Novel: Filling the Cracks—Chapter Nine

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Welcome to the ninth installment of my novel, Filling the Cracks, posted exclusively here every Wednesday! Check in every week for a new chapter (Access previously posted chapters from the tab on the menu bar above labeled “Filling the Cracks.”).

Trigger warning: The following story contains topics that may disturb some readers, including child physical and sexual abuse, domestic abuse, substance abuse, violence, and suicide. Although there is no explicit sexuality or language, this is written for an adult audience and may not be suitable for children.

Chapter Nine

It was the most frightened she’d been outside of a beating.

Beth had known she couldn’t return home and wait there until morning. Gary would get to her before she escaped again and caught the next Greyhound at six in the morning. Going to the Joneses was out, too. Virgie would check there first, and Mr. And Mrs. Jones wouldn’t allow her to run away. She’d needed a place to shelter overnight. Unable to think of anything better, she’d chosen the bleachers at the Secondary school’s football field and track.

They stood twenty rows deep above the field and were built of steel and weatherproofed wood, painted white with space underneath the seats accessed through a small entry with no door. Under the bleachers were dirt ground, no grass but a few weeds, and plenty of rocks and spiders. In good weather, it was shelter enough to block the wind and dew, but if it rained out, nothing stopped the water from flowing through the cracks between the boards.

She had no idea what the weather forecast was, but being partially covered from the elements and prying eyes was better than sleeping on a park bench or in the open field. It was warm enough in mid-May during the daytime, but once the sun set, there was a chill that the bleacher didn’t protect her against. At least there was no wind. Once the sun set and no longer streamed through those cracks, she curled up in a corner with her duffel bag as a pillow and tried to sleep. The bleachers were several hundred feet from a road; she heard no traffic. It was peaceful and quiet at night. She listened to the whistling of the wind and the hum of mosquitoes trying to light on her face. The coyotes’ distant howl was all right as long as they remained far away.

After a long time, Beth drifted off. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sleeping when there was a rustling above her, and she opened her eyes, immediately alert.

In the dark, she saw the outline of a strange man in tattered clothing, who smelled like a garbage dump and alcohol, standing over her, raising an old golf club he’d found in someone’s trash. She only had half a second to assess he was about to hit her with the club and roll out of the way before it came crashing down on the duffel bag where her head had been a moment earlier. She screamed, grabbed her bag with one hand, and used the other to help herself to her feet.

The man, obscured by darkness, ranted and swore at her, swinging the club. Beth didn’t stick around to fight for her sleeping spot. She’d trespassed on his usual nighttime abode, which upset him. Running as fast as her feet could carry her, she left the bleachers and ran across the field toward the center of the village. She didn’t stop until she had crossed the vast grassy field and reached the teachers’ parking lot at the Elementary school. A glance back assured her the weirdo with the golf club had stopped chasing her—he’d succeeded in getting his sleeping spot back, and that was enough.

After a few minutes, she stopped, panted, and scanned the area, deciding where to spend the rest of the night. Coverville was small, and there weren’t many shelter options. The sky was overcast, but she couldn’t tell if the clouds were filled with rain. She wrapped the duffel bag strap over her shoulder and proceeded toward downtown. She had to seek shelter in a doorway or dumpster; it might as well be at the corner store, so she was already there when the bus arrived in the morning.

She read her cheap watch, given to her for her birthday by Virgie, by the illumination of the street lamps.  It was two-forty—less than four hours to go. The streets of Coverville were deserted at that time of the morning. The buildings were dark, and mice and cats prowling for them were the only creatures stirring. There was the occasional meow and the sound of crickets and frogs from the sloughs forming in the village’s open fields following the last significant rainfall.

She went around the back of the corner store, accessing it through the gravel alleyway. The dumpster lid was semi-closed, propped open by trash. Being too full for Beth to climb inside, she eyed the back area of the store for another nook or cranny she could occupy. Her eyes rested on an aluminum and steel garden shed erected behind the store. There was no lock on the door. Beth slid it open. She had enough space to lie between a pressure washer and a snow scoop, sliding the door shut behind her.

It was better than the bleachers; there were no gaps in boards through which rain would soak her if it poured. The aluminum roof was watertight. Once again, she tried to go back to sleep using her duffel bag as a pillow.

#

Frank Jones drove up and down the streets of Coverville in the family van repeatedly in case he missed her the first couple of times. Beth was a tall girl for her age, slender like her father, and pretty for a twelve-year-old. He worried that some creep had also been driving the streets looking for a stray girl for more nefarious reasons than he and had found Beth before him. He didn’t want to dwell on it. Such a tragedy would destroy Lisa and Marg. It wouldn’t do much good for him, either.

Virgie mentioned Beth took her duffel bag and money from her piggy bank. That meant she wasn’t hiding somewhere to avoid a beating. Beth intended to leave for good. She’d run away. Lisa had told him that Beth was exceptionally bright. That meant she’d find a way to get to wherever she had a mind to go. He tried to imagine where she might want to go, somewhere with someone she knew. Frank had no idea where Beth’s extended family lived. Dave’s final destination after deserting his wife and children was unknown. His best guess was the nearest large city, which was Edmonton.

How would a twelve-year-old girl get to Edmonton on her own? She could hitchhike, he reasoned, which was a terrifying prospect. The only other way was by bus. The Greyhound station in Coverville was at the Corner Store, located, as indicated by its name, on the corner of the highway that transected the village and the main street that ran through the center of the downtown district. He figured she would go there when the bus was due to arrive, but where would she spend the night before that? No businesses were open twenty-four hours where she could hang out and stay out of the elements. Coverville didn’t have a Tim Horton’s or McDonald’s.

He crawled down Main Street, stopping at the village’s only traffic light where the highway and Main Street intersected. From there, the front door to the Corner Store was visible. There was no shadow of a body sleeping under the awning. The light turned green, and he drove past the store, eying the other clear doorways.

Could she try to find refuge in a dumpster? It was something he might do if he were her. With that thought in mind, he turned and drove down the alley behind businesses on the opposite side of the street as the corner store. At each industrial dumpster, he stopped the van, got out, and peered inside it with his flashlight. When he didn’t find a young girl inside, he returned to his van and moved on. That side of the street was clear, so he drove to the alley that serviced the businesses on the other side.

All dumpsters were clear when he reached the last one, behind the corner store. He exited his van, took a few steps closer to it, and flashed his flashlight. The container was full to overflowing. She wasn’t in there. He shone his light on the threshold of the back door, but Beth wasn’t there either. With a shrug, he returned to his van and searched the dumpsters of other businesses in the village core.

After searching every garbage container large enough to hold her and coming up empty-handed, he stopped at the pay phone outside the post office and called home.

“I haven’t seen her anywhere, and I’ve scoured the entire village,” Frank said.

“She has to be somewhere,” Marg said, the timber of her voice higher than usual. “Lisa suggested that perhaps she’s at the school. Did you check there?”

“I drove past the buildings of both schools but didn’t spot her.”

“Did you check the playground?”

“It was empty.”

“Hold on a second, Lisa is saying something,” Marg told him. After a few seconds, she returned. “Lisa suggested the bleachers at the football field.”

“The one at the Secondary School?” Frank asked.

“That’s the one. Lisa says they sometimes hang out at the bleachers for walks or bike rides. The base is empty. She might have gone there.”

Frank sighed, rubbing a tired eye with a fist. “Okay. I’ll take a look. I’d like to know where the cops are. I haven’t seen a cruiser since I’ve been out here.”

“They stopped here to question me about what I knew before they went to the Clark house. The patrol car is parked out front there as I speak. Guess who showed up?”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Let me guess—Hughes?”

“Yup, and a female cop. Kitchener. They’ve been over there for an hour now.”

“Explains why I haven’t seen them or Virgie and Gary out here hunting,” Frank said, his voice sounding more like a frustrated growl. “Useless pieces of skin.”

He told his wife he’d call her back and went in his van toward the schools again. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had missed something in the village’s core, but he’d promised to check out the bleachers, so that’s where he went.

Parking in the teachers’ lot at the Secondary school, he strode across the vast field that contained the two schools in Coverville, directing himself to the white bleachers rising up from the otherwise flat terrain between the buildings.

#

Frank found trouble at the bleachers, but its name wasn’t Beth Clark. He came close to having his head driven off his shoulders by a vagrant wielding a golf club. The drunk lunatic tried to kill him. Frank hoped Beth hadn’t had a similar encounter. The fact that he hadn’t found her lying somewhere unconscious and bleeding yet was a good sign. But it disappointed him not to find her at the bleachers, either. His mind went over everywhere he’d been that morning, trying to think of anything he’d missed. She was either holed up somewhere in the village, or she hitched a ride on the highway into Edmonton. Those were the only two possibilities as Frank saw them.

He drove back through the streets in the core of Coverville. It would be dawn soon. Perhaps wherever Beth hid, she would come out when the sun rose again.

In the twilight, as the first rays of the sun peaked over the horizon, turning the inky sky pink and gold, Frank had his revelation driving down the alley behind the Corner Store for the fourth time. He’d missed it in the dark, though he wasn’t sure how. Now he saw the dark gray garden shed nestled up to the back wall of the building behind the shop. His heart beat faster, and he parked behind the store again. Frank slid the door open after approaching the shed cautiously (after his encounter at the bleachers, he wasn’t taking any more chances). On the cold, hard floor of the shed was an angel.

She started when the door moved, and alert eyes glanced up at him. She didn’t recognize him; the shed was dark, and the rising sun back-lit him.

“Beth? It’s me, Mr. Jones.”

She let go of a breath she’d been holding and relaxed. But her relief was short-lived. Her eyebrows pressed together, raised, and her body trembled.

“Please don’t take me back home,” she whispered. “I want to go to my Daddy.”

Frank’s heart tore at that moment. She was desperate to escape the horrors of her home. He could only imagine what went on behind those closed doors. She had hoped to find and seek refuge with a father who didn’t want to see her. If he did, he would have done so by now. The law was clear about what Frank had to do. He wished it wasn’t.

He extended a hand to her. Hesitating, she took it, and he helped her to her feet and grabbed her duffel bag. He led her to his van. They didn’t speak yet. She sat in the front passenger seat with him, tears wetting her cheeks, but she made no sound, and her countenance was otherwise calm. She had resolved herself to her fate.

“I wish I could take you home with me, Beth,” Frank said, still holding the keys. “I would in a heartbeat if I could. But the RCMP are looking for you. I have to take you to them.”

“Then they’ll leave me with Virgie and Uncle Gary again.”

Frank didn’t give voice to the obvious. He stared at the ring of keys. “Who all have you told about what’s happening at home?”

Beth turned away from him, watching a stray cat saunter its way down the alley. “Your family. Mrs. Nestor at school. Mrs. Lieder, the social worker.”

Frank’s brows arched. “You spoke to a social worker?”

“Yes. She came by the house the other day. I told her.”

“And she didn’t do anything?”

Beth shrugged. “Nobody cares.”

That poked a finger at his wounded heart. “I do. Mrs. Jones does.”

“Maybe,” she sighed. “But you can’t help me.”

Frank set his jaw and turned the key in the ignition, starting the van. “Just watch me.”

The patrol car was at the curb when he pulled up in front of the Clark house. Or perhaps it was parked again after having been out searching for Beth, but Frank wasn’t sure—he hadn’t spotted the patrol car on the roads the entire time he was out.

Beth exited the van looking much like a sheep being led to slaughter. Her head was down, shoulders slumped, hands dangling at her sides, and she shuffled her feet up the walkway. She unlatched the gate in the white picket fence, rotted and missing boards, surrounding the house’s front. The hinges on the gate were rusted, and the latch was loose and didn’t catch the gate when it closed. Beth kicked it open so that it crashed against the dilapidated fence. Frank carried her duffel bag, walking behind but not rushing her. He didn’t want her to return there any more than she did.

Virgie came to the door. The moment she saw Beth, she covered a flash of fury with a faux expression of relief. “Oh, Beth! You’re home. Thank God! Look, everyone, Beth’s back, safe.”

Her acting was so bad Frank wanted to throw tomatoes at her.

Her mother ushered Beth into the house, acknowledging Frank with a glance. He followed them in, regardless. They went straight into the kitchen. Seated at the kitchen table were shirtless Gary, Constable Hughes, and the female constable Marg had mentioned, named Kitchener. In front of each on the table was a cup of coffee. An ashtray with two burning cigarettes sat next to Gary’s elbow. The cream in one cup had already formed a kind of skin over the liquid. On the kitchen counter was an array of a dozen or more empty beer bottles.

Hughes stood up, approached Beth, and kneeled before her. “Are you all right, Beth? Your family has been worried sick.”

Frank rolled his eyes. Yeah, right. “I found her in the shed behind the corner store. She slept inside it.”

“Why were you there?” Hughes asked. Kitchener took a notepad and a pen out of her pocket.

Beth said, “I was gonna take the bus.”

“Where?” Gary demanded, frowning.

“To Daddy.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Virgie groaned, reaching for her forehead. “I’ve told you; your dad is a deadbeat who doesn’t want you. When are you going to get that through your head?”

Frank cringed, empathizing with the worthlessness and rejection the girl must have experienced. But if Beth felt that way, she hid it behind a mask of impassivity.

“I’m sorry, Mommy.”

“You should be!” Virgie snapped, caught herself, smiled at Kitchener, and added, “Kids, am I right? Worry you sick.”

Kitchener returned her smile with a weaker one and nodded. She turned to Frank. “Thank you for searching for her. Your service to your community is commendable.”

Yeah, and yours isn’t, Frank refrained from saying aloud. Instead, he asked, “What happens to her now?”

“What do you mean?” Hughes asked, rising to his full height.

“Isn’t there going to be an investigation by Social Services into why Beth ran away?” Frank asked, surprised he had to bring up the obvious. “She didn’t take off and spend the night alone in a shed on a lark. This child ran away from something.”

“Kids run away all the time,” Gary said and took a drag off his cigarette. “I ran away as a kid when my dad told me I couldn’t get a new basketball. What was it, Beth? Are you angry about something? Not getting enough allowance?”

Beth said nothing, staring at her shoes.

Hughes said, “Don’t worry, Mister, uh…?”

“Jones. Frank Jones. I live four houses away. I know what goes on here.”

“Oh yes, I remember you. Your wife is the one who called us, right? Well, you don’t have to worry, Mr. Jones. We’ll be certain to follow the standard procedure in cases like this. Thank you again for your help. You’re free to go home. If we have any questions, we’ll contact you.”

Frank’s voice was flat. “Right.” He put a hand on Beth’s shoulder. “If you need anything, Beth. You know where we live.”

“Yes,” Virgie said, wrapping her arms around Beth from behind. “We do. But we’ll be just fine, won’t we, Beth?”

Beth nodded, still staring down.

Frank didn’t want to leave, but he had no legitimate cause to stay. “Okay. Goodnight.”

“Nighty-night.” Virgie’s smile was so sweet it was sickening. “Say thank you and goodnight to Mr. Jones, Beth.”

“That’s okay,” Frank said, holding up his hand. He exited the house. Every step away from Beth was difficult. He had no idea what repercussions she faced once the police left the home.

When he walked in the back door of his house, Marg and Lisa sat at the kitchen table. They rose to their feet to greet him.

“I found her. She’s safe, for now.”

“Until the police leave,” Lisa moaned, hugging her dad. “Then she’s in trouble again.”

Frank exchanged a look of helplessness with his wife. But her eyes were hard with determination.

“We’ve got to up the ante, Frank. We have to go over Hughes’s head.”

He nodded. Whatever steps she wanted to take, he was beside her.

Thanks for reading! Chapter Ten will be posted next Wednesday here on my blog, so be sure to return next week. Refer to the menu bar at the top of the page to access past chapters posted on the “Filling the Cracks” page. If you have any comments or questions, please leave them in the comment section below. Also, remember to subscribe to my newsletter in the space below. By subscribing, you receive exclusive access to the Prologue of Filling the Cracks not otherwise available. Please share this blog with your family and friends. Check out my other blog posts, also found here at paulinejgrabia.com. God bless, and have a great week!

Pauline

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