Shadow of Death

by Patricia Gussin

  “Why don’t you get into the car, and we’ll take you home,” Sister Mary Agnes suggested softly.

  “No, no, that’s too much trouble,” Lucy said. “I can make it.”

  “You’re being silly. Here, get in the car.” Sister Mary Agnes held open the back door on the passenger side.

  Mary Agnes helped Lucy into the back of the Buick, ignoring her feeble protests. She then reached for the tree and the bag of gifts and put them in the trunk.

  “Thank you so much,” Lucy said. “That’s our Christmas this year.”

  The nuns exchanged a glance before climbing into the car.

  “Thank you for coming to Anthony’s funeral mass,” Lucy said to Mary Agnes as Portia started up the engine.

  “I can’t tell you how grief stricken we all are. Anthony was the best student to ever come out of St. Joseph’s.”

  “Excuse me, Sister.” Portia’s voice was shaky. “I need directions. Also, will you lock the doors?” The car began to creep along the road.

  “Keep going straight, Portia,” Mary Agnes directed. “It’s only a block and a half away.”

  “I’m terribly sorry to put you to such trouble, Sisters.”

  “No trouble at all,” Mary Agnes said. “This is Sister Portia. She’s from St. Mary-of-the-Woods Academy out in Bloomfield Hills. Now, tell me how you ended up huddled on that street corner?”

  “I’m not sure what happened,” Lucy’s voice dwindled as she spoke. “I’ve been working some extra shifts so I could afford to buy the tree for my girls. I was walking home, and I just started thinking about last Christmas with my boys and I remembered when Daniel was alive, and I guess I just sort of gave up.”

  “Here we are, Sister,” Mary Agnes said. “Lucy, that’s your place on the right, if I’m not mistaken?”

  “Yes, this is it. Thank you again.”

  Sister Mary Agnes noticed a dim light in the small flat. “Is Stacy home with the younger girls? Or do you have someone else stay with them when you’re working?”

  “Stacy’s home, Sister. I have no one else.”

  Sister Mary Agnes hesitated. “Lucy, did you know that Stacy has not been in school for the past few days. We tried to reach you, but there’s been no answer. Is Stacy ill?”

  Lucy jerked. For a long moment she said nothing.

  The blue sedan had come to a stop. “Here we are, safe and sound!” exclaimed Portia with relief.

  Lucy responded in a slow, faltering voice, “Sister, Stacy is not ill. She’s at home now. I’ll have to ask her about school. There must be some mistake,” she continued. “You know what a good student Stacy is.”

  “Yes, I do. She’s been an excellent student in the past. But she’s had some problems lately.”

  “She’ll be okay,” Lucy said defensively. “She’s a good girl. All my girls are going to be just fine.”

  Lucy dragged herself from the car and turned toward the front door. “I do have to go on in now and get the tree ready. I don’t want the younger ones to be disappointed in the morning.”

  Mary Agnes nodded. “Okay. Then let’s get this tree in the house right now. Portia, could we bother you to open the trunk again?”

  After the tree and the bag of gifts were taken out and the trunk slammed shut, Portia sidled up to her companion. “Sister,” she said, “we really have to get going.”

  Mary Agnes replied sharply. “We’re not going to leave Mrs. Jones out here to struggle with this tree. You can see she’s exhausted.”

  Mary Agnes grabbed the tree with both hands before either woman could object. She held it firmly by the trunk and headed for the front door. Portia grabbed the gifts. Lucy Jones followed hurriedly, fumbling in her purse for her keys.

  Inside, Lucy was surprised to find Sharon asleep on the sofa as she turned on the small table lamp.

  “Where would you like the tree?” Sister Mary Agnes whispered.

  “You can put it anywhere,” replied Lucy almost absently as she turned away and headed toward the two small bedrooms off the main living area.

  Portia placed the bag on the one upholstered chair, and Mary Agnes stood holding the tree. Lucy returned almost immediately, panic etched on her tired face.

  “What’s wrong, Lucy?” the short nun asked.

  “I can’t find Stacy, Sister. I—”

  “Oh dear. Portia, go out right now and make sure the car is locked, I don’t want your car stolen. Then come back inside, and we’ll decide what to do.”

  She turned to Lucy after gently setting the tree against one wall. “How long have you been gone today?” the nun asked.

  “Since 6:00 this morning. The girls were still asleep. I left a note for Stacy like I always do. Lord, something terrible must have happened. She knows better than to leave the younger ones alone.” She wrung her hands together. “Oh, God, please don’t take another one of my children.”

  Sharon stirred on the sofa, and the nun went over to her. “Sharon,” she said gently. As the child’s sleepy eyes opened, the nun continued. “Surprised to see me here?” She flashed a smile. “I just gave your mother a ride home. Sharon, honey, do you know where Stacy is?”

  The child sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. She glanced fearfully at her mother.

  “She’s not here, Sharon. We really need to find her. Your mother’s very worried.”

  Sharon looked directly into the nun’s kind eyes. “She went out, after lunchtime. She told me to fix dinner for Rachel and Katie but that she’d be back for bedtime. I read a story to Rachel and Katie and made them go to bed even though they wanted to stay up. Katie still believes in Santa Claus, even though she says she doesn’t.”

  A strangled sound rose from Lucy’s throat.

  “Do you know whom she went out with, honey,” pressed Sister Mary Agnes. “Any idea at all?”

  Lucy did not move as the nun gently questioned her daughter.

  “That Snake guy and Willie. You know, Mama, Johnny’s friends.”

  Lucy groaned. Snake and Willie had grown up a few doors down from the Jones household. Lucy sank into the chair in the corner beside the forgotten Christmas tree. “Those boys are too old for Stacy. This is all wrong.”

  “Mrs. Jones,” Sister Portia said, after quietly stepping inside and closing the front door behind her, “why don’t you put Sharon to bed, and we’ll talk about what to do?”

  Sister Mary Agnes assumed charge when Lucy returned a few moments later. “Do you have any idea where Stacy might be?”

  “No, I don’t,” she said. “She has never done this before, she’s a responsible girl. I just don’t know what to do.”

  “We could call the police,” Mary Agnes murmured, “but they’re not likely to do much. After all, we have no reason to believe that anything’s happened to her.”

  “How do we know?” Lucy whispered.

  “Let me see what I can do,” Mary Agnes said, pacing the room. Then she snapped her fingers. “Portia, I’ll need your car.”

  “But it doesn’t really belong to me,” she protested.

  “This is more important,” Mary Agnes snapped her fingers again. “And you’re not going with me. By the time I get back, I expect you two will have decorated that tree over there. Lucy, you have ornaments and lights?”

  “Uh huh. But where you going? I should go with you.”

  “You stay here with your daughters. Sister, hand me the car keys,” she said to her reluctant companion.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Over the years, Sister Mary Agnes had gone to great pains to earn the trust of the teens in the neighborhood. Her casual, everything’s cool approach disarmed even the most streetwise kid. Her role as an educator and religious figure brought her into the street on an almost daily basis and she knew about the sordid places where the kids hung out.

  It didn’t take long to find Stacy. Sister Mary Agnes drove barely more than a mile beyond the west side ghetto to a burned-out building near Warren Avenue on Theodore Street, not far from the Art Ins
titute. It was an old, decrepit place, now abandoned. The kids had swooped in and turned it into a drug den. After stepping past a maze of half-conscious bodies in the dark hallway, the nun entered a graffiti-covered, smoky room. Noxious odors intermingled in the air as loud music assaulted her ears.

  The only child of aloof, affluent parents, Sister Mary Agnes had never forgotten their indifference to the one person in her life who had shown her true devotion and introduced her to a selflessness born of dignity: Agatha, her parents’ maid. Agatha’s hapless plight formed the foundation of the nun’s dedication to bring education to the underprivileged. So be it if she had smoked some reefer to engender trust among her teen network. She just hoped her younger students never found out. In return, many of the older kids unloaded on her, and she never violated their trust. So when she came striding in that Christmas Eve, conversations stopped mid-sentence. Dressed in her long black habit, stiffly starched white collar and black veil, she strode into the pack of teens and young adults lounging on battered old beanbags and cardboard boxes. She paused briefly as her vision adjusted to the darkness. The pungent smell of marijuana mixed with other unidentifiable odors wafted over her. There were a few murmurs of “Hello, Sister” as she walked past, finding her way into the center of the dark space.

  Silently nodding in recognition, the nun’s eyes darted back and forth. She had a single focus, and she refused to be distracted by the woozy scene before her. Finally, she spotted Stacy slumped against a far wall. The nun walked quickly over to her.

  “Let’s go, Stacy,” she quietly urged, attempting to get the young girl to stand up. Stacy resisted.

  “Here, Lonnie, help me get her into the car,” the nun ordered one of the older boys hovering in a corner nonchalantly, sharing a bhong with Snake and Willie. He had a part-time job at the Ford factory that he’d landed with the nun’s help after his stint in Vietnam. Seeing him here caused her heart to plummet.

  “Ah, shit, I don’t wanna do nothin’,” Lonnie grumbled. “My babe’s right over here, can’t you see?” He pointed to a girl with huge gold hoop earrings.

  “Snake, Willie, can I talk to you for a minute?” Sister Mary Agnes gestured. They swaggered over to her.

  “Look, guys,” she said, “I hope you’re not too stoned to get this message. I don’t want you messing with Stacy Jones. You hear?”

  “Shit, Sister,” Snake shot back. “The girl’s already messed up, and that ain’t my doin’.”

  “Well, I’m asking you to leave her alone. She’s too young to be involved in all this. Her family’s been through too much already, and you know it.”

  Snake puffed out his chest. “I been tryin’ to help her. She so messed up cause her brothers got snuffed, ain’t nothin’ to do with us. It’s the white man that’s fuckin’ us all up. S’cuse my language.”

  “Hey Sister,” Willie cut in. “Who hit Johnny out there on the street, do ya know? We all knew ’bout the muthafuckin’ pigs that got Anthony. But the brothers don’t know who got Johnny. Pigs use’ta come around askin’ questions, but not no more.”

  “No, I don’t know,” the sister answered honestly as Lonnie helped lift Stacy up.

  “Asshole pigs don’t give a damn,” Snake cut in. “But Johnny was a brother. You hear things, I know that.”

  “I haven’t heard anything,” the nun repeated. “Anthony was caught looting, which I still find hard to believe. Maybe you know more about that than I do,” she ventured.

  “Unh unh, don’t know nothin’,” Willie slurred, slowly shaking his head.

  “Somebody gotta take out the stupid pigs and the fuck-up doctors,” Snake angrily shot back. He nodded at Stacy. “She knows what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”

  The nun willed herself to remain dispassionate. Lucy had repeated to her Johnny’s eyewitness report about the hospital being at fault in their treatment of Anthony, but she did not know how much to believe — there was such havoc all over the city during the riots. On Lucy’s behalf she’d poked around the hospital, even made an appointment with Dr. Monroe, the chief of surgery. Johnny’d claimed that he’d worked on Anthony that night. And the doctor admitted it right off. Like he had nothing to hide. Then he told her that for a while Anthony had been left in the hallway that night. That he’d had a cardiac arrest. They’d resuscitated him, but he’d already had too much brain damage from the bullet.

  “Dr. Monroe,” she’d then confronted him. “Anthony’s brother was there. He said that a female doctor made mistakes. That you, yourself, called her a criminal.”

  “Sister,” he’d said respectfully, “let me assure you that there was nothing criminal. The doctor in question had a hard time intubating Anthony. This is not uncommon. I had to do a tracheotomy. I’m not sure what the patient’s brother saw or didn’t see.”

  In the end, Sister Mary Agnes advised Lucy to just try and forget Johnny’s story. Without Johnny’s actual testimony, it was unlikely that a case could be made against the hospital. The boy had been so lost and hot-headed anyway. And now, finding Stacy in this hellhole, would mean one more tragedy for Lucy.

  “Okay, guys,” the nun said, hands on her hips. “I’m taking Stacy home. I’m going to say this one more time. I don’t want her hanging with your gang. She’s too young and you know it.” She looked Snake sharply in the eye. “Leave her alone. For her mother’s sake, please.”

  “Sister, don’t give me that.” He shook his head. “Stacy here makes up her own mind. She’s no little girl. Besides, looks like we got an interest in common. You seen that mural on the wall outside the building? That’s mine. It’s called The Cakewalk, get it? We’re all walkin’ to freedom. You see I’m usin’ all the same colors Diego used on his. All them blacks and reds and yellows and whites. Equals the races that make up North America, ’specially here in Detroit. We’ve all got somewhere to go. Get the picture? Stacy been helpin’ me paint now and then. I started that paintin’ to remember my man Johnny, you know? Stacy ’preciate that, her bro goin’ down in the Detroit streets.”

  The nun remained silent as Willie and Lonnie helped get Stacy into the car. She glanced over at Snake’s mural, a seemingly imprecise rendering of several human figures on a road, reaching their hands towards the sky. She was not close enough to see their expressions or the other forms that filled the painting, but she could make out that it covered the entire first story of the building. Once the engine turned over, Sister Mary Agnes thanked God that the battery was intact and that the car was still in one piece.

  Lucy’s haggard face flooded with relief as the nun helped Stacy into the living room at home. Just as quickly, she frowned at her daughter’s skimpy outfit, a short black skirt and tight sweater.

  “Where did you get these things?” she demanded.

  “Best to just get her to bed, Lucy,” said Sister Mary Agnes.

  While she waited, Sister Mary Agnes noticed the small Christmas tree now standing in the corner, nicely decorated with several colorful ornaments and a lot of silver tinsel. Sister Portia sat next to the tree on the shabby sofa, arranging a tiny pile of small wrapped gifts, a satisfied smile on her face.

  “It looks terrific, Portia.” Quietly she asked, “How did it go with you and Mrs. Jones?”

  “Lucy is quite a woman. She told me all about her family. To think, two young sons dying, and she’s all alone to take care of four daughters. And her job is so hard. But what’s the matter with Stacy?” Portia lowered her voice to a whisper. “Good Lord, I was worried about you out there by yourself.”

  “She’s high.” The weary nun sat down next to Portia. “Another promising life going to waste.”

  Portia shook her head. “Not yet, Sister. Maybe there’s something I can do.”

  Mary Agnes looked up. “From that opulent school of yours?”

  “Seriously, Sister. Mrs. Jones told me how intelligent Stacy is. An all A student until recently.”

  Mary Agnes nodded. “That’s true.”

  Excitement lit up Portia’s
eyes. “What if I could get her a scholarship at St. Mary-of-the-Woods? She could live in the dorm with the other girls and get out of this horrible, dangerous neighborhood.”

  Mary Agnes slapped the couch. “What a wonderful idea. Do you think you could really do it?”

  “Well, I can try. I’ll pull every string I can.”

  Tears welled in the nun’s eyes. Only an hour ago, Portia wanted to race away from this neighborhood as fast as she could. Sister Mary Agnes never failed to marvel at the strange and mysterious ways of God.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A few miles away, the elite social circle of Grosse Pointe celebrated the holiday at their exclusive Yacht Club. For most of the country, Christmas Eve was a family occasion, but attendance at this lavish gala was a status statement. Judging by the crowd, David observed that very few chose to be home with their children on this magic night of reindeers on rooftops. In fact, it seemed that even the scourge of the Detroit riots had not dampened the social customs of this insulated community. At his wife’s insistence, the Monroes were among the revelers.

  Standing at the doorway, David’s mood was far from celebratory. He was physically exhausted, wishing only to get some sleep tonight. He wanted to sneak away early this evening, hoping that the intensive care unit at the hospital didn’t call about its own chairman of medicine. Just in case, he’d kept his beeper on. David had performed emergency surgery last night on Ed Collins. It was a high-risk procedure, an attempted repair of a ruptured aortic aneurysm.

  Yesterday, Ed had barely made it back to his office after finishing afternoon rounds before collapsing onto a chair. Connie urgently paged David, who came running from the recovery room as Ed labored to describe the searing pain which migrated from his chest to his back, accelerating with each beat of his heart before he lost consciousness. The loss of all pulses and absence of blood pressure gave David little choice but to rush him to the OR. The aneurysm was massive, and Ed’s prognosis was extremely poor. So far they hadn’t been able to wean him off the respirator, and his kidneys had shut down. If the ICU called tonight David would respond and Cynthia, no doubt, would explode in one of her tantrums. That he didn’t need, especially so soon after their last blow up about the Aruba trip.