SEVEN
BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, PRESENT
I feel sorry for them, really. They pretend that they’re just one big happy family, when anyone can tell they’re just acting! My Bessie isn’t happy, that’s easy to tell. She wants out and I’m going to give her an out. The pitiful thing is I know these people, both the mother and the father and the two kids, aren’t going to just let her go. They’ll try to follow us, sic the police on us, search for ‘their’ Bessie until I do something about it. So that’s why I have to do something about it before we even go! I’ll do only what I have to do. Kill them all. I won’t enjoy it, but it has to be done.
E.J., THE PRESENT
All went according to plan the next day. Myra was released from the hospital and I offered to help Christine get her home. What with crutches, a suitcase, and a whole bunch of flowers, plants, balloons and cards, I figured Christine could use some help. Since my Volvo was bigger than Christine’s car, I picked her up at the garage apartment behind the Canfields’ house. The Canfields were a family at the church who lent out the small apartment every year to the day-camp director. Although they never rented it the rest of the year, I’m sure they took a healthy chunk off their income tax for those three months. Or maybe I’m just projecting.
Myra was looking her usual adorable self when we got there, with just the addition of her crutches. She’d ordered them special from the medical supply company and they’d just come in that day: brushed aluminum with pink patterned covers over the underarm cushion and the hand cushion. She had a matching ribbon tied around her perky blond ponytail. She had on tight, short blue jean shorts, and a white camp shirt tied at the waist. One pink thong adorned her one uncasted foot.
We helped her with all her stuff, which included two stuffed animals – a pink and blue teddy and a correctly colored giraffe. Myra didn’t shut up from the time we walked into her room until I pulled up in the Canfields’ driveway.
‘Oh, I’m so glad to be out of there!’ Myra said. ‘You just can’t believe the food! I know they try, they really do, but it’s just so hard to fix tasty food for so many. I know it’s nutritious though, it says so right there on the thing you fill out for your food. You know, the thing that says what you can order for breakfast, lunch, or dinner? It tells you how healthy the food is. So I know they try. But you know, some people can’t have salt, and some people can’t have sugar, and some people can’t have fat . . .’
And on, and on, and on. My ears were sagging by the time we got to her apartment. If I’d been wearing earrings, they would have fallen out. Unfortunately, the Canfields’ garage apartment is, as most are, on top of the garage, which meant a flight of stairs. I held the crutches while Myra used the handrails and jumped up each step. Since she only weighed about ninety pounds, I’m sure it wasn’t that much of an ordeal for her. Christine carried up the suitcase and the stuffed animals, and one of us would go back down for the flowers, plants, balloons and cards. My vote was on Christine.
This was the first time I’d been in the Canfields’ garage apartment. I’m sure the bare bones of the place were just that: one large room with a partitioned-off bathroom and partitioned-off closet. Between those two partitioned areas was the kitchen: two cabinets on either side of the smallest stove-top and oven I’ve ever seen. Underneath one of the countertops was a dorm-sized refrigerator. A bar with a single sink cut off the kitchen from the rest of the area. Two bar stools were tucked under the bar. The living room held a futon couch that doubled as the bed, and one old, used armchair and an ottoman. Myra’s touches were evident: a small bookcase crammed full of religious texts and romance novels, a tiny TV set balanced on an even tinier yellow plastic table, brightly colored throw pillows on the futon and the floor, a beaded curtain behind the futon that hung from the ceiling and, when the beads were all lined up, displayed the picture of an angel with wings spread wide. Behind the beaded curtain was a desk and chair. Whether that came with the apartment or was brought from home I was undecided about.
Two walls had windows covered in mini-blinds (came with the place, I’m sure), but framed with draped gauzy material, one in purple, the other in bright orange. The wall space not used up with windows was covered with framed and unframed posters and pictures, the subjects of which I would expect: angels, kittens, babies, and a last supper poster where the apostles were played by dogs but Jesus was, thankfully, still Jesus.
Christine turned the futon into a bed and I helped Myra get settled. ‘Where are you going to sleep?’ I asked Christine.
She pointed to a sleeping bag almost hidden behind the easy chair. ‘I’ve got my sleeping bag and Myra has a float I can blow up and use. I’ll be fine. I love to camp out,’ she said, showing that smile that made her almost pretty. ‘Why don’t you stay with Myra for a minute, while I go down and get the rest of the stuff?’ she added.
‘Oh, no!’ Myra said, waving a dismissive hand. ‘You’re going to the day-camp, right?’ she asked Christine, who nodded. ‘So I’m going to be alone then! No reason for Mrs Pugh to stay with me!’
‘Myra, E.J., remember?’ I said.
‘E.J. Right.’ She banged herself on the head. ‘Nothing up here, I swear!’ she said and laughed. I wondered what they had her on.
I leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. ‘OK, then, I’m going home. But if you need anything, you have my number, right?’
She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. ‘Yes, I do! And thank you, E.J., you’ve been a peach. And to think I used to think you didn’t like me!’ Her smile was so bright and so white I felt like shielding my eyes.
‘Now what would ever make you think that?’ I said, wondering if I always gave that much away, or whether, despite her perkiness, Myra Morris was a little more astute than I gave her credit for. Waving and smiling I made it out the door before she could give me a blow by blow on how openly hostile I’d been to her over the years.
Christine was at the trunk of the Volvo, loading up her arms with the remaining items from Myra’s hospital room. ‘Can I give you a hand?’ I asked her.
‘If you’ll just put that potted plant on the top here, I think I can get it all,’ she said.
I did as she asked and as she headed up the steep flight of stairs, I called to her, ‘Call me if you need anything.’
She breathed out an ‘OK,’ as she made it up to the landing. I got in the Volvo and headed home.
GRAHAM, THE PRESENT
I think I’m seeing way too much of Lotta. In both ways – I’m with her every day from like eight in the morning until six in the evening. And then there’s the other way: like she’s in this skimpy bathing suit half the morning. How’s a guy supposed to concentrate? We can’t have sex until she graduates high school. That’s what she told me. So OK, I’m a nice guy. A respectful guy. I’m not pushing her, but how much am I supposed to take? At least she could wear shorts over her bathing suit, and a T-shirt maybe. That would help.
Meanwhile, I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on Liz, and I’m telling you, this is getting old. Nobody’s roaming around the woods with binocs, spying on the shrimp. And I doubt that she’s even thinking about it. She seems to be having a good time. The kids love her, and Christine gives her special little projects all the time, so Liz is basking in the glory. And I’m stuck babysitting when I could be out in the world making some bucks. I have to save every nickel I get to take Lotta out on her night off, which leaves me with nada when me and my boys go out, know what I mean? Can’t even buy a Coke. I’m too old for this crap!
ELIZABETH, THE PRESENT
Alicia is a pain in the ass. I feel sorry for her and all, but she never wants to DO anything! She just wants to sit in my room in the air-conditioning, and play games on my computer. When I told her what happened to me last spring, she just shrugged! Can you believe it? I mean, I was kidnapped, for God’s sake! I guess with her history, a little kidnapping is no big deal. I want to stop answering the phone when she calls because I don’t want her coming over here, but she’s a foster kid, ya know? What am I supposed to do? Maybe I’ll try to be more assertive and insist that she go do something with me. Something indoors. Mom could drive us to the roller rink in Codderville, or we could go to the movies, or just hang out at the mall! Anything but sit in my room every day staring at that damned computer! I’ve had more than enough of that to last me a lifetime.
E.J., THE PRESENT
As the week went on, I fixed a little more dinner than usual and took casseroles and sundry over to Myra’s house. I figured Christine had enough to do; she didn’t need to have to cook on top of it.
While grocery shopping on the Thursday of that week, the store had their own fully cooked briskets on sale, along with a free pint of mashed potatoes, a free bottle of gravy, a free can of green beans, and a free roll of store-brand crescent rolls. I picked up two of everything and had one bagged separately and headed over to Myra’s garage apartment. Christine kept the door unlocked so Myra didn’t have to get up every time someone came over, which, according to Christine, was often. So I carried up the separate bag of goodies and knocked on the door as I turned the knob, hollering out, ‘Myra! It’s E.J.!’ and walked in.
I so wish I hadn’t.
Myra was lying in the doorway to the bathroom, her broken leg twisted under her, one crutch on top of her, the other lying on the floor. Blood covered everything. I dropped the groceries and backed out on to the stoop, grabbing my purse off my arm to search for my cell phone. Finding it, I dialed Elena Luna and the Codderville PD.
BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, 1999
Willis picked us up at the police station and we headed home, hoping the difference in cars would throw off whoever had tried to run us off the road. We got home and got the children to bed, then Willis and I fell down on the couch in the living room. ‘You still mad at me?’ I asked him.
‘Nothing like a near-death experience to take the sting out of being pissed,’ he said. He put his arm around me and pulled me close. ‘I woulda missed you, babe,’ he said grinning.
‘Yeah?’ I grinned back. ‘How much?’
‘At lot!’ he said. ‘I’d have to hire a maid to clean and cook, then worry about carpooling with the neighbors for the kids, and then, of course, all the extra expense of call girls on a weekly basis.’
‘Weekly?’ I showed surprise. ‘How come they’d get it more than I do?’
He threw me down on the couch and straddled me. ‘Oh, now I understand! Is that the whole problem, ma’am? You ain’t been getting enough?’
I giggled and squirmed. ‘Not in the living room!’
‘They’re asleep!’ he said, his tongue going for one of my shell-like ears.
‘Bessie,’ I said.
Willis sat up, rubbed his face, and looked at me. ‘Bessie,’ he said.
‘Sobering thought,’ I said as I too sat up and put my head on his shoulder.
‘What are we going to do?’ he asked.
I shrugged. He took one of his huge hands and placed it under my chin, lifting my face to his. ‘Do you really think somebody could be after her?’
‘It looks like it,’ I said.
Willis, pragmatic, practical, yet always one to put off anything disagreeable, got up and locked all the doors and windows. He came back and threw himself on the couch next to me, laying his head in my lap, reached for the remote control and flicked on the TV. It was ten-thirty, time to watch Saturday Night Live. Last week we’d sat in the same room, watching the same program, a bottle of wine on the coffee table, the kids upstairs, and Terry and Roy laughing at the Prime Time Players right along with us. We turned the show off halfway through without even discussing it and headed for bed.
GRAHAM, THE PRESENT
Day camp has been cancelled. I’d say ‘thank God,’ but under the circumstances, maybe not. I’ll never say this to my mother, but she was right and I was . . . well, not right. When Mrs Luna, or I guess I should say in this instance ‘Detective Luna,’ showed up at the scene where Myra had been murdered, they discovered some things. Like, in the bathroom, little tiny hairs – like stubble – covering the sink in the bathroom, rubber boobies in Christine’s drawer, along with a couple of heavy-duty jockstraps. So Mom had been right – the stalker had been among us all along, still stalking Liz, but this time as her friend. Elizabeth has been stuck in her room for two days now, and I’m not sure for which: grieving Myra’s death, or dealing with the betrayal. Even her friend Alicia can’t get her out of her room. Hell, Alicia can’t even get in her room.
Mom told me that Detective Luna had Myra’s car brought in from the junkyard and had the techs check it out. The brake line had been cut. So the broken leg was on purpose – well, maybe not the broken leg exactly, but the injury. I’m sure stalker-boy didn’t care if she broke her leg or her neck. Just so long as ‘she’ could get in to take Myra’s place. I figure he must have been planning this for a time, what with becoming email buddies with Myra and all. What I can’t figure out, at the moment, is how he knew we’d end up at the day camp as counselors. Maybe he just figured getting a job with the church was close enough. I don’t know. Either he’s a very lucky bastard, or he had some inside information that even we didn’t know. Nah.
ELIZABETH, THE PRESENT
I feel like screaming. But if I start I may never stop. The primal scream. I’ve read about it. That’s where I’m headed. Why is this happening to me? God, how selfish! I’m at least alive! That’s more than I can say for poor Myra! Oh, God, and that’s all my fault! If this freakazoid wasn’t after me, Myra would be alive today! I can’t stand this! I just can’t stand it!!!!!
ELIZABETH, APRIL, 2009
Megan sat at the computer, Elizabeth standing behind her, staring at the screen. They’d already emailed ‘Tommy/Aldon,’ and were waiting for an IM. The computer had just pinged, letting them know he’d finally answered. Elizabeth had been too nervous to respond, so Megan had taken over.
T-Tom37: ‘E, u there?’
Skywatcher75: ‘I’m here, A’
T-Tom37: ‘So u B-lieve me?’
Skywatcher75: ‘Not sure’
T-Tom37: ‘What can I do 2 help?’
Skywatcher75: ‘B patient w/ me – this is all so confusing’
T-Tom37: ‘I’m sorry. I no it is – if we met n person I could x-plain it better’
Skywatcher75: ‘I’m not sure about that’
T-Tom37: ‘I understand. This is scary 4 u. Just no I love u, little sister’
‘God, this guy really lays it on thick, doesn’t he?’ Megan said to Elizabeth.
‘But what if he is? Aldon, I mean?’ Elizabeth said.
Megan turned to her. ‘How can he possibly be Aldon, Liz? Do you really think Mom and Mrs Luna are in on some big conspiracy?’
‘No, of course not, it’s just—’ Elizabeth started, but the computer pinged again.
T-Tom37: ‘Bessie, u there?’
Skywatcher75: ‘Sorry – just thinking about what u said’
T_Tom37: ‘I’m glad. We can meet where ever u want, whenever u want. It’s up to u.’
‘Ask him where he’s been,’ Elizabeth said.
Skywatcher75: ‘Where hav u ben 4 all these yrs?’
T_Tom37:‘I was hurt when it happened, but some people got me out of the house. They new what was going on and protected me. They’ve raised me as their own.’
‘Coyotes, maybe?’ Megan asked Elizabeth. ‘I swear this is total Lifetime movie.’
‘Does sound familiar, doesn’t it?’ Elizabeth said.
Megan wrote:
Skywatcher75: ‘I want 2 see u. Do u hav a pic?’
T_Tom37: ‘Downlding now’
A picture began to fill the screen. Elizabeth sat down hard on the bed behind her. ‘Oh, my God,’ she said. ‘It’s Aldon.’
The picture was of a man in his late teens, early twenties, with dark hair, fair skin and freckles. He was smiling and had a chipped front tooth.
‘I remember when he chipped the tooth,’ Elizabeth said softly. ‘It was my fault. I was on the top bunk of his bed, and I wasn’t supposed to be. And I was playing with his baseball bat and he told me to drop it. And I did. Hit him right in the mouth and chipped his first permanent tooth.’
‘I wonder how hard it is to get age-progression software?’ Megan mused.
‘What?’ Elizabeth asked her, as if coming out of a trance.
‘You know, like they use on those shows about missing kids. They show a picture of what they looked like when they went missing, then show a picture of what they’d look like now – even if it’s like years later. They call it age progression.’
Irritated, Elizabeth said, ‘I know what age progression means.’
‘Then why did you ask?’ Megan demanded, as irritated as her sister.
‘But how can we tell? I mean, if this is real or age progression?’ Elizabeth asked.
Megan shrugged. ‘I have no idea, but I think it’s safe to assume that it’s age progression. Isn’t that a more likely scenario than the Lifetime version he’s spouting?’
Elizabeth sighed. ‘Yeah. It is. But why would Tommy or whatever his real name is go to all this trouble?’
Again Megan shrugged. ‘No idea. I don’t think your average pervert has to try this hard, do you?’
Elizabeth said nothing, just stared at the picture on the screen. Again, the computer pinged and Megan went back to the IM screen.
T_Tom37: ‘Bessie, u there?’
Skywatcher75: ‘Yes’
T_Tom37: ‘Now do you B-lieve me?’
Megan looked at Elizabeth and Elizabeth nodded. ‘Say yes,’ she said.
Skywatcher75: ‘Yes’
T_Tom37: ‘Then let’s meet’
Skywatcher75: ‘When and where?’
BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, 1999
That first Sunday we walked into church like a family, heads high, little hands in big hands. Willis holding Megan’s, Bessie’s little hand in mine. Graham walked next to his father, his body language suggesting he was almost as tense as his mom.
The foyer outside the sanctuary was crowded, as it was every Sunday morning. People were talking, catching up on each other’s weeks, making plans for church activities and social events in the week to come. As we entered, the room slowly began to hush, like a concert hall when the maestro comes into the orchestra pit; not all at once, but little by little, until there was total silence. We were Moses and our church friends were the Red Sea parting silently before us as we walked into the sanctuary.
Behind us I could hear conversations start up again. This time, however, I doubt it had anything to do with church activities or social events.
Those already seated in pews turned our way, then quickly turned back to hymnals, programs, anything to keep eyes off us. Rosemary Rush, the Right Reverend Rush’s wife, already seated in the front row with her son, turned and saw us, gauged the reaction we were getting and stood, walking up to us and hugging me lightly. Part of me knew Rosemary Rush always knew exactly the right thing to do and was big on doing it; another part of me was never so glad to see anyone in my life.
‘Why don’t y’all come sit up front with Eric and me?’ she said smiling, her arm hooked in mine, leading us to the front pew.
We sat, picking up our hymnals, studying the program, biding our time until the choir entered and the service began. I sat there, staring absently at the program in my hand, wondering why people were reacting in this way. We hadn’t done anything wrong! When that thought entered my head, I realized that implied that someone did do something wrong. The Lesters? For getting killed? Shame on them! Part of me wanted to stand up and denounce everyone in the room for being the hypocritical bastards they were. And part of me knew if the shoe were on the other foot, maybe I too would be standing back, reticent, unable to put into words the mixed-up feelings such an event must bring.
Some of these people probably thought that their friend – our friend – Roy Lester had murdered his family. Some might have doubts. Some had read the Saturday paper and assumed old E.J. Pugh was being her controversial self – always trying to stir things up. Some, the really small and petty ones, would not want their pre-schoolers associating with Bessie because of what her daddy might have done.
I sighed. They were just people, with all the fears and hatreds that people have. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned in the pew to look behind me. Marilou Tanner sat in the second pew. She had chaired a committee I’d been on the year before. Marilou put her cheek to mine and whispered in my ear, ‘We’ve been out of town. I just heard. What can I do?’
Tears welled up in my eyes and threatened to spill over. I touched the hand still on my shoulder. ‘Just be there,’ I said. She hugged me from the back while her husband shook Willis’s hand, whispering something to him, something positive I was sure, because Willis smiled.
Ruby Gale Mason came up and knelt in front of me (one of the advantages I’d never thought of about sitting in the front row). Ruby Gale was the substitute nursery supervisor and had known Megan and Bessie since they were in the crib area of the nursery. She patted my knee and took Bessie’s hand in hers.
‘Hey, darlin’,’ she said to Bessie. ‘How you doing?’
Bessie just looked at her for a moment, then a small smile began to play at her lips and she reached out and hugged Ruby Gale. Tears sprang to Ruby Gale’s eyes as she hugged the child back. Patting my knee again, she said, ‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do.’
I smiled and nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Ruby Gale went back to her seat as the processional sounded and the choir began marching down the center aisle. Willis was sitting on the aisle seat and I noticed several choir members pat his arm, squeeze his shoulder, and one elderly lady we barely knew patted him gently on the top of his head as they proceeded toward the choir loft.
Berry Rush’s sermon was as boring as usual. Rosemary sat rigidly next to me, her spine a study in military correctness, while Eric, her son, fidgeted next to her. Eric was the ultimate end product of a union like that of Berry and Rosemary Rush. Where the parents were stern, correct, earnest, and rigid, Eric was a nervous wreck.
He was a homely child of fourteen, his teeth in braces, his straw-colored haircut as short as a first-year Marine’s, and even so, it managed to have a cowlick. His face was matted with oozing acne, and he wore glasses so thick his eyes appeared huge and froglike behind them. Eric had no friends at the church and rarely spoke to anyone. The Rushes’ older child, a daughter, we’d never met. The story I heard was that she was born severely mentally retarded and had been in a private care facility since birth. She wasn’t mentioned much.
After the service more people came up to us, some hugging, some merely shaking hands, others just smiling and nodding their sympathy. No one said anything directly, not in front of Bessie, and I was grateful for that.