June Bug

by Chris Fabry

  I thought about running away. I thought about heading for the field. But in a voice that didn’t seem like it was mine, I said, “Hi?”

  Someone moved off the porch and came down the step and stood there looking at me. “Can I help you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Is this the Edwards house?”

  She walked a couple steps closer, staring at my face, but I was standing in front of the light and when that happens you just see the light as some kind of halo. It was an older woman who was coming toward me slow, like she was walking on a patch of ice. And then I recognized her from the TV news. It was the grandmother. She didn’t answer my question.

  “What are you doing out at this time of night all alone?”

  I took a step back into the light, and when I did she put a hand over her mouth. I thought she was going to faint or that she was having a spell.

  “Leason!” she shouted. “Leason, get out here!”

  I felt like running now because her face was all twisted in pain. I watched her as she came toward me and grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around full in the light.

  The screen door creaked and an older man came out. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

  The old woman whispered, “Natalie?”

  I stared at her face. “Are you my grandmother?”

  That’s when she pulled me into her arms and started crying like I have never ever heard anyone cry before. It was just the deepest soul-wrenching sob you can imagine, as if something terrible has happened and there’s no way to describe the pain except for letting your body do it.

  Dad told me once that you can only be as happy as you’ve been sad, and I didn’t understand it until that moment. It seemed to me like the sobs reached down inside that woman and scooped out a part of her, like people inside an ice-cream parlor getting a double scoop out of the big container. But when her sobs were done—or at least when they were halfway over—there was something else there to replace them. It was laughter, a deep belly laugh that shook the woman, and it was something to hear.

  The old man came down the walk and into the light, and when he saw my face, it was like he’d seen Elvis himself at Graceland. Dad took me there once and told me all about Elvis and how some people thought he was still alive and that his death was a hoax. I almost wanted it to be true just so all those people who were still crying about him wouldn’t have to anymore.

  “It’s her,” the woman said in a half sob, half laugh. “Just look at the birthmark on her cheek, Leason. It’s her.”

  She finally let go of me and noticed some blood on her hands. “Leason, she’s hurt. Get her inside. And you call Sheriff Preston right now. This second.”

  29

  Sheriff Preston was headed home. Walker would have a lawyer in the morning who was assuredly going to try to undo the damage his client had inflicted upon himself. After writing up the report and having what must have been his tenth cup of coffee, he headed for home and then remembered Macel wasn’t there. He turned around, passing a couple of news vans coming the other way. Bentley had been interviewed on the Channel 3 News about his experience, as much or more a part of the story than Walker was. The whole thing would be written out in the Herald-Dispatch the next day.

  He was only a few minutes into his drive when the radio squawked. A concerned citizen had reported someone vandalizing the reservoir parking lot. He was near the road but didn’t have the energy to pick up the microphone, let alone deal with some hoodlums overturning trash cans or smashing beer bottles. Still, that old feeling in his gut leaped and made him grab the mic.

  “This is Sheriff Preston. I’m coming up on the reservoir. Which parking lot are we talking about?”

  The dispatcher gave him the location, and he turned onto the road that snaked back toward the water. How or why a person would vandalize a parking lot was beyond him, but kids these days would carve up their arms and legs like pumpkins at Halloween, so how could you tell anything?

  It took him a few minutes to get to the right lot, and when he did, his lights shone on a single figure with some kind of tool striking at the surface of the blacktop. The man looked up when his headlights hit him and went back to his work, as if he were in a factory and the boss had just walked in.

  Preston shook his head and drove over near him and parked. He stepped out of the cruiser as the man took another swing and sank the tool deep into the asphalt and let it stay there. A lean guy with shaggy hair. A tight build, and from first glance, he appeared he could be former military. He had the look of someone you would want on your side in a fight. Square jaw. Arms as strong as steel. Straight back. Preston checked his holster to make sure he was ready if the guy tried anything.

  “Nice evening,” Preston called.

  “Sure is, Sheriff.”

  “You know, there’re probably better places to dig for night crawlers.”

  He smiled. “I wish I was digging for night crawlers. I truly do.”

  Preston walked closer. There were three types of men in the world. Those you approached cautiously. Those you approached with your gun drawn. And those you didn’t approach. This one looked like the first type, though he’d been wrong about people before. “Mind telling me what you are digging for? And why you’re out here after closing?”

  The man looked down and took a step away from the mattock. “I didn’t know it was a federal offense.”

  It was Preston’s turn to smile. “It’s not, but we don’t have a lot to do around here these days.”

  “Not what I heard.”

  “So what’s under there?” Preston said.

  The man glanced at Preston’s eyes, as if he were gauging whether or not he could share the story. He scratched at his cheek and looked at the crumble of asphalt. “I was here a few years ago, before all of this was put in. I buried something and I was hoping I’d find it.”

  “Buried what? A body?”

  The man laughed. “No. A metal strongbox. To keep valuables in.”

  “And why would you do that?”

  “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “How do you know it’s still here?”

  “I buried it deep. I don’t think it would have been dug up.”

  “Must be important to make you dig through six inches of asphalt.”

  The man nodded.

  Preston stepped forward and reached out a hand. “Hadley Preston. I’m sheriff here in Dogwood County.”

  “Johnson,” the man said. “John Johnson.”

  The name sounded familiar. Where had he heard it?

  “I’ll pay for the repair of the parking lot after I’m done.”

  Preston kept thinking. He’d taken a dozen calls, but the one from the lady in Colorado stuck out. “Any relation to the Johnsons in Dogwood?”

  “My dad still lives there. Henry.”

  Then it clicked with Preston. “You won all those medals. Purple Heart in Afghanistan.”

  “That’s part of what’s in the box.”

  “Is that right,” Preston said. And like fireworks going off in his head, the pieces fit. He hadn’t connected Johnson’s military service to the call from the woman. “About how long ago did you bury this here metal box?”

  “Seven years.”

  Preston looked at the lake. Seven years earlier there were trees here and a little clearing where people camped. Back then it was deserted and you could still see the stars and the dogs ran free without leash laws and if you caught a fish and wanted to eat it, you scaled it and put it over a campfire. “I got a call about you today, believe it or not.”

  Johnson didn’t respond.

  “Lady from Colorado saw the news story about that missing girl. Said she knew you. And that you and a little girl were traveling together. Stayed at her house. That ring a bell?”

  Johnson nodded.

  “Where’s the RV?”

  “We ran into some trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “Some no-goods trie
d to hijack us. They showed up at a gas station with a gun.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Let’s just say they didn’t understand the importance of buckling their seat belts.”

  Preston smiled. He liked this man. The questions were partly to test his ability to tell the truth and partly because he was curious. “What about the girl?”

  Johnson sighed and crossed his arms. He looked off, like there was something painful going on, and Preston had a bad feeling. Had he done something with her? done something to her?

  “Honestly, Sheriff, if I could just dig this up and get out of here, I think it would be better for you and me both.”

  “No. I don’t think you’re in a position to tell me what’s best, to be honest, John. Now I’ve got this old boy in jail tonight who says he—”

  “He didn’t do it,” Johnson interrupted.

  “Didn’t do what?”

  “Take the girl. If you’re holding him because of her, you’ve got the wrong man. That’s part of why I wanted to come back.”

  “And how would you know he’s not my man?”

  “Because I was here that night. I saw everything.”

  Preston stared at him. There wasn’t an ounce of flinch or hesitation to him. He looked away and noticed a picnic table, then pointed toward it and they both walked over. Preston let out a big sigh as he settled. “What you say to me can be used against you. You understand that.”

  Johnson nodded. “What I say to you or what I say to anybody is the truth. So I guess it doesn’t matter if it can be used against me.”

  “Fair enough. What were you doing here that night?”

  “Planning my funeral.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Johnson put his hands out in front of him. Strong hands. Battle scarred and nails bit to the quick. “I’d come to a place where I didn’t want to live. I’d let my best friend down. He was dead. I didn’t have a family to speak of. And the stuff I remembered of the war kept coming back every time I closed my eyes. Maybe it was post-traumatic stress; I don’t know. But I was pretty sure I didn’t want to go on, and I didn’t want anybody related to me getting what was in that box.”

  “What’s in there?”

  “My medals. An old letter my uncle wrote me. A Bible my buddy gave me. And an envelope of stuff from my friend’s mother. Supposed to be worth something now.”

  “So if you were going to kill yourself, why didn’t you just burn it?”

  “I can’t answer that one. I guess my mental state at the time wasn’t too clear, but digging the deep hole kept me busy and helped me clear my head.”

  “Thought about how you were going to do it?”

  “Just drive to the ocean and jump in. Start swimming and not stop until I was tired. I can swim a long way, Sheriff.”

  “SEAL?”

  Johnson nodded.

  “How did you and the girl get acquainted?”

  Johnson looked at him squarely again, piercing eyes. No flicker or twitch. “I didn’t find her, sir. She found me. God brought her to me as sure as we’re sitting here.”

  Preston let the information sink in, urging Johnson forward with his silence.

  “For a long time I thought I was the one giving to her,” Johnson said. “That I was the one who’d brought her back. Saved her. But it wasn’t that way. It wasn’t that way at all.”

  Preston hated asking the question, but it was the obvious one. “You ever hurt her?”

  “Yeah. Every time I said no to getting a dog. Every time she got sick and I tried to treat her myself without taking her to a doctor, afraid that somebody might ask questions. Every time she’d make a little friend at some campground and people would get too close. I’d get scared and we’d leave.”

  Preston just watched him.

  “Not in the way you mean,” Johnson said. “I could never hurt that girl. That would be like killing your guardian angel.”

  The words came out true, but Preston still didn’t understand. “If what my prisoner said is true, that girl should be dead. Is he lying about what happened with the car? the woman involved?”

  Johnson shook his head. “I brought her out of the water unconscious. It was probably about three minutes before she came around. Longest three minutes of my life.”

  “Wait. Back up.”

  Johnson tensed. “I’ve never told anybody this. Especially her.” His shoulders slumped and he took a breath like a pitcher ready to deliver his best fastball. “I’d dug this deep hole, put the box in, and covered it up. I cursed at God for not being with my friend and me in Afghanistan. I was mad at him for not showing up. But my friend’s mother had been kind to me, and I didn’t feel worthy of the gift she’d given me.

  “I was about to head out when I heard a car on the road. I walked out of the trees into the moonlight and saw it sitting by the water’s edge. There was a second car above it on the switchback, had its lights on. This little guy gets out, and as soon as I saw him, I knew something was wrong. He leaves the door open, then puts the thing in gear and it rolls toward the water. The door closes and it tumbles over the embankment and floats there, like it’s being held up. Then it tips and goes under. Just sinks to the bottom.

  “And then I hear this woman yelling from the other car. She’d stepped out to watch, I guess, and she was saying something about her baby. That there was a baby in the car. She’s yelling other stuff, but as soon as I hear that, I lit out, kicking my shoes off and taking off my shirt. Those two were arguing and yelling and then the car pulled out. I was still sore from the surgery I’d had, and I didn’t get there as fast as I would have. When I did, I dived in where that car was bubbling up and pulled myself down.

  “I have this thing about penlights. I always keep one in my pants pocket, and I took it out and turned it on and held it in my mouth as I swam. When I made it down to the bottom, I could see all the windows were still up. And then . . .” Johnson’s voice broke.

  Preston was surprised to see water in the man’s eyes. “What?”

  “I saw her. The water had seeped in through the undercarriage and was filling it from the bottom. It was about up to her feet when I got there, but it was rising fast. I grabbed hold of the door but it wouldn’t budge. Front door too. There was just no way it was going to open, and I was losing the air in my lungs. I tapped on the window to let her know I’d be back, but the look on her face. I can still see it.” Johnson wrung his hands together like some old woman sick to death about a wayward child.

  Preston took a breath. He had to remind himself to breathe.

  “I rose back to the surface and got some air,” Johnson continued. “At a time like that you just want your training to kick in, but I’d never been in a situation like that. I’ve seen the fear of men who are about to die, but I swear, I’ve never seen such a look on a child’s face and it just about did me in. And the hardest thing was, I knew I was going to have to let her go. I had to let that water rise before I could break through the glass.”

  He took a moment to compose himself, and Preston looked off at the moon shining on the surface of the water. He tried to imagine the child in the water, the fear, and there being only one chance for her survival.

  “By the time I got back, she was struggling, trying to raise her head enough to get a breath. I knew the pressure inside would be about right, so I kicked on the window with my bare heel, but again I couldn’t get it to break. So I got out my knife, the one I’d carried with me in Afghanistan, the one my uncle gave me before I left. I pushed the point right into the center of that window until it cracked, and then I was in. She was buckled into her car seat, and her arms were floating beside her. Her little mouth open.”

  He jammed his palms against his eyes and muttered something Preston couldn’t hear. “I couldn’t get the thing unbuckled. I tried and tried. So I took the knife and sliced the straps over her shoulders, and then I was back to the surface as fast as I could kick. As soon as I came out, I was yelling for an
ybody to help. That other car was gone. There was nobody around.

  “I got her to the edge and laid her out there and tried CPR. I knew how to help a grown man, but someone that small . . .” Johnson’s chest heaved as he talked.

  Preston shook his head. The radio was squawking again, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying and at the moment he didn’t care. He took off his hat and ran a hand through his thinning hair.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever prayed so hard in my life. I just kept saying, ‘Please, God, please, God, help me, help me,’ and not ten minutes earlier I was cursing at him for not being there in the war. I kept asking him to bring her back, and I’d push on her little chest and blow into her lips, and after a while I thought I’d lost her.” He looked at Preston. “I almost gave up. I think that’s what haunts me the most. I almost sat back and let her go.”

  “But you didn’t,” Preston said.

  “No, sir. She came around. That first cough was the best sound I’ve ever heard. Just water gurgling up, and then I turned her on her side and all that water gushed out. I picked her up and held her. She was so cold and wet. And she started crying and calling out for her mama. I’d never held a child in my life, and giving comfort to someone so innocent did something inside.”

  Preston just took in the information. His mind ran to the legal implications of what happened next. “So you pulled her out, brought her back to life, and then what?”

  For the first time, Johnson looked a little scared. “I didn’t know what to do. I took her back to the RV and wrapped her in a blanket and sat there thinking it through. If her mama had been part of this, with that friend, I didn’t want her going back there. And if I took her to the authorities, that’s exactly where she’d go. My sense was that whoever had done this thought they did their job, that she was gone. So I figured I could take her and find a place for her. Out of reach of the people who wanted to hurt her.”

  “So you took off.”

  “I drove out right then and didn’t stop until we got into Pennsylvania. She slept the whole night and woke up wet in the morning, and I knew I had to find her diapers. I swear, if I didn’t have Walmart, I don’t know what I would have done.”