problem. That almost sounded possible, though sickening and very, very far from plausible. He couldn’t do anything like that. Wouldn’t want to.
Still …
Movement, or maybe it was some noise, pulled his attention to the only lit room in the neighbor’s house. The man was in that room, standing at the window. Completely back lit, he was only the dark shadow of a man. He was watching Tyler. Had he called the cops? Was he afraid the crazy witch lady was going to come outside too? Who was this guy?
Tyler started to walk toward the man’s front door—what was another confrontation on a night filled with madness?—but a car was speeding down the road, its howling engine echoing like a hungry beast in the woods. Tyler turned toward the road and waited, hoping.
Perhaps he had felt guilty or maybe he wanted to do some more vandalizing, but Paul had returned. His car skidded to a stop at the bottom of Sasha’s driveway. Paul was out of the car by the time Tyler ran into the street. Paul had an open beer bottle in one hand.
“Fuck happened to you?”
“Get in,” Tyler said. “I’m driving.”
5
Anthony stepped into the garage, shut the door against the echo of Chloe’s gargled, drug-saturated cries, and went to his mangled car. He touched the hood, ran his hand along the roof. He didn’t really
Delaney had died in this car and he had kept it as some kind of demented memorabilia. It could go in the Museum of Grief:
He stared at the radio and its dead face stared back. Had it even played that instrumental yesterday night or was that all in his head?
Tears threatened. “I miss you so much,” he whispered.
That was the eternal question of course. Why did this happen? Why to Delaney? Why were any of us even here if it all boiled down to misery and death? Why?
He smacked the top of the car but with barely any force; his muscles had lost their strength. He could slump to the floor and fall asleep. Stay down here for days, maybe let himself waste away to nothing.
“I didn’t imagine it.”
Chloe’s car waited in the adjacent spot. It was practically new, had still smelled new when he drove it off the highway as their baby died. He should have let Delaney take it. Maybe she wouldn’t be dead now. A simple change of events so slight as taking a different car might have altered everything. But he hadn’t wanted her to take it because of the cries.
“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
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.
How would it all end?
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 (
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
“What happened with your wife?”
“She … resisted.”
