by Becky Durfee
“You and me both,” Jenny replied with a snort. “It took me a while to get used to the idea myself.”
“So,” she began, leaning her elbow on her knee, “if you can hear him, what do you think he’s saying?”
Jenny cleared her throat and recited the explanation the way she had rehearsed it in the car. “He’s giving me a glimpse into his mindset.”
Belinda remained expressionless. “After the illness set in?”
With a subtle nod, Jenny whispered, “Yes, ma’am.”
Aiden’s mother wiped her hand down her face as she released a breath. “That God-forsaken illness. It robbed me of my son.”
Jenny wrapped her arms a little tighter around her baby, who—by her own admission—she often wished hadn’t been born. He was seemingly healthy, but Aiden had been, too, at that age. Jenny hung her head and silently acknowledged she needed to start being more grateful for what she had. Things could change for the worse at any moment, and then she’d be longing to be back at this place in life.
Shifting in her seat, Jenny softly added, “I’m here to tell you that Aiden was never malicious. Even near the end, when he was having delusional thoughts, he wasn’t hateful.” She lowered her eyes. “He was just frightened.”
Belinda wiped her eyes as more tears made it to the surface. Jenny regretted saying that almost immediately.
“He wasn’t always frightened,” she clarified, hoping to do damage control. “I think it was only when something struck him as unusual. If he saw something he didn’t expect to see, he would come up with an explanation that something sinister was behind it.”
Belinda hung her head and whispered, “The aliens.”
With a nod, Jenny acknowledged, “I think that was often his conclusion.”
Belinda ran her fingers through her hair, looking as if she had something she wanted to say but was having trouble formulating the words. Jenny waited, giving her time to piece her thoughts together. Eventually, she spoke. “Charles tells me you think Aiden is responsible for some horrible things.”
“I think Aiden’s illness is responsible for some horrible things.”
Belinda snorted. “At the end of the day, isn’t that the same thing?”
“I don’t believe so,” Jenny said sincerely.
“Tell that to the court of public opinion.”
Jenny said nothing. Belinda had a point. The public would most likely bastardize him when the news got out. The families of the victims would feel animosity. The fact that it wasn’t really Aiden committing those acts might get overlooked.
Belinda’s request interrupted Jenny’s thoughts. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Pausing a moment to gather her bearings, Jenny began, “I believe it started in Wyoming with a young woman named Seneca Lynch. Aiden was on a walking trail in the woods when he came across Seneca on the ground. She had broken her ankle. She asked him for help, which—like I said before—was out of the ordinary. He immediately came to the conclusion that this was some kind of ploy. In his mind, she was a decoy, trying to get him to go back to the parking lot so others could kill him.”
Belinda closed her eyes and said nothing.
“He did attack her, but, in his mind, he was protecting himself. This is what I mean when I say he wasn’t malicious. He didn’t go out looking for someone to kill. He didn’t take pleasure in harming anybody. He felt like it was his only means for survival. The other incidents were similar. I think he wasn’t quite sure what to make of the activity of the college campus, the homeless man sleeping in the park and the…” Jenny cleared her throat uncomfortably. “The prostitute that knocked on the truck window, asking to be let in. He drew his own conclusions about why those things were happening, and those conclusions led him to act in self-defense. Sadly, though, the perceived threats weren’t really threats at all.”
Shaking her head, Belinda said, “I hate this. I hate what you’re saying he did to those people. I hate the thought of him being so frightened.” Her voice became shaky. “I hate that God damn disease.”
This time it was Jenny’s turn to not reply.
“I wouldn’t wish this on anybody,” she continued. “There’s always that fear, when someone in the family has mental illness. I knew all along that it was a possibility that one of my boys would have it, too. But they were both just regular kids, you know? They played sports, picked up frogs, hated homework…I guess I tried to convince myself that it wouldn’t happen. And then he went on to college and got married to a wonderful young woman. I couldn’t have been prouder.” She lowered her eyes again. “I was looking forward to becoming a grandmother. And then I got the call.”
This couldn’t have been any more painful to listen to.
“Actually,” Belinda continued, “I knew before that. Aiden used to call home somewhat regularly, and his phone calls started to become few and far between. When I’d call him, he’d only speak to me with one-word answers. I kept telling myself that everything was fine—that I was just being paranoid. He was probably just stressed out by his job or something. But then when Eileen called and told us her concerns, I couldn’t deny it any longer. My worst fears had been confirmed.
“Bless her heart,” Belinda continued, “Eileen did her best to take care of him, but he reached a point where he was no longer functioning properly. She needed to work to support them, but she couldn’t leave him home unattended during the day. She also couldn’t afford daycare for him.” She shook her head. “He needed to come home. I was able to retire and keep an eye on him, but it was so sad. He was so withdrawn. The boy I knew and loved was nowhere to be found. His body was still there, but his spirit had died.” Her tearful eyes met Jenny’s. “It’s like he was vacant.”
Jenny wanted to run and hide, pretending none of this had ever happened. She felt as if she was constantly on the brink of tears lately, and this threatened to push her over the edge. Remaining strong, she continued to listen.
“There was no trace of his personality left. He had always been so bubbly—always cracking jokes and making everyone around him happy. When he came back to live with us, he was just a shell. No smiles, no jokes…he was practically mute. When he did speak, it was always just a few words at a time, and it was usually about aliens.”
“I think the aliens had a profound impact on him,” Jenny said. “They were very real to him, and when I put myself in his shoes, I can’t imagine how scary it would be to honestly believe that some people—if not everyone—around you was not really human and was out to get you.”
Belinda looked helpless. “I wonder where that came from. He had never even mentioned aliens before this.”
“There was a voice,” Jenny explained. “He heard it in his head as if someone was standing next to him speaking to him. The voice is the one who convinced him that the people around him were evil and that the only way to protect himself was to strike first.”
“Why did he believe it?”
“The illness, I’m sure,” Jenny concluded. “He seemed to think that voice knew exactly what it was talking about, almost as if it was God speaking to him or something. Unfortunately, the voice was not always…supportive.”
After a short visual standoff, Belinda raised an eyebrow and asked, “What do you mean by not supportive?”
Jenny sighed. “It wasn’t always nice to him. It called him names. Anyway, I think Aiden’s silence can be largely attributed to the voice. If he wasn’t talking, it’s probably because he was listening…he was just listening to someone that no one else could hear.”
“Someone that wasn’t nice to him.” Belinda placed her head in her hands.
Jenny was unsure how to respond to that. She wanted to provide Belinda with some comfort, but the notion was unfortunately true. As a result, she remained quiet.
“Do you think that’s why he killed himself?” Belinda asked. “Because of the voice?”
“He hasn’t given me any insight into that,” Jenny admitted, “but if I had to gues
s, I would say yes.”
“Do you think the voice told him to do it, or do you think he just got tired of having to listen to someone that wasn’t nice to him?”
Jenny shook her head. “I can’t say.”
A long silence ensued, during which Belinda looked distant. “There are four families out there that are going through hell, and it may be at the hands of my son.” Her eyes became focused on Jenny. “My son may have killed those people.”
“Your son didn’t,” Jenny said reassuringly. “Not the boy you raised. Not the boy who played with frogs and complained about homework. It was the illness.”
She let out a loud sigh. “I guess I should have forced him to take his meds. I didn’t press the issue because I saw how bad the side effects were. At the time, I thought the only person who would be affected by that decision was Aiden. I figured if he preferred the schizophrenia symptoms to the side effects, then fine. He could skip the pills.” She placed her head in her hands. “If only I knew.”
“You couldn’t have known. Mentally ill people are usually not dangerous. My husband did some research and discovered that they are usually the victims of crime rather than the perpetrators.”
“I had researched that, too.”
“So nobody blames you,” Jenny assured her, “and nobody will, if they learn the whole story. But I think you have the ability to make an impact, if you choose to accept it.”
She raised her gaze to meet Jenny’s, silently inviting her to continue.
“If it does turn out to be Aiden, you can go on the record as saying you are very sorry for how things turned out. Since Elaina Maldonado’s case was high-profile, a lot of people will hear that message, too. And then you can take that opportunity to raise awareness about mental illness. I think every parent in America will sympathize with you if you announce that you were aware there was a problem and you did your best to deal with it. You can say you did your research, and the research suggested he was unlikely to be violent. In this case, the research just happened to be wrong. Perhaps that will shed some light on how important it is for us to make medical advances when it comes to mental illness…that just because there’s no test to detect a lot of these conditions, that doesn’t mean it isn’t a real problem.”
“What good will it do for me to say all of that?” Belinda asked. “What will change?”
“I don’t know,” Jenny admitted, shaking her head. “But at least you’ll be able to rest your head at night, knowing you did your best to be an advocate. Maybe you can reach out to other caregivers, telling them your story, and hopefully that will prevent something like this from happening again. I mean, if somebody had told you that Aiden had the propensity to be violent, you could have taken the keys away from him. Maybe you could have bought his marijuana for him. Maybe you can even make an argument for legalizing it so that mentally ill people don’t have to venture out into the seedier parts of town in the middle of the night in order to feel relief.”
Belinda was pensive. “He always seemed much more relaxed when he was high. Although, he still never said much, he just looked happier.”
“I think he was happier when he was high, and a lot of other people battling illness can be, too, if the policies change.” Jenny smiled, tilting her head so she could make eye contact with Belinda. “Maybe you have a new mission in life. You can be an advocate for legalizing marijuana and raising awareness about mental illness.”
Belinda still appeared sad, although she also managed a feeble smile. “It looks like maybe I do.”
Leaning forward onto her elbows, Jenny softened her tone. “I do have a question for you, though, Mrs. Littleton. Did Aiden ever stay out all night?”
“A few times,” she replied with a nod, “but not often. Why?”
Jenny braced herself. “I have one vision of Aiden being approached by an aggressive prostitute in the middle of the night at Hammond Park. She was clearly high and underdressed for the weather; I think she was looking to get inside Aiden’s warm truck more than anything. But again, that was something out of the ordinary, so he took it as a threat.” She cleared her throat. “She ended up being one of his victims.” Her gaze remained fixed on her lap, avoiding eye contact with Belinda. “The thing is, I have a second vision of him burying her body in a shallow grave in the woods, but that isn’t until daylight. I have been wondering what went on in between.”
A long silence caused Jenny to look up; Belinda was wiping her face with her hands. “There was that one day where he came home around lunch time and he was all dirty. He’d been out all night...I didn’t know that until I went to check on him in the morning and he wasn’t there. I was worried, obviously, but more worried that something bad had happened to him, not that he had done something bad to someone else. When he came home covered in mud, I questioned him, but he didn’t tell me anything. That wasn’t out of the ordinary, though; he rarely spoke at all. But he didn’t seem hurt, so I let it go.” After a sigh, she added, “I should have paid more attention, I guess.”
“This isn’t your fault,” Jenny assured her. “Nothing about this is your fault.”
Belinda didn’t say anything.
“The victim in this case hasn’t been found yet,” Jenny continued. “I’d like to find her, if I can. Aiden gave me an idea of where the woman is—in the woods, by an old stone wall—but I don’t know specifically where he’s talking about. Do you know of any places that he may have been familiar with? Familiar enough to know that he would be alone and not get caught?”
Belinda shook her head sadly, looking distant. “No.”
Charles spoke up for the first time. “Might I interject something?”
“Of course,” Jenny said.
“That girl—the one from Longfellow—she was found in the woods, wasn’t she?”
Jenny immediately understood what he was getting at. “Indeed she was.”
“I think that would make a good starting point.”
“I’ll look into that right away,” Jenny said.
Looking serious, Charles added, “Are you planning to look for her yourself?”
With a nod, Jenny acknowledged, “Yes. I know what the place looks like, so I’d need to be the one to go and look for it. Sometimes I even get a little guidance from the spirits contacting me—they often lead me to just the right spot.”
“Shouldn’t you bring the police with you?”
With a plastered-on smile, Jenny admitted, “The Oakton Police Department and I don’t exactly see eye to eye.”
“Then I can come with you, if you’d like. I hate the thought of you looking for a body by yourself.”
Just as Jenny was about to accept that offer, she thought better of it. “If you’re with me when I find the body, that won’t help your plight to prove your innocence.”
He held up his hand. “I’m off the suspect list. I forgot to tell you…I looked up my records, and I was at a woman’s house the day the Longfellow student was killed, doing electrical wiring. Her customer signature, as well as her personal calendar, verified that.”
Admittedly, Jenny felt relieved. “That’s good news at least.”
“So I’ll ask it again,” Charles said. “Would you like me to come with you?”
The thought of going alone was unappealing, as was the thought of going with Zack. “That would be great, actually. I will give you a call when I have an exact location where we can start looking.”
Chapter 20
The baby screamed as she put down the diaper bag in her living room and pulled him out of his car seat. “You’re hungry, I know,” she said to him. “I got the message loud and clear.” He’d been wailing for the last ten minutes of the drive home; Jenny marveled at just how unnerving she found that sound to be. Despite the fact that she was hungry to the point of getting a headache and desperately needed to pee, she sat down on the couch and began to nurse the baby. She had to put an end to the screaming before it drove her insane, although she felt like she was halfway there a
lready.
She also noticed that Zack didn’t come to greet her, leading her to believe that he was still pouting about not getting enough sex. She hung her head, a swirl of emotions taking over, all of them negative. Did he really feel like he had the right to complain when he was well-rested with a full stomach and an empty bladder? Oh, but the poor thing was horny, so the world was definitely being unfair to him. “Cry me a river,” Jenny heard herself mutter, bitterness oozing out of every pore.
A tear of desperation worked its way down her cheek. She thought about how sad she was. She thought about how sad Mick’s story was. And Rodriguez’s. And Aiden’s. And Belinda’s. She wondered if anyone in the world had a happy life, or if everyone just dealt with varying levels of misery.
She closed her eyes and tightened her fist into a ball, determined to ward off the ensuing hopelessness. Mick was getting help, which could potentially turn his life around. Perhaps he would achieve a happy ending after all. While it was too late to save Aiden, maybe Belinda would be able to prevent similar things from happening to other people. In an attempt to stay positive, Jenny considered all of the people she’d been helping, although Mick’s words quickly echoed in her head.
You’re not even willing to help yourself.
Reality slapped the sadness right out of her. She remembered what Dr. Lambert had told Mick—that he had a ‘new normal,’ and he would need some help getting used to it. The doctor didn’t claim to be able to make the nightmares go away, but instead he promised to offer coping mechanisms. Things would never go back to the way they were for Mick, and he needed to stop believing they would. Pre-war Mick was gone. Completely gone. But post-war Mick had a lot of living to do, if only he could learn how to go about it.
With new resolve, Jenny looked down at the ‘new normal’ that she held in her arms. Childless Jenny was also gone, hanging out and drinking tea with pre-war Mick, enjoying a carefree lifestyle that had since gone by the wayside for both of them. Mom-Jenny had some hurdles ahead of her—some that seemed twenty feet high—but they were admittedly no higher than any obstacle in Mick’s way. As an outsider, she could easily recognize that Mick shouldn’t be expected to face his hurdles without help…so why was it so hard for her to acknowledge that she needed support as well?
