by Jerome Gold
Not to mess up, she said.
Well, that’s pretty general, but it’ll do.
She did not know that it was Sonia who told staff about her and the boy. Sonia had recently lost her own level.
Caitlin took me on a tour through her photo album. It included pictures of her parents together—pictures of them in front of a car, at a county fair, wedding pictures—and pictures of her mother when she was a small girl. I asked what happened to her mother to lead her to murder. Caitlin didn’t know.
After a moment, she said, “You could just as well have asked what led me to murder.”
“I know what led you to it.”
She didn’t say anything.
Then she said she had figured it out. She had never been popular at school, and going along with the murder was her way of trying to get accepted by other kids. Until they actually attacked Jonas, she didn’t know they were really going to do it. Even when they were planning it, she hadn’t been able to figure out whether or not the others were joking. Afterward she felt sick and wanted to kill herself, but was afraid to.
She asked me to get on the Internet to try to find out what was happening with her mother. We found nothing new, but we did find some letters to the editor about Caitlin that had been published during and after her trial. One was quite vengeful.
People didn’t understand what her life had been like, she said. Jerry Jonas was already dead when she stabbed him. Her lower eyelids became red. This was one of those times when she just wanted her life back.
In Alternatives to Violence, Kenny told of not intervening when an older boy beat another boy so badly he may have killed him. Kenny just walked away with some of the other kids while the boy was being beaten. He admitted he’d been afraid. “He’s crazy. You don’t know what he’s going to do,” he said of the older boy.
Angie told how she had refused several times, then had gone along to rob a pharmacy with a girl she hardly knew and another, younger, girl she believed was insane. When I asked her why she changed her mind, she said, “You have to know Kathleen,” the younger girl.
All of these kids, sucked in by personal loyalty—Caitlin to her mother; Sonia to Caitlin; Kenny, his loyalty reinforced by fear of the boy who would lead his little band to kill a man they had never seen before; Angie, who could not break away from someone with a stronger personality than her own—all these little boy and girl scouts, trustworthy, loyal, obedient, but to the wrong person.
There was a log entry saying that Caitlin’s father had called this morning to complain that one of the staff had phoned at ten last night and had been rude to his wife. He didn’t want us calling his house again. If Caitlin wanted to talk to him, she should call him at work.
This was a manufactured story. Last night Angie assaulted the intermittent working with us. The cottage went on lock-down and remained down for the night while staff did the paperwork on the incident. I stayed late to assist with housekeeping chores: giving head calls, giving meds, etc. No one called Mr. Weber or his wife. I suspected his wife had fed him a load in order to drive a wedge between him and Caitlin. Not that they were close now. As Caitlin’s guardian ad litem had told me, “He has never stepped up to the plate for Caitlin.”
Caitlin’s father did not show up again. She was more disappointed than usual. The next day she was exhausted. She could not explain it.
TEN
Layton told me that he and I had disproved the saying that blacks and Jews could not work together. I said I’d never heard that. He said people in the east said that. He was from New Jersey.
Layton had set aside a couple of sandwiches in the refrigerator. They were wrapped in plastic with “Layton” written in black marker on the plastic. Frank took them out of the refrigerator, ate one and left the other on the staff desk.
Layton was furious. Dick said Frank was like a wolverine: he may not eat everything he killed, but he killed it nevertheless.
Linda Weber’s trial had begun. In the evening, after most of the kids were in their rooms, Caitlin and I searched the Internet for information. I printed out some newspaper articles for her. She said they gave her a lot to think about.
Her father had not called in several weeks. Caitlin said that when she called him, his wife told her he wasn’t at home. I reminded her to call him at his work number.
She regained her level.
She got hold of her father. She berated him for promising to visit her, then not doing it. He promised not to promise her anything unless he knew he could do it. She did not see the paradox in this, but she did not believe him anyway.
She was worried that she would get in trouble at school because she couldn’t maintain her concentration. Her thoughts drifted even in the middle of talking to someone. She thought her inability to stay focused had to do with worrying about the possibility of her mother’s being sentenced to die. Caitlin said she would be glad when the trial and the sentencing were over. She usually presented herself as cheerful, but she admitted that she forced herself to appear this way when she was actually sad.
She was angry with her mother for having instigated the murder and for all that followed from it, but she also missed her. And she was angry with her mother for lying during the trial; she should have taken responsibility for what she did. When I suggested that Linda was trying to save her own life, Caitlin said, “She should tell the truth. The truth shall set you free.”
I talked with one of her teachers and the school psychologist. Both said Caitlin was doing fine. I talked with her psychiatrist. He said Caitlin was worried that she would not be able to do what cottage staff expected of her, because of her inability to concentrate. He had tried to reassure her that, given her trauma, it was normal to have problems with concentration.
I had begun staying late on Thursdays. After I got off shift at ten, I prepared two cups of tea, one for each of us, and Caitlin and I sat together in one of the offices and drank our tea and talked.
I asked her why she had not claimed the corner room in Zone Three, which was larger than the others. She had gotten her Level C back while Sonia was still a Level B, but Sonia occupied the corner room.
She didn’t want to anger Sonia, she said. She would, I knew, do almost anything to keep Sonia from being angry with her. She suffered badly when Sonia mistreated her. Sonia mistreated her by ignoring her.
Caitlin said she was looking forward to Level C’s getting shelves installed in their rooms. None of the rooms had shelves for clothing, books, or other personal belongings. The rooms were Spartan by design: there were to be few, if any, personal items, and these were to be stacked neatly on the floor behind the bed. We did not want residents to get comfortable here; we wanted them to work their way to other cottages. But the fact was that for Caitlin and Sonia, Wolf was their home and we wanted to provide them with something resembling a childhood, so we decided to have shelves built for the Level C’s. We would be giving them something of their own, but we would also be encouraging them to maintain their Level C, the highest level in the cottage. It was a big deal.
I told her the shelves would be installed only in the corner rooms; staff had assumed that only Level C’s would occupy them. She said she was going to claim the corner room then; she didn’t care if Sonia got mad. She asked me if I could get it for her without Sonia’s finding out it was her idea.
I conferred with Jan, then wrote in the log that since Sonia had not earned back her Level C, she would be moved to Room Nine and Caitlin to Room Eleven, “as per Jan.” I did not want to give staff evidence of my favoring Caitlin.
Michael Reichert had a new psychiatrist. At the psych meeting, Dr. Bergeron reported on his first talk with Michael. He said Michael felt frustrated at having been in Wolf for so long, at missing out on his education, at being treated as a special-education student.
I said all of that was true. The classes at Wolf were geared toward special ed because so many of the students had mental health problems. As for Michael’s remaining in Wol
f when most other kids leave after a few weeks, that was the administration’s decision.
Dr. Williams told Dr. Bergeron he should talk with one of the administrators, either Clara or Don, to get their view on Michael.
Clara said Michael was going to have to get used to the idea that he was not going to get an education. “He forfeited his right to an education when he murdered his brother.” I studied her. It was not often that an administrator revealed herself.
Don Martino said Michael’s mother had been writing letters to everyone, trying to ensure that he got his education. He laughed. Clara, also laughing, said Michael’s mother was even trying to get him braces for his teeth. Clara and Don were on a roll.
Martino said Clara was going to write a letter to Michael’s mother, telling her that Michael would remain in Wolf Cottage until he was twenty-one years old, when he would be released from prison.
Clara said she had already written one letter, but she would write another if he wanted her to.
Dr. Bergeron said Michael did not seem to feel that he was entitled to anything, or that anybody owed him anything.
“That’s good,” Clara said.
Bergeron said Michael appreciated his mother’s advocating for him. Michael was surprised that she had gotten over his killing his brother so soon.
“I find it interesting that he expressed it that way, that he did not say he was surprised that his mother had forgiven him,” Clara said.
Placid at the beginning of the meeting, Bergeron was squirming in his chair. Williams was talking to him, trying to divert him, as I left the meeting.
Caitlin’s mother was sentenced to life without parole. That was on a Friday. The next day Caitlin’s father visited. He brought her a pair of basketball shoes, the second pair he’d bought for her in the last three months. I asked her if she thought her dad came this week because her mother’s trial had ended. She said she didn’t know why he came, but she was sure her mother’s trial had nothing to do with it. Did she think he got her another pair of shoes because he felt guilty about not visiting her more often? Yes, she believed that was true. Still, she said, she enjoyed seeing him.
She saw her mother on TV after she was sentenced. Linda’s voice had become so small, it was like a child’s. In the tiniest, most ingratiating vocalization, Caitlin mimicked her mother thanking her attorneys for saving her life. Caitlin said she knew that death and life without parole were the two worst things her mother could have gotten, and she was glad her mother had escaped the death penalty, but she wished she could have gotten something worse than life without parole. She had not thought through yet what it meant that her mother would be locked up for the rest of her life.
Caitlin said that sometimes, on the outs, Sonia would stand up for her when she couldn’t do it herself. For instance, if another girl was threatening her, she would go to Sonia and Sonia would beat the girl up. Sonia could hit really hard.
Caitlin received a letter from her attorney telling her that her appeal would be heard. She was ecstatic and rushed to tell Sonia. I told her to try not to get her hopes up, but I could not suppress my own.
I went to Sonia’s room. She tried to look at me, but her gaze drifted to the side. I said I knew she felt bad, but she should look at it this way: if Caitlin wins her appeal, that makes it more likely that you’ll win yours. She smiled but I didn’t know how genuine the smile was. She and Caitlin had a complicated relationship.
ELEVEN
Johnny Graves, trying to catch a pass during a touch-football game, ran into the steel fence edging the rec yard and scraped his forehead. Although it was a superficial wound, there was a fair amount of blood. Seeing him, both Caitlin and Sonia turned away, their hands over their mouths. At first I thought they were laughing, but then they quit the game and went inside and sat in the living room. Sonia leaned forward, her elbows on her thighs, and cried. Caitlin’s hands concealed her face. I asked if they were having flashbacks. They said they were. I asked each if she preferred to be in her room. Neither knew, but neither left her chair. Was there anything staff could do? Caitlin said she didn’t know. Sonia continued to cry. That was in the early part of a very bad day.
At eight that evening James Johnson was at the wall telephone at the entrance to the kitchen. Julius told him to hang up. James delayed. It appeared that the person at the other end of the line was continuing to talk, as James said several times that he had to go. Finally Julius took the phone from his hand and placed it in its cradle.
Julius told James to go to his room. James was visibly angry, his lips bunched, the skin at the bridge of his nose taut so that the bone showed clearly, but he started toward his room. Julius told him his attitude was going to cost him and James said, “I don’t give a fuck.” Julius followed him into Zone Four. I was standing outside the staff office and as they passed me, I fell in behind Julius. At the door to his room, James stopped and said he wasn’t going in. Julius said he was going in and James said again that he wasn’t. I yelled to Maggie, “Clear the floor!” and shouted also for her to put the other Zone Four residents in the craft room, as they would not be able to get to their rooms.
James’ fists were clenched, his arms bent slightly at the elbow. I tried to persuade him to go into his room, telling him I knew he was angry but he didn’t have to do something he would regret later. I kept my voice low and steady and I knew he was listening although he was looking at Julius and he didn’t move.
Julius laughed and said James was not going to hit him. James said he would, but made no move. Julius took his glasses off and handed them to me but I refused to take them. I continued talking to James. He glanced at me, then took a step backward and began to turn toward his room. But Julius laughed again and James tightened up again and again faced him. Julius again took off his glasses and again handed them to me and again I refused to take them.
“Look at him,” Julius said. “He’s not gonna do nothin’. Get in your room,” he told James. Then he hit his body alarm and I thought it was over, that Julius had backed off. He handed me his glasses and I took them without thinking and then he locked the doors to Rooms Fifteen, Sixteen, and Thirteen. He left Room Fourteen, James’ room, unlocked.
After he locked the room doors, he told James again to go in his room. James glared at him. Julius laughed again and again told James he wasn’t going to hit anybody. James took a step toward him. His hands were still balled into fists but he hadn’t brought them up; he kept them low, hip high, as though he hadn’t made up his mind what he was going to do, as though by taking that step he hadn’t already committed himself.
Julius hit him on the side of the head with a right and then hit him on the other side with a left. James went into a crouch, his forearms raised to protect his head, then he lowered himself to a squat as Julius slammed him. Julius’ body was in perfect balance, his feet planted wide, his knees bent so that there was ninety degrees between thigh and calf. He was bent forward over James and his fists swung like wrecking balls from his sides, the right and the left, the right and the left, as rhythmic as the pendulum’s swing in a grandfather’s clock, but one crazy with speed.
Days later, reviewing everything in my mind yet another time, I would remember being surprised that Julius wasn’t really punching. He threw his hands from the sides, almost as roundhouses. But they must have been accompanied by a tremendous release of emotion because he truly was lost in the beating he was inflicting. He hit James, I thought, eight or ten times, but Maggie, who was standing at the mouth of the zone behind us, said later that she was sure it was at least twenty times.
I attempted to grab Julius’ upper arm but it was too large for my hand and I could not hold it. I tried to move to his right but his size and his stance and his arms working in the narrow corridor blocked me. Throughout, I shouted at him to let the boy up, let him go into his room, and finally Julius ceased hitting him and stood erect. James rose and went into his room and Julius locked his door.
Now Bill and Co
rey from Security and staff from other cottages came flooding through the doorway. Maggie talked to them as I led Julius out of the zone and over to the staff desk. I told him I needed to check on James and Julius nodded. I walked past Bill, asking him to wait, and went back into the zone to Room Fourteen.
“James? I’m going to open your door. I need to take a look at you.”
He was standing against the window on the far side of his room. I asked him if he wanted to see the nurse.
“Nah. I’m okay.”
“Step over here where it’s lighter. I want to look at your head. I won’t touch you.”
He walked over to the center of the room and stood directly under the light. I didn’t see any swelling. I was surprised. Then I saw some blood on a tee shirt on the floor by his bed.
“Did he cut you?”
“Just my mouth is all. I’m okay.”
His lips were not swollen. The bleeding had to be inside.
“I’m going to have you see the nurse. I’ll send Security down in a minute to get you.”
“All right.”
After locking the door, I had taken only a step or two into the zone when he punched his wall, once, twice. Bill and Corey started toward his room, but I held up my hand and they stopped. I returned to James’ door and listened. He was crying.
I went out into the living room. I thanked the staff from the other cottages, Dolphin and Whale and Bull and Serpent, for responding to the alarm and told them that we had things under control now.
The guy from Bull kept saying, “What happened? What happened?” and “What led up to it?” I did not want to tell him anything. He was too eager and I was repelled by him. He kept at it and I grew more disgusted and finally Bill told him to leave and he and those from the other cottages went out through the door that was still open.
I told Bill that James needed to see the nurse, that Julius had beaten him up, and that I would be calling the OD. Bill and Corey went into the zone and came back with James and left with him. I sat on the staff desk beside Julius on the other side of the room when James came out of the zone; he did not look at either of us.