And you didn’t even have to figure it out, did you? Manzetti thought. He told you just what he’d done.
Manzetti stood under the scalding water for a while longer, then got out and wrapped a towel around his waist. He headed back to the kitchen and opened the remaining bottle of beer as the day’s crimes and misfortunes were recounted on the six o’clock news.
The phone rang and he answered.
Moments later, Manzetti placed the phone back on the receiver. He clicked off the television, drank his beer in the darkening apartment, knowing what he had to do next.
Emilia Walked Home
Emilia walked home from the elementary school. As she got closer to her house, she heard the loud shouts of children at the park. She looked at the sky; it would be dark soon.
They should go home.
Another scream. This one so shrill. And Emilia couldn’t help but wonder if whoever that scream belonged to was okay. She kept walking home, but a gnawing feeling in her stomach made her stop again.
I should check, she thought.
Why hadn’t anyone checked on her? Had no one heard her—the girl who screamed?
Emilia turned and headed toward the park.
When she walked up, no adults were around. She heard the crack of a bat hitting a ball, followed by urgent cheering and yelling, and she watched a boy run and a girl go up to bat over on the baseball field. The girl swung and another resounding crack filled the air, followed by more hooting and hollering.
Look at them, Emilia thought. They don’t know what can happen to them.
She suddenly imagined the scene through the eyes of a predator. How easy it would be to overtake one of these kids, any of them, wait them out.
Emilia turned her attention back to the merry-go-round that was spinning with two children half hanging off. That shrill scream again, and Emilia spotted the girl it came from. She filled the air with her scream over and over again, all the while laughing. A moment ago, it had sounded so sinister to Emilia, a warning. But now, looking at the girl, she saw it was all just fun. Nothing to be afraid of.
Except it had sounded terrible. Emilia looked around, but no one came running to check on the children in the park. Nobody came at all.
Did anyone hear me? Emilia wondered. Did they think I was just a kid, far away, having fun?
Emilia sat on a bench under the tree and watched the kids spin.
She remembered spinning like that on the same merry-go-round when she was little. One time, spinning so fast she fell off and crashed hard onto the concrete. At the time, it was the worst thing that had ever happened to her.
Emilia watched the merry-go-round. No kids fell off this time, and instead it came to a stop and the two kids dismounted and walked out of the park. The playground was now empty except for the players who remained on the baseball field, too far away to notice her.
Emilia looked at the dome structure with tunnels next to the merry-go-round. She once wrote her name in there. She smiled, wondering if it was still there. Emilia went over and crawled into one of the tunnels.
Jesus, had she really been able to stand up in here? She crawled to one of the farthest walls, the one filled with graffiti parents never knew about because they never bothered to crawl in this far. Here were the hearts and initials declaring love 4ever. The scattered names of people Emilia never knew. A drawing of a penis. The assurance that somebody out there thinks You’re stupid! and the promise that for a good time call 1-800-Ur-Sister!
Emilia looked toward the bottom. In small letters on the yellow gloss–painted wall, almost undetectable, she saw her name. EMILIA.
She’d brought the black Sharpie from home that day, knowing the whole time this was what she was going to do. And her heart had pounded with each step she took as she walked to the playground. She’d had to wait for the perfect moment, when the tunnel cleared, to write it.
But what a thrill it had been. To see her name, to know it would be here. She remembered.
She stared at it now and tried to remember the girl who’d put it there.
EMILIA.
She touched her name, too. She’d written it just before that terrible day. She’d been this girl, this Emilia, the one who wrote her name. Unafraid, younger, and weaker, but not broken.
Am I broken? she wondered.
She traced her name with her finger now. Had EMILIA ever really existed? Had that girl who wasn’t always looking over her shoulder ever really existed?
Emilia heard the crack of the bat again and remembered the kids on the field.
She touched her name one last time and quickly crawled out. It was dark now. The streetlights had come on. Everyone was gone except for one boy, doing a couple of practice hits on his own.
The white light of the bakery just across the street glowed while the man inside wiped the glass cases and put up a HELP WANTED sign. Suddenly Emilia felt someone’s gaze on her, so she looked around but saw no one.
She turned, scanned every part of the playground. Her heart beat faster, and she looked back over at the boy hitting balls.
Go home! she wanted to yell, but she didn’t want to startle him.
Come on, she thought as he hit one, two, three balls and ran out to retrieve them.
Go home. Go home now!
Her skin prickled and itched. She could feel panic crawling on her. And she tried very hard not to scream, not to run or leave that boy behind. He pitched each ball up in the air and hit them again.
She’d give him one more minute, and then she’d run over there and tell him, You have to go home now!
The boy collected the balls but sat on the bench, staring at the field.
You should be home. Someone should be worried about you.
Emilia looked down the block leading up to the baseball field. Someone would come for him soon, wouldn’t they?
She heard a rustle and jumped. But then noticed a crow on the branch above her, looking in the direction of the field.
Go home! Emilia urged the boy.
Go home! the crow repeated.
Emilia blinked back the tears that were beginning to fill her eyes.
Go home now!
She kept sending the message his way, and finally, the boy gathered the balls and put them in various pockets. He picked up the bat and rested it on his shoulder before looking out at the field again and finally, finally, starting to walk home.
Emilia felt relieved. She watched him walk off the field and down the block.
Be careful, she warned.
When she started losing sight of him, she got up and followed. She stayed half a block to a block behind, losing track of him only momentarily in the shadow of a tree or bush. Each time he reappeared, she was relieved.
If someone grabs him, I’ll be ready. I’ll help him.
After a few minutes, he turned and walked up to a well-lit house, opened the door. The voices of other children tumbled out, and then silence as the door closed behind him.
Emilia walked past the house; the smell of food was in the air.
She took a deep breath, imagined for a moment the boy not coming home. When would the house have started to settle into uneasy quiet? When would it start to shiver with fear and cold? When would the walls and floor and ceiling have split with uncontainable worry and grief and the unimaginable become suddenly very real?
Emilia imagined her mother, her father, her brother in that house, waiting for her to come home, possibly staring out the window, waiting.
And she, lying in the woods.
The tears came so fast, unexpectedly, and the pain she always carried with her suddenly filled her like a balloon and took up her whole chest. She choked on her tears.
Emilia hurried down the street, wiping her face. The wetness of her tears left patches of cold on her cheeks.
Why?
&
nbsp; Why?
Why?
Why me?
The question drummed into her thoughts. It was one that sometimes floated into her mind, suddenly there without notice, and accompanied by others.
Why me?
Why had he done it? Why did he choose me? Why was the Girl Scout meeting canceled? Why didn’t I just walk home? Why did I have to go into the woods? Why? Why? Why?
Emilia walked, but sensed, in the darkness, the weight of someone’s stare again. Someone was watching her. She glanced behind her and walked faster.
Maybe it’s Jeremy Lance. Maybe he’s found me because he knows what I did to him. He’ll be angry.
She felt dizzy, her steps unreal. She felt like she was on the merry-go-round.
Why?
Focus! she told herself, because she had to keep her legs working. Because she couldn’t sprout feathers right now and fly away. She had to stay in her right mind and keep her legs moving, make sure she got home.
Run.
Faster!
Her backpack bounced hard against her with each step.
Go home, Emilia. Go home! Don’t fly away. Just keep running. Get home.
Her feet felt like they couldn’t move fast enough. She felt danger at her heels, like the dog that chased her years ago, frothing at the mouth. She felt it on her back, like a hand was just inches away from grabbing her and pulling her into the darkness. She felt it all around her.
Then she heard strange little yelps and realized they were coming from her. She put her hands over her mouth.
Emilia braced herself for the explosion of light that would burst in her head—any moment now! Any moment!—as someone hit her from behind, blinding her.
Any moment now! Any moment!
You will fall.
And the world will go black.
And you won’t be able to fight him off.
Again.
NO!
There was her house, up ahead, just up ahead. She pumped her legs harder.
Within moments she was cutting across her front yard, running up the stoop stairs and swinging open the screen door. It banged against the guardrail as she opened it.
The whole house shook with relief as the door slammed shut behind her. Emilia tried to catch her breath as a swell of emotion rose in her chest.
“Emilia? What happened? What’s wrong?” Emilia’s mother rushed to her from the couch, where her father also sat. And in another chair, a man Emilia almost recognized, but not quite.
Emilia caught her breath, quickly pushed down the sobs threatening to escape her.
“Nothing. I’m fine. The wind caught the door and I accidentally slammed it.”
Her mother stared at her.
“Why are you shaking?”
“I’m not. It’s cold outside. I ran the whole way because I know you worry. Just lost track of time.” Emilia looked at the man.
“Look at me,” Ma said. “You look scared. What happened? Tell me.”
Emilia could hear the panic, the subdued hysteria, in her mother’s voice.
“Nothing,” Emilia repeated, trying to keep those same emotions out of her own.
The man smiled at Emilia and something flickered in her mind. She knew him. From where?
“Hello,” he said to Emilia.
Ma looked nervous as she put her arm around Emilia’s shoulders. “Emilia,” she said. “This is Detective Manzetti. He worked your case years ago.”
It took a moment for it to sink in, but then Emilia remembered. She had seen this man in her hospital room. He had given her the cards. Yes. No.
Emilia nodded. “Hello,” she said.
Why is he here? Emilia thought.
The detective glanced over at her mother and a look of resignation passed on Ma’s face.
“He’s updating us,” Ma said. She guided Emilia to the couch, where she sat between her parents.
The detective smelled like cigarettes. Emilia noticed that his clothes, while nice, were wrinkled. He reached over and took a sip from the glass of water on the coffee table, where Emilia also saw some papers.
He put down the glass. Looked at her.
“Hello, Emilia,” he said, offering her a kind smile. “I’ve been in touch with your mother, but I’ve gotten some definitive information I thought would be best to share in person.” His eyes were a strange light brown. They looked like the color had been rubbed out of them. Tired. He looked at Ma and she nodded for him to go on.
“Your mother has told you about Carl Smith—is that right?”
Emilia held her breath. Had he died? Was this detective coming to tell them Carl Smith was dead? A part of her hoped he was dead and gone forever. But another part of her wanted him thrown in prison. Who cared if he was too sick? Let him die there. Why should he be shown any mercy? Or maybe he’d come to tell them what Emilia secretly suspected, that Carl Smith had tricked them all. He’d never really been dying and now they couldn’t find him. Because all this time he’s been hiding in the trees, watching you. Waiting. Again.
Emilia exhaled and looked at the detective. “Yes, I know about him.”
Detective Manzetti nodded, looked down at the floor. “Well, I’m sorry.” He took a breath and looked back up at her. “I tried, but . . . the prosecutor confirmed they cannot prosecute the case, not in the condition he’s in.”
Ma had told her it was a possibility. But Emilia hadn’t believed it, not really. How could someone do this to her and go unpunished? How could someone who didn’t do this be the one who got punished instead? It was irrational, unreal, but here was the detective, and Ma, and her father, telling her just that. The confirmation felt like a crushing blow and heightened the fear she’d been trying to push down.
So, he would still be out there. And nobody cared that he did this to her, not really.
“He’s in hospice care. In and out of consciousness, very close to death. There’s no way he can hurt you, I promise you. But there’s also no way he’ll be able to stand trial.” The detective shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
Her mother put her arm around Emilia’s shoulders, pulled her in close.
“I know you have no reason to believe me, but we know it was him. He confessed, gave us details we never released and no one else would know.”
Ma hugged Emilia closer to her body.
Her father held her hand. Emilia didn’t remember him reaching for it to begin with. She looked over at him. Her father’s face was filled with so many emotions.
Emilia looked at the table in front of her. She focused on that report as the detective continued apologizing.
A few moments later, he collected the papers. Emilia’s mother and father walked him to the door.
Emilia rushed upstairs to her room.
Ian Didn’t See Emilia
Ian didn’t see Emilia in school anymore, not in the halls or at lunch, and she was gone by the time he raced from his last class to hers. Except for the one time he looked out the window of his Algebra class and thought he caught a glimpse of her walking off campus, but couldn’t be sure.
Emilia was nowhere to be found.
When he called, only her mother or Tomás answered. He didn’t want to keep leaving messages and he didn’t want them to know he and Emilia had broken up if she hadn’t told them, so he stopped calling.
Maybe we didn’t, Ian thought. Maybe we never really broke up.
A little hope rose in his chest, even though whenever he walked by her house, he was too chicken to go up to the door.
At night Ian would look from his dark window to hers, to that square of yellow light, in hopes of seeing her there, her silhouette, looking in his direction like she used to. But she didn’t. She was never there. He didn’t even see the birds on the ledge anymore.
Ian was suddenly afraid something terrible
had happened to Emilia. Her mother and brother would tell him, wouldn’t they? For a moment, Ian wondered if they had. Had he blocked it out? Had something terrible happened to Emilia, again, and the world was keeping it a secret from him?
Tonight, he looked to the window again, at the yellow glow.
No, she was in there. She had to be. As long as that square was yellow, Emilia was there, safe.
He lay in bed, retracing the last couple of months. So much had happened.
What happened?
You were stupid, he told himself. And then that strange and terrible news about Jeremy Lance. And now she was closing up again like she had all those years ago.
The day he saw her on her front lawn, and he cawed at her before running home, he’d felt something. He felt, somehow, that he was chosen. That if everyone from their class had lined up and Emilia had to caw at just one of them, she would still choose him. She would caw at him. Because he understood her. They were linked forever in that moment. That’s what he thought. He was the only one who understood her. He’d been so sure back then.
So after that day, he kept going back to her house, whenever he saw her outside, even when his mother said, Stay away from Emilia DeJesus. Because all he could do was think of Emilia DeJesus and how lonely she must be. And how she didn’t go to school anymore. And how she was stuck in her house all day. And how she no longer talked.
All he wanted was to be her friend.
He’d sneak over to her house and knock on their back door.
Are you allowed to be here? her mother asked once. He shrugged and waited. But her mother would call for Emilia, and she’d come running to the screen door and he’d ask her to play.
She always nodded.
She wouldn’t talk to him at first. Only cawed. And gestured. Pointed to where she wanted to go, or turned her face in the direction of what she wanted to do. She’d grab a rock if she thought they should play hopscotch. She’d point to the grass, where they would take turns doing cartwheels. She’d point to the hammock her father had hung in their backyard, and they would swing on it together.
Ian remembered.
I did understand her.
The Fall of Innocence Page 23