“What? They’re all dead?” Celia wailed, then doubled over. “Who would do that? Jenny’s just a little girl! No. Nooo!” She screamed, a guttural cry that forced her to her knees. Celia crouched there for a few seconds and then lifted her head to look at me, her eyes red and swollen. “They can’t be dead. They just can’t be.” She crawled to the bed and pulled herself up on it.
I sat down next to her and put my arms around her, still trying to calm her down for the sake of the children in the other rooms.
She clung to me for strength and wailed even louder. “Nooo!”
I loved my sister with all my heart, but I couldn’t focus on Celia’s grief. She would process it and move on, like we always did. Instead, my thoughts turned to Lillian’s children in the living room. I didn’t want Celia’s wails to frighten them. I lightly patted my sister’s shoulder in a feeble attempt to comfort her. She rocked back and forth on the bed, her cries slowly becoming low sobs with ragged breaths in between. I continued to rub her back, stroke her hair, and whisper words to console her. “Celia, shhh . . . everything’s going to be okay.”
I wished I could believe those words myself.
I WOKE WITH A START, forgetting for a moment where I was. All the lights in the bedroom were on, but I didn’t recognize the room or the bed I was lying on. Celia was asleep next to me, and I shook her. “Hey, wake up.”
“No,” she moaned and rolled over.
When I sat up and got my bearings, the horror of the recent hours bludgeoned me with full force. Mark was dead. Lillian was a widow. And I had lost the closest thing I had ever known to a real father. Although Mark was only seventeen years older than I was, he had maturity beyond his years. He had led his wife and family well by escaping the LeBaron cult and guiding them toward relationships with Jesus. He owned and ran a successful small business and provided for his children to go to a private Christian school. He even took on the causes of others —fatherless boys and girls like me. He and Lillian had shown me more kindness, generosity, discipline, and guidance than anyone I’d ever known. His murder was senseless!
I just couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that Mark was dead. And not just dead —murdered. Violently killed in his place of business. Who would do such a thing? Rumors among family members were whispered in hushed tones. But for now, I couldn’t release my pain through tears. The children needed me. Lillian needed me. I knew I had to be strong to help the others bear their pain. Still, the fear was there as always, knotting up my insides, deep down in my gut. It rose quickly and cut so deep I thought it might split me in two. The fear that they would come back for more of us was a constant threat hanging over our heads.
I heard a faint knock on the bedroom door, and Mary Ann came in. I lifted my right hand and gave her a little wave. She crossed the room, sat on the end of the bed, and whispered, “The police have said it’s safe for all of you to go back home.”
I propped myself up on both elbows. “Okay, I’ll wake up Celia, and we’ll get the kids ready to go.”
Melvin drove half of Lillian’s children and me home. Don followed close behind with Celia and the other children. When we pulled into the driveway, I spotted at least four police officers and SWAT team members in the front yard and by the street. Melvin and one of the officers searched the house before they allowed any of us to get out of the truck and Don’s car. We waited in the vehicles until we saw Don wave the all-clear signal from the front door.
Once inside, Celia and I helped the kids get ready for bed. Several never stopped sobbing through the nighttime ritual. We sang the younger ones a couple of songs and kissed them good night. Without fail, children in each room asked us to leave on a lamp or even the overhead light. I doubted they’d get much sleep.
When Celia and I rejoined the adults in the living room, I looked at everyone’s face. This room that was usually such a happy place was now filled with grief, tension, and something else I couldn’t quite pinpoint at first. Fear? Yes, even the men were afraid. I clutched Celia’s arm, and she and I huddled close together on the couch. Celia couldn’t stop crying, so I scooted into the kitchen to grab some tissues, but the box was empty. I grabbed a clean dish towel and handed it to Celia as I sat back down on the couch.
The police officer who had escorted us into the house stood near the front door with a little notepad in his hand. He looked over and said, “Lillian is still at the police station, but she should be here shortly. When she arrives, we’re going to ask you young ladies to help her identify possible suspects.”
“How are we going to do that?” Celia asked. “We weren’t there. We didn’t see anything.”
The officer glanced at Melvin, cleared his throat, and continued. “Good question. Actually, we believe the shooter may be someone you know.”
The color drained from Celia’s face, and her hand suddenly got clammy. “What? You think we know the person who did this?”
“Yes, we do. Because the attacks were coordinated to occur at the same time in three different locations, we have reason to believe someone orchestrated them —perhaps directed by someone affiliated with your family’s religious group.”
I closed my eyes and shuddered. Years after my father’s death, his legacy of control and killing lived on. It had only been seven months ago that Dan Jordan had been killed in cold blood. Most likely, someone I knew well was responsible —possibly even one of my own brothers.
I dozed off for a while, though I occasionally heard Celia ask the police officer or Melvin a question. Their low voices sounded muffled and far away. Suddenly, there was a commotion outside the house. An engine was whirring loudly, but not in front of the house —it was overhead! The police officer’s walkie-talkie crackled, and a voice squawked, “The helicopter is in position.” The police officer whispered something to Melvin, and he ran to the window and pulled back a corner of the blinds to look.
Fully awake now, I jostled Celia. She looked at me, her face clouded with confusion. I whispered, “There’s a helicopter hovering over the house.”
Moments later, the walkie-talkie went off again. “She’s here. All units stand by.” The officer quickly lowered the volume.
The front door flew open, and another uniformed officer entered with Lillian and a third officer right behind him. Celia and I rushed to embrace our sister. She was shaking. The three of us huddled in a tight circle, whispering words of comfort to one another. Although Lillian was crying, she didn’t make a sound. Suddenly, she gulped in air and stepped back from us. “I need your help.”
Celia spoke first. “We’ll do whatever you need.”
I nodded in agreement.
One of the officers stepped forward with what looked like a large photo album. “We need you to look through these mug shots and see if you recognize anyone who could possibly have shot Mark.”