His head fuzzy from his hangover, Dick sets the groceries on the counter, makes himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and pours himself a ginger ale. Then he settles on the couch to watch the second game of the Angels-Padres series.
His phone buzzes, signaling a new voicemail. He considers ignoring it, certain it’s Caroline continuing her beratement. But then, mostly out of boredom, he pulls it from his pocket to see there are actually three messages, all from his sister.
He taps the first one, left an hour ago when he was at the grocery store.
“Dickie, call me,” Dee says.
He moves on to the next, left fifteen minutes ago on his drive home.
“Where are you?” she says, her voice tight.
His pulse ticks up a notch as he taps the one left a moment ago.
“Jesse and I are going to Janelle’s. Call me when you get this.”
Janelle is his sister’s best friend.
He hits the callback button, and Dee picks up on the first ring.
“He’s back,” she says without a greeting.
He blinks at the words, which make no sense, though he understands perfectly what she is saying.
“Otis is back,” she says, confirming it.
Twelve years ago, Dee’s neighbor, Otis Parsons, was sentenced to twenty years for raping Ed Collins, the eleven-year-old brother of Joe Collins, Dee’s boyfriend at the time.
“Did you hear me?” Dee asks, and he realizes he hasn’t responded.
“Huh? Yeah. How?”
“Does it matter?” she says, her fear reverberating through the phone.
He supposes it doesn’t, but he has always struggled with things that don’t make sense. Twenty years is still eight years away.
“I don’t know what to do,” Dee says.
“Did you call the police?”
“I did. As soon as I realized he was back, I called Sheriff Barton.”
“And?”
“And he said there’s nothing he can do. Otis served his time and can live where he wants.”
“But he didn’t serve his time.”
“Dickie, stop!”
“Okay,” he says, squeezing his eyes tight and forcing himself past it. “Is Jesse okay?”
“Freaked out by my freak-out, but other than that, yeah, he’s okay. He’s inside playing Monopoly with Janelle.”
Dick imagines his nephew and Janelle sitting in Janelle’s cluttered living room—Janelle giggling as she collects properties based on their colors, and Jesse generously trying not to bankrupt her, telling her it’s okay if she doesn’t pay the rent when she lands on his properties and trading her Boardwalk for Baltic Avenue so she’ll have the pretty blue match to Park Place. Janelle loves having fun but couldn’t care less about winning.
“He’s going to make good on his threat,” Dee says at the same time Dick thinks it, his heart clenching tight like a fist.
Twelve years ago, it was Dee’s testimony that put Otis behind bars. And a year later, when Jesse was born, Otis wrote her from prison congratulating her on the birth and saying how happy he was that she’d had a boy and how he couldn’t wait to meet him.
Dee gave the letter to Sheriff Barton, and a copy was put in Otis’s file, but since there was no actual threat, there was nothing more that could be done. At the time, Dee wasn’t overly concerned. By the time Otis got out, Jesse would be grown.
But Jesse isn’t grown. Jesse is eleven, the same age Ed was when Otis raped him.
“Are you there?” Dee says.
“Yeah. Just give me a second.”
His brain whirs wildly to come up with an idea of what they should do, and finally, with no great epiphany, he says the only thing he can think of: “I’ll come tomorrow, and we’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks,” Dee says with a sigh of relief. “I knew I could count on you.”
Her faith in him makes him want to hurl the phone across the room.
“See you tomorrow,” he says and hangs up.
He sets the phone on the table beside his untouched lunch, closes his eyes, and takes several long, slow breaths. When the whooshing in his brain stops, he moves to the folding card table he uses as a dining set, pulls a yellow pad from his briefcase, and begins the way he always does when given an assignment:
Statement of Problem: Otis has returned.
Implications: Otis, a deviant who molests boys and with a vendetta against Dee, poses a direct threat to Jesse.
Hypothetical solutions:
- Protect against the threat. (i.e. guard dog, security system, gun)
- Remove Dee and Jesse from the threat. (i.e. Dee and Jesse move)
- Remove the threat. (i.e. Otis returns to prison)
He crosses out the first solution, knowing no dog, security system, or gun would be foolproof enough to guarantee Jesse’s safety.
Then for a long minute, he stares at the second—Dee and Jesse move—his blood growing hot at the unfairness. Four generations of Rayneses have lived in the Raynes’ home, and Dee and Jesse have grown their lives there.
Moving on to the third solution, he retrieves his phone from the coffee table, searches through his contacts, and hits the call button.
“Barton here,” Sheriff Barton says, his gruff voice exactly the same as the last time Dick spoke to him, which was at his dad’s funeral a decade ago. The whole town was there, his dad well loved.
“Quiet greatness,” Sheriff Barton had said as he shook Dick’s hand, and truer words have never been spoken. Dick’s dad was small in stature and humble, but he always helped a neighbor and never wavered from what was right.
“Hello, Sheriff. It’s Dick Raynes. Sorry to be bothering you on a Saturday.”
“No bother, son. I assume you’re calling about this business with Otis?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Damn shame him getting out early and coming back.”
“More than a shame,” Dick says. “Terrifying considering the circumstances and the threat he made against Dee.”
“I can’t disagree.”
Dick hears activity in the background and realizes the sheriff is at the community center playing Bingo. “B5, B as in boy, 5.” More mumbling. “N3 . . .”
“Unfortunately, like I told your sister, there ain’t much I can do. The law’s pretty plain when it comes to the rights of released felons. Unless he does something wrong—”
“He raped two boys!”
“Unless he does something new wrong, I have no choice but to leave him be. I’ve put extra patrols in your neighborhood, but that’s about all I can do.”
“Sheriff, I don’t think you understand—”
“Son, don’t tell me what I do or don’t understand”—his voice flares, betraying his true emotions—“your family wasn’t the only ones who knew and loved those boys. I coached Joe. He was a good kid and a hell of an athlete. So was Ed. If there was something more I could be doing, I promise you, I’d be doing it. I’ll do what I can to keep an eye out for Dee and Jesse, but like I said, as far as the law’s concerned, my hands are tied.”
“Well, if you can’t help, who can?”
Silence.
“Sir?”
“My prayers are with you.”
The phone clicks off, and Dick stops pacing and stares at the black screen, pulse pounding. In the apartment next door, the ballgame is on, and the neighbor’s team must be losing because muffled grumblings followed by a more discernible outburst reverberate through the wall.
Returning to the table, Dick takes out his laptop, logs onto the internet, and types “Megan’s Law” into the search field.
He was in college getting his undergraduate degree when the legislation passed. Because of Otis, he took an interest in the law. Named after a seven-year-old girl who had been raped and strangled by a twice-convicted child molester, the law requires sex offenders to register with local authorities whenever they relocate. If they fail to do so and the crime they were convicted of was a felony, the violation is a felony.
California is a three-strikes state, which means not registering would send Otis away for life. A prayer in his heart, he punches in the zip code for Independence, California, and a map of Inyo County appears along with twenty-eight blue squares and three red circles, signifying nonviolent and high-risk sex offenders. Dick clicks on the red dot located by itself in the middle of the county, and his hope deflates. From the upper right corner of his screen, Otis looks out. While older than the last time Dick saw him, the pale eyes, long nose, and small-toothed smile are exactly as he remembers.
Beside the mugshot is a description:
Otis Parsons; born 5/10/75; 5’10”; 155 pounds; brown hair; blue eyes; Caucasian; no known body piercings or markings; accused of (208d) kidnapping person with intent to commit rape, (286c) sodomy with person under fourteen years or with force, (f289a) sexual penetration with foreign object by force, (261.2/261.3) rape with force and threat, (288) crimes against children/lewd or lascivious, (207) kidnapping/to commit 261, 286, 288, 289.
Dick closes the computer and drops his face to his hands. Otis registered, which means he is completely out of ideas.