When he returned, he assured them by saying, “Please know that with this new information, we’re not likely to pursue criminal charges against Sarah. We want to get her the help she needs.” “Thank you, Detective,” said Sarah’s mother.
He then ushered Sarah’s parents into a dark room with a large window where he told them, “As you will notice, you can see Sarah, but she can’t see you. Please have a seat. I’ll be in here with you the entire time. I assure you that Detective Gilbert is excellent with people and will be gentle with your daughter. Are you ready?” In unison, her parents nodded yes.
Detective Franklin pushed a button which illuminated a red light in the corner behind Sarah. This was Detective Gilbert’s signal to begin the interview.
“Okay, Sarah, as I told you before, my name is Connie. For the record, can you tell me your name and date of birth?”
Sarah nodded, and then in a soft-spoken voice answered the questions. The interview continued and Sarah’s parents were relieved by the gentle nature of the questioning. They listened intently and were shocked by what was revealed.
“Sarah, do you remember having a knife?”
“I think so.”
“Do you remember where you got the knife?”
Sarah’s countenance changed, and through gnashed teeth, she responded, “From that bitch’s house!”
Detective Gilbert could see that Sarah was getting agitated and quickly changed her line of questioning. “Sarah, can you tell me where you were going when we found you?”
Sarah smiled, and in a childlike, loving tone responded, “To Michael’s.”
In a whispered voice, Detective Franklin asked her parents,
“Who is Michael?”
Her father replied, “Michael? I don’t know a Michael.”
Her mom whispered, “Yes you do, Michael is the boy across the street.”
“Sarah, what were you going to do at Michael’s?”
“We were going to be together, forever. He loves me. I was going to fix everything.”
“Sarah, what about the knife? Can you tell me about the knife?”
Sarah was now fixated on her reflection in the mirror. A demonic grin appeared on her pretty young face. Her pupils were fully dilated, giving them a chilling appearance. She leaned forward with her fingers twirling her disheveled hair, and the tone of her voice dropped as she replied, “I was gonna make a way for us to be together forever.”
After an hour, the interview ended, and Detective Gilbert met with Sarah’s parents. “My concern is that she may have been en route to his location to cause Michael harm. Based on her condition and my interview, I’m afraid we will have no choice but to Baker Act her for now. Sarah will have to be institutionalized for the next seventy-two hours. During that time, she will be evaluated for further treatment.”
Sarah’s mother was sobbing and asked, “I can’t bring my baby home?”
“I’m afraid she is a danger to herself and others at this time, possibly even you two. No criminal charges will be brought against her, considering the circumstances.”
“Can we please see her?” begged her mother.
“Of course, ma’am.”
Her parents entered into the room where Sarah was still sitting.
Sarah looked up. “Mommy?”
Detective Franklin told them, “We’ll give you a few minutes alone.”
Sarah’s parents spent the next several minutes with her. Detective
Franklin entered the room and exclaimed, “Okay folks, it’s that time.” They stood by as officers escorted Sarah to the waiting transport van.
“Mommy!? I want to go home with you and Daddy! Mommy, MOMMY, MOMMY!”
Detective Gilbert told them, “The attending psychiatrist will be in touch with you after he evaluates her, I imagine probably sometime by the end of the day.”
Her parents mourned as Sarah was driven away to the mental health center. She may as well have been going to prison for the rest of her life. Neither one said anything, but both knew in their hearts that the little girl they had loved and nurtured for fourteen years had been taken from them. Not by the Louisville Police department, but rather by the cruel fate that had stricken their precious daughter with this dreaded mental illness. All of their hopes and dreams of what she could grow up to be, of planning her wedding, spending time with their future grandchildren were all fading away as the police van blended into the horizon.
When they got home, it was nearly 9:00 a.m., and they saw police detectives across the street speaking with Nancy.
***
“Good morning, ma’am. We’re Detectives Philips and Mendelson with the Louisville Police Department. May we have a moment of your time?”
“Of course, Detectives. How can I help you?”
“I understand that your son’s name is Michael?”
Nancy said “Mikey? Yes, why? Is he in some sort of trouble?”
“No, ma’am, not at all.”
“Thank goodness. He’s a junior, named after his father, Big Mike.
I’m sorry where are my manners? Won’t you please come inside?” “Thank you, ma’am.” The two detectives entered the house.
“Is your son home?”
“No, he is in school. Why? Are you sure he isn’t in some sort of trouble?”
“No, ma’am . . .” The detectives proceeded to tell Nancy the whole sordid incident that had played out just a few steps away from their house the night before.
“. . . It is our belief that she meant to cause your son harm. She appears to be fixated on him.”
Nancy replied, “They just met the other day. How is such a thing possible?”
“We believe that she may have a mental disorder. I can assure that she is in protective custody for now.”
After approximately a half hour, the detectives left. Nancy was shocked at the news of the incident.
Nancy called Big Mike at work and explained everything that had happened. “The detectives said they think she will be locked up for some time and that Mike should be out of danger.”
“Well, thank the good Lord for that.”
Being a well-connected attorney, Big Mike used his influences to obtain some normally confidential information about Sarah. He felt at ease after finding out what he learned and called Nancy back.
“I made some calls and I think they were telling you the truth. I believe she won’t be getting out for some time. She’s a wreck from what I’ve been told. I think we should hold off on saying anything to Mike. I don’t see any reason to worry him.”
After talking to the detectives, Sheila’s parents also decided not to tell her who it was that broke in, and decided to pass it off as just a random incident. After all, no one had been harmed and as far as anyone knew, Mike was the intended target of Sarah’s rage.
Three months later, Sarah was in a bright room full of people her own age. Several of them were walking around holding entire conversations with themselves. Sitting in a chair, staring out a barred window, Sarah muttered, “Michael, I promise you, our time will come. I will find a way.”
A FUTURE SO BRIGHT
T he next morning, Mike waited at the bus stop alone. I wonder where Sheila and Katie are. He heard the bus coming from around the corner.
As the bus pulled up, the door opened and he heard the two girls hollering from down the street, “Wait! Mike, tell him to wait!”
He turned and saw them running toward the bus so he got on and asked the driver to wait. “Two girls are coming.”
The driver responded in the same monotone, apathetic voice, “Whatever!”
Mike saved Sheila a seat next to him, of course. When she and Katie finally got there, he said, “That was close. Did I keep you up too late last night?”
“Oh my God, you didn’t hear what happened?”
With an alarmed look on his face Mike said, “No, I didn’t hear anything. What happened?”
“Someone broke into my house last night.”
; Mike, now feeling foolish, responded, “Oh, I’m so sorry. Is everyone okay?”
With a coy smile, Sheila replied, “Well, I’m doing good, now that we’re together.”
Mike, oblivious to the menace he himself had faced the night before, listened to Sheila’s account of what had transpired at her house.
“I woke up and Benny was barking. Then we heard a rustle downstairs. I got scared, but then I heard my dad telling us all to stay in bed. I guess my mom was on the phone with the police. My dad was yelling that he had a gun. I have never been more scared in my life.”
She went on, “Next thing I know, the police are there. They took pictures and asked us all kinds of questions. My dad seemed upset with me, accusing me of leaving the back door unlocked when I let Benny out before I went to bed. But I swear I locked it. I always lock the doors. I’ve always been kind of paranoid about that.”
Mike, in his bravest move ever, put his arm around Sheila to console her. He drew her close, and to his delight, she sank her cheek blissfully into his shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re okay. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said confidently.
Sheila seemed at ease and felt at peace as she nuzzled Mike. She continued her tale. “The crazy thing is that they didn’t take anything but a kitchen knife. Isn’t that scary?”
Mike whispered, “That is crazy. Thank you, Benny. I hope you give him a special treat when you get home.”
“Oh, he was our furry little hero last night, that’s for sure.”
They arrived at school, and during homeroom were told that immediately following there would be a mandatory freshman assembly in the basketball gym and the next class would be cancelled. Mike and Sheila left, walking hand in hand to the gym. Once there, Katie flagged them down, she was already in the stands and saved two seats beside her.
Mike said, “I wonder what this is all about.”
Suddenly, they heard a blaring squeal, followed by the voice of a soft-spoken woman, overpowered by hundreds of teenage voices excited to be out of class. “Test, test, test . . . can everyone hear me? I need everyone to find your seats, please.”
They looked toward a makeshift stage in the middle of the basketball court. There stood a stout woman, a towering four feet ten inches and as round as she was tall, with horn-rimmed glasses, brown hair up in a bun, blue skirt with a matching jacket, a white silk shirt with buttons that strained from the pressure of her mammoth bulbous breasts, and two well-stuffed black flats with fleshy nylon-covered bulges protruding up and out from the strained leather uppers.
Mike laughed and said, “She looks just like Miss Piggy.”
Sheila and Katie laughed hysterically at the all too accurate observation.
Sheila said, “You know what? She really does!”
The rest of the class was being unruly, ignoring the passive plea from the fat lady.
Then, without warning, the meek and portly announcer boldly asserted, “I NEED EVERYONE TO FIND A SEAT! SIT DOWN AND BE QUIET!” The once restrained voice erupted into a booming roar and immediately the entire class settled down.
“Thank you. Now that I have your attention, I would like to welcome the Class of ‘89 to their freshman year of high school.” The crowd erupted into a raucous cheer.
The fat lady smiled and allowed the uproar to continue for a moment. “Okay, settle down, settle down.” She said with an empathetic tone. The excitement was electric, and everyone, including Mike, was getting into it. The crowd eventually settled down and she continued, “I’m Mrs. Bertram. For those who don’t know me, I’m the principal here at John F. Kennedy Senior High School. I’ve been teaching here for twenty years . . .,” she went on for another thirty minutes, talking about the school rules and the discipline procedures. Finally she said, “And now I would like to introduce you to our faculty . . .”
Mike was oblivious and bored until he heard, “ . . and this is Coach Peterson. He is our head football coach.”
Mike looked up immediately. There stood an older man in his fifties with silver hair, a thick silver mustache and dark leathery skin from spending too much time in the sun. He was wearing gray polyester coaching shorts, white athletic shoes and white socks that came nearly up to his knees. He was wearing a dark blue, collared shirt with an eagle embroidered on the left side of his chest. And to complete the ensemble, he wore a blue and gold ball cap with the same eagle on it, and a shiny chrome whistle dangling from his thick neck.
From this giant man standing six feet six came an imposing, forceful voice. Mike could see this giant talking, but all he could hear was, “What’s up, you douche bags?”
Mike thought, No, it can’t be. Peterson? Moose? Oh my God, is that Moose’s father?
The coach continued in his brusque manner, “For any one of you young men who thinks you have what it takes, there will be tryouts this Friday for the freshman team. I expect to see all you manly guys out there. The rest of you pansies can try out for band, or maybe you can be cheerleaders or something.”
It seemed that all the boys in the crowd laughed at the slanderous quip, even the less than athletic types, not willing to come across as weak.
That voice, that build—he has to be Papa Moose.
Mike told Sheila, “I think I’m gonna try out for football.”
Sheila said, “I bet you’ll do great. Have you ever played?”
“Not officially, but my dad played in college and he spent all summer teaching me the fundamentals.”
“You mind if we come out and cheer you on?” Katie asked.
Bashfully Mike answered, “No, I suppose that would be cool.”
***
Friday afternoon, 3:45. Big Mike had come to watch his son’s tryouts. He saw Mike on the sideline with the two cute girls.
“Oh, there’s my dad.”
Sheila smiled and said, “That’s your dad? I can see where you get your good looks.”
Katie also gave her approval, “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”
Mike laughed while he shook his head and ran over to see his dad. Big Mike spent the next few minutes reviewing what they had gone over all summer. Then the whistle blew.
“OKAY LADIES, LINE UP!”
“Go get ‘em son, make me proud.”
“I will, Dad.”
Mike lined up with ten other boys. An assistant coach announced, “Okay girls, this is the forty-yard dash. From a three-point stance on the twenty-yard line, you will run to the opposite forty-yard line where Coach Peterson will time you. You will go two at a time. Any questions?”
One kid raised his hand. “Where do we line up again?”
Screaming into the poor unfortunate soul’s face, the coach yelled, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? AM I SPEAKING SPANISH OR SOMETHING? YOU REALLY DIDN’T UNDERSTAND MY SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS?
YOU MORON, GET THE HELL OFF MY FOOTBALL FIELD! YOU
HAVE NO BUSINESS BEING HERE.”
Dejected and embarrassed, the boy slunk off the field.
“Any other questions?” asked the coach calmly.
Not a peep.
“First two, line up!”
The Moose was in the first group.
Mike couldn’t help thinking, Of course he’d be out here. Look at that animal.
The Moose was surprisingly quick for a guy his size. Mike heard his time: “5.44.”
“Wow, not bad for a Moose!” Mike said under his breath.
Mike was in the second group.
“Next two . . . ready?”
Mike crouched down into a three-point stance, just like his dad had taught him.
BEEEEP, the whistle blew.
Mike bounded forward, and with perfect sprinting form ran the hardest he had ever run. Mike got to the end, well in front of his competitor and heard, “4:42? HOLY CRAP!” Mike had set a new school record.
Coach Peterson said, “Damn son, you part jack rabbit or something?”
In disbelief, the other coaches congregated, thinking Peterson must have made an error. They let Mi
ke rest a bit and made him run again by himself. This time there would be two stopwatches on the other end.
“Ready?” BEEEEP!
Again, running like his life depended on it, Mike got to the forty and waited to hear the times; they were even faster.
Coach Peterson. “4.39.”
Coach Jackson. “4.41.”
All the coaches were buzzing around this marvel like drone bees around a queen.
The rest of the day was spent running lineman drills, route drills, receiver drills and obstacle courses. At the end of the day, Coach Peterson came up to Mike. “Good job, son. I can use a man like you on my field. Is that your father?”
“Yes, sir. Coach, this is my dad, Big Mike. Dad, this is Coach Peterson.”
“Pleasure to meet you, coach. I can see you’re going to be tough on these guys.”
“Well, football’s not a soft sport, so I don’t go soft on them here. Is that going to be a problem for ya?”
Big Mike adamantly denied any disapproval. “No sir, I played for Kentucky State back in college. I appreciate a tough approach. I expect nothing less for my boy. Besides, he can handle it.”
“Football player, eh? Kentucky State you say? Good school. Sir, would you be interested in assisting us occasionally during practices?”
Mike looked at his dad and gave him a smile and a big “thumbs up.”
“Well, sir, my schedule won’t allow me to be here as often as I’d like, but I will be here every day I can.”
Big Mike and Coach spent the next hour swapping war stories from their glory days as players.
Mike ran over to Sheila and gave her a hug. “I’m in.”
“I’m so happy for you, baby! You were incredible.”
In the locker room, the Moose walked up to Mike and said, “Hey douche bag, I remember you now. You’re that pudgy little pussy from the bus. I didn’t recognize you at first. You still a whiny little bitch? So now you think you’re a football player, do ya? I don’t think you have what it takes, PUSSY! Are you gonna cry now, pussy?”
Epistle of the Damned Page 6