Damaged Amazon

by Kim Pritekel

  Centered in the picture was the burnt, shriveled corpse of Penny Garcia from where it had been lying in what was left of Shannon’s living room.

  “What the fuck is that?”

  “I think the more important question is who is that?” Sarah said, producing another picture that was similar but a closer shot of the skull fracture in Penny’s right temple. “Pretty ugly, huh?”

  He sat back from the table and cleared his throat, looking a bit uncomfortable. “You got a cigarette or what?”

  “Sure.” Sarah reached into the pocket of her blazer and, prepared with the foreknowledge of Ellis’s favorite brand, pulled out half a pack. She despised cigarettes and their putrid scent but had removed half the smokes, so it looked as though it was her own pack. She offered it to him then lit it for him.

  As he took a long drag, she set the pack of cigarettes on the table and shoved an aluminum ashtray over to him that had been on the table already. Leaving the two gruesome pictures where they were, she produced a third visual. It was a white page with a simple drawn mock-up of the female body, much like a medical examiner would use during an autopsy. At the head, drawn in blue pen, were the specific injuries of the blow to the head, including placement and shape. She placed it in front of Ellis, directly next to the close-up photo of Penny Garcia’s head.

  “Look at that,” she said, tapping a manicured fingernail on the drawing. “Outlines the brutality of that hit. Ouch, huh?” She shook her head as if in wonder. “Pretty amazing how close those medical folks got with that drawing. Good job showing the injuries, don’t you think?” Not letting him stop to think or even take a breath, she continued. “You know the most interesting detail to me? As similar as these two are, I mean, hey, they’re identical, yeah?” She stood and placed her hands on the table, leaning forward and looking him in the eye. “These belong to two different women, Ellis,” she said softly, almost as though soothing a nervous animal. “These wounds were doled out as punishment, and—” She stood straight and reached into the box to produce a metal black baton often used by police or bouncers. With the firm push of a button, the button extended with a wicked snap that startled Ellis. He looked at her with wide gray eyes. “Something like this, according to experts, is extremely consistent with both cases.” She gave him a saucy little grin. “Oh, don’t worry, Ellis. This one isn’t yours. I brought it to give you an idea of what we’re dealing with. See, yours is in the lab, being tested.”

  “Tested?” he asked, his voice much weaker than the cocky man who’d been sitting there for thirty minutes.

  “Yeah, you know, for blood, skull fragments, brain matter.” She looked him in the eyes. “DNA.” She let the smile drop from her lips as he shifted in his seat. “You know what else the experts have told us? From the angle of the injuries, both to the right temple with tremendous force, it was likely delivered by a lefty.” She nearly laughed out loud when he glanced at the cigarette held between the two first fingers of his left hand. He quickly dropped the smoke into the ashtray.

  She placed the baton on the table and reached in again, her hand resting on the thing she planned to bring out next.

  “I have two more pieces of show-and-tell for you, Ellis. Ready?” When he didn’t answer, she brought out the thumb drive, still sealed in the clear evidence bag. That too was placed on the table. “See…” She sat back down, looked at the dumbstruck young man, and spoke softly. “Here’s how I think this happened. Let me know if I’m close. I think you and Ronnie Garcia, oh, by the way, he’s having a little chat of his own down the hall,” she fibbed. “You boys got yourselves into some pretty deep shit dealing with a drug cartel that had you in way over your heads. For some reason, you thought Shannon had either taken this from you”—she tapped the evidence bag—“or she was going to snitch. Here’s the kicker, Ellis.” She lowered her voice that much more so he had to listen closely. “She had no idea that thumb drive was in her possession.”

  Ellis swallowed hard and looked away for a moment, his cigarette forgotten in the ashtray.

  “Do you believe in ghosts, Ellis?” she asked casually.

  He blinked several times. “Wait, what? Ghosts?”

  “Yeah. You see, we got hold of Shannon’s phone records, including a printout of all her texts. Do you know what we found, Ellis?” She waited in vain for a response. “We found a text from Ronnie Garcia’s number claiming to be Rick Stanton wanting to see her the night she disappeared.” She sat back in her chair, eyeing him. “Now, here’s the thing I don’t understand. Ronnie told us that Shannon told him that the father of her daughter was dead.” She stared at him, watching as he began to squirm. “One more thing.”

  She reached into the folder one more time and placed another glossy on the pile that was already there. She watched in absolute satisfaction as he paled, looking much like a ghost himself. The picture was a shot of Shannon in her hospital bed, definitely worse for wear, but alive and staring into the camera lens.

  “Shannon Schaeffer isn’t missing anymore.”

  With that, Sarah pushed back from the table, startling Ellis as the chair legs screeched across the linoleum. She walked to the door and, with a sick satisfaction, opened it with the scent of fresh urine in the air.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Tyler, get your butt down here for dinner!” Andrew called, holding his tie against his belly as he placed the final plate on the table. “Sylvia, would you please get glasses?”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  “Are we ready?” Jill asked, glancing over her shoulder from where she stood at the stove.

  “Yeah, honey, we made space,” Andrew said, reaching down to straighten the hot pad. “Can you get that or do you want help?”

  “Get the garlic bread out of the top oven, if you would.”

  “You got it.”

  Sylvia’s look of confusion wasn’t lost on Andrew and he internally chuckled. I get it, kid. It wasn’t as though he and Jill had exactly been the perfect example of parents or family in the past. But, as their therapist, Dr. Kyle, had suggested, they were going to work harder than anything they’d ever worked at to get this family back on the right track.

  “Okay, here it comes,” Jill said, hurrying over to the table while carrying a massive glass casserole dish of homemade lasagna between two oven mitt-covered hands.

  “Tyler Michael!”

  “Uh-oh,” Sylvia said with a small grin, setting down the fourth glass at the place setting. “Dad used his middle name. He’s in deep, now.”

  “Sylvia.” Jill’s voice held a warning tone, even as a small smile twitched the corner of her mouth.

  “God, this smells amazing,” Andrew said, nearly drooling as he leaned over the table to take in the full gorgeous picture of his wife’s masterpiece. She was an incredible cook and, as the years had gone on and their divide had grown, she’d cooked less and less. Her lasagna, one of his favorites, was an absolutely welcome sight.

  “Yeah?” Jill said, giving him a side glance. “I hope you enjoy.”

  He grinned at her, admittedly affected by her tone, a tone that used to be only for him. “I’m sure I will.” They shared a quick smile before he turned to his daughter. “Sylvia, please go get your brother.”

  “Okay,” she said with a heavy sigh, pushing up from her chair and trotting up the stairs. “Hey, idiot!” she yelled. “Come on, dinner.”

  “So kind to each other.” Jill smirked, taking the seat Andrew pulled out for her. She glanced over at him as he took his seat. “Are you still good with talking to him tonight about Saint John’s?”

  “Yeah.” Andrew nodded. “I think it’s a good idea.”

  “Dad!” Sylvia screeched.

  Without thought, Andrew pushed his chair back so hard it tipped over backward. He took the stairs two at a time until he arrived at Tyler’s bedroom at the top of the stairs. “Oh, Jesus!” He shoved Sylvia aside as she tried to hold her brother up. “God no, no, no…”

  “What’s the matter
?” Jill asked, running into the room. “Tyler! God, no!”

  “Call 911!” Andrew barked, grunting as he lifted his son’s weight with one arm, crushing his body against his own as he reached up to loosen the belt tied around the bar in his closet.

  Freed, the dead weight fell into Andrew’s arms and he lowered him to the floor. Tyler’s color was gray, his lips slightly opened and eyes closed.

  “Call 911!” he yelled again, only hearing someone run from the room as he began CPR. “Come on, come on,” he pleaded, on his knees as he crossed his hands and did compressions on his son’s chest. “Come on, Tyler. Goddamn it, come on.”

  Jill collapsed on the floor beside him, holding her son’s hand as she sobbed. “Breathe, Tyler!”

  Andrew gave him more breath before returning to compressions. Distantly he could hear the wail of sirens. He looked up across their son at Jill, terror in her eyes.

  ****

  Windshield wipers slapped back and forth, trying desperately to keep up with the deluge that had befallen Pueblo. Andrew felt it was as if God himself were unleashing His own tears and fear on the city. He drove with a quietly crying Sylvia at his side, following the bright red and blue lights of the wailing ambulance in front of him, Jill inside with their son.

  His Mercedes veered off into the emergency room parking lot as the ambulance continued to the ER doors. Cutting the engine, he spared a glance at his daughter—she shook and clutched the edges of her shirt.

  “Hey,” he said softly, reaching over to take her hand. When he caught her tear-filled gaze, he forced a smile. “It’s going to be okay.” He leaned over and left a kiss on the side of her head, and they climbed out of the car.

  ****

  Jill sat in the waiting room holding Sylvia, her fingers running through her daughter’s hair. So many emotions washing through her, she almost felt faint. She was scared, horrified at what she’d seen, knew she had to keep it together for Sylvia, and yet wanted to fall apart herself. She was so relieved to feel Andy’s arm stretched across the back of her chair, his fingers absently massaging her shoulder.

  “Schaeffer?”

  Jill glanced over to see a man standing at the entrance of the waiting room dressed in pressed khakis and a tucked-in light blue button-up shirt. His dark brown hair was short and stylish.

  “Here,” Andrew said. “Tyler Schaeffer?”

  The man walked over to the family. “Hello, I’m Jack Ballard, the Psych Liaison for Parkview.” He sat in a chair across from the trio. “First of all, I want to tell you that Tyler will be okay. The doctors don’t feel there will be any long-term problems physically from this attempt.”

  Jill felt her heart begin to beat again, tears of relief and gratitude stinging the backs of her eyes. “Thank God,” she whispered. “Can we see him?”

  “Not quite yet. I need to ask you a few questions and fill you in on what will happen next.”

  “Okay,” Andrew said, his grip on Jill’s shoulder tightening.

  “Has Tyler ever tried this before?” he asked gently, looking from Jill to Andrew and back.

  Jill shook her head, bringing up a hand to swipe at a tear that managed to escape. “No, never.”

  “All right,” he said, writing something down on the page attached to a clipboard that rested in his lap. “Is he on any type of prescribed medication?”

  “No, nothing.”

  “And, alcohol and drugs. Does he have any kind of history with either of these? Even just experimental?”

  Jill glanced at Andrew, thinking of the BS with her father not long ago. She returned her gaze to the man sitting across from her. “Tyler doesn’t really hang out with his friends away from the house, and there’s never been anything reported to us at school. We’re not big drinkers at home, so…”

  “Speaking of school, how are his grades? Any friend issues? Romantic entanglements? That sort of thing.”

  Andrew cleared his throat. “He’s actually in the process of being expelled. He’s always had issues in school, bad grades, his teachers have mentioned issues with focusing.”

  Jill looked down at her lap, feeling like such a failure.

  “And finally, has Tyler ever been in therapy?” Jack asked.

  Again, Andrew cleared his throat. “Jill and I have recently begun marriage counseling, but the kids never have, no.”

  “Okay. Listen, I know this is hard,” Jack said gently. “Kids don’t do this sort of thing for no reason. It doesn’t happen in a vacuum. Tyler will be sent from here to a seventy-two-hour hold for psychological observation and evaluation. He will have therapy sessions and you guys will be required to come and join in at least one session, as well.” He glanced from one parent to the other. “It’s not my place to tell you what to do, but I strongly recommend family counseling once Tyler is released. Oftentimes when a child attempts suicide, it’s part of a systemic issue.”

  Jill nodded, swiping another tear away. “Okay.”

  “Should you decide to go that route, I strongly recommend the Parkview Family Counseling Center. It’s right down the street from here and they do some good work.” He slapped his hands on his thighs before standing, clipboard clutched against his side. “You folks can go on back and see Tyler, now.”

  Andrew held Jill’s hand as they ushered Sylvia ahead of them back through the ER to the curtained-off cubicle where Tyler lay still on the gurney in the small space. Jill let go of Andrew’s hand as she walked up to her son, noting tear streaks that flowed from his eyes.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” she said softly, bringing up a hand and gently wiping the newest tear away. He didn’t look at her, instead staring up at the ceiling. “How are you feeling?” Her eyes slipped closed for a moment when she saw the bruising at his neck from the brief, yet intense pressure of the belt. She knew this wasn’t the time to lose it. Instead, her hand went to his hair, gently brushing it back from his forehead where she left a kiss.

  “Why are you here?” he asked, voice gruff. Jill wasn’t sure if that was the inner emotion or a result of the pressure against his throat.

  “Because I love you, my sweet boy. I failed you.” She felt Andrew step up beside her. “We failed you. I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, bud,” Andrew said, his hand coming up to rest on Tyler’s lower leg. “I’m so sorry. We’re going to make this right, okay? I promise.”

  It was then that he glanced over at his dad. “Is Sylvia here?”

  Jill moved aside, allowing her daughter to take her place. She watched the twins interact. Though obviously not identical and not always close, they shared a special bond that Jill had never been able to fully understand.

  “Hey, idiot,” Sylvia said softly, taking his hand.

  “Hey, stupid,” he whispered, a tiny smile on his face. It didn’t last long before his face fell. “I’m sorry, Sylvie.” He sobbed.

  It took everything in her to not push her daughter aside and go to him, but it was obvious that only his twin could be there for him. Jill watched as Sylvia hugged her brother to her, both head to head as they cried together.

  Later that night, Jill sat in Tyler’s room, unable to look at the closet. Instead, she sat on his bed and hugged his pillow, which smelled like him. The tears were hot and fast as she rocked slightly, feeling as though she’d lost part of herself that night. All she could think of was her son as a baby, the surprise when she and Andy thought they were only having a baby girl. She envisioned his toothless grin at seven when he lost three of his front teeth in the same week. She recalled as he developed into a young man, looking so much like his father, except with lighter hair.

  “Hey.”

  She looked up through her tears, happy to see Andy walking in only dressed in his cotton pajama pants. His hair was standing at crazy angles as it was the middle of the night. She’d woken from fitful sleep after a nightmare of seeing Tyler hanging again.

  “Hi,” she said softly, using her shirtsleeve to wipe her face and eyes.

  “Here,” h
e said, handing her a wad of toilet paper he’d brought with him.

  She gave him a loving smile and used it. “Thanks.”

  “Surreal, isn’t it?” Andrew said quietly with a heavy sigh.

  “Yes. You know,” Jill began, dropping the hand that held the damp paper into her lap. “I think Saint John’s is a mistake.” She looked him in the eye. “My gut tells us he needs us right now, and to send him away…”

  “A huge mistake,” Andrew finished.

  Jill nodded. “Yeah. I think we need to see what our options are here.”

  “Listen, sweetie,” he said gently, rubbing small circles over her back. “There’s nothing we can do tonight. Tyler’s okay, so let’s go back to bed.” He smiled when she met his gaze. “Okay?”

  Jill nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” She gave the pillow one more squeeze before setting it aside, giving it a small pat, almost as though it were her son’s arm. Pushing up from the bed, allowing her husband to lead her by the hand back to their bedroom.

  ****

  “What do you think?” Jill asked, glancing over at Shannon, eyes wide and bright.

  “Well,” Shannon said softly, “I think it looks as good over there as it did on the table, to be honest.” She chuckled. “Jill, I don’t know why you’re freaking out.”

  Jill turned to face her, hands on her hips. “You’re finally out of ICU in your own room, and Bella’s coming today. I want to make sure your room looks pretty.”

  Shannon was touched. She smiled at her oldest sister and reached a hand out for her. “Come here.” When Jill walked over to the bed and sat down, taking her hand, Shannon said, “You’re worried about the placement of fresh flowers in here for my daughter when I have this to answer for.” She brought her other hand up to lightly touch the auburn fuzz that covered her shaved head. A roadmap of staples ran from above her right eyebrow up and across her temple to end a little past her ear. “I’m not sure what to tell her,” she said.