Heather Gudenkauf - The Weight of Silence

I think you might be waking up. You are kind of wiggling around, trying to open your eyes, but you can’t. You’re so tired. I’m half-afraid that when you do finally open them up you’re going to start hollering like you did when you first saw me. I start to go for the nurse’s buzzer, thinking maybe you’re hurting somewhere, but then you stop moving around and fall back asleep. I finish eating my chocolate pudding and keep flicking through the channels and when I look back at you, you are awake, just staring at me, like you can’t quite believe I am here. Then you smile, just a little bit, but it’s a smile anyway. I climb out of my bed and come over to your side.

“You okay?” I ask and you nod yes. “That’s good,” I say. You look at me kind of funny and I hurry up to say that I am okay, too. Then you do something that surprises me. You pull back your bedcovers and pat the space right next to you. I climb in next to you, being careful of the tube stuck in your arm, it’s a tight fit in your little hospital bed, but I squeeze in.

At home, at night, sometimes you’d climb into my bed with me if you couldn’t get to sleep and I’d tell you some story. Lots of times I’d tell you the regular fairy tales, Red Riding Hood, the Three Little Pigs. But sometimes I just made something up, like you and Petra being princesses and going on these great adventures. You liked them, though, those lame stories. And I figure you want me to tell you one now. I don’t know where to begin. It seems stupid to tell you a story about the Gingerbread Man after what happened today. Then I get an idea. Probably a really dumb idea, and if Mom had known I was going to start telling you this story, I’m sure she probably would ground me for life. But it just sorta begins to spill out of me.

“Once upon a time there were two princesses, one named Calli and one named Petra. These princesses were both beautiful and smart and they were best friends. They didn’t really care about being beautiful, though. They thought it was more important to be smart and brave. And they had many wonderful adventures together fighting dragons and witches and trolls. The thing was, Princess Calli didn’t talk. No one knew why she didn’t talk, but she didn’t. She was still smart and brave. Plus she had Princess Petra to talk for her. They were quite a team, the two of them. Petra would say the magic words and Calli would wave her magic hands and the fire-breathing dragon would fall over dead and the mean old witch would be turned into a slug.” You smile up at me at this part, that is one of your favorite stories, the one about the witch being turned into a slug.

“One day, though, Princess Calli and Princess Petra got lost in the woods.” I stop and look over at you during this part. You look up at me like you aren’t sure what I am doing, but you don’t act like I should stop, so I don’t. The door opens and the doctor comes in, the one with the crazy tie. I think maybe I should stop telling the story, but he tells me to keep on going, that he is just going to check you and me over quick.

“So Princess Calli and Princess Petra were lost in the woods and the thing was they didn’t go into the woods on their own, Princess Calli’s dad took them there.” I look at you again and you are frowning, like what I am saying is all wrong, so I try again. “Princess Petra and Princess Calli went into the woods by themselves?” Again you shake your head no. I try again. “Some stranger took Princess Calli and Princess Petra into the woods?” Again, no. My idea isn’t working so good and I look at Dr. Higby, who sits down in a chair in the corner of the room, in a spot where you can’t see him. He gives me a nod like he wants me to keep trying.

“Only Princess Calli was taken into the woods by her father, who was under the spell of some nasty potion?” Calli nods hard at this and I sigh. Now I am getting somewhere.

MARTIN

My hands go to the tender spot where Griff had hit me with the gun. I can hear the police sirens getting closer and I am relieved. Such a stupid thing I have done, coming here, thinking that I could mete out justice like some all-knowing demigod. I could never actually shoot someone, even the most vile, evil of men. I am just an angry, silly, weak man, who once again has let things get beyond his control. I scan the ground before me, looking for the gun that Griff knocked from my hand. It is gone and so is Antonia. I have failed her, too. I feel dizzy and nauseous from the lump on my head and I lean against Antonia’s shed for support.

When the sirens are upon me and I see a number of officers spill from their cars I call out to them, not wanting to be mistaken for a criminal. Actually, that is exactly what I am. An inept vigilante. Within seconds I am surrounded by police officers, one of them being, to my relief, Deputy Sheriff Louis.

“Where’s Toni?” he asks me immediately. “Where did he take her?”

“The woods,” I say, pointing in the general direction I had seen her run. “She tried to get away, but he was too quick. They went into the forest.” Without another word, Deputy Louis is gone and behind him a gaggle of officers follows him, including Agent Fitzgerald.

A woman in a blue suit much too formal for the situation, I absurdly think, steadies me by holding my arm. A man takes my other arm and they gently settle me to the ground.

“An ambulance is on the way,” the woman assures me. “Are you Martin Gregory?” she asks.

“I am,” I say weakly, still holding my throbbing head.

“Let me see.” She shines her penlight on my head and winces at what must have been an awful gash. Her companion fishes a handkerchief from his suit jacket and presses it into my hand.

“I’m Agent Simon and this is Agent Temperly. We’re assisting in the investigation of your daughter’s abduction. Can you tell us what happened?”

“I made a mistake. I made a big mistake,” I say, feeling very sleepy. This must have been how Petra felt, I thought, with the gash that I had seen on her head. I’m in pain, this is certain, I have an incredible urge to just sleep, but what Petra has to be going through is so much worse.

“What happened?” the woman asks me again.

I sit for a long time saying nothing, not sure of the way to tell them, to share my ridiculous story of selfishness. Finally, Agent Simon rescues me by saying, “What happened to Antonia Clark?” This I can answer.

“Her husband took her into the woods.” Again I point in the direction that I saw Antonia run.

“Did he have any weapons? There were reports of gunfire,” the agent named Temperly asks.

“A gun,” I say, knowing now that I could not postpone the inevitable. “I think he picked up the gun from the ground and took Antonia into the woods.” Blood has seeped through the handkerchief that Temperly handed to me. I fold it, trying to find a clean spot to hold against my head.

“What gun from the ground?” Agent Simon asks, I think already knowing the answer.

“My gun. I came here with a gun,” I admit. “Then Antonia arrived and I couldn’t let her go in the woods where he was. Not after what he did to my daughter. So I warned her. We hid and he found us.”

“Did you threaten him with the gun?” Agent Temperly asks.

“No, no, but I was holding it. That was threatening enough, I think. He knocked it from my hand and it went off, into the ground.” I show them the damaged ground where the bullet had impacted. “He hit me with the gun and Antonia tried to run away. He caught her and pulled her into the woods. They could not have gone far. It’s not loaded, though. The gun. I only had one bullet and that one was used.”

“It’s not loaded,” Simon says, her voice oddly grave.