There were so many of them, all of them damaged, defaced in some awful way. They were too sad to look at. I began to toss them into the box, quickly moving through the piles. The fancy baby book Allison had given us at our baby shower was buried underneath the last pile. I hadn’t realized Hannah had been filling it out.
The cover was beautiful, with the telltale title “Your First Year” and a picture of Cole in the hospital in a see-through slipcover on the front. I thumbed through the first couple pages, the dates starting the day we had gotten home from the hospital. It was the usual stuff—weight, height, length—coupled with his little footprint from the hospital and the ID bracelet he’d worn. She’d written everything in swirly handwriting, and even that looked happy. She’d added notes and comments next to all the factual information: your hands were your biggest part, you didn’t like the hearing test, the nurse named Judy made you cry. The next page was a letter she’d written to Cole. It was one that only a new mother could write after she’d just fallen hopelessly in love with the life she had created.
But it wasn’t long before things turned. Her handwriting changed. The big spiral curls were gone, replaced with messy, hurried scrawls. Each page had a small spot to journal, and the space was too small for all her words, so she’d scribbled between and around the designs or fact sheets on the page. She’d made herself disjointed lists, writing the same things over and over again.
Pregnancy weight is all gone. Some women would be happy about this. Me? It’s just more proof that I’m wasting away. Today Christopher told me I need to be more loving toward Janie. I can’t. I just can’t anymore. I don’t have it in me. I’m depleted. So empty.
I am in the background of my head. How did I get here?
The next few entries were more of the same:
I’m a prisoner in my own home. I feel her watching me everywhere I go. She’s just waiting. She wants to hurt him. I know she does. I can see it in her eyes. Those black eyes. Today when he was crying she screamed at me to take him back. I wanted to slap her. Tell her she’s the one who needs to go back.
I never used to cry. Now? It’s all I do. It washes over me like an unwanted wave, flattening me. I don’t try to stop the tears anymore. There’s no point. I just let them come. Something is eating me up inside, telling me I’m not good enough. I fake smiles for him. Can he tell?
She told me she hated me today. It’s not the first time. It used to hurt. Not anymore.
At first, her entries were cohesive and put-together paragraphs describing her struggles, but it wasn’t long before they derailed. She’d been obsessed with creating a detailed calendar of the things Janie had done, but she’d never quite got it right because she’d constantly been crossing them out and starting over. And then her writing took a turn I had never expected:
I feel the ice-cold breath of her demon. It blows on my neck while I’m feeding Cole. I can see the demon in her eyes when I look at her. The twisted grin on its face. It licks its fangs like it wants to hurt Cole.
I heard her talking to it again today. In a different language. Latin? She thinks he’s funny. She says he’s the one who told her to put her poop on the walls. When the devil takes over, there’s nothing you can do.
I stopped there, stunned. Hannah wasn’t a religious person, never had been. Her parents hadn’t brought her to church, not even on the holidays.
His talons. Those ugly claws. They reached out from inside her and tried to grab Cole. They want him too. They aren’t going to be satisfied until he joins them. I screamed at her to stay away from him, and she just laughed.
I have to do something. I can’t let them have him. I won’t. I’m his mother. I have to protect him. No matter what. No matter what it takes. That’s what you do. I can do it. I’ll do it if I have to.
She wrote down websites about children who were demon possessed. Each of the websites was circled multiple times.
Keep track. Must keep track of her.
Called again. Answers. None.
Then she stopped dating the pages.
Today I met the angels. I’m so glad they’re here. I’m not going to be able to do this without them.
Their voices are so kind and soft. Not like the demon. Cole hears them too. He giggles when they whisper in his ear. I’m glad he likes them.
Her last entry was four words:
Today is the day.
Hannah always barged into Allison’s house without knocking, but it felt weird without her, so I knocked instead. Allison opened the door just as Janie came barreling down the hallway.
“Daddy!”
I swept her up in one swift movement. I kissed her and squeezed her tightly, wishing I could grab her and take her to the park for the day instead of what we were about to do, but there was no way around it.
“I missed you,” I said, kissing her again and straightening out her ponytail in back.
“Come in,” Allison said just as formally as I felt.
Dr. Chandler and Piper stood in the entryway with her. They both held coffee cups. I was early, which meant they’d been even earlier. Had they met without me beforehand? Why would they do that? What weren’t they telling me? All of this was making me paranoid. I needed to calm down.
The Department of Children’s Services needed Janie’s statement, and Piper had worked her magic so that Dr. Chandler could do the forensic interview. She was the perfect choice, since she’d served as an expert witness in numerous child abuse cases, and Janie already trusted her. She was more forthcoming with her than with anyone else. Greg had taken Dylan and Caleb to the batting cages so they would be out of the way for the interview. I appreciated his thoughtfulness.
Allison ushered us into the dining room. Their taste in decor was completely different than Hannah’s and mine. We used to joke about it all the time. We favored homey craftsman looks, while Allison’s house was sleek and contemporary. The windows were draped in matching white fabric, and professional family photographs lined the other wall. The first time we’d visited, I’d been afraid to sit on the dining room chairs in case I wrinkled the white fabric or spilled on the floor.
Dr. Chandler scanned the room. “Do you think we might have this discussion with Janie in another room? I want her to be as comfortable as possible. Maybe a playroom or family room?”
“Sure,” Allison said.
Janie held my hand as we followed Allison into the basement. Unlike the rest of the house, the family room was a wide-open space, perfect for children. The concrete floors were covered in sidewalk chalk, and the place was big enough for them to race their scooters. Toys lined the floor, and beanbag chairs were scattered everywhere. An L-shaped sectional was pushed against the far wall.
“This is the kid zone. I let them do whatever they want down here,” Allison said.
“This is perfect. I love it,” Dr. Chandler said. She took a seat on the couch, and we all followed suit, even Janie, who seemed to have sensed there was something different and important about the day. “I’m so glad to see you, Janie. We have some important things to talk about.” Janie leaned forward, listening intently to what she was about to say. “Remember how we’ve talked about the difference between a truth and a lie?”
Janie nodded.
“It’s really important that you answer my questions with the truth and no lies. Okay?”
Janie nodded again.
Dr. Chandler looked at Piper to see if she had anything to add. Piper motioned for her to continue. “I wasn’t there the day that Cole got hurt, and I don’t know what happened,” Dr. Chandler said. “Do you think you could help me understand what happened?”
Janie’s eyes lit up. She was always eager to help. “Sure.”
Dr. Chandler smiled at her. “Why don’t you start by telling me where you were when Cole got hurt?”
“I was in the bathroom.”
“What were you doing in the bathroom?”
“Taking a bath.”
Dr. Chandler kept her face expres
sionless. “Do you usually take baths during the day?”
Janie shook her head. “It was a special bath.”
“A special bath? What’s that?”
“A bath with my clothes on, silly.” She giggled.
Allison looked at me, her face stricken. Tension radiated off her.
“Of course, a special bath. Now I understand. Do you take special baths a lot?”
“Sometimes.” Janie nodded. “Mommy said she wanted to play a game with me.”
“She did?” Dr. Chandler feigned excitement. “Was it a fun one?”
Janie narrowed her eyes to slits and crossed her arms. “No, Mommy was mean. The mean mommy came out to play.”
All the color drained from Allison’s face.
Dr. Chandler didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, you have a mean mommy? What’s Mean Mommy like?”
Janie wrinkled up her face. “She does bad things.”
Dr. Chandler didn’t press. “What did Mean Mommy do during the special bath?” Dr. Chandler moved from her spot on the couch and knelt in front of Janie. She looked straight into Janie’s eyes. “Sometimes it’s hard to find the words to use when we want to talk about something that’s happened to us. Remember how we played with my dolls?” Janie gave a barely perceptible nod. “Would you like to use the dolls and show me what happened?”
Janie’s eyes lit up at the idea. Dr. Chandler reached into her bag and pulled out a container. She took off the lid and handed it to Janie. She pulled out two dolls—a grown woman and a young girl. Dr. Chandler watched as Janie held on to them for a few seconds. We all sat and waited for her to do something. Allison was on the edge of her seat, looking like she wanted to stop her.
Suddenly, Janie’s screams pierced the air. “You can’t have him! I won’t let you take him!” She smacked the little-girl doll with the other doll. Allison jumped up and ran upstairs.
Dr. Chandler looked at me to see how I was holding up, and I nodded for her to continue. I was glued to my seat like I was witnessing a horrible car accident. She placed her hand softly on Janie’s back. Her voice was even as she spoke to her. “Janie, I like how you are using your words to tell us what happened. What’s the Mean Mommy doll doing?”
“She’s fighting with the girl.” Her lower lip trembled.
“Why is she fighting with the girl?”
“Mommy says the girl is a bad girl. She has to go away.” Tears filled her eyes and threatened to spill down her cheeks. “The girl doesn’t want to go away. She’s not bad.”
Dr. Chandler pulled her close and cuddled her against her chest. She rocked her slowly and gently. “The girl is not bad. She doesn’t have to go away. She’s a good girl.” Janie’s shoulders shook with sobs. I reached out and stroked her back even though Dr. Chandler had instructed me to not intervene during the interview.
“Is that enough?” I asked.
Dr. Chandler looked at me, annoyance written all over her face, and shook her head. I quickly scooted back on the couch and folded my hands on my lap before she banished me from the room. Janie’s body trembled, and I couldn’t help but remember all the times Dr. Chandler had talked about trauma being stored in the body. It made sense in a way that it never had before as I watched Janie twitch and fight as she struggled with her secret.
“Mommy tried to push me down in the water,” she said between sobs in the baby voice she only used when she was upset. “I said, ‘No! No! No! Mommy!’” She flung her body back and forth in the same way I was sure she’d done that day. “Mommy didn’t care. She just pushed me down and pushed me down. Then Mommy fell and gave Cole a boo-boo on his head.”
My stomach rolled. Silence filled the room with the enormity of her words.
“What happened next?” Dr. Chandler’s gaze never wavered from Janie.
“I cried.”
She was crying again now. My heart squeezed within my chest. I sat on my hands to keep from reaching out and pulling her close. Thankfully, Dr. Chandler rested a comforting hand on her back.
“That must have been very scary,” she said.
Janie’s lower lip trembled. “I wanted my daddy.”
“Janie, I—”
Dr. Chandler put her hand up to stop me. “Christopher, why don’t you go get Janie some water while I finish up the interview?”
“You’re doing great, Janie,” I said. I reached over and tousled the top of her head. “I’ll be back in just a minute. You be a good girl and finish talking to Dr. Chandler, okay?”
She nodded.
I hurried up the stairs and almost ran into Allison in the kitchen. She’d been crying. “You couldn’t take it either?” she asked.
“More like I couldn’t stay out of it. I just kept trying to jump in and save her. I understand that they need her statement, but it was excruciating to watch Janie have to go through it again.”
“I don’t know how Dr. Chandler does her job. I never could. That was too much.” Allison shuddered. “There’s no way Hannah hurt Cole or Janie on purpose. No way. She just wouldn’t.” She jutted her chin forward. “She brought every sick animal home with her when we were kids. And not just cute animals like the stray cats in the neighborhood.” She smiled at a memory. “She brought home a litter of baby rats once. Rats. Can you imagine? Our mom was totally freaked out and wanted her to bring them back to where she found them, but Hannah refused. She kept them hidden in a shoebox in her room and bottle-fed them. That’s the kind of person she is. I just don’t understand.” Her eyes welled with tears again.
“Come here,” I said. She fell into my arms sobbing. I held her while she cried and gave her a moment to gather herself when she was finished. She splashed water on her face from the kitchen sink and patted herself dry with a paper towel.
“Do I have to go back down there?” she asked. “I’m not sure I can handle any more.”
I motioned toward her breakfast nook, her favorite spot in the house. “Why don’t you make yourself a cup of tea and take a seat until they’re finished.”
She looked relieved. “You want a cup?”
“I’d love a cup. Just give me a second.” I didn’t wait for her response. I grabbed the baby journal from my car and headed back inside. Part of me had considered keeping it. I’d been trying to convince myself that just because Hannah had written those things down didn’t mean she’d acted on them or done anything wrong. But after what I’d seen and heard, the only explanation that made sense was the one contained within its pages.
I hurried back inside and downstairs. Dr. Chandler was huddled on the floor with Janie, busy playing with dolls. Nobody was speaking. Piper sat in the same spot on the sofa where she’d been when I’d left her. I handed the journal to her. “I found this in Hannah’s things. You need to read it.”
FIFTY-FOUR
HANNAH BAUER
“Do you have any kids?” I asked the chief psychologist, Dr. Spence, as I hugged my knees to my chest and shifted in my seat. Our positions never changed during our sessions, even if we met more than one time in a day.
“Do you think it’s important that I have kids?” She sat in her straight-backed chair, legs always crossed at the ankles, notebook balanced on her lap, ready. She was always straight faced. I’d never seen her smile. Was she that way with everyone or just me?
“You don’t know what it’s like to be a parent unless you have kids,” I mumbled underneath my breath.
Our sessions were painful, but I liked being in her office because it had a window. Very few rooms on the unit had windows. I didn’t care that most of my view was blocked by the building across the sidewalk because I could see the sky, and there was hope as long as I could see the sky. When I first got here, all I did was stare out the window at the sky. She used to let me do that. Not anymore.
“Anyway, you were telling me about Cole’s crying. Do you want to continue with where you were at?” She had wide-set champagne-colored eyes and a flat face, perfect for masking her emotional responses.
“I
just wanted him to go to sleep. For so long that’s all I wanted.” It had seemed like his crying and sleeplessness would never end. The days had been long, the nights even longer. “And then he did. He finally slept.”
She smiled. “That must’ve been wonderful.”
“It was awful.”
She looked surprised. “Why was that?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” My voice cracked, barely audible. “It was brutal. All I wanted was rest. But I couldn’t sleep. I just couldn’t.”
I had tossed and turned all night long. Even if I’d managed to nod off, it had been only a matter of minutes before I jolted awake. I could never sleep for more than an hour at a time. It had been torturous to be bone tired but unable to sleep.
“Is that when the images began?” she asked.
She knew about the images? When had I told her that? My memory was filled with too many blank spaces.
I nodded. “Cole was only a week old the first time. He might’ve been two weeks old. It’s hard to remember. Things are still pretty cloudy.”
My mind was coming back in the same way it’d left—slowly and in pieces. It had been one of my hard days. That part I remembered clearly. I hadn’t slept at all, and Cole had been crying on and off for hours. Janie had been in the living room screaming. There had been a pair of scissors on the dresser next to the changing table. Suddenly, I’d been acutely aware of their presence. I had never experienced anything like it.
A strange voice had interrupted my thoughts and whispered, “Grab the scissors,” and it was quickly followed by the image of me stabbing the scissors into Cole’s chest. It had felt like the scissors were controlling my thoughts. I had chanted “Don’t look at the scissors” as I stepped over to the dresser, holding the scissors in front of me at arm’s length like they’d burn me if they got too close. I had slowly walked into the kitchen and put the scissors away. I hadn’t felt safe until they were tucked in the drawer.
“Was that the last time anything like that happened to you?” Dr. Spence asked.
“No, I saw Cole hitting his head on the doorframe whenever I walked through one with him. I was terrified that I wouldn’t give myself enough space to make it through and would bash his head on the side of the frame. There were other times I saw his head exploding while Christopher held him up in the air in a strange attempt to calm him. I’d watch as Cole’s spine snapped and folded backward. Eventually I couldn’t take it, and I’d yell at Christopher to stop.”
The Perfect Child Page 26
