Born Evil

by Julia Derek

  “Well, in that case, you really should take him to a child psychologist trained in dealing with psychotic breaks in children. It does sound like that’s what’s happened here. We need to figure out what pushed him over the edge so it doesn’t happen again. Figure out what made him kill that girl. Did you talk to him about it yet?”

  I ran two hands through my hair, pulled it into a low ponytail. “No. I wanted to talk to you first. I honestly don’t know how to bring it up to him.”

  “It might be safer if you do it with a trained professional present.”

  “I was hoping you could coach me how to talk to him about it. He tends to clam up when he’s with a therapist. It took a long time for him to open up after the accident that killed his father. He was devastated.”

  Dr. Wilkins tilted his head slightly. “Right, the accident that killed his father. I do remember that he’d done something like that, but I can’t remember all the details. Would you please refresh my memory?”

  I licked my lips that felt uncomfortably dry. “Shane got a hold of his father’s gun and it accidentally went off, killing Peter. Shane’s father and my husband.”

  “Ah, yes. I remember now. That must have been incredibly hard on him. I remember how hard it was on you.” He smiled with compassion. “Though you did bounce back quicker than I had anticipated, I have to admit.”

  “Yes, I realized I had to be strong for Shane. It was so hard on both of us. He absolutely hated having to talk about it with a stranger. That’s why I thought he might respond better to me. Feel more comfortable opening up. Tell me what happened out there with Alice. He trusts me.”

  The therapist cocked a brow. “Alice?”

  “Yes. That’s the name of the girl who died.”

  Dr. Wilkins inhaled deeply, then cleared his throat. Uh-oh. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Jennifer, but you really shouldn’t bring this up to Shane on your own. It could trigger something in him, make him angry. It’s not safe for you, is what I’m trying to tell you. Especially in your current condition.” He indicated the crutches with his head. “If he’s able to kill a girl who’s older than him, he might do something to you. It’s best you do it together with a mental health professional. It’s too dangerous for you to confront him alone.”

  I sighed inwardly. I should have known that Dr. Wilkins would say this, insist that I don’t bring up the matter to Shane alone. I suddenly regretted having come here. The sad truth was that he was right, but I still didn’t like to hear it.

  I didn’t want my son to be so dangerous I had to fear him.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked in that soothing voice that I suddenly found annoying.

  I rubbed my fingers against my brows. “That you’re right. I shouldn’t confront him on my own. It’s not wise.”

  Dr. Wilkins smiled encouragingly. “That’s my girl. Do it together with a trained professional. It’ll be best for all parties involved, Shane included. Like I said, he might have just experienced some form of psychotic break. Maybe Alice did something that triggered it. He might be okay if he’s put on the right medication. Better at least.”

  I smiled back at the man, praying that he was right.

  15

  When I got back home, I called the number on the card that Dr. Wilkins had given me. It was a child psychologist that he recommended, as the one Shane used to see had retired and moved to Florida. A voicemail picked up, so I left a detailed message.

  “Who are you calling?” Shane said behind me when I was done, which made me jerk and drop the phone in my hand. It fell to the floor and made a few flip-flops before it stopped moving. Shane immediately squatted and picked it up.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom,” he said and put it on the desk before me. “I didn’t mean to scare you!”

  I shook my head and laughed a little. “It’s fine. I’m just a little jumpy these days. I didn’t hear you come home. I called a doctor I might need to see.” I couldn’t make myself tell him that he would also need to see the doctor in question; that, in fact, it was the reason I’d called her.

  “Oh. Are you still feeling sick?” He gazed at me with a concerned expression.

  I shrugged and waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Yeah, but it’s nothing serious. I’m already feeling better.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to lose you too. You’re all I have left, Mom. Promise me you’ll never leave me.”

  He gazed at me with those teal-colored, clear eyes, blinking a couple of times, looking so sad and helpless suddenly that I felt a pang of pain in my heart. A wave of guilt rode through me. What had I been thinking? That Shane might hurt me? How could I think that even for one second? He had never ever shown an inclination of wanting to hurt me in any way, quite the opposite. He was a good boy, someone who loved to help others. I’d seen that side of him often over the years, and especially after my car accident. He’d been indispensable around the house.

  My mother had offered to stay with me, but Shane had been so helpful every day that I’d told her it was completely unnecessary.

  I smiled and ran a knuckle over his soft cheek. “I promise I’ll be around for many more years, honey. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

  It dawned on me that this was a good moment to ask him about the pics in his phone. Well, as good as it would ever get to bring up such a thing. The suddenly sunny weather outside the window in my study further brightened my mind, making me feel more optimistic about the outcome. For sure it would turn out there was a reasonable explanation for what those pics were doing there, just like there had been a reasonable explanation for him attacking Macy. There was no way he’d be able to fake all those scratches and bites on his body! Why had that even occurred to me?

  I had spent the morning feeling convinced that he’d marked himself to make it seem like Macy had attacked him. That he had just swallowed the pain this had caused, added scratch after scratch, a bite here and a bite there. For all I knew, he might even have used the cat’s own claws to create more realistic scratches. Anything seemed possible now.

  The fact of the matter was that no one had taken a close look at the marks until much later, when most were halfway healed already.

  Well, he obviously didn’t give himself those marks, I told myself now. Macy did.

  I placed a hand on his arm. “Shane. I need to talk to you about something.”

  “What is it?” He looked suddenly worried.

  “Why are there pictures of Alice Tate lying dead on the ground in your phone?” I blurted before I could change my mind. There, I’d said it at last. Holding my breath, I watched his reaction carefully. First, all he did was stare at me as the seconds ticked by. Tic, toc. Tic, toc. Tic, toc. My heart picked up speed and goosebumps formed on my arms.

  Why was he looking at me like that?

  He just kept staring and staring at me, his face dark. I swallowed hard, regretting not having followed Dr. Wilkins’s suggestion. Why didn’t I listen?

  Then, as suddenly as his face had darkened, he piped in a small voice: “Am I in trouble?”

  A beat went by, then the words streamed out of his mouth: “I was out walking in the woods and saw her there on the ground. Dead and all bloody. It was super creepy. I wanted to rush home and tell everyone, but I was afraid I would forget where I found her or that people would think I’d made it all up, so I took the pics. A lot of them. Maybe I got carried away, I can’t remember, I was so shocked. I also took some pics of the area. That’s all. I promise. Then, when I hurried back home, it hit me that people might think that I had something to do with her death, so I decided not to say anything. She was dead anyway and I didn’t want to get in trouble! Am I in trouble, Mom? Was that why you called that doctor? It was, wasn’t it?” He spoke faster and faster, his voice becoming increasingly shrieky. He seemed on the verge of having a panic attack, so I grabbed both his arms and told him to calm down, to take a deep breath. I told him he wasn’t in trouble at all.

  “I’m glad
you told me what you did,” I continued at the same time as I searched my memory of other pics in his phone that featured the surroundings. I relaxed when I remembered that I had in fact seen several of those as well. Shane must be telling me the truth then. I embraced him hard and whispered, “I understand that you were scared, honey. It’s okay. Nothing bad will happen to you. It’s true that I was a little worried when I saw those photos in your phone. I even went to see Dr. Wilkins to talk about it.”

  Removing myself from him, I chuckled and smiled warmly at him. “Which was completely unnecessary, I now realize. I should’ve known all along that there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for those photos. I should have known all along that you had nothing to do with her death!” I rolled my eyes at myself.

  He stared at me, his eyes round and big and terrified. “You told Dr. Wilkins I had done something to Alice? Like, pushed her or something? Why would you do that? I would never hurt Alice! Alice was my friend!”

  “Shhh,” I told Shane and squeezed his upper arms firmly. “I made a mistake and I’m sorry. It will all be okay.”

  “Maybe he thinks I killed Alice and tells the police! Then I’ll go to jail. I don’t want to go to jail!”

  “No, honey, that won’t happen.” I tried to hug him again, but he pushed me away.

  “How can you be so sure? I don’t want to go to jail!”

  “Because I’ll tell him it was all a big misunderstanding, okay? Then he’ll have no reason to tell the police.” I didn’t see the need to get into specifics with Shane, that mental health professionals had a confidentiality obligation toward their patients. They could only break that if they had reason to believe someone was in danger, children or elderly people were abused, or they were subpoenaed by the court to speak. So far, Dr. Wilkins and I hadn’t determined that Shane posed a danger to anyone but perhaps me. Which I would tell him he could forget about. All was fine with Shane.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying, honey?” I asked him, my hands still on his shoulders.

  He looked down at the floor. “Yes, I do.”

  “Good. You probably should delete those photos, though. If people see them, they might get the wrong idea. It’s not smart to have them in your phone like that.” You even had your own mom fooled, I thought but didn’t say. That would likely reignite his panic.

  “Okay, I’ll delete them.” He raised his chin and gazed straight into my eyes, smiling now. Relief was written all over his face. “Thanks for believing me, Mom.”

  “Of course I believe you,” I said and hugged him hard and this time he let me. It was only as I squeezed his lanky body toward mine that it struck me—why had Shane gone into the woods in the first place that day...?

  16

  I remembered then that the weather had been beautiful that May day, warm and sunny after a string of rainy, unseasonably cool ones. Considering the drastic change in weather, it wasn’t strange actually if my son had decided to take a walk in the woods. He had always liked to be outdoors, especially in the summer, and clear days like that one were great for taking pictures.

  I let go of him and laughed inwardly at my neurotic ways. There you go again, Jennifer! As it turned out, not only was it perfectly okay to ask Shane about those photos, but he also had a good explanation as to why they had been in his phone. When I saw the gruesome images, I’d totally forgotten about the other photos of the surroundings that had preceded them. Which was understandable given how upset I’d been.

  Well, when I call Dr. Wilkins and explain to him what really happened out there, he’d understand.

  “Promise me that you’ll delete those photos, okay?” I told Shane, still holding his shoulders. “If someone else sees them, they could get the wrong idea.”

  “You mean like you did?” Shane asked with a lopsided smile.

  I inhaled and exhaled. “Yes. Sorry, I’m only human. Can you forgive me, honey?”

  He nodded and smiled. “Yes. I forgive you, Mom.”

  “Good. What time is it?” I looked around the office for a clock. I spotted the clock radio on a side table. It was four p.m. I turned back to Shane. “Don’t you have soccer training at 4: 30?”

  He grimaced. “Do I have to go? I hate playing soccer.”

  “Yes, honey. You do. You begged for me to sign you up for this class and you’ve only been twice. Give it a few more tries before you bail on it. It might turn out you’ll love it!”

  He rolled his eyes. “I highly doubt that.”

  “Well, you’ll have to go at least one more time. If you absolutely hate it after today, we’ll reconsider, okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks, Mom.” He swiveled around and left the office.

  I resumed working on a manuscript that I’d been editing when Shane entered the room all of a sudden. Or trying to edit—I hadn’t gotten much done today. I wanted to call Dr. Wilkins right away to tell him that I had been wrong in assuming Alice had died because of Shane. But I didn’t want to call before Shane had left the apartment. Overhearing my conversation with Dr. Wilkins would likely only serve to upset him, and I had upset him enough today.

  He called out a loud goodbye and left the apartment ten minutes later. I could hear the front door open and shut, but just to be on the safe side, I didn’t pick up my phone and call until I could see Shane coming out of the apartment building. I didn’t want to take any risks, him suddenly coming back when I was in the middle of a conversation.

  Dr. Wilkins picked up on the fourth ring.

  “Hello.”

  “Hi, Dr. Wilkins, it’s Jennifer Hanson.”

  “Hi, Jennifer. How are you today? Did you get a chance to call the child psychologist?”

  “Yes, I did, but I only left a voicemail.”

  “She’ll get back to you soon.”

  “About that. I actually just spoke to Shane about the photos.”

  “You did? How did he react?” Dr. Wilkins sounded wary.

  “It turns out that he only bumped into her as he was walking around in the woods, taking pics. Or her body, I should say. When he saw her on the ground and realized that she was dead, he took pics of the environment, as well as of her body. He didn’t know what else to do when it dawned on him that he had no idea where he was. He was worried he’d forget where he’d seen her or that people would think he was just making it up. He thought the pics would help the police find her quicker, as someone was bound to recognize the area. I actually saw the pics of the environment, but I totally forgot about them when I saw the ones of Alice. Then, as he was on his way back, he freaked out that people would think he had something to do with her accident, so that’s why he never said anything about them when he got back home. Which is perfectly understandable. I mean, his own mother thought so. I feel so ashamed now. I, if anyone, should know that my son isn’t capable of killing someone in cold blood, right?”

  “Um, yes, that’s true. So you no longer believe he had anything to do with it then?”

  “I don’t. I spoke to him about it for a while and I’m convinced he was telling me the truth.”

  “Okay. Well, I still think it’s a good idea if Shane sees the child psychologist. Running into the dead girl, his friend, and worrying about people thinking that he had something to do with it must have been a traumatic experience for him. He really should talk to a professional about it.”

  I thought about what Dr. Wilkins had just suggested. “Hmm. Yes, that might be a good idea. I didn’t think about it in those terms.”

  “I understand. But you see why it’s important then?”

  “I sure do. I will absolutely make an appointment with Dr. Roth as soon as she returns my call.”

  “That’s good. And when am I seeing you again? We never made another appointment.”

  “Right. You know what? For now I think I’m good. I really just wanted to discuss that matter with you, and we solved it.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, let me know what happens with Shane and Dr. Roth. I think she will be great for hi
m.”

  “I will definitely be in touch. Thanks again for the referral.”

  17

  When Shane returned home three hours later, he was hungry and grumpy. I had already prepared dinner, meatloaf with mashed potatoes, gravy, and cranberries, which was one of Shane’s favorite meals. It never ceased to amaze me how much of it he could get into his skinny body. Already seated at the dinner table, I poured some OJ for him in the glass next to his food.

  “How was it?” I asked when he marched into the kitchen and plopped down on the chair on the other side of the table.

  “It sucked. I told you I hate soccer.” He stabbed a piece of meatloaf with his fork, used the knife to shove some mashed and gravy on top of it, then a few cranberries. The whole mishmash went into his gaping mouth and he barely chewed the food before he swallowed. He repeated the process, loading more into his mouth.

  “Take it easy, honey,” I said and had a sip of my strawberry-tasting sparkling water, a new offering from Pellegrino, my favorite brand of water. “If you keep that up, you might choke.”

  “No, I know what I’m doing,” he muttered in between forkfuls.

  “That’s good, because I would hate it if I had to resuscitate you while on the crutches. It’s not exactly easy to move around.”

  He didn’t answer, just kept eating. I could feel him fuming, how upset he was.

  “What happened that made you so upset, Shane?” I asked after a couple of minutes of tense silence.

  He glanced at me, scowling. “One of the players on the other team tripped me and I almost broke my ankle.”

  “Really? That’s not good. I’m so sorry to hear that. I didn’t notice you limping when you came over to the table.”

  “That’s because you had your back to me. I’m limping plenty. I might need your crutches to be able to walk tomorrow,” he added dramatically.