Death is Not the End, Daddy

of water, and the cold burn of the shaving cream as I apply it onto my mess of facial hair. This is my last stop. And then the consequences will start.

  Matthew Mills

  The peace that I feel doesn’t change the sadness passing over me. It lets me know that I’m never alone. But, I still miss Marcy, especially as the quiet of this house reminds me of how just last night she called for me. It almost makes me expect to hear her call for me again.

  Janet is sleeping soundly on me. She fell asleep after our long talk. She now understands what still has me in awe. It put her in the same place and then lulled her to sleep, like a baby being rocked back and forth by protective arms. It put me to sleep for a little while, too. I dreamt I was holding Marcy. I was feeling her kisses on my cheek, her little body tight in my arms, and her sweet little voice telling me how much she loved me. It felt so real.

  And then I woke up. And I remembered that the hug I gave her this morning was the last I’ll ever give. And I’ve been lying still ever since, trying not to let the sadness stick, trying to hold onto the warmth of knowing I’m never alone.

  But, the quiet can be lonely. It can be filled with the sadness you’ve outrun all day, reminding you that it still hurts. No matter how good God is, it still hurts. It will hurt for a long time. Life was never promised to be easy. And when this hits, the sadness does stick. It can stick for a long time. It can actually destroy you—

  I can’t let the sadness stick to me. I’ll always miss my little girl, but I know there is a reason for this. I know there is more than just pain in this situation—there already has been. I will not revert back to the man I was last night. He was the man who had replaced Jesus with his daughter. He was the man who found strength in her alone. That isn’t me anymore.

  The quiet can be a stage for stories to be told. It’s a place where doubt can spin a tale and convince you it’s truth. Instead of focusing on what I have gained, it shows me what I have lost: just last night you were still a father.

  Yes, I was.

  But also, just last night my wife was a lifeless shell. Just last night I was a man filled with bitterness, slowly dying from the poison inside. Just last night I had Marcy, but nothing else.

  John Doe

  The longer I stare at myself in the mirror, the more I realize how much I want to run. I will never be ready to face the consequences for what I’ve done. I am a coward. I want to be free without having to face what I’ve done. It’s selfish. And I know that I can’t follow it. But, the desire is still there, still strong, still something I’m imagining: I could still bring M back without turning myself in. I could leave her outside on the lawn and then disappear.

  It’s only a thought. It’s only pictures in my mind. It won’t happen. There is only one direction I can go. No matter how scared I am, there is no turning back. I have had these few moments to clean this dirty face, to wash the cuts on this body, to change these dirty clothes, to shave away the last part of the man who is no longer me. And now it’s time to leave. I will never be completely ready. Some part of me will always want to run. But, this freedom I’ve been given means nothing without the consequences. And if I did run, where would I even go?

  There is no purpose for me outside of this. If I ran, I would lose all that I have gained. And what I have gained is so much more valuable than these few moments in front of this mirror…

  Matthew Mills

  The hardest times are not going to be under this house with Janet. They are going to be around the people of this town, because…

  … Life goes on. At least it’s what people expect. It’s what they say. So, it becomes a role to play, because people don’t want to see your pain. They don’t want to see how you hardly smile anymore or how all your conversations somehow always come back to your pain. They tolerate it for a time and then they just stay away.

  I’ve experienced it before. And I’m expecting it again, because not tomorrow, but soon, I’ll have to step back into my routine. And when I do, I can’t be quiet and distant. I have to be a functional supervisor. It doesn’t matter what has happened, because life goes on…

  John Doe

  I’m parked outside of M’s house. It’s 11:54 pm. I know what comes next. I know what I have to do. I look at myself in the rearview mirror one more time before opening the door. There is no turning back.

  I open the backseat door and grab M’s body. Her skin is cold and her small body is heavy in my arms.

  I’m not afraid. I’m calm. I expected this to be a fight to the finish. Instead, it’s a simple walk to the front door. No shaking in my body. No falter in my steps. I’m ready for this. I never thought I would be. But, I am.

  My steps are long. I’ve taken five. Maybe four remain. The freedom I have wanted for so long continues to find me at different levels. Every time I think I have experienced freedom, I’m shown that it’s only the beginning. These few steps are the deepest level of freedom I have experienced yet. It’s the freedom of choice, the freedom of knowing that I could run but don’t.

  And now, it’s the freedom to knock on this door…

  Matthew Mills

  I’m trying to fill my head with songs, because the quiet can bring sounds, like soft knocking on the door downstairs. It’s what I want to hear, especially now that it’s almost midnight and my eyes are heavy. I want to believe that I won’t have to go to bed tonight, wondering if I’ll ever see her again. I want her to be returned as suddenly as she was taken, so that we can say goodbye.

  I hear it again. Louder this time. Janet’s eyes open slightly. She hears it too.

  “I have to get up, sweetie.” I whisper as I slip out from under her. She doesn’t reply. She just resituates now that I’m no longer on the couch and falls back to sleep.

  I’m standing at the top of the stairs, looking down. I hear it again, as loud as before. The darkness in the entryway matches my fear. The knocking terrifies me. I want Marcy to be on the other side of that door. But, I also don’t know how I’m going to handle it if she is.

  I hate the knocking, because no matter who it is, I’ll always want it to be her. It could be anybody on the other side of that door. It could be a different officer wanting to ask me more questions about Ms. Brands. It could be just my exhausted mind playing a prank. But, it always could be her. And I know that no matter how many times it isn’t, I’ll always prepare for it to be.

  I flick the switch next to me, lighting up the entryway. The light doesn’t give me any comfort. The quiet of this night has pulled apart my defenses, leaving me a weak and tired man. Until she is returned, I will never be able to walk down these stairs easily. It will always be hard.

  I start stepping down the stairs. I can feel the pressure of tears building deep inside of me. I can feel the pangs of realization hammering into me like nails. The hardest part is knowing that this will happen every time. I will always prepare myself for it to be Marcy. Until it is her, I will always go through this…

  I’m at the bottom of the stairs. I’m ready to face this. I’m ready for it to be her, even though it probably isn’t. I grab the doorknob and turn…

 

  John Doe

  The door is opening slowly. I’m not shaking. Not even now. I’m ready. As the door opens, I can see the inside of the house: carpeted stairs that continue up to a second level, a well lit entryway—Matthew Mills.

  I can only stare at his face. He’s looking at me with eyes that have no words. One is almost swollen shut; the other almost looks blank. Does he even have a heart left? The pain I see on him could take me to my knees. It’s because of me that he looks empty. Because of me…

  Matthew Mills

  I want this to be a dream. I want to wake up. Now that she’s here, I don’t want her to be. I don’t want this to be reality. I thought it would be easier to say goodbye, to know that she was truly gone, but it isn’t. My little girl is just a dead body in the arms of this man. She’s just a dead body. All life is gone from her. All love. All
warmth. All joy.

  I feel like the life has been drained from me and I’m in hell, moment by moment drifting farther and farther away from all emotion. I know of God’s love, but I can’t feel it. I know His warmth exists, but I only feel cold.

  The events of today feel like they happened years ago. All purpose that came from them is lost on me. I’m looking at my little girl’s body and I see no miracles, no silver linings, no happiness. It feels like she is all there is in my life. And with her gone, it feels like I’m gone too…

  I know this is a lie. But, it’s the only thing that feels true. I know I had to lose Marcy to get back my relationship with Jesus, and Janet, and myself. But, what I know isn’t what I feel. And what I feel is hopelessness.

  I don’t have questions to ask this man. I don’t have words to say. I just want my little girl back. I put out my arms to take Marcy.

  “She helped save my life.” he whispers as he hands her over…

  John Doe

  Matthew’s face changes immediately. He doesn’t grab M from my arms. He freezes midway, now just looking at me with wide eyes.

  “How?” he asks quietly.

  “She was kind to me.” I whisper. “She cared about me. She told me that Jesus wanted me to know the light wasn’t gone.” my words seem to hit him like stones. His eyes aren’t just