Page 46 of My Fallen Saint

She nods.

“What did you mean that you came for Sue? Was she—I mean, did Myers—” I cut myself off, unable to finish the horrible thought.

Laura nods, her body stiff as she grabs Devlin’s hand and squeezes. “Six months he had her. I thought she was dead.” Tears trickle down her face.

“Are you sure you want—” I begin, but she nods.

“Yes. Yes. It’s hard. But it gets easier.” She draws in a breath, her shoulders rising and falling. “And people should know, right?”

I think about what Devlin said earlier. “Yes. People should know.”

“She used to be so happy. Friends at school. In our neighborhood. She rode her bike, played. Danced. Alexis, too,” she added. “Her sister. Used to be straight A’s and in drama. Then Myers came along.”

She shudders and goes silent.

“What about you?” I ask. “Did you stay at home with the girls? Is their father in the picture?”

“I used to work part-time from home as a copyeditor,” she says. “Ben was a store manager. He was—he was keeping an eye on Sue one day while she rode her bike in the driveway. He went to get a soda, and when he came out, she was gone. Just gone.” Her voice cracks, and she pulls her hand free of Devlin’s, then holds them together, tight in her lap.

“I’m so sorry,” I say.

“I was at the grocery store. I got home. The world didn’t make sense. I couldn’t process what happened. And then—and then when we couldn’t find her—when we didn’t get her back and the police said she was another victim of some maniac who’d been abducting kids—Ben, well, Ben…”

She stops, shaking her head.

“Ben hung himself,” Devlin tells me, his voice factual but soothing.

“Six months,” she said. “I never gave up hope, but at the same time I was certain it was over. It’s a horrible feeling, to hope when you’re sure there’s nothing to hope for. And then—then the police raided that bastard’s house.”

Devlin takes her hand, squeezes it. “Twenty-three kids had been abducted over the course of two years. Seven survived. Sue was one of them. I won’t tell you what he did, and I won’t let Laura. That part’s been publicized enough.”

I nod. I’ve read the articles, felt queasy from the descriptions. And right now, I can’t imagine how Laura survived those horrible, long months.

“I’m so sorry,” I say.

“The thing is, happy endings aren’t like they tell you. All those other children. And my Susie. My family. There’s so much healing to do. I’m not complaining,” she continued, “but it’s different than the movies. There’s a hard part after, too. Before, you’re lost and scared. After, you’re scared and fighting.”

“But you’ll win,” Devlin tells her, and she nods.

“Yeah, we’re going to win. If nothing else, I owe that to my girls. To show them how to be strong.”

“This is what the DSF does,” Devlin tells me. “Part of what we do, anyway. We provide services to families like Laura’s. They have a long road ahead, but they’re willing to work and accept help, and they’re going to make it.”

“Yes,” I say. “You will.” I draw a breath, fearing that I don’t have the skill as a writer to do this story justice. All I can do is put my heart and my pain into the words and hope that someone reading it feels some tiny percentage of the grief and loss that seems to seep out of the pores of this woman.

“We’ll survive,” Laura says. “It gets better each day. We took Sue to the park yesterday. She even went on the swings. At least for a few minutes, before she saw the dads standing nearby. They scare her, men. If Alexis or I aren’t with her, men terrify her.” Her smile is watery as she looks at Devlin. “You’re the only one who doesn’t scare her.”

“I did,” he said. “In those first days, I definitely did.”

She wipes away a tear as she nods. “Not anymore.”

“No,” he says gently. “Not anymore. Give her this for me.” He reaches into the pocket of his sport coat and pulls out the ugliest little stuffed rabbit I’ve ever seen, making Laura burst into laughter through her tears.

“She’ll love it.”

“Private joke,” he tells me. “From the first day Sue talked to me.”

I nod, my eyes held wide open, as I will myself not to cry.

“I didn’t realize you were so involved in the DSF’s charities,” I say, after Laura’s gone inside the station to collect her daughters.

“I keep a hand in all of them. Some feel more personal than others.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I get that.”

He doesn’t ask me how I feel about the shooter now, and I’m glad. But as I sit in the spot that Laura vacated, I can’t help but think that even though I don’t approve of someone taking it on themselves to rid the world of Terrance Myers, I can’t deny that I’m very, very glad that he’s gone.