I barely breathed. And then, I saw a tear. Allie, tough girl, AllieCat, always-land-rubber-side-down-or-on-her-feet AllieCat was crying. She sniffed and wiped her nose on her knee.
“I only cried one other time after that. Ever.” She glanced up at me, wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Until now.” She grinned through the tears.
I nodded. I reached out and put my hand on her knee.
“Afterwards, he’d sort of wake up, like he couldn’t help himself when he did it, and then he’d come to his senses, and feel bad, and make me food to try to make it up. Usually spaghetti, and he makes the best spaghetti in the world. Then there were leftovers the next day if Mom was too drunk to cook.
Chasing AllieCat Page 17