by Nate Allen
that relief. Relief is the only way I can feel like the man I used to be. The urges get stronger every time. And the window for how long I have gets smaller and smaller. I am losing myself. Soon, I won’t be in there at all. But, I still am. I just need the relief.
May 2nd, 1981
I don’t know how long I was with her last night. I don’t know when I came home. I don’t even know what time it is. I’m in the shed. My piece is wet and erect. I don’t even feel relief anymore.
Matthew Mills
I saw a cop car parked in front of the school as I was pulling out of the driveway. I’m glad I won’t be around. It’s only a matter of time until it pulls in front of our house. Janet can answer the questions. She has a much better handle on the whole situation anyway.
The people of Payne like to talk. First, they’ll talk about why a cop car is in front of the Mills’ house. And when they find out why, they’ll start to talk about Marcy’s disappearance. I can hear them now. They’ll blame me and Janet for her disappearance. They’ll say, because of the miscarriage, we both weren’t attentive enough. And maybe they’ll even say, “Ironic that Matthew Mills, the man of faith, is losing everything close to him. Where’s his God now?”
I’m done trying to answer that question. If He wants to remain a quiet voice telling me to trust Him, if that’s all He will give me—
None of that matters. Marcy is in Minea. She is only five hours and forty five minutes away. I’m wrong about what I thought earlier. It wasn’t the Lord telling me that my little girl is already gone. It was my sadness telling me a lie. She is in Minea, and she needs me to bring her home. I don’t have to bury my little girl. I know where she is; I have the location on a sheet of paper in my hands. And I have typed it into the GPS as a fail-safe.
My Ford Escape hasn’t even gone a mile, and already I am driving down the ramp toward the highway. My gas tank is nearly full. A survival kit is tucked under the passenger seat, and a back up flashlight is stored away in the glove compartment. Janet had a close call years ago during a white-out storm in winter. Ever since, both cars have had these items, just in case.
But, it’s just a false sense of security. The truth is, you can never be prepared for what’s to come. Life is a series of worsening storms. And shelter is becoming harder and harder to find. I am not prepared for what’s ahead. I know I should turn around while I still can. I can feel that thought overtaking the rest. To drown it out, I turn the radio louder, and listen to a man talk in depth about mistakes. I’m already making one, but I have already gone too far.
Even though I can still see the exit for Payne in my rearview mirror, I have started something I can’t step away from. Earlier today the reality of Marcy’s death was so strong in me, that no one could tell me any different. Now, I don’t know what’s true. Every time I try to listen to the voice telling me she is already gone, I hear her voice calling for me: Bring me home, daddy. I’m scared.
Truth/Mere Creation
John Doe
It happened May 2nd, 1981. If dad didn’t know what he was doing to me, then everything has been for nothing… not that it has ever been for anything other than obedience to Teddy. But, at least when I thought he chose it, his death had a meaning. The way I killed him was meant as therapy. Teddy said it would help. It was supposed to take away the pain. It didn’t. It only grew.
Even this morning, I was still dedicated to him, completely blind of my actual position. Teddy has never been my friend; though, he had me believing it for most of my life. Feeding me lie after lie. And I ate it up. I only questioned it in the beginning.
I was already numb long before the shed. Mom and dad never kept her sickness secret. I knew she only had a little time left. And every day I was preparing for it. Dad was different when he came back from the hospital the final time. He no longer tried to encourage me. He hardly said a thing. I kept close to mom, because I knew she needed me. These are things I haven’t remembered for years. I didn’t even know they were still in me.
It’s only the beginning to what I remember. There is no block anymore. No fuzz. No confusion. I was old enough to know what was happening, and now I am remembering it for what it is.
But, it’s like tracing back over steps. Maybe my past will return fully, but right now it feels like I am being given the rest of the answers.
I don’t know why I am focusing on my twelfth birthday. Mom and dad tried to make it special, but her condition was all I could focus on. The reality that it was my last birthday with her darkened any bright moment. The few moments of real joy were weighed down. And dad’s genuine smiles became pretend before the day was over.
When dad tucked me in, he said everything was going to be okay, like he was answering questions I hadn’t asked but wanted to. He said that he would be home soon, and that he loved me. He kissed my forehead, and stepped away. He left the hallway light on, leaving my door open only a crack. I waited to hear his heavy shoes step down the wooden stairs. The front door closed quietly. I got out of bed, and watched him get in his Buick. He looked back at the house once and then drove away.
I listened for mom as I got back into bed. The house was quiet enough that I could only hear the clock in the kitchen ticking. Some nights, it would put me to sleep. This night, I was wide awake. When I would close my eyes, I imagined mom taking her last breath. I opened them again to the same ticking. It was too fast… too slow… then not there at all. I heard footsteps louder than dad’s stepping up the stairs. When they stopped, the light in the hall shut off. When they started again, my door swung open and then slammed closed.
“Who’s there?” I asked.
“A friend.” the voice was kind.
“What do you want?”
“A friend.” it said again. “Will you be my friend?”
“Why did you come here?”
“You know what your daddy is out doing. While your mommy is dying downstairs, he’s with someone else. What kind of man does that?”
“He said he’ll be home soon, that everything is going to be okay.”
“You’ll see. Soon, you’ll need a friend.”
The next thing I remember is waking up. The morning sun was out, my right pointer finger was bloodstained, and the teddy bear that would become Teddy was in the bed with me. I don’t know what happened that night.
Matthew Mills
Even if I tried to call and apologize, Janet wouldn’t answer. But I imagine she is staring at her phone, waiting for my attempts anyway. I am doing the same thing. I hurt her. But, she hurt me too. It wasn’t just what she said about turning to Marcy instead of Jesus throughout all of this, but about this morning, about the constant snaps and sleights this whole last week. She isn’t the only one who lost our baby. She isn’t the only one who feels that pain.
I don’t know why I am starting to hate this position. I used to take pride in being a husband. But, it’s a thankless job. Janet hasn’t noticed all that I have done for her. She focuses on all of the pain she has felt, but won’t see what I am buried under. A simple sorry would have spoken volumes: “I’m sorry for how I have hurt you. I’m sorry for not realizing all that you have done for me. Can you forgive me, Matty? Can you just stay home with me, and wait to see what ‘it’s going to be okay’ means?”
Had she said that, maybe I would have stayed with her.
John Doe
I want to know I’m free to leave. But, I don’t know if that will even come, because every answer I get only leads to more questions. If I did something to place Teddy into my life, does that make me responsible for what happened?
Dad’s entry on my birthday was hopeful. And when he said he would be home soon, he meant it. I could see it in his eyes. But, he never did get free. He went back to that woman, Stephanie. On that same night, Teddy first introduced himself. But, he wasn’t in my teddy bear. He was just a voice, a full bodied presence that I could almost see standing within the shadows.
I don’t need to remember what happen
ed that night to know what I did. It’s a pattern. I’ve done the same thing for years with every child. There is power in blood, John. Teddy used the blood from each child to grow his power. I think he used mine to find a home.
The answer was sitting next to me the entire time. I will find something stuffed inside of Teddy, something with my own blood on it. It’s why he has had the power since that very first moment. I helped him have a place in my life. Maybe it was loneliness. Or maybe I really did think he would be my friend. I don’t know the answer to that question. Maybe I never will.
In order to be free, do I have to know every answer? Will this search lead me across every inch of this property, and through every room of my childhood home? I’m trying to just answer one question at a time, even though there are many. But, there is also a very clear path forming. Teddy is the next answer.
Blood has always given him power. What would happen if I took it away?
Matthew Mills
There is a pocket sized calendar in my car, stuck just above the radio. Every month has a short Proverb. November says this:
Proverbs 9: 11-12: “I, Wisdom, will make the hours of your day more profitable and years of your life more fruitful.” Wisdom is its own reward, and if you scorn her, you hurt only yourself.
Every sign is telling me to turn back. I
