Put Me Back Together

by Lola Rooney

  “I don’t remember ever reading about a brother,” Lucas said, frowning, pulling me out of my story for a moment.

  “Yes, you do,” I replied, my eyes on the sycamore across the street. “At the funeral he tried to climb into the coffin to be with his brother and an uncle had to drag him away, screaming.”

  The papers had printed that detail over and over the week of the funeral. I knew Lucas would remember it. Everyone did. The dead child, the inconsolable brother, the sobbing parents, the nation in mourning.

  The tears that I had wrought.

  “Oh, right,” Lucas said grimly, remembering. “Keep going.” He squeezed my hand.

  “Ricky hated me,” I said. “He didn’t want a babysitter. He thought he was old enough to stay on his own. Remember, I was only four years older than him. He would spend the afternoons doing anything he could to get rid of me. He broke a vase and said I did it. He played too rough with his brother, and when I pulled him off he accused me of abusing him. He poured soup into my backpack. Basically he acted like a total brat. By the time I’d been their sitter for a month, I hated him, too.”

  “On the day I regret the most, the day that started it all, I met Brandon in the park when I was done babysitting. It was already getting dark, but I knew he would be there. I was excited to see him, because usually I could never think of what to say to him. I didn’t know how to talk to boys. But on that day I had plenty to say. And I remember word for word how I started. I said, ‘I want to kill Ricky Wesley.’ Then Brandon put out his cigarette and said, ‘Tell me.’”

  I felt the tears building behind my eyes, threatening to fall, but it was way too early to start crying. There was so much more to go. I sucked in a shuddering breath and felt Lucas’s hand on my back, his legs pressing against mine. When I’d started the story he’d been sitting all the way on the other side of the bed, but now he was right in front of me. I wanted to lean into him, but I didn’t. I needed to hold myself up as I told this story. I needed to be strong.

  “I ranted for a long time. About how much I hated Ricky, what a brat he was, how mean he was for no reason. That day he’d slammed a door and my finger had gotten caught. I was sure he’d done it on purpose. I used all the most vicious words I could think of to describe him, mostly because I thought Brandon would be impressed if I cursed. I never even mentioned Tommy. I figured Brandon wouldn’t want to hear about the sweet five year old I liked to hang out with after school. The evil one was a lot more interesting. But this omission would turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life. It meant that in Brandon’s mind I only babysat one kid. One kid I wanted dead.

  “After about an hour of cursing Ricky I started to lose steam, and that was when Brandon took over. He wanted to know how I would kill him. Would I set him on fire? Hang him in the closet? Chop off his head? In retrospect the excitement in his eyes should have set off warning bells, but…I was the one who’d brought it up. I thought he was excited by my hatred, my passion. I thought he was interested in me, when really…” I bit my lip.

  When really it was the kill that turned him on.

  “Brandon thought sawing off his fingers one by one would be fitting, followed by his arms and legs and head. But I disagreed. I said—” I choked on the words. My head fell into my hands as the first tears begin to fall and I knew I’d never be able to stop them now. I felt Lucas trying to pull me toward him, but I pushed his arms away and turned to face him. He deserved to look me in the face when I said this. “I said I’d use a knife if I had a choice. I’d cut him right down the middle, gut him like a fish, so I could see the evil lurking inside.”

  I saw the look of recognition on Luca’s face as he recalled the phrase “gutted like a fish.” The papers hadn’t spared the details for the Wesleys’ sake. That exact phrase had been used in every article about the murder as though the gruesome nature of the crime would convince the world of something, as though describing every bloody detail had some purpose beyond torturing me. Though if it did, I could never figure out what it was.

  Vaguely I heard Lucas saying something about how I’d been just a kid. Kids said all kinds of horrible things. I hadn’t really meant it. But I wasn’t listening. The rest of the story tumbled out of me in a monotone, as though I were reading from the script of a horror movie in which I was the star.

  “The next afternoon I was getting Tommy ready to go to the playground when Brandon showed up at the back door with the knife in his hand. It was a switchblade, still folded closed. I remember wanting to hold it because I’d never seen one before and I wanted to see how it opened. I didn’t understand what was happening yet. He told Tommy he’d push him on the swings, which was enough to make the kid fall in love with him. Then he leaned in and said in my ear, ‘Today’s the day we take care of business,’ and I knew something wasn’t quite right.

  “That’s when I should have grabbed Tommy and run. I should have screamed my head off. But I just couldn’t comprehend what he meant. Take care of what business? The murdering business? Ricky wasn’t even there that day—he was sleeping over at a friend’s house. I assumed Brandon was kidding and that we’d just take Tommy to the park and watch him play. I assumed it was a joke because he was my boyfriend and that meant he knew me. He knew I didn’t really want to kill Ricky, didn’t he?

  “But then, when we reached the woods, Brandon started describing to me, step by step, how he was going to do it. He kept pointing at Tommy, who had run ahead of us. Because he thought Tommy was Ricky. He thought Tommy was the bratty one, the horrible one, the one I wanted dead. He whispered his plan into my ear, and it was exactly as I’d described it the night before. He was going to do it, just like I’d said. Just like I asked. He was going to do it for me.”

  Lucas’s eyes were riveted to my face now, his shock evident, though he was trying to hide it. I was rewriting a story that had been told thousands of times, unraveling the mystery that had gripped a nation. The Kindergarten Killer never had a discernible motive. His entire defense had hinged upon that fact. And all the time I’d had the answer.

  His motive was me.

  Just as Brandon had led Tommy and I into the woods six years before, I followed him in now. I continued to recount the story to Lucas, while in my mind I lived it: the darkness of the trees descending around us; the clearing appearing ahead, divided by the long-unused train tracks; and the sky still bright with the dying day, the sky I could not escape, the sky he died under.

  Is this really happening?

  The question runs through my mind on a continual loop as we walk through the trees, looking for all the world like three kids with nothing to do on a Thursday afternoon. Three kids taking a shortcut to the park through the woods. Three innocent kids.

  Except Brandon is whispering bloody things in my ear. And the voice in my head is rising to a scream. And one of us might soon be dead.

  “Race you to the train tracks, Katie!” Tommy cries, because trains are his favourite things in the world, because he has no idea my boyfriend plans to butcher him.

  I want to tell him to keep running, to run for his life, but I’m shaking with fear and the words stick in my throat.

  “You heard him, Katie Kat,” Brandon says. “You’d better hurry now. If I get there first, who knows what might happen.” He’s only pretending to taunt me, posing his arms as though he’s about to start jogging ahead, but not actually going through with it. He thinks I’m on his side.

  “I’m coming!” I call to Tommy, who shrieks as though he’s being chased even though I haven’t moved a muscle.

  Then I turn to Brandon and my voice falls to a whisper. “This isn’t funny, okay? Pretending you’re going to kill a five year old isn’t funny.” Because this is a joke, it just has to be. Twelve-year-old boys don’t murder kindergarteners. Brandon isn’t a killer…is he?

  “Who’s trying to be funny?” Brandon says, his voice flat, all the mirth from a moment ago completely gone.

  “Just give me the knife and we
can forget this ever happened,” I say reasonably. “I won’t even be mad.” I hold out a shaking hand.

  “Mad about what?” Brandon replies. He seems genuinely confused. That’s when I know he isn’t joking or playing a trick. This isn’t a game to Brandon.

  This is really happening.

  In desperation I try to snatch the blade out of his hand, but he’s too quick. He shoves me away roughly and I nearly trip and fall.

  “You’re not really going to do this,” I say frantically. “You know I was just joking around last night. You know I don’t really want you to kill anyone. He’s not even—”

  “I heard what you said,” Brandon replies. “I heard it loud and clear. I’m going to take care of it for you. You’ll thank me when it’s done, trust me.”

  “You’re right, that is what I said. I do want him dead,” I say, switching tacks. Maybe if he thinks I want this too, maybe if I convince him, maybe, maybe, maybe… “But this kid isn’t the one I hate. It’s his brother I want dead. You don’t want to kill the wrong kid, do you? You don’t want to make that mistake.”

  He gives me a look of disgust. He thinks I’m lying, I can see it in his eyes.

  “Having a change of heart?” he says. “Don’t worry, I’m not like you. I won’t lose my nerve. I never do.”

  “Brandon, please—”

  He takes my hand and twists it behind my back, pinning it painfully. I let out a gasp of shock and pain. When he speaks, his voice is hard. “Don’t even think of getting in my way. This is what you want. You’ve forgotten, but you’ll remember when it’s done. You’ll see how good it feels. When he’s dead, you’ll understand. You’ll love me for it.”

  I can’t see him now because he’s standing behind me, but I can see his free hand as he flips open the knife. The knife he will use to kill Tommy, and probably me, too.

  I begin to breathe quickly, too quickly, and the forest path tilts in front of me. I will myself not to pass out. Because if I do, what will happen to Tommy? I find out what it means to piss yourself with fear when I feel the warmth spreading over the crotch of my jeans.

  “Say you love me,” Brandon says as he presses me forward, toward the clearing.

  “I love you,” I gasp, because it’s what he wants to hear, because love conquers all, doesn’t it? Maybe love can conquer Brandon’s bloodlust. Maybe love can save us. “I love you, Brandon. I really do. I’ll do whatever you want. Just leave the kid alone. You can tie me up. You can cut me as much as you want.”

  “Why would I want to cut you up?” Brandon says. He seems almost hurt by my words. “I love you. I’m doing this for you.”

  I try to struggle against his grip, but he only yanks my arm harder, eliciting a small scream from my lips. “Keep quiet,” Brandon says immediately, clamping a hand over my mouth. “Don’t say a word, or I’ll kill him slowly.”

  Hearing my scream, Tommy appears up ahead of us on the path and my eyes fill with tears. My voice has called him back when I wanted him to run.

  “Katie, hurry up!” Tommy calls, then frowns as he takes in the scene of me and Brandon and his knife.

  I want to beat Brandon to the ground, but I’m too weak. I want to go back to the minute before I told him about Ricky and still my lips, but I know I can’t. I want to whisk Tommy to safety, but I’m trapped. I’m useless. And it’s all my fault.

  So I do the only thing I can think of. I bite down on Brandon’s hand hard, tasting blood. My eyes find Tommy again and I scream, “Run!”

  Brandon swears and lets me out of his grip, shocked by the wound, and suddenly I’m running down the path after Tommy, who has disappeared from view. I don’t look back, though I can hear Brandon’s clumsy footsteps behind me. For five seconds I imagine that we might get out of this. As I reach the clearing, the trees open up to reveal the sky, full of fading light. I still have hope until the moment I see Tommy standing there, waiting for me, his eyes enormous with fright.

  “No!” I cry as Brandon shoves me from behind and I fall forward, the metal railroad tie coming up to meet my eyes.

  “Stupid bitch,” Brandon says.

  The last thing I hear is Tommy’s scream.

  Lucas held me in his arms, rocking me as my entire body was racked with sobs. The only word I said for a long while was “Tommy,” and each time I did he stroked my head and told me everything would be okay. But it didn’t feel okay. Reliving that moment felt almost exactly like Hell, and I didn’t want to be in Lucas’s arms now. I didn’t want to drag him down to Hell with me. But he wouldn’t let me go.

  Eventually, once my tears had slowed to a trickle, Lucas loosened his hold, allowing me to pull away. Immediately I turned my back as I wiped at my face.

  “Katie…” Lucas said, reaching for me, but I flinched at his touch.

  “Don’t touch me,” I warned. “You don’t want to hold me. You don’t want to hold a killer.”

  “You’re not a killer,” Lucas said steadily, and I snorted. “Brandon is the Kindergarten Killer, not you.”

  I twisted around to face him, suddenly furious. “It was my idea!” I cried. “Tommy’s murder started in my head, not Brandon’s. Sure it was Ricky I wanted dead, not poor Tommy, but what’s the difference? Brandon cut him down the torso, just like I asked. Split him almost in half. You know, you read all about it. Everyone did. And he did it for me!”

  “That doesn’t mean it was what you wanted,” Lucas protested. “That doesn’t mean you would have done it yourself. You were a pissed off kid and you said you wanted someone dead. That’s not the same as going through with it. Brandon is the murderer, Katie.”

  “Yeah,” I said, “and I’m just the girl who drove him to it.”

  He was about to retort, but instead Lucas’s face stilled as he took in my words. “Is that why you were so afraid when I knocked down Buck? You thought I’d turned into Brandon?”

  “It’s what I’m good at,” I said bitterly. “I drive guys to madness, to violence. It’s my talent.”

  Lucas sighed and took me by the shoulders, forcing me to face him. Reluctantly, I raised my eyes to meet his. “I know a little bit about the Kindergarten Killer,” he said. “I read every article about it when I was in high school. We even followed the case in class. The teacher thought it would be better than gossiping about it in the halls. Brandon’s father used to beat him with tools from his workshop. When they arrested him he had broken ribs from being beaten. He’d been killing animals in those woods for months, mutilating their bodies. Practicing. His teachers admitted they thought he was off. I think his mother said he tried to kill his little sister once. He was a killer long before he met you.”

  “Fine, he’s the killer,” I conceded. “He murdered Tommy, not me. But it’s still my fault!” My tears were running again, blurring my vision.

  “Tell me why,” Lucas said, tightening his grip on my shoulders as I tried to pull away.

  “B-because,” I spluttered. “Because, I-I—”

  “Because you were his babysitter? Because you once said you hated his brother so much you wanted to kill him and a psychopath decided it was a good idea?”

  “Because if not for me, he’d still be alive.”

  “That’s crazy logic, Katie,” Lucas said, his kind eyes boring into mine, trying to fill me with his compassion. But my heart was too full of self-loathing to let him in. “You didn’t want either Tommy or Ricky to die, not really. I know you, maybe better than anyone now. You’re not to blame.”

  Reaching up swiftly, I yanked hard on Lucas’s arms, dislodging them from my shoulders, and shot to my feet. “You know me?” I said, angrily wiping at my wet cheeks. “Haven’t you been listening? Everything I’ve ever told you is a lie. I’m not the shy artist who likes brownies and rescues kittens. I’m a liar and a phony. I’m a fugitive. I lied to the police and I lied in court. I belong in jail!”

  I began twisting my fingers, falling into that same old habit. I remembered then the reason I’d started doing it in the
first place. In the ambulance, after Tommy died, I’d twisted my fingers just like this, trying to get the blood off. I imagined I could still see it there even months later, even after a hundred washings. Tommy’s blood would always be on my hands.

  “You were just trying to protect yourself,” Lucas went on in that same sympathetic tone, and suddenly I wanted to hit him. “You were thirteen. Do you know how many lies I told when I was thirteen?”

  I’m guessing you weren’t under oath at the time,” I said. “I’m guessing you drew a line somewhere. You’d lie to your mom, but not your best friend. You’d lie about getting detention, but not about stabbing someone to death. Do you know how many lies I’ve told, who I’ve lied to? I’ll tell you who: everyone. I lied to the press about that day. To my friends. To my parents. To my sister. To you. I’ve been lying so long I don’t even recognize the truth anymore. Is that the kind of person you want to be with? A pathological liar who’ll say anything to save her skin?”

  “Would it have made that much difference if you’d told the truth?” Lucas countered. “Being a liar isn’t the same as being a killer.”

  “I claimed I didn’t even know Brandon,” I spat. “I said I’d never seen him before in my life, and they all believed me because I was the sweet girl from the nice family and he was trash. I washed my hands of Tommy’s death and let Brandon take the fall.” My head began to pound and I gripped it with my hands.

  “You didn’t let him take the fall. He’s the one who committed the crime. He got what he deserved,” Lucas said.

  “I was a coward,” I whispered between my fingers.

  “Oh, Hero,” Lucas said, getting to his feet and moving toward me.