by Linda Ladd
Pushing to my feet, I opened the garage door and got my Maglite out of the Explorer. The garage was pitch black and silent. Even Jules Verne hadn’t sensed my absence and come looking for me. But that’s the way I wanted it. I wanted to be alone with this. I had to be.
At the back of the Explorer, I quickly raised the hatch before I lost my nerve. The beam of my flashlight settled on the little red trunk. A chill of foreboding turned my flesh into a blanket of goose bumps, but I took a deep breath and set the light down where it angled on the trunk. I opened the lid. My heart actually shuddered, a constriction so tight and so consuming that I took a step backward away from it.
Steeling my nerves, it took a few seconds, but I finally reached in and picked up the baby blanket lying on top. It was still as soft and blue now as it was the day I bought it. I lifted it to my nose and inhaled the sweet scent of Zach, baby powder, milk, Johnson’s baby shampoo, all the wonderful infant smells I remembered with such incredible pain. It was still there, like he was still wrapped up inside it, and I felt tears burn behind my lids for the first time in years. Beneath the blanket were the pictures. Portraits I’d had done in Wal-Mart or Penney’s, different ages, six months apart, but only four before he’d been taken from me. I picked up the Winnie the Pooh frame, so perfectly described by McKay, and my throat squeezed shut, and I heard my own low, keening, guttural sound of agony.
When the door to the house suddenly opened and caught me in a swath of light, I was down and snatching my weapon and beading it in on Black so fast that he raised his hands defensively in front of him and said, “No, don’t, Claire, it’s me.”
I began to shake then, all over, head to toe, but I lowered the .38 and let it hang down beside my leg. “Get out of here, Black. Leave me alone.”
For one or two beats, there was complete silence, then he said, “Okay.”
I watched the door close, watched the darkness swallow me again. And liked it better that way. Tears burned some more but didn’t fall. I had learned long ago that I could not let it go that far, not without going to pieces, so I forced them back, swallowed them down, forcibly controlled myself.
So there I stood, alone, gulping breaths, waiting for control to return. But something was different now, something I didn’t understand, something I needed to understand, had to. I picked up the trunk and carried it under one arm to the door. Inside, Black was in the kitchen, making coffee. I could smell the strong, fragrant aroma, could hear the drip of the water into the glass canister.
Turning to me, Black leaned a hip against the counter and said, “You okay, babe?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. I’m real jumpy.”
He just nodded and then waited for me to speak, but that was what he always did at times like this, times when I was facing my ghosts and my demons and my horribly dysfunctional past. He wouldn’t interfere, wouldn’t push his professional judgment on me, much less treatment, but I knew that’s what he thought he needed to do. I was grateful that he didn’t, that he let me make those decisions, good or bad.
Finally, he broke the silence but nonchalantly, as he filled up a mug with coffee. “So, what’s in the trunk?”
“Nothing.”
We stared at each other, both aware of that great big, feeble lie, then I moved to the tan suede sectional and sat down at one end. I held the trunk on my lap, both arms around it. He got out another mug from the cabinet over the sink.
“It’s got Zach’s things in it. The only things of his I kept.”
Black drew up in the motion of filling the mug, then put the coffeepot back on its warmer. “I see. It’s a painful thing, looking through possessions of somebody you’ve lost.”
No shit, I thought, but I just said, “Yeah.” My voice didn’t sound like me, sounded like some clogged-up, hoarse, grieving, emotional mother. Embarrassed by that, I looked down, but I didn’t have to. Black wasn’t staring at me like I was some kind of specimen. He looked out the front windows at the lake as he drank from his cup.
“I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy. I wouldn’t do that,” he said.
“I know.” But I appreciated that he said it, that he seemed to understand, if anybody could who hadn’t lost a child.
Still clutching the trunk against my chest, I remained silent, and so did he. He brought my coffee to me, placed it on the table in front of me, then sat down beside me. “Do you want to be alone for a while? Just say the word.”
I considered that, then said, “I don’t think so.”
“I can go back upstairs if it would make things easier.”
“No. Stay.”
In silence, we sipped our coffee, and then smiled a little as Jules showed up on the steps, looking sleepy and perturbed that we’d left him all alone in the bed. He jumped up on Black’s lap, and Black stroked his soft white fur.
Then I said something that I’d never thought would pass my lips. “Would you like to see a picture of Zachary?” Then I added lamely, “My son.”
“I’d like that. Yes.”
Opening the lid again, I pulled out the blanket and held it protectively close against my chest. I picked up the last photograph I’d had made of Zachary. It was the one in the little white frame with Winnie the Pooh painted around the edges, the one McKay had envisioned. Zach had loved Winnie the Pooh more than anything.
Black took it, and then I was the one who swiveled my gaze out on the moonlit lake.
“He’s a good-looking boy,” Black said. “He looks like you.”
“Yeah.” Black had spoken in present tense, not past, and somehow, for some reason, that meant a lot to me. Stupid, I know, but it did.
Sighing, I realized I wanted him to tell me what was going on inside my head. Maybe that was what this was all about. Why was I suffering Zach’s loss all over again now, and with jacked-up intensity as cutting as on the day it had happened? Why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? What was wrong with me?
I heaved in a deep breath, let it out. Black waited.
“I think about Zach all the time lately. I mean it, Black. I used to be able to keep that kinda stuff locked away, down deep inside in some kind of mental box, but I can’t do it anymore. I dream about him every time I shut my eyes. I wonder what he’d look like now, how he would’ve looked when he lost his baby teeth, if he would’ve liked going to preschool, how tall he’d be now. I think about teaching him how to swim, swing a bat, be a good sport even when he didn’t win, all of those things, everything, all day every day. I can’t stand it, not if it keeps up like this.”
Black put his hand on top of mine. “Maybe it’s just that you’re ready now. Ready to accept what happened to him. Maybe this is a good thing. A sign that you’re beginning to heal.”
“It’s not a good thing.” Agitated, I jumped up and began to pace. “It can’t be a good thing. It’s driving me crazy. I can’t control my mind anymore. Images of him come at me in waves, over and over, all day and all night. Something’s wrong with my head. I know it is. I can’t think straight half the time. I can’t concentrate on my case. I can’t let this go on.”
“Nothing’s wrong with you, Claire. You’re as strong as any woman I’ve ever known. You know that. You know that you’ve faced horrible things your entire life, but none of it has broken you. You keep getting up. You keep doing your job. But facing the loss of a child is one of the most difficult things life can throw at you. Some people never accept such a tragedy, never get over it. Some do, in time. I think this is a good sign. A sign you’re ready to stop hiding from it and start dealing with it.”
I looked back at him. “I’m not ready to deal with it. I hate it. I hate that it’s getting to me now, after all these years. Tell me why, Black. Why now? Why all of a sudden am I turning into a basket case?”
“First off, you’re not a basket case.” He hesitated. “I don’t know why you’re having this problem right now, but we can talk it through, if you like. Get everything out, stop bottling it up inside. Often that helps things look
better.”
Turning away, I stood at the window, gazing out at the water, which used to calm me and make me feel normal. Not tonight. I felt a storm roaring inside my chest, ripping its way through my vital organs and down my nerve endings. I wasn’t ready for this, but it was happening, whether I liked it or not.
“I don’t think I can do this, Black.”
“Yes, you can. Let’s talk about Zach. Tell me about him.”
Black got up, came behind me, put both arms around me, and pulled me back against his chest. I closed my eyes. I should tell him. I should tell him that Zachary was the best little baby in the world, before or since or ever, but I couldn’t find the words, couldn’t bring myself to utter anything.
Black must’ve sensed my inability to act because he said, “Do you mind if I look through the trunk? I’d like to get to know your son a little, if you’d allow it.”
I nodded and felt his warmth leave me, and I crossed my arms over my chest and hugged my shoulders. When he sat down, I turned and watched him pick up the blanket. “This smells good.”
I said nothing.
Black dug out a little blue teddy bear. Zach’s favorite thing in the world. He’d had it with him the night he’d died in my arms. There was a spatter of his precious blood on the bear’s right foot. I had never tried to wash it out, and I knew it was there and I couldn’t throw the bear away, not with part of Zach still on it.
“He’s a cute one. Did Zach have a name for him?”
I bit my lip. Tell him. This was good for me or Black wouldn’t be doing it. He was a super shrink, after all. “Winnie.” I hesitated, swallowed down the lump in my throat. “He named all his stuffed animals Winnie. Every single one.”
At that, Black smiled and sat the bear upright on the coffee table. He looked at me. “Why don’t you come over here and sit down beside me?”
I shook my head. I was better off to keep my distance, somehow I knew that. Black picked up a miniature storybook. The Velveteen Rabbit. Zach’s favorite, too.
“My mother used to read this to me when I was a kid,” Black said. “Did you read it to him?”
Every night, I thought, every single night of the world, but I didn’t say it. “I can’t do this, Black. I can’t. Put that stuff back inside and shut it. I need to take it back to Harve’s.”
“It’s good that you brought it home. Maybe subconsciously you knew that.”
“Maybe for you.”
“I’m talking about you.”
“I know that.”
We were quiet. Neither of us moved; just stared at each other. Black tried again. “Painful as it is, this is a very good sign, Claire. You’ve got to think of it that way. Thinking about your son isn’t bad. I know it’s painful, but it’s good. It’ll help you cope. End your internal suffering.”
Picking up my mug, I took a drink of the coffee, just for something to do, something else to think about. It tasted good. Black had made it strong, and for good reason.
“Was he walking yet?”
I saw Zach toddling everywhere, laughing when he sat down hard on his bottom. I saw him running into my arms when I came off duty, squealing with babyish delight. I couldn’t speak. Didn’t even try to.
Black was still taking articles out of Zach’s trunk. “You kept a pacifier. Was he the kind of kid who wanted to keep it for a long time?”
“I hung it around his neck with a piece of yarn so he wouldn’t lose it.”
“I guess it got kind of frantic when you couldn’t find it for him.”
“Yes, but he always helped me look.”
“He was a good boy.”
“The best.” I wanted to tell him more, but there was a niggling feeling inside me that I shouldn’t do that, that it would be sacrilegious and a betrayal. I tried to tamp it all down inside, like I used to, and this time, I managed it somehow.
I said, “Let’s go back to bed. We’ve got to get up and drive up to Mikey Murphy’s funeral in the morning.”
“Yeah, we do. You want me to put this away for you?”
I nodded, grateful to let him pack away Zach’s things, while I picked up my weapon and headed upstairs. I snuggled under the covers and waited for Black to come back to bed. I could hear it when he shut the lid and snapped the latches. It sounded like some kind of ending, all finished and done with. But I knew it wasn’t done, wasn’t finished, wasn’t over. The light downstairs went off, and then Black was back, under the black satin sheets with me. He wasted no time pulling me into his arms, and I went willingly.
“I’ll never pretend to know how it feels to lose a child, Claire. But I’m here for you in all of this. I’m here to help you figure it all out. I’m here now, and I’ll be here as long as you want me.”
I didn’t respond, didn’t say anything, didn’t have to, but I was comforted by his words, and the way his strong, hard body felt pressed up against me. We didn’t make love but shared the warmth and the intimacy, and it took a long, long time before I finally went to sleep and dreamed again of Zachary, his little round face and big blue eyes, his blond hair with curls in the back that always blew in the wind, his chubby little arms and legs that could run so fast to be so short. There, for a little while, though, in those dark dreams, I got to hold him again and play with him again and kiss his little flushed cheek again, and in my dreams, I could weep long and hard, holding him close, in the way that I could not do in real life, never, ever again, and in my sleep I could mourn all that was gone and all that I had lost.
Here Comes Trouble
On the appointed night, Tee and Jeff sat in some thick hydrangea bushes that hid their presence close to the back of the dormitory. Maggie the Witch always strutted around during her shift on a set and rigid schedule, which made it easier for them to plan their attack. Never changing her routine, she always double-checked to make sure Tee was in his room because she had made it crystal clear to everybody that she didn’t trust him or his big smiles. And he was in his bed when she did her second check right at eleven o’clock, but now he wasn’t. Now he was ready for payback and lots of it.
Jeff was oblivious to the momentous occasion. Relaxed, his back propped against a nearby tree trunk, he took a deep hit on a joint. Tee had been pretending to smoke it, too, when they passed it back and forth, but he wasn’t, of course. He’d experimented some when he was younger, but once he realized that being mentally impaired was bad for his safety, he stayed away from all kinds of drugs, especially now when he was conducting such important experiments. He intended to be in full control of his faculties and able to remember exactly what went down so he could write it all in detail in his secret journals. Jeff was pretty fucked up but not enough to mess things up. At least Tee hoped not. This was a big breakthrough. If it worked.
Precisely two minutes after her late shift ended, Maggie pushed through the doors of the first floor corridor and made her way up to the staff lounge, where her locker was located.
“Okay, Jeff, listen up. There she is.”
“I hate that bitch,” said Jeff. “You wouldn’t believe the shit she got me into with my doctor, telling them she smelled pot on my clothes.”
“Oh, yes, I would. She’s vindictive as hell and she hates me worse than anybody else.”
Okay, now the time was at hand. Tee was really excited, and he started trying to relax his muscles, which were all drawn up and tight. Okay, here goes. All or nothing. He waited for Jeff to take another hit, hold it inside his lungs for twenty or thirty seconds, and then blow the smoke up into the tree branches above them. Tee hoped the odor of the pot didn’t drift on the wind to Witch Woman and alert her to trouble.
Tee took a deep, cleansing breath, and then he said, very low but very clearly, “Enter Evil.”
Jeff didn’t hesitate. He jumped up and started running across the lawn toward the steep stairs.
“Oh my God,” Tee whispered to himself. “This’s really gonna work. It’s gonna work big-time.” He chuckled softly, then raised the night gog
gles his dad had bought him, supposedly for bird-watching at night—God, his dad would believe anything—and focused them on the high landing where Maggie the Witch always took time to smoke a cigarette and unwind a little before she started her long drive home for the night.
Jeff reached the bottom of the steps, and Tee watched him creep up to the top landing and melt into dark shadows lining the wall. Tee shook his head, slightly incredulous that this was really going down and all according to his plan. He was intrigued by the potential of posthypnotic suggestions for immoral acts, but all the literature said it wouldn’t work. But it was working. At least so far. But he was nervous. Something still might go wrong. And then they’d both get caught. And that was not good.
Tee’s heartbeat sped up when the hated nurse stepped out onto the landing. She put her coat over the rail and took a Bic lighter and a pack of Camels out of her purse, then she walked over to the head of the steps and lit up while she leaned back against the sturdy metal railing. Tee marveled at how predictable some people were. He never did anything in any kind of order, consciously made sure he didn’t. The only habit he maintained consistently was his unpredictability.
Maggie didn’t see Jeff, of course, and Tee knew that Jeff was waiting for her to finish the smoke and pick up her purse before he moved against her, just like Tee had instructed him. Anxiety and pressure under Tee’s breastbone built up until he could barely breathe. This was just possibly the true breakthrough he’d been after. The most efficient way to control people around him, especially ones who had an evil streak in their makeup, and lots of people did. He was finding that out. The way he looked at it was that some people were born for him to use, and anybody else needed to be kicked out of his way, by one method or another. Maggie the Witch was about get herself kicked out of his way. He grinned, pleased by the very thought.
Then it happened. Maggie stuck her cigarette in a metal cylinder of sand, picked up her purse, and headed down the stairs. After she’d got a couple of steps down, Jeff ran at her from the darkness, but then Tee stiffened when he realized it wasn’t gonna go down as expected. Maggie the Witch heard Jeff coming up behind her. Half turning, her right hand on the rail, she was holding on when Jeff hit her from behind and shoved her as hard as he could. She did stumble backward and fell about a third of the way to the bottom, but she managed to hang on to the bannister and break her fall. Bad thing was, though, she was screaming her bloody head off the whole time.