by Nate Allen
didn’t kill Ms. Brands. I followed her back to her house, trying to find out more about where my little girl was. She had me come in behind her as she entered her house. She sat down in her rocking chair. I asked about Marcy; she asked about her dogs, Dizzy and Gizmo. She sounded closer to Ms. Brands. There was actually direction to her request. I thought maybe she knew more, so I went to find them. She said they were drying from the bath she had given them. But, when I went in the bathroom, I pulled back the shower curtain and found their bodies floating in the tub. And as I left, that thing in her said one word to me: Minea.”
His eyes are wide. He’s not even looking at me anymore, but past me.
“My wife kept telling me that there were demons torturing her.” he says, almost blankly. “She kept saying they were the reason she didn’t want to live anymore. She kept saying she didn’t want to remember what happened to her when she was a little girl. I disregarded what she said. I told her to stop focusing on it, to live in the real world. Then one day, she took a gun from my study and tried to quiet them.” he pauses, closing his eyes. “She can’t talk. The bullet did irreparable damage. She can’t communicate with me or my sons at all. Except, sometimes when I look into her eyes, I still see that same fear. And it makes me wonder if she is still being tortured.”
“Do you believe in Jesus?” I ask quietly.
His eyes avoid mine. “Why is Minea important?” he avoids my question, too.
“When I got home, I researched it. The first article that came up was about three boys who had jumped to their deaths off a bridge for no reason, and a little boy who went missing. The townspeople who last saw the three boys reported there being a lost look in their eyes. It matched how Ms. Brands was acting. That article was from 1983. That is where the man took my little girl, so I printed out a map, programmed my GPS and started driving toward it.”
“Why did you come back?”
“Because I was never supposed to leave. My wife was given a word from the Lord early today that everything is going to be okay. But, I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted answers, not to be left helpless, forced to trust that God would do something eventually. I wanted my little girl back more than anything.”
“Wanted?” he asks. “Don’t you still want her back?”
“Of course I do. But, it’s out of my control.” I pause. “You learn a lot from being helpless.”
“Yeah. I suppose you do.” he’s staring past me again. His eyes aren’t blank, but searching. “I suppose you do.” the pause is long. “Excuse me if I seem distracted, Mr. Mills. What you’ve told me is hitting close to home. I don’t really talk about my wife. I shouldn’t even be talking about her now. But, I understand those bruises on your face. You just wanted to feel something. I haven’t. Not for a very long time.” he sighs as he presses his palms to his face. And then, almost immediately he pulls them away. And the man looking back at me isn’t the vulnerable person he just was. Like he switched masks behind his hands, he is no nonsense once again. His eyes match his stone-like face.
“Do you have any more questions for me?” I ask.
“Here’s the thing, Mr. Mills. I read people. I read them very well. Every little tick tells me a story. It tells me whether or not their story is fabricated. I see through the act people put on, the characters they wear, the emotions they use. I see through it all.” he pauses. “I didn’t see a lie on you once. I can’t promise that this is the end of this process. But, I know you didn’t kill Edna Brands. And I will do all that I can to prove it.”
I close my eyes and smile. “Thank you, Sir.”
“You can call me Rick, Mr. Mills.”
“And you can call me Matthew.” my eyes are still closed. One deep breath follows another. Now I open them. “This wasn’t coincidence, Rick. You being on the case, you interrogating me. It was all for a reason.”
He only nods his head as he opens the door for me to leave.
John Doe
The neon light from the gas station overhang surrounds me. It paints everything in lifeless shades. I am a skeleton in the rearview mirror; M is nothing but my fifteenth victim. Whatever hope I felt is gone. There is something that this pale light displays so simply: I am not redeemed. I am not new. I am just a blood stained man, searching for a freedom I don’t deserve.
Some part of me is screaming inside, telling me to hold onto the newness. But I’m tired. I will never be free from Teddy, because his identity has become mine. I grew him for too long. I can’t see who I’m supposed to be.
If I could only see the newness, it would change something. I know it would. But, this body doesn’t match. I need to see the newness on this face. Even just a glimpse. I only need a picture of something I haven’t seen before. I know the sensation of newness. It’s cleanliness. But, this reflection always dirties it. Even after everything I’ve experienced today, this reflection makes it feel like nothing has changed.
But, it has changed. If I continue to believe the lie that I am never going to be free, I never will be. I am a prisoner of my own perception. My life is where it is because of a lie that I believed, a lie that I helped grow until it consumed me. If I embrace the newness, couldn’t it consume me like the lie did? Couldn’t it change my perception entirely? If I choose to see the newness, will I?
Teddy is still in the car with me, wearing a different identity. He is my doubt, my reluctance to receive the newness. He is the voice telling me that nothing has changed. But, it has.
If I don’t see that now, if I don’t choose to embrace it right now, I never will. Jesus came to set me free. He came into the darkness and led me out. I am not a prisoner anymore. The bondage is now my own. The prison is in my mind. I will never be free if I don’t accept that I already am.
I look at my reflection and then close my eyes. “I am new.” I whisper as I open them again. My reflection is the same, but clearer. I see the purpose showing through me. Another man is present in my eyes. A new man. This is me. I’m no longer a dead body buried under the darkness. I am new.
My eyes fall onto the dull green digital numbers of the car clock. It’s 5:25 pm. Nothing about my purpose has changed. I have to bring M home before midnight tonight. And the assurance that it will happen has never been stronger. Despite all of the uncertainties, I know it will happen. This assurance is more than faith, this is a palpable, almost touchable thing. I will bring her home before midnight tonight. Nothing can stop it from happening.
… The wind is howling. I see time add another minute. I don’t know what to do next. I know I’m going to get there tonight, but I don’t know how. Something has to happen soon. I still have at least five and half hours to go, with only a six and a half hour window. I close my eyes, because what I see tells me that it’s impossible. Past the pale light of this station, darkness is everywhere. But, when I close my eyes, I can focus on what I know. It will happen. No matter how impossible it seems, it will happen.
The wind has practically become a wild animal surrounding me. I feel it pushing against the car. I hear the rustling of leaves as they blow across the windshield.
… And now, I hear nothing. As suddenly as it started, it has stopped. My eyes pop open automatically, as if they were on a timer. And the first thing I see is bright green within the dead leaves that remain on the windshield. A fifty dollar bill is wedged under the driver side wiper.
Matthew Mills
I can only marvel at what has happened. The way the interrogation ended still baffles me. I think it always will. Rick was convinced that I killed her when we stepped in that room. He had me pegged guilty before I said a word. But, now, here I am. I’m holding Janet’s hand, walking down the stairs, about to leave the station. When I play it over in my head, I know I should still be sitting there, hopelessly defending a story few would believe.
Demons? Only a man who has experienced them in his life would understand—
“Matty?” Janet asks quietly.
“Yeah?” I look over at her.
&
nbsp; “What happened?”
“He believed me.” my tone sounds as awe-struck as I feel. “He knows I didn’t do it.”
“I know.” she smiles. “But, how?”
“I’m still reeling from how.” I say as I look up to the night sky.
Consequences/Saying Goodbye
John Doe
According to the last sign I passed, Payne is about fifteen miles away. I traveled maybe two or three more miles before pulling into this rest stop. My plastic bag of clothes is on the sink next to me, along with a cheap pack of razors, and a small can of shaving cream I bought with the money I had left over after gas.
This is the first time that I’m free to feel clean. I can splash my face and feel the water wash off what isn’t me anymore. I can shave without worrying that Teddy is going to make me cut my skin. I’m free to enjoy something as simple as this. It’s routine to many people, but to me, it’s everything.
Every moment without Teddy is like learning to breathe again, after being fed oxygen for most of my life. I was existing. No. I wasn’t even existing. I was a ghost who made people’s nightmares a reality.
Even with all the newness I feel, I know what I’ve done. I’m preparing myself for the consequences, because once they start, they won’t stop.
I just need these few minutes to enjoy every breath of air, every splash
