Calamity (27 page)

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 ando The coul 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 forn the rpath--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 puoulst likezzle
.”

“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.

“Knock on the door, get him to come out and talk for a minute. Tell him you’ve been having headaches or something, something requires medicine. He’ll bring that black bag with him. Then you’ve got to do some real imaginative work.”

“What?”

“Get sick.”

“As in . . . ?”

“Vomit.”

“I can’t make myself vomit.”

“You won’t have to. Just say you’ve been having stomach pains too and then have one, a pain so bad you have to run to the bathroom. The good doc will follow you in, leaving his bag behind.”

“If you want any drugs, he’ll write you a prescription.”

“No time. I need them now.”

“Why don’t you take Mom’s? She’s got a ton and she won’t notice.”

“I need something strong,
real
strong.”

Brendan didn’t bother to ask how he knew Dr. Carroll carried anything real strong with him because they had both seen the doc open that black bag a few months ago and remove a slew of prescription bottles, placing them in a line up on the kitchen table in front of Dad. The doc gave Dad the choice of whatever “line of treatment” he felt comfortable with Mom following. Dad took Dr. Carroll’s recommendation and ever since Mom had been like the barely walking dead. There was strong stuff in that black bag, one prescription so potent that Dad smirked at the bottle and asked if Dr. Carroll wanted to help her or kill her.

Brendan asked if the latter was Tyler’s intention as well.

Something passed over Tyler’s face again, not quite the cloud as before but something similar, something suggesting Brendan was right. “I’m not going to kill her. I’m trying to help her.”

It was pointless to once again offer his own services (and Dwayne’s), so Brendan didn’t say anything. He would do what Tyler wanted because Tyler was his brother and because Brendan needed him to think everything was on the up and up, that Brendan wasn’t hiding anything. Dwayne said this mission required secrecy. Brendan had tried to offer his help openly to Tyler because he knew that though Dwayne said the mission was “hush-hush,” he would applaud Tyler’s conversion to accept help because that would bring him one step closer to accepting God.

“You’ll do it?” Tyler asked.

Brendan said he would as long as he didn’t have to pretend to vomit in the bathroom for very long. There was something weird about Dr. Carroll and Brendan didn’t like the idea of having him so close in such a confined space.

“Yeah,” Tyler said, “he is sort of a creeper.”

* * *

The plan worked much better than expected and the doc ended up much creepier than feared.

* * *

Brendan knocked on the door, waited for Dr. Carroll to hei Carrolopen it--he didn’t, Aunt Stephanie did--and asked if he could talk to the doc. Aunt Steph (that nickname made her sound like a teenager) said the doctor was busy helping mommy. Brendan went all-in, saying he felt sick and might have to throw up. Aunt Steph, never a mother herself, backed off immediately and called the doc away from the crying woman on the bed.
That’s my Mom
, Brendan thought with a strange sort of detachment.
Not that that means much anymore
.

Brendan got the doc into his bedroom, started telling him about these headaches he’d been having and, while he was saying this, a headache started to take root in his head. Dr. Carroll placed a thin hand on Brendan’s shoulder; it was the hand of someone who didn’t go out much, just stayed in a basement away from the sun.
Like a vampire
.

“I can give you something for the pain,” he said in that nasally voice. “Would you like that?”

Tyler stood in the doorway playing The Concerned Brother. He offered a slight nod of encouragement.

“My stomach is sick, too.”

The doc bent down, more eye level with Brendan. The black in his beard might have been pieces of dirt. Brendan imagined the doctor on all fours crawling around in a garden somewhere eating weeds. The image was not funny; it left Brendan cold and actually sort of ill.

“I have to . . .
have to go
,” Brendan said, rushing the last few words to really sell the urgency.

He ran to the bathroom and the doctor followed. Brendan lifted the toilet lid and seat and stood hunched over the bowl. Dr. Carroll gently shut the bathroom door and then stood before it, appreciating Brendan. Goosebumps sprouted along Brendan’s arms. He felt naked, trapped. He was only a few feet away from Tyler and Aunt Steph but here in the bathroom, Brendan might as well have been in a different house entirely. The good doc could do whatever he wanted.

“It helps if you get on your knees,” Dr. Carroll said. “It’s safer that way.”

Brendan did, bowing before the toilet, and stared into the water, which actually started to make him feel sick, as though being in this position was a trick to induce vomiting.

The doc approached him with soft footsteps. “Regurgitation can be troublesome for many people. It is preceded by a racing heartbeat, extreme nausea, of course, and fear. The actual vomiting can be painful, especially if the sick one is dehydrated. But once it is over, most people invariably feel much better. Throwing up is a defense mechanism, designed by God to protect our bodies. There’s no reason to be afraid.”

Brendan turned back to the water and then the doc’s hand was on his shoulder. “I’ll be right here next to you. Then, after you’re done, I’ll give you something for your headaches and you can sleep a while.”

How long is a while?
Brendan thought of Mom.

Tyler should have gotten whatever he was after from the doc’s bag at this point. Now all Brendan had to do was pretend the discomfort had passed and they could get out of this bathroom, but his body started to shake. The cold tile got into his legs and the subsequent chill rippled throughout his body like an electric current. He willed his body to stop shaking and that only made it worse. He grabbed the sides of the toilet bowl to stop the trembling but the bowl was cold too.

“It’s alright, son,” Dr. Carroll said. He got to one knee, very close to Brendan and then slipped his hand from Brendan’s nen,endanar shoulder to his other, in effect hugging him. “Don’t fight it.”

“I’m okay.” Brendan’s voice betrayed him.

“There’s something I learned many years ago, something that has helped me through tough times.”

Brendan expected the typical adult rigamarole about enduring pain and maturing, but what he got was something so unexpected that he nearly made himself vomit just to end the awkwardness.

“The first year of medical school is tough, as you can probably imagine. There’s a lot of books to read and notes to take but that isn’t all of it. You see, the first semester of medical school is when the college tries to weed out the weak from the strong, to sort out who should really be there and who should go do something else.