by Jo Crow
I lay James on the bed and tucked him in, then plugged the micro USB charger from Jerry into the wall and charged the prepaid phone Francine had gone to pick up for me while Jerry and I worked. While the phone charged, I crossed the room to search my dresser for clothes. My pajamas were in the same drawer I’d left them in all those years ago. I pulled on one of my looser pairs to discover it still fit, even if it wasn’t as baggy as it had been when I was eighteen.
In my pajamas, I returned to bed and climbed in beside James. He sucked in a little breath and rolled over, but otherwise stayed asleep. I wished I could drift off so easily, but my mind was still racing, and I needed to find a way to shut it down.
I booted up my prepaid phone. There were sixteen notifications from Facebook waiting in my inbox. I clicked over to them. Most times, I was lucky to have one or two notifications. Curious, I accessed the list and tried to make sense of what I saw. All were from a group I’d never joined: “Hickory Hills Chronicle.”
I scrolled through my notifications and arrived at the first one.
Amanda Harwood has added you to the group Hickory Hills Chronicle.
“What the hell?” I muttered, then pushed the notification to see what was going on.
If the “Hickory Hills Chronicle” had ever been anything but a gossip group, I couldn’t tell. As far back as I could scroll, all the posts dealt with the same subject matter.
Me.
Names I recognized dragged my name through the mud, using hatred and fear rather than facts to incite others in the group to do the same. Amanda, all the while, posted my schedule online. I looked in horror, scrolling through as she detailed my location and the hours I was supposed to keep there.
The She-Devil is back. Saw her last night at High Fliers, probably trying to get with a new victim. Is there anyone she won’t sleep with?
Amanda had responded to her own post: one response among a dozen others from names I recognized.
She got drunk last night, stumbling around, slurring her words, hitting on anything that moved. I’ve been trying to keep her the hell away from everyone in town, but she just won’t change her ways. Once a murderous slut, always a murderous slut. Right? lol
I’d entrusted her with James while I was on the set, and I’d given her that information in confidence so she’d know when to expect me back. I hadn’t realized that all of Hickory Hills knew where I was at all times.
Amanda had posted the address of the staff house I stayed in. She had posted pictures of my car—and Francine Appleton’s car, after mine had been vandalized. There were pictures of my smashed windshield outside of Chow’s, posted from dummy accounts with no profile pictures and obviously fake names, and in the comments, people celebrated the destruction, claiming I’d got what was coming to me, and I’d keep getting it until I left town.
My heart ached.
The further back I scrolled, the more it became clear that, all this time, Amanda had been using social media to orchestrate the town’s resentment toward me. There were even photos posted of me from my teenage years—photos I’d taken drunk with Amanda when we met and fell into bed with much older, married men. She used our history to paint me as a harlot. The more I read, the more I started to hate myself, until I had to turn off the browser and put the phone away.
No one here wanted what was best for me. No one here cared if I lived or died. They saw the troubled teenager I used to be, and they saw me as the criminal responsible for killing my parents, and for killing McNair Furniture—they would never let it go. Not unless I could prove my innocence, and the real killer was brought to justice… and after what had happened in the interrogation room, that seemed highly unlikely.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to push all the stress and negativity as far away from me as I could. I remembered why I came back. I was here for James. I wasn’t just Clara McNair anymore—I was a mom. The selfish, teenage girl who’d left Hickory Hills had returned a young, accomplished woman with more love in her heart than she knew what to do with.
I wouldn’t let them stop me. I was here for James, not for anyone else.
31
I screamed when I woke up. It wasn’t a nightmare. Someone was pounding on the front door. Heart racing, I sat up in bed and tossed the blankets aside. James woke and looked at me in the half-light with big, round eyes.
“It’s okay, baby,” I told him. I took a second to tuck the blankets around him, then kissed his forehead. “I just need to go see who’s at the door. You stay here and go back to sleep. I’ll be right back to bed with you.”
James sighed and closed his eyes, and when I was sure he was comfortable, I left the room and quickly headed down the hall. The pounding continued, and I picked up the pace until I’d arrived and was able to pull the door open.
The police were on the doorstep and, behind them, lighting up the night, was Samuel and the film crew. I squinted against the artificial lighting and raised a hand to shield my eyes.
“Clara McNair?” the officer asked. “We’re here on behalf of social services. Several reports have been filed and assessed, and in interest of the safety of one James McNair, the state will be taking custody of your child.”
The words crashed into me like a truck. My body reacted before my head could, my arms bracing on either side of the doorway, as if stretching myself across it would keep my unwelcome visitors out.
They couldn’t take James from me. They couldn’t. He was sick. He needed me.
“We’re asking you kindly to move.” The officer stepped forward. “The custody arrangement has been approved at the state level. The child in your house is no longer in your possession, and keeping him away from law enforcement and social services is a crime.”
I couldn’t move. My arms shook as I braced myself in the doorway, barricading the way. All this time I’d been fighting for James, and I couldn’t accept I would lose him now.
“I’m his mother.” I squinted through the lights, trying to meet the officer’s eye. “He’s terminally ill. You can’t take him away from me. No one else will know how to take care of him, or what he needs if his symptoms start coming back.”
“Social services is prepared to care for sick children. There are plenty already in the system. Yours will be no different.”
“He’ll die,” I hissed. Desperation was starting to set in, and hot tears built behind my eyes. Irritation and fear came together as one, leading to a rage-inducing sorrow I knew was dangerous. “He’ll die if he isn’t taken care of properly. He’s very sick. He needs me to take care of him. You can’t take him away.”
“Ma’am,” the other officer said. “We need you to step aside. This is your last warning.”
My gaze flicked from one officer to the other, the light from the camera crew blinding me. I didn’t care I was in my pajamas, or my hair was pushed in all directions, or I probably looked like a vampire squinting against the light flooding in from just beyond the stoop. All I cared about was the little boy in the bedroom upstairs—the one to whom I’d made a promise to be right back.
They can’t do this. They can’t.
The second officer stepped forward and set a hand at my shoulder, pushing me aside. I stumbled backward, and the mama bear inside woke.
“You can’t!” I shrieked. All of my fear manifested as hysterical helplessness. “He needs me! He’s my son!”
“Check the bedrooms,” the second officer told the first. “Watch your back. You know what Harwood’s report stated.”
“Harwood?” The name choked me, and it fumbled across my tongue to clumsily escape my lips. “Amanda Harwood? She’s the one doing this?”
The first officer headed for the staircase on the right side of the room while the second officer crowded me to the left. Samuel and his film crew flooded in through the door, recording every second of my shame.
“If you refuse to comply with state mandates, you will be arrested,” the officer stated. “Right now, you need to remain calm and quiet while
we do our job.”
Amanda. This wasn’t the work of someone being blackmailed or manipulated into smearing my name—this was genuinely hateful behavior that required premeditation and follow-through.
My back hit the wall. The impact shocked me, and it jogged free a new, terrifying thought from somewhere deep in my psyche. Was Amanda taking custody of James?
“You can’t let her have him.” My mouth was dry and my lips were numb, but I couldn’t stop. If Amanda took James, what terrible things would she do to him? She’d already tortured and killed my parents, and she’d made it clear she was after my life, too. James, defenseless and innocent, wouldn’t stand a chance.
Amanda knew how to hurt me the most, and she was taking full advantage.
“Ma’am, you need to calm down. You’re not under arrest yet. You can contest the ruling, but we are under command not to allow the child to remain in your custody for now.”
“You can’t let her have him,” I repeated, begging. “You can’t. She’s going to kill him. She’s going to torture and kill my son!”
“Ma’am.”
“Please.” I wasn’t above begging. Not anymore. I knew there was no way I could fight an officer—I couldn’t even defend myself against a masked man on the streets. “Please don’t let her take him. I’ll do anything. H-he can go to anyone else. Anyone. Just not her.”
“Ma’am, we have reason to believe James McNair is unsafe in your care. He has special medical needs, a special diet—we’re aware of his situation. He won’t be getting pizza, if that’s what’s worrying you. Social services know how to care for sick children.”
“Please.” I dropped to my knees and bowed my head. “You don’t know what she’ll do to him. You don’t know the things she’s already done. If he goes to her, if you leave him alone with her, he’ll… please.”
James screamed. The shrill cry echoed through the house and cleaved me in half. I could imagine the vile things Amanda would do to him, and how he’d scream just like that as she broke his fragile body in order to get back at me.
The screaming grew louder. There were footsteps upstairs. The more I heard, the more I broke down. Hot tears rolled down my cheeks and dotted the thighs of my pajama bottoms as they fell from my jaw.
I heard heavy boots make their way down the stairs as James’s wailing came closer. The officer was on his way back, my son nestling into the rough material of his outdoor uniform.
“Mommy!” James shrieked.
“It’s okay, baby,” I promised, straining against the officer holding me back to reach him. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Mommy’s going to make it better. All you have to do is be strong for just a little while. Just hold on a little while for me, okay?”
James shrieked and sobbed, and held out his arms to me.
“Be strong, baby,” I pleaded. “You’re okay. Mommy loves you. She loves you so much.”
The officer holding James stepped out through the front door. Half of the camera crew followed him while the other half remained inside, filming my breakdown. Why had the police allowed them to enter? Wasn’t this a private moment?
“Thank you for your cooperation, ma’am. You can contest the decision with social services, and if it’s determined you can provide a safe, stable environment for your child, the decision will be revoked and custody will return to you.”
I sobbed, my despair bitter. It was a lost cause. No one in their right mind would return custody to me if they looked into my situation. The police were ready to arrest me for a crime I didn’t commit; my house had burned to the ground—it wasn’t prime environment for a young child.
Amanda knew she had me, and she was going to milk my suffering for everything she could.
“Our business here is done,” the officer said. “Goodnight.”
The camera crew closed in. Footsteps, frantic, surrounded me on all sides. The lighting angles changed, lenses crowded me, and a boom mic lowered itself above me, just out of the shot.
“In a surprising turn of events, your son has been taken from you. Clara, can you tell us what’s been happening to warrant such serious action?”
Samuel towered over me, as arrogant as ever. I clenched my fists and clenched my teeth. How could he even think about turning something so tragic into a spectator’s sport? How could he expect me to do a Q&A in the wake of such a tragedy?
“Fuck off, Samuel.”
“Your young son, James, has some type of childhood cancer, isn’t that right? Can you tell us more about his life-threatening condition?”
“Get the hell out of my house!” In a fit of rage, I pushed off the ground and staggered to my feet. Samuel jumped back, and the film crew scurried back from me like I was the stone dropped into a pond, and they were the ripples. “Get the hell out right now before I call the cops back in here to arrest every one of you for trespassing! This is private property!”
“You invited us to set up on the McNair estate.” Samuel remained the closest out of any of the crew, and I focused the bulk of my rage on him. “We’re not trespassing if—”
“GET THE HELL OUT!”
I’d never screamed so loud in my life. The hate in my words propelled Samuel backward, and I saw fear cloud his eyes. He nodded toward the door, and the camera crew left as a single entity. I watched every one of them leave: If I’d had that revolver in my hand I’d have shot him in the back. I slammed the door shut behind him.
Alone, I collapsed against the door, sobbing.
Amanda had taken my parents, and now she’d taken my son, too—my son, who was sick, and who had nothing to do with what had happened to her mother twenty years ago.
I would not let her harm James. I’d come to Hickory Hills in the belief I could give him the future he deserved. I’d lived my life, gone to school, traveled, and fallen in love, but James? James had his life ahead of him, and I wasn’t about to abandon him, just to save myself. Even if I had to die, I would make sure he survived.
Everything I did was for him, and only him. I would never give up on James. Amanda had her bait; I had no choice but to bite, not even if doing so meant I’d have to draw my last breath.
32
Shadows shifted across the darkened bedroom floor, marking the passage of the moon through the sky and the rise of the sun on the horizon, but my eyes refused to close, and my head refused to stop thinking in dangerous, cyclical patterns.
I was to blame.
I’d dragged my son across the country in the hopes I could save him, knowing Hickory Hills had been hostile to me in the past, and that its people held grudges. I’d taken a chance, and now he was paying for it.
It was all my fault.
At seven, I got out of bed and dressed in clothes I’d last worn a decade before. Jeans with fashionably ripped legs, and shirts that showed off too much cleavage weren’t my style anymore, but I had little choice. In the end, I found the least revealing shirt I could and paired it with a torn set of jeans, then headed out the door.
There would be no filming today. I needed to focus on James’s well-being and nothing else.
The drive through town was quiet at seven in the morning. Fog swirled in eddies as I drove through it. I took the roads slowly, and arrived outside the Appleton house no later than half past seven. When I rang the bell, Jerry answered. His tie was undone but, otherwise, he looked like he was about to step out the door to head to the office.
“Good morning, Clara.” Jerry stepped back from the door to let me in. “Where’s James this morning?”
There were no more tears left to cry. I was numb. “They took him.”
He looked back into the house—I assumed to check for Francine—then nodded toward his parked car. “I’m about to head in to work. Meet me at the office. I’ll clear my schedule out, and we can go over everything that happened with a fine-tooth comb. This isn’t where it ends. I know I’m not properly qualified to represent you in court, but I will fight for you in every way I can. You’re not alone, Cl
ara.”
They were pretty words, but I wasn’t sure I believed them.
By eight, we were seated in Jerry’s office. He had documents laid out across his desk, and I looked over them listlessly. My eyes wouldn’t focus to read.
“The best way you’ll have a chance at regaining custody of James is if you can prove you have a stable home environment to bring him back into,” Jerry stated. He chewed his lip as he examined the papers, and my gaze shifted from the ink on the page to Jerry’s reactions. Although he did his best to hide it, I could tell he didn’t think I had much of a shot. “According to the statements you made yesterday, and the evidence recovered by the police from the staff house, I’m not sure how we’d go about doing that while you’re the main suspect in a double murder investigation.”
“Amanda has confessed. If I could prove she murdered my parents… But what motive would she have to kill them?”
I closed my eyes. Amanda had planned this out, and I’d wandered into her trap unaware. Higher ground was hers, and I was fighting a losing battle trying to gain an advantage. Every time I thought I’d found a helpful lead, I’d dug myself deeper into trouble.
Jerry tapped a pen against one of the documents, eyes narrowed slightly in concentration. “There’s also your track record as a teenager. Witnesses have attested to your rebellious, sometimes dangerous behavior. The erratic choices you made back then, and your hostility toward home life, will leave others more likely to testify against you based on the past.”
I hung my head. I wasn’t proud of who I’d been, and I’d done my best to change from the disturbed young woman who’d once lashed out at the world. Amanda, who had a similar track record, had stayed in town. The townsfolk had watched her get her degree, then start a job in a respectable field. She’d redeemed herself in their eyes.
Me?
I’d run away to Europe. Even though I’d come back to town as a mother, dressed in respectable clothing and with two degrees under my belt, no one was willing to change their perception of me because they hadn’t seen me grow.