Lie Down in Green Pastures

by Debbie Viguié

  "So, confess," she said, leaving her hand on the lock.

  He held up the picture that she had given him of the rancher's wife. "I killed her."

  "I knew it!"

  "We were childhood sweethearts. We lost each other.When we found each other again she was married to him. I didn't care. I pursued her relentlessly. We . . . we had an affair.I begged her to leave him, but she wouldn't. She swore she loved him. I threatened to tell him. I was mad with jealousy.Then . . ." Max crumpled onto the floor and began to cry. "She killed herself. How could she do that?"

  The sirens were turning onto her street as Cindy stared at Max.

  "I paid so many people to cover it up, say it was an accident.I couldn't bear people knowing she had committed suicide. He found out anyway, but I didn't tell him. He said I'd taken everything else from him and he would ruin her memory, her reputation. He forced me to buy that ranch in exchange for his silence."

  "That's it, that's your confession?" Cindy asked as she heard feet pounding up the walk. She unlocked the door and opened it.

  "How could she leave me!" he wailed.

  Officers flooded into the room, guns drawn. "I'm okay," she shouted, hoping someone heard her. Mark was steps behind the others.

  "What the—" he stopped short. "Cindy, what's going on here?" he demanded.

  "I'm still sorting that out," she admitted. "Max. Why did you come here, just to tell me this?"

  Max looked from the police to her in confusion. Then suddenly he let out a strangled cry and grabbed at his left arm and he slumped all the way to the floor.

  "Heart attack!" Mark shouted.

  Max looked up at her and the pain and fear burned through his alcohol-induced haze. His lips moved and she dropped down next to him. "I think you were right," he gasped."Someone's killing . . . don't know . . . who . . . but—"

  His eyes rolled back and his entire body went slack. Mark dropped to the floor and began performing CPR, but Cindy knew it was no use.

  "He realized what was happening and whoever killed Dr.Tanner did the same thing to him," she said.

  Hands reached down to pull her to her feet and then guide her over to the couch. Officers placed themselves between her and Max, obscuring her view of the body purposely.

  "He wasn't behind the murders. And when he started to get suspicious, he was killed for it." She looked up at the nearest officer. "And he wouldn't have been suspicious if it wasn't for me."

  She pressed her hand over her mouth.

  I got him killed!

  She didn't know how long she sat there before Mark came and sat beside her on the couch.

  "I'm not sure what just happened, but I want you to know it wasn't your fault," he said.

  "How do you know that if you don't know what happened?"

  "Because I know you."

  Tears streaked down her cheeks. She watched as Max's body was removed from her living room floor.

  "He died in my living room," she whispered.

  "Yes, he did."

  "How am I supposed to keep living here after that?"

  "You just do. You learn to cope. Or you can't and you move somewhere else."

  "I can't afford somewhere else."

  "Then you cope."

  "How do I start?"

  "You start by telling me what happened."

  For Jeremiah the morning came too soon. Stuart had the bad taste to look like the only one who had gotten any rest and to say that he had slept great, which got him hit with flying pillows. The rain had let up just before dawn but the storm clouds hadn't moved on.

  Jeremiah led his group over to the main meeting hall adjacent to the mess hall. The boys took seats on the floor on the third step up from the stage area. Other groups were trooping in, most looking as sleepy as his group.

  The morning meeting had just started when one of the counselors came running in, face pale.

  Jeremiah watched as Wildman moved to intercept him.They were speaking quietly but he could still read their lips.

  Slow down, Wildman said.

  Zac asked if he could take some pictures of the birds outside while everyone else finished getting dressed. I said yes. Fifteen minutes later he was gone.

  He wandered offand got lost, you think?

  He must have. He had a watch so he couldn't have lost track of time. It's my fault. I shouldn't have let him go.

  It's okay. We'll find him.

  Jeremiah shook his head. If the kid was lost and they organized a full-scale search for him they would likely ruin any chance of tracking him and get other people injured or lost in the attempt.

  He stood up quietly and went to join the two men.

  "What is it?" Dave asked him as he walked up.

  "Lost kid?"

  "Yes," Dave said, looking startled.

  "No need to create a panic or lose anyone else in the search.I'm pretty good at tracking. Just show me where you last saw him and let me take care of it," Jeremiah said.

  "I don't—" Dave hesitated.

  Jeremiah locked eyes with him, willing the other man to go along with his plan. Slowly Dave nodded. "Okay," he said.

  "Good. Watch my kids while I'm gone."

  "Of course."

  "Give me a minute."

  Jeremiah went back to his group and whispered to Noah, telling him what was happening and that he was to make sure the kids listened to Pastor Dave until he got back.

  "Do you need my help?" Noah asked.

  Jeremiah shook his head. "I've got this one. Just keep it quiet."

  The boy nodded and Jeremiah returned to the counselor."Which cabin is yours?"

  "Redwood. I'll show you."

  "No, I don't want any more footprints there than are already present. How tall is Zac?"

  "About five six."

  "How much does he weigh?"

  "He's a skinny kid. I wouldn't say much over one twenty."

  "Did he take anything with him?"

  "His camera and a backpack."

  "Great. Now, take care of the kids that are here and try not to worry too much."

  Jeremiah left the building. His map of the cabins and buildings was in his pocket, but he didn't need it. He had memorized the layout of the camp as far as he could from the crude drawing. He walked briskly toward the Redwood cabin, careful not to step on any tracks on the ground. As he got closer he started studying the tracks that were there, the ones made by the kids as they headed to the meeting that morning. He saw the erratic tracks of a grown man showing indecision and haste—the counselor. Finally when he reached the front of the cabin he found a single set of tracks heading offin a very different direction.

  He followed them for a few meters, studying them. The kid who had made them was about one hundred and fifty pounds.Or one twenty with a thirty-pound backpack, he thought to himself.

  Unlike the counselor's steps these were in a straight line, determined. Not what I'd expect of a kid wandering around trying to take photographs.

  About a dozen meters from the cabin the tracks changed.The kid had begun to run. Jeremiah scanned the area with his eyes for telltale signs of any animals that might have scared the boy into running.

  Nothing.

  He scanned the ground to either side looking for tracks of animals or humans but there were only his and the boy's. Any other tracks had been washed out by the rain overnight.

  What were you running from, Zac?

  Jeremiah began to follow the tracks at a brisk jog, keeping his eyes moving, looking for something, anything, that could explain what Zac was running from.

  After a mile the boy had stopped and set his backpack down on the ground beside him. Jeremiah had been right; the bag weighed roughly thirty pounds. What could he have put in that backpack that he wanted to carry it around with him?

  The boy had rested about five minutes and then continued at a fast walk. He was heading straight for the bridge and the road out of the camp.

  And finally Jeremiah realized what was going on. Zac wasn
't running from something; he was running to something.The road. The way out.

  Zac isn't lost. He's running away.

  13

  JEREMIAH CURSED UNDER HIS BREATH. WHY ARE YOU RUNNING AWAY, ZAC? There were dozens of possible reasons, some worse than others.He stood and surveyed the land. The boy was heading for the bridge and the road out of the camp. He needed to reach him fast and make it back to camp soon. He was going to need help dealing with the issue and he wanted to get back before the whole camp knew the boy was missing. If it was a problem that could be solved, it wouldn't be helped by everyone knowing what Zac had tried to do.

  Jeremiah closed his eyes and visualized the road down to the river, including all its twists and turns. Zac was following the road. That meant he couldn't if he hoped to catch him before the river.

  Jeremiah turned and plunged offthe trail, headed straight through the trees and down the hill. As he ran, he kept his eyes moving, constantly sweeping across the ground checking for signs of loose earth, rocks, and roots. He made micro adjustments as necessary to keep from tripping or sliding.

  He could hear the rush of the river well before he could see it. It finally came into view and he slowed, scanning both banks for a figure. Seeing nothing he started checking the ground for footprints.

  Nothing new showed up in the mud. He turned his attention to the river and noticed that it was at least a foot higher than when they had crossed it the day before. He glanced up at the sky. The clouds were still present though the rain had ceased around dawn. He stared at them contemplatively. They were dark and thick and he didn't like the looks of them.

  He looked back at the river. Another foot and the water would have risen to the level of the bridge.

  The sound of running footsteps pulled his attention back to the road as he stepped behind a tree where he could see whoever was coming long before the person would be able to see him.

  Around the bend a figure appeared, a boy of about sixteen wearing a backpack and running. His breathing was labored and Jeremiah could hear the sound of it as he neared and see the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

  Just before the bridge the boy stopped and bent over with his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.

  Jeremiah stepped out quietly, moving to stand between the boy and the bridge. "What are you running from, Zac?"

  The boy jerked his head up and shied away from him, eyes wide like a frightened deer. His body was tense, poised for fight or flight though he was in no shape to do either.

  "I'm Rabbi Silverman, but you can call me Jeremiah," he said, squatting down on his heels. By making his appearance physically smaller it would have a soothing reaction on the boy who was tapped into his more primal instincts. A smaller pro- file was generally less threatening. Also, by squatting down, he hoped to give the erroneous impression that it would take him longer to react or give chase. In fact he had coiled all his muscles in preparation for sudden defensive or offensive movement.

  He picked up a rock from the ground and pretended to study it. Emboldened by his seeming lack of interest, Zac took a step forward. "What do you want?"

  "At the moment? I just want to know what it is you want."

  "I want to leave."

  "Why?"

  "I don't want to have to go back home."

  "What's wrong with home?"

  "I don't want to talk about it!"

  "But I do. And I can't let you leave unless I know why."

  "You'll let me leave if I tell you?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "But you just said—"

  "Why do you want to leave, Zac?"

  The boy paced up and down before him, looking first at the woods, then at the river and back again.

  "The only way out of these woods is across this river," Jeremiah said at last. "And the river is swollen from all the rain so the only real way across it is over this bridge. And the only way across this bridge is through me."

  "Why are you doing this to me?"

  "I'm not doing this to you. I'm simply pointing out what's necessary for your escape plan to work."

  "My parents are getting a divorce."

  "Lots of people's parents are getting a divorce," Jeremiah pointed out.

  "Yeah, but mine are fighting and screaming at each other constantly. They'd rather fight and make each other miserable than do anything else. I don't think either of them really loves me."

  "I'm sure they do, even if they're not capable of showing it."

  "You don't know!"

  "You're right, I don't know exactly how it is for you. Tell me where it is you think you can go that will be better."

  Zac wiped at his eyes. "My grandparents in San Diego said I could come live with them. My parents won't even hear me out on the topic!"

  Jeremiah stared hard at Zac. The boy wasn't part of his congregation and he didn't know the parents. He had zero weight to pull with them. Still, they might be willing to listen to someone with an outside perspective.

  "The thing is, Zac, if you run away they'll only drag you back. You think your life is hard now? Imagine what it will be like with them questioning your every move, having your friends and teachers report on what you do and say. And if they are that unreasonable at the moment, they might even accuse your grandparents of kidnapping."

  The boy's eyes grew wide. "No!"

  "Yes. I'll make you a deal, though. You come back with me, you promise no more running away, and I'll do everything I can to help you with your parents so they'll let you move in with your grandparents for a while."

  "Really?" the boy asked. The light of hope flickered in his eyes.

  "Really."

  Zac wiped his eyes again. "Okay," he said at last.

  Jeremiah stood slowly and walked over to him. He extended his hand and the boy shook.

  "Deal?"

  "Deal," Zac said, meeting his eyes.

  "Good, now let's get out of here. I'm starving."

  "Me too," Zac admitted.

  It started pouring down rain as they were headed back. The road was growing slippery. The group had transitioned from the meeting hall to the dining hall by the time they returned.Dave saw the two of them enter and he grabbed the other counselor and made a beeline for them.

  "Here's the deal," Jeremiah said. "As far as anyone needs to know, Zac here was helping me move some camp equipment in out of the rain."

  "What happened?" the other counselor burst out.

  Zac stared at his shoes and Jeremiah answered for him."That's between Zac and me. Suffice it to say, it won't be happening again. We're all good here," he said, putting some forcefulness into the last sentence to make himself clear. He didn't want anyone trying to get Zac to open up and share any more than he already had.

  "We're good, Rabbi," Dave said.

  "Excellent. Zac, rejoin your cabinmates."

  Zac and the other counselor were halfway to the table when Jeremiah called after him. "Thanks for the help!"

  Zac waved and flashed him a grateful look.

  "That was nice of you," Dave said.

  Jeremiah shrugged. "Nothing served by embarrassing him at this point. Now, we've got a real problem on our hands."

  Dave's eyebrows shot up. Clearly he was curious as to what constituted a real problem in Jeremiah's book.

  "The river rose quite a lot in the middle of the night and now that it's raining again it's going to get a lot higher. I'm concerned that before long it's going to be over the bridge."

  "That is a problem," Dave said. "Come with me."

  Jeremiah fell into step with Dave as they left the dining hall and headed for the administration building. A couple of camp officials were inside. Dave headed to one of them.

  "We've got a problem. The river is rising, fast. I think we need to consider evacuating the camp."

  "We've had quite a bit of rain, but it's not enough to threaten the bridge," the man said.

  "I was at the bridge twenty minutes ago. The water was less than a fo
ot below the bridge before the rain started back up," Jeremiah said.

  The man's eyes widened. "That's not possible. The river can take a lot more water than what we've seen."

  "Then maybe you have congestion downstream, a log jam somewhere or debris clogging the river and causing it to dam up. I don't know what the problem is. I just know what I saw," Jeremiah said.

  The man picked a walkie-talkie up offa table. "This is Admin to everyone out in the field. Can I get eyes on the river? I'm hearing that it's up over a foot and I need that confirmed."

  "I'm near the bridge. I can be there in ten," a voice came back.

  "Thanks. Let me know what you see."

  To Jeremiah and Dave he said, "If the river is rising that fast then the bridge could be in trouble. This storm is set to continue until Sunday."

  "There go all our outdoor activities," Dave said. He glanced up at Jeremiah. "I don't like it."

  "I'm deferring to your judgment on this one."

  "Let me use the phone," Dave said. "I need to make a phone call."

  The man waved Dave toward a landline.

  Moments later Dave was on the phone with the church."Hi, Geanie, it's Dave. Listen, I need you to call Arnold and see how fast he can get the bus back up here to the camp.There's a storm and the river's looking to wash out the bridge.

  "The bus is where? Great. Okay, call whoever you can and get me drivers for the two vans. Find out if anyone else is free who has a pickup or an SUV. No, I don't know offthe top of my head who drives those. Give the drivers this number," he said, reading offthe number taped on the top of the phone."And call me when you know something. Thanks, Geanie."

  "Cindy wasn't there?" Jeremiah asked.

  Dave shrugged. "I don't know. Probably not if Geanie's answering the phone."

  Fear tugged at Jeremiah but he refused to let it take hold."So, no bus?"

  "No. It's with the senior citizens' group at some special event two hours from the church in the opposite direction from where we are."

  "Will the vans hold enough?"

  "No, that's why I was asking her to track down members with large vehicles. It's okay. If we have to we can get people across the river in groups and then take our time getting down the rest of the mountain and getting home."