Without Faith

by Leslie J. Sherrod

  I put my coat back on. I didn’t know where Elrush Way was; didn’t know what kind of “pizza” I was about to pick up; didn’t even know if any of this was safe; but what else was there for me to do at the moment? If I did not like what I saw when I got there or found that the detective was not really who he said he was, I could always dial ‘911.’

  I’d somehow survived the week so far. No reason to believe I could not get out of today intact.

  I noted that my phone was on its last bar of power. I did not want to be in a tense situation without the ability to call for help—or miss a call from or about Roman! I fished through a small basket I kept near my coat closet for a new car charger I’d recently bought since my old one had stopped working. I dropped the charger in my purse and headed outside, my confidence growing that I was taking the right steps to ensure everyone’s safety.

  The temperature had dropped. I guess the forecasters had been wrong after all. Though the first hints of spring were in the air, March wanted to remind us that it was still a winter month. I wrapped my coat tighter around me and went back into my foyer. Dropping my purse on the floor, I searched for and then found my gloves. As I stood in my doorway adjusting my coat and gloves, I noticed that despite the falling temps, a couple of my neighbors were engaged in Saturday afternoon chores they’d probably been waiting all winter to get to—washing cars, trimming lawns, and the like. And all of them, all of my neighbors who were outside, were staring at me like I had four heads.

  “Hi, Kenny.” I waved at the man who lived two doors down as he finished adding another coat of wax to his Range Rover.

  “Hey, Sienna.” He nodded. “That was a pretty Beemer you were driving yesterday. Where’d it go?”

  Laz’s BMW.

  The question caught me off-guard. “Oh, that? It was a friend’s. I’m still driving my Chevy.” I jingled my keys and shut the front door behind me. I scurried to my car, wanting to avoid any more conversation.

  “You must have some generous friends to let you step into their rides like that.”

  “Yeah, I guess so. All right, I’ll see you later.” I had to get out of there before more questions I did not want to answer came. I guess my neighbors noticed more about my life than I realized. Didn’t know if that comforted or concerned me. I was certain they’d seen all the activity at my house over the past few days. Who knew what they were thinking.

  I waited until I pulled out of my development to set my GPS.

  “600 Elrush Way.” I entered the address. After a few moments of calculations, I saw that I was heading to Glen Burnie, an area in Anne Arundel County, south of Baltimore. It would take about half an hour to get there from where I was.

  “I should have enough to make it.” I eyed my gas tank, which had been running low ever since my ride around town with David yesterday. “Let’s get this show on the road.” I turned on some music and headed south toward 895.

  My mind was blank as I followed the turn-by-turn directions that took me through the Harbor Tunnel and on to I-97. Airplanes arriving and departing from the nearby BWI Thurgood Marshall Airport glided right over the highway as I neared the exit the GPS was directing me to. Seeing the planes made me only think of Roman. I’d misled him. No, I point-blank lied, telling everyone that his trip to the reservation was the first time he’d flown. I thought about the old plane ticket to San Diego I knew he had, and wondered if he’d figured out that he went on that pointless trip with me as an infant.

  Did my son view me as a perpetual liar? Had he given up on getting any truth about his father from me?

  The questions burned as much as the potential answers to them did.

  Good thing I have this GPS working for me, ’cause I have no idea where I am. I interrupted my own thoughts with this realization.

  “Turn right and arrive at destination,” the unit said.

  “Ain’t nothing back here,” I answered, frowning. “Oh, I see it.” I spoke to the GPS like it was a real person directing me from the passenger seat.

  I was on Crain Highway, a long, busy thoroughfare that was dotted by office parks, fast-food restaurants, strip malls, and big-box stores. 600 Elrush Way was an office building that sat way back from the street at the end of a long, curvy parking lot, nearly out of view from the main street. It was an impressive four-story square building covered with opaque glass windows—the kind of glass that looked like mirrors from the outside, but offered perfect views of the outside to those who were within its domain.

  I was certain that someone was watching me pull up and park.

  The office building was probably busy during the week as I noted a couple of signs for doctors, dentists, and counseling centers. However, at the moment, I did not see another car or person on the lot or nearby. I could hear the roar of traffic on Crain Highway, but not see any passing cars where I was. Even the airplanes that zoomed overhead were out of sight due to the heavy greenery that surrounded the building.

  The entire area was desolate.

  While I knew I wasn’t on my way to a pizza parlor, I wasn’t expecting to come to such an isolated area. I sat in my car for a few moments, debating whether I should start my engine back up, turn around, and head back home.

  But I’d come this far.

  No fear. Only power, love, and a sound mind. The elements of faith. But will going in this building looking for suite 29 be an act of faith or foolishness? A sound mind was not a foolish one. God, I wish I had a sign . . . . But having a sign wouldn’t be faith, right?

  I sat there confused, contemplating what to do, not feeling comfortable with any of my options. What if this Detective Sam Fields is a total fraud? I considered. No, he would not have had so many cops at his command searching through my house and threatening to come back with another search warrant.

  But he never came back. And now that I thought about it, I never saw the first warrant.

  However, Leon didn’t seem to have any alarm at who they were or what they were doing. His frustration seemed limited to me not telling him what was going on, the parts I did know anyway.

  These were the questions and issues that battled within me as I sat there, cutting the motor on and off, on and off, until it was just . . . off.

  “I’m out of gas.” I kicked myself. I’d pushed my car too far, just like I’d successfully pushed everything and everyone else in my life. Now I was out of gas and . . . and I did not have my purse with my cash or credit cards. The realization hit me like a bag of bricks dipped in concrete. I remembered dropping my purse onto the floor of my foyer when I’d gone back in my house to get a pair of gloves. I’d never picked it back up as I rushed away from my neighbor’s questions.

  All I had was my cell phone.

  With its one bar of power.

  I needed someone’s help, but who was I to call? Laz was busy with his breaking news story, and there was no way I was contacting my mom or sister or dad right now.

  Too much going on in me to add family drama.

  Leon.

  I felt like he was the only person who would willingly come to help me, no questions asked.

  Not wanting to hear the hurt and pain that I was sure would be in his voice, I sent him a text message.

  I’m sorry to bother you, but I am out of gas and have no money on me. I am at 600 Elrush Way. Can you help me, pretty please? I will pay you back.

  I looked at the words and the smiley face I typed on the screen, feeling cheap and cheesy, but not sure what else to do. I pressed send. His reply was instant.

  On my way. Will be there in about forty minutes.

  I exhaled, finding comfort once again in the one constant of my life. Well, near constant. I knew that the meaning and terms of our relationship, or whatever it was we had, had changed. Permanently.

  I had forty minutes to kill. The office building still loomed before me. Knowing that Leon was on his way gave me courage. Without a clear thought or plan, I exited my car and headed for the front door of the building. I pulled t
he handle. It was locked.

  “Oh, well, I tried.” I turned away, feeling a sense of relief that I had worried over nothing. Even as I turned, though, I heard it: a low buzz, a slight click.

  I turned back around to see that the door’s lock had given way.

  Someone, somewhere in the building, was letting me in.

  “Here we go.” I grabbed the handle again and stepped into the dimly lit lobby.

  Chapter 33

  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. Though the outside of the building had a modern edge to it due to the opaque glass windows and walls, the inside of it, at least the foyer anyway, had an old-fashioned feel. With the cushy upholstered couches, Tiffany chandeliers, and floral area rugs, I imagined that the lone elevator probably had velvet curtains on its wall, brass fixtures, and mirrored panels. The real plants that sat around the mahogany tables told me that someone took pride and care in the building, a far cry from the disaster that was the building where I rented office space. One day, I will have an office in a building as nice as this one. I smiled.

  Suite 29. I willed myself to stay focused, alert. The directory that hung on the wall next to the elevator did not showcase a suite with that number, but I noted that double digit offices were located in the basement.

  Wasn’t anything else to do but go down.

  “This is foolishness,” I told myself as I skipped the elevator and headed for the stairwell, a pale green maze of pipes and cement. My heart was thumping so loudly, I felt like it would thump right out of my chest. Thankfully, the basement level, once I entered it, had the same comforting old style to it as the lobby did. I tried to relax, knowing full well that I would not be able to do so until I figured out what was going on, why I was there.

  I stopped at an unmarked door between suites numbers 28 and 30 and gently rapped on it. When no one answered, I pushed it in. It gave easily and revealed a well-stocked supply closet.

  “You came.” A woman’s voice sounded from the shadows. A light bulb flickered on and I blinked to adjust my eyes to the sudden brilliance.

  Silver again. Or at least this woman who claimed to be her.

  She emerged from behind a tall stack of paper towel rolls.

  “Umm, why are we inside of a—”

  “Shhh.” She put a finger up to her plumped lips. “We need to talk in here.”

  I had not noticed another door. She held it open and I could see a tiny office with a metal desk, a single chair, and a cheap floor lamp. A corkboard hung on the wall with several lists tacked to it, including what looked like a cleaning supply inventory and a “to-do” checklist.

  “It’s the safest place to talk,” she responded in reply to my obvious hesitation. I realized she was whispering. I shrugged my shoulders and followed her into the maintenance worker’s office. She clicked off the light in the closet, turned on the floor lamp in the cramped workspace, and shut the door behind us.

  The space was even tinier than it had looked from the other side of the door—and cold.

  “Want an apple?” She held out a Red Delicious as she crunched into one herself. I noticed a paper bag on the floor filled with more fruit, water bottles, rice cakes, and a large French baguette.

  “You’re hiding again?” I tried to make sense of the scene before me as Silver plopped down onto the floor, sitting cross-legged on the linoleum.

  She nodded.

  “Whose office is this?”

  She shrugged her shoulders and took another bite out of her apple.

  “Why am I here?”

  “Because I told him that I would only keep cooperating if he bought you here to talk with me.”

  “Who is he?”

  “Detective Fields.”

  “He knows where you are?”

  “Of course.” She took another bite. “He’s protecting me.”

  I cocked my head to the side, as if doing so would somehow make the jumble of details that had been collecting in my brain suddenly come together and make sense. “Protecting you from what?”

  “I can’t get into that right now. I just want to talk.”

  “Talk about what? And why can’t you get into it?” I rubbed my temples. “This is crazy. What is going on?”

  She continued to blink innocently, her fake lashes really starting to get on my nerves.

  “You have to tell me something,” I demanded.

  She threw the apple core into a metal wastebasket, then, thinking better of it, took it out, wrapped it in a paper towel and put it back into her bag of food supplies.

  There would be no trace of her once she was gone from this holding spot.

  “Well?” I folded my arms.

  Silver shut her eyes, laid her head back on the wall, and smiled. “When I was ten years old, I told my mother I was going to be an electrical engineer. I was in the math club at my elementary school and some lady who was an engineer came to our after school meeting to tell us we could be one too. I was sold. ” She opened her eyes and looked at me. “Does that surprise you?”

  I did not know where this was going, but I played along. “No. Most children have dreams about their future. In fact, I’d be concerned if you didn’t.” When silence took over the room again, she looked a little irritated.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Well, what?”

  “Aren’t you going to ask what happened? How I went from dreaming about being an electrical engineer to becoming an adult entertainer?”

  “Does it have anything to do with why we are sitting in a supply closet in an empty building on a Saturday afternoon?” I wasn’t trying to be mean, but Leon was on his way, and I wanted to be out of there so I would not have to answer questions from him I could not answer.

  But isn’t that what he wanted? Answers? I blinked out the memory of his pain and waited for Silver’s response.

  “It has everything to do with why we are here.”

  “How so?” I demanded.

  I could tell she was Jenellis’s child. The moment she felt back in charge of the conversation, she relaxed again.

  “My mother and her men.” Silver shook her head, grabbed a water bottle, and twisted the cap. “When I was eleven years old, my mother got married for the first time, unfortunately to a monster. Its name was Sheldon.”

  “What did he do?”

  “What didn’t he do?” Silver shook her head again. “I watched that creature punch, slap, kick my mother, spit in her face. She did not know how to get away. She couldn’t find a job that paid enough to support us on her own. Listen.” She stared at me. “I was a sweet, innocent little girl. I loved my stuffed animals and my bike. I went skating down Shake and Bake on Pennsylvania Avenue, and had dreams of being an electrical engineer. That monster Sheldon came in our lives and destroyed everything.” She was breathing hard, trying to catch her breath. “I saw my mother lying on the floor unconscious and him stepping over her like she was . . . was a bag of trash. Nothing. But . . . but she was my mother.” She looked up at me, a look of pleading in her eyes.

  Pleading to be heard, to be understood.

  “He was a monster. And he hurt your mother. And he hurt you.” I said what she could not.

  Tears suddenly sprung onto her face. “My mother could not stop him from hurting her, or hurting me. That’s what it seemed like, anyway. Nobody could stop him. I tried to tell my teachers, but all they could talk about was how my grades were slipping, how I had suddenly become too mouthy, too moody. I went from being the popular girl at school to being teased because I always seemed to smell. I couldn’t stop wetting myself. By the time I was in eighth grade, I was taking baths three times a day to try to feel clean. All I wanted was to feel clean, but I never did, no matter how hard I tried.”

  She was shaking. I sat down in the desk chair as she stayed huddled in the corner, her legs now drawn up to her chest, her head resting on her knees.

  “By the time I was fifteen, I had become so numb to my life, I didn’t even remember wha
t a dream was. I had dropped out of school, had my first baby.” She smiled. “I named him Tracy. He looked exactly like Sheldon, a little monster.” Her smile dropped. “My mother made me give him up for adoption, although I was going to try to love him.” She touched the end of her hair, twirled a single curl of it as she momentarily disappeared into an unspoken memory. Then she came back.

  “By the time I was eighteen, I had tried everything to just . . . just feel again. I was tired of being numb, of feeling dirty. I thought that if I took that job down on The Block, I’d be able to reclaim my body, because then I would be in charge of whatever happened to it, in charge of whatever a man did to it. I put my heart and soul into my work because I did not know what else a heart and soul could do if allowed to dream.”

  She shook her head as new tears formed. “It didn’t work. The girls where I worked were so competitive, so desperate for money, for whatever it was they were looking for, for whatever it was they were trying to prove, that I had to go further, do things that . . . you don’t even want to imagine. I thought I could reclaim control, feel clean again, and all I felt was . . .” Her sentence faded away for a second time.

  “I’m sorry.” She gave a nervous laugh. “You didn’t ask to be part of any of this.” She looked at me, searching, I could tell, for a sign that it was okay for her to have shared all she had.

  “Have you ever talked to anyone else about . . . all these things you’ve been through?”

  “No.” She recoiled. “I guess that is why I insisted that you be allowed to come here. When you called Detective Fields, I told him that I would not cooperate any further unless and until you came.”

  “Why me?”

  “You’re a therapist.” She chuckled before sobering suddenly. “And you trusted me. Yesterday. After all I had David put you through, you believed me.”

  I didn’t want to tell her that me not calling the police on her was more a function of my confusion and distraction than it was my belief in her, but I guess there was a purpose greater than my own shortcomings that was holding things together.