Deadliest of Sins

by Sallie Bissell

  “Honey, sometimes when teenagers are really unhappy, they do crazy things … things they don’t mean. Don’t give up on her yet—she’ll probably come back before school starts. Nobody wants to miss their senior year.”

  He shook his head, adamant. “No. She’s gone. And she didn’t run off with a boy, either. The one boy she liked moved to Charlotte, and he didn’t even have a driver’s license. If you don’t help me, I’ll never see her again.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Mary said, “but this isn’t what I do anymore.”

  There seemed nothing more to say, so Mary asked the waiter for a to-go box and packed up half of her hamburger and the rest of the French fries. “Look, I’ve got to get going,” she told him. “How are you going to get back home?”

  “I dunno,” he whispered, growing even smaller in his seat. “I hadn’t thought about that yet.”

  She looked at him, seeing him with his bitten nails and scrawny neck riding in the back of truck load of peaches, full of hope and ninety-seven dollars, coming to hire her to find his sister. That had taken some nerve—too much nerve to leave him here at Kats N Dogs with only his thumb to provide him a ride home.

  “What did you say your name was again?” she asked.

  “Chase Buchanan.”

  “Well, Mr. Chase Buchanan, you picked the right day to hitch up here. I happen to be heading down your way this very afternoon. Would you like to ride with me?”

  “Oh yes ma’am,” he replied, his voice shaking with relief. “That would be awful nice.”

  “Then take the rest of this food. You might get hungry watching me pack.”

  She took the little boy over to the condo she’d sublet, parking him in front of the television while she threw clothes in a small suitcase. She had no idea what to take on a homophobic preacher conspiracy hunt, so she packed jeans, a skirt, and her beige linen jacket that went with everything. She was about to close her suitcase when she saw her Glock 9, gleaming dully in its shoulder holster at the bottom of her underwear drawer. As an afterthought, she threw it in her suitcase, along with a box of ammunition. Though she doubted she’d need to pack heat at a prayer meeting, she was going where two young men had been beaten to death.

  “Ready to go?” she called as she hurried down the stairs, where Chase was sitting in front of the TV, watching a movie where zombies were threatening to eat both houses of Congress.

  “Yes ma’am.” He stood quickly, as if embarrassed to be caught watching such a silly movie. “I’m ready.”

  “Then let’s get moving.”

  She turned the TV off and headed down to the basement of her condo. Chase followed, backpack strapped to his shoulders. Mary opened the garage door and turned on the lights. The Miata she’d driven for the past ten years gleamed, its new paint job reflecting like obsidian glass.

  “Wow. This is way cooler than any of Gudger’s cars.”

  Mary smiled as she put her small suitcase in the space behind the roadster’s two seats. “She gets me where I need to go. Hop in.”

  “Could we ride with the top down?” he asked, gaping at the little roadster.

  “You’ll have to hold my suitcase.”

  “I don’t mind.” He got in and buckled his seat belt, putting his backpack between his feet and holding Mary’s suitcase in his lap.

  Mary unclamped the roof, pushed it into the well behind the seats. A few moments later they were driving through downtown Asheville, heading for the county where girls disappeared, little kids brought the heat down on drug dealers, and ministers of the gospel advocated the extinction of homosexuals.

  Three

  At first glance, Campbell County could have been the cover of a Norman Rockwell calendar. In the deep green blush of summer, it was a bucolic land with cornfields plowed so straight that they reminded Mary of the lined paper in Chase’s EVEDINSE folder. A small church sat at practically every intersection. Mary noticed they were never Methodist or Catholic or Presbyterian congregations, but independent outposts of Christianity: Living God Chapel, Holy Spirit Meeting House, Mount Nebo Assembly.

  “Where do you go to church here?” Mary asked her small passenger as they drove along a four-lane locally known as Jackson Highway.

  “Different places, and only at Christmas time,” said Chase. “Mama has to work Sundays, and Gudger says all churches want is your money.”

  They’d just passed a sign marking the city limits of Manley when Chase pointed to the right at an intersection with a blinking yellow light. “Turn here.”

  Mary did as he directed. The road took them into what was apparently suburbia, for Campbell County. Modest houses sat far back from the road on plots too big to be mere yards, but too small for any real farming. The homes were well kept, with vegetable gardens and swing sets, tree houses and an occasional trampoline. They went on for several miles, then, as Mary turned around a wide curve, she noticed that Chase was clutching the door handle, his brows knotted in a frown.

  “I can get out here,” he told her. “It’s close enough.”

  “How far away is your house?” Mary asked.

  “I don’t know … maybe a mile.”

  “That’s no problem.” Mary kept going. The boy leaned forward in the seat, now biting his lower lip. As they crested a small rise, Mary saw a man raking out a ditch beside a mailbox that was bedecked in yellow ribbons—the old symbol of someone waiting for a loved one’s return.

  “Oh no!” the boy cried. Quickly, he lifted Mary’s suitcase to hide his face. “Gudger’s out by the mailbox!” he whispered. “I can’t let him see me.” He looked over at her, pleading. “Please just drive on by—and drive fast!”

  Mary started to tell him that Gudger would probably be relieved that he was home and safe, but then she saw the look of utter terror on the boy’s face. “You got it,” she said softly. “Hang on.”

  She pulled her baseball cap lower on her head and downshifted into third gear. The little car whined as she pushed it up to sixty, then shifted into fourth. Easing over into the middle of the road, they tore by the beribboned mailbox. As they passed, a fiftyish-looking man with a dark moustache and a bad combover jumped back from the road and shook his rake at them. She watched in the rearview mirror as he yelled something, his mouth square with anger.

  A mile past the mailbox, she slowed down. “You can sit up now,” she told Chase.

  “Did he see me?” the boy’s voice trembled.

  “Nah. He was too busy yelling at me.” She pulled into the parking lot of a convenience store and stopped the car. “What’s the deal here?” She turned to the boy, her tone serious. “What would that guy have done if I’d pulled up and let you out of the car?”

  Chase shuddered. “He’d have been awfully mad.”

  “Would he have hit you?”

  The boy looked down. “No. He’s too sneaky for that. He’d have gotten even in different ways.”

  “Like how?” pressed Mary.

  He started to speak, then it seemed that a kind of shutter came over his face. “It doesn’t matter. Gudger isn’t so bad … he just gets mad when he thinks things are out of control.”

  Mary sighed. She’d seen this behavior before, back when her case log was full of domestic abuse cases. Kids would show up with broken ribs or cigarette burns on their legs and still insist that life with their abusive mom or dad was just peachy. She’d finally realized that the lousy parents they had were always preferable to the worse parent they might get from the DHS.

  “Okay,” she finally said, “what now? Where do you want me to take you?”

  He pointed straight ahead. “There’s a road down here that circles Gudger’s property. If you let me out there, I can walk home. I can sneak through the back yard and get inside before he gets back in the house.”

  “Okay, buddy.” She drove as he directed, knowing there was little she could d
o to help this boy. Until he made his own complaint or his mother got the courage to leave, Chase was stuck. The sister had apparently caught on early and took off the first chance she got. What a shame she hadn’t bothered to tell her little brother good-bye.

  “Here,” he said, as they neared a reedy little creek that went under the road. “I can follow the creek to Gudger’s back fence and crawl under it.” As Mary rolled to a stop, he grabbed his backpack. “Thanks for everything,” he said.

  “Wait a minute.” Opening her purse, Mary dug out a couple of her business cards. She knew it was folly, but she couldn’t stand the idea of this little boy feeling so helpless. She handed him two cards. “Listen—I’ve got to go to a church service tonight, but tomorrow I’m going to be talking to some local cops. How about I ask them if they’ve got any new leads in your sister’s case?”

  “You’d do that?” He looked like she’d given him a shiny new bike.

  “Only if you promise that if it gets bad—if this Gudger starts hitting you or your mom—you’ll call me.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t. Gudger won’t let anybody but him use the phone.”

  “Then go call from a neighbor’s house, or from that convenience store. If you hitched all the way to Asheville in a peach truck, I know you can get to a telephone.”

  “Yes ma’am.” The boy frowned but took the cards and stuffed them in his backpack. “How will I know if you hear anything about Sam?”

  Mary got a pen from her purse. “What’s your mother’s name? Where does she work?”

  “Amy Gudger. She works at the River Bend Rest Home.”

  Mary scribbled the name on the back of an old parking ticket. “If I find out anything about your sister, I’ll contact your mom. Gudger will never know we met.”

  For the first time, the boy truly smiled—a smile that mirrored his sister’s from the photos—open, bright, as if they had the whole world to look forward to, for the rest of their lives. “Thanks,” he said. He opened the door, hopped out of the car, then scampered off the bridge and down to the creek. Mary gazed after him as he slipped through a weedy growth of cane, his EVEDINSE folder in his backpack, gnats buzzing around his head like a filmy gray halo.

  “Watch out for snakes!” Mary called. She watched until he disappeared, then she turned around, thinking that she was a fool to get even remotely involved with another kid—a fool to buy into, for a single minute, another troubled child’s version of reality.

  Chase waited until the growl of Mary Crow’s little car grew faint in the distance, then he took off his shoes, rolled up his pants, and stepped into the creek that would, eventually, lead him to Gudger’s property. Though the water was icy cold and he hated the slimy feel of the rocks beneath his feet, Cousin Petey had told him it was always safer to walk in a creek rather than follow one.

  “Copperheads like to hide along the banks,” the old woman had told him one day as she poked her walking stick into the mint that grew along her own little back yard stream. “So do snapping turtles. Better to walk in the middle of the water; not much can ambush you there.”

  So he waded on toward Gudger’s house, his feet freezing, his brain on fire with the day’s activities. That Mary Crow had turned out to be nice. He’d been scared of her at first—her eyes had lasered into him as if he were telling lies. But then she’d looked at his EVEDINSE file and paid attention when he talked about Gudger. When he told her about riding on the peach truck, she’d actually smiled—after that, she seemed to think he was okay.

  Though she hadn’t promised to help him find Sam, she’d bought him a big hamburger in a fancy restaurant and then given him two of her cards. All together, it had been a good day. Now, though, he had to get back, and fast. The afternoon sun was sinking behind the trees. When he slipped out this morning, he’d left Gudger a note saying he was going fishing in the creek. But that had been almost twelve hours ago, and he doubted that the shallow little creek had enough fish to hold anybody’s attention for that long. Still, if he could sneak back home without Gudger seeing him, he might get away with it.

  He hurried through the water, mosquitoes whining in his ears while dragonflies hovered low over the water. At one point he slipped on a rock and almost fell, but he caught his balance and continued on. The cane on the banks finally began to thin out, allowing him a glimpse of the rose bushes in Mrs. Carver’s back yard. He was tempted to leave the creek and walk to Gudger’s through Mrs. Carver’s property, but Gudger had forbidden any contact with the old woman. They had a long-standing property dispute that came to a head when both parties drew weapons on the other—Gudger his service pistol, Mrs. Carver her late husband’s shotgun. Gudger had claimed victory, but he’d never forgiven the old woman for making him look like a fool. The battle lines, as well as the property lines, were still clearly drawn.

  Chase waded on, deciding it was better to stay in the creek than to risk Mrs. Carver’s wrath. His pants were now wet to the knees, his T-shirt sticky with dirt and sweat. Maybe if he timed it right, he could just reappear at the exact minute his mother came home from work. Or if his mother wasn’t home, maybe he could sneak through the back yard and jump into the swimming pool that Gudger had set up earlier this summer. That’s it, he told himself. Just get in the pool and wait until Mom drives up. Then go in and tell them that when I got back from fishing I went swimming all afternoon. Of course he didn’t have his bathing suit and would have to swim in his underwear, but Gudger wandered around in his underwear half the time anyway, his gut hanging over his jockey shorts like a watermelon.

  Energized by his plan, Chase scrambled out of the creek at Gudger’s back fence. He slipped between two loose barbed wires and hid behind some bushes while he put his shoes back on. Maybe this won’t be so bad, he told himself. Maybe Gudger had just been out getting the mail earlier and had gone back inside the house to watch one of his stupid ball games. Maybe he’s in there now, passed out, not giving a shit about me.

  “Yeah, right,” he whispered. He crept through the wild honeysuckle that grew along the fence line. Gudger’s entire back yard was clearly visible—the house with its big picture window, the patio, a brick toolshed where Gudger kept his new tractor and his yard tools. Between the toolshed and the patio, hidden from his view, was the swimming pool. If he could get to the toolshed without Gudger seeing, he could take off his clothes, run around the little building, and just hop in the pool. Float until his mom got home. It was perfect!

  He held his breath, watching the back of the house. Except for a squirrel that scampered along the roofline, the place was still. Gudger wasn’t tinkering with his new motorcycle, nor did he see the glow of the TV screen through the picture window in the den. Just to be safe, though, he dropped his backpack on Mrs. Carver’s side of the fence. If she found it, she’d just throw it away. If Gudger found his EVEDINSE file, though, he’d kill him.

  Filling his lungs with air, he gave the house a final check, then he raced for the toolshed. As he reached the cool shade of the back wall, he hunkered down, listening for the scrape of the back door opening, Gudger’s harsh You, boy! But again, he heard only the bird-chirp sounds of a summer afternoon. Weak with relief, he unlaced his sneakers, pulled his T-shirt over his head. As he took off his jeans, he thought how good the swimming pool was going to feel. Even though it was one of those above-ground things that Gudger put up so he could ogle Sam in her bikini, they loved it, nonetheless. The water was as cool as the creek, but without the dangers of water moccasins and snapping turtles. He could dive under the water and hide from Gudger for a whole thirty seconds, or at least until he had to breathe again.

  He folded his clothes into a small pile and stood there in his underpants. He felt horribly exposed, but he had no choice. He could explain taking his clothes off to swim; swimming in his thick, heavy jeans would be a much harder sell. A mosquito with striped wings landed on his belly, just below his navel. If he didn�
��t get in the water soon, he’d be eaten alive.

  “Come on,” he told himself, slapping at the bug. “Don’t be a sissy.”

  He paused in the concealing shadows of the toolshed for another second, then he made his move. Digging his bare toes into the ground, he ran down the side of the toolshed as fast as he could—arms pumping, head down, his eyes on the ground. He turned the front corner of the toolshed, then raced for the bright blue plastic pool that had stood there since May. Only today, it wasn’t there. Today, only jagged pieces of plastic lay in a jumble, while a swarm of mosquitoes hovered over the soggy ground.

  He stopped, stunned, gaping at the wreckage of the pool. Suddenly, he heard a howl of laughter behind him. He turned. Hidden inside the toolshed, Gudger sat on his new motorcycle, his cell phone to his ear.

  “Oh, man, you ain’t gonna believe this,” he told whomever he was talking to, his voice cracking with glee. “I figure Shithead’s run off, so I bulldoze this stupid pool so I can plant some tomatoes. Now here comes Shithead running up in his skivvies, all ready to dive in it! Hang on a minute. This is just too fucking good.”

  Red-faced with laughter, he aimed his smart phone at Chase. “Give me a big smile, Olive Oyl. I’m gonna put that big ol’ rig of yours on YouTube! All the fifth grade girls will go crazy!”

  Chase stood there paralyzed. There was no pool. There was no great trick he’d managed to pull on Gudger. There was only Gudger, sitting there laughing, taking a video of him nearly naked. Soon everybody—all of Gudger’s friends, all of the kids at school—would see him pigeon-chested and skinny-legged, wearing only a ragged pair of underpants. He turned and raced toward the house, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

  “Aw, don’t run away, Olive Oyl,” called Gudger. “Come back and make a muscle for the camera!”

  As Gudger’s voice echoed over the yard, Chase opened the back door and ran to his room. He threw himself on the bed, tears of humiliation stinging his eyes. Of all the things Gudger could have done, why this? Why not just ground him? Or beat him? Or even kill him? Anything would be better than having those pictures on the Internet. He felt sick inside as he pictured himself on YouTube, stripped to his underwear, running away from a dead swimming pool. The kids at school would laugh at him for the rest of his life. And why had Gudger destroyed the pool in the first place? He and Sam loved it—even his mother liked to float in it at night, after supper. The pool had been the only good thing about this place and now it was gone.