“I didn’t imagine it,” he said again.
The keys were in the car. Anthony got in Chloe’s car and hit the road.
* * *
His heart was racing by the time he took the on-ramp for the highway. The radio was off and all the windows were up. The road swooshed by beneath him, tires humming. He hit the gas hard and the car, eager after so long being dormant, revved high and easy and for a few moments Anthony felt he was flying.
That feeling fled once he crested that certain hill and memory flooded back to those last few seconds when he lost control of the car and the baby’s cries mixed with Chloe’s screams and the Williams family plummeted into The Dark Times.
He squeezed the steering wheel as hard as he could and screamed as the car descended the hill. He wanted to hit the break, put the car in reverse and drive at 100 miles per hour into oncoming traffic. He wanted anything except to continue down this hill. He had avoided this section of the highway for months and this return was as traumatic as a woman revisiting the scene of her rape.
His foot stayed pressed to the gas and the car sped down the hill faster and faster while he screamed louder and louder. Then, at the right moment, he slammed the brakes and turned hard onto the shoulder. This time, with no dying baby or screaming wife in the car, the vehicle did not flip over and tumble down the median slope. The car skidded to a stop on the shoulder and other cars continued whizzing past without any second thoughts about what Anthony was doing.
He sobbed against the steering wheel. Each sob was a new stab into an old wound and gushed out fresh blood. This is where it had all started. This was the scene of the crime. This was where the fickle finger of fate not only pointed down at them but squished them beneath its unforgiving nail. Now, you’re mine. This was the inciting incident of the miserable play that had become their lives. Act One: Baby Dies. Act One Cliffhanger: Daughter dies. Act Two: grief destroys family, father seeks God’s help.
How would it all end?
Deus Ex Machina?
The crying was very faint, a whisper on the wind from the passing cars. Yet that was enough to stifle his cries and make him scan the car wildly as if hunting out a wild animal that had snuck in. The cries faded and almost drifted off into nowhere but Anthony begged for them to remain—“don’t go, not yet”—and the cries came on louder. The distinct wails of an infant in pain pierced his mind and his heart.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
But he could not ask why. He could only express regret and pain. To ask why was to risk suffering the worst response: nothing. He could cry here while his dead infant child cried to him from some dark corner of the world (or your mind) but he could not tempt God to reveal that the Ultimate Truth was that there was no truth.
Nothing happens for a reason. Things happen simply because they can.
A giant tractor trailer trundled past, rocking the car with the force of a hurricane blast. This ended Anthony’s reverie and also his dead child’s cries. Maybe they would never return again, but Anthony knew better. That crying voice would always be right here waiting for him and if he ever wanted to bask in more self-pity he could come here any time and weep.
He took out his cellphone and called Ellis without realizing he was doing it until Ellis answered.
“You went back, of course,” Ellis said.
“Not for Delaney. For my lost baby, a child who never had a name while he was living. Don’t you think that’s horrible? Chloe and I couldn’t agree. She wanted Clayton, I preferred Michael. My choice was a bit generic, I know, but it’s a popular name for a reason. After the baby died we didn’t mention names again. There’s a tombstone that says, ‘Here lies Baby Williams. He tasted life briefly.’ Don’t you think that’s horrible?”
“Have you prayed?”
“How can I?”
“You are not lost. You know God. He knows you too. He wants you to be empowered. Just because you can’t kneel before Him this moment and look into His face does not mean you can’t know His love. You have chosen the right path—it is time to be strong.”
Ellis’s voice strong and reassuring, yet Anthony couldn’t dismiss this moment. He had heard his child crying. Didn’t that mean something? Wasn’t that God intervening? He should tell Ellis, try to explain, but that was pointless. Ellis believed Anthony was well on his way to empowerment. Explaining what happened would disappoint Ellis, postpone the coming ascension.
Jesus rose, Ellis had told him, and you can rise too.
“What happened with your wife?”
“She … resisted.”
“That is to be expected. Your children?”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“It is not up to you to pace yourself, to only act when you feel prepared. Remember that Jesus knew what was going to happen. He knew he would be betrayed. He knew he would suffer for a whole day on that cross. He knew all that pain was coming and he accepted it and endured it because he knew what waited for him beyond the misery. Look beyond the pain and misery. Salvation is waiting for you.”
“Didn’t Jesus cry to God on the cross? Didn’t he ask why he had been forsaken?”
“In the Book of John, Jesus embraces his role and before dying on the cross, says, ‘It is finished.’ Let your suffering be over, Anthony. Let God take you in His arms and soothe your pain. It is time to say, ‘It is finished.’ ”
Anthony didn’t know if that was true or not what Jesus said but he hoped it was. Those three words strung together made one of the sweetest sounding phrases he could ever imagine. It is finished. Oh, how desperately he wanted all of this to be finished. The pain. The pity. The anger. The helplessness.
“What should I do?”
“Go home,” Ellis said. “Go to your family and rescue them.”
Anthony started to say something and then Ellis told him to keep God in his heart and hung up.
Anthony got back on the highway. He drove until he needed gas and then he pulled off, found a gas station, filled up, and kept driving. His mind was a blank page but all the words screaming to mark the page pushed and prodded from the other side. When those words finally broke through and he realized he did have to go home, he did have to rescue his family, he was an hour outside of Philadelphia. He parked at a rest stop and slept until dawn.
In the morning, everything was clearer.
6
Brendan was in his room adding a chapter to his tale of the Darkman (Detective Bo Blast had faced off with the Darkman in the corner of an alley only to have the villain escape in a delivery truck the driver had left idling behind a deli) when Tyler burst into his room and said he needed Brendan’s help.
“I thought you didn’t want it.” They had spoken in the kitchen nearly an hour ago.
“A small favor.”
“What happened to your hand? Sasha do that?”
Tyler hid his hand in his jeans again. “You have some imagination, know that?”
“Just like a puzzle.” That was Bo Blast’s catch-phrase. A gorgeous blonde would say how impressed she was that he’d solved the case and he’d smile and say, “Just like a puzzle.”
“Who? What?”
“Never mind.”
“I need you to distract Dr. Carroll.”
“Why?” The doc was still in with Mom and Aunt Stephanie. Mom’s crying had died off but the vibrations of voices murmured through the wall. Brendan had tried to decode it early and gave up. It was easier to write more of his story than strain to make out words through a wall.