Conceived Without Sin (51 page)

Ellie broke down into horrible sobs. Sam became
concerned for the child she was carrying.

"Please, sweetheart, please, please, please," Sam consoled her, kissing her on the cheek. He turned to the nun. "My wife is upset. She loves Buzz. He came here all the time. He introduced us to this place.

"I understand you have rules. That's what makes this place special–your special rules. We understand. We don't have to see Donna. I don't think we came
here to see her anyway. Well, Ellie did. I came here to speak to your, uh, to your God.

"We don't even have to speak to him. Tell Donna to speak to him for us. Tell Donna to tell him to find Buzz and help him. He's our friend."

Sam's eyes were full of tears. He turned Ellie around in his arms, and led her down the steps to the pathway to the parking lot, holding the umbrella over her, keeping
the water away.

11

Bill White left a message for Mark at his hotel in Brigantine, New Jersey, which was just north of Atlantic City, then pressed the end button on his cellular phone.

Wish you were here, friend,
he told the rain, looking up at the starless sky.
We could sure use your help.

He walked back to his car. He had checked two dozen parishes on a hunch that Buzz would find his way to the
Eucharist.

He had called every police station in town, and charmed the station officers as best he could to put out the word to keep an eye out for Buzz in the bars and hotels in the area. There were hundreds of bars on the West Side alone. Too many to search. He had checked over twenty near Buzz's apartment after confirming that Buzz had gotten blitzed at O'Donnell's.

There had been no sign of
him since.

Bill tempered his worry with a faith-filled certainty: it was time to pray. He started his car and drove to Our Lady of the Angels.

There was a perpetual adoration chapel there.

It worked for Mark. It'll work for Buzz,
he steeled himself. Bill knew his prayer would be dry, perhaps even tedious. It almost always was so. That didn't matter to him.

He had trained for this war. That did
matter.

Chapter Twenty-One

1

Thunderclaps woke Buzz to the persistent pelting of heavy raindrops on the thin roof of his car.

He looked around. It was not yet dark. The clouds merely gave an illusion of nighttime. He wondered if there was a way to drink the rain to slam his headache back a bit.

H-two-O.

"Aiche-two-oh," he whispered coarsely.

Doesn't matter anymore,
a voice soothed him.
We're almost finished.
Time to take the long walk, Buzz. Plenty of water at the end of the walk. Then we'll swim.

He was parked in the driveway of his uncle's duplex. At the ocean, down the shore.

To the beach.

There was an empty bottle next to him on the seat. The last leg of the trip was lost in a puddle of blackout. The stench from his vomit was sickening.

He opened the window of the car, inhaled the wet, salty air,
and began to dry heave.

This lasted for several grating minutes.

Musta passed out when I parked,
he deduced, falling back into his seat. He was feeling a bit sober.

Maybe I ran out of the stuff for the last hundred miles.

This alarmed him. Where to get more booze?

He reached for the key and despaired. It was in the
on
position. He had left the car running; the gas tank was empty, the battery dead.

Dead.

In the house, you moron,
the voice prompted.

His spirits rose.

You gonna kill yourself, Mister?

That damned boy was back, all filled with ageless concern.

I'm leaving you in the car with the stink. And no, I'm
not
going to kill myself. I'm going for a walk. Good-bye.

But Mister–

He grabbed his wallet and opened the door, collapsing out of the car, his face and crewcut pressing into the coarse,
pebbled concrete.

He began to bleed.

Close the door, you idiot,
the adult voice reprimanded.
Before that freakin' kid gets out.

Buzz was too disoriented to comprehend. His temples pounded. He tasted blood. He touched his cheeks.

It tasted good. Salty, like the raging ocean forty yards east.

Lightning lit up the ghoulish smile on his face.

Yeah, the long walk. Then a swim.

He crawled for a few
yards, then collapsed when the muscle in his calf spasmed, sending a hot spiked message of pain up his spinal cord, crashing through the competing pains standing sentry there. The big man's shrieks punctuated the thunder. Or was that the pounding in his head?

It doesn't matter.

Nothing mattered.

Except the hooch in dear uncle's cabinets.

Sitting on his rear, he rubbed out the cramp, then found
his feet. Feeling his strength return like a slow tide, he began a hunched march to the front deck of the duplex.

The front door was locked. He checked around for nosy neighbors. There wasn't a light on in any house he could see.

Alone.

He grabbed a heavy pine picnic bench, and cast it through the front window next to the door, timing his blow with a crack of thunder.

He cut the palm of his hand
climbing through the window. That was not enough pain to get his attention.

The next drink was near at hand, and that felt good. That felt real good. He found the light switch, shuffled to the cabinet next to the sink, and hungrily snatched the first bottle of hard liquor within reach.

Gordon's Gin.

Hi Gordy.

A cousin to Jack and Grampa.

You'll do.

He poured it down his throat, gagging at the
third gulp, scorning the air for the alcohol.

He slid down the cabinet, oblivious to the long gash the square edge of the oven handle opened in his back.

He was delirious now. He closed his eyes, and saw a dragon, breathing fire. He opened his eyes again, with a quiver.

That friggin' boy was back, standing in the corner in front of the fridge. He had a crewcut. He was wearing brown shorts and
a black and yellow Charlie Brown shirt. His legs featured thick, bony knees with scratches on them.

He was holding a big green chainsaw in his right hand; a spinning basketball hovered an inch above the linoleum at his feet. He was watching Buzz intently.

You again!
Buzz shouted in his head.
How did you get out of the car! Why don't you get the f–"

But the boy cut him off with the raising of his
right hand, bent at his elbow, making a curious-looking peace sign.

Donna's coming,
he said placidly.
And she's bringing my friend.

Buzz tried to curse, but thunder rolled in, lightning flashed like a giant bulb, and the boy was gone. Buzz found himself staring at the Hotpoint refrigerator.

Buzz's eyes closed, more from fatigue than tiredness.

Wake up!

He bolted upright.

Come to the water, Buzz.
Forget the boy.

He pulled himself up to his feet. He wasn't really tired. Just worn out. Plenty of energy to finish the job. To take the long walk. A little dip.

He methodically took off his pants and shirt, and stood in his boxer shorts. Waiting. He looked at his watch. It was three o'clock.

I'm always waiting.

2

Donna knelt before the Blessed Sacrament. There were two other sisters in the chapel.
It was three o'clock.

She spoke directly to Jesus, not with words, but with a word. Like a lamb, she gently placed a word on the altar.

His name is Buzz,
she said.

I am the Good Shepherd,
the Word replied.
I know my sheep.

Her prayer was ordinary. She was confident. She was in the world, but not of it.

3

On Sunday night, not knowing where else to go, or what else to do, Sam and Ellie returned
to their empty home and fell asleep on the couch in each other's arms, waiting by the phone. They slept until eight, awakened by the sound of rain spitting on the window with the view of the lake.

Sam took Monday off. It was a bitter cold, blustery day.

They went through the motions of preparing for the day, waiting for eleven o'clock Mass at Saint Chris, unable to eat their cold cereal.

They
went to Mass and returned to wait by the phone. Bill had given their number to the authorities.

At two forty-five, they left to drive to Saint Christophers in Rocky River to pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet.

Sam mouthed the words to placate his sullen wife, certain that he was giving voice to meaningless sounds that no one heard but her.

4

One last lie for Donna's sake, the poor girl,
Buzz rationalized.
Maybe it will keep that damned boy away, too.

Like a good drunk, he had an angle.

He was sure she wasn't coming. She was locked away in her own world, with her own family, no longer a part of his, a million miles away.

I won't tell them where I am.

Wind keened through the broken window. He took a gulp of gin straight from the bottle, exhaled, then picked up the phone on the kitchen counter.

If
he's home, hang up.

He dialed Sam's number.

He was lighthearted when he heard the answering machine click on. The message startled him.

It was Ellie's voice on the recording: "Buzz, if it's you, tell us where you are. We'll come get you. We'll help you. We love you."
Beep.

He was suddenly aware that he had not prepared his farewell speech.

Farewell speech?

The machine clicked off. He hung up the
phone.

He took another snort, and looked through the wind for the first time at the jetty.

The huge rocky leviathan lay motionless in a fury of foamy waves, which crashed impotently against its spine, causing soaring arms of water to reach for darkened clouds.

Yeah. I'm just going for a swim. The weather is perfect,
he reassured himself, biting his lower lip with a nod.

He dialed again. He shut
his ears to Ellie's voice, which was dripping with expectation. He flushed the image of waltzing with her out of his mind.

No time to get sentimental.

He got the message down this time, cold.

5

When Sam and Ellie arrived home, it was Ellie who reached the answering machine first.

Click.
Beep.
Nothing. The sound of thunder.

Click. "This is Buzz Woodward. I'm going for a long walk." There was a
sound of a short, coarse laugh. An insane laugh. "Tell Donna that she had nothing to do with this. Tell Ellie that I'll be back for another waltz." There was another sound, indecipherable. "And Sam, you were right all along. Thanks, man."
Beep.
Click.

Ellie looked up in confusion. "What does it mean?"

Sam fell to his knees. He tore open his oxford, the buttons scattering on the wooden floor. He
flooded the room with an agonized, inarticulate cry of sorrow.

"Sam!?"

She went to him.

"What did he mean?!" She barely kept her voice below a scream.

You never could lie, you poor bastard,
he thought despondently.
Three lies.

"It's a suicide note."

He fell to the floor. His right hand clasping his Miraculous Medal.

"Sam. You're scaring me. How can you be sure?"

He ignored her, and between sobs
that expanded his chest in great heaves, he whimpered, "No, Buzz. No Buzz. No Buzz."

"No Buzz
what?"
Ellie demanded hysterically.

"I'm not right. I'm not right, Buzz."

He looked up to her.

"I'm not right, Ellie. Buzz is right."

"Sam," Ellie said hoarsely, ordering him to look at her with her tone. "Get a hold of yourself. What do we do next? Maybe he's nearby. Maybe we can find him before–before
it's too late."

He was still on the floor, leaning forward on his gangly knees and elbows, his hands raking his thinning hair.

"Get up," she commanded. "Find Buzz."

She punched him in the ribs with all her might, and cut him with her ring.

This worked. He raised himself to his knees, then to his feet. He was a flexible tower again, unbroken by the gale that had just bent him over. He took a deep
breath.

"Where is he, Sam?" Ellie asked calmly, hiding her darkest fear.

Far away,
grace told her.
Far away.

"Is he far?" she questioned him, knowing that things always came to Sam, just as she had come to Sam herself. It would come to him.

"Play the message again," he told her.

6

Buzz stood on the dunes ten yards beyond the deck of his uncle's house. The bottle was in his hand, a half liter remaining,
lapping in tiny waves inside the glass walls. He looked up at the sky. The clouds were darker now.

Come to the water.

He took a burning sip. He didn't want to pass out before reaching the jetty. He looked at the sky again, looking for the cross, which was just a piece of wood now to him.

It's probably over China right now, anyway. Stupid, made-up story. Only kids believe in stories. Sam was right.

He flicked the last cigarette he would ever smoke into the wind.

7

Donna wanted to continue praying, but the bell rang. It was time for dinner. She had already been given permission to pray longer than usual.

She rose calmly, being careful not to linger even slightly. She would obey the bell, freely, with confidence. This was the only way, Mother Abbess had assured the postulants.

Obedience mattered.

For in obedience, there was grace in abundance.

I'll eat dinner for Buzz,
she thought cheerfully.
Then I'll sing for Buzz. Then I'll sleep for Buzz.

And Sam,
grace told her.
Sam, too. For all your friends.

8

The phone began ringing as he inserted his key into his hotel room door.

"Mark, this is Sam."

"Hi Sam, I got Bill's message. What can I do to help?"

Mark had forgotten his wallet, and returned
to his room from the meeting to get it on an impulse.

"Buzz is on Long Beach Island. 121 Muriel Avenue. We think he's going to kill himself, or do something crazy. How far is that from you?"

"How far do you need it to be?" Mark asked without a trace of irony.

"Right now, Mark. You've got to get there right now."

"I'm on it. Is there anything else?"

"There's an Acme on the boulevard on the opposite
side of Muriel–"

Mark didn't even say good-bye or hang up the phone. Ellie, who was listening on the second line in the kitchen, heard the sound of a door slamming shut.

9

Less than two minutes earlier, Bill White had taken a call from Sam on his cellular phone, right inside the Eucharistic Chapel at Our Lady of the Angels.

He was reading
The Way
when it rang.

"We found Buzz," Sam said calmly.
"Give me the number at Mark's hotel."

"Where? Why?"

"No time. Just give me that number fast."

Bill fumbled open his pocket calendar. He nervously relayed the phone number and the room number to Sam.

He heard Ellie say thank you on the line, and a click.

"Sam, you still there? Ellie?"

"It's me, Bill. Ellie."

"Don't you need to call Mark?"

"Sam's dialing on the second line right now."

"How did you
find him? Where is he? What's going on?"

"He left a phone message. He's down the shore. In New Jersey. Sam thinks he's going to kill himself."

She heard a long, static silence.

"Sam figured it out," she explained to fill the void. "Buzz didn't say where he was. Sam listened to the tape seven times. Then he heard the seagull."

"Huh?"

"Don't worry about it. It won't matter if we don't get to him
in time. Mark's fifty minutes away. Bill, if you ever prayed in your life, now's the time."

"What are you going to do?"

"We haven't thought that far ahead," Ellie explained. "At least I haven't. Sam? Sam–"

Bill was confused. Ellie was no longer speaking to him.

"Sam? Uh, Bill. Gotta go. Love you." Ellie hung up.