Susan went to St. Louis with her husband and her boys that July. After a few days, she returned to home and work. The rest of the family stayed in Missouri for a four-week visit. She was alone in her home with Sally the dog and Marvin the cat.
Next door, in the wee hours of the night. Susan Schooling was deep in thought, still awake. A woman’s “bloodcurdling scream” ripped her from her reverie. She bolted to her feet and ran to her mother, Charlene.
Charlene maintained that Susan must have been dreaming. Susan insisted that she was awake and it sounded as if someone discovered an intruder with knife in hand.
The next night, Charlene and Susan were concerned as the hours passed and Sue had not returned home from work. When 9:30—Sue’s normal bedtime—came and went, Susan was alarmed. The memory of the scream from the night before made her imagination dwell on the worst possibilities.
At 10:30, Sue pulled into her driveway. Susan rushed over to express her worry and find out if all was well.
“Don’t be silly,” Sue said. “I just went out with some friends from work.”
Timidly, Susan raised the other topic on her mind. “Did you scream last night?”
“No,” Sue said, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“Did you have a bad dream?”
“No.” Sue eyed her young neighbor as if her trolley had slipped off the track.
“Well, last night I heard a scream. It sounded like someone was murdered over here.”
Sue just rolled her eyes and sent Susan home.
In the summer of 2001, one of the Schooling cats had a litter of kittens. William—and every kid in the neighborhood—came by to see the little balls of newborn fur. William wanted a kitten and brought his dad over to look at them. Rick told him he could have the white kitten with the double stripe down its back. Rick asked Susan, “When can we take the kitten home?”
“The kittens are already taken,” Susan said.
As usual when someone said something Rick did not want to hear, he stood and stared as if willing the other person to change the response. Three nights in a row, he repeated his question. Each night, Susan told him that all the kittens were promised to other homes, and he responded in the same way.
Charlene was exasperated with Rick’s refusal to understand Susan’s response. “Just what part of ‘No’ don’t you understand, Rick?”
Rick ranted about how they had disappointed William, then said, “Well, then you’re just going to have to be the one the tells William to his face.” Rick stomped out of the Schooling house, got William and returned. He thrust William in front of Susan and told her to tell him.
“William, my sister Betsy is taking that kitten with her to New York when she goes back to school.”
All that week, William believed it when his dad told him again and again that they would be bringing that kitten home soon. Hurt blanched his young face and drove him to tears.
“See what you made William do?” Rick said.
Susan was too near tears herself to respond. Charlene stepped in and said, “I’m sorry, William, but your dad has known all along that you can’t have that cat. It was promised to someone else.”
Although he did not get one of the Schooling kittens, William soon did have a cat of his own. He called her Ana—naming her after the doomed tsarina Anastasia. Anastasia meant “able to live again.”
Rick visited with a neurologist for an evaluation on September 12. He reported that he discontinued his use of Prozac and Adderol months ago. He complained of tingling in his extremities and chest, but no dizziness. He feared some loss of hearing, but said his taste and smell were good, except when he had sinus trouble.
The doctor concluded that Rick had no structural or pathological problems with his neurology, but he did have an anxiety disorder that made him tense, rigid, oversensitive, suspicious and stubborn. He recommended that Rick develop a detailed daily schedule with an hourly grid. He should post it in a conspicuous place and check it every hour. He suggested that Rick wear a wrist watch alarm to remind him to do so.
In the fall, William attended Melissa St. John’s art class. One afternoon, all the other kids had been picked up from class and William volunteered to clean up spilled paint from the tables and floors while he waited for his ride. Rick arrived about a half hour late and exploded in anger—shrieking at William for getting a spot of paint on his shirt. Melissa took William aside to make sure he was all right. That was the last art class William attended that session.
Melissa suspected that CPS was not following through on her report. She called their offices to find out what they had done. The answer she got was disappointing. CPS called Sue McFarland. When she told them it was an accidental injury, Melissa’s report was filed away.
Melissa was incredulous that CPS took the word of the wife of an accused abuser and did not interview William. She asked the CPS worker that if she had any concerns about a child’s safety in the future, should she call the police instead?
The woman at the agency admitted that it would be better. Everyone in CPS knew about the perilous situation at the agency. But it would be three more years before the state stepped in to assist with the case overload and backlog at the Bexar County office.
Melissa was not the only one getting reports of abuse from William. He told neighbor Carrie Miller that his dad had hit him with a baseball bat and the bat had broken. But William, who was wearing Speedos at the time, could not—or would not—point out any bruises on his body. Carrie did not put much credence in his story then, but later, it would come back to haunt her.
Next door to the McFarlands, Charlene often listened to Rick’s loud and mean-spirited voice yelling at the boys when Sue was not home. And she heard the children crying in response. Many times, she thought about speaking to Susan about the yelling, but was concerned about overstepping her bounds.
One cold, rainy morning earlier that year, she saw William leave the house to catch the bus to school. As he walked out of the house, he screamed, “I hate you!”
Rick’s head popped out the door and he bellowed, “I hate you, too!” Rick then slammed the door shut and locked it.
William tried to get back in to retrieve a school book he had forgotten. But no matter how much he pleaded, Rick would not unlatch the door and let him in.