THE DARKNESS WAS THERE BEFORE MAGGIE RUSSELL WAS aware of it—the gentle May breeze whispering evil in her ear. When she arrived at the field, she was still in a good mood, eager to cheer on her son and his team during the last Little League game of the season, and she took a seat next to a friend at the top of the bleachers where she had a good view of the entire field. It was cool for a spring day in Baltimore, and she slipped her arms into her pink cardigan and pulled it tightly around her. Maggie generally found baseball boring, but she got a kick out of watching her nine-year-old son, Lucas, his face scrunched up in concentration as he tried to make the bat connect with the ball, and she faithfully attended all his games. But today he hadn’t been played yet, and her mind started to drift to the long list of things she still needed to accomplish over the weekend. There was the Sunday school lesson to prepare, dry cleaning to pick up, and a meal she’d promised to make for her neighbor who was down with the flu. And she still had to finish her notes from her nursing rounds last night. At least she’d managed to get her roast in the oven so dinner would be ready when they got home from the game. Her husband liked for the three of them to have dinner together every night. She turned to her friend Agatha, whose son Phillip was pitching, watching as she carefully quartered apples and oranges on a cutting board resting on her legs.
“Run out of time?” Maggie asked. Agatha was always late, forgetting appointments, or misplacing things—one of those perpetually out-of-breath people. But she was funny, and her charm made it easy to overlook her scatterbrained tendencies.
Agatha rolled her eyes. “We were walking out the door when Phillip reminded me it was my turn to bring snacks.” She shrugged. “Oh well, at least this fruit will get eaten. I don’t know why I bother trying to feed my family healthy food. All they want is junk.”
Maggie didn’t understand why Agatha allowed a child to dictate what she bought at the grocery store. Her friend’s son’s eating habits were appalling. She was getting restless now and glanced at the scoreboard again. Only one more inning to go, and they were still tied up. She caught sight of Lucas sitting on the bench and felt a slow burn begin. The new coach hadn’t played him at all. Her son was looking at the ground, his shoulders slouched, looking as if he might cry, and Maggie began to get angry. Okay, maybe he wasn’t as good as the other kids. But how was he supposed to improve if he didn’t get enough playing time? She and her husband didn’t have the extra money to hire private coaches like some of these families did, and these kids were only nine years old, for goodness’ sake. Wasn’t this supposed to be a team-building exercise—a bit of fun for kids and a way to get them off their phones? Getting more annoyed by the moment, she turned back to her friend.
“What’s up with this guy? Isn’t he supposed to play all the kids?”
Agatha gave Maggie a sympathetic look. “I think so, honey. But this game will determine if they go on to the playoffs. Try not to get upset.”
That was easy for Agatha to say—Phillip was always put in first.
She couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. Almost without being conscious of it, she sprang up and yelled out to the coach, “Everyone’s supposed to get a turn!” The coach ignored her, but she received plenty of dirty looks from the other parents. Agatha put her hand on Maggie’s arm and whispered, “Honey, try to calm down.” Maggie pulled free and was about to answer her when a dad sitting in front of her turned around and shook his head.
“It’s tied up. If we want to win, we have to play our best.” He looked disgusted as he turned his gaze back to the field.
Three big fat red words rose from his head. You stupid bitch. Maggie could see his thoughts as clear as day.
Her temples began to throb and she suppressed the desire to grab him and tell him to shut up. How dare he use that kind of language with her? Suddenly she had the urge to push him off the bleachers and watch his head crack open on the cement below. She wanted to put her hands around his neck and squeeze until he couldn’t speak and watch the breath drain from him so he could never talk to anyone like that ever again. But instead, she rose from her seat again.
Agatha tried to get her to sit down. “Maggie, it’s just a game. Sweetie, you’re making a scene.”
She pushed Agatha hard. “Leave me alone!”
“Coach! Coach!” she yelled again, louder this time.
The coach looked up at her and threw his arms up in exasperation.
“Put Lucas in the game. Now! I didn’t come here to watch him warm a bench.”
The coach strode over and whispered something to the umpire who was now walking toward the stands. Maggie wasn’t going to let the coach ignore her or send his lackey to placate her. She began to march down the bleachers toward the field, then stopped, as both her arms began to itch with an intensity she couldn’t ignore. She glanced down to see a swarm of angry bugs biting her. She tried to push them off her skin but they wouldn’t budge. “Get off me!” she shrieked. A dull roar in her ears began to grow, like the sound of crashing waves getting closer. Heat worked its way up her chest again until she felt like she was on fire. She turned back to Agatha, grabbed the knife out of her friend’s hands, and started stabbing at the bugs, though she kept missing and piercing her skin instead. She ran straight down the bleachers, as the other onlookers moved out of her way. Once she reached the field, she stood in front of the coach, who was looking at her with hatred. It was obvious that he was out to get her and her son and had been from day one. Maggie felt as though she’d been infused with a super strength as she plunged the knife deep into his chest over and over, and the blood began to pour out of him. That would show him. She felt hands pulling at her but they weren’t strong enough to stop her. When he slid down to the ground, his body still, she suddenly felt cold. What had just happened? The roar was gone and, in its place, she heard the screams of people around her. Lucas was yelling, trying to get to her as a sea of arms held him back.
“Mom! Mom!”
“I’m sorry!” she called to him, tears streaming down her face. What had she done? She looked down again at the man on the ground. A loud voice boomed from the sky. Look what you’ve done. The only remedy for this evil is to turn the knife on yourself. Yes, she realized, that was only fair. Maggie looked at the bloody knife still clutched in her hand. One swift slice to the jugular was all it would take. Before she could change her mind, she raised her hand to her neck and cut. The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was her son’s heartbroken face.