Tami Hoag - Down the Darkest Road

Lauren had read the story in the newspaper when the Santa Barbara police had named Ballencoa a person of interest in her daughter’s disappearance. She had taken it upon herself to find out everything she could about him, and had found a couple of old newspaper articles on microfiche at the library. She remembered the headline: NEPHEW QUESTIONED IN SUSPICIOUS DEATH.

Ballencoa had been just out of jail for his first sex offense. He had been questioned. Nothing had come of it. That had probably been his first success as a killer. Not only had he gotten away with it, he had profited from it.

He had lived most of his life without consequences. She was going to put an end to that, one way or another.

She had thrown her canvas tote with her burglar tools on the floor of the passenger’s side. She had his journals. If they didn’t prove outright that he had taken Leslie—or some other girl—surely his own writing would link him somehow to some crime.

Lauren contemplated taking them to Mendez. But she could see it happen all over again: Ballencoa brought in and questioned, released for lack of evidence, free to do what he wanted, free to stalk someone else’s daughter, empowered by society’s seeming inability to stop him.

Ballencoa’s lawyer would argue that the journals had been obtained illegally. A judge would rule them inadmissible at trial. Ballencoa would get them back and destroy them.

Lauren felt sick at the thought. Should she have left them where Ballencoa had hidden them? Should she have gone to Mendez and told him about the journals? By the time the police had been able to get a search warrant to enter Roland Ballencoa’s home in Santa Barbara, he had long since gotten rid of anything that might have incriminated him.

No, she thought, as Ballencoa got back in his van and pulled out of the parking lot. She couldn’t let that happen again. She needed to make a plan and implement it. She needed to do it now while Leah was safe at the Gracidas’. She now had something Roland Ballencoa would want. A bargaining chip. She would trade it for the truth. What happened after that would be justice . . . one way or another.

49

Leah felt terrible. She went about her chores on the brink of tears, shaking inside, feeling sick over the terrible things she had said to her mother. The most terrible thing was she had meant all of it.

She was angry. She was so angry. She was angry with her sister for being so headstrong and so stupid and so careless. She was angry with her father for being so selfish and so weak that he would leave them just to end his own pain and not think anything about the pain Leah or her mother had to deal with after he was gone.

She was angry with her mother for holding on so tightly to the misery, and for fighting and fighting and fighting when it would have been so much easier for them both to just forget and go on.

And more than anything, she was angry with herself for having all of those feelings. What kind of terrible person was she that she could resent her sister, who was probably dead, who had probably been tortured and gone through unspeakable things at the hands of Roland Ballencoa? How could she hate the father she had loved so much and missed so badly? She would have given anything to have him back, to feel his strong arms around her as he told her everything would be all right. How could she lose patience with her mother, who had been left to deal with everything with no help from anyone?

Leah thought she would choke on the guilt that rose up inside her. And at the same time she wanted someone to feel sorry for her. She wanted someone to agree with her. She wanted someone to tell her it was all right to have these terrible feelings and to allow them to tear out of her like a pack of wild animals.

But she was afraid to ask for that. She was afraid of being told it wasn’t all right, that she shouldn’t feel the things that had been building inside of her all this time since Leslie had been taken.

What would Anne Leone think of her if she confessed all of these ugly emotions? Leah had told her mother she wasn’t the crazy one, but she had a terrible suspicion that maybe she was. How else could she think to hate the sister she had loved so much? How else could she bring herself to cut herself and cause herself pain and make herself bleed? If that wasn’t crazy, what was?

Unable to concentrate, Leah had asked to skip her riding lesson with Maria. She had thrown herself into her tasks—grooming horses and cleaning tack. These were jobs she usually enjoyed because they were simple and physical and let her see a result, and at the same time her mind was free to wander. Today she didn’t want her mind to wander because it wanted only to go down dark paths to places that frightened her.

She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. She didn’t want to interact with other people. She wanted just to go home, but she didn’t really have a home anymore. The house they were living in wasn’t home. The home she had grown up in was being sold. Her life had no anchor. She felt like she was trapped in a clear balloon floating aimlessly while she suffocated inside it. And the people around her were watching it happen, but seeing nothing.

She was afraid to be by herself. She was afraid of herself. She was afraid now for her mom after the things her mother had talked about in the car. She was just plain afraid.

She went into the stall with Bacchus, just to be near him. He was so calm and seemed so wise. He didn’t think she was crazy. He was always happy to see her, and welcomed her with a nicker and a nuzzle from his big soft nose.

In a weird way, going to Bacchus had taken the place of going to Daddy for comfort. Bacchus was big and strong. He didn’t judge her. He loved her unconditionally. Nothing ever seemed as bad when she was next to him.

She stroked his face now as she struggled against the need to cry. The pressure was building and building inside her until she felt like she would explode. Her whole body was shaking from the very core outward. She wanted to run away from the feeling or curl up into a tiny ball and disappear. But she felt unable to do either one of those things. She put her hands over her face as if to hide.

Bacchus put his chin on her shoulder and gently pulled her to him until she was tucked against his shoulder, and he curved his big, thick neck around her as if to hold her there. Leah pressed her face against the horse’s warm body and sobbed and sobbed until she thought she would drown in her own tears.

Then Maria Gracida was there beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders, drawing her back away from her horse and into the comfort of a human embrace.

Leah struggled to rein in the flood of emotions. She was embarrassed to cry in front of Maria. She felt stupid, but she couldn’t help it. When Maria asked her what was wrong, she said she just didn’t feel well. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She told her she had stomach cramps and she just wanted to go home.

Maria tried to call her mom, but got the answering machine, and drove Leah home herself.

“Do you want me to wait with you until your mom gets back?”

Leah already felt like a fool. She knew Maria had lessons to give and horses to ride. She’d been enough of an inconvenience. All she really wanted to do was go back to bed and pull the covers over her head, and not come out until the world changed for the better.

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m just really tired, that’s all.”

Her boss looked unconvinced, but torn at the same time. She glanced at her watch and frowned. “I should wait.”

“I’m just going to go to bed,” Leah said. “I’ll make sure all the doors are locked. Mrs. Enberg will have a cow if you’re not there for her lesson.”