by Josi Kilpack
Every day she was gone, the likelihood of her coming home diminished. He remembered following the Elizabeth Smart case in Salt Lake years ago—the parents had such determination that their daughter was alive. They were so sure, and they were right all along. Was Brad sure? He didn’t know. Did that mean he wasn’t in tune? Did it mean he wasn’t going about this the right way? Or was it the Lord’s way of telling him that she was already gone from him? The thought made it hard to breathe.
“What about a fast?” Kate asked.
“I’ve fasted every other day,” he said, feeling defeated. “The ward fasted on Sunday.”
“What if we did a fast that was stake-wide? We could contact all our family, friends, everyone, and ask that they do a special fast on Jess’s birthday. One of the missing-children agencies that sent us some information talked about a town where the entire community prayed every hour on the hour for an entire day.”
“Did the child come home?” Brad asked. But he knew the answer. He’d read the same story. The girl’s body had been found two months later in a ravine a hundred miles from their home.
Kate didn’t say anything.
Brad clenched his eyes shut and forced the sorrow and guilt away. He couldn’t give in to the despair; he had to keep moving forward. “It would give us a focus, wouldn’t it?”
“How else do we make it through that day?” Kate asked. She shook her head. “And that much faith and prayer can’t be a bad thing, can it?”
“We have to accept something,” Brad said softly, feeling as if he were betraying Kate and Jess to say it out loud. “She might not come home.”
Kate nodded, and the tears that had dried somewhat returned. “I know,” she whispered.
Brad nodded, and he took her hand again, feeling guilty for bringing the worst possibilities to the forefront of Kate’s mind. “I think the fasting and praying is a great idea,” he said. “We’ll give it everything we’ve got.”
72
We’re going to Canada in the morning,” he said. She didn’t look up from where she sat on the one chair in the room. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She spent most of her conscious time that way, a vain effort to try to feel protected. Canada, she thought. I’m never going home, am I.
She smelled tuna but didn’t look up, assuming it was dinner. Most of the meals had been like that, something from a can or a package. The cabin had a coffee pot and a microwave, but no fridge. She’d never have guessed she’d miss vegetables so much, but it seemed ridiculous to even think of something so trivial.
The last five days had been unreal, and she could barely allow herself to think about them. She’d heard of this kind of thing on TV, and Britney had even warned her about it. But never in her wildest dreams did she ever imagine it could happen to her. She felt so stupid. To make things worse, tomorrow was her sixteenth birthday.
“What do you want to drink?” he asked. She could feel his eyes on her, feel his intensity. He always watched her with such tension, like he was waiting for something.
She didn’t answer in words—she only spoke when she needed to use the bathroom—but she shook her bent head. She wasn’t drinking anything tonight.
“Suit yourself,” he said. Then she heard the sound of porcelain sliding along the wooden table. She lifted her head to see a plate of tuna and crackers. How would she be able to not drink after a meal like this? And she was so hungry. She put her head back on her knees, praying and pleading for help, though it made her feel foolish. Why should anyone help her after everything she’d done? All the lies, all the anger. She deserved this to happen, and she didn’t deserve help now. But a very small part of her rebelled against those thoughts every time she got lost in them. A very small part of her told her not to give up, not to give in, that she was not yet lost.
And now she’d decided not to drink anything. That was strength, if only a little.
She’d known since the second day that there was something in the drinks he gave her—the only drinks she was allowed to have. Hours afterwards the room would go fuzzy; then she’d come to and know without remembering that something had happened to her. The first time he touched her when she was awake she completely freaked out, clawing at his face and leaving two long slashes down one of his cheeks. He covered her mouth to keep her from screaming, even while reminding her that no one could hear her. He told her over and over again that it was okay, that he loved her. When he let her go, she scrambled into a corner of the one-room cabin and cried until she couldn’t breathe any more. Then he offered her a Pepsi, and she drank the whole thing—grateful for the chance to disappear. Since then he’d left her alone—until she passed out from the next beverage she couldn’t help but accept.
She tried one day not to drink anything, but she couldn’t stop from getting thirsty. And then she thought that if she drank enough, maybe she’d never wake up. But she always did, and he was always there telling her how beautiful she was, how happy they would be, how much he loved her. The sink in the cabin was agonizingly close, but the one time she’d tried to get a drink from the tap, he’d backhanded her so hard that she didn’t need the drugs to cause her to lose consciousness. It was the first time in her whole life anyone had hit her—but it wasn’t her last. Anytime she didn’t do what he asked, or tried to do something she shouldn’t, he hit her again, then followed up with the reminder that if she’d just follow the rules he wouldn’t have to hurt her. He said that he hated that she made him do those things.
She looked up at him, and he smiled at her smugly, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. She looked at the tuna and crackers and found herself wondering what her family was eating tonight. She wondered what they were doing, if she’d ever see them again. She felt tears come to her eyes but blinked them away. He told her that her family wouldn’t want her back, that they were mad. He said he was the only person in the world who could love her now.
He was lying . . . she hoped. Tomorrow was her sixteenth birthday, she thought again, and she was determined not to let the drugs keep her hazy and unable to think straight. If she was ever going to have a chance to get away, it would be tomorrow, when they were traveling again. The part of her that was still praying, the part that believed there was still something good inside her, held fast to the belief that she would somehow be given a gift. She just had to be ready for it and recognize it when it came.
She pushed the plate away, despite how hungry she was, and put her head back on her knees. Please, Heavenly Father, I’m sorry. Please help me now, she said over and over again. Please.
73
Wednesday morning at six o’clock Joy, Marilyn, the Thompson children, and several of Brad’s siblings came from the various houses they were staying at to join them in the first prayer of the day. Brad’s brother in Vermont was listening through Brad’s cell phone and his sister in Ohio was on the home phone when thirty-two people kneeled down in the Thompson living room. Brad offered the prayer, filled with expressions of gratitude for Jess and requests for her safety. Around Salt Lake City, and in the homes of friends and family across the nation, other people who loved Jess did the same.
After that initial prayer, those in the group returned to their homes, but at seven o’clock they stopped where they were, went onto their knees again, and offered the second prayer of the day. Kate fixed breakfast while Joy and Marilyn helped with the kids. No one was going to school today.
At eight fifty-two the phone rang and Brad picked it up on the first ring.
“We’ve finally got a name,” Agent Gardner of the FBI said. “We’ve been talking to Danyelle, doing some investigation, and we found him. Drake Colton Shepard, forty-seven years old, born in Canada, came to the U.S. as a teenager. He’s lived everywhere since then and works on computer systems. He’s been a tech support for a software company for the last five months. Last Tuesday he didn’t show up for work, and he hasn’t been back since.”
Drake Colton Shepard, Brad repeated
in his mind. The man who ruined their lives. Kate came out of the bathroom and stared at him. She’d been talking to Sharla while brushing her hair, but told her to go check on the boys who were playing outside. Then she listened to Brad’s end of the conversation. The detective hesitated, and Brad spoke again. “Thank you,” Brad said. “Anything else?”
“Not yet,” he said. “We have a few confirmations of his crossing the borders over the last few years, and we’re tracking down his DMV info so we can do a more detailed border check. How about on your end?”
“Nothing new,” Brad said, trying to hide his disappointment. “I sent the poster out to a few more people in Canada—they’re putting them up all around the border crossings. The border patrol keeps taking them down, so people go out every morning and put more up in their place. With it being Jess’s birthday today, people are going all out.” But it never felt like enough.
“That’s really good,” the agent said. Brad ignored his tone, which seemed to say Brad was trying to catch a whale with a fishing pole. He didn’t care. He was doing whatever he could. Anyone who offered to help was his new best friend. “I’ll call you when we find anything else.”
“Thank you,” Brad said.
He hung up the phone. Kate was looking at him with concern, and he relayed the information.
“And they’re sure it’s him?” Kate asked.
“So far it’s all matching up.”
The clock in the living room chimed that it was nine o’clock. “I’ll round up the kids,” Kate said. The hourly prayers had included the children, but it was time to more completely explain to them what was going on. With all the extra people around they hadn’t explained things the way they would have liked. With the family kneeling in a circle, Joy and Marilyn included, Brad looked at each of his children—all of them still scared and yet somewhat numb. How did a child process this when Brad himself could barely believe it was really happening?
“Do you guys know what today is?” he asked.
“Jess’s birthday,” Caitlyn said, her eyes filling with tears again. She’d taken this the hardest. Thank goodness for Joy, who seemed to take special care of Caitlyn.
“Yes, and we’re having a special fast day. The entire ward, lots of our friends, and all our aunts, uncles, and cousins all across the country are fasting for Jess.”
“So she will come home!” Justin spouted, his simple faith allowing him to smile. Brad could read in his eyes that he had no doubt his sister would come back.
“That’s right,” Brad said, wishing he were so sure. “We’re going to pray for Jess every hour today.” He caught Kate’s eye for just a moment. She’d expressed to him last night how bad she felt that she couldn’t fast. But with the pregnancy she was unable to go without food. He had reassured her it was okay—the Lord knew her heart. Kate had limited herself to simple meals as a way to offer some kind of meaningful sacrifice.
“Prayers don’t always work,” Sharla said. “We’ve been praying for days.”
Kate and Brad shared a look before Kate spoke up. “Prayers always work,” Kate said. “Even if we don’t get what we are asking for, prayer makes our hearts feel better, and I think Jess will feel how much we love her wherever she is.”
The kids seemed to accept their mother’s explanation. They all folded their arms and bowed their heads.
“Our dear Father in Heaven,” Brad began. “We ask that this day Thou wilt be with Jess, that Thou wilt bless her with peace and wisdom. That if it be Thy will, she might be returned to us, and . . .”
74
I need to use the bathroom,” Jess said. It was still the only sentence she’d spoken since the first day—after the pleading and begging to take her home.
“Two minutes,” he said without looking up from the TV. It wasn’t TV, really. It was just a DVD. They didn’t get television, so he watched movies all day. He was really into Sylvester Stallone. He looked at her, and she met his eye just briefly enough for him to communicate that trying anything would not be worth the price she would pay. She already knew that.
She stood up from the chair and small table she’d been sitting at and walked toward the bathroom, catching her reflection in the mirror over the sink. Two days ago he’d forced her to dye her hair black. For all the years of hating her red hair, the black was definitely worse. She looked like a gothic freak. Seeing the mottled bruising on the side of her face made her wince. Her eyes looked different too. But then, they would, wouldn’t they?
She shut the door behind her and staved off the tears. The bathroom of this little cabin was the only privacy she had. He kept the windows covered, but the little plaque on the door reminded her of the one at the hotel in Disneyland a few years ago, so she thought the cabin was rented. She kept hoping that someone would come to check on them—a maid or something—but no one did. Every time she fell asleep, or felt the drugs pulling her away from time and space, she prayed she’d wake up and realize this had been a nightmare. But it was her life now—he told her that over and over again. After so many days, it was hard not to believe it. Dances and baby-sitting felt light years away.
She quietly removed the back of the toilet and set the cover on the seat. Her heart was pounding. He’d already broken the lock to the bathroom door—he could come in anytime. She peered into the stained porcelain and cringed.
Jess had awakened that morning with the continued belief that she would be given a gift that day. She refused breakfast and a red cream soda when he offered it but noticed he looked unhappy about it. She didn’t want him to get mad but knew she couldn’t accept the drinks. She also wondered how she’d get away if she was dehydrated. She already felt sick she was so thirsty and hungry.
By ten they were packed up, and she was so thirsty her tongue was sticking to the top of her mouth. It took all her willpower to stand her ground. That was when she remembered.
It had been almost two years ago, but the memory suddenly became strong. It was a family home evening lesson, and Mom had gone over a list of things to do in an emergency. One of them had been about getting water out of the back of the toilet. All the kids had been totally grossed out. Caitlyn had said she’d rather die. Jess had never imagined the lesson might save her life.
She reached into the pocket of her jeans, the same jeans she’d worn every day, and pulled out the paper she’d printed the day she left, the list of all the things Colt couldn’t wait to do with her. All lies. It would make a crude straw, for sure, but it would work, and she had to get some fluids. That same lesson that involved drinking out of the toilet had offered another grain of truth. No matter what it takes—survive.
Her mother had taught her that—the mother Jess had wanted so badly to get away from. All day those words replayed over and over in her mind as if her mom were whispering it into her ear the way she used to whisper the talks Jess gave in Primary. When she thought of that, she also pictured her dad—always proud of her, always supportive. Why hadn’t she talked to him?
She rolled the paper in her fingers. Whatever it takes, her mother’s voice said in her head, survive. It surprised her that the water didn’t taste awful, but the idea of drinking out of the back of the toilet was disgusting enough to make her gag. When she’d drunk as much as she could, she lifted her necklace over her head and looked at the medallion. She could only hope that he wouldn’t notice it was missing. She took the medallion off the chain, then put the necklace back on and the medallion in the front pocket of her jeans. Then she carefully replaced the lid, flushed the toilet, and came out of the bathroom, startled to find him standing right outside the door. Had he heard her replace the lid? Did he suspect something? But he was smiling, so she assumed he hadn’t. Surely she’d have felt his fist if he knew. She ducked her head and didn’t meet his eyes.
He held out a shiny silver box about the size of her math book. He shook it slightly as he pushed it closer to her. “Open it,” he said.
She didn’t dare disagree with him, and she took the
box. He was insane to think his deception and what he’d done to her were no big deal. But she had to play the game a little longer. She undid the bow and pulled out a red hoodie sweatshirt. It said Edmonton Oilers across the front in black embroidered letters. She’d never heard of Edmonton Oilers.
“Your first taste of Canada. That’s who Wayne Gretzky played for before he went to America.”
She had no idea who Wayne What’s-His-Name was, but she forced a smile. “It’s really nice,” she managed to say.
“Put it on,” he said.
“That’s okay, I think I’ll—”
“Put it on,” he repeated in a tense voice. She hurried to put it on over her T-shirt, not willing to risk upsetting him, not willing to risk being hit so hard the room spun and went black.
He beamed. “You’re so beautiful, Jessie,” he said, stepping closer. She shrank back, and his face darkened. “When are you going to accept how much I love you?”
