Reprisal

With that thought to bolster him, Bill put the wagon in gear and drove up the curb and across the sidewalk until the passenger side of the wagon was hugging the eight-foot wall under an oak that leaned over from the far side. He got out, opened the rear door, and lifted Da

Okay. He was inside. It was dark. The glow from the streetlights didn't reach in here, but he knew where he was going. Just a few paces to the left, against the wall. That was where he had spent a couple of hours tonight after darkfall… hours… with a pick and shovel…

Oh, God, he didn't want to do this, would have given anything to pass this cup. But there was no one in the wings to take it from him.

Bill paused an instant at the edge of the oblong hole in the ground, then jumped in. When he straightened, the frozen grass on ground level was even with his lower ribs. He would have liked the hole to have been deeper, six feet at least, but he'd exhausted himself here earlier getting it this deep, and there was no time left now. This would have to do.

He knelt and stretched Da

Empty… like everything else in his life. All the rules he had lived by, all the beliefs on which he had based his life were falling away. The God he'd placed his trust in had not lifted a finger against the force that gripped Da

But he went through the motions. And when he was done, he placed a hand on each side of Da

"Da

Da

Bill pressed his forehead against Da

"I hope you can hear me, hope you can understand me. I'm doing this for you, Da

For an instant, for the interval that falls between a pair of heartbeats, Da

"Da

But Da

He looked around. No one about. He had to work quickly now. Get to it and get it over with before he lost his nerve. He lifted the shovel from where he had left it beside the hole. He shoved it deep into the pile of loose dirt he had pulled from the ground only hours ago. But as he lifted a shovelful free, he paused, knees weak, arms trembling.

I can't do this!

He looked up at the starless, cloud-shrouded night sky.

Please, God. If You're there, if You care, if You have any intention of taking a hand in reversing the evil that's being done to this boy, do it now. Under different circumstances I'd consider this an utterly childish request. But You know what I've seen, You know what this child has suffered, is still suffering. We've witnessed the presence of naked Evil here, Lord. I don't think I'm out of line in asking You to step in and take over now. Give me a sign, Lord. How about it?

It began to snow.

"Snow?" Bill said aloud. "Snow?"

What was that supposed to tell him? A snowstorm in July would be a sign. In January it meant nothing.

Except that the ground he had disturbed tonight would go undetected for a long time. Maybe forever.

He threw the shovelful of earth into the hole where it landed atop Da

There, Lord. I've started it. I've played Abraham. I've raised the knife over the closest thing to a son I'll ever have. It's time for You to stop me and say I've passed the test.

He threw in another shovelful, then another.

Come on, Lord. Stop me! Tell me I've done enough. I'm begging You!

He began shoveling the loose dirt into the hole as fast as he could, tumbling in clumps of frozen earth, kicking little avalanches with his feet, working like mad, whimpering, screaming deep in his throat like some crazed animal, blanking his mind to what he was doing, knowing it was the best and only thing for this little boy he loved, throwing off the clutching, restraining bonds of a lifetime of conditioning, two mille

And then the hole was full.

"Are you satisfied?" Bill shouted at the flake-filled sky. "Can I dig him up now?"

There was still dirt left over, so he had to force himself to step onto the fill, to stomp it with his feet, to pack it down over Da

And then it was done. He stood there sweating and steaming in the cold as the tiny flakes swirled around him with heartless beauty. He fought a mad urge to start digging again and threw the shovel over the wall so he couldn't change his mind.

Done. It was done.

With a moan that tore loose from the deepest place within him he dropped to his knees atop the grave and leaned forward until his ear was against the silent earth. Fifteen minutes now. Fifteen at least since he'd smothered that wasted little body. No reprieve for Bill now. He had done the unthinkable. But Da

Was this the only way? God help me, I hope so!

"Good-bye, pal," he said when he could speak. "Rest easy, okay? I'm going away for a while, but I'll be back to visit you when I can."

Feeling utterly lost and empty, he rose to his feet, took one last look, then climbed the leaning oak and jumped down outside the wall. He picked up the shovel, threw it in the back of the station wagon, and began to drive. And as he drove, he began to curse. He screamed out his disgust for a God who'd allow such a thing to happen, he cursed the medical profession for being helpless against it, he swore vengeance on Sara, or rather the woman who had usurped the real Sara's identity. But rising through it all was a tide of loathing, for himself, for everything he had been, for everything he had done in his life, especially what he had done tonight. Self-loathing—it poured from him, it swirled and eddied around him until the inside of the car was awash with it, until he thought he would drown in it.