Child's Play

by Jones, Merry;

  “I know it was you. Don’t pretend it wasn’t. You think Seth didn’t tell his mommy that you made him go to the principal’s office and tell you both how he got hurt? And when he told you, what did you do? Did you believe him that he had an accident? No, you went and told lies about me, and you had him taken away. Guess what, you fucking bitch know-it-all, kids get hurt. They get hurt all by themselves every single fucking day. A bruise doesn’t mean their mother’s hurting them. But you don’t know—how could you? You don’t have any kids. You’re just a fucking dried-up childless authority who doesn’t know any-goddamn-thing.”

  That comment stung. I’d never intended to be childless at forty. She was right. I didn’t know what it was like to have kids. For a moment, I had second thoughts. Maybe I shouldn’t have reported the violence so fast. Maybe I’d jumped to conclusions, deciding that Seth was in immediate danger without enough actual evidence.

  Rose had quieted and backed away. At first, I thought she was leaving. When she body-slammed the door, I wasn’t expecting it, smacked my chest into the steering wheel.

  “I’m a single fucking mother.” She kicked the car. “A widow.” Another kick. “I’m struggling.” Slam. “To do my best for my kids.” Bam with both fists on my hood. “Those kids—they’re everything to me. Everything.” A kick, another. “Seth and Katie are all I have.” She stopped, bent over, and looked in the window again. “You bitch, breaking up my family, what I’ve got left of it.” She growled, low and menacing. “I’ll tell you what. If my husband was alive, you wouldn’t dare interfere with us. He’d rip your fucking face off. Come out here and face me, you coward, you freaking coward bitch. I know it was you.” She backed away again and rammed the side of the car.

  Okay, I’d had enough. The initial shock had worn off enough for me to realize that I had options other than sitting frozen. While Rose kept kicking my car and screaming at me, I turned the key in the ignition and leaned on the horn as I backed out of the parking spot.

  Children lined up, waiting for the school doors to open, turned their heads toward the blaring horn. Officer Salerno, on duty at the front door, looked our way and headed over to see what was happening, Stan right behind him. Hal Sorenson and Dolores Sanchez, two upper-grade teachers who had just parked in the lot, heard the horn and gaped at Rose as she continued to kick my door and punch my hood even as I backed up.

  “Hey—what’re you doing?” Hal called to Rose. “Hold on there.”

  I kept honking and moving back on wet asphalt. Rose ran alongside my car, pounding and shouting, ignoring Hal. Telling me what she’d do to me if I had the balls to get out and face her. Officer Salerno and Stan converged on her from one direction, Hal and Dolores from the other. Still, she wouldn’t stop until a pair of handcuffs restrained her movement, and even with the cuffs, she kicked and cursed all the way to the patrol car. More cars arrived in the lot. Teachers focused on finding parking spaces, didn’t notice us.

  “You okay?” Hal asked through my window. He tried to open the door for me, but it was still locked. I didn’t unlock it. Didn’t move.

  “That was crazy,” Dolores said. “Who is she? She looks familiar.”

  I nodded, didn’t answer. Didn’t explain who the woman was or why she hated me so vehemently. I sat at the wheel, nodding when they asked if I was okay, shaking my head no when they asked if I needed help.

  Stan stood in front of the car, eyeing it, saying nothing. After a few minutes, Officer Salerno came back. The four of them conferred. Finally, Dolores and Hal set off through rows of Toyotas, Kias, Jeeps, and Chevys toward the school. Stan straggled behind them.

  I sat, recovering from Rose’s rage. Her words echoed in my head, peppered my body like machine-gun fire, ratatatting my chest, my belly. Being the target of so much rage seemed to have paralyzed me. When I saw that Rose had been loaded into the back of a police car, I took a few breaths before unlocking the door. Another few before opening it.

  Officer Salerno helped me out of the car. He had questions. Was I all right? Did I know Rose Evans or why she’d want to hurt me? What exactly had happened? Had she injured me or just my car?

  My car. I stepped away and looked behind me. The driver’s door and hood were pockmarked with scuffs and dents. I thought of Seth, his small battered body. Had Rose kicked and punched him, too?

  Officer Salerno kept asking questions, trying to take a statement. My answers were abrupt, unfocused. I didn’t have time to talk. School was about to start. I told him that I was uninjured. That, yes, I knew Rose Evans. That she was the mother of a student.

  Mr. Royal fluttered over, interrupting the interview, repeating, “Oh, goodness,” and, “Goodness me,” shaking his finger my way as if I were to blame for triggering Rose’s temper. As if he’d warned me this might happen.

  Officer Salerno tried to keep me on track. Asked again if I knew why Mrs. Evans was so angry. Mr. Royal eyed me, waiting to see what I’d say. I said that her son had been taken to foster care, and she blamed me. Mr. Royal stared into the heavens.

  “Why would she blame you?” Officer Salerno wanted to know. “The Commonwealth doesn’t take children from their parents without a good reason.”

  I met Mr. Royal’s eyes, said nothing. He pulled at his mustache, his face beet-red.

  “Elle! Thank God!” Becky rushed over, oblivious to the puddles she splashed through, grabbed my hand. “They’re saying somebody attacked you—you know what I thought. I nearly fainted. But here you are and you’re okay. Tell me what happened.”

  “Ma’am.” Officer Salerno tried to quiet her. “Please step back.”

  But Becky wasn’t going anywhere. She hung onto me. “Oh my God. It was Rose Evans, wasn’t it? That’s why she’s over there in the police car.”

  She didn’t give me time to answer.

  Her face turned white. “So this is it.”

  What?

  “Ma’am.” Salerno tried to step between us. “I mean it. Move away.”

  “It’s her. It’s Rose Evans. Ty’s mother—don’t you see?”

  “Ma’am. You’re interfering with a police investigation.” Salerno put his hand on Becky’s upper arm and firmly moved her back and away.

  “See what?”

  Becky stood on tiptoe, walking backwards, talking to me over Salerno’s shoulder as if they were waltzing. “Rose wrote the list. And your name was next—”

  She was right. Elle Harrison had been listed right after Stephanie Cross. So what was Becky saying? That Rose Evans had made the list of victims? That she’d killed Mrs. Marshall, Joyce, and Stephanie Cross? That she’d planned to kill me because my name was next?

  Rose Evans? Skinny and usually half-drunk, could she be a murderer?

  I hugged myself, recalled the hatred blazing in Rose’s eyes, felt the impact of her fists slamming the roof of my car. Heard her hiss. “Bitch, you cold, unfeeling bitch.”

  If she’d been able to, I had no doubt that she’d have killed me. But did she hate everyone on the list that much? And the timing didn’t make sense. The list of names had been written long before Seth and Katie had been taken from her home. Why would Rose have hated me before her son had gone into foster care?

  After dancing a few yards, Officer Salerno deposited Becky behind a blue Volkswagen, came back to me, and resumed his questions. I was more articulate now, able to explain more clearly who Rose Evans was, how I was connected to her. Meantime, a small throng of teachers gathered around. They strained to listen, whispering and gawking until the bell rang and they scurried off to their classes. Becky lingered by the Volkswagen, mouthing words and making hand signals I couldn’t understand. I waved her away so she wouldn’t be late.

  When she finally left, it was reluctantly. “Recess,” she called. “Your room.”

  There were more questions. I answered them quickly, summarizing for Officer Salerno what had happened. Rose had been waiting for me. Had attacked without warning. Behind him, the children—my second graders—filed
into the school building.

  Salerno saw no reason to hurry. “According to your friend, this attack was more than just an isolated incident. What did she mean? What do you know about that?”

  I shook my head, watched the children. Who would greet my class? Had word filtered to them that Mrs. Harrison had been attacked? “Nothing. Becky was just upset.”

  “Really? Because two other women who work at Logan Elementary are dead, and now you’ve been attacked. Was your friend indicating that these incidents are related?”

  I told him I doubted it. After all, the other women had been stabbed, not beaten up. And Mrs. Evans hadn’t had a knife.

  He smirked. “Why does the public assume a killer always uses the same weapon?”

  The public? Was I “the public”? Did everyone in “the public” all think the same things? And were we wrong?

  “In fact, sometimes some serial killers do use the same method. But not all killers have such a definite pattern. Usually, if a person wants to kill you, trust me, they’ll use whatever’s around.”

  I nodded. Saw Rose’s fists land on my windshield, heard the thunk. Saw a woman smacked by a Land Rover. The weapon didn’t have to be a knife. It could be a hand. A car. Whatever was around.

  The thunk kept repeating. But I couldn’t let on. I thanked Salerno for helping me, assured him I was fine, turned down his offer to walk me to my classroom. I hurried, looked back at my wounded car. Puddles on the asphalt gleamed, reflecting the morning sunlight. Beyond them, the Jolly Jack’s truck parked at the far end of the parking lot. Duncan Girard stood behind it. He lifted an arm and waved. How long had he been standing there, watching? I had the feeling that, though he hadn’t come to my assistance, he’d been there for a while, that he’d watched the whole scene. And that it had given him a hearty laugh.

  Somehow, I made it through the day, talking to Becky at recess and lunch, convincing her that we couldn’t be sure that the killer was Rose Evans. Paying attention to Seth without drawing attention to him. Making sure he was all right, not completely traumatized by his move. By the time I got home, my whole body ached. All I wanted was a glass of wine and a bubble bath.

  I should have known better. When I was parking my car, I saw Ty on my front steps, waiting.

  “Why, Mrs. H? Why did you do it?” His teeth were clenched. So were his fists.

  “How are you, Ty?” I had no desire to take on another angry member of the Evans family. I kept walking, tried not to look alarmed.

  “I trusted you. How could you do that to me? To my family?” He came down the steps, steaming.

  He charged me just as his mother had, and I considered turning around and dashing back to my car as I had that morning. But I didn’t. My keys were in my hands. I separated them, positioned one so I could jam it into his face, even an eye if he seriously meant to hurt me.

  “You made a big mistake, Mrs. H, ripping my family apart.”

  “I didn’t do anything to your family.”

  “Really? Are you going to say it wasn’t you? You’re going to lie to my face?” He was over six feet tall and looked down at me, his face distorted with rage. “Did you think Seth wouldn’t tell us you and the principal looked at his scrapes? That you took him to the nurse’s office, made him take his shirt off, and asked him all kinds of questions about how he got hurt? Well, guess what? He did tell us. He told us you didn’t believe him when he said he got hurt when he fell, and he was right. Because like a day later, social workers show up and take him away. So don’t pretend it wasn’t you. Don’t fucking lie to me.” His breath flew into my face. It was fiery.

  Don’t act frightened, I told myself. But I took a step back. Another. “Calm down.” I spoke to myself as much as to him. I took a breath.

  “Calm down?” He unlocked a fist and slapped himself on the forehead. “You destroy my family and then, when I confront you about it, all you can do is tell me to calm down? What the fuck, Mrs. H? Who are you? Really, I mean that. Because I thought you were someone I could count on. Someone I could trust.”

  “You can trust me, Ty. But you can’t ambush me on the street.”

  “My mother’s in fucking jail because of you. And my little brother? God knows where my brother is.”

  “Seth is safe. He’s with people who will care for him so he won’t come to school with bruises all over his body.”

  “Bullshit. Nobody hurt Seth.”

  “Then why would the authorities take him to foster care, Ty? The state doesn’t just randomly take kids from their homes.”

  His eyes narrowed. The veins in his forehead protruded. His voice softened to a hiss. “So you admit it was you then? You called to report my mother.”

  I reminded myself that I was the teacher; he the pupil. I saw him as a boy being dragged by the shirt collar into the principal’s office, his nose bloody and knees scuffed. “Sometimes it’s necessary to intervene, Ty. Seth had clearly been beaten. There were hand marks on him. He had a black eye, bruises all over the place.”

  “Did you ask him what happened? Did it ever occur to you, before you ‘intervened,’ to check out his story? How did you decide my mother was hurting him?”

  “I didn’t.” I had no proof.

  “Then why’s she in jail?”

  He didn’t know? I wasn’t going to tell him how she’d come after me. How it had taken four people including a cop to stop her. No, I wasn’t going into that. Instead, I shot out a reply without thinking. “If your mother didn’t hurt Seth, then who did? You?”

  He recoiled as if I’d punched him. Again, I saw the little boy scrapping with other kids, pretending to be tough.

  “Look, Ty,” I tried to reason with him. “I didn’t accuse anyone. But as a teacher, I’m required by law to report any—”

  “Mrs. H, you really think that I’d hurt Seth?” He stared at me, wounded. His eyes filling up.

  “No, of course not. I was just pointing out that he was being harmed in your mother’s home.”

  “How could you think that?” The tears burst, spilled down his face. “Why did I ever trust you? You’re just like everybody else, you don’t care. You pretend to, but you don’t.”

  “Ty—”

  “No, don’t talk. Just the fuck don’t talk. Listen for once. I did everything I could—everything to keep my family together. That’s why I did what I did. It’s why I went to fuckin’ juvey. For my family. To make sure Katie and Seth could grow up at home and be okay. But now, thanks to you, everything I’ve done is useless. All for nothing. I went away for all that time, I gave up college and ruined my future. For nothing. Because of you, what I did doesn’t matter. My family’s gone anyfuckinghow.”

  He stopped, pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the tears. I waited a beat.

  “I’m sorry, Ty.” I kept my voice low. “I’m really sorry but I had no choice.”

  He sniffed. Turned away.

  “Look, I know you did what you did to your father in order to protect your family from him. I know that you sacrificed yourself and your future to keep your mom, brother, and sister safe.”

  He didn’t say anything, stared at the line of cars parked along the street.

  “But the fact remains that, even with your father gone, someone’s been hurting Seth. And someone should examine Katie to make sure she hasn’t been hurt, too.”

  Ty’s mouth opened and he faced me with a look of disbelief. “You’re amazing, Mrs. H. Just amazing. You don’t get it. Nobody’s hurting them but you with your suspicions. And, honestly, after all I’ve done to keep them together, do you seriously think I’m going to sit by and watch you pull them apart?” The forehead veins throbbed. His eyes blazed.

  Whoa. “Are you threatening me, Ty?” My voice was a thread. I clutched my keys, ready to strike.

  Ty looked down at me with smoldering eyes. “No, Mrs. H. I’m not threatening you. But I swear, you’ll be sorry.”

  Before I could respond, he wheeled around and strode away, leaving me in fr
ont of my house, my keys digging into the flesh of my palms.

  My hands were shaking when I took Susan’s call. She sounded harried. “What the hell happened today, Elle? Are you all right?”

  I plopped onto my sofa, not sure where to start.

  “Becky called to say Rose Evans was arrested for attacking you. I checked, and Rose is at the Roundhouse, waiting for a hearing—in fact, she might have already had it. So she’ll probably be out on bail any time.”

  “On bail?” They weren’t going to keep her locked up? I looked at the front door, pictured her kicking and banging it in.

  “Maybe not. They might let her out on her own recognizance.”

  What? “You mean they might just let her go?”

  “Maybe. Rose has a clean record, and she’s not a flight risk.”

  “Susan, she tried to kill me.” I couldn’t believe they’d just, poof, let her out of jail. I kept staring at the door, expecting it to come crashing down.

  “Don’t worry, Elle. Given her charges, I’d expect she’ll have to post a hefty bail. And the judge will probably warn her to stay the hell away from you.” I pictured Susan pushing her hair behind her ear, thinking. “Okay, look, I’ll find out about bail and her release status, when her arraignment is, exactly what the charges are. How’s that.”

  “Thanks.” Why would they let her go? She’d no doubt come after me again. And I had nothing to defend myself with—the house was stark and decluttered. No candlesticks or ice picks. No fireplace poker or tongs. Maybe the porcelain vase on the mantel? I could throw it, hit her head. But wait. I was worrying needlessly. Rose wasn’t going to burst into my living room. In fact, it wasn’t even my living room anymore. Someone had made an offer to buy it, and I’d told Jerry to accept it. The house was as good as sold. I pictured Charlie in the wingback chair, legs crossed, frowning. “You’re really doing it? Selling our house? Moving? Leaving me here alone? How can you, Elf?”

  Stop it, I told myself. Your mind is wandering. Pay attention.

  Susan was repeating my name, waiting for me to answer her.