Everybody's Daughter (20 page)

“Maybe that’s what they’re talking about. But I haven’t written any notes or remember having any paper on the floor.”

Detective Brady walked over to them. “I’d like to take a look inside your house. Do you mind?”

“Come with me,” Michael said.

The detective spent over half an hour examining each room on the bottom floor. “Where’s her bedroom?”

“This way,” Michael said, leading him upstairs.

The detective glanced around the room. “Looks like a hurricane hit this room.”

“That’s my fault,” Michael said, wishing his voice would stop shaking. “I was looking for a clue.”The detective stared at him. “Wait for me by your car. I’ll be a few minutes.”

Michael went outside and watched the crew tediously comb through his car, opening the glove compartment door again, rifling through the many pieces of papers and tissues stuffed inside it. He moved closer.
What are they looking for? When’s the last time Elizabeth was in the car? Was it Wedne
s
day when we went to the grocery store?

Detective Brady returned with a plastic bag filled with some items and went over to Dennis. Michael watched the two speaking but couldn’t hear the conversation. Dennis walked away as the detective questioned the woman holding the plastic bags.

The last of the crime unit crew closed his car doors.

“Mr. Stewart,” the detective said. “I advise you not to leave Northport. You also need to give us all the phone numbers where you can be reached. And please send me a picture of your daughter.”

I’ll leave this century if it means saving my daughter,
Michael wanted to say, but bit his tongue and nodded.

The detective pulled out his notepad and pen again. “Do you know a Mr. Banks?”

Michael folded his arms over his chest. “No.”

The detective started writing. “Mr. Banks claims he witnessed you and your daughter fighting in church.” He flipped over a page. “Something about your daughter’s boyfriend?”

“I told you, I don’t know any Mr. Banks.”

“My niece has a boyfriend?” interjected Connie.

“Matt is just a friend,” Michael said, losing patience. “And we weren’t arguing in church. I have no idea why this man would say something like that.”

Connie lifted her brow and remained silent.

Detective Brady rubbed his chin and continued writing. “I need to know whether your daughter was in contact with anyone today?”

“This friend of hers, Matt. He told me they were hanging out together today.”

“What’s his address and phone number?”

Michael gave him Matt’s information and pointed to his car. “What did you find?”

“We’re still investigating.”

“Did you find blood?”

The detective nodded. “Yes.”

“Do you know whose blood it might be?”

Detective Brady regarded him intently. “No. Do you?”

“She wasn’t in my car today.”

The detective jotted down more notes. “You sound sure about that.”

“Because I am.”

“Interesting,” the detective said, scribbling. “You have no idea what she wore this morning, ate for breakfast, or what time she left for school but you know for a fact she wasn’t in your car.”

Michael barely hung on to his patience but he chose his words carefully. “Can you tell me where my daughter is based on what you found in the car?”

“Not yet.” He looked from Michael to Connie. “Is there something you’re forgetting to tell us about today?”

Michael looked away for a moment. “I thought she might have gone to New York City with some friends to see a Lady Gaga concert. I called several of her friends. I did speak to one mother who said her own daughter couldn’t reach her. I haven’t seen or heard from her all day.”

“What about you?” The detective gestured to Connie. “Have you seen your niece today? Do you have any information that will help us find her?”

“Yes, I saw her for a few minutes but I don’t know where she went after that. And no, I don’t remember what she was wearing. Didn’t think I had to memorize her outfit.” She planted her hands on her hips. “You all think I’m a crackpot anyway.”

The detective handed her a business card. “Sometimes crackpots can have good information. If you do remember what she was wearing, or any other details, give me a call. I’d advise you not to leave the area as well.”

“Me?” Connie said, close to hysterics. “What did I do?”

“Besides this boy, Matt, you were one of the last ones to see her. I would have thought you’d want to help find your niece?”

“Of course she does,” Michael interrupted in a loud voice. “Both my sister and I will do whatever we can.”

“Right.” The detective handed him a card and told him again not to leave the area and to call if he remembered anything more. “Don’t forget to email me her photo.”

With that, he left.

Dennis tapped Michael on the shoulder. “I have an emergency call to attend to. An elderly woman lost her husband. I’m leaving now. Do you need anything?”

“A miracle.”

“I’ll try to find one for you.”

He watched Dennis drive away. The crime unit vehicle lumbered down the hill behind him. A tow truck rolled slowly toward him, coming to a grinding, squeaky halt near his car. A hefty-looking man with an unlit small cigar protruding from his mouth got out. “Is this the one?” he said, pointing to Michael’s vehicle.

“Yes,” said one of the cops.

“What are you doing?” asked Michael.

“I have a warrant to impound this vehicle.” He handed Michael a document.

“Why?”

The cigar-smoking man shrugged. “Just following orders.”

Michael slapped the paper against his thigh. “Great. How am I supposed to get around town and find my daughter?”

No one answered.

“Do you want me to stay?” Connie asked.

He shook his head. Connie gave him a kiss on the cheek but he flinched and backed away. He walked back into his house and shut the door, not sure if he locked it, and not caring if he didn’t.

He stood in the hallway for several minutes, listening to the quiet of the house and hating it. There was no Japanese music blasting its way downstairs from Elizabeth’s bedroom. Her high-pitched giggles and hearty teenage laughter while chatting on the phone were absent. The sounds of her feet banging upstairs, sending pounding vibrations through the living room ceiling were missing.

It was just him in the big Northport house, all alone.

Jesus walked down the hill and headed straight toward the mountains. His figure faded into a stream of light that descended from the heavens. Elizabeth’s body remained still.

“Where are you going?” Leah cried out to Him. She looked at her friends, confused over the preacher’s disappearance. “Now what do we do?”

“We need to bury your friend here if you are unsure where her family lives,” Jeremiah said.

“But this isn’t our custom. We need to find out where her village is.”

“But you do not know where it is,” Sarah said.

Leah fought back tears. “We should take her back and bury her near my home.”

“You cannot go back there,” Jeremiah said. “The Roman will be looking for you.”

“There is no easy answer,” Sarah said, her voice hitched with a sob.

Leah touched Elizabeth’s hair, removing it from her eyes. “Forgive me, child. We must take care of you here. I know no other way. I will look for your father and tell him.”

“Let me ask the old man for some guidance,” Jeremiah said, pointing straight ahead to a town nearby. “He might know someone who can help us bury Elizabeth.”

Leah coaxed the donkey to rise as Jeremiah lifted Elizabeth onto the animal. They walked solemnly back toward town. The rain lightened and a soft, chilly wind skirted in from the west.

An elderly man greeted Jeremiah by gripping his shoulder in a conciliatory gesture. After chatting for several moments, Jeremiah returned to the women. “Zachary is his name. He will help us. He has offered to summon a rabbi. Let us bring her body over there.”

They were greeted by Zachary’s wife, Margaret. She encouraged the group to come inside. “My condolences. Are you the mother and father?”

“No,” replied Jeremiah.

“She was without a mother,” said Leah.

“Where is the father? Husband?”

“She has no husband. Her father, I do not know where he is.”

“How sad.” Margaret gave her a hug. “Our home is your home. You have faced much today. Can I get you some drink or food?”

“I cannot eat or drink.”

Leah waved off a chance to rest and watched Jeremiah carry Elizabeth’s body into the house. He placed her on a bedroll which Margaret had laid out. Leah knelt beside her and prayed. Showing solidarity, Sarah did the same, wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulder. Leah spoke words of solemn passion. “Have mercy on Elizabeth. Guide her father to her passing. Have mercy on Michael.”

Margaret placed four cups filled with water on a table while a small jug of wine stood near. She broke up several pieces of bread and offered it to them on plates. In the corner of the kitchen several long rods with sharp spears on the ends leaned against the wall. Several polished swords lay beside them. “Where do you live, Leah?”

“Not very far away, over the big hill to the West. Close to Jerusalem.”

“Is this where you plan on burying this woman?”

“I do not know.”

Sarah and Jeremiah glanced at Margaret, unsure how to explain the situation.

“I know our tradition and customs say we must bury Elizabeth outside the village where she lived,” said Leah. “While she has not come from my womb, I feel she is like my daughter. Her father is likely at home, distraught, worrying about her.” After a long pause, Leah concluded, “I do not know what to do.”

Zachary walked into the kitchen carrying several small bottles. “We must prepare the body,” he said. “We can help you take the woman back to her village.”

“They do not know where she lives,” said his wife.

“How is that possible?”

“It just is,” responded Jeremiah. “She is lost but is a close friend to Leah. We do not know how far or near her family might be. But we must obey our laws.”

“We shall,” said Zachary. “Follow me.”

He signaled to Jeremiah to help him take Elizabeth’s body to the back of the house. The women carried clothes and a jug of water. Leah cleansed Elizabeth’s face, neck and arms. Margaret and Sarah helped, making sure they removed all the dirt and debris.

Zachary took five small bottles and handed two to Jeremiah, as well as one each to the women. “Do you need any weapons?”

“Yes,” said Jeremiah.

“No,” Leah replied.

“Yes,” said Jeremiah in a firm tone.

Leah anointed Elizabeth with different types of oils and spices. When they were done, Leah wrapped a clean garment around her and kissed her cheek. She looked at Zachary and Margaret, both holding each other. “Thank you. I must take her back where I live and bury Elizabeth. At least if her father returns, he can visit her.”

“But what about the Roman soldier?” asked Jeremiah, his expression and tone laced with fear.

“It does not matter anymore.”

“I will not let you get killed,” reasoned Jeremiah.

“Please, Leah,” Sarah said, “do not go back. While our customs are wonderful, your safety and freedom is important.”

“How free am I? I have no one now.”

“You have us,” Sarah said, touching Leah’s arm.

“Thank you, sweet friend. But I must go back and bury Elizabeth.”

Sarah sighed. “We will do whatever we can to help you.”

Leah bowed her head and put her hand over her heart as a way of showing her gratitude. “We should move soon now that the rain has stopped.”

A local rabbi visited Zachary and Margaret’s home, offering condolances. He prayed with them too. The words tempered Leah’s fear and grief.

“Do you need me to help with the burial?” the rabbi asked.

“No. My gratitude to you.”

“It must be completed before the next sunrise.”

Leah nodded.

Although Sarah and Jeremiah worried about returning to their town and even considered Zachary’s generous offer to remain in their home, their friendship was so strong they wouldn’t allow Leah to travel alone.

“There is not much sunlight left so we should start our journey soon,” Jeremiah said.

Leah agreed and while their anguish was deep, they managed to share a few fond stories with Zachary and Margaret as they ate lunch, welcoming a break from the duress. They repeated the story of Lazarus, who was well known in the town. Zachary’s storytelling was spellbinding, tantalizing as he recalled the incredible, vivid details of what he saw that wonderful day.

“Women fell, others cried, some prayed,” Zachary said. He tore a piece of bread and dipped it into his water cup. “We celebrated all day, drinking wine and dancing. The town was filled with joy.”

“And the preacher you described was the one you spoke about being up on the hill?” Jeremiah asked.

“Yes. Did you see him?”

Jeremiah, Sarah and Leah looked at each other, not sure how to respond.

Leah nodded. “I believe we saw him.” She swallowed hard. “But then he was gone.”

“Where did he go?” asked Margaret.

Leah took a moment to compose herself before answering. “I saw him go off toward the mountains, following a long stream of light that peeked over it. Then he disappeared.”

“What stream of light?” Zachary asked. “It has been dark and rainy all day.”

Leah furrowed her brow. “You did not see the bright light?”

Zachary and Margaret shrugged their shoulders.

Leah glanced at Sarah and Jeremiah, hoping they would share their thoughts. “Did you see it?”

They nodded.

“Strange,” said Zachary.

“We need to go,” Jeremiah said. “Sarah, get the animal.”

Zachary offered first a spear and then a sword. Jeremiah refused politely after seeing Leah’s dissatisfaction. They followed Zachary outside where he handed them a makeshift cart to carry Elizabeth’s wrapped body.

After waving goodbye, they left. The donkey pulled the cart as they walked solemnly beside it.

“Sarah, you look straight and to each side,” Jeremiah said. “Let me know if there is any danger approaching.”

It wasn’t long before they saw the outer edges of their town. Jeremiah stopped briefly and took a deep breath. “We can rest her over there,” he said, pointing to a place east of their village where the neighbors buried their loved ones. “Many are laid to rest into the side of the tall hills.”

“I will need to leave a marker for her father,” Leah said.

“Of course,” replied Jeremiah.

They continued their trek toward the village, veering right toward a possible tomb area. They saw people watching their procession. Several stood in reverent silence. Elderly men and women dropped to their knees and prayed while children were shushed by their parents.

As Jeremiah guided the cart toward the hill, parents grabbed their children’s hands and followed. Soon a long procession line formed. The workers in the field put down their equipment and joined them. Halfway to the burial area, Leah looked back and saw the procession line had extended back to town.

Leah was invigorated and comforted all at once from the demonstration of support, something that had eluded her when she had suffered the loss of her husband. Yes, Yochanan’s death drew people, but the fear of retaliation for showing their affection haunted her mourning period. She grieved alone for the most part, keeping to herself, depressed in seclusion. She never understood why it happened until Marcus intruded into her life.

They halted the march near a cave by the hill as a hearty wind blew tree branches back and forth, unfurling Leah’s hair.

The crowd formed a circle around them as they prepared to say their final goodbyes. A rabbi stepped forward from the line to offer a prayer. Each person held the other’s hand as the rabbi said a few words to Leah. He directed Jeremiah to place the body inside the makeshift tomb.

The children stayed quiet as parents hugged them firmly. The elderly prayed as Jeremiah and two men pushed a stone in front of the tomb. Many in the crowd offered words of solace to them. Others mostly stared and nodded, acknowledging their loss.

Leah looked at the empty cart as the crowd dispersed. She stared at the tomb, wondering if she could have done anything to prevent Elizabeth’s death. Leah fingered two chains, one bearing a cross and the other Elizabeth’s locket. She smiled as she remembered teaching her how to weave a basket.

Slipping the cross into her pocket, she placed the locket’s chain under a rock at the tomb’s entrance to mark the spot.

“We should go,” said Jeremiah.

Leah agreed. As they took their first steps back to town, a commotion startled them. A man on a horse was surrounded by several people shouting. The man gestured in their vicinity.

“What is going on? Who is that?” asked Leah.

“I do not know,” replied Jeremiah, taking several more paces forward to see what the disturbance was about.

Three men on horses trotted up the hill in their direction.

“They are Romans,” Jeremiah said, his tone filled with fear.

Leah’s heart jumped.
This is it. This is where I will die. Oh, God, please let me join you without much pain.

Sarah and Jeremiah scurried several yards up an embankment. “Run, Leah, run,” Jeremiah implored. “Do not stand there. They will see you.”

Leah shook her head. “I will not run any longer. What is my life worth if I have to keep running? I will let God handle my worries. Go and hide. Do not let the soldiers see you.”

The Romans arrived with weapons. One of them – Marcus – dismounted and limped to her. Dried blood caked the side of his face from Elizabeth’s blows. “You thought you could get away,” he yelled, hobbling closer.

Leah stood straight, grinding her teeth. “I will not walk away in fear of you anymore.”

He staggered one step and smacked Leah hard across the face, knocking her to the ground. “Woman, get on your knees and beg for mercy.”

“I will not.”

“You will die.”

She rubbed her cheek. “So be it.”

“Keep your hands off her,” yelled Jeremiah from above.

Marcus pointed his spear at him. “Stay away or you and your woman will die too.”

Sarah crouched behind her husband, her eyes wide with fear. “Please, sir.” Her voice quivered. “Leave us alone. We promise we will not bother you.”

Marcus shouted. “Silence. Where is the other woman?”

“She is gone,” Leah said.

“Gone where?”

“A place that not even you can get to her.”

Marcus jabbed at Leah’s neck with his spear. “I should kill you here.”

“Then do so,” Leah said, pushing away the spear as she stood up.

“Do you want to feel its pain?”

“Your spear cannot hurt me.”

The other two Roman soldiers dismounted and stood beside Marcus. “There is no threat here. Can we go now?” one soldier asked.

“No.” He faced Leah and again lowered his weapon, resting it on her chest. “Where is your friend?”

“She is home.”

“I was just there. She is not.” Marcus grabbed her arm. “You will come with me. I am going to search your house and town.”

“You will never be able to hurt her again,” Leah said in a calm voice as she allowed Marcus to drag her along the wet dirt and grass.

He growled and cursed like a madman, picking Leah up for a moment, slapping her across the face and dumping her to the ground. “I will show you fear, woman.”

Jeremiah jumped down from the embankment to confront Marcus.

The other two Roman soldiers struck him, knocking him to the ground.

“My husband,” screamed Sarah.

Leah struggled to sit up. “Leave him alone. He knows nothing. Let them go.”

Marcus stomped his booted foot on Leah’s leg. “You pig.”

She winced but did not utter a word.

“Stop,” yelled Sarah. “Leave her alone. Her friend has died. We buried her.”

“Where?”

“Over there,” Sarah said, pointing to the cave.

Marcus pulled Leah up on her feet and towed her to the cave. “Help me,” he said to the soldiers.

Together they pushed the rock away and went inside. Moments later they exited the tomb.

Marcus glared at Leah. “You will stay with me and never leave your home.”

She fell to the ground, refusing to go.

He tugged at her arm. “Get up.” He kicked at her back several times.

“Stop,” yelled Jeremiah.

“Back away or I will kill your woman.”

Marcus pulled Leah’s hair and twisted her neck back. “Do as I say.”