Trial by Fire

by Terri Blackstock

  “But I started noticing that the kids were following this boy around like he was their leader or something. I mean, the pied piper kind of thing. They started missing youth group functions because they were with him. It was almost like this ingenious recruitment effort, you know? Like he was only there to win our kids over one by one.”

  “Win them over for what?” Issie asked.

  “Well, that’s what I wasn’t sure of. When I tried to get to the bottom of it, I got vague answers about how he was mobilizing them to win Newpointe for Christ. Sounded fine, except it didn’t ring true. The kids I had tried to get through to weren’t the spiritually conscientious types. And then I heard through the grapevine that he had rounded up a group of them to go protest during Mardi Gras, outside one of the gay balls. I got worried and decided that I’d show up and see what this was about. And lo and behold, there they were. Most of my youth group were following this kid around in circles like puppies on leashes, and they were holding some of the most contemptible signs I’ve ever seen.”

  “What did they say?” Issie asked.

  Stan slid his hands into his pockets. “They were vicious, hateful signs that claimed God hated homosexuals.”

  “That’s right,” Nick said. “And I lost my temper.”

  Issie was confused. “Why? I thought you Christians believed that.”

  “Well, you thought wrong. God doesn’t hate anybody. He may hate their sin, but he hates mine too. So I got out of my car and stormed to their picket line and started grabbing those hateful signs out of the hands of my kids. I was so mad that I smashed them against a brick wall and broke them. Then I told that Cruz fellow that God didn’t hate anyone, and I wouldn’t allow him to fill the minds of my youth with lies and hate.” Nick stopped and went for the ice chips again, coaxing his voice into finishing. “I told him he wasn’t welcome back in my church if all he wanted was to lure my kids into this kind of activity. I loaded all those kids into my van, and it was a real tight fit. He cursed at me and yelled threats as I got them in. Before we drove off, he yelled to me that it wasn’t over. He told me he’d get even, that my ‘heretical’ church and I would be sorry for what I’d done.”

  “Maybe I’d better see what I can find out about this kid,” Stan said.

  “I’m not saying he did it. He was mad, not crazy. I can’t see anyone burning down a church and murdering somebody just to get back at me.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” Stan said.

  “Yeah,” Issie agreed. “It sure wouldn’t hurt to look into it.”

  Chapter Six

  When Issie returned to Newpointe it was still too early to head over to Joe’s Place, so she went home. The phone was ringing when she came in, and she snatched it up. “Hello?”

  “Issie, it’s Mike.” Her brother sounded irritated. “Do you know where Jake is?”

  Issie hadn’t seen her sixteen-year-old nephew in a couple of days. “No. Why would I know?”

  “Well, we thought maybe he had dropped by your place.”

  She knew where he probably was, but wasn’t about to tell them. She and Jake had a special bond. He was just like she had been at his age, and she knew that his occasional tastes of the wilder side of life were harmless. She had even aided and abetted them on occasion. “I haven’t seen him,” she said.

  “Well, if he does happen to drop by your place, give us a call, will you?”

  “If I see him, I’ll call.” She hung up the phone, knowing she had no intention of doing any such thing.

  She thought about it for a moment and realized that her brother did have a right to know where his son was. She supposed that was a father’s prerogative, though she couldn’t rely on her own experience, since her father had never cared about anything she had done.

  She checked the clock and saw that it was only eight. Where would Jake be at this hour? He could be at one of his friends’ houses, but usually they didn’t go there until after the parents were all in bed.

  No, if she had to guess where he was, she would start with the old vacant house over off the highway. The grandmother of one of his friends had died, and his parents had kept the house until they could get the place cleaned up enough to sell it. That was where he and his friends liked to hang out when they wanted their privacy. She knew because Jake had taken her there a time or two. The kids felt independent sitting out in the backyard or in the stale rooms, smoking cigarettes, cursing and necking where nobody could stop them. He’d recently gotten into a band and told her they used the house for practice.

  She went back to her car and drove to the wooded outskirts of town to the vacant house, and as she pulled into the driveway, she realized that she’d been right. Jake’s ten-year-old Escort sat in the garage, and some of his other friends’ cars were on the street.

  Since the front of the house looked dark, she walked around to the back. There was a bonfire back there and three guys stood near it, but inside she could see a light.

  “Hey, guys,” she called down to the bonfire, “is Jake here?”

  The kids all turned, but none of them answered. One of them stepped out of the crowd.

  She tried to see his face, but he was silhouetted against the bonfire. “Who are you?” he called.

  “I’m Jake Mattreaux’s aunt,” she said. “I’m looking for him. Is he here?”

  He came closer, looking her over. As the dim light from the house caught his face, she realized she had never met him before. He looked like a lifeguard and wore a tank top and a pair of camouflage pants. He came too close, squinting down at her with blue eyes that might have mesmerized her if she’d met him in a bar. “How long have you been here?” he asked.

  “I just got here,” she said, puzzled by the suspicious question. “Do you know where he is, or do I need to go in?”

  He didn’t answer, just kept looking down at her, as if wondering if she was friend or foe. “This could be very serious,” he said, and a chill went through her at his tone.

  “What could?” She was beginning to feel like she had stumbled into a national security meeting.

  “She’s awright, Cruz.” Instantly, she recognized the name. This was the guy Nick had told Stan about. And her defender’s voice was familiar. She looked behind Cruz to see Peter Benton, Jake’s best friend and the one whose family owned the house. He was draped in shadows, as the kid behind him was. Only Cruz had come close enough to separate from the light of the fire.

  Around this Cruz person was an aura of respect, a held-breath kind of anticipation, that seemed to keep Benton and the other kid a few steps behind him.

  She stuck out her hand. “I’m Issie Mattreaux. And you are…?”

  He glanced down at that outstretched hand but didn’t take it. “Benton, go in and get Mattreaux out here.”

  She watched as Jake’s friend retreated into the house. She looked up at the lifeguard/leader and tried to keep things light. “So what’s the bonfire for?” she asked. “Roasting marshmallows?”

  He grinned then, and she saw a perfect row of bleach-white teeth. “Didn’t you hear us singing ‘Kum Ba Yah’?”

  She breathed a laugh, and tried to sound unconcerned. “Really, what’s it for?”

  “Call it a pep rally,” he said.

  “Oh?” She glanced at the fire, wondering if anyone was watching it. She hoped no sparks flew into the nearby trees. They hadn’t had enough rain lately.

  The screen door opened, and Jake bolted down the back porch steps. A tall girl with long blond hair sashayed out beside him.

  “Issie!” Jake came toward her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you.”

  The girl stepped up next to Cruz with an authority that set her apart from the rest. Issie noted that she stood as tall as he and had the same compelling eyes. She wore a cross around her neck, but her neckline scooped too low, and her shirt was at least two sizes too small.

  Issie realized Jake would be mortified if she acted like an older aunt who
had come to tell him his mommy was looking for him, so she tried another tact. “I didn’t have anything to do so I wanted to hear your band practice. But I didn’t know about the pep rally.” She grinned and shoved her nephew playfully. “Since when have you had school spirit?”

  He looked a little confused, but one look by Cruz seemed to set matters straight. “Yeah, well. We didn’t practice tonight, so—”

  “Bummer.” She shrugged. “Oh, well. Guess I’ll find something else to do then. See you guys later. Oh, Jake, you might want to give your folks a call. They’re looking for you.” She gave a flippant wave, then ambled back to her car.

  She drove away without a look back, but she had no intentions of leaving. Something about the way that Cruz guy had looked at her, and the way Benton and the other kid had stayed silently behind him, and the look of anger and fear in Jake’s eyes, all added up to something being wrong.

  That was no pep rally.

  She made a U-turn and headed back to the Benton property, but this time stopped before she got to the house. There were no houses for a mile or so on either side of the vacant house, so she doubted she would be seen as she slipped quietly out of her car. She cut through the pine trees and wild azalea bushes, stepping over fallen branches and tangled vines. She wished she could use a flashlight. She looked out at the bonfire and saw Benton and the kid she didn’t know standing on the north side of it. Cruz, Jake, and the girl had apparently gone into the house.

  She steadied herself on tree trunks and tried to push through the brush as she headed toward the fire. She had to see what they were burning. Kids didn’t start bonfires, then stay inside. No, the two who were guarding it were watching something burn. What it was, she couldn’t see.

  As the ground cleared into overgrown grass that needed to be mowed, then dirt farther toward the back of the property, she stayed in the perimeter of the trees and made her way closer to the fire. She heard the popping, crackling sounds she had heard this morning at Nick’s church. She hoped these kids didn’t start a forest fire.

  Afraid to get closer, she tried to see what they were doing, when something in the flames caught her eye. She strained to see it, but wasn’t close enough.

  Slowly, she inched closer…closer…

  It looked like rolled up carpet, and a big dark spot stained it. She hunched over and ventured out of the trees, moving closer, until she was satisfied that it was, indeed, carpet. The stain was the color of blood.

  What had Jake gotten involved in?

  She retreated before they spotted her and went back the way she had come, but curiosity drew her to the house. She went to one of the back windows and peered inside. She saw a dozen kids sitting on a concrete slab.

  The carpet had been pulled up.

  In front of them, one hip resting on a wooden stool, sat Cruz, talking as if he was the teacher and they were his pupils. His tanned face was lit up in a smile, and his expression was warm, animated, nothing like the closed expression he’d worn when he stood face-to-face with her just moments ago.

  Jake sat among those on the floor, next to the tall blond, leaning into her as if the mere brush of her shoulder warranted lies and secrets.

  He had it bad for her, Issie realized. At best, the girl looked merely tolerant of Jake.

  Issie stood at the window for a moment, trying to sort through the barrage of images and impressions. The bonfire, the bloody carpet, the way Cruz had blocked her from coming closer, the charismatic way he spoke to the group…

  What was going on?

  “Hey!”

  The voice behind her spun her around, and she saw one of the kids from the fire running toward her. “What are you doing? Hey!”

  She took off running back along the trees, back out to the street. She heard the screen door slam, heard voices yelling, heard them getting closer. She made it to her car and jumped in, quickly jabbed the key into the ignition, and screeched away before they had crossed the street.

  She was over a mile away before she caught her breath and realized she might have been in danger.

  She needed a drink.

  Still shaking from the scare, she headed to Joe’s Place.

  The parking lot was full, as always, and as she walked in, the haze of smoke assaulted her. The bar didn’t have the appeal that it usually held for her. The faces here were the same every night, and tonight the Cajun music grated on her nerves. Fiddles and accordions were not calming enough after a day like she’d had. She looked around for the other medics who usually showed up here around nine, but none were here yet. She went to the bar, took a stool, and looked up at Joe, the bartender.

  “Where y’at?”

  “Awright,” she said, returning the Cajun greeting as if it was second nature. She ordered her drink, then spun around slowly on the stool and scanned the customers. Already she’d caught the eye of several of the men across the room. There was no one here who particularly thrilled her.

  R.J. Albright, one of the cops of Newpointe, sat at the end of the bar in his usual place.

  “You heard anything about Nick?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Saw him a little while ago.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “Worse than he’ll admit,” she said.

  Joe brought her the drink and she took a sip. Someone tapped on her shoulder, and she looked up to see one of the new electrical workers who’d come to town recently. She’d met him on a call when he’d been shocked on a job, and she had stabilized him and had rushed him to the hospital. It was amazing the number of people she met each day, and most of them never forgot her even though their faces became blurry in her memory. This guy looked better standing up than he had on a gurney, and she decided that the night had promise after all.

  Chapter Seven

  It was after eleven before the visitors all left the Fords’ house, with their empty casserole dishes and emptier platitudes about the death in their family. A few relatives remained, and Susan had spent hours trying to figure out where she would put them for the night. Usually, she let guests stay in Ben’s room, but tonight she wanted to keep that room closed off until she could go in there alone. She didn’t want the evidence of his life to be disturbed. She wanted it left untouched, just as it had been the last time he’d stayed at home.

  Vanessa, her brokenhearted teenage daughter, needed her room. The girl was distraught and exhausted, and Susan wanted her to have a good night’s sleep in her own bed. Susan would have given up her own bed, since she doubted there was much sleep in her future, but she knew that Ray needed rest.

  So she made pallets on the living room floor for her sister and her husband, her nieces, and Ray’s parents. Sid, Ray’s brother, had graciously taken some of the other relatives into his home.

  But now that the house was winding down and people were getting quiet for the night, she found that there was no place she could go to be alone. She had some things to say to God, and she meant to say them alone. She didn’t want anyone standing over her telling her that there was a purpose in all this, that God would comfort her, that Ben was ready to be with God. She didn’t want him with God, and she didn’t want God’s comfort. She wanted Ben, her firstborn, whom God had given her, never warning he would snatch him away.

  She waited until the clattering in the kitchen stopped as her sister found creative places in the refrigerator to store the food, waited until she heard no more sniffing from Vanessa’s room or the living room, waited until the silence from Ray’s side of the bed finally settled into a light snore. Then she went to Ben’s room, quietly slipped in, and closed and locked the door behind her.

  The lamp was shining. She wondered who had been in here to turn it on. She looked around at the baseball memorabilia on the wall, the trophies he had won growing up, the framed certificates and ribbons. His childhood was trapped, frozen in this room, but he had moved on. He had become a man and moved into an apartment, had excelled in school, had forged dreams and plans that would have made her proud.r />
  The pain wrapped around her, sharp tentacles of grief that cut into her flesh, straight to her heart, and threatened to immobilize her. Rage spiraled up inside her, like the grief from her heart making a pilgrimage to her head. Someone had to pay. Someone had to suffer. Someone had to explain to her why her son, her only son, had been chosen.

  She muffled the grief moaning out of her mouth and squinted her eyes as her hands folded into fists. She looked up at the ceiling as if God was there, and thought of taking the lamp and flinging it at the Sheetrock, lashing out at the God who would allow such a thing.

  “How could you, God!” she whispered. “How could you take my baby?” She sat on the bed and pulled her feet up, hugged her knees to her chest, and rocked back and forth, back and forth, as if recoiling from the touch of the Lord who could comfort her.

  Explain it to me, God! I don’t understand this. I need to understand.

  She had known people who’d lost children before, had even visited them in their home the day of the tragedy, had taken food and mumbled things that sounded wise at the time. Some of those had been sick; others had died in car accidents.

  But none had been shot, or left in a fire to die. None had so much mystery surrounding their last hours.

  What had gone through Ben’s mind before he died? Was he tortured? Tormented? Had he suffered?