Night Light

  No, he’d only send one strand. That way they’d know he meant business and it would give them the drama he needed.

  He took the rest of it out of the bag and dropped it on the warehouse floor. Then he got a clean piece of paper. Trying to steady his hand, he wrote out the ransom note:

  If you ever want to see the kid alive again, bring $200 to the 10th Street Bridge tonight at 11:30. If I see police anywhere around, Sarah dies and you can bury her dead body next to that tramp of a mother of hers.

  There. That ought to do it. He sat there and stared at it for a moment, aware of the irony that he would go to all this trouble for two hundred bucks. But he knew the Brannings probably didn’t have more than that, and you couldn’t get blood out of a turnip.

  He figured the Brannings would have already spent some of their disbursement, but if they’d gotten enough for ten people — the six of them and the four Gatlin kids — that would have been 250 dollars. He didn’t buy their story about the stolen money. No way they would have kept those brats for nothing. Two hundred dollars wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, and if they didn’t have it, they could get it from others.

  Hopefully they cared enough about the kid to pay it.

  If they didn’t, he could go to plan B — move to another town and keep her until the next disbursement. She was his, after all. And if she gave him too much trouble, he could always go to plan C.

  He could keep his promise to bury her next to her mother.

  sixty-five

  THE SLEEPING ARRANGEMENTS WERE CROWDED TONIGHT. Though Aaron’s grandparents had been offered that Eloise lady’s house for the night, they had decided to stay at the Brannings’ in case there was word from Sarah. They had pulled out the sofa bed in the living room, and Grandma and Pop were sleeping on that.

  That made it difficult to sneak out without being caught. But Aaron had had plenty of practice; he figured he could make it.

  He slipped off the bed without waking his brothers, then quietly got dressed. He had given sleep an honest try, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Sarah. He imagined terrible things happening to her. What if she was locked up somewhere in the dark? He pictured a damp dungeon, or a cage like in Hansel and Gretel, and Sarah screaming until her throat was raw. She had such a fear of the dark after all those hours she’d spent in their mother’s closet. What if that man had beaten her or worse? What if she was calling Aaron’s name?

  What if she was dead, lying somewhere in the woods like their mother?

  Fears circled like vultures in his mind, keeping him from sleep. He had to go out and find her. Lying in bed had given him ideas. There was a house his mom had taken them to once, when she’d had to get her dope. The place had stunk worse than anyplace he’d ever smelled. They’d been cooking dope in a back room, and the place was full of crazed and heavy-lidded friends of hers, smoking from lightbulbs — or something like them. There were needles lying around and people with stripes up their arms, sitting in a dazed stupor.

  Maybe Moe bought his dope there too. Maybe Aaron could find someone there who’d seen him and Sarah.

  He went down the hall, careful not to make a sound, then stepped down each step. His foot creaked on the third step and he held his breath.

  Maybe no one had heard.

  He made his way to the ground floor, then headed for the front door. It was too risky to take one of the bikes, since he’d have to raise the garage door to get it out. That would surely wake the Brannings. And if he rolled the bike through the house so he could take it out the door without opening the garage, the click-click-click of the wheels would surely wake his grandparents in the living room.

  No, he’d just have to walk. Quietly, he turned the dead bolt on the front door. It clicked too loudly. He stopped and listened, but no one stirred. Wincing with the effort of silence, he turned the knob and pulled the door open. The hinges squeaked.

  “Aaron, where are you going?”

  He swung around. He couldn’t see who had caught him in the darkness, but it sounded like Pop.

  “Nowhere. I was just — ”

  The flashlight came on, shining in his eyes. His grandfather came closer and closed the door back.

  Bolting it, he said, “Aaron, come sit down with me. Let’s talk.”

  “I wasn’t doing nothing. I just wanted some air.”

  But his grandfather wouldn’t listen. With a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, Pop guided him to the study so they wouldn’t disturb his grandmother. He was glad of that. He didn’t need her freaking out too.

  His grandfather lit the lamp and sat down knee to knee with him. His silver eyes were solemn, probing. “Aaron, where were you going?”

  His mouth twisted. “Just to look for Sarah. I thought of some place she might be.”

  Pop’s face softened. “Son, you can’t go out into the night like that or something will happen to you too. Where would we be then?”

  “But she’s still out there!” he bit out. “You don’t know her, but she’s really little, and she can’t defend herself — ”

  “I know that.” The tears in his eyes backed up his words. “I’ve thought of nothing else all night. I couldn’t sleep, either.”

  Hope lit Aaron’s face. “Then come with me.”

  “Where?”

  He wiped his face. “There was this house where Mama used to buy dope.”

  “You think Sarah’s there?”

  “No, but maybe somebody there knows Moe and can figure out where he took her.”

  His grandfather leaned forward and put his hands on Aaron’s knees. “Son, we can’t go to a crack house in the middle of the night. We could get murdered, and then what would happen to Joey and Luke? If something happens to us, who will look for Sarah?”

  “But she’s been gone so long!” Aaron’s voice broke, and he dropped his face into his hands. “What if she’s dead?”

  The words fell like a cement block between them. “Aaron, we can’t go out after her tonight. That would be foolish. But we can pray for her. I’ve been praying all night.”

  “I can’t pray,” Aaron said. “God doesn’t listen to me.”

  His grandfather pulled back. The shadows moved down his face, making the lines in his skin look deeper. “You’re wrong about that. Aaron, we’ve prayed for you for years. God’s heard every prayer, and he’s brought you back to us.”

  “That’s because you were praying. Not because I was.” He got up and went to the window looking out on the front lawn. He couldn’t see much more than his reflection in the darkness. “He hates me, God does. He’s punishing me for all the stuff I’ve done.”

  Pop came over and stood behind him. “Aaron, why do you think that?”

  “Because,” he said. “In church, Mr. Doug said that heaven is a perfect place, that God can’t let sin in it. And if he hates sin, then he hates me.”

  “God doesn’t hate anybody.”

  “Yes, he does. The Brannings read the psalms some nights after supper. I heard it myself one of those times. There’s one that says God hates the wicked and the violent.”

  His grandfather turned him around and gazed down at him. “But Aaron, God just meant that he takes sin seriously. He doesn’t overlook it. Then he tells us stories of people who did wicked and violent things, and he forgave them. Like King David. Did you know that there was a time when he was so wicked that he stole another man’s wife, then had her husband killed so he could have her for himself?”

  Aaron just looked at him. “David, from David and Goliath?”

  “Yes. You know about him?”

  “Beth wrote this cheesy play about him. It’s a musical. We’re talking really lame, but all the kids in the neighborhood were in it. Even me.”

  “Good. Then you know how close he was to God when he was younger, and how God worked in his life. But later on, he still let wickedness in and was responsible for a murder. How much worse can it be?”

  Aaron swallowed. “God forgave murder?”

&nb
sp; “Of course he did. And the apostle Paul was a murderer too. Do you know about him?”

  Aaron tried to think, but nothing came to him. He shook his head.

  “Paul turned out to be one of the greatest preachers who ever lived. He helped spread Christianity across the world, and he wrote a lot of the Bible. Before he gave his life to Jesus, he went around killing Christians for their beliefs. There’s no telling how many he killed. Then God got hold of him and turned his life around, and he was sorry. God forgave him and used him to do great things, Aaron. So you see? Nothing you’ve done, no matter how wicked you think it is, is too much for God. He tells us that if we confess our sins, he will forgive them.”

  Aaron stared at his grandfather, wondering if he could trust him. For so long, he’d believed his mother’s stories about how they were out to get her and break up their family. But now he could see that wasn’t true. Grandma and Pop really seemed to love them.

  Maybe Pop could be trusted about God too.

  “How do you confess your sins?” Aaron asked.

  “You just tell God what you did and tell him you’re sorry.”

  Sorrow welled in Aaron’s chest, and all his past deeds paraded like drunken dancers in his mind. His face twisted with his pain, and he tried to hold back his tears.

  Pop stroked his hair. “Do you want to tell me what you’re sorry for?”

  Aaron sucked in a sob. “I can’t. You’ll hate me.”

  “Aaron, I could never hate you. Not in a million years. Why would you think that?”

  The tragedy of his sin rushed up like floodwaters, trapping and drowning him.

  “Because you’re her daddy, that’s why.”

  His grandfather stared at him, stricken. Tears rimmed his eyes. “Aaron?”

  Aaron’s sobbing grew harder. “Sometimes we do things we don’t mean. Sometimes we’re sorry but we can’t tell nobody. And then God punishes us by taking our sister.”

  His grandfather reached out and pulled him into his arms, crushed him against him. “It’s okay, son. I’ll never hate you, and neither will God. You don’t have to tell me what you did. Just whisper it to God when you’re alone, and you’ll see.”

  DOUG STOOD JUST OUTSIDE THE DOOR TO HIS STUDY, LISTENING TO every word. The pain had gotten him up, and he’d come into the kitchen to get some water. That was when he’d seen the light in his study.

  He stood in the shadows, listening to the boy’s pain. As Aaron’s words sank in, he tried to get his mind around them. What violence was the boy talking about? And why would his grandfather hate him if he knew? What did it have to do with Jessie?

  Somehow, Aaron blamed himself for his mother’s death. New questions ignited inside Doug. Did the boy have something to do with his mother’s death?

  Or had he merely witnessed it?

  Doug peered into the study again, saw the pain on Allen’s face. It was clear that he was thinking the same thing. But could it be true? Doug backed against the wall in the hallway, and breathed a quiet prayer for clarity. If the boy had somehow killed his mother … what did that mean? And what should be done about it?

  No, it couldn’t be that. The boy would never have killed his mother. Not in a million years.

  But as Doug went back to bed, the thoughts wouldn’t leave his head. Aaron was hiding something important. Somehow, Doug would have to get it out of him.

  sixty-six

  DENI LAY AWAKE IN HER BED AS THE NIGHT TURNED INTO morning. Sleep seemed more and more rare for her these days. Her heart ached with all the tragedy in her life, all the turmoil, all the worry. The Bible said to be anxious for nothing, but how did someone stop worrying about the life of a little girl in mortal danger? As the first gray light of morning came through her window, Deni got up and prayed some more. Life had been so hard lately, so full of sadness. She wanted so much to put it all behind her, to stop the dreariness and the constant labor, the danger and the turmoil.

  She wondered if things would be easier in Washington. Maybe there wouldn’t be such hard work. Maybe Craig was right about getting the provisions that came in for the senators and their staff. Maybe she could even get a job in Crawford’s office, filing or doing paperwork, and eventually, when the lights and televisions came back on, she’d be in the hub of broadcast journalism. She’d be one of the first on the scene to apply for the jobs.

  But until they found Sarah, she couldn’t even think about leaving. The thought of leaving even after Sarah was found hung like lead in her heart. What about her mother and father and sister and brothers? How could she bear going through the rest of this outage without them? It wasn’t like she could keep in touch by the phone or computer.

  Could she depend on Craig to fill the void left by her family?

  Since Craig had come to town, he’d disappointed her in so many ways.

  And now she just wasn’t sure …

  sixty-seven

  WHEN MORNING CAME, DOUG FOUND AARON ASLEEP IN THE chair in his study, and Allen still awake. Allen got up when he heard Doug outside the door and followed him into the kitchen.

  “Sorry we can’t offer you coffee,” Doug said. “It’s a luxury we can’t quite afford.”

  “If only that were the worst of our problems,” Allen said.

  Doug poured him some water and slid it across the counter. The man probably hadn’t slept all night — the lines in his face were deep.

  Doug kept his voice low. “Allen, I heard you talking to Aaron last night in the study. The things he said … well, they kind of made it sound like he knows more about Jessie’s murder than he’s telling.”

  Allen stared into his water. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “When he told you that he had things to be forgiven for. Things about his mother.”

  Allen’s eyes glistened as he met Doug’s eyes. “You’re reading way too much into that. He’s a little boy. Surely you’re not accusing him — ”

  “It’s just that you should have made him tell you what it was. You shouldn’t have let him keep the secret. We need to know if he had something to do with her death.”

  Allen got up and went to the door of the study, and made sure Aaron still slept. Quietly, he came back to Doug. “Now you listen to me,” he said, just above a whisper. “My grandson is not a killer. He’s a broken kid with a troubled past. He’s lied and stolen to feed his family. He has a conscience, so he has a lot of things to feel guilty about. But murdering his mother is not one of them.”

  Doug hoped he was right. “I want to believe that too. But the next time he talks about it, you need to see it through. I know you want to protect him. So do I. But there’s a murder investigation underway and we need to know what happened.”

  “All right, Doug. I hear what you’re saying. If he’s hiding something, I’ll get him to tell me.”

  Doug knew he couldn’t count on it, and he almost didn’t blame Allen. He’d lost a daughter and maybe a granddaughter. He would cling to what he had left, even if it meant lying.

  After breakfast, he and Allen went with Aaron to find the house where Jessie had gotten her drugs. Armed with his rifle and Allen’s shotgun, they headed to the sleazy area between Crockett and Birmingham, where reports of murders, rapes, and shootings were everyday occurrences. The streets that used to be high-traffic seemed barren and abandoned now as men loitered in the streets. This area was much worse than the apartment complex where the Gatlin children had been living. Mangy, skinny dogs roamed, looking for food; men loitered on the streets watching as the three rode by. But Aaron wasn’t afraid. Courageously, he confronted each group he saw before Doug or Allen could. So far, no one had admitted to seeing Moe or Sarah.

  Aaron led them to the rundown house where his mother used to buy drugs. It was a rattrap with a rotting front porch and trash piled high in the yard. Doug swallowed his anger. How could Jessie drag her kids to a place like this?

  The building had been condemned long before the outage, and the windows were boarded up
. But the door was open. A terrible smell wafted out of it, and as he stepped into the doorway and gazed into the darkness, he saw three people through a haze of smoke. A man lay sleeping on a torn-up sofa, and another on a big red beanbag. On the floor, a girl sat rolling a cigarette, deeply engrossed in her task.

  “Hello,” Doug said.

  The girl looked up. “You cops?”

  “’Course not,” Aaron said. “I’m Jessie Gatlin’s boy. This is my grandpa and my foster father.”

  She finished rolling her cigarette. “What do you want?”

  “My baby sister,” he said. “I think Moe Jenkins kidnapped her.”

  That got her attention. “Moe Jenkins?”

  Doug touched the rifle hanging from his back and stepped into the house. “You know him?”

  “I might.”

  “Have you seen him in the last day or so?”

  “I ain’t seen him in weeks.” She licked the paper and folded it over.

  “Anybody here who might’ve seen him?” Allen asked.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know who all’s here.”

  Clearly, Aaron took that as an invitation. He shot through the smelly living room and into the kitchen. Doug followed after him.

  Two men sat on the filthy counter. One had a tourniquet around his arm and a syringe in his trembling hand. The other was counting change on the dirty counter. Doug grabbed Aaron’s shoulder and kept him from moving toward them.

  “I remember you,” Aaron said to the one shooting up. “You knew my mama.”

  The man’s lids were heavy. “Get outta here, kid. You don’t belong here.”

  Doug agreed with him. “We don’t want any trouble,” he said. “All we want is Moe Jenkins. Have you seen him?”

  The two men exchanged looks, then the heavy-lidded one popped his tourniquet loose. “I don’t know nobody by that name.”

  “I think you need to be leaving.”

  The voice came from behind him. Doug turned. A scruffy man stood in the doorway, aiming his shotgun at Doug. He was bone-thin and the whites of his eyes were as yellow as the enamel on his teeth. The man chambered a round, and Doug moved his free hand to his wound.