After a while, Mrs. Bundower stopped breathing, and that silence made me look up. Everybody focused on her and on the Chief’s muffled sobbing. Volpe draped an arm over his shoulder, and my mother said, “I’m so sorry. I’ll go get someone.” She stepped into the hallway.
When I looked to see how Daniel was reacting, I couldn’t believe what I saw. The flesh of his face was pale white and coated in a sweaty sheen. His hands were still locked around the dead woman’s, and they were trembling, like he was trying to push something from his healthy body into her sick one. “Daniel,” I said. “Let go.”
His eyes popped open and he didn’t seem to know who I was. I reached down and tried to pry his fingers free. “She’s gone,” I said.
“Gone to her just reward in heaven,” Volpe corrected.
Daniel still didn’t seem to understand what had happened. He kept blinking his eyes, like he was trying to wake up. Even after I got his hands free, he was still a zombie. I wiped the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief and tried to get him to drink some water. Finally I shouted, “Little Man!” and he came around. He looked at Mrs. Bundower’s corpse and tore out of the room.
It took me nearly fifteen minutes of jogging around the corridors, even checking the parking lot, but finally I noticed the cracked door of a broom closet just down the hallway. Daniel was huddled up on the floor in the dark, and he wasn’t crying at all, but his body was shaking and his eyes were wide.
“I didn’t pray good?” he asked me.
I settled down next to him. “You prayed great. Sometimes people just die.”
“I didn’t pray for her to die.”
“God doesn’t always do what we pray for.” Now I had an arm around him.
“But I’m special in the eyes of the Lord. God smiles upon me.”
He was only repeating what he’d been hearing up at the UCP for weeks, but real fear took hold of my heart. What does it lead to, when a three-year-old thinks the world is defined by his desires? That good fortune is his to give, that death is a result of his failure? This had to stop. I took my brother’s face in my hands, my palms pressed to his cheeks, and I aimed his eyes into mine. “Now you hear this. You ain’t special. Got it? You’re the same as everybody else. You ain’t special.”
“I ain’t special.” I could tell the idea comforted him some, though I don’t doubt that he wondered if I was lying for his benefit. But I decided right then and there in that broom closet, that for his own good, I would stand against those trying to make my brother into some kind of junior miracle worker.
Of course, three years later, by the day we were back at St. Jude’s to see the Abernathys’ baby, a lot had happened. There were the fish and my dad, the ice storm. So I hadn’t had to tell Daniel he wasn’t special for quite some time. Hearing him repeat it to me in the visitors’ room, looking into the empty aquarium, I realized I wasn’t quite sure I fully believed it myself. I mean, I knew he couldn’t do miracles, but Daniel did seem different. Without thinking it through, I asked him a question that’d been keeping me awake at night. “How’d you know the baby was going to be a girl?”
He shrugged his bony shoulders and wandered back to his comic book on the chair. “I dunno. I just thought it was gonna be a girl and it was.”
I nodded. He did have a fifty-fifty chance, after all. “What made you sing like you did?”
His eyes roamed the space over my head and then he looked at me. “I thought Mrs. Abernathy would like it. Didn’t she like it?”
“Sure she did, Little Man. It was nice what you did.” I felt the weight of Daniel’s anxious stare, so I added, “You did a great job. A super job.”
But my reassurances weren’t enough to make him smile. He chewed on a fingernail until I told him to quit.
“Hey, Andi,” he said. “How come you didn’t want me to go to Mrs. Abernathy’s house?”
I knew I couldn’t answer him, so I walked over to the picture window looking out across the parking lot. A red van slid into a handicapped spot. On the roof was a tiny satellite dish and on the side were letters I knew too well: WPBE. The Scranton television station, the same one that tried to rise to glory on my brother’s rescue in the fairy fort, had broadcast a short piece the night before about the birth of the Abernathy baby. I hadn’t seen it, but Gayle told me it was pretty lame. Now here they were, coincidentally at the very same time Daniel was in the building.
I turned and grabbed Daniel’s hand to lead him toward the hallway. He dropped his comic and said, “What’s wrong?”
“We got set up,” I said. I wasn’t sure if it was by Volpe or my mother or both. The hallway only had one exit, and the double set of elevators was down close to it. I worried we might run into the news crew, so I pulled Daniel toward the only good hiding place I could find: the ladies’ room.
“Gross!” he said. “I ain’t going in there.”
I shoved him through the swinging door. “Get into a stall and stay put till I come for you. Do it.”
No sooner had the bathroom door stilled than someone appeared in the hallway. But it was no newscaster. The middle-aged man emerged from the chapel, dressed in a black suit with a narrow tie, like he was going to church. He was thin as a scarecrow, and stubble dotted his sunken cheeks. His eyes, nervous and red, gave me the impression that he was terribly sick, and I wondered if he was in fact a patient. He didn’t say anything at first, and when his roaming stare finally fell on me, he blinked like he was just coming awake.
“You that Miracle Boy’s sister,” he said, half a question and half a statement.
“No,” I said. “You got me mixed up with somebody else.”
Scarecrow scratched at his leg, clawing at his pants like he had an itch that wouldn’t be satisfied. “I mark you for a liar, girl. Time was when I studied you and that boy up at the church by the lakeside.”
It had been a long while since I’d been at the UCP. I searched my memory for this thin stranger’s face. He kept talking. “I saw him again on the TV. Came here to see for myself the baby girl he helped birth. People around here are talking, saying that baby girl was dead and the boy brung her back to life. Like he claims to been brung back hisself.”
“My brother never said that,” I told him. “Other people made that up.”
His face shifted and I realized I’d slipped something of the truth. He walked closer. “I wonder if your brother’s a liar like you are.”
My eyes fell to a fire alarm on the opposite wall. “My brother went upstairs,” I said. “You got no business here.”
He tilted his head and considered me. “My business is the Lord’s business. I am His servant and I test for Him the wicked and the just. I ain’t fixed yet on which your brother is, but the truth will come before me. If he is anointed by God, I have need of him.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I knew I didn’t like it. “He’s just a little boy,” I told him. “He’s not special.”
“A common charlatan?” he said. “A perpetrator of hoaxes? Then his charade must be exposed to the cleansing light.”
I was ready to leap across the hall, yank that fire alarm, and hopefully flood the floor with evacuating patients and hospital personnel. But then the doors at the far end of the hallway split open, and a lady reporter with red hair and a bulky man with a camera started toward us. Scarecrow walked away, calm as you please, like we’d just chatted about the weather. I was going to yell, “Stop that guy,” but I was scared myself, and just glad that he was gone.
Neither one of the WPBE folks recognized me. They looked inside the visitors’ room and seemed puzzled. “Hey,” I said, suddenly inspired. “You looking for the Miracle Boy?”
The redhead beamed a perfect TV smile and nodded. I said, “He’s up on the third floor with the Abernathy baby. I heard the two of them were speaking in tongues.”
The instant the elevator doors opened, they rushed in and disappeared. I was ready to be gone from that hospital. So I ducked into the ladies’ roo
m, found Daniel pinching his nose and holding one hand over his eyes, and dragged him out into the hallway. The doors to the second elevator were just closing, and my mother, Volpe, and Mr. Abernathy stood in the visitors’ room doorway, looking around. They’d passed the news crew going up. Mr. Abernathy was holding the baby.
“Expecting somebody?” I said.
My mother seemed confused, but Volpe gave me a knowing look. Daniel strolled into the visitors’ room and said, “How’s that baby girl?” Mr. Abernathy bent down and tilted the bundle, angling the exposed face. When Daniel peeked inside, his eyes went wide with wonder.
Volpe circled me and got to the far side of Daniel. A camera with a long lens hung around her neck like an oversize piece of jewelry, and she lifted it and began snapping pictures. “The poor thing has been sleeping all day,” she told us between shots. I just about snatched the camera from her hands, and I should have. Daniel called me over to see the baby, but I stayed where I was, arms crossed.
Mr. Abernathy rocked gently and smiled at my brother. “Say hello to Miracle Danielle Abernathy.”
I thought Miracle sounded like a name for a racehorse, but I didn’t say so. I turned to Mr. Abernathy and Volpe. “Listen, I don’t know who’s telling what kind of stories about Daniel, but you need to keep it to yourselves.”
Without looking at me, Mr. Abernathy said, “Grace is simply sharing the truth with people. Why shouldn’t she?”
“Well,” I said, “your wife’s version of reality isn’t always the most reliable.”
Everybody went dead quiet and instantly I wished I had the words back.
My mother sighed. “Oh, Ann.”
“I’m sorry,” I offered.
But Mr. Abernathy just shook his head. For the first time he faced me, looking across his shoulder. “I recognize that you’ve had some difficulties in your life. But that hardly gives you the right to be cruel.”
I swallowed and looked at the busted TV. “I’m not trying to be cruel. I’m just trying to take care of my brother. Look, there was just some skinny nutjob in the hallway trying to find Daniel. He was spouting off about the UCP and testing Daniel, whatever the hell that means.”
Daniel, clearly spooked, turned at this. I didn’t say anything more for fear of really freaking him out.
“And where is this man now?” Volpe asked skeptically.
I looked at my mother to see if she believed me. She asked Daniel, “Did somebody scare you?”
“Andi made me hide in the ladies’ bathroom.”
You can imagine how this went over. I said, “I don’t care if you believe me or not. It happened.”
Everyone stared at each other for a few tense moments, then Daniel leaned in to the baby and said to me, “She’s so tiny. Come see.”
I stayed where I was.
Volpe snapped a few more shots with that camera. “Here now before you is the truest blessing of the Lord. Gaze upon this child and let your heart be lifted up.”
My heart didn’t feel especially heavy, and Mr. Abernathy didn’t seem to care either way, but I really was feeling bad about what I’d said about his wife, so I stepped in closer as a kind of apology. Besides, even though I wouldn’t have admitted it to anybody there that day, I wanted to see the baby for myself. Since the night of the birth, I’d had a hard time getting that scrunched-up face out of my mind, those sky blue eyes that stared right through me. So, not sure what to expect, I looked at Miracle.
Despite what you might have heard, she did not have golden hair. There was no white glow surrounding her. No cross-shaped birthmark adorned her forehead. The fact is, her head was hairy and still shaped a little funny from being squeezed like it was. Her pink skin seemed flawless to me, not a scar or a freckle or a wrinkle to be found.
But if I’m going to be a full and true witness, I have to be honest and tell you something else. The air around Miracle was thick with that scent I couldn’t quite place, the same one I smelled the night she was born. I was waiting for her to open her eyes, so I kept inhaling, sniffing at this scent you’d never expect from a baby or hospital. That baby girl smelled of vanilla, rich and pure, and there in that waiting room I remembered where I’d smelled it before: the fairy fort.
I almost asked if anyone else noticed it, but I was afraid they might think I was making some kind of joke.
“She’s great, Mr. Abernathy,” I said. “I’m glad she’s okay and hope Mrs. Abernathy’s okay.”
He nodded at me but said nothing. Volpe piped up, “Grace’s placenta ruptured, but she’s recovering nicely. Dr. Ghadari expects to release her in the morning. She’s resting now, but when she wakes, I’ll tell her that you send your good wishes and prayers.”
I didn’t like Volpe putting words in my mouth, let alone prayers. I was on the verge of correcting her, but Daniel said, “Baby Miracle’s having a little dream.”
We all leaned in and looked closely, but the sleeping child’s face seemed no different to me.
Volpe asked, “What is she dreaming about?”
Daniel glanced at my mother and then at me, as if seeking permission. Neither of us told him not to answer, so he did. “About angels. All babies come from heaven but they forget when they start growing up. So she’s dreaming all about it while she still remembers.”
This delighted Volpe, who got so choked up she had to tug a white handkerchief from her pocket. “God’s greatest blessing,” she said, fighting back tears as she poked a folded corner up inside her gold glasses.
When her cell phone rang, it startled us all. She answered it and listened, then said, “No, we’re downstairs. Yes, in the visitors’ room.”
“Time for us to go, Ma,” I said.
Volpe shot me a sharp look.
“What’s this about?” my mother said.
“It’s about us leaving,” I told her. I took Daniel’s hand and started for the door, but something anchored me.
Volpe had ahold of his other hand. She bent down and said, “I never stopped believing in you, Daniel. Lo these many trials, I never once doubted.” Her eyes were bright and shiny, the way eyes get just before tears come on. “I swear by the grace of God,” she said, “others will know what you’ve done here. I will spread word of the wonders you have worked.”
Over my dead body, you psycho bitch, I thought.
And that’s as good a place as any to mark as the birth of the Anti-Miracle Plan.
CHAPTER THREE
There was a time when the whole world prayed for Daniel. Maybe you were part of it. Maybe, like tens of thousands of true believers, you closed your eyes and pressed your palms tight together and begged whatever God rules your heaven to please help that poor boy who’d been swallowed up by the earth. I did. That second night in the woods east of Roosevelt Park, I prayed as hard as anybody ever prayed in the history of praying. And for a while, it seemed to work.
When Daniel first disappeared in the forest, I assumed he was messing around, being a pain like little brothers can be. Just three years old, he’d tagged along with Jeff Cedars and me on a hike up to the fairy fort, a collection of ancient stones stacked in towers and circular patterns. Irene McGinley and the other Irish immigrants were the first to call it a fairy fort, but legend has it that even the Indians who lived in the valley way back when didn’t know who’d set up the stones or why. They dealt with the mystery by showing the stones respect and leaving them alone—wisdom I wish I had followed.
The fairy fort is up above the wild apple orchard in this giant depression in the ground, like a huge sinkhole or a prehistoric crater, big as a football field. No trees grow in the fort, but leaves and pine needles drift down every fall, and when Jeff and I realized Daniel wasn’t in sight, we charged around the stones, kicking through the thick carpet, hollering out Daniel’s name. There was no way he could’ve climbed out of the fort without us seeing, so he had to be playing hide-and-seek. But after ten minutes, I started getting pretty ticked off. My mother would be putting dinner on soon enough, a
nd Dad would be crazy mad if we were late.
Twenty minutes after Daniel disappeared, a light drizzle began to pitter-patter the leaves and darken the stones. Jeff said, “Something’s not right. What if he’s not playing around?”
“Get my dad,” I told him. “I’ll stay here and keep looking.”
When Jeff returned, he had not only my dad with him, but Chief Bundower too, being tugged ahead by Pinkerton. The old bloodhound strained against the end of the leash, sliding his head back and forth as he sniffed at the ground. The Chief held one of Daniel’s shirts in his other hand. Pinkerton weaved through the stones, settled for an instant here, then there, and finally stopped to paw like crazy at some wet leaves. We were confused at first because it seemed like he was digging at solid earth. Then the Chief bent over and said to my dad, “Charles, there’s something here.”
The Chief dropped onto all fours, pushed the dog away, and began yelling Daniel’s name down into the ground. When I got close, I saw the hole, a ragged mouth the size of a small bucket, hardly large enough for a horseshoe. My dad scratched an eyebrow. “Danny couldn’t fit through there, Earl. All your damn dog found us was a rabbit hole.”
But the Chief had faith in Pinkerton. He stood up, snapped the walkie-talkie from his belt, and radioed the state police. When he signed off and replaced the walkie-talkie, he put one hand on my father’s shoulder. “Charles, PT’s never been wrong. Your boy is in that hole and we’ve got to get him out.”
That was around eight or nine o’clock at night. Over the next few hours, emergency rescue teams began showing up—from Hawley, from Wilkes-Barre, from Hazleton. They brought hard hats and shovels and gas-powered generators. One of them pitched a blue tarp over the hole to keep out the rainwater. Near as they could tell, the hole went down at least twenty feet, probably more. Somebody decided it was probably an ancient well and nobody questioned him. Other than Pinkerton’s nose, we had no reliable proof that Daniel was down there. A group of firefighters wanted to widen the hole, but some miner from Scranton said the only chance was to dig a parallel shaft and tunnel over. Problem with that was they’d be estimating where Daniel was and they’d need to haul drilling equipment up into the forest.
The Miracle Stealer Page 3
