David Morrell - Long lost

"Her name was Eunice. She was visibly pregnant, but evidently her husband believed that she wasn't far enough along not to travel. She came out of the hardware store. The next thing, she collapsed on the sidewalk, writhing in pain. Her husband, Orval, tried to make light of it, tried to pick her up and put her in the car. But when he saw the blood on her dress and the pool of it around her, he froze in confusion, just long enough for a doctor and a policeman-we had several of both back then-to notice what was happening and rush her to the clinic that served as our hospital. Orval tried to stop them, but suddenly, it was obvious that Eunice wasn't having a miscarriage. She was about to give birth to a premature baby."

"The creep was willing to risk her life?"

"He didn't do it easily. Orval told the doctor and the policeman that the baby meant more to him than anything else in the world; that he and Eunice had already lost three children to stillbirths; that they'd tried persistently to have another child and finally God had blessed them with this pregnancy. But to rely on a doctor was the same as telling God that they didn't have faith, Orval said. If they interfered with God's plan, the baby would be damned. Orval felt so strongly about this that he actually tried to pick up Eunice and carry her from the clinic. But the doctor warned him that the wife and the baby would die if they didn't stay and receive medical attention. The policeman was more blunt. He threatened to arrest Orval for attempted murder if Orval tried to remove his wife. By then, the baby was on its way, and even Orval realized he was going to have to allow medical help, whether he wanted it or not. Eunice nearly died from loss of blood. The baby nearly died from being so small."

"The baby was Lester?"

"Yes. Orval and Eunice didn't believe in giving their children names that had religious connotations. They compared it to idolatry. No Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John for them. Once you take away the Bible as a source for a name, there aren't many choices. The name Lester was neutral, a default."

"And then?"

"My predecessor retired. I came here to take his place. Before he left, he explained about the community and told me what I've just told you. He said that, despite the doctor's expectations, the baby lived. In fact, a week before I arrived, Orval had brought the child to town to show how healthy the boy was, to prove to the doctor that God's will was the only thing that mattered."

"But…" I felt more puzzled. "What's this got to do with… You said you met Lester after a fire."

"Years later."

I leaned forward.

"The smoke woke just about everybody in town. I remember it was a Labor Day weekend. A heat wave had just broken, so most people had their air conditioners off and the windows open, taking advantage of a breeze. My wife and I stepped outside, coughing, wondering whose house was on fire. Then I realized that the fire wasn't in Brockton. Even with the smoke in the streets, I could see a glow on the horizon, to the south, in the direction of where Orval and Eunice had their farm. I knew that it couldn't be any other Dant's place, because by then Orval, Eunice, and Lester were the only Dants left.

"Somebody rang the alarm at the fire station, the signal for volunteers. But when I got there, people had realized that the fire wasn't in town. There was a lot of confusion about whether we should go out to help them or whether we should let Orval and Eunice pay for insisting that they didn't need us. In the end, the town made me proud. The fire brigade had a truck filled with water. They drove it out there, and a whole lot of people went in cars. But even before we got close, it was obvious from the extent of the glow on the horizon that even a dozen trucks filled with water wouldn't make a difference.

"It hadn't rained in a month. The wind got stronger. On the left, flames streaked across pastures. Sections of timber were ablaze. Far off, a house and a barn were on fire. We did what we could to stop the flames from spreading across the road. Other than that, we were helpless. By then, it was dawn, and somebody shouted toward a burning field. I looked that way and saw a young man stumble ahead of the flames. He swatted at his smoking clothes, reached a fence, and toppled over it. I got to him first. He was sobbing. I'd never seen eyes so big with fear, but it was obvious that they weren't registering anything. He was blind from hysteria. I tried to stop him, but he lurched to his feet and staggered along the road. It took three of us to get him to the ground and smother the smoke coming off him."

"That was Lester?"

The reverend nodded. "He wasn't able to tell us what happened until three days later. After we got him to the ground, something seemed to shut off in him. He became catatonic. We took him to the clinic. He didn't have any serious burns or other obvious injuries, so the doctor treated him for shock. When it was safe to move him, my wife and I brought him here." Reverend Benedict indicated the cottage behind the church.

His eyes saddened. "When Lester was alert enough, he told us about the fire, how the smoke and the dogs barking had wakened him. He'd shouted to warn his parents. He'd tried to run down the hall to their room, but the flames were outside his door, and he had to climb out his window. In the yard, he kept shouting to warn his parents. Past the flames in their bedroom, he heard them screaming, but when he tried to get in through the window and pull them out, the heat was like a wall that wouldn't let him through. The breeze, had spread the fire beyond the house. The barn and the outbuildings, the fields and the woods-everything was on fire. The only way he escaped was by throwing himself into a cattle trough, soaking himself, and running across a pasture while the fire chased him. In the week that he stayed with us, sometimes he woke screaming from nightmares of hearing his parents' screams."

Imagining their agony, I shook my head from side to side. "Did anybody ever learn what caused the fire?"

"Lester said that a light switch had stopped working in the kitchen. His father had planned to fix it the next day."

"I know about buildings. It sounds like an electrical short," I said. "Fire can spread along faulty wires and accumulate behind the walls. When it breaks through, the flames are everywhere at once."

"According to Lester, it was terrifyingly fast."

"And then what happened? You said that he stayed with you for a week."

"We wanted him to stay longer, but one morning, my wife looked in on him, and he was gone."

"Gone?"

"We'd bought some clothes for him. They were missing. A pillowcase was missing also. He must have used it as a duffel bag. Bread, cookies, and cold cuts were taken from the kitchen."

"He left in the middle of the night? Why?"

"I think it had something to do with my being a minister and the cottage being next to a church."

"I don't understand. Lester was raised in a religious family. The church shouldn't have bothered him."

"Their beliefs were drastically different from mine."

"I still don't…"

"The Dants believed that God turns His back on us because of our sinful nature. What I preach is that God loves us because we're His children. I've always suspected that the night before Lester ran away, he overheard me practicing my Sunday sermon. He probably thought he was hearing the words of the Devil."

"And you never saw him again?"

"Not until last year when the FBI agent showed me that photograph."

In despair, I peered down at it-at Lester Dant, not my brother. The hope upon which I'd based my search no longer kept me going-Reverend Benedict looked even sadder. "My wife and I wanted children, but we weren't able to have any. While Lester recuperated, she and I had talked about becoming his guardians. When he ran away, we felt as if we'd lost a child of our own." He turned his gaze toward the cemetery beyond the rose garden. "She died last summer."