The Tower

by Lynn Moon

  Praise for

  THE TOWER

  The Tower by Lynn Yvonne Moon is an honest and painful read that gives an excellent insight into the mind’s of children who think that ending their life is better than being a torment to their parents and friends. They are not sure of how to deal with their pain and isolation and, in the process of trying to figure out what should be done without hurting anyone, they decide to end their life. Petunia Freya Crocker always thought she was a curse, right from the time of her birth, and that haunted and consumed her. Petunia, who was called Pete, wanted to find out where her biological father was, but her mom never told her anything about him. One day when her friend Kendra comes to visit, they decide to search Pete’s attic to find out if anything hidden there can give them a clue about Pete’s real father. The death of her mother and her stepfather in an accident gives her the opportunity to meet her real father.

  What happens is tragic and the emotions and chaotic thought patterns of the young girl have been captured well, throwing light on the problem of high school bullying and how many child suicides are directly or indirectly related to bullying. The book should be read by all parents, teachers, administrators, law enforcement officers, and middle and high school students. It’s also a good book from where the topic of bullying can be discussed. Children, parents, and educators will be able to relate well to the story because the characters are realistic and the plot is tangible.

  —Mamta Madhavan for Reader’s Favorite

  “I just finished reading The Tower and couldn’t put it down til the end. It is so true to life and riveting. Having lived through the suicide of our 11 year old son due to being bullied, I truly know the pain and heartbreak brought to light in this book and can attest to the thousands of kids that contact us with similar stories. An outstanding tool to help start a very serious conversation about a subject far too often overlooked.”

  —Kirk Smalley

  President, Stand for the Silent

  http://www.standforthesilent.org

  “This book is a must-read for all middle and high school students, parents, law enforcement, teachers and administrators. Ms. Moon gives excellent insight to a typical 12 year old’s mind and how they think they have to “deal with it themselves”. They don’t want to be a burden to their parents or friends. They feel isolated and confused. They think they are ending the torment for everyone they care about and will no longer be what they see themselves as, a burden. It’s truthful, honest, and heart wrenching. My Becca felt the same way, she looked at the towers as her quiet place, then tragedy unexpectedly occurred. Pete nor Becca wanted to end their lives, they wanted the pain to end and were trying to figure out how to deal with it without hurting others in the process. Outstanding book!”

  —Tricia Norman

  President, Rebecca’s Stand Against Bullying

  The Tower

  by Lynn Yvonne Moon

  © Copyright 2017 Lynn Yvonne Moon

  ISBN 978-1-63393-370-5

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The names, incidents, dialogue, and opinions expressed are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  Published by

  210 60th Street

  Virginia Beach, VA 23451

  800-435-4811

  www.koehlerbooks.com

  This book is dedicated to

  Rebecca (Becca) Sedwick and all the other

  children who relied on death to stop their pain.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1 - WHO I AM

  CHAPTER 2 - SEARCHING FOR DADDY

  CHAPTER 3 - HEAVY BOXES

  CHAPTER 4 - DADDY DEAREST

  CHAPTER 5 - TRAGEDY

  CHAPTER 6 - UNCLE CUTLER

  CHAPTER 7 - THE TRIP

  CHAPTER 8 - DADDY, I’M HOME

  CHAPTER 9 - MY NEW LIFE

  CHAPTER 10 - A NEW SCHOOL

  CHAPTER 11 - DISCOVERY

  CHAPTER 12 - TYPICAL SCHOOL DAY

  CHAPTER 13 - THE SADDLE

  CHAPTER 14 - SLEEPLESSNESS

  CHAPTER 15 - A SIMPLE THING

  CHAPTER 16 - UNCLE TED

  CHAPTER 17 - VACATE

  CHAPTER 18 - THE RETURN

  CHAPTER 19 - WORDS DO HURT

  CHAPTER 20 - SOCIAL SERVICES

  CHAPTER 21 - SOMETHING GOOD

  CHAPTER 22 - A NEW FRIEND

  CHAPTER 23 - DOGGY DOGGY POO POO

  CHAPTER 24 - THE PAIN

  CHAPTER 25 - THE TOWERS

  A MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER 1

  WHO I AM

  MY LIFE WAS SIMPLE, and I was happy. That was, I thought I was happy; until I met my biological father. My full name? Petunia Freya Crocker. It always seemed extremely long to me. So my family and friends called me Pete. Whenever I remembered my old life, my eyes would tear up. Last month when I turned twelve, it hurt just knowing I’d never turn thirteen. How I knew I’d never turn thirteen I didn’t know. I just did.

  On my eleventh birthday, my mother dropped a bombshell: I was now too old for dolls. Reluctantly, I packed up my Barbies in a big box, and left them at the local thrift store. Then she dropped a second surprise: I was also too young for makeup. Those two things made me think a little more about me, and how I didn’t fit into my own life anymore. When I was ten, I honestly believed that when I turned thirteen, I would have full control over my life. Boy was I ever wrong. I used to dream of being able to go where I wanted to go, or do what I wanted to do. I did not know how much a normal life could change, only to become so confusing and terrifying. Experiencing the age of double digits, eleven, changed me in ways I could never imagine.

  I lived with my mom and stepdad, Hank. I had never met my real dad, so Hank was all I had. All I ever knew about my real father was that he was a Him and his last name was Crocker, the same as mine. I had asked my mom about Him many times, and she’d say, “Why do you want to know about him, dear?” I used to ask my grandmother, my mom’s mom, but she’d also just say, “Why do you want to know about him, dear?” Therefore, it only made sense to me that my biological father’s full name was, “Him Crocker.”

  My mom taught at my school, which gave me the privilege of seeing her every day. It used to be embarrassing until I discovered the benefits. I didn’t have to ride the stupid school bus, and I never had to worry about lunch money. My personal bank was only a few classrooms away. Hank, my stepdad, worked for the city. I’m not sure what he did there. His office was big, and people seemed to like him. He married my mom a few years ago. I guess we made a nice family ‘cuz everyone kept telling us that. I was just glad he didn’t have any kids of his own for me to fight with.

  We lived in a house in a quiet neighborhood, which meant I was the only kid on my block. Our street was filled with older people; you know grandparent-type. Mr. Cutler lived next door. He always lived next door. He would smile and wave at me all the time. I never understood why he always paid me so much attention. When I finally found out, what a shock. What really used to bother me about him was the fact that he had always been a part of my life. He was even my babysitter when I was younger. Many evenings we’d watch movies or pull weeds from his garden. Yah know what? He never kept any of the vegetables. I would end up taking home everything we had picked. Why would someone grow food only to give it all away?

  As I said, I had no brothers or sisters. Some
times, I would get lonely. My mom called my bedroom my private sanctuary. A place where I would hide away from the rest of the world. Maybe she was right. But who cared? After all, it was my bedroom.

  Since I was an only child, I considered my best friends, Wendy and Kendra, as sisters. Almost every weekend, we were together. We’d take turns on sleepovers. It seemed we’d have the most fun at my house. However, it was here at my house where everything changed and I didn’t see it coming. It was here, at my house, where I should have left the mysteries alone, where I should have left the pictures alone, where I should have stopped asking so many questions—especially questions about my biological father.

  I was a curse to my family and it all started with my birth. A curse that followed me, haunted me, and consumed me. A curse that I called Dad.

  CHAPTER 2

  SEARCHING FOR DADDY

  I ALWAYS WANTED TO know something about my biological father. Since the Internet was supposed to have all the answers, it should have been simple to find something about him. Right? Nope. No matter how many times we searched on Kendra’s new computer she got for Christmas, we just couldn’t find a Him Crocker listed anywhere.

  “You need to ask your mom what his real name is.” Kendra always had the answers. “We’re getting nowhere fast with just a Him for a first name. I doubt that’s his real name, anyway. It’s gotta be something like, David or Jeff, not Him.”

  I shivered as a cold chill ran up my back. Snow still covered the streets and more was in the forecast for later this week. Pulling the blanket closer around my shoulders, I stared out of Kendra’s bedroom window. From up here on the second floor, the darkness felt like an evil omen. It was only seven at night; however, the sun had set hours ago in our little village I called home. Tarrytown, New York was about 30 miles from New York City. Far enough away from the big city that our town remained small and quaint, but also close enough that no one considered us country folk.

  The parked cars now reminded me of wild animals waiting to pounce on their next meal. Reflective lights sparkled against the snow, as if the shadows struggled to hold back the darkness. I always hated the month of February; so cold and dark. The only bright side to life during this time was the knowledge that spring was only a few weeks away.

  “I know!” Wendy shouted out. With the music blaring from the tiny speakers, I could hardly hear her. “Ask your mom for your birth card. See mine?” Wendy held up a small rectangular card she’d pulled from her purse. “Mom gave it to me last year. Keeping it is supposed to teach me about responsibility. Dumb, I know.”

  Turning down the music, I stared at the card that looked more like a credit card than a birth certificate. “I’ve asked for mine, but I haven’t seen it yet. You’re allowed to carry this with you?”

  Wendy shrugged her shoulders, shoving the card back into her wallet. I always thought Wendy was the prettiest, with her long blonde hair and crisp blue eyes. Kendra was darker than us because she was half-black. Wendy and I were jealous of her naturally tanned skin. Kendra’s mom was from Haiti in the Caribbean. Her mom had a strong accent, and I loved the way she talked. Wendy’s dad called us the Oreo cookie girls. Kendra and I had dark brown hair so we were the cookies, and Wendy was the center icing with her light blonde hair. Wendy’s dad always made us laugh.

  Plopping onto Kendra’s bed, I picked up a small stuffed animal. As I ran my fingers through the fur, I wondered if my real father ever gave me a stuffed toy when I was a baby. If he did, where was it now? Did he ever hold me in his arms?

  “Maybe my mom can help, Pete,” Kendra said, still staring at her computer screen. “She helps her friends all the time. Finds out who their dead relatives are and all that; then she makes them a family tree on this big sheet of paper. Maybe she can help you, too.” Kendra ran from her bedroom. She returned, pulling her mother by the arm. “Come on, Mom, it’s really important.”

  “What’s so important?” her mother asked Kendra while staring over at me.

  As our eyes met, I froze. I knew that my father was out there somewhere. If he had died, I was sure my mom would have said something. Every time I asked about him, my stomach would hurt. Now with my hands trembling, I shoved them under my legs.

  “Pete wants to know about her real dad.” Kendra glanced over at me. Through her eyes, I could see that Kendra honestly cared about how I felt. “Can’t you search for him on that site you use or something? You know, work your magic like you do for your friends.”

  Kendra’s mother smiled but her eyes frowned. I hated it when adults did that. They smile at you on the outside, but on the inside, you knew they weren’t happy. Besides, if she told my mom about this I’d really be in trouble.

  “Pete, you honestly don’t know your real father’s name?” Kendra’s mom asked. “Is there a reason why you’re not allowed to know? Perhaps something I should?”

  I glanced over at the window. It felt as if the dark shadows were closing in on me. Asking about my real father was taboo in my house. So it didn’t feel right asking about him at Kendra’s house, either.

  “Pete?” Kendra’s mother said, pulling me from my thoughts. “Do you know anything at all about your real dad?”

  “Every time I ask about Him, they ask why I want to know. Then they change the subject.” As I explained, my body trembled and my stomach tightened into knots. Without thinking, my gaze fell to the floor. I studied the design in the carpet as my mind kept saying the same thing over and over again. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to know about Him.

  “I doubt if I’ll find anything with just a Him for a first name,” her mother said. “What I could do is order you a new birth card. That is, if you know where you were born.” Kendra’s mother typed on the computer as she talked. “Genealogy is just a hobby of mine. I’m not an expert. But I’ll see what I can find. Let’s see, hmmm, Crocker, Petunia, New York.”

  I stared at my friends. Feeling embarrassed, I wanted to hide. How could I not know anything about my real father? Didn’t every kid know about his or her parents? It probably shouldn’t really bother me, ‘cuz I don’t even know about me. Where I was born or what my mom was like when I was a baby. My whole life seemed to be a complete mystery. Thinking back, all I recalled was living with my mom and visiting her parents. I sighed as I remembered my first day of kindergarten. Mr. Cutler took pictures of me as I paraded around in my new dress. Now that I think about it, he and my mom walked me to school that day. Why would our neighbor, Mr. Cutler, walk my mom and me to my first day at school?

  Not wanting to think anymore, I shifted my attention back to Kendra’s mother. “I don’t know where I was born,” I said, wiping away a tear. “No one ever told me.”

  “I’m sorry, Pete, but I’m not finding anything using just a last name. Ask your mom where you were born. Okay? Without more information, I’m afraid I just can’t help.” Kendra’s mother smiled at me.

  The smile looked more like a sympathy-smile than a happy one. One of those crooked smiles where their true feelings burn right through you. A look that always made me cringe, and a smile that sent goose bumps down my arms. My gaze had passed right through her, and I didn’t realize it until she stood up. As she patted my shoulder, I accepted the fact that I was alone in my search. Not wanting to cry, I started talking about my real father. If I pretended he was somebody else, maybe I could ignore the feelings building up inside me.

  “His name’s Fred,” I said, jumping to my feet. “Yep, Fred.”

  “And he works for a circus,” Kendra added, laughing, “as a fat man.”

  “Yeah,” Wendy said, her eyes sparkling. “And he’s married to a bearded lady with six arms.”

  “And twelve toes,” I added, “on each foot.”

  We made up stories all night until sleep slowly pulled us from this wild and crazy world. From my makeshift bed on the carpet, my dreams entertained me with colorful visions of dancing circus performers. Ballerinas in bright pink tutus twirled around me. Clowns wearing colorful outfits
, their faces covered in makeup, ran between the dancers. Then, in the midst of everything, fear tore through my heart as I stared deeply into my own eyes. My eyes were dancing among the clowns and tightrope walkers as if I suddenly were in two places at once. Fighting the blankets for air, I bolted straight up from the floor. It was then that I understood. Those eyes that I had seen staring back at me were not mine. Those eyes had belonged to my biological father.

  CHAPTER 3

  HEAVY BOXES

  THE FOLLOWING WEEK DRAGGED by. Mostly because Wendy, Kendra and I wanted the weekend to arrive. Why? Because we were going to become secret agents and dig through my family files. Several years ago, I was caught going through a box in my mom’s bedroom. She said that important family records were in that box and I had to stay out of it. Now that my stepdad had an office at our house, where else would these important records be? I just knew my birth certificate was in one of them. So we made plans all week about how to do it. We would spend the weekend at my house. Somehow, we’d have to get my parents to leave. Then we could search.

  Friday afternoon finally arrived. To my surprise, instead of rummaging through old files as planned, we sat on my living room couch looking guilty. The worst part was we hadn’t even started searching yet. However, what started out as a guilt-trip actually ended up as a lucky break.

  My stepdad and mom had plans for the evening; dinner with friends. After ordering us pizza, they recited the rules: stay off the phone, don’t answer the door except for the pizza deliveryman, no cooking, and no leaving the house. We couldn’t have asked for anything better than that.

  “Let’s go,” Wendy shouted.

  After they left, we found ourselves standing in the middle of my stepdad’s study, lost and not knowing where to start.

  “Wendy,” I finally said, after we just stood there staring at each other. “You search those filing cabinets. Kendra, you take the closet. I’ll check out the desk.”