Stanton- The Trilogy

by Alex MacLean

  Audra left Daniel be. She removed her jacket and hung it on a hook by the back door. Then she filled a kettle with water and placed it on the stovetop, ignited the flame beneath the burner. The clock on the wall read 9:52. Daphne usually turned in by 10:30 on a school night.

  Audra’s stomach felt hollow from a day without food. She scooped some yogurt into a bowl and sliced up a banana in it. As she sat down at the table with her snack, she heard the French door open.

  Daniel appeared with tousled hair and puffy eyes. At forty-four, he was strikingly handsome with a Greek nose, square jaw, and dark eyes. Middle age had been generous, barely lining his face or streaking his hair. Racquetball three times a week helped keep him fit and trim. He worked as an accountant with McMullin & Associates.

  “Hey, babe,” he said. “You’ve had a long day.”

  Audra spooned a banana slice into her mouth. “I know. And I never even scratched the surface.”

  “I saw it on the news tonight. Another gang shooting?”

  “Something like that.” Audra changed the subject. “How was your day?”

  Daniel gave a light twitch of his shoulders. “Same old boring stuff. Nothing exciting ever happens.”

  “That’s good in a way,” Audra said. “Have you seen much of Daphne?”

  “Saw her at suppertime. Been up in her room all evening.”

  The kettle let off a piercing whistle, and Daniel took it off the burner, extinguished the flame.

  “How’d she seem?” Audra asked.

  Daniel took a cup down from the cupboard, set it on the counter. “Quiet. More than usual now that you mention it. She didn’t eat much. Do you want chamomile?”

  “Any green tea left?”

  Daniel opened another cupboard door on the far side of the sink and brought out a tin canister.

  Looking inside, he said, “One bag left.”

  “I’ll have that, thanks. Unless you want it.”

  “No, you can have it.”

  “I’ll add it to the grocery list.”

  “Bag in or out?”

  Audra scraped the last of the yogurt from the bowl. “Out, please.”

  Daniel brought over the cup of tea and placed it down in front of her. He took a seat on the other side of the table. Propping his elbows on top, he clasped his hands and rested his chin on them.

  “Daphne’s been skipping school,” Audra said matter-of-factly.

  Daniel blinked. “What?”

  “The school called me this morning. Said she missed the last two days.”

  “You’ve been dropping her off, haven’t you?”

  “Yep.” Audra blew over the top of her tea, rippling its surface. “She must’ve hung around outside until I was gone.”

  “Where’s she been going? Back here?”

  “The park.”

  “Jesus.” Daniel shook his head, leaned back in the chair. “It’s so late in the year. Exams are soon.”

  “I know.”

  “Have you talked to her yet?”

  “I called her this morning. She told me she hates school. I told her to go home. We’ll talk tonight.”

  Daniel crossed his arms, fixed his gaze on a point above her head. “Should we both talk to her?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Might be best. Maybe it’s a female thing.”

  Audra sipped her tea. “I think something happened at school.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”

  Audra finished her tea. She put her empty cup and bowl in the dishwasher then went upstairs. A light shone under Daphne’s bedroom door. Audra knocked.

  A soft voice inside said, “Come in.”

  When Audra entered, she saw her daughter sitting in bed with her legs pulled to her chest and her hands resting on her knees. Her iPod and earphones lay on the quilts beside her.

  Daphne was a slender girl with her mother’s heart-shaped face and her father’s dark eyes and hair. Her bedroom resembled that of any teenager—posters of Missy Higgins and Regina Spektor on the walls, laundry hamper nearly overflowing, books on the floor, papers scattered across the desktop.

  “Are you okay?” Audra asked.

  “Fine.”

  Audra studied her. Daphne’s return look was sheepish, apologetic, wounded. Something was wrong. Audra sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Talk to me,” she said. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Nothin’, Mom.”

  The rushed undertone of words sounded like banked anxiety.

  “You’re not experimenting with alcohol or drugs, are you?”

  Daphne’s mouth fell open, and her eyes grew wide and defensive. “What? God, Mom. No.”

  “Then why were you skipping school?”

  “I hate it there.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s boring.”

  “Honey, we’ve been over this. You have two weeks left. Then all summer to do whatever you want.”

  Daphne touched her forehead to her knees, mute. Audra stared at her, remembering the bright-eyed, inquisitive child she used to be, uncorrupted by secrecy and isolation. But her child had entered that tough road of adolescence leading into womanhood.

  “Is it over a boy?” Audra asked.

  Daphne’s head popped up. “What? No.” Then laughed when she saw the smirk on her mother’s face.

  “Did something happen at school?”

  Daphne paused, lowered her eyes. “No, Mom.”

  Audra noted the softened change in Daphne’s voice. Yes, something did happen.

  “Look, honey,” she said. “I’m always here for you. Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “If there’s ever any problem with a teacher or another student, you come to me. I can take care of it.”

  Daphne looked at her, and Audra saw a film of tears in her daughter’s eyes. Still, Daphne refused to open up.

  “I’ll write you a note to take in to your teacher tomorrow,” Audra said.

  “Okay.”

  Audra got up and gave her a tight hug, kissed the top of her head. “Get some sleep, honey.”

  > > > < < <

  Daphne watched the bedroom door close behind her mother. She shut her eyes, and the tears rolled down her cheeks. She hated lying to her parents. It made her sick with shame. But if she told them what was going on at school, it would surely bring trouble. Her mother was a cop, after all, and she had a fiery personality. Everything would probably get worse.

  The name calling had started in April. In the hallway during class change and in the cafeteria at lunch break, they called her a bitch, a skank, a dork, a fucktard. Loudly enough for everyone to hear, and a handful of other kids not even involved had laughed at her.

  It all came from four girls in the next grade. Daphne only knew the name of the main troublemaker, Margi Tanner. She didn’t know the names of the other girls, but they knew her. Hated her. Picked on her because she was shy and awkward and a bit of a loner. The girls were nasty little creatures with a pack mentality.

  Shortly after it all started, Daphne’s handful of friends at school stopped hanging out with her. They probably feared they’d also become targets if seen with her.

  The name calling had progressed into physical aggression last week. On Wednesday, the four girls slapped Daphne’s books out of her hands and shoved her into the lockers. On Thursday, they tripped her in the hallway, and one made a hawking sound as if going to spit on her. On Friday after school, they pushed her to the sidewalk and strolled off laughing.

  And now they had found her on the Internet.

  After supper, someone by the name of Cool Dude had posted on her Facebook wall a short video of an orangutan peeing into its own mouth. The caption read: What Daphne Price does in her spare time.

  Daphne deleted the post immediately. She waited for an hour afterward for more postings. None came.

  She wondered if there were more now.

  Slipping off the bed, she went
to her desk and sat down. She’d left her laptop on standby. Quickly, she connected to the Internet and logged into Facebook. A dull sickness settled on her once she saw the new post on her wall.

  This one came from someone named Funny Monkey, and it said, “Like if you hate Daphne Price,” along with an animated picture of a sparkling purple bunny holding its nose. Directly below were the words You Stink.

  Seventeen people she didn’t even know had already clicked the Like button. Some even commented on the post:

  “Take a bath.”

  “I h8t u.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Ur so ugly.”

  “OMG. LMAO.”

  “PU.”

  “Nobody likes u.”

  Daphne bit down on her lip. Those girls at school had to be the ones behind it. Who else would it be? They were using phony names and phony accounts. Why were they doing it? She’d never done anything to them.

  Daphne could feel herself trembling. She deleted the post, thought about ending her Facebook account. If she didn’t, more postings would follow. She was sure of it.

  In the security settings, she found the deactivate account highlighted in blue at the bottom. She clicked it and was led into another screen, asking if she was sure. It showed pictures of friends who were going to miss her. Tears welled in her eyes again as she tapped the touchpad on her laptop, confirming her decision.

  Daphne shut off the bedroom light and crawled into bed. The thought of going to school tomorrow made her want to puke.

  She rolled onto her stomach and began sobbing into the pillow so her parents couldn’t hear.

  11

  Halifax, June 9

  8:33 a.m.

  Daphne’s return was weird. Sitting in the passenger seat of her mother’s car, she watched clumps of students heading into school. She felt vulnerable and helpless, a pygmy braving giants. She imagined the snickers and the whispers and the name calling once she went inside. The safety and isolation of her home seemed so far away.

  When her mother put a hand on her arm, she flinched.

  “Are you okay?” Audra asked.

  Daphne lowered her head and swallowed. No, she wasn’t okay. Her heart pounded. A knot of sickness tightened in her stomach. She looked over at her mother, saw the deep concern in her blue eyes. How much she wanted to tell her, to ask her for help.

  Suddenly, Daphne found herself remembering the descriptive essay she’d had to write for grade 7 English last year—the person she most admired. Mom took that title. Not only the one she admired the most but loved and respected too. Mom was the perfect role model. Strong. Honest. Loving. The person Daphne most wanted to be like when she got older.

  Daphne felt a painful lump swelling in her throat, and she turned her head away before her mother could see the tears forming.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” she said and opened the door, pushed a leg out.

  “Did you remember your note?”

  Without looking back, Daphne touched her jacket pocket, heard the crumple of paper. “Yes.”

  “Want me to go in with you?”

  “No.” She tried to keep her voice from trembling. “I’ll be fine.”

  Daphne got out of the car, feeling a bit woozy on her feet. She put a hand on top of the door to steady herself. After a brief moment, she picked her book bag off the floor and hoisted it onto her back.

  “Try to have a good day, honey.”

  “You too. Bye, Mom.”

  Daphne shut the car door and took a deep breath of morning air. She looked straight ahead at the school entrance, that yawning mouth of a beast waiting to swallow her up. Dread flooded through her system like poison. She wanted more than anything to run, run as fast as she could away from here.

  Two weeks, she told herself. Just tough it out for two more weeks.

  > > > < < <

  Audra watched her daughter head toward the school. Body language was hard to fake, and Daphne’s bespoke her reluctance to go inside—slow, shuffling gait, arms crossed over her stomach, head bent down, shoulders rounded. Not her usual walk at all but one of a submissive person.

  Audra shook her head, puzzled. She should talk to Daphne’s teachers to see if they knew or noticed anything. Daphne’s grades were still fine. But she seemed evasive and withdrawn.

  Then Audra realized Daphne’s best friend, Tabitha, hadn’t been around the house lately. They’d been friends since the fifth grade. Exchanged many sleepovers at one another’s houses. Talked nearly every night on the phone. Was that it? Had they had a fight?

  Daphne paused just outside the school entryway. Mounted to the building above her head, a Canadian flag waved with the breeze.

  She looked back over her shoulder. Her eyebrows were raised in the middle, and her eyes showed naked fear. The expression pierced Audra’s heart. It made her remember, as vivid as yesterday, leading a five-year-old Daphne by the hand into primary class for the first time. Her daughter was dressed in a new ruffle dress and ribbons. Her favorite toy—Polly Pocket—was tucked away in a knapsack nearly as big as her.

  Some kids in the classroom clung to their parents, sobbing. Others seemed to take it all in stride, either chatting away or quietly studying their strange, new environment and the strange people in it.

  The teacher came over and introduced herself. When she held out her hand for Daphne to take it, the little girl moved back a step, afraid.

  “Mommy.” She looked up nervously from her mother to the teacher. Her grip squeezed Audra’s hand.

  Audra knelt before her, and Daphne’s arms came tight around her neck.

  “It’ll be all right, honey,” Audra said. “We prepared for this at home. Remember?”

  Daphne nodded against her shoulder. Audra pulled herself back, holding Daphne to see her face.

  “Go with the nice teacher,” she said. “I’ll be back to pick you up. Then you can tell me all about your day.”

  Daphne gave a small nod. “Okay, Mommy.”

  With some hesitance, she took the teacher’s hand. As she was led away, she looked back at Audra, who fought tears from her eyes.

  Once more, Audra focused on her teenage daughter standing at the school’s entryway. Audra flashed her a smile and waved. Daphne’s own smile was slow to come and, when it did, perfunctory. She stroked a wisp of brown hair away from the side of her face. Then she squared her shoulders and disappeared through the glass doors.

  Audra waited a few minutes, watching the exits. The entrance bell rang, and students who were hanging around outside started heading in.

  Audra started the car and edged onto South Street. She barely assimilated the crawling traffic or the mixed group of pedestrians gathered at the crosswalks as she drove two blocks away to recanvass Todd Dory’s neighborhood.

  12

  Halifax, June 9

  8:49 a.m.

  Self-conscious, Daphne maneuvered her way through a knot of students in the hallway, sneaking glances here and there, afraid to look at anyone directly. Some students headed to class with their books tucked under one arm or cradled in front of them; others were off to the sides, either rummaging through their lockers or talking to their friends. Muffled chatter and footwear squeaking on the waxed floor sounded like a cacophony.

  Daphne wondered how many people knew about the postings on Facebook last night. How many had taken part in the rude comments? She didn’t see those ninth graders who had been picking on her.

  Hurriedly, she went to her locker, spun the combination on the lock. When she opened the door, a folded note on top of her books gave her pause. Someone had obviously pushed it through the vent in the door. Feeling sick, Daphne picked it up. She inhaled deeply and let it out. The note opened in her hands, and the three words on it cut right through her: You smelly pig.

  Daphne could feel a burn in her face. Behind her came a snort of laughter. She spun around, eyes sweeping the crowd, and caught two girls from the other grade 8 class. They were walking past on the other side of the hallway, lo
oking at her with big smiles on their faces.

  Daphne swallowed. For her own sake, she decided it was better not to respond or show a reaction. Still, the dark fear of mockery, of exclusion, of being singled out hounded her.

  She turned away, crumpled the note in her hand, and stuffed it into a pocket of her jeans. Then she slipped the book bag off her back and set it inside the locker.

  Second bell rang, loud and unexpected, and Daphne nearly jumped out of her skin. Five minutes to first period. Quickly, she gathered up the books she would need for the morning classes, locked up her stuff, and hurried off.

  13

  Halifax, June 9

  10:54 a.m.

  “This might be nothing, but I saw someone. A man.”

  Audra felt her hope take a spike. “Where?”

  “Out on Morris Street.”

  “What time was this?”

  “Had to be after two in the morning. Two fifteen. ’Round there.”

  Audra paused, studying the woman in the doorway. Her name was Janelle Gurnard. She lived on the second floor of a double three-decker that sat right around the corner from the apartment building Todd Dory had been murdered in.

  Dressed in a crimson nursing tee untucked over black jeggings, Janelle was pale and slender, with dirty-blonde hair tied back off her neck. She looked barely out of her teens. Probably a single mom on government aid. Audra didn’t see any sign a male lived at the apartment.

  In the living room behind her, a toddler girl in a pink nightdress sat on the couch watching Sesame Street. Plastic toys and stuffed animals were scattered across the floor in front of her. Close by, an infant boy lay in a crib, kicking his legs while looking around and cooing.

  “Can you describe this man?” Audra asked, poising her pen over a fresh page in her notebook.

  “A little, but it was dark and pouring rain at the time. He was dressed all in black. Looked like he had on one of those rain suits. The jacket and pants matched.”