Trial by Fire (5 page)

I
t was after eleven before the visitors all left the Fords' house, with their empty casserole dishes and emptier platitudes about the death in their family. A few relatives remained, and Susan had spent hours trying to figure out where she would put them for the night. Usually, she let guests stay in Ben's room, but tonight she wanted to keep that room closed off until she could go in there alone. She didn't want the evidence of his life to be disturbed. She wanted it left untouched, just as it had been the last time he'd stayed at home.

Vanessa, her brokenhearted teenage daughter, needed her room. The girl was distraught and exhausted, and Susan wanted her to have a good night's sleep in her own bed. Susan would have given up her own bed, since she doubted there was much sleep in her future, but she knew that Ray needed rest.

So she made pallets on the living room floor for her sister and her husband, her nieces, and Ray's parents. Sid, Ray's brother, had graciously taken some of the other relatives into his home.

But now that the house was winding down and people were getting quiet for the night, she found that there was no place she could go to be alone. She had some things to say to God, and she meant to say them alone. She didn't want anyone standing over her telling her that there was a purpose in all this, that God would comfort her, that Ben was ready to be with God. She didn't
want
him with God, and she didn't want God's comfort. She wanted Ben, her firstborn, whom God had given her, never warning he would snatch him away.

She waited until the clattering in the kitchen stopped as her sister found creative places in the refrigerator to store the food, waited until she heard no more sniffing from Vanessa's room or the living room, waited until the silence from Ray's side of the bed finally settled into a light snore. Then she went to Ben's room, quietly slipped in, and closed and locked the door behind her.

The lamp was shining. She wondered who had been in here to turn it on. She looked around at the baseball memorabilia on the wall, the trophies he had won growing up, the framed certificates and ribbons. His childhood was trapped, frozen in this room, but he had moved on. He had become a man and moved into an apartment, had excelled in school, had forged dreams and plans that would have made her proud.

The pain wrapped around her, sharp tentacles of grief that cut into her flesh, straight to her heart, and threatened to immobilize her. Rage spiraled up inside her, like the grief from her heart making a pilgrimage to her head. Someone had to pay. Someone had to suffer. Someone had to explain to her why her son, her only son, had been chosen.

She muffled the grief moaning out of her mouth and squinted her eyes as her hands folded into fists. She looked up at the ceiling as if God was there, and thought of taking the lamp and flinging it at the Sheetrock, lashing out at the God who would allow such a thing.

“How could you, God!” she whispered. “How could you take my baby?” She sat on the bed and pulled her feet up, hugged her knees to her chest, and rocked back and forth, back and forth, as if recoiling from the touch of the Lord who could comfort her.

Explain it to me, God! I don't understand this. I need to understand.

She had known people who'd lost children before, had even visited them in their home the day of the tragedy, had taken food and mumbled things that sounded wise at the time. Some of those had been sick; others had died in car accidents.

But none had been shot, or left in a fire to die. None had so much mystery surrounding their last hours.

What had gone through Ben's mind before he died? Was he tortured? Tormented? Had he suffered?

“I can't do this, Lord!” she cried. “I can't. Let others do it, who are stronger.” She thought of the pain she had endured after being shot in the chest a couple of years earlier, left to die in a fire much like the one that had taken Ben. Ray had found her in time and saved her, and the Lord had allowed her to have a second chance at life. “Did you save me for this?” she asked. “So's I could grieve my son?”

So many today had told her she would get through this, that they would help her and love her, that God would give her what she needed. “No,” she said now. “I
need
my son back! That's all that would help me. I don't want to live…I didn't survive so I could learn to get along without him.” She shook her fist at the ceiling. “Do you hear me, God? I cannot do this! Just take me too. Take me on outta here. Take me home, 'cause I don't want to stay.”

But she knew he wouldn't. For some reason, he had given her life back, and he had taken Ben instead. Not an even trade, she thought. She would never have agreed to it. But God hadn't asked her.

She didn't know if she could forgive him for that.

She pulled the pillow from under Ben's bedspread and buried her face in it as her anguish wailed out of her. She wanted to break things, kick things, scream and rant and rave…even hurt herself. But then the family would come, and they wouldn't leave her alone again. The cycle of being surrounded would continue, and she wouldn't have time to think…

So she didn't throw anything, didn't break anything, didn't scream or hurt herself. She just lay on Ben's bed, moaning and sobbing into his pillow as her mother's grief dragged her through the worst night of her life.

T
hough Issie was sometimes gullible and reckless, she wasn't naive. She had been around the block a few times and knew when things weren't right, and lately, she'd made a point of raising her standards. It had taken her a little over an hour to figure out that the man hitting on her was married. There were subtle signs, like a white stripe on the ring finger of his left hand. She didn't know why men didn't realize that it was obvious when they took their wedding rings off.

While this wouldn't have bothered her in days past, she found that it irritated her now. She didn't like being treated like a fool. Twice during the conversation he'd gotten a call on his cell phone, and he had kept it short and sweet. She felt like grabbing the phone and saying hello to his wife, telling her to come get him before he made a victim out of some girl who wasn't as smart as she was.

When she'd finally been able to shake the guy, she'd decided that she needed to go home. Maybe Joe's wasn't the place for her tonight. Anyway, it wasn't doing the trick. Her spirits were just as low now, and her nerves just as shot as they had been when she'd left the Benton property.

She paid her tab, said her goodbyes, and headed out to her car.

The night air was cool, and a breeze whispered through the Mimosa tree next to Joe's Place. A couple of college-age kids were standing at a truck on the perimeter of the parking lot.

The wind picked up their laughter and carried it to Issie, making her almost jealous that others found smiles after a day like today.

She got into the car and jammed her key into the ignition, turned it, and shifted the car into drive. A loud rap song beat out its morbid message, and she changed the station as she stepped on the accelerator. The song changed to a softer, more harmonic song by a popular boy band. But the car stalled.

She gave it more gas, and the wheels began to turn slightly, but they fought the movement. Frowning, she shifted back into park and got out, leaving her door open, and looked at her tires.

All four were flat.

Anger roiled inside her. She punched the button to open her trunk and pulled out her flashlight. She shone the light on one of the tires and went closer, looking for the source of the problem. Had she run over something big enough to deflate all four tires?

Then she saw the slash, and realized that someone had taken a knife to the tire. She went from wheel to wheel, shining the light, and saw that they had all been slashed.

Who would have done such a thing? Had she been chosen randomly, or was it a deliberate act?

The autumn breeze whipped through her hair, fluffing it into her face, and she pushed it back and looked around, first to the right, then the left, hoping whoever had done this was still in the area. She had visions of catching and restraining them, and somehow getting them across the street to the police station. There she'd have them locked up and the key thrown away until they bought her four new tires and gave her an apology.

But there was no one in sight.

The college kids still laughed and horsed around, oblivious to the rage coursing through her. She stormed over to them. “Did any of you see someone around my car?” she demanded.

“No,” one of them said. “Why?”

“Because all four of my tires are slashed. You didn't see anybody?”

“Ma'am, we just got here,” one of them said. “There hasn't been anybody in the parking lot since we got out of the truck.”

She muttered something under her breath and stomped back to her car. Not knowing what else to do with her rage, she kicked at the tire. This was all she needed after a long day.

She looked across the street and saw the lights of the fire department and some of the firemen milling around in the truck bay, and next door the police department with its squad cars parked out front. At least there was someone over there who could take her home.

She headed across the street to the fire department, went inside the truck bay, and saw Dan Nichols lifting weights. “Issie,” he said, setting down a barbell. “What are you doing here?”

“I was at Joe's Place,” she said, “and somebody slashed my tires. I need a ride home. Can you take me?”

Dan hesitated. “Why don't you ask somebody else?” he said. “No offense, Issie, but I'm a newlywed and I don't want to start rumors.”

That made her even madder. “Oh, no, of course you wouldn't want to be seen with a piranha like me.”

She bolted into the fire station, slamming the door behind her. She saw Mark Branning sitting in front of the television watching a ball game. George Broussard was sprawled out in the recliner across the small room. “Mark, I was just over at Joe's Place and my tires were slashed. Can you take me home?”

Mark just looked at her for a moment, and she could see that he was trying to come up with an excuse.

“Oh, come on, Mark,” she said. “It's not like I'm going to attack you in the car. Give me a break.”

Mark shrugged. “Allie and I are doing real well, Issie. I don't want to rock the boat.”

“Would Allie want me to walk home at night?” she asked. “Come on, I'm a lady in distress. You're a public servant.”

Mark grinned. “Nice try, Issie, but I'm gonna pass. Get George.”

She looked at George. “George, surely you can do it.”

The big Cajun was a young widower, left alone with a little boy. He looked up at her as if it pleased him to be asked. He dropped his feet and got up. “I'll brought you home,” he said, and looked down at Mark. “I got the scanner in the car. Won't be long, no way.” He bowed with a flourish and said, “After you.”

Issie started out without saying goodbye to Mark or Dan.

When they were on their way home, George grinned over at Issie. “Sorry 'bout them attitudes back there.”

She shrugged and looked out the window. “I guess I deserve it. But Mark doesn't have to be scared of me. We never did anything wrong. And I have no idea why Dan Nichols would have to worry about Jill. The whole time he was a bachelor he and I never went out once. We weren't each other's type.”

“What type you like, Issie?” George asked.

She sighed and shook her head. “I have a broad range of types, George. I'm not that specific.”

“Maybe ya ought to be, pretty girl like you,” George said.

Was he hitting on her? She glanced at his double chin and his Santa Claus paunch. He was the last one she'd be attracted to. She looked out the window, quiet until they reached her apartments. “Thanks, George,” she said. “I really appreciate it.”

“So how ya gon' get to work tomorrow?” he asked.

“I don't know. I'll call Steve or somebody. Guess I'll have to get AAA out to change my tires. My insurance doesn't cover tires, so it's going to cost a small fortune, which I don't have at the moment.” She groaned and dug through her bag for her keys. “I've got to get a better-paying job.”

“You can do like me,” he said, “save lives one day, sell smoke alarms the next.”

“Yeah, I'll have to consider that,” she said without much enthusiasm. “Thanks again.”

She got out of the car and trotted up the steps to the apartment on the second floor. She put her key in but found that the doorknob turned too easily. Normally it took a little effort unless it was unlocked.

She turned the doorknob and pushed inside, quickly flipped on the light, and looked down at the knob again. Had it just been her imagination, or had the door really been unlocked? That wasn't like her. She never left it without locking it. Maybe the stress of the day had distracted her into forgetting.

She locked it now, then dropped her purse on an end table and headed for her bedroom. She kicked off her shoes toward the closet as she rounded the corner.

Then she saw it. Written in red spray paint across her wall were the words, “Ignorance is bliss.”

She gasped and stepped back, and quickly ran for the gun that she kept hidden in her closet. Her hands trembled and her heart raced as she tried to load it, then she went around the apartment from room to room, looking in closets and behind doors and under things. Someone had been in her apartment, and they had left her a message. What did it mean, ignorance is bliss? What kind of ignorance? Ignorance from what?

She had no idea what it meant, but as shivers coursed through her, she realized that it had something to do with the four slashed tires.

She got to the bathroom, turned on the light, pulled back the shower curtain. There was no one there. She was sweating now, and she stumbled out of the bathroom, still holding the gun, and grabbed the telephone next to her bed.

She picked it up and started to dial 911 when she noticed a small lump under her comforter. Aiming the gun at it as if it was a live thing that would jump out and grab her, she pealed her comforter slowly back. She screamed as she saw the dead cat, brutally slain.

The sight backed her against the wall, and she stayed there, pushing against it as if it would let her slip through. She saw a note attached with a rubber band around the cat's torso. Still holding the phone and the gun, she forced herself back to the bedside, pulled the note out from under the rubber band, and unfolded it.

“Tell the police about anything you've seen and you're as dead as this cat.”

There was no signature. No need of one. The message was clear. Issie didn't know what things she knew or what they were referring to, but the fact that she had picked up the phone to dial 911 reminded her that someone was looking in on her thoughts, figuring out her moves just before she made them.

She slammed the phone down. It was those kids with Jake, she thought. He and his friends were worried that she was going to tell something.

Did it have anything to do with the carpet that she'd seen them burning in the bonfire? Was this about the church burning? Had they killed Ben?

She was shaking so hard she could hardly grab the phone again, but she picked it up and dialed her brother's number. He answered quickly. “Hello?”

“Mike, it's me,” she said, her voice wobbling. “Some weird stuff is happening around here and—can I come and bunk at your house tonight?”

“What's wrong?” he asked.

“I've just got to get out of here. Somebody slashed all four of my tires, so I don't have a car. I'll need you to come get me.”

“Slashed your tires?” he asked. “Who would do that?”

“The same person who'd put a dead cat in my bed and leave me threatening messages!” she shouted.

“Issie, what have you gotten yourself into?”

The question would have enraged her if she hadn't been so exhausted. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. She didn't have the heart to tell him that it very likely had something to do with his own son. “I don't know,” she said. “That's the bizarre thing.”

“Have you called the police?”

“No. They left a note telling me not to, and frankly, I don't think I want to mess with them right now. Will you come get me or not?”

“I was asleep, Issie. I'm not even dressed.”

“What don't you understand?” she bellowed. “Someone has been in my apartment. You're my brother! I don't have anybody else to call!”

“All right, all right,” he said. “I'll be right over.”

“Can you put Lois on the phone until you get here? I'm a little spooked.”

“Let me see if I can wake her up.” She knew he expected her to tell him not to bother, but she was too frightened to be selfless right now. After several moments, Lois came to the phone. “Issie, what's going on?” her sister-in-law asked irritably.

Blinking back her tears of frustration and indignation, Issie told Lois what had happened while she waited for her brother.