Autumn's Game

by Mary Stone

  “You mentioned earlier that Ashley Franklin also lived in the home. Is that correct?”

  Lisa nodded, and when Autumn pointed to the recorder, the girl gave her an oops look before saying, “Yes. That’s right.”

  “In that case, where was Ashley during this incident?”

  Lisa began chewing her lip again, and her fingers began twisting together. “She was in the thinking box in the cellar.”

  Thinking box. It sounded so innocent. The bitch.

  “Can you please tell me about the thinking box?”

  With a shaky voice, Lisa did exactly that. With great detail, she explained the location and description of the box. “It’s cold and scary down there.”

  “Have you been in the thinking box too?”

  The girl seemed to shrink. “Yes.”

  “How many times were you in the box, Lisa?”

  Lisa swallowed hard, and the very tip of her nose turned pink, but she didn’t cry this time. “Twice, and Mrs. Helen said that I was going back in as soon as Ashley got out.”

  “Did she say when that would be?”

  Lisa shook her head, then seemed to remember the recorder. “No.”

  “The first time you went into the thinking box, how long were you in the box?”

  “Two days.”

  Fury vibrated through Autumn, but she kept her tone even. “What happened while you were in the box?”

  Lisa began pulling at a string on the blanket. “I cried a lot the first time, and when I wasn’t crying, I just laid in there or slept.”

  “Did anyone visit you while you were in the thinking box?”

  “Just Mrs. Helen. She came twice. The first time she brought a cheese sandwich and a cup of water. The second time she brought a plain biscuit and water. She kept telling me that I needed to think about what I’d done.”

  “What had you done that you needed to think about?”

  Lisa hung her head. “I took a cookie without asking.”

  “So, you took a cookie without asking. What happened next?”

  “Mrs. Mathers made me put my finger in my throat and throw it up, then she took me down into the cellar and told me I had to think about what I’d done.”

  Across the bed from her, Winter stiffened, and Autumn knew she was as angry as she was.

  “And you stayed in the thinking box for two days. In those two days, did you get to get out at all?”

  Lisa shook her head. “No.”

  “And you ate the food she brought you while still in the box?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you do personal things, like use the bathroom?”

  Lisa’s head sank lower, and she adjusted her position in the bed. She winced, and Autumn noticed that she had pillows strategically placed behind her to take pressure off her wounds. After another bit of adjusting, she began pulling at the loose threat again. “There was a bucket.”

  “For two days, you used the bathroom in the bucket?”

  Autumn hated to repeat things so many times, but it was an important part of the process.

  “Yes.”

  “Lisa, do you remember how old you were when you went into the thinking box the first time?”

  “I was fifteen because it was the day after I turned fifteen, and Mrs. Helen had made cookies for my birthday. Since they were my birthday cookies, I thought it would be okay to have one, but it wasn’t.”

  Autumn observed the girl’s expressions, her mannerisms, her inability to maintain long-term eye contact, and most importantly, her childlike behavior. She appeared to be much younger than sixteen. She wondered if she’d been tested for autism or another learning disability. If she had, her symptoms would be mild. Or her brain could be perfectly healthy and a lifetime of one foster home or another could have fostered a developmental delay. She made a note to ask about testing to be sure.

  “Let’s talk about the second time you were sent to the thinking box. How old where you then?”

  “Sixteen and forty-one days.”

  Autumn smiled. “You have a very good memory.”

  Lisa beamed at her. “Thank you.”

  “So, what happened on the day you turned sixteen and forty-one days?”

  The smile melted from her face. “I’d been so careful after that first time because I never wanted to go back into the thinking box again. But…” another deep breath, “Mrs. Helen found a note in my backpack from a boy at school.”

  Uh-oh.

  “What did the note say?”

  Her cheeks turned pink, then the very tip of her nose did the same. “It was from a boy named Justin at school.” From the corner of her eye, Autumn noticed Winter stiffen at the use of her brother’s name. Lisa didn’t seem to notice. She just kept fiddling with the blanket. “He had written down the date and time of a party he wanted me to go with him to.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I told Justin that I didn’t know if I could go, but then I put the note in the very back of my book. I wasn’t even going to ask Mrs. Helen because I knew she’d say no. I was just going to make up some excuse, but then she found the note. She got mad.”

  “What happened then?”

  A tear slid from her eye, and she brushed it away. “She whipped me with a belt and put me in the thinking box.”

  Autumn frowned. “With a belt?”

  Lisa nodded, and her lower lip began to tremble. “Yeah. She said she’d use…use the stick the next time.” The girl adjusted positions again and grimaced, almost like her back had protested at the use of the weapon’s name.

  “How long were you in the thinking box that time?”

  “Four days.”

  Autumn wanted to scream, but instead, she kept her composure as she asked the same follow-up questions she’d asked about the first incident.

  Lisa answered more confidently that time. She explained about how she also hadn’t been allowed to leave the box the whole time. She was served a cheese sandwich or plain biscuit with water twice a day. She was forced to use the bathroom in the bucket.

  After they’d gotten to that part, Lisa covered her face with her hands and began to cry in earnest. Autumn got up and found a box of tissues and cleaned off Lisa’s face.

  “Can you tell me what has you so upset?”

  The girl went pink again. “It’s embarrassing.”

  Autumn gave her a smile. “That’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed with us.”

  Lisa blew out a puff of air so hard her lips fluttered. “I was on my period the second time…”

  When she didn’t go on, Autumn leaned forward. “It’s okay, Lisa. We all have them. Can you tell me what it was like for you to have your period while you were in the thinking box?”

  “I told Mrs. Helen,” her voice was so low that Autumn moved the recorder a little bit closer to her lips, “and she told me that it was a good thing I was because that meant I wasn’t knocked up yet. Then she told me I’d just have to suffer.”

  Autumn hated Helen Mathers with every inch of her being.

  “What did she mean by suffer, Lisa?”

  She sniffed, and Autumn passed her another tissue. “She meant that I couldn’t use…you know, pads or tampons or anything. I just had to let it stay on me.” She sniffed again and blew her nose this time. “Then she got mad because the mattress and my clothes were stained, and she made me work extra chores for two months to pay for the yoga mat thing she bought to put in there after I had to throw the mattress away.”

  Autumn was confused. There hadn’t been a yoga mat in the box. There’d only been cardboard. But that wasn’t a question for Lisa. She hadn’t been in the box with Ashley, so she wouldn’t ask her about something she hadn’t witnessed herself. She could already hear the defense attorney shouting out, “Hearsay!”

  “What other kinds of punishments did you receive from Mrs. Mathers?”

  “It’s not too bad at first. At first, we’d have to stand in the corner until she told us we could come out. The
n, we’d have to skip meals and watch the others eat.” Her face went pale. “I shouldn’t talk about this. I’ll get in trouble.”

  Autumn held out her hand. “You can’t get in trouble for telling the truth.”

  Lisa didn’t look convinced, but she took Autumn’s hand again.

  Autumn closed her eyes against the flood of feelings the girl’s touch created. Children crying, huddled in corners, bruised, hungry.

  Lisa looked at Winter, who was sitting as silent as a stone, before turning back to Autumn. “Mrs. Helen wanted to make us better children so we’d be worthy of good parents. She said that if we couldn’t behave ourselves, we would be alone forever. If we wanted to get adopted, we had to do everything she said. She said we were supposed to smile.” Lisa’s face broke into a big smile that was so fake it tugged at Autumn’s heart. “Like this. We could never show anyone we were unhappy. Never talk badly about anything. We had to make people like us.”

  A cold sensation went down Autumn’s spine as a flash of insight flowed through her. “Lisa, is that why you were being so nice to Dr. Latham?”

  She flushed again. “Yes. I wanted him to like me. Mrs. Mathers told me that no man would ever want someone as evil as me for a wife, so I kind of…” She turned another shade of red, her chin dipping down to her chest. “Wanted to see if I could make him like me.”

  Autumn’s stomach lurched. So many girls, from foster homes or not, did that very same thing. They wanted to be liked, wanted to be loved, and they would sell themselves, body and soul, for just a little bit of attention. It was just so very sad.

  Therapy. If she had to travel to Oregon every week and do it herself, she was going to make sure this girl got the therapy she needed.

  “You’re very brave for talking to me today, Lisa. I just have a few more quest—”

  There was a knock at the door. Like a switch had been flipped, Lisa quickly stopped crying and composed herself, wiping her face with the hospital blankets and stretching out her legs, straightening the blankets in smooth, practiced motions.

  “Come in.” She smiled as the newcomer entered the room.

  A blonde woman with long hair, a gray wraparound scarf, and a black cardigan strode in. She wore a badge on a rainbow lanyard decorated with a pair of clouds, carried a huge leather tote purse, and had a wide smile.

  “Hi, Lisa! I’m Millie Laird from CPS, Child Protective Services. I haven’t met you before.” She held out a hand with short, chewed fingernails.

  Lisa shook her hand, still smiling.

  Ms. Laird looked between Autumn and Winter. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

  Autumn reached for the recorder and clicked it off before she and Winter introduced themselves. “We were just finishing up. May I have one of your cards in case I need to speak to Lisa again?”

  Ms. Laird handed one over before turning her attention back to Lisa. “How are you doing?”

  Unable to keep the façade up, Lisa’s face turned red and her eyes filled with tears. She leaned back in bed, then curled up on her side. She wheezed as she tried to sob silently, but she was shaking.

  Ms. Laird’s face softened, and her eyes glistened with sympathetic tears. “I’m so sorry. This is a terrible day.”

  Lisa cried harder. “It’s been a terrible life.”

  Ms. Laird walked to the side of Lisa’s bed, then frowned as the girl’s back was revealed through the opening of her hospital gown. Bandages were visible, and Autumn clearly remembered the raw strips of skin they covered.

  The social worker’s face paled. “Lisa, I’m so sorry.”

  The woman swayed, and Autumn stepped forward and took her by the arm to keep her steady. She sank into the chair Autumn had vacated.

  “She’s afraid of being in trouble for what she calls tattling on Mrs. Mathers,” Autumn murmured to the woman.

  Ms. Laird reached for Lisa’s hand; her face was all determination now. “Lisa, look at me.” She waited for the girl to straighten and wipe her nose. “I want you to know that what happened to you and Ashley was wrong. You are not in trouble. You were not at fault for anything that happened, and I will do everything I can to keep you safe from it happening again. I’m sorry. We were the ones who should have caught this and stopped Mrs. Mathers before anything happened to you. We were the ones who let you down.”

  Tears rolled down Lisa’s face again, but this time she was crying quietly. “Thank you.”

  Ms. Laird’s face was still unsmiling, but it was filled with a kindness that put Autumn’s heart to rest. “Is it okay with you if I stay with you for a while?”

  Lisa spoke in a tiny voice. “Please stay.”

  Winter headed to the foot of the bed, and Autumn smiled at Lisa. “We’ll be going now so you and Ms. Laird can talk and then you can get some rest.”

  Wincing, the girl sat up. “Thank you both for saving us.”

  Autumn’s heart melted. Beside her, she knew Winter was feeling the same.

  “I’m so proud of you.” Autumn had to clear the emotion from her throat. “You’re very brave, and I can’t wait to hear from you again. I think you’re going to take the world by storm.”

  “Like you did?”

  God, Autumn was going to cry in earnest now. She managed to hold it back, but barely. “Yeah, like I’m still in the process of doing. Don’t you ever let anyone tell you that living in a foster home puts you at a disadvantage. Okay? You may not have tons of control over your life right now, but you have full control over your reaction. Choose happy, not for other people but for yourself.”

  Lisa stared at her for a moment. “I think I get it. I should smile…” she gave Autumn a genuine smile, “not smile.” The huge fake smile returned.

  All three women laughed, and Autumn winked. “Told ya you’re smart. Bye for now.”

  Lisa was still smiling as the door shut behind them.

  As they headed for the elevator, Winter elbowed her in the arm. “See? You just changed one person’s world.”

  “That’s good.” Autumn sniffed and wiped at the tear brimming on her lower lid. “Only seven billion more to go.”

  Winter elbowed her again. “You’ve got twelve years. You can do it.”

  28

  Helen Mathers’s eyes snapped open.

  What was that noise?

  For a moment, she couldn’t remember how she’d come to be in the room, which was small and smelled of bleach. She was lying on a thin blue mattress, wearing starchy clothing that didn’t fit.

  Then she remembered.

  They had arrested her. For what? For nothing! For doing what she was supposed to do, which was teaching children how to control themselves so they could deal with the real world. Did people think the real world was going to coddle these children all their lives? What had they expected?

  Helen sat up and gripped the side of the mattress. She gritted her teeth as she blinked the tiny jail cell into focus. Opposite her was a sink attached to a toilet, of all things.

  A key rattled against metal, and a deputy opened the door of her cell. He hadn’t even knocked. Had that boy been raised in a barn?

  “Let’s go.”

  No manners, this boy. She could teach him his pleases and thank yous within a month.

  Slipping into the hideous sandals they’d given her, Helen stood and caught a glimpse of herself in a metal plate bolted to the wall that was supposed to serve as a mirror. Her hair was sticking up in all directions, and her face was red on one side from where it’d been pressed into the hard pillow.

  She scowled at the beige scrubs that were ill fitting and so stiff with starch they practically walked by themselves. These people hadn’t even washed them before shoving them at her straight from the packaging and demanding she put them on. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to put it into place, before he held out a pair of handcuffs.

  “Is that really necessary?”

  He just stared at her until she held her arms out.

  Shackled like a
criminal, she yanked her arm away when he touched her elbow to guide her. He shrugged and led her to the same interview room she’d been in before. Inside sat Sheriff Morton alongside her public defender, Jim Putnam, and…her. The redheaded demon woman who’d done this to her. And she was frowning.

  Well, let her frown. Who was she to judge? She was one of those officious women who had never raised a child in her life and had no idea how to do what needed to be done. Her opinion, as far as Helen was concerned, didn’t matter.

  The deputy guided her into a chair, then left after she sat in the uncomfortable thing, closing the door behind him.

  Sheriff Morton opened a notepad. “Hello, Helen, it’s nice to see you again. For the record, this interview is being recorded and your attorney, Jim Putnam, is present.” She added the date and time as well as listed those in the room.

  Autumn Trent was the woman’s name. She remembered that now.

  The redhead took her tablet out of the inside pocket of her blazer. “Hello, Mrs. Mathers. My name is Dr. Trent, and I’m a criminal and forensic psychologist. Do you remember me?”

  A doctor? Helen was mad enough to spit. “I have nothing more to say to you.”

  Her public defender nodded but stayed silent. When she met with him earlier, he’d told her to say absolutely nothing to anyone about anything unless he told her it was okay to do so.

  The Trent woman shrugged, like she didn’t have a care in the world. “You don’t need to talk right now. I want to read something to you. Something inspirational, or at least something I hope will inspire you.”

  Helen rolled her shoulders. Her back and neck cracked noisily. She was ready for this little bitch. “The Bible?”

  “No, just some information a few people who knew you from your, um, previous life gave us.”

  Helen stiffened. Who could she be talking about?

  Miss Trent—Helen refused to think of this woman as a doctor—tapped on her tablet screen.

  “Helen Louise Matheson, born 1953, is the oldest of three siblings. Dwaine, born 1954, and Wilbur, born 1958, have both predeceased her. As a teenager, Helen had to play the maternal role to her two brothers when her own mother abandoned the family. Her father, Rupert Matheson, born 1931 and died 1981 after a decade-long series of strokes, was noted as a hard worker, but not a particularly warm-hearted father figure or husband, and worked two jobs, as a shift worker at a local paper mill in Maine, and as a janitor overnight at the same mill.”