The Day Mercy Came Home (Sequel to Mercy)

Five years after Beau Navarro learned that mercy could be more terrifying than punishment, he sat in the back row of a community college classroom in Miles City, Montana, wondering whether redemption was just another word invented by people who had never needed it.

               At 41, Beau had learned how quickly a room changed when people discovered what he had done. He had seen it in job interviews. Churches. Apartment offices. Even doctors’ waiting rooms once someone recognized his name.

               The eyes always changed first.

               Five years earlier, Beau had been serving time in Alabama when he killed Luis Ortega, a child molester. Beau never pretended the killing had been accidental. He had made a decision, acted on it, and paid for it. Then there had been the old man.

               The wish.

               Everybody gets exactly what they deserve. Beau had spent five years trying not to think about what happened afterward. Montana was supposed to be different.

               It wasn't.

               Miles Community College had seemed like the kind of place where Beau might disappear into ordinary life. Instead, his past followed him north. One professor learned about his conviction and began watching Beau whenever another student approached him. A classmate found an old article online and shared it. Someone wrote MURDERER across his notebook while he was in the bathroom. Beau nearly quit.

               Then he took Gideon Rusk's class.

               Gideon was 44, broad-shouldered, perpetually under-shaved, and had the irritating habit of remembering everything his students told him. When Beau mentioned during the first week that he worked evenings, Gideon remembered. When Beau missed class because his truck would not start, Gideon asked the following week whether he had gotten it fixed. Eventually, Gideon learned everything else.

               Beau told him after class one afternoon. “I've been in prison.”

               Gideon leaned against his desk. “Okay.”

               Beau waited. Nothing happened. “I killed somebody.”

               That changed Gideon's expression, but not in the way Beau expected. “That's considerably more information.”

               “He was a child molester.” Gideon studied him. “I killed him because I wanted to.” There. Beau had said it. No excuses. No sanitized version. Gideon folded his arms.

               “You regret it?”

               “Every day.”

               “Would you do it again?”

               Beau considered lying. “I don't know.” Gideon nodded. Somehow that was worse than condemnation. “You aren't going to ask me to leave?”

               “Why would I?”

               “Because I'm a murderer.”

               “You murdered someone. That's something you did.”

               “Sounds like the same thing.”

               “It isn't.” Beau stared at him. Gideon continued. “You did something terrible. That doesn't mean everything you do afterward has to be terrible too.” Beau remembered those words.

               Months later, they were the reason he called Gideon at 9:47pm on a Wednesday night. “Professor?”

               “Beau?”

               “I'm sorry.”

               Gideon sat upright on his couch. Across the room, his wife, Tessa, lowered her book. “What happened?”

               Beau hesitated. “Corinne threw me out.” Gideon knew enough about Corinne Treadwell to dislike hearing her name. Their relationship had deteriorated spectacularly over the semester. Beau had arrived at class with scratches across his neck once. Another time, he had slept in his truck after Corinne locked him out. Beau called her psychotic. Gideon had cautioned him against diagnosing people. Tonight, Beau sounded exhausted. “She took my wallet. My clothes are in garbage bags outside. I don't have anywhere to go.”

               Gideon looked at Tessa. She knew immediately. Her expression said absolutely not. “Where are you?”

               “Truck.”

               “Where?”

               “Walmart parking lot.”

               “Stay there.”

               Gideon ended the call. Tessa closed her book. “You're thinking it.”

               “He needs somewhere for two nights.”

               “Gideon.”

               “Two.”

               “You told me this man killed somebody.”

               “He did.”

               “Then why are we discussing whether he should sleep down the hallway from us?”

               “Because he served his sentence.”

               “That doesn't unkill anybody.”

               “I know.” Tessa stood. “So does he.”

               That stopped her. Gideon softened his voice. “He did everything we tell people they're supposed to do. He got out. Got a job. Enrolled in college. Shows up. Does the work. Stays out of trouble. If we decide none of that matters because of the worst thing he's ever done, then what exactly are we asking people like Beau to do?”

               “Not sleep in my house.”

               “I understand.”

               “You clearly don't.” Gideon looked toward the hallway. Their house was not large. One spare bedroom. One bathroom upstairs. Tessa sighed. “Two nights?”

               “Two.”

               “If I feel uncomfortable, he's gone.”

               “Absolutely.”

               “And you tell him that.”

               “I will.”

               Tessa rubbed her forehead. “Fine.”

               Beau arrived 25 minutes later carrying two garbage bags. Dinner had been over for hours, but Tessa reheated pot roast, potatoes, and carrots. Beau ate like someone trying not to look hungry. That broke something in her. “There's more,” she said.

               “I'm good.”

               “You've been staring at the potatoes for 30 seconds.”

               Beau laughed. It was the first time Tessa had heard him laugh. She put another scoop on his plate. Beau finished everything. Then he helped Gideon clear the table despite repeated instructions that he was a guest. “I don't remember the last time somebody called me that.”

               “What?”

               “A guest.” Tessa was standing beside the refrigerator. Beau looked at her. “Thank you.”

               “You're welcome.”

               “I mean it.”

               “I know.”

               He stepped toward her, hesitated, then opened his arms slightly. Tessa surprised herself. She hugged him. Beau squeezed her tightly. “First real meal I've had in weeks.” When he released her, his eyes were wet.

               Tessa looked at Gideon. Her expression had changed. Gideon wisely said nothing. For the next hour, they talked. Beau told stories about prison without romanticizing it. Gideon opened a beer. Tessa discovered Beau loved baseball. Beau discovered she did too. For a little while, Beau Navarro was simply a man sitting at someone's kitchen table. At 11:18pm, he stood. “I need to run to the store.”

               Tessa laughed. “You just ate enough for three people.”

               “Snacks.”

               “We have snacks.”

               “Not good snacks.”

               Gideon tossed him his keys.

               “Your truck is blocking mine.”

               “I can move it.”

               “Take mine.”

               Beau caught the keys. “You trust me with your truck?”

               “Don't make me regret it.”

               Beau smiled. “Ten minutes.” He left.

               Tessa watched through the window. “You were right.”

               Gideon raised an eyebrow. “Could you repeat that?”

               “Never.” The doorbell rang. Tessa glanced toward the driveway. “That was fast.”

               Gideon opened the door. A woman stood beneath the porch light. She was thin, barefoot, and wearing a sweatshirt far too large for her. Her dark hair hung across her face. “Is Beau here?”

               Gideon's stomach tightened. “Who are you?”

               “Corinne.”

               Tessa appeared behind him. Corinne looked over Gideon's shoulder. “You're Professor Rusk.”        “How do you know where I live?”

               Her eyes filled with tears. “Please.”

               “Please what?”

               “Don't let him come back inside.” Gideon felt Tessa stiffen. Corinne raised her sleeve. Bruises circled her wrist. “He did this.” Gideon said nothing. “He's been telling everyone I'm crazy.”

               “Beau told me you've been having problems.”

               She laughed bitterly. “Problems?” She pulled out her phone. Messages filled the screen.

               YOU CAN'T LEAVE ME.

               I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE.

               DON'T MAKE ME COME FIND YOU.

               The sender was Beau. Tessa whispered, “Gideon.”

               “He stalks me. He watches me sleep. Tonight I finally got him out.”

               “He said you threw his belongings outside.”

               “Because I'm scared of him.” Gideon looked at the bruises again. Corinne's voice broke. “You brought him here because he told you I was insane.”

               “I didn't say that.”

               “He did.”

               “How do you know?”

               Corinne froze. Gideon noticed. Tessa did too. Then Corinne looked toward the hallway. “Can I use your bathroom?”

               Gideon's skin prickled. “You know where it is?”

               Silence. Corinne stared at him. Headlights swept across the living-room wall. Her face changed. “He's back.” She backed away. “Please don't let him near me.”

               The front door opened. Beau entered carrying a grocery bag. “Apparently your definition of snacks is fucking terrible, Professor, because…” He saw Corinne. The bag fell. A bottle of soda rolled across the floor. Beau went pale. “What the fuck is she doing here?”

               Corinne retreated behind Gideon. “Stay away from me.”

               Beau looked at Gideon. “You called her?”

               “She came here.”

               “How does she know where you live?”

               “That is an excellent question.”

               Beau stared at Corinne. Then something beyond her caught his attention. An old man sat at the kitchen table. Beau stopped breathing.

               Gray hair.

               Thin wrists.

               Those eyes.

               Five years vanished.

               Alabama.

               The infirmary.

               Blood.

               Pain.

               A wish spoken by a younger man who thought justice and deserving were the same thing. Everybody gets exactly what they deserve.

               “Beau?” Gideon's voice sounded distant.

               The old man smiled. “Hello, Beau.”

               Beau backed into the door. “You.”

               Tessa looked toward the kitchen. “You know him?” Beau could barely speak.

               “What is he doing here?”

               “His car broke down,” Tessa said. “He came by while you were gone.”

               Beau looked at her. “What car?”

               The old man smiled again.

               Corinne whispered, “He's doing it again.”

               Beau ignored her. “You're dead.”

               The old man tilted his head. “Am I?”

               Gideon stepped between Beau and the table. “Who is he?”

               Beau laughed once, without humor. “The reason I'm alive.”

               The old man folded his hands. “The reason you're alive is considerably more complicated.”

               Beau stared at him. “The wish.”

               “Yes.”

               “It ended.”

               “Why would you think that?”

               The room seemed suddenly colder. “What do you mean?”

               “You asked for everyone to receive exactly what they deserved. You never specified an expiration date.”

               Beau's stomach turned. Gideon looked between them. “What wish?”

               The old man ignored him. “You misunderstood something, Beau.”

               “What?”

               “I never decided what anyone deserved.” Beau already knew. He had spent five years trying not to know. “People decide for themselves,” the old man said.

               Corinne laughed. Everyone looked at her. “This is insane.” She stepped toward Beau. “You actually believe this?” Beau saw the contempt replace her fear. Something inside him settled.

               “You weren't scared of me.” Corinne's expression changed. “You came here to get me.”

               “You're paranoid.”

               “You knew where the bathroom was.”

               She glanced at Gideon. “That proves nothing.”

               “You knew Tessa's name.”

               Silence.

               Tessa's eyes narrowed. “I never introduced myself.”

               Corinne's hand disappeared into the sweatshirt pocket. Beau saw it. “Gideon.” Everything happened at once. Corinne lunged. A knife flashed. Tessa screamed. Beau crossed the room before Gideon understood what was happening. The blade sliced Tessa's forearm. Beau slammed Corinne against the wall. The knife fell. He hit her once.

               Hard.

               She collapsed. Beau climbed on top of her. His hands closed around her throat. Corinne clawed at his wrists. Something ancient awakened inside him.

               Luis Ortega.

               Concrete walls.

               Blood.

               A man who deserved it.

               Beau squeezed. Corinne's face darkened.

               “Beau!” Gideon grabbed his shoulder. Beau threw him off. Corinne's movements weakened. Then Gideon said it. “You did something terrible.” Beau froze. “That doesn't mean everything you do afterward has to be terrible too.”

               His hands loosened. Corinne sucked in air. Beau stared down at her. Five years earlier, he would have finished it. Five years earlier, he had. He stood. Corinne coughed, then began laughing. Not hysterically.

               Triumphantly.

               “You really thought you changed?”

               Beau looked toward the old man. “Why isn't anything happening to her?”

               The old man's expression was almost sad. “You still don't understand.”

               “She deserves something.”

               “According to whom?”

               “She fucking stabbed Tessa.”

               “Beau.” The old man's voice was gentle. “She doesn't believe she did anything wrong.” Corinne smiled. “She believes you made her do it.”

               Beau looked at her. The truth was there. Absolute. Corinne believed every lie she had told. Every bruise had been Beau's fault. Every threat justified. Every manipulation necessary. She possessed something Beau never had. A conscience incapable of convicting itself.

               The old man leaned forward. “Your wish was never justice.”

               Beau felt sick. “What was it?”

               “A mirror.”

               Sirens approached in the distance. Corinne must have heard them too. Her smile widened. Then Beau looked at Tessa. Blood ran down her arm. Gideon pressed a towel against the wound. This happened because Beau came here. Because Gideon trusted him. Because Tessa opened her home. They would have been safe if they had never met him. The thought arrived quietly.

               They didn't deserve this.

               I did.

               Pain exploded through Beau's chest. He dropped to his knees.

               “Beau!” Gideon reached for him. The old man remained seated. Beau understood. The wish had heard him. He believed it. For the first time since Alabama, Beau Navarro believed he deserved punishment. His heart hammered violently. His vision narrowed. Then Tessa knelt beside him. She wrapped her uninjured arm around his shoulders.

               “Stay with me.”

               Beau looked at the blood covering her sleeve. “I'm sorry.”

               “For what?”

               “This.”

               “You didn't do this.”

               “She came because of me.”

               “And you stopped her because of us.”

               Something inside Beau resisted. The pain eased. Police filled the house minutes later. Corinne was arrested. Paramedics bandaged Tessa's arm. Beau told the truth about putting his hands around Corinne's throat. He expected handcuffs. Instead, Gideon corroborated everything. So did Tessa.

               By 2:43am, the house was quiet again.

               Beau walked into the spare bedroom and began stuffing his clothes into garbage bags. Gideon appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

               “Leaving.”

               “Why?”

               Beau stared at him. “Your wife got stabbed.”

               “Yes.”

               “Because I came here.”

               “Corinne stabbed her.”

               “Same difference.”

               “It isn't.”

               Beau tied the first bag. Tessa appeared behind her husband, her arm bandaged. “Where are you going?”

               “Somewhere else.”

               “You were promised two nights.”

               Beau looked at her. “Tessa.”

               “You've stayed one.”

               “I almost killed somebody in your living room.”

               “You didn't.”

               “I wanted to.”

               “But you didn't.” Beau looked away. Tessa stepped forward. “You thanked me tonight for your first real meal in weeks.” His eyes burned. “Tomorrow morning I'm making pancakes.”

               “Tessa…”

               “So unless you're planning to insult my pancakes, put the bag down.”

               Beau laughed. Then the laugh broke. He covered his face. Tessa hugged him again. This time Beau cried. Later, long after Gideon and Tessa went upstairs, Beau walked into the kitchen. The old man was waiting.

               “Why did you come?”

               The old man looked amused. “I didn't.”

               “I saw you.”

               “That isn't what I said.” Beau frowned. The old man looked toward the ceiling. Toward Gideon and Tessa. “You brought me here.”

               “How?”

               “Someone showed you mercy.”

               Beau stared at him. “That's it?”

               “Someone trusted you when trusting you carried risk. Someone fed you when she had every reason to fear you. You spared someone when killing would have been easier.” The old man stood. “Mercy came home tonight, Beau.”

               Beau swallowed. “One question.”

               The old man waited. “When does the wish end?”

               For the first time, the old man's smile contained something Beau had never seen before. Kindness. “When you finally believe you deserve mercy too.”

               Beau looked down. He thought about Alabama. Luis Ortega. The years afterward. Corinne beneath his hands. Tessa insisting on pancakes.

               When Beau looked up, the chair was empty. He did not search the house. He stood alone in the kitchen until the refrigerator kicked on and filled the silence.

               Five years ago, mercy had terrified him more than punishment. Tonight, for the first time, he understood why. Punishment only required suffering.

               Mercy required him to live with what came after.