When Joy Came to Stay (16 page)

Dr. Camas eyed Maggie thoughtfully. “You’re married to him now; is that correct?”

“Not for long. I want a divorce.”

There was no obvious change of expression on Dr. Camas’s face. “Really?”

Maggie remembered the admitting nurse’s information that Orchards was a Christian facility. She hadn’t seen many overt signs of this, but there was a sense of God’s Spirit everywhere. The doctor’s question only added to that.

“There’s more to the story. When Ben left, I figured God didn’t have someone special for me, after all. I did—” Her voice broke and tears came harder. “I did some terrible things, Doctor. Things Ben doesn’t know about.”

Again there was no look of shock or condemnation. Instead, Dr. Camas gently patted Maggie’s hand. “I think we’ve
gotten through enough for today. Maybe you’d like to tell me about that time in your life when we meet tomorrow?”

A chill passed over Maggie and she forced back a sense of panic that suddenly threatened to overtake her. The session was over; nightfall was near. And the monsters that tortured her in the darkest hours were more tenacious than ever, reminding her exactly how worthless she was.

“Yes, that’s fine.” She wiped her eyes once more and stood to leave.

Outside Dr. Camas’s office the desperation was waiting for her.
Help me, Lord…is this depression? What’s wrong with me?
She’d heard a few of the nurses mention that she was being treated for depression and the thought appalled her. What did she have to be depressed about? She had a husband and a God who loved her. She should be filled with joy at all times, in all situations. Wasn’t that what the Bible said?

She was halfway back to her room when she saw the little girl. The same one, with long, curly blond hair and questioning blue eyes. She was holding hands with a woman near the front desk, and Maggie stopped in her tracks. Resisting the impulse to run and take hold of the child, Maggie fell against the wall and froze in place.

Blink, Maggie. Blink until she disappears. It isn’t her…it can’t be.

The advice seemed simple enough, and she followed it willingly. Her eyes snapped shut once, twice, and on the third time the child became a dark-haired little boy. Maggie pulled in quick, short gulps of air and stared wide-eyed down the hallway toward her room. Despite the medicine and counseling and safety of Orchards Hospital, she was still out of her mind. Why else would the little girl have followed her here?

Her entire body trembled and she felt lightheaded as she forced herself to move.
You can do it, Maggie. One foot forward, another…another.
As she walked back to her bedroom, the place where the nightly battle with the forces of desperation would take place, she wondered for the hundredth time since
coming to Orchards if there was anything anyone could do to help her escape the darkness. But even as the question came to mind she knew the answer.

It was as clear as the image of the little girl had been moments ago.

The feeling of doom had already consumed her, and the light—whatever light there had ever been—had been snuffed out long ago.

I
T WAS A FULL MOON THAT NIGHT AND
B
EN FIGURED HE COULD
find Topper’s Pop Bar without a map. It was in a rough part of Cleveland, where graffiti marked the vacant office buildings and convenience stores were operated by gun-toting clerks. A neighborhood where more than the usual number of homeless people milled about or lay on bus stop benches.

Ben spotted a used car lot that boasted, “All our cars run!” and he kept driving. Down another block he saw a cheap, 1970s-style neon sign blinking the words “Booze” and “Buds.”

Ben took a steadying breath and pulled his car into the lot. He paused for a minute and hung his head.
It’s now or never, God.
He climbed out, set his car alarm, and crossed the parking lot. Inside, the bar was nearly black with only a haze of light and swirling cigarette smoke, through which the silhouettes of people could be seen. Ben waited while his eyes adjusted, then made his way to the bar.

“Whaddya want?” The bartender was a short man with an attitude twice his size.

Ben figured the man must have failed the customer service aspect of his job training.
How does a dive like this stay open?
“Yeah. How ’bout a soda water with a squeeze of lemon.” With his eyes adjusted to the light, Ben could clearly see the man’s incredulous expression.

The bartender poked his coworker, who was also pouring drinks. “Get a load of this…rich guy here wants a
soda water with lemon.
Do you buy that? Soda water with lemon?” The short man turned his attention back to Ben. “What are ya, Mormon or something, pal? Need a break from the wifey—”

“Wifies,” the second bartender interrupted. He leaned over
the bar and sized up Ben as though he were an alien. “Those Mormon boys have lots of wives.”

“Listen, buddy,” the short one said. “If you’ve got lots of wives you better have a double at least.”

Ben was not afraid of the men, but he was growing tired of their noise. He stared at the short one first and then the one who had joined him. “Listen, I said I want a soda water with lemon. If that doesn’t work for you, I’ll take my business somewhere else.” He thought he’d dressed down for the occasion but he could see that his tailor-made trousers and knit pullover still made him stand out among the patrons.

The taller bartender stuck out his hand and angled it back and forth. “Scare me, rich boy.”

Ben was tempted to go behind the bar and get the drink himself when the bartenders suddenly stopped hassling him and returned to serving customers.

“Hey, sorry ‘bout that…” A man in a pinstriped suit appeared at Ben’s elbow. He was dark and handsome, and something told Ben he’d found the man he was looking for. “The boys think they’re funny, but they get a little carried away sometimes. Did you, uh, come for anything else?”

Madeline Johnson’s words flashed in Ben’s mind. He’s
into some nasty things, Ben…be careful.
Ben frowned. Wasn’t there an article that appeared in the
Cleveland Gazette
not long ago? It had said that bars often were sites of heavy-duty drug smuggling. The sale of beer and other alcohol only helped the success of the cover-up. Shady characters frequented bars all the time, so if one showed up and left with a case of something, most people would assume it was alcohol.

Ben cleared his throat. He wouldn’t be surprised at all to find out this was such a place.

“Actually, I’m looking for John McFadden.”

“That’s me. Did Bobby send you?”

“No…I’m here on my own.” His soda water arrived and Ben took a sip. He noticed that the man in the suit was built
like an athlete. Odd, but he even thought they resembled each other.
So this is the man, huh, Maggie? The one you hid from me all these years, the one who
—

“Good…good. What can I get for you?”

Again Ben had the sense that McFadden was offering more than alcoholic beverages, but none of that mattered now. He was here because of Maggie, not to uncover a drug smuggling ring. “This is going to seem a little strange, Mr. McFadden, but I need to ask you a few questions about Maggie Johnson.”

Ben prided himself on being able to read people, and the moment he mentioned Maggie’s name any doubts that he had the right man dissolved instantly A look of recognition came across McFadden’s dark face, followed quickly by deep suspicion. “What about her?”

“I’m married to her.” He hesitated. “Maggie’s…well, lately she’s been having some trouble. Her mother told me the two of you used to see each other.”

John held up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, man, I don’t have AIDS or nothing, if that’s what you want to know. Me and Maggie only dated for a little while. Not like we were lovers for a year or none of that…”

Everything about Topper’s Pop and John McFadden and the atmosphere in the bar felt like an assault on Ben’s spirit. A dozen unspoken warnings told Ben to turn around and leave, but he was sure this man held part of the secret to Maggie’s past.
Give me strength, God. Please.

“I’m not here to get a health report on you.” Ben paused and slid his hand into his pocket. “I need to know if there’s anything you can tell me about Maggie, anything that happened during the time you two were together that she might still be troubled by now, eight years later.”

McFadden leaned casually against the bar and sized up Ben much the way the bartenders had earlier. “What’s it to you?”

Ben was confused at first. “She’s my wife. I need to know.”

“No…what I mean is what’s it to you; how much you willing to pay?”

Anger flared through Ben, burning his chest and throat. He straightened to face the man, squaring his legs and crossing his arms. “I didn’t come here to bribe you. I came here to find out about my wife.”

John shrugged and a slow grin spread across his face. “Those are the kinds of things that sometimes go together.” He held out his hands, palm up, raising and lowering them as if weighing something. “Information on Maggie, money; information on Maggie, money.”

“All right, look. I’ll give you a hundred dollars. It’s here in my pocket. All you need to do is tell me what happened that year. Anything, any details you remember about Maggie.”

Now it was the man’s turn to stand straight and as he did he took a step closer so that he was only inches from Ben’s face. “No deal, friend. Why don’t you take your questions and your lousy hundred dollars and get lost.” He spun around, shouted several orders to the bartenders, and disappeared into a backroom.

Ben watched him go, fighting the urge to chase the man down, tackle him to the floor and…

Instead, he pulled out a business card and set it on the bar with a five-dollar bill. “Here. For the soda.” The short man took the five and started to get change but Ben stopped him. “Keep it. And give my card to your boss, will you?”

The bartender looked pleased with the tip and took the card gladly. “Hey, rich boy, you come on back anytime you want. We’ll serve you up the best soda water in town.”

There was a chorus of laughter behind the bar but Ben didn’t bother to acknowledge it.
Cretins.
He left and headed back to the parking lot.
How do people have fun in places like that?
Outside, he spotted three or four men unloading a crate full of boxes from the back of an unmarked blue van. Ben recognized John McFadden as one of them, and at that instant their eyes met. McFadden whispered something to the other
men and then vanished into the storage facility.

God, this place gives me the creeps. He knows something about Maggie and he won’t tell me. Help me, Lord.
At the last second, before reaching his car, Ben changed directions and headed toward the blue van and the men still working with the boxes.

“Get lost, buddy!” one of the men shouted as Ben approached. “This is private property.”

“I’m looking for Mr. McFadden. We weren’t finished talking.” Ben continued toward the man but before he could ask another question something came crashing down on his head. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground, his body screaming, writhing in pain. Instinctively he reached for his head and felt a pulsating, warm, wetness in his hair.

Blood! I’m bleeding. Help me, God; I don’t want to die here.

He covered his head protectively with his hands. “What do you want?” He shouted the question, but there was no answer. He couldn’t move, couldn’t see clearly. He thought of Maggie and how if he bled to death here in the parking lot of this bar she would never know why, never realize that he was only here because he loved her. At that instant a second blow connected with his skull and one of his hands, and he felt the searing pain of his fingers breaking. “Stop! I’ll give you whatever you want…”

Ben had considered bringing his handgun with him tonight but he figured John McFadden wouldn’t be antagonistic—certainly not to the point of harming him. Now as he lay there, two sets of feet walked past him. One foot kicked him in the head, and then the feet all walked toward the van and inside the warehouse.

In the distance he heard another set of footsteps, this time growing closer.
They’re going to kill me. Lord, take me quickly. And please, God, let Maggie know I love her. Whatever it was she did or lied about I love her.

His head was pounding and he felt himself losing consciousness. How much blood had he lost anyway? And how much longer would it be?

The steps were closer now, and he could make out the shoes. They stopped inches from his face. “Give me the hundred dollars.”

Ben struggled to make sense of the words and realized they were coming from John McFadden. Apparently he had ordered the beating. Ben’s reflexes were slow, and pain seemed to assault him from every part of his body. But he managed to slip his good hand into his pocket and retrieve the hundred-dollar bill. There was almost no strength left in his arms, but he held it out for him anyway.

“What…what do you want from me?”

“I want you to leave me alone and never come back.” McFadden’s words were more of a hiss and they held a threat Ben knew was worth taking seriously. If he lived long enough to worry about it. “Are you getting this, Ben Stovall,
attorney
at law?”

The man had Ben’s business card. Whatever McFadden’s staff was involved in, they communicated directly to the man leaning over Ben, and apparently he didn’t take kindly to curious lawyers. Ben struggled to stay conscious.

“Now listen and listen good.” McFadden jerked Ben to his feet and walked him across the parking lot to his car. The pain came in white-hot waves, and Ben was sure he’d lose consciousness soon. “You will get in your car and drive yourself to the hospital. You will report the news that you took a bad fall and you will never, ever set foot on my property again. Is that understood?”

Ben nodded. “Yes…let me go.” He was woozy and his eyesight alternated between blurred and double vision. Something dangerous and secretive was going on at Topper’s Pop Bar. Something much more secretive than whatever John McFadden knew about Maggie. Half expecting to be shot or beaten again, Ben pulled free of the man’s grip. Was it possible? Was McFadden going to let him drive off the lot with his body still functioning?