So, too terrified to stop, I pulled Daniel past the balloon and past the statue of FDR, thinking vaguely of running along the beach and trying to lose our pursuers in the forest.
And then, just as the grass beneath us gave way to dirty sand, a high, whining roar rose from the lake and I saw Jeff Cedars racing toward land on his Jet Ski. I charged into the lake, lifting my legs as high as I could, tugging Daniel, who was by now practically dead weight. Just behind us, I heard splashing, but I didn’t look back.
I was hip deep in the water and I’d just taken Daniel into my arms when Jeff ripped past us like we weren’t even there. Confused, I turned my head just in time to see him crank the Jet Ski hard, spinning it 180 degrees and dousing the Pilgrims with water. They dove for cover, and Jeff scooted the idling Jet Ski up alongside us. “C’mon!” he yelled.
I hoisted Daniel up onto the seat, then climbed up quick and wrapped my arms around my brother. As soon as I grabbed the sides of Jeff’s life jacket, he twisted his wrist and the rear of the Jet Ski sank as we accelerated. Behind us, the soaked Pilgrims rose and stood knee-deep in the water, lifting their arms at us, pleading. I didn’t recognize any of them. The whole mob spread out along the shoreline, watching our retreat. Above them, the balloon floated to the end of its tether and hung, but we zipped across the surface of the lake like a skipped stone, completely free.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
About six months after we got chased into Paradise Lake by the Pilgrim mob, I read an account of that day on one of the websites that had started popping up all over the Internet. Someone who claimed to have “interviewed a dozen sworn eyewitnesses” described Daniel levitating onto the fist-shaped boulder and singing a healing song in a language no one could recognize. According to this account, among those cured by Daniel were a blind woman and a child crippled since birth. Furthermore, his singing drove a demonic spirit from a possessed man who’d tried to attack him with a hatchet. In this fantasy, when my brother’s work was done, white rose petals showered down from a clear blue sky and the faithful lifted Daniel on their shoulders and carried him to the lake in celebration.
I remember getting angry when I read it, just like I did whenever I’d first come across one of these things, which is why these days I don’t look at them at all. But to be honest, I knew it was a better story than what actually happened. It’s more exciting for one thing. And for another, it’s got a clear lesson—that God gave Daniel the power to perform miracles and everybody was happy about it. That’s something people want from a story, a neat little theme. You learn that much in grade school, or even before then—when you read fairy tales. Take Red Riding Hood. She learned not to talk to strangers, especially wolves. There’s always got to be a moral at the end that’s supposed to help you somehow, teach you a lesson or show you how to see the world more clearly. Jesus had this figured out, which is why He always told parables to get His point across.
I suppose it’s fair if right now you’re wondering what the theme of this story I’m telling is, and just for the record, I’m still working on that myself.
See, when I was a kid, I believed in everything. The Easter Bunny and Santa Claus and everything else little children accept without question. Be honest, you know what I’m talking about. Can you remember the simple wonder of it, settling into the warmth beneath your blankets with the certainty that somewhere in the night, while you were dreaming peacefully, a fairy woman—white dress, glowing wand—would descend from some distant heaven, pluck the dead tooth from under your pillow, and leave a bright coin in its place? It seems absurd now. But more than just these childish fantasies, I believed in my mother and my father and the wonderful village of Paradise, and I believed in Jesus. Up at the UCP, I’d read those stories from the Bible and feel their magical power and everything made perfect sense.
That day on the lake, as Jeff skimmed the water, things had never made less sense. My mind tumbled in a state of total confusion. Because back in that fairy fort, for a time it seemed to me that Daniel was indeed capable of miracles. I was happy to see that lady with arthritis open and close her hands without pain, thrilled to see the determination in Mr. Cedars’ eyes as he gave up that flask. But once the Pilgrims began shouting, that faith fluttered away, and in its wake I felt like a gullible idiot, a child tricked into thinking a magician could saw a woman in half.
“Where should I go?” Jeff shouted back, twisting his head to the side.
I couldn’t think of an answer, so I didn’t speak, and he kept going the way he was.
For a while I just squeezed Daniel, sandwiched between us, and stared down at the water flashing past. I imagined Irene McGinley beneath the lake, still roped to her church, bound by a faith more powerful than any I could conceive. I imagined her shaking her head, ashamed of my weakness. Really, who I was to say that Daniel wasn’t blessed? What if everybody else was right and I was wrong? I thought of the sick and desperate people in need of healing, back at Paradise Days, up at St. Jude’s, all over, everywhere. One thing there will never be a shortage of in the world is suffering.
On the water, we zoomed past the compound and McGinley’s Cove and I settled my head onto Daniel’s shoulder and asked if he was okay. He didn’t move and didn’t speak, like he’d been struck dumb, a kind of reverse miracle.
I didn’t realize where Jeff had decided to take us until he turned toward land and aimed the Jet Ski at the rickety boardwalk of Action Water Thrill Ride City. He cut the engine so we coasted in, and the nose barely bumped the piers along the forest’s edge. The stillness that fell over us was peaceful and terrible. Seemed nobody wanted to move or talk, so we just sat silently, catching our breath as the water rocked beneath us.
Finally a woodpecker jackhammered at a tree somewhere in the forest. This snapped the frozen moment and Jeff said, “I figured it best if we were someplace nobody would look. Think this is all right for now?”
“Fine,” I told him. “Perfect.”
Jeff climbed up onto the boardwalk and tied us off. I passed Daniel to him and then he reached down for my hand and pulled me up. Kneeling in front of my brother on the sunbaked deck, I looked into his glazed and tired eyes. Maybe it was the overcast sky, but the brown of his irises seemed almost black. “Are you okay?”
He chewed on his lip and blinked a few times.
“Daniel!” I snapped, and his eyes focused on me. “Are you okay?”
He nodded his head, but still didn’t say anything.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, and he closed his eyes and moved his head side to side.
Jeff had walked to the water’s edge and broken free a few small branches. He returned and draped them over the Jet Ski. “Camouflage,” he explained.
I scanned the skies. “You expecting helicopters?”
“I don’t know what to expect. I’m the guy with no idea what’s going on, remember? I was out trying to drum up some business, doing tricks on the Jet Ski, and then I saw you hauling ass at the front end of a riot. Let’s get out of sight,” he said. “Then you can fill me in.”
In silence he led us down the boardwalk to a corner of the cyclone fence, a section of which had been peeled back a long time ago. We scooted through and crossed the giant sandbox where weeds sprang from filthy sand. At the kiddie pool, the ten-foot plastic mushrooms that used to shelter children were now coated with so much mold and scum that they seemed alive. Even though they’d drained the large central pool for safety, enough rainwater had gathered to form a murky pond. Something, a groundhog or a rabbit, had dropped in and drowned. The tightened skin of the corpse, ripe and bloated, seemed ready to burst.
I gripped Daniel’s hand a little tighter when I caught him staring, and we passed the concrete Snax Stand with THIS IS PARADISE? spray painted on the side. Making our way to the back, we jumped a fence and took a shortcut through the Around the World in 18 Holes miniature golf course, which apparently had suffered its own miniature catastrophes. The Leaning Tower of Pisa rested on its side between
the pyramids and a sphinx, and the Eiffel Tower had snapped in half. At Mount Rushmore, Lincoln’s face had washed off, revealing the chicken-wire skeleton beneath. Washington looked nervous. One by one, we stepped over the Great Wall of China.
After hopping a final fence, we reached our destination: the Grand Carousel. Just ahead of us were the entrance gates with their one-way turnstiles. From so deep in the park, you could barely even see the lake, and it was unlikely that anyone floating by would be able to spot us. Jeff headed straight to one of the benches they have on the carousel for grandparents or people who just want a gentler ride. Despite the years of neglect, the bench was still somehow shiny blue. He turned to my brother and said, “Yo, Daniel, you want to just lie down for a few minutes?”
At first, Daniel didn’t seem to hear him, but then he crawled up onto the bench and curled into a fetal tuck. Jeff handed him the life vest he’d been wearing. “Put this under your head.”
Daniel took the vest and used it as a pillow.
I knelt down again, bringing myself eye to eye with him. “Little Man,” I said, “tell me you’re all right.”
Without smiling, Daniel closed his eyes. His freckled cheeks were still flushed red.
Jeff rested a hand on my shoulder and cocked his head to the side. “C’mon. Just let him sleep.”
I followed Jeff and we zigzagged around the curve of the carousel. About half the poles were empty, and after a few seconds I realized that all the traditional horses were gone, sold off, I guess. All that remained were these goofy sea creatures no other amusement park would want, a purple dolphin and a green shark side by side, a polka-dotted octopus whose bubblehead you could straddle. Jeff climbed atop a bright yellow sea horse and I settled on an orange walrus. We were about halfway around the carousel, out of Daniel’s earshot even if he wasn’t yet asleep.
“All right,” Jeff said. “So what the hell happened?”
I raked a hand through my hair, then I took a long breath and told him the story the best I could, starting with Bundower being assigned as our escort to Paradise Days and including parts about Leo that I thought were important. Jeff’s eyes opened wide when I got to the parade of afflicted. I finished up with the Scarecrow who’d stolen Daniel’s pajamas and my great escape through the forest and the field and out into the water, where he came in.
“Running was a major screwup,” I told him.
“You don’t know that,” he said. “If you’d stayed, that crowd could’ve closed in around you. It could’ve been a whole lot worse.”
I glanced in Daniel’s direction. “Worse?”
Jeff shook his head. “You can’t blame yourself for doing what you thought was right.”
We sat in silence for a bit, each clutching our gold pole as if the ride was about to begin. In my mind, I could hear the cheerful carousel music, and I even remembered a flash from opening day, Daniel and me waiting in line for this very ride. But those pleasant memories weren’t enough to block the question that kept haunting me. I turned to Jeff. “What if I’m wrong about Daniel?”
“Come again?” he said.
“Do you think Daniel might be what they say? I’m asking you.”
“Come on, Andi, that’s not a fair question.”
“Fair or not, do you think Daniel’s special?”
“Special?” he repeated. “Sure.”
“Okay. You think he can make miracles happen?”
Jeff tilted his forehead into the pole. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.”
“That’s what’s got me worried. It could be that Mr. Abernathy and Volpe are right and I’m the one who’s nuts. What if I’m keeping Daniel from people who need him?”
Jeff seemed to be staring at his own reflection in the shiny pole. “Andi,” he finally said, “I don’t know what to tell you. My dad, he really does seem changed.”
“He was up there,” I said. “At the fairy fort.”
“My dad?”
I nodded.
“He had the chills so bad yesterday I had to get a winter blanket down. That’s why we called in Jess to help out at the festival. I thought my dad was at home in bed.”
“Nope,” I said. “He was giving praise to my brother.”
“That sounds pretty screwed up.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But…” I couldn’t finish the thought. And my mind turned again to all those people who’d come to see Daniel, the sick and the guilty, the nights they’d stayed awake hoping to one day feel his power and have their lives made better. I thought about what Leo said, about wounds you can see and wounds you can’t, and how everybody needed healing. I looked over at Jeff and said, “Let’s say Daniel could pray for you, ask God for any wish and it would be granted. You could have anything you wanted. Like with a genie or a fairy godmother. What would you wish for?”
Jeff scratched his chin and looked away from me, staring out into the ruined amusement park. Beyond the slides and fence, beneath the gray sky, the lake looked like a sheet of black glass. “I think a lot,” he said, “about how things could’ve been. You know. With us.”
There was a soft look on his face, like back in the dressing room at the school. That woodpecker rattled away again, deeper into the woods.
“Yeah,” I surrendered. “Me too sometimes.”
Jeff turned back in my direction but still avoided direct eye contact. “So I guess that I’d wish Daniel never fell into that hole.”
This answer surprised me, and from my face he could tell I was taken off guard.
I said, “Yeah. Everything changed kind of fast.”
“Well, you sure did.”
“What’s that mean?”
Jeff could tell I was a little hot, but now he looked right in my eyes. “You got hard, Andi. Somewhere along the way, you got plain hard.”
“Maybe I just grew up.”
“Whatever you say.”
We both fell into an awkward silence. I began to regret getting Jeff involved at all. Like I said, after Daniel got pulled out of that well, we never really talked about what happened beforehand. We just kind of stopped hanging around each other, and then at the end of that crazy summer, he was off to Penn State.
But there’s a little more to our story. Now look, I don’t want you to think I lied to you earlier, but when I told you that Jeff and I were just walking in the woods and talking on the day that Daniel fell into the well, that wasn’t the whole truth. Jeff and I, we were holding hands. We’d come up into the woods to be together, and we only brought Daniel because my dad made us. We’d been spending time together in one of the empty cabins, and our evenings there had become more intense. As the time for him to leave for college drew near, we both felt the energy between us building toward something inevitable. Resisting that final temptation was getting harder and harder.
That day, walking with Daniel through the fairy fort, Jeff and I kept squeezing hands and trading looks, sending secret signals. The fact is that out of the blue, while three-year-old Daniel chased a lizard through the leaves, I pulled Jeff behind one of the bigger rocks. Right away he put his arms around me and I brought my mouth to his. After we kissed, he warmed his cheek against mine and whispered, “Tonight?” and I knew what he meant. I felt light and excited and scared, and I nodded my consent.
That’s when we realized we’d lost track of Daniel.
The rest, how at first we thought he was hiding and how frantically we searched and everything that happened after, I already told you. But now maybe you understand why things got so weird between me and Jeff. Because neither one of us told anybody the full truth, and nobody else ever knew it, until now.
And sure, it had occurred to me that maybe God was punishing me. The Bible teaches that sinning in thought is the same as sinning in deed. So it could be that what happened to Daniel was my punishment for lust. Maybe the whole thing was my fault. But I’d never told Jeff about the responsibility I felt, and that day on the carousel, when Jeff told me what he’d wish for, I thought that maybe I was
n’t the only one who felt guilty.
A dark blue sailboat cut slowly across the lake, way out in the middle of the water.
Once again, it was Jeff who broke the silence. “So since you’re all grown up and everything,” he said, “what would you change? If you could wish for anything?”
I looked back over at Daniel, tucked up tight on that bench. I thought about wishing my father back, but if he didn’t want to be here, I didn’t want him here. I thought about making Scarecrow vanish, but with all the rabid eyes I saw in that mob, I knew there’d always be other people to take his place. I thought about once again possessing that perfect belief I’d had when I was a kid, the absolute faith that my parents loved me and God was in Heaven looking out for me and that everything would be okay. But even after what I’d witnessed in the fairy fort, I couldn’t bring myself to accept this. It felt like going backward. So I came back to the thing I wanted most. “I’d wish everyone would just leave Daniel alone.”
Jeff knew what I meant. He said, “So you still think the Plan will work?”
“It has to,” I told him. “There’s just no other way.”
He rocked back and forth on his sea horse, processing what I’d said. “Then we’re still on for tomorrow?” he finally asked.
I shook my head. “No. We can’t wait. We’ve got to do it tonight.”
Later, when Daniel woke up, I was watching over him. His eyes opened to me staring into his face, but he didn’t seem surprised. It was like he was expecting to see me there. “Hey, Andi,” he said, and I was so glad to hear his voice again that I almost hugged him. But I didn’t want to make a big deal about it, so I just answered, “Hey, Little Man.”
He rubbed at his eyes, sat up, and looked around. “Where’s Jeff?”
“He’ll be back. Did you have a good nap?”
The Miracle Stealer Page 17
