Praying for Sleep

He looked back at the ground and noted that Hrubek had left the drive and was traveling through the brush. Making his way silently on the patches of dirt, Owen followed the madman’s clear path. A flash in the distant west caught his eye. Lightning.
    Attempting to circle in front of Hrubek, he made his way west from the driveway into the field of tall, flesh-colored grass and moved south. From here he was able to see, a quarter mile away, a stately house. Although it was late, there were many lights on, giving a homey glow to the place.
    But that impression vanished when Owen noticed a single unsettling token—the kitchen door was wide open, sending a shaft of bone-white light onto the gravel driveway, as if someone had fled quickly from the house.
    Or maybe, Owen reflected, had entered quickly. And was still inside.

18
    One who loves flowers and literature can’t doubt the existence of God. The lesson He’s got for us, though, probably isn’t so hot. We see miracles daily, that’s true. On the other hand God’s got the universe to mind and doesn’t have much time for passengers on colliding trains, kids dragged to death behind buses, and dear friends murdered by a madman in a state park.
    “That,” Lis explained to Richard Kohler, “was the thought I just couldn’t get out of my mind. For months after the murder I repeated it to practically everyone I met. I’m sure they thought I was totally mad.”
    Kohler nodded her bit of theology politely aside and frowned sympathetically. “You lost two friends at the same time. How terrible. I didn’t know about the girl’s death.”
    Lis was silent for a long moment. Finally she said, “No, it wasn’t featured in the news about the trial. Her death was considered accidental.”
    “May I ask . . . ?”
    Lis glanced at him inquiringly.
    “Did you hear anyone call for help?”
    “How do you mean?”
    “Claire, I’m thinking of. Before you saw Michael and ran into the cave, did you hear her scream?”
    When Lis didn’t respond, Kohler added, “It just seems that with Michael chasing her down the path . . . I mean, he was chasing her, wasn’t he?”
    Lis couldn’t guess the purpose of his questions. After a moment she said, “I didn’t hear anything. There weren’t any screams.”
    “Why would she go into the cave in the first place?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “It’s curious, isn’t it? You’d think with Michael after her, she’d continue running down the canyon. A cave is the last place I’d want to be with Michael chasing me.”
    She was testy. “I can’t speak for her. Obviously.”
    “I’m just wondering. Later, did you think about it? A young girl, being chased by a huge man like Michael. I would’ve thought she’d scream at some point.”
    “Maybe she did. Maybe I didn’t hear her. I don’t really—”
    “It was close to where you were looking for her though, wasn’t it?” Kohler persisted. “From the way you described it, I—”
    “It was close to where I was, yes, but . . .” She felt cross-examined and forced herself to be calm. “I don’t know. Maybe I blocked it out. Maybe she did scream, and I don’t remember it. That’s possible, isn’t it?”
    “Oh, sure. Post-trauma stress. Very possible.”
    “Well, then.”
    Kohler said something, perhaps by way of apology, but Lis didn’t hear. She was thinking: Claire. My poor Claire. And pictured the girl’s pale eyes, the hair that tumbled over her shoulders like water, the white mouth that needed lipstick the girl was too bashful to apply.
    She had grieved for Robert, yes, but it was the girl’s death that hurt her the deepest. She hadn’t known that she could be so attached to a youngster. Lis had always felt a certain uneasiness around children, even her students. She rarely put it that way and tended to think of her and Owen’s childlessness as circumstance. But the truth was, she just hadn’t wanted a son or daughter. She couldn’t picture the Atcheson family on a picnic, austere Owen cradling an infant Andy, she herself dropping a line of formula onto her wrist to test the temperature. Baby showers. Strollers. PTA meetings. Embarrassing conversations about the facts of life . . .
    But about Claire Lis felt differently. Claire she’d sought out. Lis viewed the girl through a rare crack in the wall of distant time and saw in the student’s eyes and halting manners the effigy of another thin, shy girl from years before. A child whose father was both