Retribution (2 page)

Her father's steel-gray eyes locked with hers. “It didn't help when you refused to tell the police where you were.”

“So I was labeled a person-of-interest.” Regret burned like acid. “I need you to believe me; I did not set that fire.”

“Lillian, it will blow over given time. Think about what you are doing.”

“I am thinking about it.”

“You don't know anyone down south,” her mother interjected. “What is this Francis Marion University? You've been educated to be more than a teacher. You won't fit in…”

Her father tapped his fingers on the mantle. “And you don't always choose the best friends.”

“You mean Craig. Go ahead and say it!”

“You could have had any man you wanted.” Her mom reshaped the nap of the carpet with her foot.

“I got the man I wanted, and now he's gone. And my job is gone. My friends avoid me; my family…” Tears flowed down her cheeks. Hands fisted at her sides.

“Honey, this is where you belong,” her mother murmured. “You need our supervision for awhile yet. Let Dr. Widder spend more time with you.”

She looked from one distressed face to the other. “I don't need professional counseling; I need a life.” She stumbled from the room.

~*~

As he walked, his breath came in tight gasps, not from exertion but fear. Why did he continue to allow the memory to control his steps? No one forced this torture on him; no one even knew of his weekly tour into the nether regions of evil. But until retribution had been served, the compulsion to relive what amounted to the end of his life continued, as though it were a movie that automatically rewound at will. He walked through the familiar neighborhood, crossing one quiet street, then the next, not stopping to look both ways, not caring. As his destination neared, the taste of bile filled his mouth.

Evening dusk dropped its blanket of gray. Shadows elongated into reaching arms, and the dark edges of buildings shielded their menace. He jumped when a low branch brushed his face. The empty lot was still four houses away when the nightmare started.

The roar of the fire blanketed the sound of sirens. He ran closer and boiling waves of heat and smoke rolled over him, burning his lungs, stealing his air. With his heart racing, he searched his yard, then the yards of neighboring houses. Where was she? No! She couldn't be inside! Blackness enveloped his mind. As always, he found himself standing in the empty weed-infested lot. As the evening air chilled his skin, he shoved fists into his eyes, hoping to block what came next.

The spasms of reality hit, folding him over against the pain. He tightened his jaw, determined not to give in to the hopelessness that bent him like iron in the fire. The moment passed and the present returned. It always did.

He had watched the city crew a month later, after all the legal issues of her death had been properly handled, as they shoveled the charred remains of his home into trucks and hauled his memories to the dump. Now he clung to his anger because it was all he had. Anger at a world that had given him nothing.

The last vestige of gray transitioned into the blackness of night. Moonlight cast a ghostly sheen over the vacant lot. Leaves shivered above him. Light spilled from windows of the adjacent houses. Sounds: voices, television, the clank of dishes. The essence of normal life seeped from the dwellings and taunted him like the beckoning finger of a vixen woman. Even the weeds came alive as they shifted in the breeze, the mocking silver ghosts of hopes stolen.

So many nightmares. But the end neared. Vengeance would soon be accomplished and then, at last, his life could be reborn. An eye for an eye. A life for a life.

Roger Jenkins headed back to his empty house, confident in the knowledge that Lillian Hunter would soon be on her way. Her death would be his balm.

2

Tremulous breaths hung frozen around Lillian's head as she placed her suitcase in the trunk of the car. She turned on the headlights and swords of light penetrated the darkness that lay thick right before dawn. Driving around the circular drive, she allowed herself one last look at the well-manicured lawn and two-story brick house. Tears skated down icy cheeks as she moved toward the unknown.

Two faces peered out of an upstairs window. A silent hand lifted to the retreating taillights. She sighed, knowing she wasn't meant to witness the farewell; her father had told her they would not see her off.

The past had not been all bad, had it? Recent years colored the good, shading the weeks and months more darkly than perhaps memory alone would have done. In their own way, her parents did love her. But since she had become a Christian, a gap had grown. She and Craig had prayed for them so many times during their five years of marriage. Now her prayers were uttered alone. Was it possible to love someone and not like them at the same time? She swallowed against the fullness that threatened to block her throat.

Accelerating onto the highway, the dream of a new life loomed large. She had left her parents' home before, and memories wafted into her consciousness: her own two-story wood-framed house, a husband who adored her, their child. For a second she felt a glimmer of hope, but then with determination she tightened her jaw and shoved her foot harder on the gas pedal. Loneliness would be her retribution. Alone for the remainder of her life, the spinster lady living at the end of the street, the one all the neighborhood kids said hid a dark secret. Only for her, it would be true.

Why did one fail to appreciate what they had until it was gone? She would give anything for the chance to spend one more restless night beside her snoring husband, to feel his steady hands on her body, to have his kisses tell her all was good. Or to wrap her arms around her fussing toddler, feel her baby-softness and smell the scent of her newly bathed skin. To walk hand-in-hand with her at the mall, her sweet curls bobbling as she did her best to act grown-up. And the delightful messes at the table. Tears misted her eyes.

“God, I am so sorry. I am so sorry!” The words reverberated from windshield to roof to floor but the heaviness in her heart remained. Had her sorrow penetrated no further than the fabric and metal above her head?
God, did you hear me?

She ached for the comfort and wisdom of Craig. He always knew what to say, how to handle every situation. More than that, he knew God. He would know if this move south was the right thing, or if she was going off on an old-fashioned snipe hunt. But Craig lay beside their daughter in the Greenlawn Cemetery, their charred bodies long cold, their souls soaring with the God she fervently sought, but whose Presence remained elusive.

Something about the offer in South Carolina had nagged at her from the start, but she had brushed the feeling away in her eagerness to see the job as an answer to her prayer. The fact that Francis Marion University had not yet posted the position made her squirm, but hey, God could do anything, couldn't He?

She exhaled deeply, trying to rid herself of the doubt. This had to be God's plan. If not, she was headed toward chaos. Craig always told her to trust, but she didn't know if this move was jumping or trusting.

Outside the left-hand window, a line of red seeped across the horizon: the birth of a new day.

But to Lillian it looked as if God Himself had lighted the world on fire.

~*~

A clicking sound aroused Roger from his fitful sleep, and he lay in bed, mentally alert but immobile. He scanned the dark room, but nothing moved. When the air conditioning unit clicked off he relaxed, realizing what had awakened him. He rolled over, looked at the clock and a smile creased his face. Five in the morning.

Most likely Lillian had started her journey or was saying a last good-bye. She had no idea how final those moments would be.

Too wired to go back to sleep, he headed to the kitchen. Coffee, that's what he needed. The gurgling of water in the coffeemaker blended with the metallic tick of the clock hanging on the opposite wall. Each tick marked one second. How many seconds must be endured before his adversary arrived?

Wandering the house, room by room, he thought of Ted and Trina. Lucky for him, they owned a bed and breakfast where Lillian could stay. He smirked in satisfaction.

Ted and Trina were nice people, and the next week would bring nothing but trouble for them. An unexpected surge of guilt grabbed his stomach and shoved it into his lungs.
It's not like I had a choice.
He slammed his cup onto the counter, brown liquid flying over his hand, speckling the beige laminate.
The McIverson Bed and Breakfast was the only place available. I had to send her there.

Internal rationalization waged war with the white flag of truth. When he had shown up at church with the goal of meeting the couple, Trina had immediately invited him to the house for lunch. And now he was using them. But he had used people before. If Ted and Trina knew the story behind the woman soon to become their guest, they would welcome the chance to help him to correct a wrong.

He opened the living room blinds. A line of red seeped into the horizon: the birth of a new day. But to him it looked as if God Himself had lighted the world on fire.

~*~

As Lillian drove, the flames on the horizon faded to orange and yellow, giving birth to daylight and renewal. The sky continued to lighten, and the few clouds that dotted the endless blue looked like cotton candy, spun and light. Clear weather had been promised. How ironic. Sunshine on the day she entered the hurricane of change.

But Jesus rebuked the waves
. Why did scripture keep coming to mind? Jesus might have rebuked the storm for the disciples, but she still grasped any piece of reality that would keep her afloat. Was she clinging to nothing more stable than a wish?

Mindless miles of highway rolled beneath her. Strangers in cars and semis, all moving toward destinations of their own. Her future lay at the end of one of the roads. God had to be the instigator. He promised good would come from bad, if she would just trust Him. OK, she trusted and the job ad had arrived. She wanted to do some good with what was left of her shambled life. Last night she had felt so confident, but now, in the isolation of her car, doubt crept in.

She remembered her first day at Ohio State University. Her parents had carried her suitcases, her computer, boxes of necessities she never used. They even helped make her bed. And then there was nothing more that needed to be done. As her mom and dad had walked across the parking lot, her fingernails dug into the plastic chair in front of the window, tears running down her face. The
new
had looked like a scary monster under the bed, but it had worked out. It would work out again.

Now, breathing out the tension, she eased her death-grip on the steering wheel. College had been one of the best times of her life. This change could be too.

The vibration of tires on pavement lulled her into a state of automation. She shifted from lane to lane as needed, exited when appropriate, slowed and accelerated, all without conscious thought. Traffic-weary air filtered through the freshener clipped to the vent, leaving behind the scent of vanilla. Which caused cancer sooner, air pollution or air jells that masked the toxins? What did it matter, anyway?

Ohio passed in a blur. At the Ohio River, she breathed deeply in and out, visualizing herself exhaling her fears, allowing her internal darkness to swirl from her nose like sulfur from a caldron. She cracked the car window to allow the imagined foul stench to escape, and along with it the vanilla sent from the deodorizer that most likely had planted seeds of cancer in her lungs. She smiled at her own fantasy. Her face felt strange. When had she smiled last? She couldn't remember, but it felt good and she chuckled, hoping her demon had really been sucked out the window.

West Virginia arrived, draped in yellow and red splashes of autumn color: God's latest fashions modeled by the trees. Gas for the car and a quick lunch. Sitting alone at a picnic table beside the combination gas station/markette, spearing day-old lettuce, she closed her eyes. The air remained cool but the sun warmed her face. She lowered her shoulders and sat quietly, content to just be. Sounds penetrated but didn't disturb. Voices, indistinct, but there. Birds. And somewhere close by, running water.

Mixed with the scent of gasoline were hints of pine, real this time, and the smell of dried leaves. She smiled, remembering the maple leaves she and her sister used to rake only to jump into the pile, sending their hard work flying across the grass. The tree had been removed, deemed too messy. She missed the tree.

Another hunk of lettuce found its way into her mouth. A leaf drifted into her lap, and she worked to smooth its curling edges, feeling the veins that had provided life until the leaf had separated from the body.

That was how she felt: severed from her life, cut from her family, now drifting alone. A tear formed in the corner of her eye.
Stop it!
She might be alone, but life bubbled within her. Even though the mantle of guilt had become a constant second skin, she
would
survive.

~*~

Roger knew he should have gone to church this one last time. Especially today. But the goal for his religious affiliation had already been met, and he wasn't accustomed to actions without a purpose. He and God stood on opposite sides of glory. There was no illusion on his part for which side he would end up on.

A hot shower should ease some of the tightness in his back and neck. He closed the bedroom door and engaged the deadbolt. In the bathroom, the click of a second lock assured his privacy. Even though steam coated the glass shower doors, the deadbolts allowed him to enjoy the shower without worry over unexpected guests. He should know. The pounding water had masked his approach on at least two occasions. It wouldn't happen to him.

When the shower turned cold, he buffed himself dry, wrapped a towel around his waist, and trimmed his short beard. He unbolted the bathroom door, muscles tense until he examined the bedroom door. Finding it closed and locked, he entered the room and dressed for the day. Strapping his watch onto his wrist, he glanced at the time and frowned. Tapping on the crystal, noting the second hand moved as usual, he still matched the time to his bedside clock. The shower should have taken more than 20 minutes. It was going to be a long day.