“Uh huh. You’re not one of these modern women who thinks it’s all right to invite the boy over?”
Sandy laughed.
“Never had to before,” she said, and Crawson’s eyes widened. “If he wanted to see me, he would have called,” she repeated. He nodded. Something had to be wrong if the boy had an opportunity to see this girl and he didn’t, he thought.
“Any idea why he was on Chestnut Street?”
“Chestnut.” She thought a moment. “No, sir.”
“OK,” Crawson said. “If you hear anything or think of anything that might help us, tell the principal or call the station.”
“Sure,” she said.
“You can go back to class now. Thanks.” He turned to look out the window, but when Sandy got up, he watched her go.
Something was bothering him about the interview, but he couldn’t crystallize it, and he was annoyed with himself for that failure.
That wasn’t good police work, he thought. He chastised himself for thinking too much about the girl and not enough about what she was saying.
“Maybe this is what they mean by male menopause,” he muttered to himself and promised himself he would bear down harder on everything else from here on in.
Johnny saw Gary and Sandy waiting for him in front of the Union National Bank building. It wasn’t as cold as the night before, but Gary was dressed warmer. He wore gloves and a sock hat. They looked very nervous when he arrived, and he imagined it was because of the frequent sighting of police patrol cars. They had almost decided to put off the burial, but Johnny thought it was more important than ever they complete the job.
“Where’s Sheila? Didn’t she come with you?” he asked Sandy.
“She didn’t show at my house and I couldn’t wait any longer if I was going to meet you guys.”
“Ain’t that just great,” Gary said, annoyed.
“Maybe we’re better off. She’s too nervous to be of any real help. We’d have to worry about her the whole time.”
“Think she’ll come after we get there?” Sandy asked.
“Naw. She’d never come by herself. She’s too afraid,” Johnny said. Gary agreed.
“Did you call Mr. Lucy?” he asked.
“I called right after school, but there was no answer. I figured we’d just go there after we were finished.”
“He’s not going to like Sheila not being with us,” Sandy said.
“She’s right,” Gary said.
“Well…maybe we’ll call her after we’re through and have her meet us at his place. She’ll do that.”
“OK,” Sandy said. “I saw a couple of police cars as I walked over here.”
“I know. Let’s get a move on,” Johnny said. “It shouldn’t take us long. You’ll hold the flashlight and we’ll dig quickly.”
They started away, moving so softly they looked like three shadows taking shape. When they reached Chestnut, they found it just as quiet and deserted as it was the night before. Nevertheless, Johnny had them pause and wait in the darkness while he perused the street more carefully. Satisfied they were safe, he signaled the other two and they headed for the lumberyard. Gary opened the gate and they slipped in quickly. He went directly to the office and got them the largest flashlight the lumberyard sold. Then he led them to the toolshed and they took two shovels.
“It’s not going to be easy digging under there,” he said.
“We don’t have to go down that deep, just enough to cover the body and the bag,” Johnny said.
“The ground’s like cement. Maybe I oughtta get a pick, too.”
“Come on already. We don’t have that much time.” Johnny paused for a few moments, listening. “Where’s your father tonight?”
“He’s home. He says he has a cold. My mother’s in bed watching television. They don’t even know I left.”
“Good,” Johnny said, and they went directly to the wood storage building. Inside, Sandy turned on the flashlight and they followed the beam to the rear of the building. They stopped by the crawl space door and stared down at it in silence as though it were the gateway to hell. “After we’re finished,” Johnny said, “we’ll cover it with sawdust again so it doesn’t look disturbed.”
“Right,” Gary said. “Let’s go.” He bent down and pulled the door open. “Shine her in,” he told Sandy. She did so and he and Johnny descended. As soon as they were down, she followed. Nobody moved when the beam of light embraced the black plastic bag.
“Doesn’t it look like it moved?” Sandy asked. “I thought it was further toward the middle.” For a moment neither Gary nor Johnny responded.
“I can’t remember where it was exactly,” Johnny said. “How can you?”
“It just seemed more to the right in relation to the door,” Sandy said.
“I think she’s right,” Gary said.
“So what the hell do you think this means?”
“He might have been still alive,” Sandy said, “and turned, rolling to the left.”
“If he was, he’s not alive now,” Johnny said. “Let’s go. We can’t waste any more time.”
Crouched down, they all started forward.
Suddenly, lights came on from every direction—from under the sides of the building, from above them, and from the crawl space where two policemen emerged out from the darkness behind them.
“All right,” Detective Crawson said through the open crawl space door, “just back up and get up here.” He would have liked to have gone there with the patrolmen, but he couldn’t crouch down and squeeze around in such a small area with his weight problem.
Sandy dropped her flashlight. The beam settled on Johnny’s face and she saw the look of horror and surprise. For a moment none of them moved. Then the patrolmen approached and waved them toward the doorway.
“Shit,” Gary said. “How the hell…”
“Sheila,” Sandy said.
Johnny didn’t say a word. They made their way back to the crawl space doorway and Detective Crawson helped each of them up and out. Then Crawson knelt and looked into the doorway at the two patrolmen.
“Get the body,” he said. “All right,” he said, standing. “Everyone out of the building.”
The three of them walked to the doorway and reentered the yard. There were a half dozen or more policemen about, some of whom were from the sheriff’s office. Up by the gateway, they saw two policemen standing on both sides of Sheila.
“1 knew it,” Sandy said.
“Just keep walking,” Crawson said. He indicated the gate. They moved forward while the policemen behind them shouted orders to one another as Richard Slattery’s body was lifted up and out of the crawl space.
When they reached her, Sheila was crying. She tried not to look at any of them, but Johnny stepped up to her.
“How could you do this?” he asked, his voice revealing his incredulity. “How could you betray Mr. Lucy?”
Slowly Sheila lifted her head and wiped her eyes.
“I didn’t betray him,” she said. “He betrayed us. He called Mr. Carman and told him to send the police to my house.”
“You liar!”
“Mr. Carman came with them,” she said. “He told me Mr. Lucy said I should tell them the truth.”
“Liar!” Gary said.
“You disgusting creature,” Sandy said. “Doing this and then lying about Mr. Lucy.”
“I’m not lying.”
“She’s not lying,” Crawson said. “Now move your asses into that patrol car,” he added, indicating the unmarked car parked right in front of the lumberyard gate.
“Where’s Mr. Lucy?” Johnny asked.
“We’re not interested in the whereabouts of Mr. Lucy right now,” Crawson said. “We’re interested in what you’ve got to say for yourselves. Now move it,” he commanded. Sandy and Gary started toward the car. Johnny looked at it, looked at Sheila, and turned back to Detective Crawson.
“You’re lying,” he said. “You’re all lying.”
“Fine. We’re lying. Get going.” He gave Johnny a little push forward. Johnny started toward the car and then, just before he reached it, he bolted to the right, slipping in between the two sheriff’s deputies who had turned their attention to the black plastic body bag being carried across the yard.
“Hey!” Crawson screamed.
Johnny cut over the lawn of the nearest house and shot around through the backyard, the policemen pursuing. Although he didn’t really hang out in this area, he knew where the fences were, where to cut through the bushes, and which direction would take him through the darkest pathways. He ran with all his might, bending, twisting and jumping, extending the distance between himself and the pursuing policemen. He heard their shouts as more of them joined the chase.
When he came to Mr. Kelly’s stockade fence, he remembered where he and some of his friends had once dug a hole under it. The hole was still there, but it took some effort to get his body squeezed through because some of the earth had fallen in and he had gotten bigger. When he was safely within, he rushed across the yard, knowing it would provide him with a shortcut to Branch Road, the end of which would leave him out on Highland Avenue. There was only one thing on his mind from the moment he fled—get to Mr. Lucy.
The pursuing policemen were well behind him now, most of them off in other directions. He could no longer hear their shouts and when he emerged onto Branch Road, all was quiet, all was still. It was as though what had happened was just a dream. He was safe again, maybe even on his way to meet Gary and Sheila and Sandy.
Of course, he knew that wasn’t the case. He hurried along the street, keeping to the shadows until he reached Highland Avenue. Once he did so, he felt a sense of relief. It was as though hope and safety lay only a block away. He took a deep breath to calm himself down and wiped the sweat and dirt from his face. Then he proceeded to walk down the avenue as though it were months ago and he was heading for a tutorial with Mr. Lucy.
It could be that way, couldn’t it? he thought. If he closed his eyes and pressed down on his thoughts as hard as Mr. Lucy had taught him to do, he could drive himself back into the past, back to the days when he was just starting to grow and to change, to the days when he felt the world open up, when his body grew stronger and his pride emerged.
Sure, why not? When he got to that old house, the others would all be there waiting. Mr. Lucy would have tea for them and they would sit around the table and tell each other and him about all the things they feared and hated and dreamt of doing, and he would be listening, just as intently and as interestedly as ever. When it was all over, he would give them advice and instructions, and they would listen in awe.
Afterward, they would emerge reborn. They would feel that strength again, that unity that made them special. No one could stand before them; no one could discourage or defeat them. There was no one better than they were. After all, they had Mr. Lucy, didn’t they?
He quickened his pace, reliving all of this. When he reached the middle of the block, he broke out into a jog and then, as he drew closer and closer to the old house, he sped up until he was running. But as soon as the house came into view, he felt as if all the blood in his body settled into his feet. He stopped running and stood there, dumbfounded.
The house was totally dark and Mr. Lucy’s car was not in the driveway. Where would he be now? He knew they were supposed to come to his house right after the burial. How could he not be home? He had to be home. This was an illusion. Maybe he deliberately turned off all the lights; maybe he heard what had happened and he didn’t want to attract any attention, but he knew, he knew all the while, that Johnny would get here. Sure, he had faith in me, Johnny thought. He’s waiting for me in the darkness of his living room. He’s sitting in his chair and he’s waiting for my report.
He went up to the front door and tapped gently on the wood and waited. There was no response, so he put his lips where the door met the jamb and he whispered.
“Mr. Lucy? Mr. Lucy, it’s me, Johnny. I’m here. Mr. Lucy?”
He waited, but still there was no response. Impatient now, he went around the sides of the building and peered in the windows. It was so dark within, he could see nothing. There were no lights on; there was no movement. He tapped on the windowpane nevertheless.
“Mr. Lucy?”
Panic began to set in again. How could this be? Where was he? Sheila’s words came back to him: “I didn’t betray him. He betrayed us.”
“No,” Johnny said. He shook his head and stepped back from the old building. “No, no. Mr. Lucy, you gotta be in there. You gotta. Mr. Lucy. Mr. Lucy! Mr. Lucy!” His shouts brought Barton Lorner to his window.
“Hey,” he called, “what’s going on?”
Johnny spun around and looked at him.
“I…I need Mr. Lucy,” he said.
“Mr. Lucy’s not there.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. He’s gone. Go home.”
“What do you mean, he’s gone?” Johnny was crying now. He couldn’t keep the tears from rushing forward, but he didn’t even realize he was crying.
“I saw him put suitcases into his car and drive away. That’s all I know, son. He’s gone.”
“You’re lying,” Johnny said.
“Huh?”
“He can’t be gone.” Johnny turned back to the house. “Mr. Lucy!”
“Hey!”
“Mr. Lucy!”
He struck the side of the house with his fist and called out again. Barton closed his window and went to the phone. Johnny struck the house again and again. He even shattered a window, driving a piece of the glass into his right palm. He didn’t notice the blood or the pain. He just continued to pound and shout.
When the police arrived, they had to pull him off the structure as if he were in a fistfight with another boy. He had to be forcibly restrained all the way back to the station, from where they quickly redirected him to the hospital emergency room, not only because they couldn’t control the bleeding, but because they couldn’t control the hysteria.
16
Late that afternoon Barton Lorner had sat beside Ellen’s bed in the hospital and had stared at her face in repose. She was out of danger, but he couldn’t get himself to relax. He had barely slept the night before, and he couldn’t shake the numbness he felt throughout his body all morning. He had been with her when she regained full consciousness and he had been with her most of the day.
She couldn’t remember taking the pills. He thought that was odd, but he didn’t pursue it. Their conversation skirted the incident as though to discuss it was to tread upon thin ice. He bought her some magazines and he talked about some of the news at work. The doctors told him it was better to let her initiate a discussion about what had happened and what she had done.
It wasn’t until those moments when he thought he might lose her that he realized how much he needed her, how much they had been a part of each other’s lives. Of course, like any other couple, they took so much for granted about each other. It never occurred to him that there might be a time when he would come home and she wouldn’t be there; she would never be there again.
Now, when he gave it some thought, he realized they hadn’t grown older together so much as they had grown into each other and become one. He hoped she saw it the same way, but he realized that whatever it was that had driven her to attempt to take her own life was something that denied the essence of their relationship.
Her eyelids fluttered and she moaned softly. Then she turned and looked at him, confusion once again registered on her face. It seemed that every time she slept and awoke in the hospital, she had to have things reexplained.
“Hi. How do you feel?”
“What happened to me?” she asked after looking around.
“You took too many of those pills Dr. Bloom gave you a while back.”
“Pills? Oh…” She looked as though her memory was more vivid this time. He leaned forward and took her hand.
“It was a close c
all,” he said.
“My God.”
“Yes, exactly. Do you remember taking them now? Do you remember why you took them?”
She stared at him for a moment and then turned away. He waited, holding her hand.
“I went to the doctor,” she said. She paused as if that was enough reason.
“I spoke to the doctor. He didn’t say anything was wrong.”
She looked away for a moment and then turned back quickly.
“Nothing’s physically wrong, Bart. I’m pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” He stared at her as though the word made no sense. “But why didn’t he…”
“I wanted to tell you myself.”
“This is fantastic. This is great,” he added, raising his voice.
“You’re happy about it?”
“Of course.”
“But I thought…you might think it’s too late for us.”
“Nonsense. You’ve got the body of a twenty-year-old. You didn’t get depressed and do it because of that, did you?” She didn’t reply for a moment. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it.
“I don’t know what happened,” she said.
“OK. It’s all right. As long as you’re all right now. Everything’s all right. I’ll take you home tomorrow morning.”
“You’re really happy about it?”
“Would I say so if I weren’t?”
“I was going to get an abortion.”
“Put that idea out of your head. This is just what our marriage needs.”
“If you’re sure…”
“You’re making me feel guilty for wanting to be a father.”
“It’s not that.”
“Don’t worry then. Hey,” he said, looking at his watch, “it’s nearly dinnertime here. I hope you have a mother’s appetite. I’ve been eating your hospital food.”
“Yes, I’m hungry.”
“Good. You’ve got to take even better care of yourself now, you know.”
“OK.”
“I’ll get the bed into a sitting position for you,” he said, and pushed the button.
“Did I come here in an ambulance?”
“No, I didn’t want to take the time to call them.”
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