by Evans, J R
“You’re bleeding pretty bad,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said, “everything’s getting fuzzy.”
“Here, let me see.”
She moved his hand away from the wound. Warmth splattered across her face as blood shot out across the hallway. She clamped her own hand around his wrist and reached for her radio.
She pushed the button. “Code two-seventeen in progress. Requesting eleven-forty-one.”
Matt shook his head. “Should I be worried? None of that made any sense.”
“They’re sending an ambulance,” Dani explained.
She pulled a zip tie off her belt and looped it around Matt’s arm. Matt looked like he was about to protest when Dani yanked the free end tight. One of Matt’s eyes squeezed shut, and the other went wide with pain.
There was a series of rapid thumps behind her as Dwayne pounded on the door.
“Foster!” he said. “This is the police. We know you’re in there. Drop you weapon and come out. Now!”
There was a pause, and then a faint voice said, “That would be dumb.”
Dwayne stepped close to the door so that his head was almost resting against it. “Christy, are you in there?”
Foster answered for her. “She’s tied up. I put one of those rubber balls in her mouth. She’s fine, but I do have a knife pressed against her throat.”
Dwayne’s hand started to clench around his pistol. He stopped it when his finger touched the trigger. “Adam? Adam, are you all right?”
“He’s here, too,” said Foster. “He’s shaking pretty bad. I didn’t do anything to him, though. He did that on his own.”
Dwayne held his pistol with both hands and pressed the top of it against his head. To Dani it looked like he was praying.
It wasn’t a prayer, though. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.”
He was breaking. He wasn’t the sergeant anymore. He was a man trapped in a nightmare.
Matt’s arm was starting to change color. It felt cool and clammy. Dani took Matt’s free hand and placed it over the cut again. This time there was no shower of blood, which was good because Matt’s grip didn’t seem very tight. She couldn’t worry about that right now.
“Hey, Foster? My name’s Dani. We can work something out. Nobody else needs to get hurt. What do you want?”
Foster didn’t answer for a long time. Finally, he said, “I don’t know anymore. I think I’d have to start all over. I don’t suppose you could send in another woman. Somebody broken? I’d do an even trade.”
Dwayne’s pistol hung at his side. He was whispering now, mainly to himself. “He’s gonna kill them. He’s just gonna kill them.”
Dani stepped closer to the door. “Look, you know we can’t do that.”
“Yeah,” said Foster, “I figured.”
“That boy is in trouble,” said Dani. “He has seizures. We know you don’t hurt kids. You should let him go. We can take him to the hospital, and then we’ll have more time to talk this through.”
“I don’t think she’ll let me.”
“Of course she will. She’s his mother.”
“No,” said Foster. “I mean the Woman in the Garden. She won’t let him leave. He’s too dangerous.”
Okay, how do you reason with that? Dani’s heart sank. You don’t.
Dwayne was looking down at the ground. “There’s blood on the floor. He has a knife. He’s crazy. He’s gonna kill them.”
Then she heard Adam’s voice. It wasn’t comforting at all.
“The-voice-of-the-LORD-strikes-with-flame-The-voice-of-the-LORD-twists-the-oaks-and-strips-the-forests-bare.”
38
The boy stopped shaking. His lips parted, and blood ran down his chin. His hand fell away from his eye, and Foster could see red tears dripping down his cheek. He wasn’t sure if Adam was still breathing.
The boy’s mother twisted in her restraints, trying to get a better look at him. The strap over her mouth muffled her screams, but Foster could tell she was trying to yell his name over and over again.
Foster bent down to where Adam was leaning against the cross. The storybook was closed at his side. Foster grabbed it. Splatters of blood decorated its cover. He opened it back up to the page with the tree swing and laid it flat next to them. His fingers trembled as he touched them to the side of Adam’s throat to feel for a pulse.
Blood sprayed across Foster’s face as Adam coughed. He blinked away the red smears in his vision. He opened his eyes to look at the boy again, and another cough shot out more blood.
Adam’s voice sounded thick. “It’s gone.”
He was looking around the room wide-eyed. One of his eyes was normal, the other was shot through with jagged, red lines. There were no cuts or scratches on his face.
“I can’t see it anymore,” said Adam. “It’s just a room again. There’s no tree.”
Foster still saw the tree and the Woman in the Garden. Her owl had returned to her and sat perched on her shoulder. Her white dress was stained red by one of the clenching talons. She was standing over by the boy’s mother now. She looked down at her like she was trying to find some kind of meaning on her face. It was clear that Christy couldn’t see her at all. If she could, she wouldn’t be straining forward so much.
“What did you do?” asked Foster.
“I reminded him where he belongs,” said the Woman in the Garden. “And where he’s not wanted.”
Adam crawled over to his mother. “I tried, Mom. I tried.”
He laid his head down on her stomach. She mumbled something soothing.
“Will he be all right?” Foster asked.
The Woman in the Garden shifted her gaze to the boy. “Kill him. Take your blade, slash his veins, and hang him from this cross. Drain his blood, and end his corruption. If you don’t, he’ll bring a blight to all that I’ve sown.”
“How? He’s just a boy.”
“He walked the path and entered the garden unbidden.”
“So he should die?”
Christy whipped her head back to look at him. Her eyes fluctuated between rage and pleading. She must have heard that. At least the part that Foster had said.
The women in the tree swing continued staring blankly ahead.
“You’ve killed others,” said the Woman in the Garden. “You said it was getting easier. In your heart you were starting to enjoy it.”
“That’s what scares me,” said Foster. “But I knew I was sending them to you, so you could help them.”
The Woman in the Garden turned her head toward the corpse by the door. “Not him.”
“He was going to ruin everything,” said Foster.
“So is this boy.”
“He’s just scared. He got lost and found you.”
“He was drawn to me. And something else came with him. He doesn’t realize what’s just under the surface of his skin. He’s beyond saving. He should never have been born.”
That sounded familiar. Children could be cruel, and orphans were easy targets. Being defined by something you didn’t have, and would probably never have, changed the way you thought about yourself and your place in the world. Some kids hardened to it like a calloused fist; others drifted through life believing they should never have been born.
As Foster went to the bench, Christy pushed her head back into the leather cushion. He knelt down next to her on the side opposite Adam. Foster reached toward her face, and she squeezed her eyes shut. He unfastened a buckle and the strap over her mouth fell away.
“What are you doing?” asked the Woman in the Garden.
Foster kept his eyes on Christy.
“Let my son go and I’ll stay,” she said. “He needs a doctor. They won’t care about us. You and I. They’ll be too busy with him. They’ll . . . they’ll give you more time if you let him out.” She looked down at the patterns on her chest. “You could start over.”
“No,” said Adam. But it was quiet and weak.
A door crashed open in some other part of the house
. There was yelling and lots of boots stomping across the floor. The woman on the other side of the door was yelling out warnings: Don’t shoot. Don’t engage. Don’t open that door. He’s got a knife. He’s got hostages. He has a kid in there. He’s dangerous.
Foster wiped his nose with the back of his hand. As he did, he noticed he was still holding the box cutter. He quickly lowered it down by his side and looked at Christy.
“What would you do if you were my mother?” he asked.
It seemed like she didn’t understand him at first. She just looked confused. Then her face softened and her chin shook. She blinked, and two fresh tears squeezed out from her eyes.
At first she spoke in a whisper. “I would cry.” She took a shuttering breath and then spoke a little louder. “Because I would have failed you. I would tell you not to hurt anyone. And I would tell you that everything is going to be all right. I would hold you close and do everything I could to protect you.”
She wouldn’t, of course. He knew that. But it didn’t matter.
When the Woman in the Garden spoke, it sounded like she was right behind him, whispering in his ear. “She’s not your mother. She pities you. She just wants to keep living so she can continue to grind out her shadow of a life.”
Foster started to look at her but then turned back to Christy. “Do you pity me?”
They both answered his question.
“No,” said the Woman in the Garden. “Together we will build something divine.”
“Yes,” said Christy. “I’m sorry.”
He could tell they were both telling the truth.
“The thing is,” said Foster, “people feel pity because they care. It’s humiliating. You realize you’re at your worst, and you can see it reflected in their eyes. Even if it makes you feel less than human, when people pity you it’s because they want you to be a better person. They think, What if that were me? They feel a little afraid and a little relieved.”
The whisper in his ear said, “I’m giving you the chance to be above those people.”
Christy just nodded.
Foster held up his blade again. He clicked the blade closed, then open. Closed, then open.
“Do exactly as I say and the boy will live.”
39
Adam stood by the door. He had to be careful, though, because the pool of blood made it slick.
Through his right eye everything was covered in a cloud of hazy red. All he could see were silhouettes and shadows. His left eye was a little blurry, but otherwise he could see out of it just fine. He had to keep turning his head from side to side to take in what was around him. Things seemed flat, and it was hard to tell how close everything really was.
He flinched back as somebody pounded on the door from the other side.
It was a woman’s voice. His dad’s partner. “Foster! How is this gonna end?”
Adam wondered where his dad was. It sounded like there was a bunch of people outside now. He could hear low voices and radios crackling.
Foster placed a bundle into his hands. It was wrapped in his mom’s shirt, and the smell of her perfume suddenly made his next task seem impossible. He looked back at her. She just smiled and gave a slow nod. She mouthed the words I love you. He nodded back and held the bundle tight.
Foster leaned close to the door. He wasn’t wearing a shirt anymore, and it made him look smaller. He still had the knife, though, and his knuckles were white as he gripped it in a tight fist.
“All right,” said Foster. “The boy’s coming out on his own. I’ll have a knife pressed to his mother’s neck. If this door opens after he leaves, I cut.”
He looked down at Adam. “It will be over soon. Then everybody can go home.”
Foster walked back to the bench. He carefully put his knife in place. Then he nodded.
Adam opened the door. The hallway was filled with police officers. Some were in uniforms, some weren’t. All of them had guns out. Nobody said a word as he pulled the door shut again behind him. As soon as the door clicked into place, Dani reached out and pulled him to one side. She crouched down around him and practically carried him down the hall.
She yelled as they moved. “He’s hurt! Where’s that ambulance?”
Then he was in his father’s arms. The bundle was crushed between them, and Adam was worried that something might break. When the hug loosened a little, Adam could tell that his dad was shaking. There were tears in his eyes as he kissed Adam on the forehead.
He yelled over Adam’s shoulder toward the door. “Christy, he’s safe! We’ll get you out of there, too, baby!”
His father set him down against the wall. Adam could see him cringe when he looked at his eye. He let go of Adam, took a deep breath, and stood up.
“Stay here,” he said. “There’s a medic on the way. Whatever happens, stay low. I’m gonna get your mother out of there.”
“She’s going to be all right,” said Adam.
His father nodded, but Adam didn’t think he believed it.
He turned to somebody against the wall next to Adam. “Stay with him.” It was Matt. He nodded, too. Then his father drew his gun and walked down the hall. All eyes were on him.
“You okay?” Matt whispered to Adam. “What happened?”
Adam turned his head. He had to turn it more when all he saw was a red-and-black blur.
“I tried to be a hero,” said Adam.
Matt showed him his bloody arm. “Me too.”
His father’s voice boomed down the hall. “Foster, talk to me! What do you want?”
Adam put the bundle in his lap. He found an edge of the shirt and started unwrapping it. He uncovered the storybook. It looked pretty banged up. The corners were dented, and there were flecks of blood across the cover. The owl looked at him from the oak tree while the Woman in the Garden was frozen in a smile. The music box looked fine, though. Not even a scratch on it.
“What’s that?” asked Matt.
“This is what he wants,” said Adam.
“Christy?” yelled his father. “Can you talk? Are you all right?” He pounded on the door.
Matt leaned over to look at the box. “Why did he let you take it? What happened in there?”
“He made me draw.”
Adam flipped the lid open. The music box began plunking out slow, metallic notes that rang down the hallway. When Adam looked up, everybody was staring his way.
Then there was a low, ripping sound from behind the door. It started slow and then became impossibly fast. It ended abruptly in an animal scream.
His father screamed, too. “Christy!”
Then the door crashed open as his shoulder laid into it like a battering ram. He raised his pistol and stood perfectly still. His arm wavered, and the pistol clattered to the floor. His father opened his arms as his mother rushed forward to meet him.
She was covered in blood, but Adam knew it wasn’t hers. The lines he had drawn were on Foster.
40
“That looks pretty badass.”
Matt was looking at Adam’s eye patch. White gauze was taped over the boy’s eye, but Adam had clearly decided to embrace his inner pirate and cover up the gauze with a proper black patch.
Matt pointed to the wrap around his own wrist. “All I got was this stupid bandage.”
They were in the clubhouse, sitting at the table. Azrael had immediately come over to give Matt a head-butt when he came in, but now that he had his treat, the cat had returned to his blanket nest to resume napping.
Adam looked at Matt’s arm. He gave a tight-lipped smile, apparently agreeing that the bandage was, indeed, stupid. “They said I should be able to see again. They don’t know when, though.”
“Did they say how it happened?” asked Matt.
“They think my tremors burst some blood vessels,” said Adam. “They said it put pressure on the lens or something. I have to take eye drops now. And pills.”
Matt leaned back in his chair and had to catch himself before he tipped backward. �
�Did they also say a sweet eye patch would get you tons of chicks?”
“No,” said Adam. “Because I’m still nine.”
Matt smiled. “Oh, right.”
He was hoping that would lighten the mood a little, or at least keep the conversation going. Instead, Adam looked down at the table and the tiny room filled with awkward silence.
It had been a couple of weeks since the . . . What do you call it? Incident? Bloodbath? Nightmare? The house had been pretty quiet since then. Occasionally, the police would stomp through to take more pictures or fill out more paperwork. Christy spent most of the time in her room. She slept a lot and occasionally broke down into tears. Matt had tried to comfort her, but she just wanted to be left alone. Adam mainly hid away out here. He didn’t want to talk much, either.
Matt tried again. “So, uh, did you want to talk about anything that happened? You know, in there.”
“No,” said Adam. “Not really.”
Matt kept going anyway. “Because that was pretty messed up.”
“Yeah, I know.” Adam paused for a second and looked up at Matt. “You were going to shoot that guy.”
That wasn’t what Matt had been expecting. It hit him pretty hard. He hadn’t thought about it much himself since he hadn’t actually shot anybody. But he had pulled the trigger. Over and over again. The sergeant had kept that fact out of his report. He’d kept a lot out of his report.
“I think I just got him high, instead,” said Matt. “That’s probably why he made you . . . you know.”
Adam looked at him, and Matt could tell the boy didn’t believe that at all.
They were spared another awkward silence when the door opened. Christy poked her head in. She was smiling, but Matt could tell she wasn’t really committed to the smile.
“What are you boys talking about out here?” she asked.
They answered at the same time.
“Nothing,” said Adam.
“Girls,” said Matt.
Christy looked like she didn’t believe either of them. “Uh-huh.”
She came in and reached down to pet Azrael. The cat didn’t open his eyes, but he did raise his chin to make it easier for her to scratch the right spot.