Sarah Sparrow - A Guide for Murdered Children

“Laverne Eakins went into labor in jail. It was obstructed—the kid couldn’t come out. The doctor said it ruptured her uterus and she bled out.”

“Jesus.”

“I guess it was a demon seed she had in there after all.”

In the early evening, he picked up Lydia and they drove to the Meeting in Detroit.

Again, Willow wanted to know how she was doing—but this time with less subtext about when she might be leaving for parts unknown. Instead, it had the flavor of what he’d asked a thousand times of Pace, in both troubled and untroubled times.

When he told her about the death of Grundy’s wife, all she said was, “That’s sad.”

“There’s something I’ve been thinking about,” said Lydia, her brow pinching up. “I was hoping you might have an answer. I’m not sure Annie would know, but it came to me that I should ask the new Porter.”

“Try me,” he said.

“I’ve been wondering what happened… to Winston and Dabba Doo. I know they were inside their landlords—Honeychile and Roy—but what happened to them when Honeychile and Roy died? I mean, finally died… What happens when your landlords die before you have your moment of balance ? Or when someone else has it for you? I mean, I killed Grundy, but would that be enough? Would that be enough to give Winston his moment of balance ? Can you do it like that, by proxy? The Guide doesn’t talk about it and Annie never said anything either. And poor Dabba Doo, he never even found the person who murdered him… So where do you think they went? I know things got ‘haywire’—Annie said it got that way on account of the fact she was dying and you were coming… I didn’t mean that to sound like it’s your fault! But what happened to Winston and Dabba Doo? Where did they go? Do you know, Porter? Do you know what happened to them? Porter, tell me if you do.”

He thought it was of note that she evaded the real question: Where did Troy go? And what would happen to Maya? Because neither one of them had a proper moment of balance , not really. Neither one of them killed the man who had murdered them. Though maybe bloodline was what mattered and Grundy could stand in for his father, “by proxy.” Maybe the killing of Grundy, though a simulacrum, would be enough to set sister and brother free .

The words poured from Willow without thought.

“Annie talks about the Great Mystery… and the mysteries wrapped in mysteries. The mystery of the children who return—and the mystery of evil. I think that whatever Roy Eakins had inside him was so strong that it… swallowed Dabba Doo up. I don’t know that for sure but I feel it.”

“But where do you think he is?” she said, with a redundant, childlike sincerity that broke his heart.

“I don’t know.”

“I know that he’s not where Troy is—because I can still feel Troy. I know I’ll be with him soon! But I can’t feel Winston . I used to be able to feel the others, at the Meetings. But I can’t feel Winston or Dabba Doo.”

After a brief moment, the worry inexplicably vanished from her face, erased by that smile she had when already somewhere else, far away from such concerns.

It touched him that when she sat down next to her brother’s empty seat, Maya’s serene disposition didn’t alter from that moment in the car when all disquiet disappeared. She knew she would soon be departing for the land of the trains; Willow saw the dazzling blueness that surrounded her begin to pulse like a cosmic jellyfish, calling her back, singing to her, loving her. He was certain she could feel its embrace.

He knew Annie saw it too.

A great sorrow, kingly and ennobled, overtook the detective, a palatial melancholy whose bare rooms were filled with the light of grace. Sitting beside Annie, he turned to meet the Porter’s gaze. Willow knew that she understood, having witnessed so many children leave this world for the last time after their moment of balance . Yet alongside such emotions, something terrifying took hold, more fearful than the panic of his first few Meetings. It was the sense he was too far in now, that the point of no return was approaching—or had already been passed. Why am I still fighting this? Maybe his recalcitrance had to do with Annie having told him that Portership was his destiny. Because whether she was right or wrong, Willow Millard Wylde didn’t like anyone telling him anything about his own life.

Half a dozen people sat with Guide s in their laps and Willow was puzzled that he was able to give each his undivided attention while his head was completely elsewhere. They had so many questions! When Annie gave him the nod to take over, he provided answers, provisional as they were. She smiled approvingly as he spoke, with maternal looks of “job well done.”

Maya took her cake and the newcomers were thrilled. (Children being always enlivened by a birthday.) It made no difference that they couldn’t comprehend what the celebration was about, though Annie had prefaced it with a short talk about something called the moment of balance .

After the Meeting, Annie asked Willow to stay behind. The sentry came in with a scruffy backpack and set it down in front of him. “Thank you, Bumble,” said Annie. He doffed his cap and left. Alone now with the new Porter, she pointed to the backpack.

“That’s for you to take home. And if I don’t see you again, I wanted to thank you. I’m so glad that it’s you who’s taking my place. I’m not as strong as you are, I was never as strong, and the children deserve that! Did you notice something different about this group? There was something so grounded about them, so purposeful. There isn’t that sense of aberration I’ve felt for so many months. Nothing ‘haywire’ about ’em! A healing has already taken place—a balance—and it’s because of you. And don’t get a swelled head about it either! It has nothing to do with you, not really. Not a thing to do with any person or thing—only to do with balance. Balance and love. Love makes balance, you see? Yes, that’s what I’ve learned. And if that’s all I’ve learned, it’s enough.”

He knew she would die soon and it frightened him. In that way he had become a child like the others.

“I don’t know what to say,” said Willow.

“You’ll have plenty to say and plenty of time to say it in, so don’t worry. Oh! There’s just one more thing—I seem to always be telling you there’s one more thing, don’t I? You’ve been in AA so I’ll put it in those terms. You told me once that you never really took the First Step—‘We admitted we were powerless over alcohol and that our lives had become unmanageable.’ The surrender of the First Step is what allows you to begin your sober journey. I know you haven’t done that yet, not in this room. You haven’t surrendered—I know it! But you’re going to need to, Willow, if you want to help these children. You’re going to need to finally do a First Step.”

“I’m trying, Annie.”

“There’s a word they use in AA—‘Eskimo.’ Do you know what it means? To have an ‘Eskimo’?”

“It’s the person who brings you to your first Meeting.”

“Yes! And do you know who your Eskimo is? In these meetings?”

“It’s you.”

“No,” she said gravely. “It isn’t me. You’ve still to meet your Eskimo—the one who will allow you to truly surrender.” She closed her eyes, as if weathering a storm. Softly, she said, “I pray that it won’t be a child.” He heard the words but could make no sense of them. Then she opened her eyes and smiled. “God bless you and keep you, Willow Millard Wylde.”