by Chris Fabry
“Do you know Callie?”
“I talk with her on Saturdays or when I get sick and stay home from school. I like to stand down by the mailbox and wait for her. She’s really nice.”
“Well, I agree with you. I think she’s a special lady.”
“My grandmother says you’re probably sweet on her or something to make a big fuss like this about a missing person.”
“Your grandmother sounds like a smart lady. I would listen to her if I were you.”
“Are you going to marry her?”
I laughed. “I have a hard time understanding women. My first priority is to find her. We’ll have to see where we go from there. But you’re wrong about the missing person. I’ve talked about another one before—that little girl who went missing a few years ago. One of the first things I did when I started this station is share prayer needs, and she was at the top of the list, even though she’d been gone for some time.”
The girl got quiet.
“Did I say something wrong?” I said.
“No. It’s just that I’m that little girl. My name’s Natalie Edwards.”
“Is that right.”
“In the flesh,” she said.
“Well, I’m sure glad to talk to you. There were lots of people praying for you during those years.”
“Thank you. I live with my grandparents now. They take care of me. I don’t talk about it much because it upsets my grandmother.”
“You mean when you talk about being gone, it upsets her?”
“Yeah, the past is a hard thing. I guess because my mama took off before I came back and she never returned. I think I kind of remind Mamaw of all the time she spent praying and hoping I’d be okay.”
“I expect that was a difficult few years.”
“It was. But I was okay.”
I heard the bus pass the house and said something about her needing to get ready for school.
“No, not today,” she said. “My grandmother is taking me to the dentist or whatever you call that fellow who gives you braces. The kind that go on your teeth to make them straight?” She ended some of her sentences with a question, making the words go up. “They say I need something called an expander.”
“I always thought the prettiest girls in school were the ones with braces,” I said.
She giggled. “You’re just saying that. I don’t think I have to get them yet, but it’s probably not far away. I don’t want them because they cost a lot of money and I don’t see the point in it, but Mamaw said it was worth it to see my smile straight and that I’d appreciate it once I get to high school. I suppose she’s right.”
We talked a little more, or I should say she talked a lot more, and then I asked her why she had called, if she had information about Callie, and she said she did.
“Actually I wanted two things. One was to tell you what the mail lady said to me last Saturday when she went past here and the other was to ask if you’d play me a song.”
“What song?”
“‘I’ll Fly Away.’ That’s my favorite. I don’t care who you get to sing it; I’ve never heard it sung in a bad way.”
“I’ll sure do it. Just let me find it and I’ll get it on as you and your grandmother drive to the doctor’s appointment.”
“That would be great. We’ll be leaving in about twenty minutes.”
“What did Callie say to you?”
“She called me ‘sugar babe.’ She always does that when she drives up and I’m standing there. And she said she bet I had boyfriends all over.”
That sounded like Callie, taking notice of a little girl on her route.
“And I asked her about her boyfriend, and she laughed and said the old one didn’t pan out but there might be a new one. She said she had to get home and get ready for her date, and I asked if it was somebody from her church because she was all the time talking about her church, but she laughed like it was the funniest thing she had ever heard, and then she said no, he wasn’t the churchgoing type.”
“Did she say anything more? like where they were going or where he lived?”
“She didn’t, though she did say that she would fill me in on everything the next time she saw me. And I haven’t seen her since. What do you think happened?”
“Well, I don’t rightly know, but I sure want to find out. Do you remember anything else?”
“Not that I can think of right now. If I do, I’ll call you back.”
“You do that. This has been really helpful, Natalie. I thank you for calling. Will you call me back someday?”
“I sure will,” she said.
A half hour later I played Alison Krauss’s version of “I’ll Fly Away” from O Brother, Where Art Thou? As I thought about Natalie riding along with her grandmother, I couldn’t get her words out of my head. I also wondered if somehow I had been part of the problem or if I was to blame for anything bad that happened.
20
It is a popular misconception that angels can read the minds of humans and see everything at every moment. It is true that we have a more advantageous perspective from which to view events, but we are not like the Creator. We cannot know all. I know I have made that point several times, but I cannot say it enough.
So it was with urgency that I returned to Billy and felt that my absence had in some way produced or at least permitted an unfolding tragedy.
Though it would seem to the casual observer that Callie’s actions were an uncharacteristic departure from her character and nature, it was obvious to me how her life’s progression had led her to this point and to desperate measures.
Some also think demons can read minds and in turn anticipate events. Do not misunderstand me; they are intelligent beings who can learn things and wreak havoc. They cause great confusion and pain, even in the lives of believers, but they are limited in power. They cannot tell the future or invade the minds of humans without the human’s approval. They must in some way be invited or allowed access by thoughts and actions. And in like manner, the peace of God can either be welcomed or shunned. Angelic help can come, but it must be requested. One must ask.
For Callie, the invitation of the evil one came through an innocent friendship with an acquaintance. Reading between the lines of the diary, which Billy did not read thoroughly, and having seen her despondency in my earlier visit, aided me in discerning what had happened. However, the location of this “friend” was not as easily discovered, and while Billy went about his tasks throughout that day, keeping a close eye on the telephone and praying constantly, I left him—a calculated risk I was willing to take—and scoured the countryside for Callie’s automobile. Some would believe I stumbled upon it, but in the economy of the Almighty, there is no stumbling. No, I was led to the country road in a neighboring state, discovering her automobile parked and abandoned near a dirt and gravel driveway of a shack that could have been used as an outpost for hunters. Near the cabin was a huge truck, parked haphazardly, as if it had barely made it.
Inside the cabin I found them, and by this I mean the evil ones who had congregated there. I might have been able to prevent this had I continued at my post. I could have thwarted their evil intent, perhaps, but this is another aspect of humanity I have learned. They spend much time second-guessing and wondering what if. The angelic host does not deal in the supposed, but in truth. We are much more cognizant of what is rather than what might have been. And so I assessed the situation and determined that the prayers for Callie were well-founded, for she was in grave danger, both from the evil ones and her human companion. Intertwined like grappling vines, she and this man lay together far removed from reality.
The imps laughed and hurled insults at her, but I sent them on their way and stayed until Callie stirred. She stared at her naked body as if it were new to her, then quickly covered herself and slipped into the bathroom. There she wept. She pressed at her temples, as if the memories would not subside. What memories those were, I could not tell, but with the anguish came another round of assaul
ts by the evil ones. They shouted and taunted and slung all kinds of murderous thoughts her way, encouraging her to end her life. At this, my anger boiled and I hastily dispatched those enemies of God, but not so soon that Callie wasn’t affected.
She gathered herself and stumbled to the room. The man awakened and she ran for the door, but he was on her suddenly and dragged her to the bed.
Laughing and hissing came from the rafters of the home as the demons watched. Wherever there is evil in the world, there is glee in the minds of the fallen.
Callie struggled at first and then, like an animal in a trap, gave in to the pain and degradation. I wanted to speak to Callie, to attend to her when the man rose and retrieved a syringe and sent her into a stupor. When her body stilled, he dressed and went to his truck, leaving her without clothes or belongings.
I rose above, wondering if there might be a house nearby, but in all directions there was wilderness. She was trapped, at the mercy of the man who had used her. Lifeless, without a phone, no way to contact the outside world, curled on the bed, she was alone.
It is in such situations that I long to be able to appear to someone like Callie, but I had not been given that directive, nor did I have it at my discretion. I could not scribble directions on Billy’s wall, either, for that did not lie in my purview. So I watched, not wanting to leave her for fear the onslaught of the evil ones would continue. As helpless as she, I stayed there with her, whispering comfort and encouragement, protecting, and wondering what I could do to intervene.
21
That afternoon I spoke with Sheriff Preston about Natalie’s call. He said a coworker at the post office mentioned a new friend of Callie’s. “They didn’t know much about him and I only got a first name.”
“What is it?”
“Larry.”
“That narrows it down,” I said. “Must be a million Larrys around here. Have you talked with anyone at the church?”
“I spoke with the pastor and her parents and the folks in her small group and nobody has a clue. If she brought him up, they can’t remember.”
After I hung up, I got an idea and drove over to Callie’s trailer and knocked on Opal’s front door. She opened it, snuffed out a cigarette, and put on her glasses.
She finally recognized me and said, “You heard anything from her?”
I shook my head. “Everybody’s looking, though. I did get a name. Do you remember her mentioning anybody named Larry?”
She squinted and rubbed at the white whiskers that grew from her chin. “Seems to me she did. Yeah, it was the night she came over for a cup of sugar and sat through the rest of Desperate Housewives. We talked about my son and got to talking about forgiveness and if a person can change. And she said she had a friend named Larry who had a past of sorts. That’s what she said.”
“Did she say where she’d met him? a last name?”
“I don’t remember any last name. But I thought . . .” She opened the door wide and I noticed a cat curled up on the kitchen table next to some dishes still out from breakfast. “I think she said something about him being on her mail route. No, wait, that’s not right. She met him when he pulled her out of a ditch. That’s what it was. He’s a truck driver for some outfit around here. Said he was real nice. And half-joking, I said since things weren’t working out between you two, why didn’t she give this Larry a chance.”
“What did she say to that?”
“It was just a passing thing. Poor girl, she was just all torn up about her life and not being able to find love.”
“Did she say who he drove for?”
She thought a minute. “I don’t think she did, but I assumed it was the wholesale place up on Virginia Avenue.”
I nodded. “If you remember anything else, would you call me?”
She picked up another pack of cigarettes. “Sure thing. You be careful now, Billy. It can be a mean world out there.”
My heart pounded as I drove up the winding, two-lane road to Callahan Wholesale, a distributor of food to restaurants and supermarkets through the region. It was hard enough to call on businesses to advertise, but to go looking for some guy about a suspicious disappearance made me more than nervous.
Most cars were gone from the parking lot, but there was an older man hovering over the engine of a Ford F-150, his hands greasy and a baseball hat pushed back on his head. He saw me as I drove up and turned to me as he wiped his hands on a handkerchief he had stuffed in his back pocket.
“Can I help you?”
“What’s wrong with your truck?” I said.
“Seems to be electrical. I’m hoping it’s the battery and not the alternator, but the signs are a-pointing that way.”
I offered to go back and get a tool from my house to help him check the voltage on the battery.
“That would probably be a help. But I don’t want to put you out. What can I do for you?”
“You work here?”
“Going on twenty years. But they’re not hiring. They laid off a bunch of people about a month ago. The economy, you know.”
“I’m not looking for work; I’m trying to find a guy who works here named Larry.”
“Got four or five Larrys. What’s he do?”
“He’s a driver, I think.”
“That whittles it down. I know two Larrys who are drivers. I don’t pretend to know everybody, you know. What’s he look like?”
“I’m not sure. He pulled a friend of mine out of a ditch some time ago.”
“Why are you looking for him?”
“I think he might be able to help me find that friend.”
He scratched at his bald spot, the baseball hat flopping like some pelt hung up to dry on the side of a barn. “Well, there’s Larry McCoy. He’s about my age. Lives down Route 34 near Lincoln County. He has a haul each day.”
“What about the other one?”
“That would be Larry Childers. He was one they laid off. I don’t know exactly where he lives, but most days after work you could find him over at the Dew Drop Inn.”
“What’s he look like?”
The man smiled and coughed, showing some crooked teeth. “Not much. Kind of dark hair and a belly. He probably still has the company hat.”
“I’ll head over there and then bring back the voltmeter.”
“No, don’t bother. If you could just give me a jump, I’ll get it home and worry with it there.”
We hooked it up and the truck fired to life, which made me think it was probably the battery.
“One more question,” I said over the roar of the rusted-out muffler. “What’s he drive?”
He told me and I headed back the way I came. The Dew Drop wasn’t that far as the crow flies, but you had to go the roundabout way to get to it. It made me wonder if this really was the fellow I was looking for. Why in the world would Callie go for a guy who sounded so far from the type of person she was?
The Dew Drop Inn had taken several manifestations in the many years it had been open in Dogwood. At one point, revival had broken out in some of the surrounding churches and there were picket signs every day talking about “Demon Rum” and “Beware the Asp’s Bite,” and that discouraged some of the regulars. A year into that, the owners gave up and sold the dilapidated building to a group of people in the community who tore down the sign, painted the building white, and turned the bar into an altar. There were stories about that church that said they were known to bring snakes into a service, but I never investigated.
But you can’t keep water from seeking its own level, and the Dew Drop opened under new management in a less-populated but still-accessible area near the newly installed power lines where nobody wanted to live. I pulled into the gravel parking lot and counted eight vehicles, one of them matching the description I’d been given. There wasn’t one part of me that wanted to go inside, but I kept telling myself I was doing this for Callie.
The bar was dimly lit and it took me a few seconds to adjust. I thought of the verse that says men lo
ved darkness instead of light. A jukebox in the corner played something by Hank Williams Jr. There was a musty smell, and smoke hung heavy. In some places you have the aroma of cooking meat to squelch the stale beer, but nobody came to the Dew Drop to eat. The closest thing to a square meal you could get was the crunching peanut shells under my feet.
There were a few people scattered at some tables and three men at the bar who turned and looked at me, then went back to their business. The bartender was a scrawny man who looked like he had experience with the product he sold. His voice was high-pitched and gravelly.
“What can I get for you?” he said.
I waved at him and nodded. “I’m good for now. Just looking for somebody.”
A guy at the bar turned and said, “Who you looking for?”
“Larry Childers,” I said, but evidently Bocephus’s voice on “A Country Boy Can Survive” drowned me out.
“Who?” the man yelled.
I said the name again and a guy a few tables away stood. He had a pretty big belly and his arms hung in front of him like a gorilla’s. The Callahan Wholesale hat was pulled low on his forehead and hair snaked out behind him in a tightly tied ponytail. His face was framed by reddish-brown stubble. His chest hair stuck out over the shirt collar and gave him the appearance of a man-bear.
“What do you want?”
The music seemed to get louder and I motioned for the door. “You mind stepping outside?”
He shook his head. “Whatever you need to say you can say in here.”
“Got that right,” one of his friends at the table said.
I held up my hands defensively. “I’m not here for trouble. I’m just looking for a friend of mine. Heard you might know her.”
“Her?” one of the guys said. Then he laughed and so did the other two.
Larry shoved his chair back and moved toward me. His fists looked like sledgehammers and his legs were like tree trunks, stiff and resolute. From the way he held himself, I had no doubt he knew how to use those sledgehammers.