by James Hunt
“And do you feel like you betrayed it?” Dr. Connor asked.
Kerry ran her thumb across the front of her detective’s shield. She had worked harder than any other cop she knew to earn it, and on the day she was finally promoted, she was vindicated from all of her sacrifices.
“I don’t know,” Kerry answered and then cleared her throat. She wasn’t used to being in the hot seat like this. She laughed nervously. “I’m usually the one asking all of the questions.”
Connor offered a friendly smile. “Therapy can feel strange at first, but I promise you I’m not here to judge or intimidate. I’m simply here to listen to you and help you work through whatever has been bothering you.”
Kerry nodded again and drummed her fingers on the armrest. She hadn’t spoken aloud about what had happened to anyone, save for her husband, Brian, but even then, she had omitted the more grotesque details.
“I see a lot of disturbing things in my line of work,” Kerry said. “The images I’ve seen are heart-wrenching. But I’ve always been able to compartmentalize it, you know? Box them up. Because I know the work we do makes a difference. But…” Her mouth went dry, and she busied her hands in her lap. “I’ve only been a detective for a short time. I know because of my age, you’d think that I’d have been one longer, but I wasn’t. And my partner—my work partner—is one of the best detectives in the state, probably the country. In the time we’ve been partnered, we had never lost a kid before. Ever. And I guess I just got used to that feeling of always having the upper hand, you know?”
“Dealing with the loss of life, especially one so young, is extremely difficult,” Connor answered.
“Yeah,” Kerry answered. “And I’m sure you saw the news; it was quite the story. Dead kids are always a story.” She grimaced.
“Can you walk me through the events of the case?” Connor asked.
Kerry fidgeted. “Once Amy’s parents notified us about her disappearance, we managed to track her down quickly. We were confident we had identified the suspect who had abducted Amy, and my partner and I drove to the suspect’s home.”
The images of the incident flooded Kerry’s memory, and she tensed. “We were the first ones on scene, which isn’t unusual, and my partner and I had made the decision to enter the home without backup so we didn’t waste any time.”
Kerry shivered with cold even though she was sweating, and she forced herself to continue through the memory.
“I approached the door first, as I usually did, and Jim was behind me. Normally, we would have waited for SWAT to arrive, but we wanted to get inside as soon as possible.”
She focused on a spot on the carpet, drifting back into the memory.
“The door was locked,” Kerry said. “We had to find another entrance, so I led the charge around to the back of the house. The rear entrance was locked, but it was just a screen door, and we managed to break it down without a problem.”
Kerry took a breath.
“Before I entered the house, I thought I heard something coming from the backyard. I turned and saw a shed. I stared at it for a second, listening to see if I heard anything else, but it was quiet.”
She squeezed her hands tightly together, her heart beating faster, picking up speed as she thrust herself into the memory.
“Something inside of me told me to go and check it out,” Kerry said. “But I just stood there, and then my partner asked me if there was something wrong and I said no, and then entered the house.”
She bounced her knee nervously.
“We cleared the home, and once we determined it was empty, I walked to the back door again—walked.” Kerry shook her head. “I should have run. I should have sprinted out to the shed and ripped open the door.” She chewed on her thumbnail.
“Did you end up going out to the shed?” Dr. Connor asked.
“Yeah,” Kerry answered. “And I was three minutes too late.”
She looked Connor in the eye.
“That’s what the coroner told us after the autopsy was finished. We were three minutes too late. If I had just listened to my instincts in the first place, then Amy Fuller would still be alive. My indecision ended up being the difference between saving that girl and having to tell her parents their daughter was dead. And I can’t—” Kerry’s voice caught in her throat. “I can’t stop living in that moment. I can’t stop replaying it in my head over and over and over again. I can’t stop thinking of why I didn’t go out to the shed and check. Why didn’t I look?”
It was the question that had kept Kerry up at night and had plagued her since. For the past three months, and on every case since, Kerry struggled with every decision.
“If I can’t act decisively,” Kerry said, “then I can’t do my job. Because when I hesitate, people die. And I don’t want any more bodies on my conscious.”
Connor nodded sympathetically, but he didn’t attempt to patronize her, which she appreciated.
Kerry wiped at her eyes with a tissue from the box on a table to her left. “And it’s affecting every aspect of my life. I can’t sleep anymore, I’m second-guessing myself on the job, and I can barely keep it together when I see my own children because I keep thinking—” She drew in a breath and steadied her voice. “I keep thinking how easy it could have been one of them.”
“What you experienced was traumatic, and all of the emotions you’re going through are normal,” Dr. Connor said. “It’s going to take time to work through it.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have time,” Kerry said. “If I can’t move forward and act, then more kids are going to suffer. I can’t have that.”
Dr. Connor nodded, jotting down a few quick notes. “Is stepping away from the job something you’re willing to consider?”
Kerry had thought about that, but she had already made her decision when it came to quitting. “No.”
“Your job is important to you,” Connor said.
“It is,” Kerry replied. “I’ve wanted to be a cop since I was a kid. I’m meant to help people. And I know I still have more to offer.”
“Okay,” Dr. Connor answered. “It’s going to be difficult to work through this kind of trauma. But I can recommend some exercises to help you combat some of your hesitation. But you need to be willing to do the work.
“I am,” Kerry said. “Whatever it takes. I just need some help.”
When the session ended, Kerry didn’t feel any better, but Dr. Connor said that was also natural. They made another appointment for the same time next week, and the doc reiterated the importance of practicing the exercises.
“Follow your gut,” Connor said. “Don’t second guess yourself, with anything, even the small decisions. If you think you want a coffee? Get a coffee. This will help break some of the mental blocks you’ve created for yourself.”
“So be impulsive?” Kerry asked.
“Yes,” Connor answered. “Just don’t go too overboard with it. I know that sounds contradictory, but I did say this would be difficult.”
“Yes, you did,” Kerry replied.
“Good luck, Kerry,” Connor said.
“Thanks.”
It wasn’t the immediate relief Kerry had hoped to receive upon her first visit, but she understood there weren’t going to be any quick fixes when it came to addressing this. Luckily, she had never been afraid of hard work. And right now, it was time to clock in and start the day.
4
Ricky Teller sat in the middle seat of the back row of the SUV wedged between his parents. They weren’t fighting, but Ricky knew it was only because he was with them. The second his parents thought he wasn’t listening, they would start up again.
“You excited, bud?” Daniel Teller, Ricky’s father, patted Ricky on the leg.
“Yeah,” Ricky answered, forcing a smile.
“It’s going to be great.” Marcia Teller, Ricky’s mother, had her phone glued to her hand, staring at the screen. She barely looked at him anymore. Whatever was on the phone was far more important than
her own son. “This will provide us a huge boost for the channel.”
“And it’s going to be fun, right?” Daniel asked, nudging Marcia with his elbow.
Marcia finally peeled her eyes away from her screen, and she glared at Daniel before she faked a smile at Ricky. “Yes, it’s going to be a blast!”
All Ricky wanted to do at that moment was scream at the top of his lungs, to tell his parents that he was finished with all of the pretending and that he couldn’t stand it anymore. But he swallowed those feelings, remembering just how important this was to them.
And besides, today Ricky would finally get to see his friend, Kurt, and then things would start to get better.
When their driver pulled up to the convention center, the crowds were packed into the front lobbies of the building. It was the region’s biggest content creator convention where people like Ricky, who had developed a following on social media, could come to interact with their fans. Because of Ricky’s massive following, he had been granted the largest viewing hall for his panel. There were going to be a lot of people.
“Okay, looks like we have our soundcheck at eleven, and then we get to chill for a little while until our big debut at one,” Marcia said.
“What do you want to do for lunch, bud?” Daniel asked.
“Um, I don’t know,” Ricky answered, starting to feel nervous. “Maybe like a grilled cheese?”
“I don’t think they have grilled cheese here,” Marcia answered, still staring at her phone.
“Why do you do that?” Daniel asked, exasperated.
“Do what?” Marcia retorted.
“Just shoot him down like that,” Daniel replied.
“It’s okay, Dad, really,” Ricky said.
“See? He’s fine,” Marcia said. “You need to stop coddling him so much.”
“And he doesn’t need to be worked so much,” Daniel said.
“This isn’t work for him; he likes it, right?” Marcia asked.
If his mother had actually looked away from her phone and seen the expression on Ricky’s face, then she might have realized just how wrong she was.
“Yeah,” Ricky said. “It’s fun.”
But as they arrived at the area where they would be dropped off, Ricky saw another group of people, and they didn’t look like fans.
“Oh my God, what are these nutjobs doing here?” Marcia asked.
Dozens of people held signs, protesting the exploitation of children for entertainment. They were held back by a makeshift barrier to keep them from coming onto the convention’s property.
Ricky moved closer to his father as the angry chants penetrated the safety of their SUV.
“Can’t you drop us off somewhere else?” Marcia asked.
“Sorry, but this is the designated area for me,” the driver said and pulled up across from where the protestors were gathered.
“It’s okay, Ricky,” Daniel said. “We’ll just go out the other door on Mom’s side. C’mon.”
Ricky was sandwiched between his parents as they hurried into the convention center. He glanced behind him once to see the angry faces of everyone in the crowd. He didn’t understand why they were so upset, but he was glad to leave them behind as they entered the convention center.
The hall where Ricky’s panel was being hosted was packed. The cheers were deafening as he stood on stage and waved to all of the five thousand fans who had come to see him and begged him to stay a little bit longer.
“Thanks, guys!” Ricky said, his voice booming through the speakers of the microphone. “It’s great seeing everyone in person, and be sure to look out for more content heading your way! And remember,” he paused, allowing the audience to shout the catchphrase he used at the end of every video.
“Stay curious!” the crowd erupted with more delight.
“Bye!” Ricky waved goodbye one final time and then stepped off the stage, smiling the entire way until he was out of the public eye, and then the smile slipped from his face with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible at his age.
“Great job, buddy!” Daniel Teller was quick to put his arm around his son, pulling him into his side. “You killed it out there!”
Ricky forced another smile. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Hey, are you all right?” Daniel asked.
Ricky wasn’t in the mood for another pep talk, so he ramped up his energy, not giving his father a chance to make him believe something was wrong. “Of course! Ready for another one!”
“Atta boy,” Daniel said, ruffling his son’s hair.
It was a usual response for Ricky. He was a people pleaser. He had been for as long as he could remember, and there were no greater people he wanted to please than his parents. He loved them, and that was why he kept so much of how he really felt to himself.
Because it wasn’t all bad. He enjoyed how happy his videos made other people. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to do this forever. And for a seven-year-old kid who was responsible for the well-being of his parents’ financial future, forever was an eternity.
Daniel Teller led his son into the small dressing room the convention had provided for him. Inside were pictures and flowers and letters from all of his fans, everyone clambering over how much they loved Ricky and his videos.
Ricky used to enjoy reading the letters and opening the gifts, but lately it had felt forced. But again, he pushed those feelings back down and smiled when he saw the presents, reacting just the way he believed his parents wanted him to react.
“Wow, so cool!” Ricky said.
“I know, bud, so cool.” Daniel patted his son on the shoulder.
“I don’t care what the contract says; he’s the biggest star on YouTube for his demographic!” Marcia Teller paced angrily and anxiously in the small space, yelling into the phone. “Yeah, well, if you don’t want to meet my terms, then he doesn’t show.” She hung up the call and then muttered a curse beneath her breath that she didn’t think Ricky heard—Ricky always heard them.
“Marcia?” Daniel asked, his tone stiff and formal. “We need to head back to the house. Can you have them pull the car around for us?”
“What about the encore?” Marcia asked, looking at Daniel. “We had a deal that we were going to unveil the new channel if the crowd was going wild and listen!” She walked over to the closed door where they could still clearly hear the crowd in the convention hall clamoring for more.
“He’s tired,” Daniel said. “He needs rest.”
“Is that what he said?” Marcia asked, and then she finally looked at Ricky. “Are you tired, sweetie? Because if you are, I understand.”
“Well, I—”
“Of course he’s tired, Marcia,” Daniel said, growing angrier. “He’s seven years old, and this weekend has been nonstop! He needs a break!”
“Guys, I’m okay, really—”
“You can’t keep holding him back, Daniel,” Marcia said.
“I’m not holding him back. I’m just making sure he doesn’t burn out before he’s eight years old,” Daniel said.
“Mom, Dad, I’m okay,” Ricky said, finding a bucket of energy he didn’t even know he had. “I can do the encore. I’m fine.”
Marcia listened as the announcer outside requested the audience to start to vacate. “Shit. See?” She stomped her foot, looking at Daniel. “We missed our chance, and this would have been the perfect opportunity to do it.”
“The new channel won’t be ready for another three months,” Daniel said. “And he’s already gotten plenty of momentum from his exposure here.” Daniel sighed. “Let’s just call it a fucking day, okay?”
Ricky blushed, knowing that this was his fault. He should have just stayed out on stage, he should have been ready for the encore right away. He couldn’t do anything right.
Once Marcia had confirmed the car was waiting for them outside, they were led through the back halls of the convention center with the security team the venue had provided.
Daniel and Marcia bickered the entire w
alk to the car, and Ricky tried to focus on anything but his parents’ arguing. All he wanted to do at that moment was go back to the way things used to be, but that wasn’t possible.
Just before they neared the exit, the power shut off, casting them into darkness.
“What the hell is going on?” Marcia asked.
“Clearly, the power is out,” Daniel answered harshly.
Ricky remained frozen in fear, gripping his father’s hand tightly. “Dad?”
“It’s okay, bud,” Daniel answered reassuringly. “How do we get out of this?”
“I can’t see a damned thing,” Marcia said, annoyed.
“We’re working on a way out, sir,” the security officer answered, and then he and the other two members of the security escort turned on their flashlights, the beams cutting through the darkness. “Looks like we can still make it to the exit. Let’s move.”
Ricky remained close to his father as they hurried through the halls. They heard the grumble of the crowd behind the walls, the masses in the other convention halls becoming more and more unstable.
Before they reached the exit, it burst open, flooding the hallway with light. Ricky shielded his eyes, and their security escort stopped.
“Get back!” the security guard shouted. “Move, now!”
Ricky couldn’t see what was happening before he was pulled harshly in the other direction. “Dad?” He looked up at his father but could barely see him in the darkness.
“What are those people doing in here?” Marcia shouted.
“I don’t know!” Daniel yelled.
“This is security team Delta. We have a breach on the south end of the building. The protestors have entered the convention center. We are cutting through the main hall and heading toward the west exit,” the security guard shouted.
Ricky glanced behind him and toward the people running at him. At first, he thought they were fans, but then he recognized some of the chants from earlier and knew it was the protestors from outside—the ones who had been angry with him.
“This way!” the security guard shouted and then opened a door.
