The Endless Knot

by Gail Bowen

  For a beat I couldn’t take in her words. Norine was a citizen of the old world of safety and certainty, and I had moved on.

  “Norine, it’s not about the party. I … I can’t find Taylor.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. In my mind, I could see Norine’s face, impassive, intelligent, assessing the information, and deciding what to do next. “Zack’s meeting is at the Delta,” she said finally. “They only had a couple of hours, so they’ve sealed themselves off, but I can get a message to him. He’ll call you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Joanne, if there’s anything I can do …”

  “I’ll let you know,” I said. When I hung up, my hands were shaking. Fear and low blood sugar. I knew I should eat a piece of fruit or pour myself a glass of juice. These were sensible actions, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen. When the phone rang, I leapt.

  “Zack, I’m sorry to drag you out of your meeting,” I said.

  The man on the other end of the line cut me off. “Is this Joanne Kilbourn?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Douglas Thorpe. I’m calling about my son.”

  When I didn’t respond immediately, Douglas Thorpe felt the need to explain. “My son is Ethan Thorpe. He’s a friend of your daughter Taylor.” He enunciated each syllable with exaggerated slowness and clarity. A phrase my grandmother used in her old age flashed through my mind. “He spoke to me as if he were attempting to teach a cow to talk.”

  “Ethan’s at school in Winnipeg,” I said.

  “But he’s not at school. That’s why I’m calling.” Frustrated, Douglas Thorpe’s enunciation became even more precise. “Ms. Kilbourn, the headmaster of Ethan’s school just phoned me. My son is missing. The headmaster talked to Ethan’s roommate. The boy found your daughter’s name and telephone number in Ethan’s desk. That’s how I was able to call you. The roommate says Ethan wanted to be with your daughter on her birthday. Today is Chloe’s birthday, isn’t it?”

  “My daughter’s name is Taylor,” I said, but my knees had begun to tremble.

  “Then the roommate must have been in error,” Douglas Thorpe said. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

  “Don’t hang up,” I said. “Mr. Thorpe, Ethan drew comics. There was a character named Chloe in them. She was modelled on Taylor. Today is Taylor’s birthday. She’s only eleven. She’s too young for this.”

  “I agree,” he said. “Nonetheless, the headmaster believes Ethan is on his way to Regina. There are buses he could have taken or he might have hitchhiked. But the headmaster is certain he was heading for your house.”

  The kaleidoscope had shifted. The new images were unsettling, but not terrifying. A boy, intoxicated by the heady cocktail of hormones and loneliness, had run away from his school to see a girl who had been kind to him. As a mother of four, I was only too familiar with the wild excesses of adolescent emotion and behaviour, and I cobbled together a sequence of events that seemed plausible.

  Ethan had arrived when Willie and I were off on our run. He had rung the doorbell and Taylor, half awake, clutching the joy of a day when possibilities rose like pink balloons, ran downstairs expecting a surprise. When she opened the front door, Ethan was there. She would have been taken aback, but it was her birthday. Ethan, a romantic who had somehow navigated the 550 kilometres between Winnipeg and Regina, was standing there with a gift – probably a new comic featuring the adventures of Chloe. He had suggested a walk along the creek, and that’s where they were – walking.

  But the fabric of this bright scenario unravelled as quickly as I wove. Taylor was frightened of Ethan’s intensity. She would never have gone off alone with him.

  On the other end of the line, Douglas Thorpe had raised the volume. Apparently, he thought I’d stopped listening. “Ms. Kilbourn, I asked if I could speak to your daughter.”

  “She’s not here,” I said. “Mr. Thorpe, the truth is I don’t know where she is. I took our dog for a walk, and when I came back, Taylor was gone.”

  “Ms. Kilbourn, you should make every effort to find your daughter.”

  His sense of urgency was contagious. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” I said.

  “If Ethan arrives there, call me immediately.” Douglas Thorpe gave me his number, and I thought our business with each other was finished. I was wrong. “One other thing,” he said. “Don’t leave Ethan alone with your daughter.”

  My heart was pounding. “Mr. Thorpe, why did you and your new wife send Ethan out here to live with his mother?”

  “My wife has other children,” Douglas Thorpe said.

  “And so you just shipped Ethan out here because he was in the way?”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” he said, and his tone was grudging.

  “Complicated how?”

  “My wife didn’t want Ethan around her children.”

  I didn’t want to hear what came next, but Douglas Thorpe had decided to share. “Ethan has problems.”

  “Sexual problems?”

  “No. Problems with his temper. He loses control.”

  “So you made sure your wife’s children were safe and let Ethan roam around.”

  “Ethan’s difficulties are a great concern for my wife and me,” he said primly.

  The call-waiting notification beeped on my telephone. I was certain it was Zack, but I had to press ahead with Douglas Thorpe. “Call the police,” I said in a voice that shocked me by its chilly authority. “Tell them what you just told me. Tell them to find Taylor and your son.”

  “I don’t believe there’s any reason to involve the authorities at this point,” he said. “Just find the children and call me.”

  “And exactly what will you do?”

  “Make certain my son gets back to school. They’ll be watching him closely now.”

  “Because he might harm somebody.”

  “I think we have to face that possibility. That’s why I called. Whatever you may think, I’m a responsible parent.”

  “Mr. Thorpe, for the record, I don’t consider you a rational parent. I think you’re a scumbag, and I’m not going to waste any more time talking to you. I’m going to get help.”

  I hung up and tried Zack’s cell. He picked up on the first ring.

  After the windy self-justifications of Douglas Thorpe, Zack was a relief. He heard me out and moved into gear. “I’ll call the police and give them Taylor’s description. Do you have any idea what she was wearing?”

  “No – her pyjamas, probably her ski-jacket. It’s green.”

  “You said you saw her what – less than three hours ago? Ethan and Taylor are kids without a car. They can’t have got too far.”

  “If anything’s happened to her …”

  “Taylor’s fine,” Zack said flatly. “And so are you. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  I went back to Taylor’s room and began hunting for something – anything – that would tell me where my daughter was. I had never once searched my children’s rooms. When other parents talked about rummaging through drawers, reading diaries, unearthing secrets, I was appalled, but that morning I was a madwoman. When I was through I was sick at heart. My daughter’s secret life was touchingly innocent – a beginner’s bra hidden in her sock drawer, a boy’s name written many times in many colours on a page of her journal, a paperback copy of a steamy chick-lit novel with several pages dog-eared. Blameless.

  There was one last place to check. The box that Ethan had delivered the morning he left was still on the top shelf in my bedroom closet. I returned to my room, took the box from my cupboard, picked up the scissors from my desk, and slit the mailing tape. A stench – sweet and animal – assailed me. Ethan’s newest comic was wrapped in heavy clear plastic. I lifted it out of the box and then I began to retch. At the bottom of the box on a piece of velvet was the pentangle. It was covered with dried and clotted blood. I ran into my bathroom and vomited. Then I splashed my face with water and went back to the horro
r. I picked up the comic and unwrapped the plastic. There was a note inside. Five words: I did it for you.

  Downstairs, Willie was barking. Reflexively, I went to my window to see what had got him going. When I looked down into our backyard, I saw my daughter. She was walking towards her studio, head bowed. As I had imagined, she had put her new green ski jacket over her pyjamas. She was wearing my favourite of her winter hats: a black angora toque with little cat ears on top. Ethan was behind her, very close, with one arm draped awkwardly around her shoulder. He was wearing a winter jacket too. His was black – as were his jeans and boots.

  I raced down to open the kitchen door. Willie rocketed past me. I called out to Taylor. She turned, but there was something unusual about the way she moved. My daughter was a girl who bounced through life, but that morning she was like a sleepwalker. With the grace of a long-time dance partner, Ethan turned with her. That’s when I saw the sun glint off the knife he was holding at her throat.

  The moment Willie spotted Taylor, he had bounded towards her. Now, tail pounding the frozen earth, he sat in front of her and Ethan, waiting for someone to acknowledge his presence.

  Ethan tensed. “Get the dog away,” he said. He looked as if he was going to cry, but the hand holding the knife against my daughter’s throat didn’t move. “Get the dog away. If he jumps up on me now, my hand could slip.”

  “Willie, come,” I said. He cocked his head as if he was attempting to remember a word from an ancient language.

  “Come,” I said again. Amazingly, he loped towards me. “Good dog,” I said, then I grabbed his collar.

  “Put him in the house,” Ethan’s voice cracked with emotion. He tightened his hold on Taylor and guided her towards the studio.

  With my hand still looped through Willie’s collar, I took him back to the house, pushed him into the kitchen, and closed the door. His howls of indignation followed me as I ran towards the studio; Ethan and Taylor were already inside. Surprisingly, Ethan made no move to stop me when I opened the door. He was still standing behind Taylor, but he had changed the position of the knife. Now the handle was clasped in his closed fist and the shaft was vertical with its point touching the tender flesh under my daughter’s chin.

  Taylor was dangerously pale. “Ethan, you have to stop this,” I said. “Taylor’s going into shock.”

  “Lean against me, Taylor,” he said gently. “You know – the way Chloe leans against Soul-fire. It’s all in the book I left for you.” Taylor’s eyes were half-closed, she swayed. “You did read it, didn’t you?” Ethan asked. Taylor remained silent, and Ethan exploded. “You were supposed to read the book. It explains everything.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you didn’t read it. You’re just like all the others.” The tip of the knife pierced the skin on her throat, and a drop of blood appeared.

  When I saw her blood, I reacted immediately. “I didn’t give her the book,” I said. “It’s my fault.”

  Ethan eyes met mine. “So she doesn’t know.”

  I shook my head. “No, Taylor doesn’t know anything.”

  “I can tell her,” Ethan said. His voice became very soft. “It’s the end of Chloe and Soul-fire – their last adventure. They’re attacked by this monster dragon. She’s huge and she can’t be killed. Soul-fire does his best. He takes his sword and plunges it into the dragon’s neck again and again. There’s blood … blood everywhere. Finally, the head is severed, but it grows back – not just one head but two. Every time, Soul-fire cuts off a head, two grow back in its place. He tries so hard, but he knows the dragon will always be there. Soul-fire knows that the one place the dragon won’t follow him is through the Gates of Death. So he takes his golden knife and he holds it to Chloe’s throat and …”

  Taylor’s eyes seemed to roll back in her head; her knees buckled and she crumpled to the floor. I knelt and took her in my arms. Ethan raised the hand that held the knife.

  “Don’t,” I said, shielding my daughter’s body with my own.

  “No matter how much I try to kill her, she never goes away,” Ethan said. “I smashed in her head and she grows another one. She comes to me in my dreams.”

  My face was pressed against my daughter’s body. I turned my head so that I could see Ethan. “Who comes to you in your dreams?” I asked.

  “My mother,” he said.

  That was when I screamed.

  “Stop,” Ethan said. “Please just stop.” But I didn’t. I screamed again and again and again.

  “I don’t want to kill anybody else,” Ethan said. Beneath me, Taylor’s body was so boneless that I could feel the beating of her heart. When the studio door opened, I felt cold air, then I heard Zack’s voice. “Come over here to me, Ethan,” he said.

  Eyes closed, I waited, still shielding Taylor from what was to come. Ethan’s footsteps moved towards the door, and I thought how vulnerable Zack was in his wheelchair. “Give me the knife,” Zack said. The silence that followed was interminable. Then Zack said the words that finally allowed me to exhale. “Good move,” he said. “Now we can figure out what to do next.”

  I helped Taylor to her feet. She was still pale, but her body was no longer limp. I took in the scene. Zack’s chair blocked the doorway. Ethan was facing him, his back to us.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” he asked.

  “The police are out front,” Zack said. “We weren’t sure what was going on, so they let me come ahead. What will happen next is up to you.”

  “I killed my mother,” Ethan said. “She wasn’t going to let me go trick-or-treating with Taylor.”

  Taylor gasped, but if he was shocked, Zack didn’t reveal it. His tone was matter of fact. “Then you’re going to need someone who’s on your side.”

  Ethan hung his head. “No one’s on my side.”

  Zack’s eyes met mine. I nodded.

  “I’m on your side,” Zack said. “I won’t lie to you. You’re in a lot of trouble, but you’re thirteen years old, and that means the law thinks you deserve another chance. Do you think you deserve another chance?”

  “I don’t know,” Ethan said.

  “Well, you’re going to have some time to consider the question.” Zack reached into his pocket, pulled out a package of Spearmint LifeSavers, and offered it to Ethan. “Want one?” he asked.

  “I guess,” Ethan said, and he popped a LifeSaver into his mouth.

  Zack waited as Ethan crunched his candy, then he turned his chair to the door. “Time to face the music, kiddo. Are you ready?”

  Ethan nodded. “Could I have another LifeSaver?”

  Zack handed him the packet and looked over at me. “I’ll be home in a couple of hours. Are you and Taylor going to be okay till then?”

  “We’re going to be fine,” I said. After Zack and Ethan left, I put my arm around my daughter and led her to the house. “Taylor, I think we should see a doctor.”

  “No,” she wailed. “No. I don’t want to go out. Not now. Just let me stay here with you.” Her eyes were huge and frightened.

  “All right. We can stay here,” I said. “Let’s go up to the bathroom so I can put something on that nick under your chin.”

  I had to close my eyes as I dabbed hydrogen peroxide on the spot where the knife had broken my daughter’s skin. If the blade had gone deeper, I could have lost her. “Ethan didn’t hurt you in any other way, did he?” I asked.

  Taylor shook her head, and I said a silent prayer of thanks. I ran a hot bath, poured in the lavender milk bath powder, and helped my daughter sink into the water. Then I brought her a mug of sweet, milky tea and set it on the edge of the bathtub.

  “Want me to stay or leave?” I asked.

  “Stay,” she said. I flipped down the toilet lid, and then, for the first time since she’d moved into our house, Taylor and I spent a half-hour together in utter silence. After she’d towelled off, I helped her into her pyjamas, tucked her into bed with more tea and a plate of toast, and stayed with her until she fell asleep. Then I went into
my bathroom and dialed Zack’s number.

  “I’ve been trying to get you,” he said.

  “I turned down the ringer on the phone so Taylor could get some rest.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “It’s hard to say. She’s asleep now.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “I wish you were here.”

  “I will be,” he said. “A few more hoops to jump through on this end.”

  “So what’s happening?”

  “Ethan told me his story. I have to get in touch with his father. The YCJA – sorry, the Youth Criminal Justice Act – says parents have to be notified, involved, and in some cases ordered to attend youth court proceedings. But Ethan’s mother is dead …”

  “Because Ethan killed her,” I said.

  “Can’t talk about that,” Zack said, “but I do need to get in touch with Ethan’s father and Ethan won’t tell me his name or where he lives.”

  I gave Zack the number Douglas Thorpe had given me. “I should warn you,” I said. “This man is a total prick.”

  “I’ve always wanted to meet a total prick,” Zack said. “I guess today’s my lucky day. So what do you think? Is Douglas Thorpe going to tell me to take a hike, so his trusted family lawyer who hasn’t been in a criminal courtroom in thirty years can take over?”

  “He won’t be pleased that you’re involved,” I said. “You’re high profile, and Mr. Thorpe wants this to go away.”

  “Even if his son gets buried in the system until all of us are but a memory?”

  “I think that would be his preference.”

  “Hey, guess what?” Zack said. “Mr. Thorpe’s preference doesn’t count. According to the YCJA, if Ethan’s father’s choices aren’t in Ethan’s best interests, Ethan has the right to be represented by a counsel independent of dear old Dad.”

  “You sure you want to take this on?” I said.

  “You bet,” Zack said. “That kid has not had what I would call a lucky life. Right now, there’s a psychologist testing him to see just how damaged he is.”

  “Anyone who talked to Ethan for five minutes would know he has serious problems.”