Detective Holder reappeared, and Leslie looked up at him. “So now what?” she asked, feeling at a loss.
“Have you checked into a hotel yet?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I came right here from the airport. I didn’t even think about needing a place to stay.”
“That’s not a problem,” the man replied. “I can have you put up nearby.”
“Is that absolutely necessary? I mean . . .I. . .well. . .”
He appeared to redden a bit as if embarrassed for her. “I know money’s a factor, but don’t worry about it. It’ll be taken care of.”
Leslie could only nod. “How long will I have to be here?”
“Well, this is Sunday. We’ll have the coroner confirm things in the morning and get the bodies right over to a funeral home. I’ll see to it that the matter is taken care of in an expeditious fashion. There’s no reason you should have to wait around here for more than a day, two at the most.”
Nodding her understanding, Leslie next turned to the stack of forms Detective Holder had brought with him.
❧
That night, after a quick call to her aunt, Leslie lay awake for a long time. The hotel bed was comfortable enough, but her mind wouldn’t let her relax. What were they going to do now? Suddenly she was responsible for everything. It only proved to her how sheltered a life she’d lived. Her parents had always been good to give her the freedom to explore and come of age, but they’d also give her a stable family to count on. To be secure in. Now that was gone, and Leslie felt rather like someone had just pulled the rug from beneath her feet.
Could she possibly pick herself back up much less pull together the rest of the broken pieces of their lives? Could she take over the role of guardian to Travis?
The thought of her little brother caused a sob to escape from her throat. Poor little guy. He has no idea what has happened.
“Oh, God,” she moaned the prayer, “how can I ever help him past this? How do you tell a five year old that his parents are never coming back to him?” She cried softly into the pillow, wishing against all other desires that this nightmare could be a mistake. What bliss it would be to have the detective call her in the morning and say that the records hadn’t matched and that her parents were safely alive and well.
She wiped her tears and wondered for a moment if this might be a possibility. Maybe there had been a mistake. Maybe. . .
❧
It was after ten the next morning when Leslie finally awoke with a splitting headache and swollen eyes. For a moment, it all seemed to have just been a bad dream, yet even as she focused on the room around her, Leslie knew better. She yawned and stretched, feeling little strength to climb out from under the covers. She hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours and while her hunger was clearly absent, the weakness was not.
She considered calling room service when the telephone rang, startling her. Hesitantly she went to pick it up.
“Hello?”
“Leslie?” It was Aunt Margie.
“Hi, Margie.”
“How’s it going? Have you heard anything yet?”
“No, I’m afraid not. Detective Holder said he’d push things through as quickly as possible, and I have a standby seat on the 5:30 flight out of Dallas, just in case everything can be handled in time.” Leslie paused and took a deep breath. “How’s Travis?”
“He’s fine. I haven’t told him much of anything. I just mentioned that you had to take care of some business and that hopefully you would be home tonight.”
“Oh, Margie, how in the world am I ever going to explain this to him? He’s only five. What can life and death mean to a five year old? He probably will think that they’re just dead today and that they’ll be back tomorrow. I can just see having to deal with this over and over and over again, and I don’t know if I have the strength to do that.”
“You can find that strength in God,” Margie replied. “I know after my Bill died, it was almost more than I could bear, but somehow my faith in God got me through the rough times. God will see us through this as well. He’s always with us.”
“Then where was He when Mom and Dad were killed?” Leslie asked bitterly.
“Standing with open arms to welcome them home,” Margie answered, her voice cracking with emotion.
Leslie nodded to the empty room. She knew that Margie spoke the truth. She knew she could trust God, even though all seemed lost. “This isn’t going to be easy,” she murmured.
“No, but we have each other, and I hope you know that I’m here for you and Travis. Together we can help each other stay strong, and together we can help each other find healing.”
“Thanks, Margie. I guess I needed to hear that.”
“Would you like me to get in touch with the pastor? I can get things started for the funeral if that would be of help to you.”
“It would be wonderful,” Leslie said, a heavy sigh escaping her. “Plan out whatever you think would be best.” She gritted her teeth together, remembering that she’d not explained to Margie about the cremation. “Margie, there’s something you need to know.”
“What is it?”
“Well, you knew that the bodies were burned.” She stopped and tried to push aside the hideous images that came to mind. “Detective Holder said it would be best that we not see them like that, and I . . .well. . .I signed the papers to have them cremated. I didn’t even see them myself.”
Margie was silent for several moments before answering. “I think you did the right thing. I suppose it will be hard for Travis to understand. They say it’s much easier to deal with death if you actually can say good-bye to your loved one face to face. You know, see the body, the casket, and so forth.”
“Yes, I know,” Leslie admitted, having recalled reading about that very thing. “But this couldn’t be helped. I suppose we’ll just have to make it work in some other fashion for Travis. I can’t imagine that giving him all the gory details would be healthy.”
“Maybe not, but don’t lie to him. If he asks, tell him the truth. You don’t have to get graphic in order to do that, but he’ll forever feel betrayed if he finds out that you sugar-coated it or outright lied.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Look, I’d better get off of here. You know, in case they try to call me.”
“I understand,” Margie answered. “Les?”
“Yes?”
“You aren’t alone. Remember that. God is by your side every step of the way.”
Leslie smiled and felt her nerves steady a bit. “Thanks, Margie. I’ll remember.”
FOUR
Darrin Malone let the steaming water rush over his face. The powerful jests of the hotel shower mingled with the warmth, and he felt his muscles untie themselves from the knots of the day’s dilemmas. All his worries swirled down the drain. For the first time in days, Darrin knew peace.
Sighing deeply, he reached out and rotated the handle to “off.” He’d no sooner stepped onto the cold linoleum of the bathroom floor, than he heard a muffled pounding. Quickly, he wrapped towel around his waist and strode out into the main room of his suite.
Knock-knock-knock!
So much for peace.
“Yes?” Darrin questioned through the door. The peephole revealed to men: one in a rather rumpled-looking suit, the other in the uniform of a Dallas police officer.
“Mr. Malone, I’m Detective Holder with the Dallas Police Department, and this is Officer Daniels. If you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to speak to you for a moment about your father.” Both men held their badges up to the hole and waited.
Darrin grimaced, even though he knew why they’d come. Unlocking the bolt, he opened the door and ushered the officers inside. They promptly took a seat at the table next to the windows and turned to face him.
“I’m afraid you caught me coming out of the shower. If you don’t mind, I’ll get dressed,” he said, grabbing a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt from the opened suitcase lying on the queen bed.
“No problem.” The men waited in silence.
Within minutes, Darrin reemerged, buttoning the last few buttons of his shirt. He tucked in the flannel and took a seat in the wing-backed chair across from the table set.
“Well, let’s hear it.” It was like a bad play that Darrin was forced to relive every few months. Always his father would drink himself into oblivion and then wrap his car around a telephone pole or drive off an embankment. Usually he escaped with little or no damaged done to his own body, but always the cars were totaled. This time was different, however. This time would be the last time.
“Please tell me,” Darrin added, looking up to meet the detective’s guarded expression, “that no one else was involved.”
“I wish I could, Mr. Malone. But it’s not that simple.” Detective Holder paused as though trying to choose the perfect words to describe the most imperfect of situations.
“Who else.” It was more of a statement than a question, and Darrin was well aware of the angry, yet pained resignation in his voice.
“Why don’t I just explain it from the beginning, Mr. Malone? That way, there won’t be any holes in the account and you can fully comprehend the circumstances.” Darrin nodded his approval and settled back into the burgundy material of the chair. At least this was the last time his father could cause any harm. Not that it soothed any of the wounds he had left behind, but it comforted Darrin in an odd way.
Detective Holder looked over to Officer Daniels before beginning. He opened the file he had brought along and perused its contents. He anxiously fidgeted with the file folder’s edge before continuing.
“Well, Mr. Malone, it seems that Saturday night your father, Michael Malone, became intoxicated and began driving at excessive speeds. Around nine o’clock, he turned onto a four-lane divided street, and his speed reached approximately ninety miles per hour. He lost control of the vehicle and jumped the median. Another car traveling in the opposite direction was hit head-on and burst into flames instantaneously. Michael Malone died on impact, as did the passengers of the other car.”
Darrin’s stomach churned, and his chest tightened. He gripped the sides of the chair in order to keep from leaping to his feet. Brutal images filled his mind, and he could almost smell the smoke of burning rubber and paint.
“Who were they?” he barely whispered.
“A vacationing couple from Lawrence, Kansas.”
“Young? Old?” Darrin questioned, barely keeping his voice steady. In his mind the ugly truth painted itself in even more vivid scenes. Years of living with his father’s alcoholism were coming back to haunt him. Haunt him in a way that smothered his very breath.
“They were middle-aged,” the detective replied hesitantly.
Darrin nodded, trying to fit imagined faces to the victims. “Are they being cared for?”
Officer Daniels nodded. “Yes, but we need to know what you want done with your father’s body, Mr. Malone.” He shifted in his seat before continuing. “It is not a good idea, in my opinion, nor in the opinion of the Dallas Police Department, that you see him. The dental records checked out, but the rest of the late Mr. Malone is unrecognizable. The fire spread quickly, and while the department put out the flames as fast as they could, your father’s car was. . .” His voice trailed off as he realized Darrin was no longer listening.
Tears of anger stung Darrin’s eyes, and he fought to keep them back. What do I want to do with the body? he thought. Make him an example! Show all those high school kids how cool it is to drink and drive. Show them what is left behind when the party’s over and somebody else is left to pick up the pieces. Hah! It’d be the first time my father ever taught anybody anything worthwhile.
“Mr. Malone?”
Darrin snapped back into reality. “What do you suggest?” he managed. His anger was the only thing protecting him from grief.
“Well, like we suggested to the family of the Kansas couple, cremation is, in our eyes, the best alternative. We would be more than happy to arrange for it to be done here and ship the urn home with you as soon as possible. Of course, your decision will be abided by. We just need an answer.”
Cremation? Yes, that would make sense. After all, there was a fire. Darrin nodded in agreement. “Cremation sounds acceptable. How soon can this be over and done with?”
“We can call over first thing tomorrow morning. You shouldn’t have to be here more than a couple of days.” He handed the folder to Officer Daniels, who scribbled a few words across the top of the sheet.
“We thank you for your time.” Officer Daniels extended his hand as the two men rose in unison. Detective Holder did likewise, and Darrin followed them to the door. “We’ll be in touch.”
Closing the door behind them, Darrin felt his anger renew itself. “How could you, Dad? What were you thinking? Or did you even remember how to do that? You didn’t just hurt yourself this time. You killed two innocent people, probably here on vacation to relax! Well, they’re relaxing now, aren’t they, Dad? Just like Mom. Only you didn’t kill her as directly, now did you? You happened to use a little more discretion when you got her, didn’t you? Just let news of your drunken escapades trickle back to her until it was finally too much, and her body just gave up.
“It wasn’t enough to just let the cancer eat her away! You weren’t happy unless you could be an intricate part of her suffering even after the separation. At least now you can’t hurt anyone. At least now the world can rest easy knowing the Great Mike Malone has finally done himself in like so many before him!”
Tears streamed down his face as he yelled into the empty room, screaming at the ghost of a man who was easier to talk to in death than he ever was in life.
Darrin fell to his knees in complete emotional exhaustion. “Dear God – what do I do now? How do I rid myself of this bitterness – this rage?” He thought immediately of the verse in Ephesians 4. Verses that had made him almost get up from the church services and run without ever looking back:
Let all bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamor, and evil speaking, be put away from you, with all malice: And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.
“But God, how do you forgive this?” he cried. “How do you forgive the taking of another life? Innocent life that was murdered by the choice of a ruthless man. My father wasn’t saved. He found his savior and religion in a fifth of whiskey.” Hot tears of anger flooded his face.
How many times had he tried to make his father see the truth? How many times had he prayed for his father to find salvation? Yet it was as if each and every prayer went unheard. “Why, God? Why this? Why now? There is no good thing that can possibly come out of this.”
He stilled his rage for a moment and remembered the Scriptures again. Forgiving. . .as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.
“But how, God?” Darrin asked, looking at the stark white ceiling. “How can I forgive him this? How can You? He didn’t want forgiveness, so what possible good can it do me to forgive him now?”
“Forgive him for Christ’s sake,” a voice seemed to whisper within his heart.
“I don’t know if I can,” he murmured, and those words hurt perhaps more than anything his father had done. The Bible clearly told him what he must do, but his human nature argued against it. The last thing he wanted was another battle over his father.
“I’ll try.” He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. “That’s all I can do. For Your sake, Jesus, I will try to forgive him.”
Minutes passed, and finally he composed himself. Reaching for the remote control, he turned on the television and sat dejectedly on the end of the bed. It was as hard as a concrete bench, he thought, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter.
The television hummed to life, and as the color image formed, a perky brunette appeared on the screen. “And in North Dallas, last night a drunk driver crashed into an on-coming vehicle and both cars burst into flames. The driver and the o
ccupants of the other automobile, a couple from Kansas, were killed instantly in a mass conflagration of fire, twisted steel, and carnage.”
She reads it as though it’s about a sale a Neiman Marcus, Darrin thought. Is there no compassion anywhere? Suddenly, his eyes were filled with photos of the deceased Kansas couple and of his father.
For a moment, Darrin was speechless. Studying the picture, he felt he vaguely recalled the woman. The eyes seemed the same, but the face was different. Altered somehow. This woman was older, but. . .
And then he knew.
“No!” he cried out. They were her parents. They were the Heywards. The family Leslie had lost. And his father was to blame. He threw the remote across the room and listened to it clatter against the dresser.
It wasn’t as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind on the flight to Dallas. He’d easily put it aside, however. His father’s accidents were usually in the wee hours of the morning, and usually no one else was involved. Well, that certainly wasn’t the case this time, and now he couldn’t deny the truth of his earlier suspicions.
He conjured to mind the young woman who’d cried so pathetically into his handkerchief. Blue eyes, or were they green, seemed to stare back in his memory. What would she say to him now?
He couldn’t shake the picture of her sitting there beside him – so tiny and frightened. So young. Then he had a horrible feeling. How young was she? The couple shown on the television looked to be in their fifties. Surely she was old enough to deal with matters, or she’d not have been on that plane.
The television was rambling on about an all-out winter car sale when Darrin got up and switched it off. He found the remote behind the dresser and placed it on the bedside nightstand. Restlessness overtook him. He had to do something. He had to find out where Leslie was and somehow do something to make it right.
No, he couldn’t make it right, but he might be able to make it better. Perhaps he could help her with the arrangements or offer to pay her expenses. He went into the bathroom to comb his still-damp hair. Then an even more troubling thought came to mind.
Crossroads Page 3
