Everybody's Daughter

by Michael John Sullivan

  Leah agreed and while their anguish was deep, they managed to share a few fond stories with Zachary and Margaret as they ate lunch, welcoming a break from the duress. They repeated the story of Lazarus, who was well known in the town. Zachary’s storytelling was spellbinding, tantalizing as he recalled the incredible, vivid details of what he saw that wonderful day.

  “Women fell, others cried, some prayed,” Zachary said. He tore a piece of bread and dipped it into his water cup. “We celebrated all day, drinking wine and dancing. The town was filled with joy.”

  “And the preacher you described was the one you spoke about being up on the hill?” Jeremiah asked.

  “Yes. Did you see him?”

  Jeremiah, Sarah and Leah looked at each other, not sure how to respond.

  Leah nodded. “I believe we saw him.” She swallowed hard. “But then he was gone.”

  “Where did he go?” asked Margaret.

  Leah took a moment to compose herself before answering. “I saw him go off toward the mountains, following a long stream of light that peeked over it. Then he disappeared.”

  “What stream of light?” Zachary asked. “It has been dark and rainy all day.”

  Leah furrowed her brow. “You did not see the bright light?”

  Zachary and Margaret shrugged their shoulders.

  Leah glanced at Sarah and Jeremiah, hoping they would share their thoughts. “Did you see it?”

  They nodded.

  “Strange,” said Zachary.

  “We need to go,” Jeremiah said. “Sarah, get the animal.”

  Zachary offered first a spear and then a sword. Jeremiah refused politely after seeing Leah’s dissatisfaction. They followed Zachary outside where he handed them a makeshift cart to carry Elizabeth’s wrapped body.

  After waving goodbye, they left. The donkey pulled the cart as they walked solemnly beside it.

  “Sarah, you look straight and to each side,” Jeremiah said. “Let me know if there is any danger approaching.”

  It wasn’t long before they saw the outer edges of their town. Jeremiah stopped briefly and took a deep breath. “We can rest her over there,” he said, pointing to a place east of their village where the neighbors buried their loved ones. “Many are laid to rest into the side of the tall hills.”

  “I will need to leave a marker for her father,” Leah said.

  “Of course,” replied Jeremiah.

  They continued their trek toward the village, veering right toward a possible tomb area. They saw people watching their procession. Several stood in reverent silence. Elderly men and women dropped to their knees and prayed while children were shushed by their parents.

  As Jeremiah guided the cart toward the hill, parents grabbed their children’s hands and followed. Soon a long procession line formed. The workers in the field put down their equipment and joined them. Halfway to the burial area, Leah looked back and saw the procession line had extended back to town.

  Leah was invigorated and comforted all at once from the demonstration of support, something that had eluded her when she had suffered the loss of her husband. Yes, Yochanan’s death drew people, but the fear of retaliation for showing their affection haunted her mourning period. She grieved alone for the most part, keeping to herself, depressed in seclusion. She never understood why it happened until Marcus intruded into her life.

  They halted the march near a cave by the hill as a hearty wind blew tree branches back and forth, unfurling Leah’s hair.

  The crowd formed a circle around them as they prepared to say their final goodbyes. A rabbi stepped forward from the line to offer a prayer. Each person held the other’s hand as the rabbi said a few words to Leah. He directed Jeremiah to place the body inside the makeshift tomb.

  The children stayed quiet as parents hugged them firmly. The elderly prayed as Jeremiah and two men pushed a stone in front of the tomb. Many in the crowd offered words of solace to them. Others mostly stared and nodded, acknowledging their loss.

  Leah looked at the empty cart as the crowd dispersed. She stared at the tomb, wondering if she could have done anything to prevent Elizabeth’s death. Leah fingered two chains, one bearing a cross and the other Elizabeth’s locket. She smiled as she remembered teaching her how to weave a basket.

  Slipping the cross into her pocket, she placed the locket’s chain under a rock at the tomb’s entrance to mark the spot.

  “We should go,” said Jeremiah.

  Leah agreed. As they took their first steps back to town, a commotion startled them. A man on a horse was surrounded by several people shouting. The man gestured in their vicinity.

  “What is going on? Who is that?” asked Leah.

  “I do not know,” replied Jeremiah, taking several more paces forward to see what the disturbance was about.

  Three men on horses trotted up the hill in their direction.

  “They are Romans,” Jeremiah said, his tone filled with fear.

  Leah’s heart jumped. This is it. This is where I will die. Oh, God, please let me join you without much pain.

  Sarah and Jeremiah scurried several yards up an embankment. “Run, Leah, run,” Jeremiah implored. “Do not stand there. They will see you.”

  Leah shook her head. “I will not run any longer. What is my life worth if I have to keep running? I will let God handle my worries. Go and hide. Do not let the soldiers see you.”

  The Romans arrived with weapons. One of them – Marcus – dismounted and limped to her. Dried blood caked the side of his face from Elizabeth’s blows. “You thought you could get away,” he yelled, hobbling closer.

  Leah stood straight, grinding her teeth. “I will not walk away in fear of you anymore.”

  He staggered one step and smacked Leah hard across the face, knocking her to the ground. “Woman, get on your knees and beg for mercy.”

  “I will not.”

  “You will die.”

  She rubbed her cheek. “So be it.”

  “Keep your hands off her,” yelled Jeremiah from above.

  Marcus pointed his spear at him. “Stay away or you and your woman will die too.”

  Sarah crouched behind her husband, her eyes wide with fear. “Please, sir.” Her voice quivered. “Leave us alone. We promise we will not bother you.”

  Marcus shouted. “Silence. Where is the other woman?”

  “She is gone,” Leah said.

  “Gone where?”

  “A place that not even you can get to her.”

  Marcus jabbed at Leah’s neck with his spear. “I should kill you here.”

  “Then do so,” Leah said, pushing away the spear as she stood up.

  “Do you want to feel its pain?”

  “Your spear cannot hurt me.”

  The other two Roman soldiers dismounted and stood beside Marcus. “There is no threat here. Can we go now?” one soldier asked.

  “No.” He faced Leah and again lowered his weapon, resting it on her chest. “Where is your friend?”

  “She is home.”

  “I was just there. She is not.” Marcus grabbed her arm. “You will come with me. I am going to search your house and town.”

  “You will never be able to hurt her again,” Leah said in a calm voice as she allowed Marcus to drag her along the wet dirt and grass.

  He growled and cursed like a madman, picking Leah up for a moment, slapping her across the face and dumping her to the ground. “I will show you fear, woman.”

  Jeremiah jumped down from the embankment to confront Marcus.

  The other two Roman soldiers struck him, knocking him to the ground.

  “My husband,” screamed Sarah.

  Leah struggled to sit up. “Leave him alone. He knows nothing. Let them go.”

  Marcus stomped his booted foot on Leah’s leg. “You pig.”

  She winced but did not utter a word.

  “Stop,” yelled Sarah. “Leave her alone. Her friend has died. We buried her.”

  “Where?”

  “
Over there,” Sarah said, pointing to the cave.

  Marcus pulled Leah up on her feet and towed her to the cave. “Help me,” he said to the soldiers.

  Together they pushed the rock away and went inside. Moments later they exited the tomb.

  Marcus glared at Leah. “You will stay with me and never leave your home.”

  She fell to the ground, refusing to go.

  He tugged at her arm. “Get up.” He kicked at her back several times.

  “Stop,” yelled Jeremiah.

  “Back away or I will kill your woman.”

  Marcus pulled Leah’s hair and twisted her neck back. “Do as I say.”

  She bit down hard on her lip, causing it to bleed, and with each kick she winced inwardly.

  He struck her rib cage hard. “How do you like it? I learned it from your friend. How does it feel?”

  As he got ready to strike her head, one of his soldiers pointed behind him. “Marcus. Look.”

  Leah looked behind as well and saw a long line of people trekking up the hill. Many were carrying rocks and sticks.

  Marcus shoved Leah aside and waved his spear. “Stay back. This is not your business.”

  The group did not halt its march.

  Leah stumbled to her feet as Jeremiah pulled her to safety with Sarah.

  “Do not leave, Leah, or I will hunt you down,” said Marcus, calling back to them.

  The men held up their weapons and circled around the three soldiers.

  An elderly man walked up to Marcus. “Leave in peace.”

  Marcus’ face turned red. The blue veins in his neck tightened. “You do not give orders to a Roman.”

  “You do not belong here.” The man stepped closer to Marcus. “You have terrorized us enough.”

  Marcus swung his weapon close to the man’s face. “Old man, you do not tell me what I can or cannot do. Do you want to die?”

  “If I must die so others may live, I shall do so. Look around you, Roman. How many of you are here? Now look at us. How many do you see? How many weapons do you have?”

  Marcus glanced at the crowd closing in on him and the two soldiers. “We are not here to fight all of you. I am taking what belongs to me.” He pointed to Leah. “She is my woman.”

  The elderly man crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Then you shall not leave at all.”

  Marcus lifted his spear and pierced the man’s arm, drawing some blood as he fell to the ground.

  Several men tossed rocks, one striking Marcus in the face. As the Roman fell, more jumped on him, swinging sticks. The other two soldiers defended their safety by drawing their weapons.

  One man aimed a long, makeshift wooden spike at the two soldiers. “Leave and never return.”

  The two Romans mounted their horses and rode away.

  The crowd cheered.

  Leah, Sarah and Jeremiah joined the group surrounding Marcus who lay on the ground, dazed.

  “Kill him,” shouted a man.

  “Let the woman kill him for what he did to her,” another yelled.

  One of the men handed Leah a spear. “It should be you who does this.”

  Filled with anger, Leah gripped the weapon and stared at the ground. She noticed how frail Marcus seemed. His breathing, rapid and shallow, reminded her of Yochanan’s last minutes. His forehead bled and his right eye was smashed in.

  With all the strength she could muster, Leah raised the spear high above her head and glared. “I hate you.”

  He whimpered and squirmed in pain.

  “How does it feel, Roman, to crawl toward your death like a filthy donkey? Do you remember watching my husband die and mocking him? How does it feel to have God’s wrath waiting to crush you?” Her eyes bulged with rage. The memories of being raped and beaten by him escalated her fury.

  “No.” Marcus begged for compassion. “I ask you for forgiveness. I ask you for your mercy.”

  She kicked at his injured side. “Do you remember my husband asking for mercy? Do you? Answer me!”

  He squirmed and staggered to one knee, putting up an arm to shield his face.

  Leah reached back with all her might, took a deep breath and rammed the sharp part of the spear into the ground near his head.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It didn’t take long for Michael to uncork a bottle of red wine and sink into his chair. As he rocked back and forth, his eyes stayed transfixed on his television set. He rested his head against the back of the chair, the coldness of the cushion matching the frigid fear running through his veins. He closed his eyes and a reel of his daughter played.

  The memory was so vivid he reached out to touch her. The reel’s sound soothed his anxiety. Elizabeth sat on the floor, flipping through travel magazines, enjoying a milkshake.

  “I want to go to Japan and France and teach English,” she said, her voice pummeling his injured heart. “I want to travel all over the world, Dad.” She held up a magazine with a picture of the Coliseum in Rome. “There’s so much out there to see.”

  “And what about me?” he had asked. “You’re going to leave me here all alone?”

  She rolled her eyes and let out one of her dramatic long sighs. “Oh, poor Dad, all alone with nobody to yell at. Maybe you’ll finally get a girlfriend.” She giggled. “Are you going to play the parent guilt thing on me until I’m like forty and too old to see the world?”

  He pretended to throw a pillow at her. “Forty’s not old.”

  She picked up another magazine, one with the Egyptian pyramids on the cover. “I’ll come back and visit you for the holidays. You can come visit me wherever I am. I’ll be your tour guide.”

  “I don’t like to fly.”

  “You’ll fly for me,” she said with a smile that halted the argument.

  It was a debate he never won. Michael was proud of his daughter’s ambition and thirst to travel, something he had never done – until he discovered Jerusalem. Each time she talked about seeing the world, a small piece of his heart tore away. But now, thinking about her ambitions to see the world, he hoped she would be able to realize all her dreams, even if it meant she’d have new adventures without him.

  He opened his eyes and finished off the remains of the wine, yet alcohol could not numb his pain. He withdrew upstairs to Elizabeth’s room and sat on her bed, staring at the wall posters, cradling the Pikachu doll in both hands.

  He absorbed the iconic picture of the Eiffel Tower, a poster showcasing the bright lights of Tokyo, another displaying an old church in the Holy Land, and an artist’s rendition of Jesus holding a child. He sat in silence until jolted out of his trance by the loud ringing of his telephone.

  He answered it. “Yeah.”

  “How are you doing?” Allison asked.

  “Why are you calling?”

  “I’m concerned about my goddaughter.”

  “I have nothing to tell you,” he said, slightly slurring his words.

  “Are you drinking?”

  “None of your business.”

  “It is my business about Elizabeth.”

  “They took my car. There was some blood in it and …” He gripped the phone in anger. Why am I trying to explain this to her?

  “Whose blood?”

  “I don’t know. They think it might be Elizabeth’s. So the cops took it.”

  “That’s terrible,” she said in a high-pitched voice. “I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

  “Don’t.”

  There was an awkward moment of silence between them. “Elizabeth will always be my goddaughter. Despite our differences and what went on between you and Vicki, I’m always there for her.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “I’d like to interview you for the local paper. This sounds so fascinating and would make a great story. Maybe getting this story out there would help find her.”

  “Fascinating? Great story?” he said, remembering what Dennis’ concerns about a circus like atmosphere with the media. “There’s nothing fascinating about my daughter m
issing. Goodnight. Don’t drop by and don’t call.” He hung up the phone and continued to drink. Before he could finish his glass, the phone rang again.

  He contemplated not answering it; he wasn’t in the mood for another call from Allison, especially if she was going to make stupid comments about an interview. He reached for the phone, hoping it was good news about his daughter.

  “Connie called me and said you were in trouble,” his friend Susan said. “Sometimes I can’t tell with your sister. She’s such an emotional roller coaster and is always nosing in on everyone’s business. Sorry to be so blunt but I’ve had it with her phone calls.”

  “Well, this time she’s right.”

  “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

  “Something horrible has happened. Elizabeth’s missing.”

  “Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t Connie tell me? Your sister is something. What happened?”

  “I have no idea where she is. Well, maybe I do. She followed me down this tunnel and didn’t come back. Or I think she hasn’t. I’m starting to drink again. I’m going crazy. I need a hundred-foot couch to lie on right now.”

  “Michael, you’re not making any sense,” she said. “What do you mean?”

  “Couch therapy. Going crazy. Need help.”

  “Elizabeth’s got to be around somewhere. Have you checked with all her friends?”

  “Yes, yes.” He went to the cabinet and retrieved another bottle of wine. “I can’t explain it over the phone. I know it’s a lot to ask but can you drive down here? I won’t be able to sleep and I really need to talk.”

  “Let me get a few things together and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  He drank as he waited for Susan, knowing it would be at least five hours before she arrived from Massachusetts.

  He glanced at the clock – nine-thirty. She would probably arrive by two a.m. He sat in the dark, his body and mind numb, sad, and shocked. He had so many emotions running the gamut through his soul, he couldn’t even shed tears.

  At some point he fell asleep as a ringing phone jolted him awake. “Yeah?”

  “Michael, it’s getting late and I want to go to bed. How are you?”

  “Who’s this?”