by Barry Lyga
"Mom—"
"Jesus, Josh!" She was weeping now. She slammed her palm against the steering wheel. "What on earth possessed you to do that? What is wrong with you, Joshua?"
I didn't say anything. I couldn't. How could I tell her that I didn't know? That I was just reacting the way Eve wanted me to react?
"It was that Lorenz kid. I knew it. I knew he would be a bad influence on you. That family ... You won't be spending any more time with him, that's for sure."
Now, that got my attention. Zik was my best friend. And even as a child, I recognized that he didn't fit in with his family, that our friendship was a lifeline for him. I couldn't let my mother take that away.
"Mom, it wasn't Zik's fault. Me and Rachel were just playing."
"Playing? Playing? You ripped her underwear off. You grabbed—I don't even want to say what you did, and you call it playing? Who taught you that? Where did you learn that? I know it was from Zik. His parents are letting you watch adult cable, aren't they?"
"No, Mom! It wasn't Zik! I didn't know it was wrong. I was just playing like with E—" I stopped myself midsyllable, but it was too late.
Mom turned to me, her eyes red and puffy, her cheeks streaked with tears. "With who? With who?"
"Mom!" I screamed. A car had pulled out into traffic ahead of us. Mom stomped on the gas, jerked the steering wheel to one side, and swerved around the car.
"Who, Josh?" she screamed at the top of her lungs. We sped down the street, whipping past slower cars. I don't think she knew what she was doing. I think, in that small moment in the car, my mother went briefly, completely insane.
"Who? Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!" Over and over again, screaming it at me, and a new scream, my scream joining in, a wordless scream as we weaved in and out of traffic, darting here and there, my mother a madwoman and me ... Oh, yes, I was a madman, no doubt. A raping lunatic.
In the end, I didn't tell her. I never told her. But it didn't matter, because I had already said enough. I was so desperate to save Zik that I exposed the truth. How many people are there that I know who start with "Eee," after all?
Mom suddenly pulled over onto the shoulder and slammed on the brakes. She looked over at me with those red, red eyes, her mouth pulled down, her chin quivering. She was terrible and beautiful all at once. There was nothing maternal about her, nothing recognizable as my mother.
She flipped open her cell phone and the next thing I knew, she was talking into it: "Don't say hello to me." Her voice had gone dry and brittle. "Don't act with me." She stared at me the whole time and I stared back, terrified to look away. "I know what you did to my son. I know."
She snapped the phone shut.
"OK, Josh." Her voice had cleared. "OK, now we can go home."
15
Home was a swirl of phone calls and screaming.
There were phone calls to the Madisons and phone calls from the Madisons.
Mom's cell phone rang constantly. She would flip it open, look at the caller ID, then snap it shut. It was Eve, I'm sure.
In between the cell rings and the calls to and from Rachel's house came the calls to and from the police. Mom talked herself hoarse: My son is the victim. My son has been abused. My son doesn't know what happened. This woman has destroyed my child.
I sat on the stairs while Mom and Dad yelled at each other and yelled into the phone. I heard all of it.
This woman has destroyed my child, her voice cracking high and strained at the end.
Yes. I felt destroyed.
Dad came to me while Mom was on the phone with the Madisons. "Josh, you have to tell us what happened."
"I don't remember," I told him.
"That's bull. You remember. You've been with Mrs. Sherman almost every day for the last four months. You need to tell us what happened or else the police are going to think you're a criminal."
"I don't remember." All I could think of was Eve telling me how much trouble she would get in if I told anyone. How I watched her in secret, lusted after her. Watched her in her bed as she slept so innocently, slept without knowing that I was standing five feet away. It was all my fault; I'd ruined Rachel and Eve, the two people I was supposed to care for most.
"Tell me!" Dad shouted and hoisted me to my feet. "This is not a game, Josh! You could throw away your whole life! Talk to me!"
"Nothing happened!" I screamed. "Nothing happened nothing happened nothing happened!" I kicked at him and thrashed until he let me go. I ran to my room and slammed the door behind me. I threw myself onto the bed. My mind flew in a hundred directions at once: Did Rachel hate me? Was Zik angry? I had to call Eve. Was Michelle angry? Were the police going to arrest me? How could I contact Eve? Would I be sent away? Where would I go? Would I ever see Eve again? Or Rachel? Or Zik? Or my parents?
I couldn't stay on one thought—they zipped by like engines on an infinite array of parallel train tracks, catching my attention in the breeze of their wake just long enough to distract me until the next one came along.
My parents came into my room without even knocking, something they hadn't done since I was in grade school.
Mom said, "We have a meeting first thing in the morning with the police and the district attorney. You're going to tell them everything about you and Mrs. Sherman, do you hear me?"
"But you're telling us now," Dad said.
I shook my head.
"Goddamn it!" Dad lunged at the bed.
Mom grabbed his arm. "Bill!" For the first time in my life, I was more afraid of my father than my mother. Dad's face flushed red. He shook Mom off and stomped out of the room.
"Sleep," Mom commanded, pointing at me. It wasn't even six o'clock yet. "Do not even think about leaving this room. Tomorrow you're telling it all."
She slammed the door behind her as she left, leaving me there, lost on the train tracks.
That night, through the vents:
"If you'd let him get that fucking Xbox, none of this would have happened."
"What? If you hadn't gotten your damn job—"
"How else were we going to send him to college?"
"Now it'll pay for his therapy."
"Jesus, Bill! You're such a fucking asshole!"
I listened to them argue until they finally both stopped talking. It's not that they came to any sort of accord or anything like that—they just drifted into back-and-forths where neither one was responding to the other, and finally trailed off, each of them with a triumphant pronouncement that had nothing to do with what the other had said.
I slept. And then I didn't. And then I did. And then I didn't.
I crept out of bed, inching open my door as if I were one of the bomb guys on TV. It felt like it took hours to open my door enough for me to slip out.
I made my way down the hall on the tips of my toes. At my parents' bedroom door, I paused just long enough to listen at the door. There, barely audible under Dad's snores, was Mom's soft, rhythmic breathing.
I sneaked to the stairs, avoiding the third one from the top because it creaked no matter where you stepped on it.
In the basement, I picked up the extension and dialed Eve's cell. It rang and rang and rang. Voice mail. I hung up. I was afraid to leave a message.
And then I was afraid to go back upstairs. What if she saw the call on her Caller ID and tried to call back? That would wake up my parents!
I stared at the phone. I had to pee. I crossed my legs. I was terrified of leaving the phone. Maybe, if it rang, I could grab it before it woke up my parents.
I had to pee so bad.
I hovered my hand over the phone, willing it to ring, then willing it not to. I didn't know which was worse—having it ring and possibly waking up my parents, or standing here all night, waiting for it to ring, certainly wetting myself.
I decided: I would call Eve and leave a message telling her not to call.
She picked up on the first ring.
"Josh?"
"Eve," I whispered.
"Josh, I can bare
ly hear you."
"I'm down in the basement. I have to be quiet. My parents are asleep."
"Josh, what happened? You said you would never tell—"
"I didn't!" It was a lie, but a lie of fact, not of intention. I'd never meant to tell Mom about Eve. It slipped out. It was a mistake. I didn't want her angry at me for something I couldn't control.
"I didn't tell," I told her. "My mom figured it out."
"God, Josh." I thought she might be crying. She didn't seem interested in how Mom figured it out. "I'm going to lose my job. I'm going to go to jail..."
"Where are you?" I asked. She wasn't keeping her voice down.
"I'm in the car. I haven't been able to sleep. I didn't get to the phone fast enough before and I've been sitting here staring at the phone, waiting for you to call back. Josh, this is terrible."
"My parents are taking me to the police tomorrow."
"Oh, shit," she said, and in that moment, something inside me broke. Eve was no longer my teacher, my confidante, my lover. She was now a scared, desperate ... child.
"Please, Josh. Please, don't tell them anything."
My bladder felt like it would burst. It was cold in the basement and I was shaking, which didn't help the situation at all. Plus, I was absolutely terrified of getting caught at any moment.
"Please!" she begged.
"I have to go," I told her. I meant it in more ways than one. I became convinced that I'd just heard a footstep on the third stair from the top.
"I love you, Josh," she said, crying. "I love you."
"I love you, too," I told her. "I won't say anything. I have to go." And I hung up on her as quickly and as quietly as I could.
I stood there in the darkness, trembling, both hands ground into my crotch to keep myself from peeing. I had heard a step. I knew it. I waited and worried, worried and waited, the sound of my own breathing suddenly too loud and raucous. I held my breath; my heartbeat pounded my ears.
I had to breathe again. I let out my breath and stood stockstill, listening again for the footsteps.
Nothing.
My imagination.
I sneaked into the laundry room and peed into the utility sink, aiming for the drain so that it would make as little noise as possible. Then I sneaked back up the stairs, pausing again for a moment at my parents' door before returning to my room and climbing into bed, gulping and heaving air as if vomiting.
16
Mom pounded my door and shouted, "Josh! Up! Now!" I jerked awake as if electrocuted.
The first session with the police didn't go well. There was a man and a woman—both dressed in suits, both detectives. They told me their names, but I couldn't process them. I was in the police station.
"Tell them what you told me, Josh," Mom said. "In the car yesterday."
I said nothing.
"Josh, do you understand that we need to know what happened to you?" the woman asked.
I couldn't think straight. I thought of my promise to Eve. I thought of the horrified look on Rachel's face, of the anger on her father's, of the absolute disgust on her mother's.
And I continued to say absolutely nothing.
That was the day, pretty much. They tried a variety of tactics to get me to talk, but I wouldn't. I said nothing. Mom tried the guilt trip in various forms—"Mr. and Mrs. Madison are going to file charges against you if you don't..." and "How can you put your father and me through this?"—but I wouldn't say anything. I couldn't. I had promised.
That night, I listened through the vents again. Dad said, "Maybe this is too much for him, Jenna."
"What do you mean?" Mom's voice was cold, as if she were asking the question just to be polite.
"Look, he wasn't hurt or anything. Maybe we just keep him away from the Sherman woman, get him transferred to another class—"
"Are you insane?" If I closed my eyes, I could see Mom's expression, just based on her voice. It was the way she had looked in the car. "That woman molested our son and you think we should just drop it?"
"Jenna—"
"The Madisons are only holding off on their charges and their lawsuit because they believe Josh was molested. If we just drop it, they could still sue or have him prosecuted."
"No one's going to prosecute him for what happened."
"You don't know that. And what about a lawsuit? That would ruin us."
"I'll call a lawyer in the morning."
I drifted off to sleep on that. Dad sounded pretty confident, and talking to a lawyer sounded pretty safe.
They kept me out of school for the rest of the week. Then we all went back to the police station on Saturday. Mom took me into a room with the male detective while Dad filled out paperwork with the woman.
The room was painted a pale blue. It was pretty bare, except for a big mirror like on the cop shows and a card table with some folding chairs. Mom dragged a folding chair a few feet away and sat down, while I sat across the table from the detective.
"Josh, I know you don't want to talk to me. Maybe you're afraid. Maybe you're angry. I understand that. So I want to tell you something. I want to explain to you that we've already taken that first step, and you didn't have to say a word. We already know that something's going on between you and Mrs. Sherman. Would you like to know how?"
I was still in silent mode. Even though Mom and Dad had harangued me and yelled at me most of the previous night, I was still determined to say nothing at all to the cops. If I said nothing, then Eve wouldn't get in trouble. That's what she promised me.
"Well, I'll tell you. See, your parents gave us permission to search your house. And we also did something we call a phone dump. You know what that is, Josh?"
I said nothing. I didn't shake my head. I just stared at the table directly in front of me and clenched my hands together in my lap.
"That's where we go to the phone company and ask them for your records. The phone company keeps a record of every phone call into and out of your house. Did you know that?"
I didn't. But I wasn't about to let him know that.
"So we did a phone dump on your house, and do you know what we found?" He unfolded a piece of paper and held it up for my benefit. I refused to look at it. "Two phone calls from your house to Evelyn Sherman's cell phone on the day you attacked Rachel Madison in her closet. Well, the next morning, actually. Two-eleven in the morning and then two-sixteen. The first call lasted less than ten seconds. Did you hang up on her? Was it a prearranged signal?"
I kept my lips pressed together. My heart was hammering. I wouldn't let on.
"The second call lasted forty-seven seconds. I'm guessing you got through. What did the two of you talk about? Or did you just leave her a voice mail? Tell me, Josh—when I go to a judge and get a subpoena to have the cell phone company turn over her voice mails to me, am I going to hear a voice mail from you on that night? Hmm?"
And that's when I knew I was safe. He almost had me for a second there, but then he made the crucial mistake of giving me too much information. If he was fishing for voice mails, then he had nothing else. And I hadn't left Eve a voice mail, so I was safe. Eve was safe. He couldn't even prove that I was the one who made the phone call, just that it came from my house. Eve had been calling Mom's cell phone all day long, after all. Anyone in the house might have called her back.
"I wonder what I'll hear, Josh," he went on, but by now I knew I was safe.
"We also did a phone dump of her records, Josh. Don't need a search warrant for that. Not bad, huh? Did you know that?"
Again, I didn't. Something like a ball of ice settled in the pit of my stomach.
"We found repeated calls to your house right here." He pointed to a calendar. "This Saturday and Sunday, just a couple of weeks before Christmas. You remember the phone ringing a lot then, Josh? I bet you do. I bet you were waiting for a call from her, but your parents were around, so you couldn't answer."
Behind me, Mom gave a little hiccup-gasp.
"But then there's this last call, on
e of the ones on Sunday, that goes about ... oh, say a minute and a half. So she finally got through to you, huh? And then, in the following week, there are calls early in the morning to her number from your house. Were you sneaking in little calls while Mom was getting dressed or making breakfast or in the shower or something, Josh?"
He sighed. "Josh, you can give me the silent treatment all you want. It's not going to matter. We have evidence already and we haven't even searched her house or dumped her e-mails or voice mails. It's only a matter of time. You have to believe me, Josh. And it's going to go a lot easier on your mom and your dad and on you if you just cooperate. You didn't do anything wrong, but you're doing something wrong right now. You're defending her."
He strummed his fingers on the table for a little while, waiting to see if I would look up or talk. And then:
"Want to talk to me about this?" he asked.
I looked up. He was holding a clear plastic baggie. Inside it was the birthday card Eve had given me not a week ago.
"Where did you get that?" I whispered.
"Your parents gave us permission to search your house." He looked at the card through the plastic. "You remember what it says inside, Josh?"
I can't sign it if you take it home with you, Eve whispered in my memory.
"Says, 'I love you,'" he commented, as if noticing that the sky was clouding over a bit. "Who's it from, Josh? Hmm? Not from your parents. Not from any relatives we could identify—you have cards from all of them and they're signed. So where did this one come from?"
I flickered
—If your parents see it—
and came out of it. "I found it in my locker," I heard myself say.
"Oh? Found it in your locker?"
"It must be from a secret admirer."
He dropped the card on the table in front of me and drummed his fingers. "You know what I think, Josh?" He didn't wait for me to answer, not that I would have. "I think that yesterday I went to your school and your principal gave me a piece of paper with some of Mrs. Sherman's writing on it." He opened a folder and took out another plastic bag, this one with a slip of paper inside. He held it and the card up to the light next to each other and squinted at them. "Now, I'm not a handwriting expert, but they look pretty similar to me. What do you think, Josh?" He slid them both across the table to me. "Hmm? What do you think?" He shrugged. "I'll tell you again what I think: It'll take a couple of months to come back from the handwriting lab, but when it does, that note will match that card and then we've got her."
