Blame

Mary

“It was me.” Mary’s voice was calm and determined. It echoed uncomfortably under the bright lights of the interrogation room. She reached up to adjust her bonnet. “I done killed the pastor.”

He stared at her. His jaw was hanging slightly open. It snapped shut.

“The pastor came over on Sunday night. He usually picks a family to share dinner with once a week, and last week was our turn. I made a roast for the occasion. Potatoes, onions, carrots. The whole nine yards. It was delicious. Ruth — that’s my oldest — she had gone to her room to finish her homework, and I was taking our plates into the kitchen to be washed. I... God gave me a feeling. God told me that I should go back into the dining room.”

“How often does god tell you things?” The investigator interupted, and Mary shrugged.

“All the time.” Mary scanned his face for signs of sarcasm. She found only a mild curiosity. “We... we’re taught how. At the fellowship.”

“I see. So what happened when you went back into the dining room?” His fingers were tapping anxiously, skittering across the smooth glazed table. He caught her staring and his digits screeched to a halt.

“I saw the pastor with his hands up Melyn’s skirt. She’s... she’s my youngest.” Mary’s face was paling at her own memory. “And he wasn’t checking her diaper or nothing. No matter what he says — said — I know what he was doing, and it wasn’t nothing he should’ve ever been doing to one of my girls.” Her voice was rising. It broke and she gasped for breath. She was shaking now.

“I asked him what he was doing and he got flustered and said he was just checking on her. That God told him to. And I told him to get out. I screamed it at him. I gathered my daughter up in my arms and shouted at him to get the FUCK out of my house right this instant.”

“What did he do?” The investigator prompted when Mary’s silence had turned from a pause for breath into a longer, more uncomfortable silence.

“He told me to remember Matthew, chapter nineteen.” She said. Her voice was crisp with anger. “And then some little children were brought to Jesus so that he might put his hands on them and pray. But the disciples rebuked him, and Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to them.’ And by then Ruth was standing in the hallway and I handed her Melyn and I grabbed the candle holder on the table and I waved it at him, screaming at him to get the fuck out of my house RIGHT now. And he did. He backed out of the door, and I followed. And I got too close, and he grabbed it, and —”

“Sorry, grabbed what?” The investigator interrupted her.

“The candle holder. He tried to rip it out of my hands, but I had a mighty grip on it, and he took me with him. We fell off the porch together and he got it from me and held it over my head like he was about to bash my head in. And I covered my face with my hands and Ruth was screaming from the doorway, but the blow never came. Suddenly, I was free. And I looked and someone had pulled the pastor off of me.”

“Who?” The investigator prodded and Mary hesitated. “It... I... Abe.” She looked down guiltily. “But he didn’t mean no harm. He was trying to protect me, that’s all...” Tears were brimming in her eyes and she took a shaky breath. “Don’t you... I won’t testify nothin’ on Abe.”

“Tell me the rest of your story.” The investigator reached out a comforting hand. “It’ll be okay.”

“I...” Mary steeled herself. “So I got up and dusted myself off and Abe asked me what happened, and I told him that the pastor was touching Melyn and he was holding the pastor down like it was nothing, like he was a rag doll. By then, the noise had drew our other neighbors out of their houses, too.” She looked up, but the investigator’s face revealed nothing. “And they all heard and... I don’t know who suggested it, but someone suggested stoning.”

“Is that in the bible?” The investigator asked, and Mary shrugged.

“I don’t know. I think so. Kings maybe? So all of a sudden, someone brings some rope and we drag him through town and Abe ties him up to our cross and people start gathering stones, and then the pastor manages to scream out over the crowd and he shouts, “Let he without sin cast the first stone!” as if somehow that will stop us. And it does. For a second. And we all stare at each other for a while, unsure of what to do. And then Abe, who I’ve been leaning on and crying on for the last few minutes, he looks down at me and goes, “Go get Melyn.” And I do.”

“So...” The investigator looks at her expectantly.

“So I wipe my face and come back with Melyn and someone has been wise enough to gag him with his own shirt and someone hands me a rock — a pebble, really, and I give it to Melyn and I...” Mary stopped for another shaky breath.

“I tell my little girl to throw that little rock at the pastor. And she thinks its a game and by god, she does it. And Ruth spirits my little girl away and keeps her safely inside the house while we all...” She took a breath and looked the investigator straight in the eyes. “We did what needed to be done.”

“When did you realize that he was dead?”

“I don’t know. Eventually, we ran out of stuff to throw. And Abe told me that they’d just... take care of it and he sent me back inside the house.”

“And you went back inside?”

“I went inside and hugged my children and promised that nothing bad would ever, ever happen to them.”

“Where was your husband in all of this?”

“He was on a recruiting trip out in Phoenix.”

“Did you tell him what happened?”

“I... God, no.” Her face paled. “If he had been home... the guilt would kill him. Kill him dead.”

Abe

“Abe, we’ll be frank with you.” The officer attached the heavyset man’s cuffs to a metal link emerging from the table. “Mary told us everything. What we want to know is your side of the story. If you help us, we might be able to reduce your jail sentence. Under US law, you are allowed to have an attorney present. Did Officer Blake tell you that?”

“Yes sir.” Abe’s tone was short and clipped.

“Would you like us to provide an attorney?” The officer asked and Abe shook his head slowly.

“No, I’m fine without one.”

“Okay then.” The chair clattered and screeched against the tile floor as the investigator pulled it back and plopped down, pen in hand. He waved the officer standing near the door away. “Let’s start at the beginning. Mary says that you came to her defense when you saw the pastor attacking her. She says that you saved her when he was about to strike her.” The investigator glanced down at his notes. “And then you tied him to a pole and the town stoned him to death.” The last sentence was matter-of-fact.

Abe looked up at the investigator, waiting for him to say more. Bemused, the investigator prompted him.

“Is there anything that you want to add to that account? To defend yourself?”

A contemplative look crossed Abe’s face, and he gently shook his head. “No, Mary was very honest.”

“So the town did, in fact, stone Mr. Daniel Rayes to death?”

“Yes.” Another moment passed. “Well, he seemed pretty dead when we stopped. We didn’t have no doctor to check his vitals or anything.” He admitted, almost guiltily. Not for the murder. But for the lack of doctor.

“And how did the pastor get from the town square,” He peered down at his notes again, “To outside of the compound wrapped up?”

“Well, me and some of the guys took him down after... you know. After we was done. And we found an old blanket and just wrapped his body up. We didn’t want him in the compound. So we put him just outside the gate.”

“Who else was involved in the disposal of the body?”

Abe shrugged. “I don’t know no names or nothing.”

“You don’t know the names of the people in your own gated community?”

“Nope.” Abe shook his head defiantly.

“You do realize that cooperation will reduce your sentence?” The investigator’s voice was dry. He knew what the answer was going to be.

“Yup.” Abe nodded. “Hey, you got any gum?” The investigator ignored his question.

“Whose blanket was it?” He tried a different angle, but Abe shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

“And why did you decide to murder the pastor?”

“With all due respect, there’s a damned difference between good and evil in this world, and the pastor was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And there’s a damned difference between justice and murder and we didn’t commit no murder. We found justice.”

“Why didn’t anyone report the pastor’s crime to a police officer?” The investigator pressed. “Why not let the justice system handle it? We have a country founded on freedom and the concept of innocent until proven guilty by a jury of your peers.”

“Oh, we all know how the justice system works around here. Even worse, we know what happens when someone different goes through. He would’ve rotted in jail for six months, gotten a mistrial, and come out scot free to harrass our girls again.”

“Surely you don’t think that happens all the time?” The investigator looked at him increduously. Abe shrugged.

“Happened often enough when we were on the outside. No, we were his jury of peers, and we found him guilty of being perverted, and sick, and dangerous.” Abe’s eyes grew serious. “And I might rot the rest of my life in jail, but I’ll sleep easy knowing that my girls are safe.”

“Your girls are facing jail time, too.” The investigator pointed out. “Or Mary, at least. She participated in the murder. They might take her children away. The very girls you tried to protect.”

“She’s got relatives.” Abe said calmly. “And she knew what she was doing when she fessed up. You could send our whole damn town to jail and it wouldn’t matter a damned bit. We did what was right in the eyes of God. And we will be forgiven.”

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