Too Young to Kill

by M. William Phelps

  “What time?” Jo asked Brad.

  “Noon, as usual.”

  After a brief chat, Jo and Brad hung up. Jo went and sat down. Thinking things through, she wondered if Adrianne and Sarah had made up. There had been some trouble between the two girls over the past few weeks. Adrianne had mentioned the spat in short bursts of conversation. Girl stuff, Jo presumed. Territorial things from Sarah’s side of the argument. Adrianne was a tough chick; she was not afraid of Sarah in any way. Violence was not something Jo and Tony preached, but Adrianne, they both agreed, had every right to protect herself. And Adrianne had no qualms about raising her fists if she believed the situation warranted an ass kicking.

  Sarah, however, was the same with regard to fighting, maybe even a bit more aggressive and violent than Adrianne.

  So here you had two powerful and colorful personalities butting heads.

  Sparks.

  “She was not at all worried about Sarah,” Tony said, with Jo agreeing.

  What Tony and Jo didn’t know, however, was that Sarah had wanted to date Adrianne. “She’s hot,” Sarah said the first time she laid eyes on Adrianne. “Whoa!”

  Adrianne, herself playing both sides of the field and experimenting with same-sex relationships, had been trying to get with Sarah since that first day they met in November 2004. They had exchanged a few romantic notes. Adrianne had indicated that she might fall for Sarah. Perhaps they had hooked up and went somewhere together, out of cell phone range.

  Or maybe out of state.

  Jo and Tony didn’t have a phone number for Sarah.

  Tony said, “Me and Joshua (Jo’s son from a previous marriage) are heading over to Cory’s house to see if he knows anything.”

  “Okay,” Jo said. “I’ll stay here and work the phones.”

  Cory “Cor” Gregory was a seventeen-year-old Adrianne had been hanging around with since being back in town, more so over the past few weeks. Cory was a full-fledged Juggalo. A pudgy kid at five feet eight inches, near two hundred pounds, Cory kept his short-cropped curly hair (like spring coils) hanging over his face. He dressed in the same baggy black clothes and chains as Sarah did. He had that punk attitude about him that was clear in the way he walked, talked, acted. Adrianne was somewhat interested in Cory, who, on the other hand, was infatuated and—according to many in the group—obsessed with Sarah Kolb.

  “Cory was Sarah’s dog on a leash,” said a Juggalo from that crowd. “Her puppy.”

  On his right leg, Cory had a tattoo of a devil, a sign of perhaps what he felt like inside. Cory was experiencing that you-don’t-understand-me torment that many teens go through. His parents were divorced. Cory lived with his dad. He was heavily involved with drugs—“Anything he could get his hands on,” said one friend—and drinking as if prohibition was going into effect at any moment. But there was also an indication that Cory was into violence of a different sort: blood and guts, the gory-movie type.

  Sarah knew Cory was totally into her and would do anything she asked. She knew his feelings for her borderlined on mania, and she used that to her advantage. Adrianne was in the middle, working both ends of the relationship between Cory and Sarah, feeling out where she fit in.

  Regardless of the social dynamics involved inside the group, they were a tight bunch. That much Tony and Jo knew. Cory would know where Sarah was—and maybe even where Adrianne had run off to.

  Tony said he knew where Cory Gregory lived.

  Cory’s dad answered the door. “Come on in.” He seemed helpful and concerned for Tony and Adrianne. Bert Gregory wanted to help.

  “I’m lookin’ for Adrianne,” Tony pleaded. He had a distant gaze about him that only another father could relate to. Tony wasn’t broken yet, but he was clearly getting more worried and scared for Adrianne as the night wore on.

  “I think they had a fight,” Bert Gregory told Tony, according to what Tony later recalled. “Sarah and Adrianne, I mean. Cory said something about dropping Adrianne off at the McDonald’s by your house.” The fast-food restaurant was a few blocks away from Jo and Tony’s place. The idea behind the statement being that Adrianne didn’t want anyone at the house to see her get out of Sarah’s car. She knew her dad didn’t want her hanging around with Cory and Sarah.

  “No kiddin’?”

  Bert explained that he didn’t know where Cory was right at the moment, but Cory had been home earlier and explained what had happened. He seemed upset about it. Apparently, Sarah and Adrianne had gotten into a fight, a nasty argument that turned into a shoving match, but that was all Bert knew.

  Tony asked for Cory’s cell number. Bert handed it over, wished them good luck. Then Tony and Jo’s son took off.

  Back at home, Tony told Jo, “Let’s go.... We’ll see if we can’t find Sarah’s house.” He gave Cory’s phone number to Jo. “Call him on the way.”

  They took off, driving around the town of Milan, about twenty minutes southwest of East Moline. Making matters worse, freezing rain had started as they left. Milan is on the outskirts of the Quad City International Airport (QCIA). It has a small-town charm and quaint atmosphere. Sarah lived in town with her mom and stepfather. Jo thought she knew the type of vehicle Sarah drove: an old beat-up red Geo Prizm. Not knowing exactly where Sarah’s house was located, if they couldn’t spot the car, Tony and Jo were hoping to find someone who could lead them in the direction of Sarah’s house. Or get ahold of Cory on the phone along the way and have him explain where Sarah lived.

  But no one was around, and Cory wasn’t answering his cell phone.

  As they headed back home, it was near eight o’clock, dark, and snowing like the dickens. The temperature had dropped from the mid-thirties into the low twenties. Tony was concerned that his baby girl was out in the night roaming around by herself, cold and wet, feeling lost and possibly ashamed of something she had done, not wanting to face up to it back at home. Driving, he watched as the snow spiraled in swirls through the bright beams of the headlights.

  Where is she?

  He and Jo looked at each other. Without saying anything, they knew what the other was thinking.

  “There ain’t nuttin’ we can’t fix,” Tony had told his daughter once.

  He was hoping Adrianne was playing that same tape over in her confused head at that very moment.

  Turning the corner near the street they lived on, Tony thought, Maybe she’ll be home when we pull in.

  4

  Jill Hiers (pseudonym) dated one of Cory Gregory’s best friends. Nathan “Nate” Gaudet also knew Sarah fairly well, but he and Cory had known each other for years, going back to grammar school. Nate was an average-sized boy, with tightly cropped dark black hair, chiseled (gaunt) facial features, and a penchant to roll with the crowd he tore it up with, whichever way they went. He liked playing paintball, smoking cigarettes, drinking booze, and doing drugs. When everyone headed out to a concert, Nate was right there—painting his face with black-and-white makeup, like the rest of them, dyeing his hair, wearing the same baggy black clothes and black gloves, with the fingertips cut out, and showing off all those face, eye, and ear piercings.

  Nate was at Cory’s house that night, January 21, 2005, when Jill Hiers arrived. Sarah was there, too, Jill noticed after walking in. Cory and Sarah had shown up not long after Tony and his stepson had stopped by and talked with Bert Gregory.

  “What’s up?” Jill said.

  Everyone nodded.

  Cory and Sarah said people were calling them. Adrianne was missing.

  “What—missing?” Jill didn’t really know Adrianne that well, only through Sarah, Cory, and Nate.

  At some point, a neighbor of Cory’s, Katie Singleton (pseudonym), came by. Katie bore a striking resemblance to Adrianne.

  Right away, Sarah called Katie a “scabey,” a derogatory term, meaning that she was a whore or slut, and liked to sleep around. But Jill was certain that Sarah meant it as a slight to Adrianne, because they looked so much alike.

  Sarah told Katie that
she and Cory were the last ones to see Adrianne. “We dropped her off at McDonald’s,” Sarah said of Adrianne, “and I don’t know where she went after that.”

  “Really,” Katie said.

  “Ah, Adrianne runs away all the time,” Sarah added, laughing.

  Katie left. Jill watched as Cory, Nate, and Sarah broke out some cocaine Nate had on him, packed a few bowls full of marijuana, and, forgetting about Adrianne and her whereabouts, got to work getting high.

  5

  The time had come, Jo and Tony felt, to call the East Moline Police Department (EMPD). They didn’t want to do it, but Adrianne was nowhere to be found. It was going to be a long night for the two of them if Adrianne wasn’t home, sleeping in her bed.

  “We’ll send someone right out,” an officer told Jo.

  Sometime later, Officer Josh Allen showed up at the house.

  “It’s my daughter,” Tony said. “She’s been missing since twelve thirty today.” Tony explained where Adrianne went to school.

  Allen took notes and wrote down a description of Adrianne. Then, offering some comfort, he said, “She’s probably a runaway. We’ll find her, Mr. Reynolds.”

  Tony and Jo gave the officer a few names of friends of Adrianne’s, saying, “It’s very odd for her to run away. She’s lived here since November. She doesn’t know many people.” Tony mentioned Adrianne was supposed to be at work at 5:00 P.M., but never showed up.

  “She call?”

  “No.”

  Jo and Tony considered they had better give the officer a bit of information about Adrianne that not too many people knew—something the police should be made aware of if they were going to be any help. It might answer a few questions as to what could be going on here.

  “What is it?” Allen asked Tony.

  “Um,” Jo said, “Adrianne’s a cutter.”

  “She’s got some scars on her wrists from a few previous suicide attempts,” Tony added.

  The latest episode had occurred two weeks prior to Adrianne’s disappearance, when Jo noticed Adrianne had cuts (this time) on her wrists. It was the day after she and Jo had gotten into that spat over the piercing. But they came to find out, it wasn’t necessarily the argument they had that had sent Adrianne into a cutting fit the following day at school.

  Instead, it was Sarah Kolb.

  Jo was called out to the school to come and pick up Adrianne. When she arrived, the psychologist explained that the school was recommending Adrianne be taken to the Robert Young Center (RYC) immediately. The center, a crisis intervention facility that primarily treats psychiatric disorders—from alcoholism to drug addiction to schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, depression, and everything in between—is located in Rock Island. The school wanted Adrianne to enter into a program there, even if it was outpatient. She was struggling in school—not only to fit in (whatever that meant), but with her studies and social network as well. The school Adrianne attended took those kids who had dropped out of public schools and failed to meet the standards and grades. Socializing and behavior were another thing. Essentially, many of the kids Adrianne went to school with had gotten into trouble at some point along their educational path. This GED program was, you could say, a last chance for many of them, Adrianne included.

  Jo told the school psychologist that she had a psychiatrist of her own, and she and Adrianne were planning to go see the doctor together.

  After leaving school, an uncomfortable silence fell between stepmother and stepdaughter inside the car. Jo asked Adrianne if she wanted to talk about what was going on and what had sparked this latest cutting incident. Someone at school had seen Adrianne’s wrists. This was an odd place to cut yourself—even for a cutter like Adrianne, who, when she became angry and upset, took a razor or sharp object and cut her arms and/or thighs. Not deep. Just enough to draw some blood and release the pain. Cutting was liberating. Sort of like turning on a pressure valve and letting out an excessive buildup of emotion. As profoundly shocking and unstable as it seemed, and in no way a proper response to dealing with life’s pain, it helped the cutter cope.

  Experts claim that self-mutilation and self-harm are not suicidal acts, but rooted in self-abuse psychology. The numbers are staggering: somewhere near 2 million people—mostly teens—are said to self-mutilate. Cutting incidents, like the one Adrianne had, usually occur after an overwhelming or distressing incident. It is, experts claim, the direct result of “not having learned how to identify or express difficult feelings in a healthy way.” The theory is that by “deliberately” harming yourself, exposing that pain in a public way, as opposed to internally (hiding it), your “injuries will be seen,” which would, effectively, help them heal. It also helps the cutter, by showing this “physical evidence,” or public manifestation of their emotional pain, prove that the pain is “real.” They see it in the injury, which continually reminds them of that.1

  Validation.

  I hurt; therefore, I am.

  Jo had not seen the cutting on Adrianne’s wrists and asked her about it as they made their way home.

  At first, Adrianne didn’t seem too interested in sharing what was going on. Then, out of nowhere, she said, “Sarah told me to kill myself.”

  “What?” Jo asked, shocked.

  “Sarah. She told me to kill myself. So I tried.”

  According to Jo, they had no idea how long Adrianne had been cutting, but, she added, “Adrianne was cutting herself long before she got here to East Moline.” According to a Q&A from a psychology report dated October 13, 2003, which Adrianne filled out, she said she had been smoking marijuana since the age of nine and had graduated to snorting cocaine and smoking crystal meth by twelve years old. In between, Adrianne said, she used everything from booze (almost daily) to Xanax, and something she referred to as “footballs,” speed, uppers, and other drugs. She had given it all up at fifteen, but found no other outlet to express those feelings of never being good enough and never being loved. That was when she began to cut. Evaluating Adrianne in the same report, her doctor wrote she was very impulsive, cannot focus . . . [feels] extremely depressed [and] suicidal. She admits to running away from home several times.

  This was revealing info. But the shocker in the report was: She reports to trying to kill herself twenty to thirty times . . . taking overdoses, trying to hang herself, trying to cut herself, jumping off a bridge, etc. Adrianne even said she had “auditory and visual hallucinations” at times. She hears her deceased maternal uncle talking to her, she sees him, she sees people, she hears voices in clear consciousness.

  Jo didn’t take Adrianne directly home. She drove to her girlfriend’s house so she and Adrianne could have some privacy and, as Jo put it, “Talk it out.” This was a personal issue, Jo felt, between her and Adrianne. Adrianne needed to know she could trust Jo.

  When they sat down inside Jo’s girlfriend’s house, Adrianne showed Jo her wrists. They weren’t badly cut, Jo said later. It was clear Adrianne had no intention of killing herself with these particular wounds. Still, what in the world was happening here? Jo wondered if Adrianne hated her home life all that much. Where was all this self-hatred rooted? Were things at school that bad?

  “What’s going on?” Jo asked. Adrianne knew the talk was going to stay between them. This time, Jo wasn’t going to be running home to tell Tony what was up. Girl to girl. Jo wanted to help. She promised confidentiality.

  Adrianne didn’t cry. She was depressed, sure. But, at the same time, Adrianne could be tough as Teflon. “They—mostly Sarah—were telling me to commit suicide.”

  “But why, Adrianne?”

  She shrugged.

  “Come on . . .” Jo wanted her to open up. Talk to me. Tell me what is really happening.

  “I slept with a few boys,” Adrianne admitted.

  “Okay,” Jo responded. So what?

  Adrianne said the group of kids she hung with at school were calling her “whore” and “slut” because she’d had sex with two different boys in a short period of t
ime. She said Sarah had told her that the only way to get rid of all the pain—and effectively redeem herself—was to take her own life. Sarah thought Adrianne was weak emotionally. She could dictate Adrianne’s life for her, and she’d listen. Sarah had some sort of strange control over a few of the other kids in the group, and she assumed Adrianne was going to be as easily influenced.

  But Adrianne—good, bad, or indifferent—was her own person. She was smarter than that. She didn’t want to die. No one who tries to commit suicide twenty to thirty times without success wants to leave this earth; they want help. Adrianne wanted the kids to stop calling her names. She wanted their respect—their friendship—not ridicule and harassment. All the bullying was getting to her. She was desperately trying to find her place in that crowd. Hell, she was trying to find her place anywhere. She had no interest in being a Juggalette, but she wanted to be part of the group, nonetheless. Part of sleeping with the two boys was Adrianne’s way of saying, I want you to like me.

  “I don’t feel right in any place, being away from my mother,” Adrianne told her therapist in 2003, “and it bothers me.”

  In another section of that same Q&A, Adrianne seemed to think she had a problem with sex—as in, she felt she could not control herself or abstain.

  Jo had been hard on Adrianne ever since she’d been back living with them this second time.

  “I didn’t want you here,” Jo admitted to Adrianne that day as they sat and talked. “I really didn’t. Now I do. I am so sorry I felt that way. Let’s go to that counseling session together. I want to make things right between us.”