I had a preconceived notion of how the interview at the Fischbach house would go. And for the most part, the answers and revelations were exactly what I'd expected—a couple of lies, a little new information, and confirmation of a bunch of stuff I already knew.
But nothing, nothing in the preceding weeks and months, nothing in the recent hours I'd spent in her living room, pumping aforementioned bites, prepared me for Debbie Fischbach's confession.
"What?" Lisa and I shouted together.
Debbie's legs seemed to give out from under her. She wilted into her chair, looking miserably down at the carpet. Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, "I killed him. I deliberately pushed Doug into the water and I watched him drown." She raised her eyes, defiant. "And I'm glad I did. I'm glad he's dead."
"No, Mom," a voice from behind us said. "No, I can't let you do this."
"Go to your room!" Debbie shouted shrilly. "You have no business listening in on our conversation."
Lisa and I exchanged bewildered glances.
Cameron walked over to his mother and knelt down beside her chair. He put an arm around her shoulder and crooned softly, comfortingly. She began to weep silently.
He looked at me, young and scared and determined, and said, over his mother's protests, "It's a cover. She's protecting me. They both are."
Lisa hung her head, not watching mother and son.
"I did it," Cameron said. "I killed my father."
"No," Debbie wailed. She appealed to me. "It was an accident. You have to know it was an accident. Cameron never meant for his father to die."
Cameron said softly, "Maybe that's true. Maybe not."
We waited in silence for him to continue.
"They pulled me off him at the river. Mr. McKee and Mr. Kincaid. They tried to calm me down. I was angry. Furious. I couldn't sit there and watch him hit my mother again. But they told me to go home and cool off. That they'd keep Dad for a while. That my mom'd be home soon."
Mother and son sat, united against a single enemy. An enemy that death had not rendered harmless.
"I went behind the trees next to the edge of the water and hid. I didn't want to go home. I wanted to have it out with him." Cameron's voice took on a hard edge. He sounded like Doug.
"I waited until everyone left. Dad was still there at the river, throwing things in. Shouting at the sky. Mad at me for losing the football game. Mad at that actress for something. He was still drinking. He started taking his clothes off and throwing them on the ground. I think he was going to go swimming.
"I stepped out of the bushes and called to him. He didn't know where I was at first. It was dark, and I think I startled him because he said something really strange."
"What?" I asked softly.
Cameron's brows knit in concentration. "He said, 'Butch, is that you? Come to get me finally?' That didn't make any sense. I figured it was because he was drunk."
Debbie, no longer crying, straightened up and ran a gentle finger along her son's cheek.
He smiled at his mother briefly and continued, "So I said, 'Yeah, I've come to get you, asshole.' Dad stepped closer and saw it was me, and that made him even madder.
"He started calling me a bunch of names." Cameron reddened at the memory. "Awful names. Said I wasn't fit to wear number 69. That I'd never be a man. That I'd disgraced him, and if my mother wasn't such a slut and a whore, maybe I'd have been something he could have been proud of."
Debbie gasped. We all sat, barely breathing, while Cameron summoned the strength to continue his narration.
"I took off his fucking number 69 jersey and threw it at him. I was screaming, shouting at him. I told him I hated him.
"He stood there with no clothes on, and he caught the shirt. He sniffed at it and said that I'd ruined the jersey, that it was no good anymore, and he threw it over to the side. He dared me to take a swing at him. He said I was too much of a baby. Then he didn't wait for me to start. He charged at me. I ducked and swung, but missed him. He caught me with a punch in the middle of my chest and it knocked me over. We were right by the edge of the water. I tackled him and it must have caught him off-guard because he fell into the water. I could hear him splashing around."
Cameron stopped, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips together. "I knew the river was high, I knew he was drunk. I called out to him. I asked him if he needed help. He told me to go away, that he never wanted to see me again. That he didn't need anything from me."
Cameron was breathing heavily, looking down at the floor. "I heard Dad slip and fall back into the water. He was still shouting for me to go home to my mommy when I turned around and left.
"I left my drunken father in the water to die. It's my fault that he's dead."