by Julia Derek
Part of me wanted to go back and confront Mom, but another, much bigger part, felt terrified going back home and facing her again. She seemed like she was about to snap any second. Wait, maybe she already had snapped. I mean, she had just confessed to killing Dr. Wilkins after all… Oh God. I sighed heavily. What the hell should I do? My mom was a friggin’ killer. I didn’t want to talk to her again, even be around her, but I didn’t know what else to do but to go back to that crappy room. It wasn’t like I could go to the police. They would just put me in jail. The mere thought of going to jail made me shiver with terror.
I suddenly felt how my eyes brimmed over with hot tears. Something was seriously wrong with Mom. I could feel it in my entire body. What was wrong with her? I tried to stifle my sniffles and wiped at my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie Wait, maybe I could go to Grandma and tell her what was going on. But what if she didn’t believe me? What if she thought I had killed Dr. Wilkins like the cops so clearly believed? Yeah, she’d probably think that. She had no reason to doubt the cops. I pictured her yelling at me, her and Grandpa taking me to the cops, and it made me cry harder.
I felt a hand on my shoulder then, which made me jerk. The hand flew off me and a woman said, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Slowly, I turned toward the voice. A gray-haired woman with round glasses who was maybe sixty-five stood beside me, watching me with a concerned expression on her wrinkled face.
“I just wanted to see if there was something I could do to help,” she said softly. “You seem upset. I work here at the library.”
I kept crying, unable to control myself or talk. The woman put her hand on my shoulder and led me to a quiet corner in the library with lots of big plants in pots. She sat down on a wooden bench between the plants and made me sit down, too.
She produced some paper napkins from her pants pocket that she handed me. Without a word, I took them and wiped my wet cheeks. She waited several beats before she spoke again.
“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”
I took a few deep breaths, then stuttered, “I think my mom is going crazy.”
She peered at me through the thick glasses. “Your mom is going crazy? Where is your mom?”
I sighed. “At this place in East Harlem. In a shady building.” For some reason, I didn’t want to add that the building in question was really a whorehouse. Well, I guessed it wasn’t an actual whorehouse, but it was close enough and I didn’t know how else to describe it.
“What is she doing there?”
“Hiding. She and I are hiding.” I blew my nose.
“You’re hiding? From what?”
“The police. They’re after us. Mom did something bad. It’s a long story.”
My burner phone went off in my pocket then. It had to be Mom. She was the only person who knew my number. It kept ringing and ringing.
“Are you going to answer that?” the old woman asked kindly.
Not knowing what else to do, I reached for the phone in my pocket and pressed the Talk button. I cleared my throat before saying, “Hello.”
“Shane? Where are you? You’ve been gone a long time. Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine, Mom. I’m at the library.”
“At the library? What library?”
“Some library on the Upper East Side.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Research.”
“Oh. Why don’t you come back home now, honey?” It was clear she didn’t mean that as a question. It was an order. A chill went through me. The last thing I wanted was to go back to Mom. Something was very wrong with her. Had she started drinking in secret again? That would explain a lot of things. If she was secretly drunk. Not that I had smelled any alcohol on her breath, but you could hide that. Mom was an expert at hiding such stuff.
“Okay,” I said just to say something. “See you soon.”
We said goodbye and hung up.
“Was that your mom?” the woman asked.
“Yes. She wants me to come back to the room. But I’m too scared to go back there on my own. It’s a bad place.” I sighed heavily and blew my nose again with the paper napkin. I honestly didn’t know what to do. I had to go back at some point. The police wanted me. I didn’t want to go to prison.
“I can go with you if you want,” the lady suggested and gazed at me warmly. “My name is Betty. I just finished my shift. I’m one of the librarians. I was on my way home anyway.”
“You can?” I stared at her. I could go back if this lady came with me. She seemed really nice. I didn’t think Mom would like it, but I didn’t care. There was no way I was going back there on my own. I didn’t want to be alone with Mom any longer. Not if she was crazy and drunk. The more I considered her having secretly started drinking again, the more convinced I was she had in fact been drunk all the time lately. Maybe Betty could talk to her, figure out why she was behaving so crazily. It was worth a try.
“Yes, I can,” she said and smiled. She got to her feet. “Why don’t we go now?”
“Okay,” I said and got to my feet. My coat was still hanging over the chair at the computer table, so we went over there and got it. Then Betty went to get her own coat and her purse.
A couple of minutes later, we were on our way back to the whorehouse.
39
The sun had gone down and it was getting dark out by the time Betty and I reached the whorehouse. I had managed to calm down and come to my senses as she and I were walking. It had dawned on me that it was not a good idea for me to tell this lady that Mom had killed Dr. Wilkins. After all, she had done it to protect me. Yeah, it was crazy, but still. It had been for my sake. Maybe Mom knew things I didn’t about Dr. Wilkins. Maybe she had been dating the rapist/ex-wife killer, too, which was how she had gotten hold of his watch and seen his shoe size. Yes, that was probably how it had all gone down. Wilkins would for sure have told the police that he thought I had killed Alice when I hadn’t. Betty didn’t know all that, so she would probably go straight to the police and tell them Mom was crazy. I couldn’t let her do that. I didn’t want Mom to go to prison either. Not even for a day. Instead, I needed to figure out on my own why she was behaving so strangely, saying so many things that didn’t make sense. Why she had been lying to me about thinking the teen the cops had arrested was the rapist/killer. I had to be absolutely sure it all had to do with the drinking, not just assume so because it was convenient. Hopefully, Betty could help with that last part, the drinking part. I didn’t think she’d run to the police just because Mom was a closet alcoholic. Either way, I would make sure she didn’t stay long. It was not smart to drag other people into this.
As we were about to enter the building, it struck me that maybe Mom had simply not known that Wilkins could have gone to the police regarding the rapist/ex-wife killer. Maybe he had told her that he couldn’t for some special reason and she had believed him. Maybe Wilkins was an evil bastard like his patient. It was all very possible.
I had probably overreacted here.
I was definitely regretting having brought Betty, but it was too late now. We were already walking into the dimly lit lobby where there were a couple of new people seated on the old wicker set. Two middle-aged men in business suits. Probably johns, I mused.
I’ll just have her meet Mom and tell her that I’m fine now, I thought as we climbed the steep stairs up to the second floor. Thank her for walking me home. Hopefully, Mom wouldn’t be drunk and act weird or something. Look normal. I had already told Betty that I had been exaggerating the fact that Mom had done something bad. I told Betty that all Mom had done was getting fired from her job and then getting us evicted, which was why we were staying at this crappy place. It was only until she could figure out how to get a new job. That wasn’t a crime. Yes, hopefully Mom would behave like a normal person and then Betty would just leave.
“It’s here,” I told the librarian and walked up to the door to our room. I knocked lightly on it befo
re I opened it, praying Mom was looking presentable. She had no idea I wasn’t coming alone.
She was seated on the edge of the bed, reading something when we entered. The smile on her face instantly died when she saw that I was with someone. She stared at Betty and I knew bringing her here had been a bad idea. A very bad idea. But it was too late now. I’d just make up some story to Mom later, tell her Betty had insisted on walking me home. Which wasn’t a total lie.
“Hi, Mom,” I said after Betty and I had entered the room. “This is Betty. She works at the library where I went. She wanted to make sure I got back to you all right.”
“Hello,” Betty said to Mom, who had gotten to her feet. She was wearing the same jeans and dark sweater as before, but also sneakers on her feet.
“Hello,” Mom said and a strained smile stretched her lips. “Thanks for looking out for my son. I was so worried he’d gotten lost. It’s no city for kids to walk around in alone. I’m Jennifer.”
I paused when I heard her use her real name. Was that really smart? We had decided we would tell everyone we were called Joey and Rita. Mom walked up to us and extended a hand to Betty. The old woman took it and they shook hands.
“I apologize for the mess here,” Mom said and indicated the room, which was pretty messy, I noted for the first time. “I was about to go out to pick up some coffee. Why don’t we go to the coffee shop down the street and have some coffee and something sweet to eat? My treat since you were so kind and made sure my son got back to me safely. I was terrified something had happened to him.” She smiled warmly at Betty.
“Sure, that sounds like a good idea,” Betty said and opened the door to leave. I followed her and Mom did, too, grabbing her coat from a hook on the wall on the way. Mom told us to keep walking, so Betty and I continued toward the stairs, ahead of Mom, who was locking the door. Betty couldn’t walk very fast, though, so we had barely reached the top of the stairs before Mom caught up with us.
As Betty and I were about to descend the stairs, Mom suddenly used her fists to shove Betty hard in the back so she fell down the stairs. Letting out a terrified scream, the old woman tumbled downward at a scary pace that somehow still felt like slow motion. She rolled over a couple of times before she reached the bottom. The back of her head banged hard into the stone floor and she lay motionless, face up. Her glasses were gone from her nose.
Before I could say anything, Mom turned to me where we had remained at the top of the stairs. Her face was twisted with anger and she whispered, “What were you thinking bringing that woman here? Huh?”
My eyes went between her and Betty much farther down on the floor. The librarian remained disturbingly silent and motionless, the blood streaming out in every direction from her gray-haired head.
Mom didn’t wait for me to say anything; instead, she rushed down the stairs toward Betty. Not knowing what else to do, I hurried after her just in time to catch the two men in business suits rushing out of the lobby. They clearly didn’t want to be associated with what had just happened. The woman in the hole in the wall stared at the scene, as though she had frozen in place, her eyes large and her face ashen with shock.
First Mom, then I crouched next to Betty, who suddenly opened her eyes and muttered something unintelligible. Mom swiftly placed her hands at the sides of the woman’s head and whispered, “What did you say?”
She leaned over Betty’s face at the same time as she twisted the old woman’s head discreetly so it snapped, using the heels of her hands. The crunching sound of bone breaking was nauseating, quiet but nonetheless distinct.
I stared at Mom, so shocked at what she had just done that I was speechless. She had just broken the woman’s neck. She was clearly meaning business here. Would she come after me next? Panicked, I tossed a glance over at the hole in the wall and noticed that the woman in there was gone. Had she seen what had just happened? I had no idea. All I knew was that I had to get the hell away from Mom, who had snapped many times over. There was a ferocious glint in her eyes as she looked at me, which made me pop to my feet in terror.
“She’s dead,” Mom wailed then. “Oh my God, she’s dead! Someone help us. Oh, my God. Oh, my God!”
As fast as I could, I dashed out of the lobby, my mom’s wailing voice ringing in my ears. I sprinted down the street at breakneck speed, nearly crashing into a man and a woman who seemed to be on their way into the building.
I kept running and running, my legs flying through the air. Running and running and running, bumping into people on the way. Tripping and falling a couple of times. Crashing to the ground. Each time I was instantly back on my feet, though, back to running as fast as I could manage. I had to get as far away as I could from Mom.
At some point much later, I ran out of juice. I sank down on a bench at a bus stop, catching my breath and trying to gather my thoughts. I kept blinking my eyes, digging my nails into my palms so hard the skin must have broken. This must be a dream, just a terrible dream. It had to be. But why wasn’t I waking up then? Why did it all feel so real?
Oh God. It’s because it was all real.
40
I don’t know how long I remained seated on that bench, only that it must have been a while. At some point I pushed myself to my feet, though. My mouth felt dry and I was thirsty. I needed something to drink. Soon. I could get that at a police station. I had no choice but to go to the police now and tell them my mom was totally crazy. A crazy murderer. It was sad but true. I still loved her, but that didn’t make her any less of a crazy murderer. They needed to stop her before she could kill more people. She clearly had no problem killing people. A shiver ran through me.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know where I was or where the nearest police station was located. I looked left and right and all I could see was buildings, most of them apartments, a lot of them with storefronts on the bottom floor. A few people walked by on the dark street, all of them ignoring me. A bus went by on the road and several cars drove by as well. I thought I was somewhere in midtown on the eastside, but I couldn’t be sure. Maybe I was still in Yorksville. I honestly had no idea how long I had been running. It felt like forever, but maybe it only felt like that. Everything looked the same to me here. Not that it really mattered. I could always ask someone if they knew where there was a police station. The nearest one couldn’t be that far away.
I kept walking down the street and after a few minutes, I spotted a police car driving slowly along the road. Great, I thought, not particularly excited. They would know where the nearest station was. I made a sharp turn and ran into the road to wave them down. The officers in the car would help me, take me straight to a police station where I could drink something and tell them everything. Have them arrest Mom. She was too dangerous to be walking around on the streets on her own. I waved my arms frantically in front of the car until they saw me.
The police cruiser drove up to the side of the road and the cop on the passenger side, a tough-looking black woman, got out.
“Hi there,” she said and walked up to me. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, please,” I said and inhaled deeply; I was more out of breath than I had thought apparently. “I need you to help me. My mom is a killer. She is killing people. Something’s seriously wrong with her, but I don’t know what. You need to stop her. Help me stop her. She’s acting very crazy.”
The police officer looked me up and down, then asked me what my name was.
“My name’s Shane Hanson,” I replied eagerly. “My mom’s name is Jennifer Hanson. She’s gone crazy.”
The officer nodded, then told me to come with her to the car so we could head to the station where we could talk more. She opened the back door and ushered me inside. Then she got into the front passenger seat and we took off. There was plexi glass between the front and the backseat, which was pretty roomy. I imagined that lots of crooks had been sitting here before me. Not that I was a crook or anything.
I looked out the window at all the cars driving by. These cops se
emed to know exactly what to do next, which wasn’t exactly surprising. (I mean, they were cops, right? This situation must be pretty routine for them.) I allowed myself to relax and leaned back into the car seat, closing my eyes. Thank God this police car had driven down the road. I honestly didn’t think I would have been able to keep going for much longer. Finally I would be able to talk to some sane people, get back to safety.
An image of Betty lying on the stoneground inside the whorehouse, limp like a ragdoll, filled my head then. I could see her open her eyes, the glasses gone. She looked all dazed, her eyelids fluttering, and then I could hear her mutter something that had sounded like “help me”, but it could have been something else. Before I could say anything, Mom’s hands had been on Betty’s head and she had discreetly snapped the poor woman’s neck, producing that terrible crunching sound that had sent chills up my spine.
Letting out a gasp, I opened my eyes, forcing the disturbing pictures and sounds out of my mind. I stared out the windshield window instead, between the front seats’ headrests, then grabbed hold of the seats and pulled myself forward.
“Are you taking me to the station?” I asked the female officer through the glass, hoping she could hear me. Best to be sure we were going to the right place.
“Yes,” she replied, tossing a glance over her shoulder in my direction. “We’ll get there in about five minutes. You’ll be able to tell us your whole story then.”
“Good,” I replied and leaned back again. “It’s a crazy story. Like, really crazy.”
“It usually is,” she commented, her eyes on the road again.
It didn’t take long until we pulled into a small parking lot behind the station. The cops opened the door, and the female one opened my door and asked me to step out. I did as I was told and walked with the cops through the parking lot. Neither of them said anything as they walked on either side of me. We reached the street and the glass doors that led into the police station. There was a counter in the lobby behind which another policewoman sat.
