Waiting for Morning (20 page)

She would talk to Jenny about the paper. But she would not worry about it.

By the time she got home, she had nearly erased the meeting with the principal from her mind. She was focusing again on the questionnaire Carol Cummins had given her. She would
finish it this afternoon and get it over to the MADD office. That way she would still have time to read through the other information before dinner. It didn’t matter how difficult the material was. She would need every available day to educate the public about the truth.… Drunk driving really was murder. If they got the message out now, she was certain Matt Bronzan would win a conviction.

She climbed out of the car and headed for the house. One day she’d have to talk to Jenny about the letter. But not now. Not when there were so many more pressing issues at hand. Jenny’s problems would simply have to wait.

Sixteen

The L
ORD
determined to tear down the wall around
the Daughter of Zion
.

L
AMENTATIONS
2:8
A

On a sunny November morning, an hour before the preliminary hearing in the case of
The People v Brian Wesley
, Jenny arrived at school and headed for the library. She walked inside and peered over a bookshelf. Good. The library was empty except for the librarian, and she was immersed in a magazine. Jenny had only ten minutes before her first class, so she would have to work quickly. She padded quietly toward the computer section.

She had tried to work things out on her own. She had prayed, and in the last few weeks she had even tried talking to her mother. It wasn’t her mom’s fault. She was just too busy to notice how Jenny was feeling, and Jenny didn’t blame her.

She sat down at a row of computer screens and logged on. At least her mother had made some sort of effort recently, asking her questions about how she was doing and whether she was coping. Jenny waited for the welcome screen to appear. Her mother’s questions had made her wonder if maybe she had seen the essay, but it didn’t really matter. Mom was too busy working for MADD to be worried. Between Carol Cummins, Matt Bronzan, and Brian Wesley, Jenny knew she was the last person on her mother’s mind.

The Internet screen popped up, and Jenny clicked the search button. Next she typed three words, “Suicide AND methods AND quick.” Glancing nervously over her shoulder,
she saw that no one was watching. Then she clicked
OK
.

A list of web pages appeared, and Jenny’s eyes grew wide. More than sixteen hundred sites! She scanned the first few and saw that many of them offered advice to troubled people and listed the ways a person could determine if their loved one truly was suicidal. Jenny scrolled past those sites. Her eyes fell on one. “Suicide and Assisted Suicide—It’s Nobody’s Business if You Do.” She clicked it, and a colorful page appeared bearing the same headline. The opening paragraph doubled Jenny’s confidence.

“There can be nothing more fundamental concerning individual freedom than this: Our bodies and our lives belong to nobody but ourselves. Our bodies do not belong to our friends, our families, and especially not to the state.”

Jenny read on as the web page detailed the ineffectiveness of laws against suicide and then commented on a book that detailed the most successful methods of suicide.

The library was still quiet, but Jenny knew the bell would ring soon, and students would file in. She read quickly.

“With every suicide attempt, there is a chance the effort will fail and the person will wind up a vegetable. For that reason it is better to use fail-safe methods. The problem then, however, is that these methods either hurt—as in hanging or slitting wrists—or they’re messy—bullets, jumping off buildings. Sleeping pills are very uncertain because they often cause vomiting before enough of the drug is absorbed into the blood. Therefore, the best technique involves taking the perfect combination of certain pills or inhaling carbon monoxide. When done right, this will lead to a quiet, painless death.”

Jenny felt a pit form in her stomach. She hadn’t expected the web page to be so graphic. She glanced around quickly and swallowed twice. Her eyes returned to the computer screen and fell on a quotation set apart from the rest of the text. It was a Bible verse. Proverbs 31:6:
“Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish.”

Jenny sat back in her chair and considered the verse. According to the web page, this proved that God found value
in suicide. The idea didn’t really match up with what Jenny had been raised to believe … but if God didn’t have a problem with suicide, then maybe it really was the best idea.

She felt her confidence grow as she closed the page and scanned the list once more. She found the title of the suicide book from the site and clicked it, but to gain access she had to register for a death service. With a shiver, Jenny closed it and looked for another. Two minutes before the bell rang.

She scrolled past several generic sites until she found one marked, “Untitled.” She opened it, and a page appeared with an index of suicide-related topics that people had posted over the past week. She opened one marked, “The Correct Methods.” It was written by a paramedic. Jenny began reading:

“I have been a paramedic for seven years, so I have personally responded to many suicides. If you are going to commit suicide, you need to take some things into consideration. First, if you care about your family or whoever you live with, you will do it outside or somewhere easy to clean. Second, if you really want to die, DO NOT call 911. Third, leave a note so they have some idea what made you want to die (it will help the survivors with the grieving process).”

The paramedic went on to discuss specific drug overdoses and other methods and why they would not work. He detailed drugs and drug combinations that would counteract each other, nullifying the intended fatal effect. He also described ways a paramedic could help an unconscious person after a drug overdose so that they would not die. Jenny was spellbound.

“Hanging is a mistake. Every hanging I have been to, the person dropped less than two feet; therefore instead of breaking your neck at the C1-C2 level (cervical vertebrae referred to as a “hangman’s fracture”), you strangulate instead. Effective but lots of misery … I know many effective ways, but I am in the job of saving lives so I can’t help ya there.”

Jenny sighed. She’d thought for sure the article would tell her how she could do it right. Well, at least she knew what not to do. The bell rang, and Jenny clicked the print button. Three
pages rolled out of the printer, and Jenny grabbed them, closed down the web page, and signed off the Internet. Some of the information had been good. Jenny ran over it again as she headed for class.
Don’t leave a mess, don’t call 911, and don’t forget to leave a note
.

She felt a rush of relief and for the first time since the accident was filled with something that felt like hope. The Internet was wonderful. Sixteen hundred web pages on suicide. She could get more information tomorrow and the day after that. Pretty soon she would know enough to make a plan, and then maybe next month or the month after that, she would carry it out … finish what should have taken place in the accident.

Before entering her geometry class, Jenny stuffed the printed pages into her notebook. For an instant she remembered how it had felt to be Jenny Ryan before the accident. That Jenny would never have considered killing herself and she shuddered. In some ways the whole notion of suicide scared her. It was crazy. She would have to consider her options carefully.

If only things had gone like they should have … if only she’d died in the accident. Her mother probably wished she had. With all the appointments and lawyers and court dates to deal with, Jenny was only in the way. She replayed the moments before the accident and frowned. How had she survived? Oh, sure, everyone said it was a miracle. Jenny thought it was a curse. She had seen the pictures. She should be dead.

Well, soon she would be, thanks to all that information on the Internet.

And then she and Daddy and Alicia could be together forever. She closed her eyes and pictured it. A never-ending camping trip in the sky.

Brian Wesley rubbed his sweaty palms together and glanced nervously at the courtroom clock. He was early. The preliminary hearing didn’t start for thirty minutes.

A bailiff walked up. “You here for
State v Martinez?”

Brian shook his head and swatted at a stray lock of hair as it fell over his eyes. “No.
State v Wesley.”
The bailiff nodded and walked away.

Life had become a sea of legal maneuverings, and Brian wondered if he’d ever find a way out. If the judge thought they had enough evidence—and Brian’s attorney, Harold Finch, thought they did—Brian knew he might serve most of his life in prison. Sweat broke out across his brow. He’d heard about prison once. One of the older guys at the shop did time when he was in his twenties. He’d entertain the technicians with war stories and nuggets of wisdom. Brian remembered some of them.
You don’t want to go there, man, but if you do, look out for the soap. If three or more guys come at you, man, just take off running. Oh, and lift something for the belt. Fork, rock, something. Don’t go unarmed. Guys die that way all the time. Especially in the shower
.

Brian felt sick to his stomach. How had everything gone so wrong?

The back door opened and Brian turned. A woman entered. She was in her forties, maybe, with a file under one arm and a book in the other.
Too many lawyers in the world
. Brian watched as she scanned the courtroom, locked eyes with his, and then walked toward him.

“I’m not with the Martinez case.” Brian fidgeted with his ear lobe. What was she staring at?

“Me neither.” She sat down, looking like she had no intention of going anywhere.

“Look, lady, I already have an attorney.”

“I’m not an attorney.” She turned her body slightly so that she faced him.

Brian sank lower in his seat and fixed his gaze straight ahead. “I gave at the office.”

The woman seemed unaffected by his sarcasm. She cleared her throat. “I’m not looking for donations, Mr. Wesley.”

He turned to her. “How do you know my name?”

“I know all about you. I know about the accident, about the man and his daughter who were killed. I know about the surviving daughter, and how even though her wounds are healed, a part of her will always be broken because of what you did. I know about the dead man’s wife, too.”

Brian stared ahead and said nothing.

“You’ve caused a lot of pain, Mr. Wesley. And whatever is decided here will certainly be what you deserve.”

“I don’t need to listen to this—” Brian started to stand.

“Wait, Mr. Wesley.” The woman reached out and gently took his wrist. He caught her look and paused in surprise. There was nothing condemning in the gaze fixed on him.

Slowly he sat down. “What do you want?”

The woman sighed. “I know your type. You are an alcoholic, so you have driven drunk all of your life. You should have been more responsible, and you deserve punishment.”

Brian waited impatiently. “I don’t get—”

“Let me finish, Mr. Wesley.” She paused a moment. “You have done an awful, devastating thing, but in your heart of hearts I know you did not set out that afternoon to murder two people. You did not intend to destroy that woman’s family.”

Brian blinked. No. No, he’d never intended that.

“You see, Mr. Wesley, whatever they decide to do with you in this courtroom, you will never truly be free the way you are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The woman looked back at the door as though she were waiting for someone to appear. She seemed to be in a hurry when she continued. “Do you know Jesus?”

“Jesus Christ? You mean, like, am I religious or something?”

The woman nodded.

Here we go
. “I don’t do the church thing, lady.”

She smiled again, and he was struck by what he saw in her eyes … calm … 
peace
. More peace than Brian had ever seen. Something inside him ached at the sight of it. Why couldn’t he feel that? What did it take to look that way … feel that way?

She went on. “I’m not talking about a church thing. I’m talking about a relationship with Jesus Christ. Whether you’re in prison or out, you need a savior, Mr. Wesley. And even though you don’t do the church thing, Jesus loves you. He loves you, and he’s waiting to forgive you.”

“I didn’t do anything to him.” Brian heard the hard edge in his voice.

“Yes, you did.” Again, no condemnation. She spoke it like it was a simple fact. “You nailed him to a cross with your sins. He went there to pay the price for what you did that afternoon by choosing to drink and drive, destroy that family.”

Brian couldn’t think of a comeback.

“Here—” the woman handed Brian a hardcover book—“It’s a Bible. Read the gospel of John, and see what you can learn about Jesus.”

Brian stared at it.
New International Version Study Bible
was written across the front cover. “Uh … no thanks, lady.” He glanced at the courtroom clock. “I need my attorney. Not a Bible.”

“Take it. It’s yours.” She checked the back door once more. “God’s given me this job, Mr. Wesley. Jesus loves you. The Bible says so. Read it and see for yourself.”

Brian reached for the Bible and felt its heaviness in his hands. “I’m not going to read it.”

She smiled sadly. “I’ll be praying that you change your mind. Believe me, it won’t matter what your punishment is, you’ll never be free until you learn the secret of that book.”

Brian watched her stand, but before she turned to leave she stopped. “Oh, I’ll be checking in on you now and then, Mr. Wesley. Take care.”

She moved down the row and disappeared out the back door of the courtroom. Brian glanced down at the Bible in his hand and considered tossing it in the trash can at the back of the courtroom. Instead he opened the front cover and saw writing and a phone number.