by Ivan Blake
“And then what?”
“I...I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t, so I went outside.” Oh crap. “I stayed around here though.”
“You went outside. So then what did you do?”
“I...I met Gillian Willard.” Christ! Don’t drag Gillian into this!
“And then?”
“We talked.”
“You talked?”
“Yes, we sat and talked.”
“Mr. Chandler...even you would have to admit, that sounds lame,” the Chief said, shaking his head.
“But it’s true.” Just not the whole truth.
“Then how do you explain your wallet being outside Mrs. Holcomb’s cottage this morning?”
“I...I can’t. Maybe I dropped it on the school bus and somebody picked it up, or maybe I lost it when I had tea with Mrs. Holcomb, I’m just not sure.”
“You didn’t even know you’d lost it?”
“I don’t use it much, there’s not much in it.”
“So, your story is that you didn’t notice you’d lost your wallet, and after you returned from a date with Mallory Dahlman, you spent the rest of the evening chatting with the Willard girl. When did you two finish talking?”
“I don’t know, around midnight maybe?”
“Outside in the cold, for almost three hours.”
“Ask Gillian, she’ll tell you.” She’s going to be so furious at me!
“Let’s go do that,” Boucher said, and he marched out of the Chandlers’ kitchen.
Everyone except Chris’s mother went out the back door, walked around the house to the front door, and knocked. Gillian answered. She was already dressed and had flour on her hands, and even some in her hair. For an instant, Chris couldn’t help smiling. Then he remembered why they were there, and a look of fear and uncertainty returned to his face. Gillian peered into Chris’s eyes, and before anyone else could speak, she asked, “You told them?”
“Told us what?” asked Chief Boucher with a pleasant smile.
“About Meath.”
“No,” Chris said, “this is about something else.”
“So what’s this about Dr. Meath?” Boucher asked.
“It’s not important now,” Chris said. “Gillian, the police are here because someone was terrorizing Mrs. Holcomb last night, and they—”
“I’ll handle the questions,” the Chief said. “Miss Willard, what were you doing last night between nine and midnight?”
“I...” she stared into Chris’s eyes.
“Just,” Chris said, “just tell them the truth.”
“Chris and I talked. We sat in the orchard and talked.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
“Thank you, Miss Willard.” You could see it in Chief Boucher’s eyes: the goddamned Willards again! He turned away in disgust and marched back around the house. The others followed.
Chris looked back at Gillian and mouthed the words, ‘Thank you.’ He could see the concern in in her eyes, but she tried to smile. For a second, he was struck by just how lovely she was, flour and all.
The Chief returned to the patrol car, then hesitated before opening the door. He stood staring at his feet, like he was trying to get his emotions under control. After a moment, he yanked the door open, then hesitated once again. Finally he said, “You know, I can’t help noticing, Chandler, your boy relies on the Willards one hell of a lot to cover his actions.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chris’s dad demanded.
“Well, Mrs. Willard provided an alibi for your son when everybody knew he’d written that slanderous letter about our priest.”
“Because he didn’t write it!”
“Now another Willard provides an alibi for your son when the physical evidence says he’s been terrorizing Mrs. Holcomb.”
“Because he hasn’t been.”
“Or maybe because the Willards need your rent money.”
“That’s absurd.”
“I don’t know...we’ll just have to see where our investigation leads. Meantime, stay the hell away from old lady Holcomb, boy! Or I’ll have your ass so fast—!”
“I want to see her, tell her—”
“You will tell her nothing! You will have no contact. Do I make myself clear?” The Chief was yelling now. “She’s been frightened enough.”
“What do you care?” Chris lashed out. “You don’t give a damn about Mrs. Holcomb. You let Rudy Dahlman scare the hell out of her before. You let the whole town slag her; you let them call her a prostitute. You’re the one who’s really terrorizing her.” Chris moved toward Boucher, fists clenched. “But this isn’t about Mrs. Holcomb, is it? This is about making life miserable for the Chandler family! That’s it, isn’t it?”
“Son...son,” his dad tried to restrain him. “Don’t waste your breath.”
“Kid, you don’t know ‘miserable,’ not yet,” the Chief grumbled. He got into the patrol car and slammed the door. Ricky ran around the car and threw himself into the driver’s seat. The tires carved deep ruts in the wet grass as the car pulled away. Then, at the corner of the house, it stopped suddenly, and the Chief got out.
“I think we’ll go and have a chat with old man Meath,” he said. “Anything you’d like to tell us before we do? No? Okay then.”
Ricky spun the tires in the gravel all the way up the lane. At the main road, they hung a right and peeled off toward the Meaths’ farm.
* * * *
“Why are the police always at my door?” Orla Chandler whispered to herself. “Why can’t they leave us alone?”
Chris overheard his mother. “You know why! Dad’s job!”
“Oh, give me a break,” his father muttered, and went in the house.
“Well, it’s not me!” Chris yelled after him.
His mother wrapped her arms around him. “It’s just that…whenever the police knock…I’m terrified...”
Chris hugged her and tried to comfort her. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”
She pulled back slightly, looked deep into his eyes, and said, “Oh, my darling, you can’t let the darkness take you!”
“The what?” he replied. The darkness?
His dad reappeared on the back steps and roared, “You make yourself such a goddamned target, with your long hair, and those stupid clothes like you’re some sort of undertaker, and the huge chip on your shoulder. Why the hell do you have to act like such a friggin’ freak show? You’re only making life more miserable than it already is!”
“So, you do think this is my fault!” He pulled away from his mother and ran off into the orchard.
Things only got worse after that. First with Gillian. He felt awful about putting her on the spot with the police and for making her lie; well, not so much lie as conceal facts to save Chris’s skin. Shortly before lunch, he knocked on the Willards’ door, and the granddad answered. Gillian had gone to church, he said, and would be there for the rest of the day helping her mother clean, which Chris knew they did from time to time to earn a little cash.
And then with Mallory. All morning long, he’d waited for her call, and when she hadn’t by mid-afternoon, he telephoned her. Mrs. Dahlman answered and all Chris got out was, “Is Mallory...?” before she announced, “Mallory’s out with Floyd Balzer, and won’t be back before dinner. Look, this is a bad time, I’ve got to take Rudy to hospital in Bangor. He’s waiting in the car,” and then hung up.
Chris retreated to the Willard graveyard with the book on Mortmen and didn’t return to the house until after supper. When he finally went inside, his dad and the kids were watching TV in the living room, and mother was in her room. Chris took the plate of food from the fridge and went up to the attic without saying a word to anyone. He spent the rest of the evening reading, and, for a change, doing a little homework. He dared not look out the window for fear of what he might see, and before turning in for the night, he pushed his bed against the small door into the rest of the attic.
Chapter Seven
As they waited for the bus, Chris told Gillian the full story of the police visit and apologized repeatedly for getting her involved. She smiled, and touched his hand. When they got on the bus, Gillian grinned at her friend Madelyn who smiled back and moved to another seat, allowing Gillian and Chris to sit together. Without thinking, however, Chris walked past them both and sat by himself midway down the aisle. When seated, he glanced up and saw Gillian looking back at him with hurtful eyes. Why hurt? They didn’t sit together; they never sat together. Well, maybe the one time, and that was only because they’d had something to talk about. It had been an exception. Surely she didn’t expect them to sit together all the time.
As soon as he sat, he heard giggles and whispers, then Floyd’s name a couple of times and finally, Mallory’s. He chanced a look around, and was amazed to discover Floyd Balzer sitting alone across the aisle from him. Floyd peered out the window, Walkman blasting in his headphones, making eye contact with no one, not even to give Chris his usual hate-filled glare.
Things became weirder still when the bus passed the Dahlman house without stopping. As the bus rolled to a stop in the schoolyard, Floyd remained seated, as Chris and everyone else got off. At the foot of the steps, Gillian grabbed Chris’s arm and pulled him to one side. “Everyone’s saying Mallory and Floyd broke up and you’re the reason. Is it true? No, I don’t want to know, but you’d better be careful. Floyd could be upset.” Gillian walked away without giving Chris a chance to explain.
When everyone else had left the bus, Floyd finally hauled himself out of his seat and up the aisle. The Gobbler said, “Don’t sweat it son, she’s a bitch.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Floyd said as he rushed down the steps and slumped off toward the school. Chris watched as Floyd’s friends fell in behind him. They were laughing and joking and pushing each other around as usual. When they got to the school entrance, however, Floyd turned on them and bellowed, “Will you jerk-offs just leave me alone!” He flew up the steps and disappeared inside. His buddies stopped cold. They looked at each other, one or two bellowed, “Well kiss-my-ass to you too!”
Chris was dumbfounded by the change in Floyd, and things only got weirder when he followed Floyd and company into the school. Floyd shoved his way to his locker through the throng of kids in the corridor. There he found a note taped to the door. Chris watched as Floyd read it and slammed his fist into the metal door. He shredded the note into a thousand pieces, threw them on the floor, and then bellowed like a wounded rhino.
Everyone turned to see what had happened. A couple of his friends came up behind and asked, “You okay, Floyd?”
“Which one of you bastards put that shit on my locker?” he shouted. “I’ll kill you!”
“Whoa, hey, calm down there, Floyd,” they said, backing away.
Floyd lost it. He started shoving people around and screaming, “Did you write that, did you?”
At which point, one of his buddies lost patience and yelled back, “Get a grip, you jerk. We don’t even know what it said!” Someone else yelled, “You’re being a total idiot, Balzer! No wonder she dumped you, you stupid piece of crap!” A couple of teachers broke up the shoving match and ordered everyone to their classrooms.
Within minutes the school was abuzz, and the crowning moment came when Mallory arrived in a girlfriend’s car. She bounced out of the car, ran straight into Chris’s arms, and gave him a huge kiss on the cheek. “I spent the night with Nancy’s family. Mother had to go to Bangor.”
“Yes, I know. I called your house yesterday; your mom said you were out with Floyd, so I thought...”
“What, that he and I were back together again? Oh, you silly boy. I just had to set Floyd straight on a few things. And would you believe it, he had the nerve to say the most awful things to me? I shall never forgive him!”
She took Chris by the arm and proudly marched him into the school. Chris glimpsed Gillian, watching from a distance before she bowed her head and followed everyone else inside.
* * * *
At morning recess, things went from bad to worse.
Students emerged from their classrooms to find dozens of copies of the note that had first appeared on Floyd’s locker now taped to walls the length of the second-floor corridor for everybody to read. Gillian came running up to Chris clutching a copy. Even before she got to him, he could see how upset she was.
“Did you do this?” she cried, pushing the note in his face.
“What? No!” he said even before looking at the note.
Chris pried the paper from Gillian’s hand. On it was a childish stick drawing that made his skin crawl: a man with an enormous beer belly, standing over a crying baby, and urinating on its head. The man was labelled Daddy Balzer and the infant, Baby Floyd. The caption read, Baby will take whatever Daddy dishes out.
“You must have drawn it! Nobody else knew!” Gillian said, desperation and betrayal written all over her face.
“Other people had to know—”
“No, no one! Floyd made me swear...and then I told you! Oh God!” Gillian sobbed.
“Gillian, please believe me, I didn’t do this.”
Before either of them could say another word, Floyd appeared. A crowd of kids had already gathered in front of his locker. They were sniggering at something and waiting for the next act of the drama to begin. They didn’t have long to wait. Floyd pushed his way forward and saw for himself what had attracted the crowd.
In black marker, someone had written on his locker, Daddy’s Little Punching Bag. Floyd then realized copies of the cartoon he’d shredded were now taped to every wall for the whole world to see. He stood there, speechless, until first one person, and then others, started giggling. That’s when Floyd exploded. “Who did this?” he screamed. “Who the hell did this?” and started rushing about, shoving people. As he neared Chris, the crowd parted. Floyd ran at him like a wild animal. Chris didn’t move a muscle. Floyd came to a screeching halt in front of him and screamed, “You!”
“No,” Chris said calmly.
“It was you, you or…or that bitch!”
Was he talking about Gillian? No, she was right beside him and Floyd hadn’t even looked at her.
Red-faced, trembling, Floyd leaned in close to Chris and whispered. “Did she make you do this?”
“Who?”
“Who? Who do you think? The witch! Mallory! You know she’ll destroy you too!” Floyd pulled back and said aloud, “You don’t know, you…don’t know…how cruel she really is.” His voice cracked with emotion.
Well, that was it; everyone burst out laughing, and the more Floyd screamed at them to stop, the more raucous they got. Floyd ran. Pushing his way through the crowd, he raced down the corridor, then down the stairs, and out the front door. The last anyone saw of Floyd Balzer, he was still running.
“Oh God, poor Floyd,” said Gillian and then disappeared into the crowd.
* * * *
For a short while, during next period, Floyd’s meltdown got some staff attention. Teachers asked if anyone knew who was responsible for the cartoon and what it might mean. No one said anything. Later, the story went round that Principal Dell had called Floyd’s father to ask about the accusation. Of course, he’d denied ever touching his son.
At the end of the school day, Mallory and Chris boarded the bus holding hands and sat together as the other girls twittered away with excitement. It amazed Chris how Mallory’s friends seemed to approve of her choice. He even overheard one girl say, “I always thought Chris was cute.” The power of Mallory; her aura trumped even the taint of his dad’s job.
When the bus stopped at the Dahlman’s driveway, Mallory insisted Chris get off with her. Everyone hooted and hollered off-color encouragement out the windows as the bus pulled away. For an instant, Chris caught sight of Gillian staring straight ahead. Even in profile, he could see how angry she was.
Mallory and Chris walked down the drive arm-in-arm. “We’ll be alone,
so we can do whatever we like.”
“No housekeeper yet?”
“No.”
“When will your mom be home?”
“No idea, after supper maybe. Depends on what the doctors say about Rudy’s arm...and how much Mother drinks before leaving Bangor. She might even stay there another night.”
“Rudy’s arm’s that bad?”
“Oh yes,” she replied with a sly smile.
They went inside and dropped their books on the dining table. Plates covered in congealed macaroni casserole from their dinner together were right where they’d left them. Mallory took Chris’s hand and drew him toward her room. “I’m going to change. You can watch if you like.”
In her room, she pushed him backwards onto the bed, stepped away, and began unbuttoning her starched white blouse. She pulled it out of her skirt and tossed it aside. Chris struggled to cool his excitement. Not going to make it! Mallory reached back to unzip the skirt, let it drop to the floor, and walked to the bathroom.
“Mind over matter,” Chris said to himself through clenched teeth.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Then, in part to cool his ardor, Chris called out, “Did you know your brother watches you while you’re getting ready for bed?”
“He’s a sick little bastard. I taught him a lesson though.” Chris didn’t know what she meant. Something to do with bug bites and dirty bandages, he guessed.
Mallory re-appeared wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Had she taken off her bra as well? Her breasts had come to life as she moved around the room putting things away.
“And he says you’re not his sister.”
Mallory crossed her arms. “He believes mother cheated on father many years ago, and that’s why father never comes home.”
“Do you think that too?”
“Probably. Don’t care. All I know is my father loves me, and Rudy and my mother are sick. You know, a lot of nights they sleep in the same bed together; and they have ever since Rudy was a baby.”
“That’s so....” He was too creeped out to continue so he changed the subject. “Did you know about Floyd’s father?”
“Why would you ask me that?” A shadow crossed her face.
