Custody of the State (23 page)

“I've got a really great story for you,” Tommy began. “Better than anything you had coming in here.”

“I'd love to hear it,” Banes quickly replied.

“Here it is. During the Kennedy Administration, way back in the '60s, a special study was done on the status of American Indians in this country. When the report came out, it indicated that most Indians were living in total poverty, suffering from
malnutrition, lack of education, and lack of opportunity. Now, decades and decades later, what progress have we seen? What are you going to do about it? Are you going to air a show on the plight of American Indians?” Tommy took a step toward Crystal Banes, his voice rising.

“Tommy, that sounds like a great idea. Let's talk about this Mary Sue Fellows case, and then let's go to your idea. We'll do some filming down on your ranch, talk to some of the people on your tribal counsel. What do you say?”

“Yeah—you'd come down to my ranch, alright. And you'd do some filming. Maybe even do some interviews. But it would never show up on your program. You are interested in
your
story, not mine. So you can make all of the promises you want, but frankly, I don't believe any of them.”

Banes had decided that this little grocery-store encounter had gone far enough. She turned to where Spike had been standing, but he wasn't there.

He had wandered down the aisle with the toothpaste and deodorant and children's coloring books. He was now standing directly in front of Mary Sue and Joshua, who were still crouching on the floor, and staring down at them in astonishment.

There was nothing that Mary Sue could say or do to save herself. But she didn't need to. In her look of anguish and silent pleading, Spike saw her dilemma in all of its confusion and heartbreak.

Having decided that Tommy White Arrow and his family were going to be of little help, Banes thought she might as well pick up some deodorant before they returned to their motel.

She glanced down the aisle where Katherine was standing but didn't see what she wanted. She went on toward the next aisle—the aisle where Mary Sue and Joshua were huddled on the floor. Spike was still standing in front of them. As he caught sight of Banes rounding the corner he quickly walked up to her, blocking her view.

“C'mon, Crystal. Let's get out of here,” he said, taking her arm and turning her toward the counter. “I think this is the kind you use, right?” he asked, and he handed her two sticks of women's deodorant.

Banes walked slowly to the counter, studying Spike with a bewildered look.

“How did you know what brand I use?”

“I saw it spill out of your purse at the airport when they were doing a security check.”

“Spike, you're pretty observant,” Banes remarked, throwing some money on the counter.

“You'd be surprised how observant I am,” he said with a smile.

As the two
Inside Source
people walked out the screen door of the Trading Post, Tommy reached out and grabbed Spike's wrist. Spike looked at Tommy, and they both shook hands, smiling and looking each other in the eye but saying nothing. They didn't need to.

Katherine watched tensely as the rental car pulled out onto the highway and sped off in the direction away from their ranch. After a few moments, she signaled to Mary Sue and Joshua that they could come out. Tommy suggested that they drive back to the ranch immediately.

Mary Sue was silent and trembling, still shaken by the incident.

She took a deep breath and quietly thanked God that their hiding place remained undiscovered. And she thanked him that the danger had passed—at least for now.

33

F
IRST, THERE WAS THE SOUND OF WATER.
Drops of water falling from a pipe in the ceiling and hitting a puddle on the cement floor. The droplets fell slowly, every thirty or forty seconds, as if they were timed.

Will opened his eyes. A flash of pain wrapped around his skull from ear to ear. He seemed to be lying on a metal cot, with the springs digging into his back—no mattress. Trying to move his arm, he found that it was handcuffed to the cot. Though the cell was only dimly lit, it hurt to open his eyes, so he closed them and tried not to think of the pain that surged inside his skull like lightning bolts. Everything was fuzzy and distant. His body seemed oddly removed from his thoughts. As if it were someone else's body that was racked with pain. Someone else's arm chained to the cot.

It was quiet, and the only sound he heard was the plopping of the drips of water into the puddle that was just a foot or so away from his face. He opened his eyes again and noticed a cot on the other side of the room, but that one had a mattress on it. Between the two cots there was a bucket. He was suddenly aware of the dank smell of urine and human waste.

The quiet was interrupted by two voices. There, at the opening of his cell, was the nameless guard. He was standing next to a large man with shaggy hair and a beard, who was wearing a denim vest with the sleeves torn off at the armpits, blue jeans that didn't accommodate his large stomach, and dirty black boots.

On the back of the man's ripped denim vest were the words “Hell Riders.”

The guard said something quietly to him. Will caught the words “Mary Sue…location.” The motorcyclist—which is what Will assumed he was—turned quickly to the guard, and then he looked at Will and grunted something. The guard opened the jail cell to allow him in, and closed the door behind him and locked it.

The guard left, and the motorcyclist shuffled slowly over to where Will was lying. He crouched down in front of Will and grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head up. Will opened his eyes slowly, and through his bleary semiconsciousness he saw the face of the man framed by a tangle of black hair that hung down on both sides of his face and his mangle of unkempt beard. His face was the face of destruction.

Then the motorcyclist began to speak.

“The guard tells me you are a lawyer.”

Will did not respond. So the next words uttered by the man were in a deafening scream.

“I said, the guard told me you're a lawyer!”

Will nodded with the meager strength he had left.

“I hate lawyers. My ex-wife hired a lawyer in our divorce and he took away my Harley. Do you hear what I'm saying? That lawyer took away my Harley.”

Will, surprisingly finding enough strength and lucidity to respond, was able to utter a few words.

“I don't do divorce cases,” he said in a whisper.

“Okay—then how about a missing-person case? You got a client—some chick named Mary Sue. I'd really like to find out where she is. So you tell me.
Now
.”

“I don't handle missing persons either,” Will mumbled.

Will pried his eyes open again, but this time he wished he hadn't. He saw the big motorcyclist drawing his fist back for a blow.

In the shock of that realization, time stopped. The thought leapt into his mind that the motorcyclist was capable of beating him to death. He knew that he was alone, in a place that was forgotten and forsaken.

In that instant that seemed to last so long, Will thought about Fiona. He felt bad for her that his funeral would have to be a closed-casket ceremony because his face would not be fit for an open casket.

There was an explosion of pain, and he felt like he was falling into a bottomless pit headfirst. A scene, perhaps from some movie, perhaps from his memory of the story, flashed into his mind for an instant. Jesus was hanging on the cross, head bowed down and hair dangling around his broken face. From the ground they were shouting, “Why don't you save yourself?”

And then there were no more pictures. No more sound. Just darkness.

34

T
HE SUN WAS BEGINNING TO SET
as Mary Sue and Katherine were working together on the dishes from dinner. Mary Sue glanced out the window and saw Danny doing tricks with his blue yo-yo for Joshua, who was sitting, in rapt delight, on the ground. Andrew and Tommy were in the living room, laughing at something they had just seen on TV.

Katherine put her arm around Mary Sue and gave her a hug.

“You don't have to help me with the dishes—go talk to Andrew and Tommy.”

“That's all right, I love helping you. You are so gracious, Katherine,” Mary Sue replied.

“Let Katherine finish them—we need to talk to you about Joshua,” Andrew called from the other room.

“Yeah—tell us what the doctor told you,” Tommy added.

Katherine smiled and nodded.

Mary Sue wiped her hands off on the dishtowel, and sat down on a chair in the living room. The two men listened as she began to recount the findings from Joshua's blood test.

“Dr. Bill told me that this was only an initial impression. He can't make a final diagnosis. But he sees something unusual in Joshua's blood.”

Andrew and Tommy looked at each other and then looked back at Mary Sue, both solemn and attentive.

“He understands why a doctor might have concluded…” And with that Mary Sue's voice trailed off and she looked down at the floor. She allowed herself to be distracted by the beautifully
embroidered rug, with carefully stitched white feathers, that Katherine had made for the lodge.

Tommy and Andrew did not try to prompt her. They waited for her to finish her thought.

“Anyway, the doctor said he could see why another doctor might have concluded that there was ethylene glycol in Joshua's blood.”

“Wait a minute,” Tommy chimed in, “tell me again what this ethylene glycol is.”

“That's one of the chemical ingredients in brake fluid,” Andrew explained. “And they are charging you, back in Georgia, with poisoning Joshua with brake fluid, right?”

Mary Sue studied Andrew's face for a moment. She was searching for distrust, for a change of heart in the man who had once said it was his job to protect Mary Sue and care for her until she was restored to her husband.

But in his eyes she saw only concern and friendship.

“Yes,” she said quietly, “that's right. But the doctor also said something else.”

Both men were listening intently. Tommy's face, brow furrowed, was resting in his hands.

“The doctor also said that the blood tests were consistent with a metabolic disease. He couldn't be sure—he's not a specialist—but he suggested we send the blood sample to someone he knows.”

“Another doctor?” Andrew asked.

“Yes. Dr. Bill is a personal and professional friend of a world-renowned expert in childhood metabolic diseases. Dr. Forrester is his name. He practices medicine in London, but once he came to South Dakota to do a research project on pediatric diseases in Indian children. Dr. Bill called him and asked if he would take a look at the blood sample.”

“Is he going to do it?” Tommy asked.

“He was getting ready to fly down to the Bahamas where he was going to work at a medical mission. Some kind of outbreak
of liver problems with the children on Grand Bahama island. He said if we could wait until he gets back in a month or two, he would take a look at it.”

“That long?” Andrew remarked.

“I feel the same way,” Mary Sue said with resignation in her voice. “I don't think we should wait that long. We have to get Joshua diagnosed, and if he's got a major medical problem—and I really do believe he does—we need to get him treated as quickly as possible.”

“But he's been doing so well,” Tommy pointed out.

“I know,” Mary Sue agreed. “And I'm not sure why that is. Maybe it's his diet here with your family. I mentioned to Dr. Bill that Katherine had us all eating that low-protein diet she'd read about. Maybe that's it. Or perhaps it's because he's not in day care anymore and he isn't being exposed to other diseases. I just don't know. But I don't think we can wait that long.”

Andrew nodded in agreement.

“I think you have two decisions to make. First, you have to decide about getting that blood sample to Dr. Forrester. That means getting it to him down in the Caribbean. You'll have to get Dr. Bill to find out whether or not he'll have the necessary equipment down there to be able to evaluate it himself. But if he's doing medical-mission work down there, maybe he will.”

Mary Sue nodded and looked to Andrew for his second point.

“And the other thing is this,” Andrew continued, his voice dropping slightly. “You need to make a decision about returning home. Returning home for Joshua to get treatment in a hospital close to your home when we find out what his problem really is. And we need to talk about you going home to fight your case and support your husband.”

Tommy came to his feet, his eyes flashing with anger. He pointed a finger at Andrew.

“That's a bad idea. You want to send her back to the White Man so they can trash her and put her in jail? And put Joshua in a foster home? That's what you want?”

“She may be able to defend herself better back home than she can on the run,” Andrew suggested. “Besides, for Mary Sue, as a Christian, this is also a spiritual issue.”