by Juli Valenti
And I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever.”
His voice cracked at the end, a tear escaping the corner of his eye as he crossed himself, and directed everyone out of the small gathering tent. She knew that the other guests were getting up and shaking hands, but she couldn’t move yet.
Jessie remained in her seat, alone in the now empty space, and stared in front of her, at all that was left of her sweet boy. The white wooden box on its stand seemed to mock her. It looked like a Styrofoam ice cooler - it was so small. She knew that his tiny body lay inside it, adorned in the items that she had given the director when he prepared him for burial. She stood, walking up to lay her hand on the small box. She had dreaded this all week, the final goodbye. She was terrified of placing him in the ground where he would be cold with no mommy to comfort him. She could only pray that he was tucked in tightly in his final bed.
“I love you forever, Little Mister. Please be good while you play in golden fields, and please don’t forget Mommy. I’m sorry that I wasn’t a good enough mommy for you to stay. I know that’s silly, and that you didn’t choose to leave me, but that’s how I feel right now, darling boy. I feel like you knew something I didn’t and didn’t trust me enough to love you through it all. Please know that I would have. I put a picture of Mommy and Daddy with you, so you won’t forget our faces. I wish I could go with you.” Jessie caressed her hand over the middle of the casket, where his little chest would be. “I know this is supposed to be goodbye, but I just can’t say it, baby. I love you, my sweet angel.” She leaned over, kissed his box, and turned to walk away. Her tears fell freely, littering the ground, wasting their moisture on grass that wouldn’t remain.
By the time she reached the tent-line, Jessie sank to her knees, sobbing quietly. It was just too much for her. She was supposed to be strong, to keep it together, but all she wanted to do was scream. She didn’t want to draw more attention to herself, didn’t want people to come try to comfort her, and she knew if she screamed, she wouldn’t stop. Her heart hurt, as if she could feel the last pieces breaking off. Amid the pain, she was also so angry. A mother isn’t supposed to bury her child, it was wrong. This whole thing, it was all wrong. She was the one that should be put in the ground, by her children. That is the way the world works. Not this. How could this have happened to her? What, in God’s name, had she done that the cost was her son? Punching the ground angrily, Jessie gathered what was left of herself and stood.
Sami and Hayleigh, two of Jessie’s friends from high school, approached her tentatively. They quietly said, “I’m so sorry” and hugged her tightly, before letting her go and moving away. Others came to offer condolences, but they were all just blank faces in a crowd. She glanced over her shoulder and saw her mom crying softly, her shoulders hunched, beside her dad as someone they knew came to offer their apologies to them as well. She was completely overwhelmed by everything, everyone, and she had to get out. She had to get away from them, from this place. The grief, the anger, the guilt, everything was mounting on her; she thought she may explode from such emotion. Every time her parents looked at her, she felt like they thought it was her fault, that she could have saved him. She felt like she let them down, by not being able to save him. She knew it was absurd to feel so guilty, the medical examiner had already ruled it as Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS), but that didn’t stop her from feeling that way.
Ryan was talking to his friend Aaron, who had driven down from Detroit. Seeing an emotional escape, Jessie approached them, and quietly asked for a ride home. Both men looked at her for a moment, before nodding and leading her to their rental car. Catching her mom’s eye, she lifted a hand and pointed in the direction of their apartment – indicating she would meet her back at the apartment. She just couldn’t stay there another moment.
Chapter Five
Time passed, though Jessie was unaware of it. Minutes, hours, days – it made no difference to her. She was cocooned in her world of grief and pain and guilt. Each moment was a struggle to not fall apart. She was pretty sure that nothing could make her life any worse. The moment she thought it, she knew she would regret it; and she did.
The phone beside her rang, startling her. She looked at it as though it would grow teeth and attack her. Jessie had not spoken to anyone since the funeral, not even her husband. Why bother, when there’s nothing to say. She didn’t recognize the number, but reached to answer it anyway.
“Hello,” her voice came out hoarse and flat.
“Mrs. Braden? This is Detective Chambers, with the Fayetteville police department. I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was hoping you and your husband wouldn’t mind coming down to the station.”
“Why.” Jessie meant the word to come out as a question, but it sounded like a statement. She didn’t sound like she cared, and truth be told, she didn’t.
“Just routine, ma’am, nothing more. We would just like to discuss the medical examiner’s final findings with you both, and answer any questions you may have.” His voice was gentle, as though he was choosing his words with careful thought.
“When.”
Detective Chambers hesitated at the cold tone in her voice.
“This afternoon, if you can.”
“Ryan and I will be there. Thank you, detective.” Jessie hung up the phone before he could say anything more. She didn’t like the sound of anyone’s voice anymore; it was foreign and out of place in her new quiet world. Getting up, she robotically gathered her bag and motioned for Ryan, who had been listening, to move to the door. They climbed into the new-used Honda that Ryan had purchased, and drove to the police station.
***
The town of Fayetteville was neither large, nor small. It was an unremarkable city, in an unremarkable state, and the police station was just as nondescript. With the word “Station” in bold white lettering across the glass door, it looked like every police station in the country. The inner floors were a dingy off-white color, the walls just a shade or two off. The moment Jessie stepped inside, she wanted to go home again. It was busy, people crowding the chairs, walls, and workers milling around near their desks. Ryan guided her firmly to the front desk, where a blue bouffant-haired woman served as the receptionist. Jessie knew he was asking for directions to find the detective, but she wasn’t listening to the conversation, instead trying to squash the instinct to run away from the busy place. She followed Ryan when he moved, and kept her eyes firmly on his back.
He led her to a much quieter office, and within moments a tall, dark-haired man approached them, hand outstretched. His green eyes were intent, but she could see the tiredness around his eyes, looking out of place amongst his tidy business suit and confident steps.
“I’m Detective Chambers,” he said, turning to Ryan and shaking his hand. He smiled at Jessie, but it wilted when she didn’t return the expression. “This way, please. We would like to speak with you separately, if you don’t mind.”
“Why?” Ryan asked, his face thoughtful.
“Just standard protocol, Mr. Braden.”
Ryan looked at Jessie for a moment, his eyes sad. He hesitated a moment, then nodded, as though a decision had been made, mouthed an “I love you,” and disappeared down the hallway with another detective who had come to get him. Little did Jessie know that would be the last time she saw Ryan in person again.
Chapter Six
“You haven’t cried once during this whole interview, Mrs. Braden.” Detective Chambers face was no longer friendly.
“With all due respect, sir, I’ve cried every day since I lost my child. Excuse me if there isn’t much left at the moment,” she replied softly. The whirr of the ventilation seemed loud, echoing off the tile in the tiny room. Dingy yellowish paint, that had probably once been tan, loomed around her. It was not a friendly room, but neither, she’d learned, was the detective.
During last hour, the detective had been kind, but turned cruel with the contemptible questions he had been spitting in her face.
“You’re young. It
’s understandable, you were overwhelmed.”
“How many times did you let him fall off the couch?”
“He just wouldn’t stop crying, would he? So you had to do something to shut him up!”
Every question had been a blow to Jessie. She had nothing left, no tears to cry, no emotions to give. She was empty, a shell. She had been informed that the ME had discovered healed bones during the autopsy. Healed. Healed meant they happened at some point in her precious boy’s short life, and she hadn’t known. Her son never cried, except for once.
“I’ve told you, Detective. He only truly cried once. About four weeks after he was born, I was still trying to heal from the blood loss and stitches. I had fallen asleep on the couch, and Ryan took over watching the baby. Not long after I had fallen asleep, Ryan woke me, panicked. He said that our son wouldn’t stop crying, and he didn’t know what to do. My son was so upset, and wouldn’t calm, so I called a taxi to take us to the emergency room, since we didn’t have a car at the time. They diagnosed him with colic, gave me a prescription, and sent us home.”
A knock sounded at the door, interrupting whatever the detective had been about to say. He stared at her for a moment, before acknowledging it. A face peeked in, and Chambers nodded.
“I’ll be right back,” he said as he moved to the door, shutting it quietly behind him.
Jessie didn’t move. She sat there completely numb, trying to process what the detective had told her. It was impossible. Her baby was perfect. He never cried, and loved to be held. How could this have happened to him, and she, as his mother, not known? Impossible. She would have known, wouldn’t she? Straining, she tried to hear the conversation taking place outside the room, but it eluded her, the sounds too muffled from the thick wooden door. Her mind whirling, she traced the crudely carved graffiti in the table in front of her.
Long moments later, Detective Chambers re-entered the room and sat silently in front of her. She watched him and waited. She had nothing to say and was sure it wouldn’t be long before he started asking his absurdly painful, awful questions again.
“You’re free to go, Mrs. Braden.” His voice was soft, his eyes sympathetic.
“What?” His response was not what she had been expecting, and she was confused.
“You’re free to go - your husband confessed. The night you took your son to the ER, Ryan was trying to get him to go to sleep. He said he was frustrated that the baby wouldn’t cooperate and when he was swaddling him in the blanket, he pulled too tightly and heard a popping sound. The blanket ripped, which he later hid it in the bottom of a closet so you wouldn’t find it. He continued with his task, putting him in the crib, and misjudged the distance between the baby and the railing, and hit his head on one of the bars. This explains the healed ribs and the healed skull fracture. Your husband won’t be charged with murder, as the Medical Examiner holds firm that your son’s cause of death was SIDS, but he is being charged with two counts of battery in the first degree on a minor.”
Jessie felt the world fall away from her. The person she had been was buried when her son had been placed in the ground. The last remnants of any life that she had known, or ever dreamt of, ended on the trail of his words. She felt sick, the world a continuously rotating, evil force, plotting against her. At that moment, she hated everything. God, the world, her husband, even her parents. She swayed in her chair, the weight of the added emotions too much for her already battered body. A strong hand on her shoulder helped to ground her. She looked up into Detective Chambers face, saw the kindness and pity in his eyes, and shrugged to move his hand.
“I need the car keys, please. Ryan has them.” Even she could hear how hollow her voice sounded – the way it echoed, completely bare of all emotion. At least I’m not screaming, she thought.
Chambers left the room, and returned seconds later with her husband’s items. His wedding ring, with its inscription ‘Come Fly With Me,’ mocking her from where it lay on the table. She remembered the many times he would swing her around the house, singing in his best Sinatra voice, and an angry tear fell from her eye. Their dreams of April in Paris and Fly Me to the Moon were now gone. How could he do this? How could he have known what he’d done, and not tell her? How could he cut the remaining tiny thread that had kept her together after losing her son?
Jessie surveyed the remaining two items on the table: his wallet and the gold ‘Dad’ necklace she’d given him for his birthday while she’d been pregnant. She stared at the pile for a moment, snatched the car keys, and left everything else on the desk. As she turned to leave, the detective’s voice stopped her.
“Mrs. Braden? His remaining items must –”
“Throw them away,” she answered, cutting him of. “Throw him away, like he did me and our dreams.”
Detective Chambers raised his eyebrows, but said nothing as she moved to the door, opened it, and walked out. She didn’t look back.
***
Climbing into the brightly colored car, Jessie took a breath, and then another – there didn’t seem to be enough air, and she felt like she was suffocating. She closed her eyes for a moment to gather strength, started the car, and let it take her where it would. She somehow ended up at Fairview. Wiping her wet eyes, she opened the door and got out. Throwing the keys on the seat, she turned and started the climb to the baby block. Once there, she collapsed next to the small dirt-covered mound. The funeral flowers, wilted and sad-looking, still covered the plot – a small cross wreath with white flowers from her parents, various blue flowers, and an endless amount of different colored roses.
“Baby boy … how could I have not known? How could you have possibly wanted to stay, with a mom who couldn’t even protect you? I know that SIDS isn’t something that can be prevented, I do. But, I swear to you if I’d known, I would never have let your dad hurt you. I never knew. Please, please, sweet baby, please believe me. You were everything to me. I’m nothing without you, and now without your dad. I don’t even know who I am now, or how I’m going to move on from this. Everyone tells me I have to move on, that I can’t just stay here with you, which is the only place I want to be. Please, just come back. I need you. I miss you. I love you.”
Jessie’s sobs filled the wind around her, sorrow like a blanket surrounding her. She cried for the child she had to bury. She cried for the husband who wasn’t what he had seemed. She cried for herself, for her loss, for her grief and unwillingness to live. She cried for every dream she had, all of which had been shattered into unrecognizable pieces. She screamed her hurt to the sky, demanding an answer to the endless ‘why me?’ questions running through her head. She’d had everything she’d ever dreamt of, ever wanted, and in two short weeks, she’d lost it all. She was nothing and had nothing to give, nothing but her many fallen tears.
Chapter Seven
Jessie arrived home to find reporters cluttered around her apartment building, all talking loudly about Ryan and his confession to the police, and the loss of her son. As she waded through the group, the faces of her neighbors, the ones that had been so full of concern before, were now filled with outrage and hatred. She tried to not listen to the hateful words that were said, but she couldn’t tune them out.
“Baby Killer!”
“It should have been her. She should be in the ground now.”
“Why isn’t she in jail with her husband? She’s JUST AS GUILTY as he is!”
“An eye for an eye! A mother who kills her child shouldn’t be allowed to live!”
The shouts were endless, filling her. If only they could understand that she wished she hadn’t been allowed to live. They didn’t realize that she had pleaded to bargain her life for his. She didn’t want to live in a world that her baby wasn’t in. She wanted to be in the ground with him. Couldn’t they see that?
Sobbing, she rushed faster through the growing crowd of people, stumbling in her haste to get to her door. She just had to get inside. Once inside she could be numb again. Fumbling with the keys, it took Jessie
four times to get the correct key in the hole, and to turn it, freeing the door. As she was entering her house she heard a reported call to her.
“Mrs. Braden! Your husband has been charged with battery against your dead baby, do you have anything to say?!”
She froze for a moment, but then shook her head, and shut the door. She tried to breathe, to think, as she leaned against the door. Whole body shaking, she dropped to the floor, her head in her hands and gave herself up to the total destruction of her emotions.
***
It was late, dusk perhaps, if the orange light shining through the drapes was any indication of time. Jessie hadn’t moved from her perch on the floor against the door. Why bother, when there was no reason to get up?
A loud crash had her covering her face as the glass of her window flew around her. She looked up to see a large hole in her window, the glass around the hole cracking in thin lines. In the middle of her living room lay a dark colored bundle. Jessie crawled low, cutting her hands and knees on the broken glass. She reached the bundle, which turned out to be a cement brick with a note taped to it. The note read: A mother who kills her child, is mother to none. Justice will be served.
Heart hurting and scared, she made the second call to 911 in her life. The dispatcher informed her that there were officers in her area, and would be there shortly. A slight pain in her hand caused her to look down at the blood now covering her hand. It dripped down her hands, her knees, decorating the light carpet beneath her – she was trembling, and it was causing the blood to fall sporadically. Fascinated by the sight, she stared at the floor, watching the patterns that were being created.
The knock at the door made her jump, and she asked who it was.
“It’s Officer Jay and Officer Miles. It’s safe to open the door, ma’am.”