63 comments/ 87130 views/ 27 favorites Vigilantes Pt. 01 of 02 By: FrancisMacomber Emily and I were eating breakfast when Lori came bouncing into the kitchen, humming a pop tune I didn't recognize. She was wearing a pink velour track suit and carrying a gym bag with her work clothes. "Have you got time to get something to eat?" I asked. "No," she said, "I'm late for my workout already. I'll grab something when I get to the newspaper. See you tonight," she added with a cheery wave. As she turned to leave, the glitter on the JUICY logo on her track pants caught my eye. I grinned at Emily and shook my head. My daughter just rolled her eyes. When we got in the car to begin the drive to the university, Emily reached over and turned off the radio news. "Dad," she said, "you've got to do something about Mom. It's embarrassing to have her dressing like a teenager all the time." "Damn," I thought to myself. "What do I say to that?" The truth was that often Lori's clothing would have been more appropriate on a college coed than a forty year-old woman, but how do you tell your wife something like that? Lori had always looked younger than her actual age, and she worked hard to maintain her appearance. To be honest, that was part of her appeal to me, and I was proud that she was so youthful looking, even if I too was occasionally embarrassed by some of her clothing choices. Besides, the real issue wasn't her clothing, it was the relationship between Lori and Emily. When Emily was an infant, Lori was always hovered over her, spending time with her every chance she got. But as Emily grew older, their relationship began to change. By the time Emily reached high school, Lori often acted more like she was Emily's sister rather than her mother. I knew that adolescents need to start pulling away from their parents so they can establish their own identities and personalities. But Lori seemed oblivious to this and continued to insert herself into Emily's life. I remembered a time when Emily was a junior in high school and a bunch of her girlfriends had come over to our house. The gaggle of teenagers was laughing and chattering about clothes and boys, and Lori was right in the midst of it all. As I was grading papers in my office, Emily stalked in and demanded, "Dad, make Mom give me my friends back." Frankly, at times the two of them seemed more like high school rivals than mother and daughter. I'd tried to get Lori to see that her daughter needed space, but Lori couldn't or wouldn't understand the problem. "We're more like sisters," was Lori's comeback, "and it's normal for sisters to squabble sometimes." That attitude exasperated me. I felt that Lori was trying to deny the fact of her aging by competing with her daughter. But I didn't want to undermine Lori to my daughter, so for now I tried to avoid the larger issue by focusing on Lori's clothing choices. "Baby, your Mom has worked very hard to keep herself in shape and it's natural for her to be proud of what she's accomplished. You have to admit, there aren't a lot of women who can fit into the clothes she wears," I said placatingly. "I know, Daddy," Emily replied, "but it's embarrassing to have her wearing the same clothes as my classmates." "I understand, Baby. I'll say something to her," I promised, but I knew that anything I might say was unlikely to have any effect. Lori had always been headstrong; in fact, that's part of why we married. We'd met in college -- I'd been a teaching assistant finishing up my Ph.D. in History and Lori Carleton had been an undergraduate taking one of my classes. I was immediately attracted to her, but I knew better than to make any overtures to an undergraduate, especially one in my class. But she wasn't unaware of my frequent glances and the attention I gave to her because she became increasingly flirty with me. She'd come up to me after almost every lecture to ask a question, batting her eyes and frequently touching my hand or arm. She'd sit in the front row in the lecture hall with her skirt hiked up high enough to give me a good look at her gorgeous legs and sometimes a hint of lace. It was almost as though she was trying to break down my reserve. Nevertheless, I held out until after the semester was over, and then I asked her out. The sexual tension between us had built up so much that by the time she had come back to my tiny apartment after dinner, we were almost panting. When I turned around after locking the front door, she grabbed me and began kissing me frantically. I responded in kind and that seemed to raise her desire even higher. She took both hands and yanked on the front of my shirt, sending buttons flying in all directions. I tried to unbutton her blouse, but she fell to her knees and began tugging at my belt, then my zipper and finally my underwear. But getting those off over my shoes proved too much for her, and in frustration she yanked my pants back high enough that I could walk and then pulled me over to the couch. She shoved me down on my back, and while I was struggling to shed my shoes and pants she reached under her skirt and pulled off her panties. Without further ado, she swung one leg over me, impaled herself and began to ride me like a wild animal. It didn't take long for both of us to finish, and when we did she collapsed on me, panting like a runner who had finished a marathon. I was equally exhausted. I'd never experienced passion like that and I was blown away. Instead of burning out, over time our relationship deepened into something more lasting and encompassing. By the time she was ready to graduate, I knew that she was the woman I wanted to build my life around. So when she took me down to Savannah to meet her parents, my intention was to ask her father for permission to marry his daughter. When we got to Lori's home in Savannah, we were greeted at the door by Cecily, Lori's little sister, who threw her arms around Lori with greeted me happily. Cecily was an "oops" baby, born some 16 years after Lori. Perhaps as a result, Lori had been a combination of second mother and role model for her baby sister. But if Cecily's greeting was warm, her mother's reception of me was chilly and her father's was absolutely icy. All my efforts to win him over were bluntly rejected. Rufus Carleton was a wealthy attorney prominent in Savannah society whose plans for his daughter didn't include marriage to "some left-wing starving intellectual type." I tried to reassure him that a) I considered myself a political independent and b) I had already managed to secure my first teaching position at a university in Atlanta. Neither argument made the slightest difference; Rufus had already plotted a course for his daughter's life centered around marriage to a suitable candidate from the local landed gentry. I was simply not good enough in his eyes. I was angry at her father's highhanded rejection, but Lori went absolutely ballistic. That's when I learned how headstrong she truly was. Even though we had intended to spend a long weekend with her family, after a private talk with her father she stormed out, grabbed her bags and demanded that we return to Atlanta immediately. On the drive back, I found out a great deal more about her stormy relationship with her father. Lori might have been the older, but she behaved more like a second child, always rebelling against the limits her father sought to impose. They were like oil and water, except that not only did they not mix, they couldn't even coexist anywhere near each other. "I'll be damned if I'll let my father run my life," she said vehemently. When we finally got back to my apartment, she grabbed my shoulders and said almost angrily, "Do you still want to marry me?" When I eagerly affirmed that I did, she said, "Good, let's go!" With that she dragged me back to the car and drove us to the Fulton County Court Clerk's office, where we obtained a license and got married on the spot, thanks to the absence of a waiting period in Georgia. The upshot of Lori's act of defiance was that when he found out what she had done, her father cut off all contact with his daughter. There were no communications on birthdays or at Christmas; even the birth of a grandchild was unable to break the ice. Moreover, the freeze extended to the rest of the Carleton family as well. Early on, Lori did get a letter from her younger sister, but it consisted mainly of a plea for Lori to beg her father's forgiveness. That Lori would not do. Over the years I tried several times to reestablish relationships because I thought family was too important to write off like some bad debt. But my overtures were ignored. There was no doubt in my mind where Lori had gotten her stubborn streak. Lost in those memories, I was startled to realize we had reached the campus, so I headed toward the bookstore. I'd pulled a few strings and managed to get Emily a summer job there. As she opened the car door to get out, I grabbed her arm. "Hey, what time do you want me to pick you up this afternoon?" She hesitated a moment, then turned back to smile at me. "You don't need to get me, Daddy. I've got a ride home." I tried not to frown, but I could feel my gut clinch nevertheless. I was morally certain that her transportation would be provided by her boyfriend, Brandon Hilton. It's natural for a father to feel protective of his daughter, but my doubts about Brandon went beyond the normal paternal reservations. He was a third-year law student, and it bothered me that someone so much older would take an interest in a freshman. I knew that many upperclassmen target new coeds the way wolves prey on newborn lambs. Similarly, I had seen many inexperienced girls, just out of high school and eager to experience life on their own for the first time, get their hearts broken. But I felt a law student ought to be looking for a woman closer to his own age to start a life together, not pursuing a girl still in her teens. His interest made me extremely leery. But Emily was clearly crazy about him, and Lori, who had talked to Brandon at some length one time when he came to pick Emily up, had no reservations. So I swallowed my protests and simply said, "Okay, baby, I'll see you at dinner tonight." From there I headed over to the History department, still dithering about my daughter. I was under no illusions about her innocence; I was pretty sure that the little creep she'd dated during her last two years of high school had taken her virginity. But both Lori and I had held some frank discussions with her, and Lori had quietly arranged to get Emily on the pill, so at least she was protected in that regard. Still, I couldn't help wishing that Brandon Hilton would just disappear and let my daughter find someone closer to her own age. Sighing, I arrived at my tiny office and began going through the administrivia that colleges require even for their summer sessions. But the drudgery of that task couldn't keep my enthusiasm from growing as I began to think about the course I'd be conducting. I'd managed to persuade the Chair of the History Department to let me offer an upper level elective on the same subject on which I'd written my doctoral thesis: vigilantism. My hypothesis was that vigilantes had played a larger role in history than is generally recognized, and that they represent a difficult moral dilemma for society. For example, American lore is filled with stories about the loner in who is forced to seek justice on his own. We Americans are usually sympathetic to such figures and find them appealing. To illustrate this, I planned to show the class excerpts from "Death Wish," the Charles Bronson film about an architect who is forced to turn vigilante after his wife is murdered because the police can't find the criminals. In juxtaposition, I'd also assigned the class to read The Ox-bow Incident, Walter Van Tilburg Clark's classic western short novel about a posse that strings up some cattle rustlers only to learn their captives were innocent. My first class went well. The students seemed to grasp the moral and societal dilemma, and I know they appreciated seeing the violent movie clips. History doesn't have to be boring. So I was in a good mood when I got home that afternoon, and I stayed that way until the front door slammed and I heard Emily running up to her room in tears. The door to her room was closed, but I could hear her crying within. I knocked. "Can I come in, Emily?" "Okay, Daddy," I heard her mumble, so I turned the doorknob and entered. Our daughter was lying sprawled face down on her bed, her back rising and falling with her sobs. I sat down beside her and pulled her into my arms. She didn't resist; in fact, she clung to me just like she had when she'd been a little girl with a scraped knee. Her tears wet the front of my shirt. I ached for her obvious pain, but a part of me was gladdened that she still needed her Dad. "What happened, baby?" I asked, raising her chin so I could see her face. "Brandon dumped me," she managed to get out before her crying resumed. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry," I told her, but I wasn't being entirely honest. If Brandon Hilton was out of her life that was just fine with me. I knew I couldn't say that to her, however, so I just held her and stroked her back, trying to soothe her while she wept. After a while I heard Lori come in, and I hoped that a little feminine perspective might help. Leaving Emily in her room, I hurried downstairs to consult with my wife. "We had a little tragedy today," I explained to her. "Brandon dumped Emily, and now she's inconsolable." "Good," was Lori's response. "It's about time." I was startled; I'd expected a little more maternal sympathy. "But I thought you liked Brandon," I replied. "He wasn't right for her," was Lori's sharp response. "Don't you want to say something to her?" I asked uncertainly. "It's best to leave Emily alone right now. She'll get over it soon enough. Girls do at that age." I was surprised. I'd thought Lori would be the one who was nurturing and sympathetic; instead, it seemed like I was to play that role. Once again, I mentally shook my head at the mystery of mother-daughter relationships. "I hope you're right," I said, and let the matter drop. My reservations only increased when Emily never came down for dinner that evening. The next morning she did eat a little breakfast, but she promptly got sick to her stomach and went back to bed. I let the bookstore manager know she was ill, and hoped that Lori's assessment was accurate. The next day Emily made it into work but she still wasn't eating much -- she completely turned her nose up at the idea of breakfast. I began to wonder if she might have picked up some form of stomach flu, but she told me she was okay so I let it go. It was clear to me that she was still deeply upset by the sudden break-up with Brandon, but Lori seemed to be right: she was doing a little better. That assessment held only until Friday. I stayed late at the office that day trying to get some extra work done so I wouldn't have to work over the weekend. As a result I didn't get home until almost 6:00 p.m. After setting my laptop down in my office, I went looking for Lori and Emily. The door to Emily's room was closed, and once again I could hear crying coming from within. I knocked gently and then opened the door to find Emily in tears again on her bed. When she looked up at me, sorrow was mixed with fear on her face, and for a second I actually thought she was going to run away. But then her shoulders slumped and she suddenly launched herself into my arms, crying even harder. "Baby, baby, what is it?" I implored. "What's happened?" She kept her face buried in my shoulder for another minute, then looked up at me with an agonized expression. "Oh, Daddy," she sobbed, "I'm pregnant!" I felt slightly lightheaded, and I turned and plopped down beside her on her bed. I was so shocked and dismayed that I could hardly think, and I heard myself asking the two stupidest questions of my life. "Are you sure?" I gasped. Then, realizing what a dumb question that was, I topped it by babbling, "How did this happen?" Fortunately, Emily was so upset that she simply responded to my inane questions. "I did one of those home pregnancy tests yesterday, and it was positive. So I went to Student Health today, Daddy. The doctor there told me I'm about six weeks along." "But you've been taking the pill," I protested. "You can't be pregnant." "I know," she sobbed, "that's what I told the doctor. But she told me the pill isn't 100% effective and that I must be one of the unlucky 1%." I clutched her to me, and at that moment I think both of us were wishing she was still a little girl and this was all a bad dream. We sat that way for quite a while, not speaking, just holding one another. Finally, I eased my grip so I could look at her again. "What does your mother have to say about this?" I asked. "She doesn't know yet, Daddy. Mom hasn't come home yet." I was irritated with Lori. Of all the days to be late, this was one time when I really needed her advice and perspective. But I pushed my irritation to the back of my mind because I knew my daughter needed me. I glanced at the clock on her nightstand and saw that it was after 7:00. "It's getting late. Let's go downstairs and see if we can get something to eat," I told Emily. We walked together to the kitchen and found some leftovers in the refrigerator we could heat. After we'd eaten a little, I asked her, "Have you spoken to Brandon about this?" Her face clouded up again. "I tried to call him today, but his number has been disconnected. His landlord said he's left town and he didn't leave a forwarding address." "About what I would expect," I thought nastily, but I didn't say anything aloud because I didn't want to upset Emily further. So I asked the question that had been weighing on me most heavily ever since I'd learned of her condition. "Have you thought about what you want to do next?" I'd deliberately phrased the question ambiguously, but Emily knew exactly what I was asking. "Oh, Daddy, I don't know what I want to do. I'm not ready to be a mother, and having a baby would really mess up going to college for me. But I just don't think I could . . . end it." More tears leaked down her cheeks. Although her next words were low, they were resolute. "Daddy, I think I want to have the baby." I went around the table and hugged her. "If that's your decision, honey, your mother and I will support you any way we can. We'll get through this." Emily looked up at me. "I love you, Daddy," was all she said, but it was enough. I sat back down and we finished our dinner. Another glance at the clock showed me it was now after 8:00. Where in the world was Lori? I tried to call her cellphone, but it must have been turned off because my call went straight to voicemail. Then I tried to call her office at the newspaper but got no answer there either. Finally I decided to try Jackie, her best friend. But when I reached her, Jackie told me she hadn't spoken to Lori in several days and knew nothing about any plans Lori might have had for the evening. When I hung up, Emily looked at me with concern. "Is everything okay with Mom?" she asked. "She must have had some meeting or interview to go to tonight. She probably mentioned it to me and I forgot all about it," I reassured Emily. In truth I was pretty sure there was nothing on Lori's calendar that would have kept her late today, and I began to get worried. But I didn't want to alarm Emily -- she had enough on her mind already -- so she and I went in the den and turned on tv. One of those talent search programs was on, so she and I passed the time making snide comments about the acts and the judges. By the time the program was over, Emily was half asleep, and I encouraged her to head on to bed. "You've had a pretty tough day," I told her, "and you could probably use a little extra sleep. I'll let your Mom know what's going on when she gets home and we can talk some more tomorrow." Vigilantes Pt. 01 of 02 Emily went to her room, but I stayed up waiting for Lori. Where was that woman? The sun coming though the den windows woke me up and I groggily realized that I had fallen asleep on the sofa. I quickly got up and checked our bedroom, but Lori wasn't there. Just to be sure, I checked the garage, but her car was still missing. Now I was really worried. I tried her cellphone again with no better luck. There was no answer at her office either. After some searching, I found a home number for her boss at the newspaper. His response was even more disturbing: Lori had come into the office on Friday but had left at mid-day, saying she had a meeting. She hadn't returned. I'd never had to look for someone who'd gone missing and I really had no idea what to do. Increasingly anxious, I began calling local hospitals to see if they had admitted any patients who matched her description. No luck. Finally in desperation I called the police department. It took a couple of transfers, but finally I spoke to a desk sergeant who told me that they had no reports of any accidents or unidentified victims of foul play who matched Lori's description. "All right then," I said, "how do I file a missing person's report?" "You can't," the sergeant told me, "not until the person has been gone at least seventy-two hours." When I began to protest, he cut me short. "Look, the most likely scenario is that something came up unexpectedly and your wife didn't have time to tell you about it. We can't mobilize the whole police force every time one spouse forgets to tell the other about their plans. The fact that her car is also missing makes that scenario highly likely. "But if your wife doesn't show up, I've already made a note of your call, so the clock is now ticking on the seventy-two hours. And if you can give me the make, model and license number, I'll have our guys keep an eye out for her car, just in case." I gave the sergeant the information and thanked him for his time. I couldn't believe Lori would go off somewhere without at least phoning to let me know where she was, but I couldn't think of anything else I could do to help find her. The only thing left was for me to try my best to keep Emily from getting too upset. The rest of the day I called everyone I could think of to see if anyone might have a clue where Lori had gone. No one could offer any suggestions. I even thought about calling down to Savannah, but, given our history, I just couldn't imagine Lori going there. The entire weekend I felt like Emily and I were in prison because we were afraid to leave the house for fear that Lori would come home and we'd miss her. We felt cut off from the rest of the world. The phone rang a few times, but each time it was only a concerned friend hoping for good news. Loneliness, anxiety and depression were our only companions. On Monday Emily was still having morning sickness but she found that if she avoided eating or smelling breakfast cooking she could escape the worst of it. Accordingly, I switched to cold cereal, although I still brewed a pot of coffee. I encouraged Emily to go to work at the bookstore if for no other reason than to try to get her mind off her mother for a bit. Finally she agreed to go. I dropped her off but returned home to wait. I didn't have a lecture until 1:00 p.m. About 10:00 a.m. the phone rang, and to my surprise it was the same police sergeant with whom I'd spoken on Saturday. "Mr. Manning, have you heard from your wife yet?" he wanted to know. I let him know that I had not. "Very well, it's been seventy-two hours so we're going to activate your missing person's report. Can you come down to the station to help us fill out the forms?" "Of course," I told him, "I'll be down right away." When I got to the police station, a detective from Missing Persons took me back to his desk. I thought I had given the desk sergeant all the necessary information, but the detective wanted a lot more details. After almost an hour of questions, I thought we were through, but I was wrong. The detective looked up at me casually and said, "By the way, I believe we've located your wife's car." "What?" I said, startled. "Where is it?" "Actually, it was on the top floor of a parking garage near the campus where you teach," he said. He paused to let me digest that and then went on. "Are you sure you didn't see your wife on Friday?" "No," I said without hesitation, "not since we had breakfast that morning." "Very well, Mr. Manning, that's all for now." I felt a bit defensive. "Can I have the keys to my wife's car?" The detective shook his head. "Oh, no, Forensics is checking it for clues -- you know, fingerprints, blood stains, that sort of thing." That shook me, badly. Could something terrible have happened to Lori? The next few days were terrible. I was haunted by the idea of Lori being kidnapped and molested, or worse. I remembered how irritated I'd felt when she hadn't come home that night, and I was ashamed of my unkind thoughts. At the same time, I did my best to cushion Emily. Her nerves were already on edge as a result of her pregnancy; losing her mother had made her almost hysterical. Her fear for her mother's safety was now compounded by an intense paranoia for her own safety and that of her unborn baby. Lori's disappearance had shaken us both to the roots of our being. Then it got worse. I got a call from the Missing Persons detective asking me to come down to the station. When I got there, I was taken to a small room where another detective was waiting. The first detective introduced her as being with Homicide. When I heard that, I thought I was going to faint. I collapsed into a wooden chair and managed to gasp out, "Have you found Lori? Is she . . .?" "No," the female detective said, "we haven't found her, but we have found out some important information. We've checked with the airlines and the bus companies. None of them has any record of a woman matching your wife's description traveling on that Friday or Saturday. We've checked with your bank and there have been no withdrawals from your joint checking or savings accounts. And we've checked with the credit card company, and there have been no charges on her account. So we don't have any answers yet, Mr. Manning, but we do have a number of questions for you." I was startled. "Me? Why? I've told you everything I know about Lori's disappearance." She looked at me coolly. "The last place your wife was seen was driving away from the newspaper in her car, which we subsequently found in University parking. We've been all over her car, Mr. Manning. The only fingerprints we've found besides hers were yours. How do you explain that?" I was dumbfounded. "What is there to explain? I've ridden in her car and even driven it a number of times. Of course my fingerprints are there." "How good was your relationship with your wife, Mr. Manning? Any quarrels over money, infidelity, anything like that?" she demanded. Suddenly things began to click into place. "Are you asking me if I had anything to do with my wife's disappearance? I can't believe this -- I'm the one who reported her missing!" The detective crossed her arms. "That's not unusual in a case like this," she said calmly. "A case like this?" I gasped. "Are you charging me with a crime? Do I need an attorney?" She gave her partner a quick glance. "If you feel you need an attorney, Mr. Manning, you're certainly welcome to get one." "But I haven't done anything," I yelled. "My wife is somewhere out there in danger. You people should be out looking for her, not badgering me with stupid questions and innuendo!" "Calm down, Mr. Manning," the first detective said. "We're simply trying to look for possible motives behind your wife's sudden disappearance. You're the logical person to start with, wouldn't you agree? Don't you want to help us find her?" Still upset, I sat back down in the chair. "Of course I do," I said sharply. "Okay, what do you want to know?" "Were there any issues between you and your wife, Mr. Manning?" "No," I said assertively. "Nothing at all?" she asked, "not a single disagreement?" "Well, nothing major," I said. "What kind of minor issues?" she pressed. "We had the same kind of arguments as any couple married twenty years," I said, "you know, like differences about how to raise our daughter." She leaned across the table toward me. "Have there been any disagreements recently regarding your daughter, Mr. Manning? Any events or new situations affecting her?" I slumped in the chair. Unwed motherhood is not the shameful event it once was; nevertheless, I found myself embarrassed to talk about it. "Yes, there has been one, Detective. My daughter is pregnant." The two exchanged glances. The man spoke up quickly, "And what was Mrs. Manning's reaction when she learned of your daughter's condition?" Before I could respond, the woman jumped in. "Could that have been what caused her to run away? Could she have been upset by the news? Did you argue with your wife about what happened? Did you do something to her in the heat of an argument?" I jumped to my feet and angrily leaned over the table toward the woman. The male detective quickly grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the chair. "Calm down, Mr. Manning, calm down!" He shot the woman an evil glance. "My partner got a little carried away there. We're just trying to explore every possibility." I took a deep breath and tried to relax, but the detective didn't release my arm. I kept my eye on the woman, who had backed away nervously. "Listen, you bitch," I said fiercely, "the only person I love more than my wife is my daughter, and I'd die trying to protect either one of them. For what it's worth, Lori didn't even know about our daughter. The night I learned about my daughter's condition was the night Lori didn't come home." I looked back over my shoulder at the detective behind me. "I've had about as much of these insinuations as I can stand for one day. Unless you're going to charge me for some crime that I didn't commit, I'm leaving." "That's fine, Mr. Manning," the detective behind me said, relaxing his grip and pointing me toward the door. "We don't have anything more for you at this time." He pulled the door open for me. "However, we may need to ask you additional questions at a later time." I started out the door, but he stopped me. "One last thing, Mr. Manning: don't make any plans to leave town any time soon." I glared at him and stalked out. The door closed behind me and I heard angry voices. As I drove home I was so angry that I was shaking. But when my adrenaline levels began to fall, I began to rationalize what had happened. "Of course they have to check out every possibility," I told myself. But that didn't make me feel any better -- I'd done nothing but try to find my missing wife. I couldn't even think about the accusation that I might have harmed Lori without my blood pressure soaring. "Why would she even suggest such a thing?" I barked angrily. Of course when I got home Emily wanted to know what I'd learned from the police. I didn't want to upset her any further so I simply told her that they had no new information, but just wanted to double-check some details. Afterwards, I thought bitterly, "Now I'm starting to lie to my own daughter! What a damned mess!" The next day brought a new indignity: the police came to our house with a search warrant. I had to sit on the deck for two hours while they rummaged through the house, poking into every corner, crevice and nook. I'm not sure what they were looking for, but whatever it was they didn't appear to find it. I used the time to call an attorney; it sure looked like I was going to need one. If that wasn't enough, when the police got ready to leave a tow truck pulled up in our driveway and hauled away my car. They promised I could have it back in a couple of days, but since they still had Lori's car I was forced to ask my neighbor to take me to a rental place so I could have transportation. The only blessing was that Emily wasn't around for that ordeal. But neither she nor I were able to escape what happened next. Two days later I opened the local news section of our newspaper to find the following headline: Vigilantes Pt. 01 of 02 Fortunately, one thing that helped me retain my sanity came from an unlikely source: my daughter. Several days after Rufus's call, she came to me with a request. "Daddy, I want to go to a Lamaze class to learn more about the childbirth process. But I really need a partner and I don't have anyone else to do it. Will you go with me, Daddy?" Of course I agreed, so a few nights later we found ourselves in a conference room provided at one of the local hospitals. There were about a dozen couples with us, and the women were at various stages of their pregnancies. A couple of them looked so far along to me that they made me nervous something might happen that night! An attractive red-haired woman who appeared to be a few years younger than I came up to greet us. "Hi, welcome to the Lamaze class. I'm Bridget Murphy, and I'll be leading the class." As I looked her over, Emily introduced herself to Bridget, who spoke with her briefly and then invited Emily to go meet some of the other expectant mothers before the class got started. Then she turned to me with a smile and said, "And you are . . .?" I hadn't been paying close attention, and I stuttered, "Oh, I'm John Manning. Um, I'm the father." Immediately, Bridget's smile transformed into an unfriendly frown, and I blushed when I realized what she thought. "No,no" I said hastily, "I mean I'm Emily's father, not the father of the baby!" Her face relaxed. "Well in that case, welcome to the class. Sorry to have leapt to conclusions, but I've seen stranger things in the maternity ward. So where is the father of the baby?" I frowned myself. "Unfortunately, he took off for parts unknown, so I'm going to be Emily's partner in all this." Bridget smiled warmly at me. "I'm sorry to hear about the father; it's unfortunate how often that happens these days. But I think it's great that you want to be here for your daughter. Not every Dad would be willing to help out." I glanced around to see that Emily was eagerly chatting with some of the other mothers-to-be, so I decided to be candid with Bridget about our situation. I wasn't happy about what I had to say, but I wanted to lay my cards on the table so there wouldn't be any embarrassing moments later. "There's something about me you ought to know, Bridget, before we get started. I don't know if you've read about it in the papers, but I'm the John Manning whose wife disappeared. I had nothing to do with it, but if you saw the news story, you might think otherwise. Anyway, if you're uncomfortable with my being here, I'll try to make other arrangements." She looked at me calculatingly for a moment and then broke into a small smile. "You're here for your daughter -- that's all that matters to me. Besides, in my experience cold-blooded killers rarely attend Lamaze classes. Now, we need to get the session started." I had gone through Lamaze with Lori before Emily was born, but I have to admit that I had forgotten most of what I learned. Nevertheless, I tried to be supportive and Emily was very pleased with the first class. She seemed to develop a rapport with Bridget right from the start, which really helped. Getting out of the house and, more importantly, getting out of my head to focus on Emily was a real blessing for me. The stress of coping with my anxiety about Lori on the one hand and my anger with those who believed I was the cause of her disappearance on the other had been worse than anything I had endured in my life. The chance to forget it all, even for an hour or so a week, was a life-saver. Although the calls from friends and neighbors stopped once suspicion fell on me, that wasn't the end of all outside contact. I was stunned the first time I answered the phone and someone I didn't know began to spew invective at me for having murdered my wife. After that, from time to time I'd find hate mail from anonymous writers condemning me to perdition for what they said I'd done to Lori. There were even those who wrote to tell me they knew how I had done it and where the body was buried. If that wasn't enough, I even got an offer for money from one of those supermarket tabloids if I would confess to their reporter! As a result, I almost threw away the handwritten letter with no return address that I found it in the mailbox one afternoon. But I did open it, and when I began to read it, I almost fell down.