Chapter 20
Wellesley, Massachusetts, 1997
Ever since he was a toddler, Griffin enjoyed sneaking about the family’s large Tudor-style home and finding hiding spots where he could spy on his parents, and now that he was twelve it was no different. That night he had snuck into his mom’s large walk-in closet and left the door open a crack so he could watch them. This was the safest place to hide. He could be as quiet as a mouse, and with all the rows of sweaters, blouses, and dresses that his mom had hanging in there, he could scurry behind them and hide if either of his parents came looking for him.
Griffin knew his parents weren’t going to be having sex that night, but he wanted to watch them nonetheless. Since that afternoon when his mom found out about the Maguires’ cat, she’d been giving him especially accusatory looks, even more than usual, and he wanted to hear what she might say to his dad.
His mom was already in bed, but she wasn’t asleep. Instead, she was propped up by several pillows and had her night-table lamp on and was going through the motions of reading a book, but Griffin could tell from her brittle expression that she wasn’t concentrating on it and was instead waiting for his dad to join her. Water was running in their master bathroom and Griffin heard his dad gargling and then spitting out mouthwash. A minute later the water turned off and his dad emerged from the bathroom wearing his silk pajamas. From the tense look on his mom’s face, Griffin had a good idea what she was dying to talk to him about. Sure enough, she couldn’t even wait until his dad had fully lowered himself onto the mattress before launching into it.
“I know Griffin’s behind what happened to the Maguires’ cat.”
The night-table lamp lit up his mom’s face, but his dad was mostly hidden in the shadows, so Griffin could only imagine the disgusted look his dad must’ve shown her when he muttered, “That’s absolute rubbish.”
“It’s not!”
“Keep your voice low,” his dad ordered harshly. “I don’t want Griffin to have to hear your bizarre accusations. And I further don’t want to talk about this at all. Damn it, Mary, just turn your light off already. I’m going to bed.”
“We’re going to talk about this,” his mom insisted stubbornly, although she had consented to lower her voice.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Our son butchered a cat!”
“You’re talking nonsense. Griffin loved that cat. That damn creature was always coming over to our property and following him around.”
His mom sat silently for a moment. There was just enough light to show that her mouth was moving as if she were chewing gum. Her voice sounded tired as she finally said, “Griffin’s a clever boy. He spent months luring the cat over with food and gaining her trust so that he could do this.”
His dad had been lying on his side, but he bolted upright then. Griffin imagined the damning look his dad must’ve given his mom, as if he couldn’t believe what she was saying.
“Are you nuts?” he demanded, his voice a mix of anger and disbelief. “You’re going to accuse Griffin of premeditating and carrying out an act like that?”
“That’s what our son did. And he didn’t just kill that poor thing. He nailed her paws to a tree, and then tortured her with a lighter and knife before finally slicing her open from her neck to her belly.”
His dad’s voice grew icy as he asked, “What makes you so sure Griffin did this?”
“Alice Connolly saw him in the woods near where Mandy was found.”
“Mandy?”
“The name of the Maguires’ cat.”
His dad made a noise that was somewhere between clearing his throat and snorting, as if he were truly amazed at what she had just said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if that crazy broad killed the cat herself.”
“Be serious.”
“I am serious,” he said. “Besides, a lot of kids walk through those woods. So what if she saw Griffin? It doesn’t mean a damn thing.”
“She saw him less than two hours before that poor animal was found.”
“That’s why you’re going to accuse our son of being a budding psychopath who tortures animals? Because he was probably one of a few dozen kids who walked through those woods that day?”
“He’s the only one Alice saw.”
“Again, so what?” He swore under his breath, then added, “That old crone seems off to me. I’d bet she has some form of dementia, and she’s probably half blind also. Who knows who she actually saw, if she saw anyone. You have no right accusing Griffin of something like this over that kind of flimsy evidence.”
“My husband, always the lawyer,” she said with disgust.
“You bet I am! When did this happen? The day before Thanksgiving? Anyone could’ve been going through those woods that day. Not just kids, but transients, or maybe some deviant passing though. What in the world has gotten into you to believe such a horrible thing about our son?”
Griffin held his breath as he waited for his mom to answer. He’d known she’d been suspicious of him, and not just about the cat, but about other things, and he wanted to know why. He’d always been so careful around her. As far as he knew, she never caught him sneaking through the house so he could spy on them. And he had always made a point of being polite and well-mannered around her. So why was she so sure he had done this?
Whatever her reason, she decided not to divulge it and instead simply said, “It must just be my nerves. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.”
She put her book down and turned off the night-table lamp, leaving the room in darkness, as well as leaving Griffin both frustrated and dissatisfied. He knew he had his dad fooled completely. As far as his dad was concerned, Griffin was a good athlete and also a respectful and studious twelve-year-old. A chip off the old block, as his dad liked to say. Somehow, though, his mom had seen through his act, and he wanted to know how that happened. Was she just more perceptive than his dad, or was he making mistakes around her? He was going to have to figure out a way to win back her confidence, because he certainly wasn’t going to stop with the Maguires’ cat. His next victim was going to be a person. He already had an idea of who he was going to target, and he certainly didn’t want his mom accusing him of that death also.
For now, he would wait in the closet until he heard the light snoring sounds his parents made when they slept, and only then would he creep out of his hiding place. He had brought a shish kebab skewer with him, as he almost always did. Usually his mom slept on her side, and what he liked to do was stand quietly in the dark and hold the sharp, pointy end as close as he possibly could to one of her closed eyes, and imagine driving the skewer through the eyelid and deep into her eye. If she was sleeping on her back instead, he’d hold it near her ear and imagine driving the skewer all the way into her brain. He would do this once or twice a week, and it would always help him feel more relaxed and at peace.
Of course, this was all for pretend. There was not a chance that he would actually hurt her with the skewer. He was too young to do something like that and get away with it. Someday, when he was much older and could live on his own, he planned to kill both of them. He frequently fantasized about making them suffer for hours before snuffing out their lives—his mom for being perceptive enough to see through his façade and know what he really was, and his dad for being so utterly clueless. Even if he loved them (whatever that meant), he would still have to kill them. He was their only heir, and he wanted the inheritance. He had no idea how much money they had, but he knew they were wealthy.
Griffin’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, and he could make out his dad’s form from the glimmer of the clock radio as the older Bolling lay on his side. Within minutes he heard the slight sawing-wood sound of his dad’s breathing as he slept. His mom seemed to be having a more fitful time of it as she tossed and turned. That was okay. He could be patient, as he had proved with the Maguires’ cat. His mom had been wrong about how long it had taken him to win Mandy’s trust. It wasn’t months. Instead it took a year and a half of feeding the cat bits of smoked fish before she would willingly climb into Griffin’s lap. Eventually his mom would fall asleep, and if he needed to, he’d wait hours for that to happen.
Yes, he could be exceptionally patient when needed.