Pray for the Girl

by Joseph Souza

  The darkness combined with my adrenaline rush quickly makes me disoriented. I have no idea where I am or in which direction I’m going, and yet I keep moving, breathless, scared, and in a near-panicked state. Where had those damn kids gone? They’re light-years faster than me, their young legs fresh with energy.

  At some point the voices fade into the distance. I fall to one knee and catch my breath, praying that the nausea in my gut will go away. I fight the urge to vomit, my face cold and clammy. I kneel quietly for more than fifteen minutes before I feel better. Whoever was chasing me has lost interest or gone in another direction. But could they be waiting for me out there, once I emerge from this field? What if it’s Dalton and that stuttering, young racist cop? What would I say to them then?

  I thumb the flashlight and navigate my way through the maze, my pace even and steady. Despite having no idea where I’m going, I keep moving, sore legs and all. After an hour of clomping around in the hard dirt, I see a clearing up ahead. Relieved, I emerge from the field and climb over a split rail fence. The backside of a steep hill separates me from the street, which in my state will prove to be quite an obstacle. I descend sideways to keep from falling until I arrive on the hard pavement. Looking around in the dark, I realize I have no idea where I am. The back of the farm? Best to keep walking, close to the shoulder of the road where I can’t be seen. Soon enough something will look familiar and I’ll discover where I parked the truck.

  I walk around the perimeter for well over an hour before I find the main road leading into Garrison’s Farm. My thighs are burning, and I can barely walk by the time I reach the pickup. But I’m so happy to have arrived that I want to cry. Tears run down my cheeks as I settle behind the wheel, the weight now off my battered knees. The engine roars to life, and the heat from the blower begins to melt away the chill from my bones. It rushes into my rouged face, smashing the tears against my cheeks and forming them into gray water stains along my skin. It blows my damp hair back as I hug the steering wheel to my chest and clutch it in gratitude.

  I need to find out the connection between these teens and the secrets they’re keeping from everyone. Brynn will be a tough nut to crack. If only I could speak with Nasreen and ask her about the things that make me most curious. But that’s a dangerous proposition now that she’s dangled her feet into two distinct cultures.

  Was returning to Fawn Grove a mistake? Everything about this town screams messed up, and it’s affecting me in the worst possible way. Maybe I should have never come back here in the first place. I had an inkling that returning home might prove to be a bad idea. But I never thought it would be this bad.

  Yet despite it all, I know I can’t stop searching. It’s more about my own selfish needs than anything else. My own secret obsession, my own obsessive secretiveness. Something tells me that I must face these matters head-on to exorcise the demons from my psyche.

  * * *

  The house is quiet. I go straight up to my room and collapse on the bed, trying to ignore the intense pain darting through my legs. I ring Nadia and ask if she’ll come over to the house and stay with me for a while. She’s at the diner when I call, helping clean up the place. It was another slow day and Yanni’s in a bad mood. When isn’t he in a bad mood? She’s eager to get out of there, especially if it means being with me.

  I need to talk to someone about what I saw tonight. But who can I turn to? I certainly can’t tell Nadia about her daughter. Do I tell Wendy and Russ what I saw out in that cornfield? That Brynn was eulogizing her dead classmate by getting drunk and smoking pot in Garrison’s cornfield? On the exact spot where the boy was murdered?

  I was a rebellious kid back in the day, so I’m one to talk. That was before I joined the military and straightened my life out, to the degree that was even possible. Had someone told my parents about my unruly behavior, I too would have been furious. I would have lashed out and never spoken to them again. Is that what I want to happen with Brynn?

  The darkness in my room hypnotizes me. I think about Nasreen and her nebulous ties to both cultures, wondering if she’s conflicted about where her loyalties lie. Is this what happened to her cousin? Her drinking and smoking is in sharp contrast to the rigid beliefs her people adhere to. The image I’ve formed in my head is of her stocking shelves in that Afghani market, her obedience to faith represented by the sacred hijab. The fact that she wasn’t wearing it this evening both frightens and endears me to her. Now that’s true rebellion. But rebelling against her strict Muslim culture may have dire consequences, especially if the murderer is living among her own people. Strafing the cultures of two distinct worlds could put her in the same danger as her dead cousin.

  Nadia knocks on the door and then walks into the bedroom. Russ and Wendy allow her to come up whenever she wants. They’ve known Nadia since she and her family moved here, and they have witnessed the positive influence she’s had trying to make Fawn Grove a better place. But I doubt they know the true extent of our friendship or that we were once a couple back in our high school days.

  “I’m here,” she says, closing the door behind her.

  “Thanks so much for coming.”

  “It makes me so happy to see you.” She climbs under the covers and lies down next to me. “Poor thing. You’re shivering like a scared puppy. Do you feel all right?”

  I shake my head like a feverish child.

  “Would you like me to get you another blanket?”

  “I’m fine,” I say, wondering if I should tell her what I saw tonight. “How’s your father doing?”

  “Not so good.”

  “I’m sorry. I really wish I could help him.”

  “You could if you wanted. I know you think you flopped in there, but I overheard some of the regulars saying what a great breakfast you made for them.”

  “They said that about me?”

  “Yes. I know there weren’t many customers that day, but the ones who came loved that you used fresh eggs and a better grade of meat.”

  “I did make everything from scratch, even the dishes from your father’s menu.”

  “And it showed. Some asked when you’d be cooking there again.”

  I turn and see the silhouette of her pretty face. “Maybe there is hope for that place after all.”

  “I don’t know how much longer my father can go on like this. The stress of running that diner is killing him.”

  “He’s impossible to deal with, and he doesn’t listen to a word I say.”

  “We had a long talk tonight. I told him that if things don’t change he’ll lose everything, including his house, which he’s refinanced in order to keep the diner afloat.”

  “I don’t know if I can help him in such a short time.”

  “You could try. Of course I’ll certainly understand if you can’t.” She kisses my forehead. “Tomorrow will be an interesting day, so get some rest.”

  “What’s going on tomorrow?”

  “There’s a memorial ceremony to be held in town. The dead boy’s parents are planning on speaking at it, and I pray there won’t be any anti-immigrant violence.”

  “I still can’t understand who would want to kill these kids.”

  “I wish I knew the answer to that as well,” she says. “I only pray that one of the immigrants didn’t radicalize and kill those two, but it wouldn’t surprise me either.”

  “The alternate theory is that someone from town killed them.”

  “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she says. “And as much as I’ve been advocating for the Afghanis, I’m not blind to the fact that one of them might have turned bad.”

  “Every religion has their fanatics.”

  “That’s why it’s unfair to demonize these people because of one bad apple.”

  “Assuming it is one of the Afghanis, why would they kill the boy?”

  “Best not to make assumptions right now,” she says, running her hand through my hair. “Do you know how much I’ve missed you?”

  “I’ve
missed you too.”

  “Regardless of all the time that has passed between us, you’re still the same person as before,” she says, caressing my cheek. “Legs or no legs, you’re no less beautiful to me than the day you left.”

  “Thanks, Nadia, but it’s obvious that I’m not the same person as I was back then.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Then again who is the same person they were in high school?”

  “I used to have great legs back then, remember?” I laugh.

  “You still do. Only they’re half as nice now.”

  “Way to get a leg up on me.”

  “I don’t know much about your life since you left town, or what you experienced in the years afterward, but you’re still beautiful to me.”

  “I’ve changed in other not so subtle ways.”

  “Change can be a good thing. It can mean growth and maturity, and the emergence of the authentic self. But enough of that for now. Close your eyes and go to sleep, sweetie. Because when you wake up I’ll not be here.”

  “Where’re you going?”

  “I have to go home to be with Stef.”

  “Yes, I forgot about that.” I can’t believe how selfish I’ve been, taking her away from her only daughter. “Thanks for coming over when I needed you.”

  “Shhh,” she whispers. “He wants you to cook for him tomorrow. Can you do it?”

  “I’ll certainly do my best.”

  “That’s all anyone can ask for. I’ll leave the diner key for you on the nightstand. Then I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

  It feels nice to be cared for and looked after. This hasn’t happened to me in a long time. It’s obvious that Nadia still has feelings for me. It’s hard to be loved when you know you can’t return such love in full. When you’re so screwed up in the head that it takes everything you have just to try to love yourself. Or what’s left of your old self.

  Her body presses up against mine and feels quite natural. It reminds me of sleeping in my mother’s bed and feeling safe and protected. I’m glad I didn’t tell her what I saw out in that cornfield. She must have her hands full trying to keep tabs on that wild daughter of hers. I understand the hazards completely because I’ve been that rebellious child. This town can ruin a certain kind of kid. A kid given no discipline and allowed to run free without consequence or restriction. And yet I sense a deep hostility in Stefania that’s borne out of angst and dread, and something else I can’t quite pinpoint. Despair? She’s the daughter of immigrant parents in a tight-knit town exploding with resentment against immigrants. Then there’s the stress of her grandfather’s failing diner, and the fact that she’s being pressured to work there to help make ends meet. Two of her classmates have been brutally murdered in a manner consistent with Islamic beliefs. It’s no wonder she’s copping a serious attitude with me, an outsider impinging on the only turf she’s ever known. Considering all that she’s dealing with in life, I’d be surprised if she didn’t drink or get stoned on a regular basis.

  19

  NADIA’S NOT NEXT TO ME WHEN MY ALARM GOES OFF. I LOOK AT THE clock and see that it’s three A.M. Despite her reassuring presence last night, I’m glad she’s gone. I can’t bear to hurt her feelings more than I already have. Nor do I want to lead her on and have her believe that we might once again be a couple. I’m not ruling anything out these days, not when confusion seems to be the norm in my life. My feelings for her are complicated by a warped sense of nostalgia. It’s a weird feeling, because all I’ve been doing for the last decade is trying to forget the past. In the days leading up to my return home, I’d been reinventing Fawn Grove in my mind’s eye, and for some strange reason trying to spin it in a better light. Not surprisingly, it didn’t live up to my expectations, but then again I really didn’t think it would.

  I shower and feel significantly better once I put on my chef whites. It’s similar to when Barbara Gordon transforms herself into Batgirl. The uniform gives me a newfound confidence in myself, reminding me that I’m competent in at least one thing in life. My trusty knives wait for me in the canvas bag, and I feel invigorated by my chosen profession. It’s the one true talent that I can call my own.

  The key to the diner sits on top of the nightstand, where Nadia left it. I pocket it and then swallow a handful of random pills. Grab the syringe, load it, and then stab myself in the thigh.

  It’s dark and cold outside when I pull up to the diner. Before I can even get out of the truck, I see a car pulling into the lot beside me. An alarm goes off in my head. Could this be the same person who scrawled that message on my windshield? But when I look out the driver’s window I see that it’s Dalton. His breath dissipates in the frigid Maine air as he gets out of his police car.

  “Here to give me another ticket?”

  “Saw your truck pull in and thought I’d say hello.”

  I get out and head silently toward the entrance, and he follows me. I unlock the door and then turn to face him.

  “I could keep you company in exchange for a cup of coffee. It’s been an awfully slow night.”

  “Don’t really want company when I’m working.”

  “You’re all business in the kitchen, huh?”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Not at all,” he says. “Could I at least beg you for a cup, then? I can’t stomach the sludge they sell down at the all-night convenience store.”

  “We don’t open for another thirty minutes.”

  “I won’t be a bother. I’ll sit quietly and leave you alone.”

  I debate for a few seconds before nodding for him to come in. After turning on all the lights, I make a pot of coffee using the grounds I purchased at Pam’s coffee shop. There’s only enough left for a few cups, so I use it all. Dalton takes a stool at the counter, placing his cap next to the sugar dispenser. I go back to the kitchen and pull some items out of the walk-in, readying myself for all the prep work that’ll need to get done before opening the doors. When the coffee finishes brewing, I return to the dining room and pour two cups.

  “I had a nice time the other night,” he says, pouring cream and sugar into his mug.

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “We should do it again sometime.”

  “Should we?”

  He laughs. “Why are you so hard to get along with, Lucy Abbott?”

  “Am I? I didn’t think I was being that difficult at all.”

  “You are, but I like that about you.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure. It’s refreshing. You’re like no other lady I know in this town.”

  “What is it you want from me, Dalton?”

  “I’d like to get to know you better.”

  “How many times have I told you that my stay here is only temporary?”

  “We’ll see about that.” He smiles.

  I laugh at this because he does know me, probably better than even he realizes.

  “So what is it you’d like to know about me?” I ask.

  He seems to think it over. “How come a pretty girl like you isn’t married with kids?”

  “I never wanted kids, not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “The truth is, I can’t have kids even if I wanted them. I suppose I could adopt if I wanted, but I don’t think I’d be a very good mother.” I sip my coffee.

  “I beg to differ,” he says. “What about a boyfriend back in New York?”

  “Inquiring minds really want to know, huh?” I laugh. “Let’s just say that I haven’t met the right ‘one’ yet.”

  “I see.”

  “So what are you hearing about this dead boy?”

  “It’s always business with you.”

  “Let’s play that game where I tell you something if you tell me something.”

  He sips his coffee. “What could you possibly know about this case that I don’t?”

  “You might be surprised.” I lean over the counter. “Care t
o indulge a girl?”

  He sighs as if to mull it over. “You can’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  He takes another sip of coffee. “This kid in the cornfield tested positive for drugs.”

  “Really?”

  “The medical examiner doesn’t lie.”

  “I should think not.” It shouldn’t surprise me after what I witnessed last night. I recall watching those kids drinking and smoking over that sizzling fire.

  “Okay, your turn.” He smiles in a patronizing manner.

  “I saw the missing Afghani girl.”

  “That’s all you’ve got?”

  “She wasn’t wearing her hijab, and she was hanging out with some of the kids in town.”

  “What were they doing?”

  “Partying.”

  “Drinking?”

  “And smoking weed.”

  “Is that so? Where’d you see them?”

  “Over by the train tracks,” I lie, not wanting to admit that I snuck onto that cornfield to see the crime scene.

  “Maybe she just wants to fit in and be accepted at school.”

  “You don’t find it odd that the cousin of the first murder victim, a Muslim girl, is out partying with some of the kids in town?”

  “Not unless you have more information to tell me. We’re still operating under the assumption that this is an honor killing.”

  “What kind of a detective are you, anyway?”