Sunday, November 19^th

10:45 pm

The warmth of the mug in her hands did little to chase away the chill in her bones. The troubled thoughts flooding her mind had made sleep an impossible dream, pushing her outside for a late night stroll. She walked over to the towering swingset and sat on her daughter’s swing. The set had been a big selling point on this house; something she had always wanted as a child and now could provide to her little one. Little ones… She gave a half smile and trailed a hand down to her midriff. But the smile quickly died. How ironic; they had moved to this neighborhood, thinking it so safe. How could she have put her child in danger? And now her niece as well… She had been the one to urge Mark to bring Maggie here to start over. She had begged Bryan to let them share the house until Mark got back on his feet. If anything happened to the girls… She shuddered, and set the mug down. Kicking back, she flew through the air, letting the biting breeze fill her lungs. If only she could go back to the carefree days of childhood.

"Can’t sleep?" A soft voice broke her reverie, almost startling her off the swing.

"Emily?" Even though they had lived there over a month, she was having a hard time remembering all the names of her neighbors.

The shadows by the fence shifted, and a face appeared. The soft glow of the porch light eased the lines around her mouth and eyes, and hid the grey streaks in her hair. "I like to look at the stars when I have trouble sleeping. Reminds me how small my problems are in the grand scheme of things." Her gentle smile was barely discernable.

Katie bit her lip, shaking her head. "I just can’t believe this is happening…"

Emily sighed and turned, but Katie caught the shimmer in her eyes. "It is a nightmare. I’ve known little Billy most of his life. He and Angie have played together since they were little tykes. And Trina…" her voice caught. "I just can’t see her doing what they’ve alleged."

Katie wrinkled her nose, and approached the fence. "I had a bad feeling about her from day one. It was so weird the way she talked about the kids. And honestly, why would anyone want to spend so much free time with them?"

Her neighbor looked pensive, then shrugged. "Some people really aren’t ‘kid people,’ while others are crazy about children. And the rest of us fall somewhere between the two. I’ve always pegged our Trina as a definite ‘kid person’ who had the misfortune of not having any of her own. I’ve always assumed she was lonely, and working with the children gave her a way to connect." She gave a melancholic laugh. "Now, before my oldest was born, I couldn’t get enough of the neighborhood kids, but by the time I had two of my own, I couldn’t wait to find a quiet moment. But that’s just me."

"What about how she calls the kids ‘Mister’ or ‘Miss’?" Katie persisted.

"What about it? It’s different, but you know what they say; ‘different strokes…’"

"True…" Katie shoved her hands in the pockets of her robe, voicing a thought that had been troubling her. "So, what if there is someone else out there – someone even more dangerous than Trina?"

"Well, honey, I think we’re all worrying about that one. I know I’m looking at all the neighbors with a wary eye. But at the same time, if we start some crazy witch hunt, everyone looks guilty."

"What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Think about it. Someone might accuse one of the men in your house, just because no child disappeared before you arrived." At Katie’s horrified gasp, she quickly continued. "Not that anyone thinks such things, but you see how easy it can be to start pointing fingers, and then we’re all turned against each other when we should be working together and supporting each other."

"But shouldn’t we report anything that seems suspicious?"

"I suppose it depends on what you deem suspicious. If someone is looking for suspicious behavior, even the most innocent things can be interpreted as malicious."

Katie scuffed a slippered foot against the dewy grass. "I just wish there was something more we could do!"

Emily reached out and laid a calming hand on her arm. "We need to pray. And trust the police to do their job. And be there for Ann and Harry, and for each other."

The words rang in Katie’s head, reminding her of the hushed conversation between Mark and Bryan after dinner. "There was some guy going on about doing stuff outside the law to help. Bryan hadn’t seen him before and was kind of worried. Any chance you know him?"

Emily laughed. "Oh, you must mean Johnny Ray. He went to school with my son, Michael… Well, not really in the same class – he’s a little slow. I suppose you’d say handicapped, or something. Poor boy…" she sighed, a far-away look in her eyes. "He’s never been quite the same since his mama passed away. I never will forget that day. I was weeding in my garden and saw some young police officer knock on Johnny Ray’s door. Johnny wasn’t much more than 13 at the time. That officer flat out said that his mama was dead! No softening the blow or anything. Johnny Ray got so mad, he punched him! So then the officer arrested him, but they brought him back within an hour. Must have considered the circumstances. Anyway, Johnny Ray’s had a chip on his shoulder about ‘the law’ ever since. And when he gets started on one of his rants, it’s best to just let him go."

"So he’s not going to do anything rash?"

"Oh no – he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He generally keeps to himself. His grandparents moved in to take care of him after his mama passed, and from what I’ve observed, they’re a little… off." She shrugged. "In the ten years they’ve lived in that house I think I’ve seen his grandfather once. His grandma doesn’t leave the house much either. I guess Johnny Ray follows their lead, because I don’t see him around very often."

A cry broke through the stillness, startling the women. Emily turned toward her house. "Poor Angie.  She’s been having nightmares since this whole mess started."

"I hope they end soon," Katie called to the retreating woman. "Good night." Emily gave a distracted wave, and Katie returned to the house to check on her own little one. As she stood in the doorway, light spilling over the fine features of her daughter and niece, she sighed. "I hope the nightmare ends soon."

 

**********************

 

11:01 pm

"What do you think you’re doing, boy?" Johnny Ray jumped, then turned a guilty head toward his grandfather. Pushing his glasses back up, he opened his mouth, but no words came to his rescue. His grandfather’s scowl grew even more fierce. "That’s what I thought. Worthless piece of trash, out consorting with all the other trash on this block. I ought to just lock you up, that’s what I ought to do…" Age had not diminished the fire in his eyes. Toned muscles strained against the flannel nightshirt, and Johnny Ray had to fight to keep from flinching as the patriarch’s fist met his temple. "Do you think I don’t know what you're doing up there?" The eyes glowed in some ethereal light as he jerked his head toward the attic door. "You're pathetic, boy. Weak, disgusting, twisted bastard…"

The insults continued, but the words twisted and blurred in Johnny Ray’s ears. He ground his teeth as the furious thoughts buzzed like hornets in his brain. "Stupid pigs, taking Mommy away and leaving me with this monster!" He held back the curses that threatened to spill as the verbal tirade continued. That was not a mistake he would make twice. Unconsciously, he rubbed the doll’s hand, letting his mind go until he heard Mommy’s voice. Stand up, son. A soft answer turns away wrath, but harsh words stir up anger. A disobedient child is the wrath of his mother…

Johnny Ray raised his eyes to meet those of his guardian. "I’m sorry, sir." It was a struggle to keep the words soft, and his effort was rewarded with another cuff to the head. More verbal assault. He tried to keep his mind on the jumble of words before him, but his thoughts had their own idea and ran away, out the window, jumping on one of the cotton candy clouds and sailing through the frigid night.

He was flying, flying, diving into a fluffy fairyland then zooming out on a flash of lightning. His heart boomed with the thunder and he jumped, the lightning jolting him high into the sky until he could reach out and pull the stars into his hand. There they glittered, billions of dazzling sparkles, mesmerizing, shining in his eyes. They vibrated gently in his hands, tickling his skin, sending thousands of tiny pin-pricks up his arms, through his chest and then his heart burst in the wonder of it all. He threw his head back and laughed, then flung the stars back into the sky. Shimmering beams of a rainbow caught in the light of the moon and he stepped into one, watching his shoe change from violet to indigo to blue to green to yellow to orange to red…

Fire! His shoe was on fire and it danced its way down the rainbow, pulling his foot and leg along with it. Down the rainbow he tumbled, falling, falling over and over until… THUMP! He landed in the soft lush green of a meadow. A babbling brook chortled in the distance. But another sound emerged, the sound of laughter. Children’s laughter! Gasping in delight, Johnny Ray bounced to his feet and scrambled up the hill. Peeking his head up, his wide eyes took in little boys and girls running and jumping, swinging and sliding, digging and splashing…

He bounced on the balls of his feet, unconsciously curling then opening his fingers. His breath came in short gasps as he gathered the courage. He made his way over to a boy with mousy brown hair and mud stained shorts. Oh, his mommy would have a fit if Johnny Ray ever got that dirty. The thought of the disobedience was so tantalizing.

Johnny Ray licked his lips, then poked the boy’s shoulder. "Can I play?" The child looked at him, streaks of mud covering the freckles that danced across his nose. A nose that wrinkled in disgust at the sight of Johnny Ray. "I ain’t playing with no retard!" he shouted, then shoved Johnny Ray. As he fell to his bottom, Johnny Ray watched helplessly as the children stopped their play and looked at him, pointed their fingers and laughed, then scattered away. Johnny Ray sat, looking around the empty field and play ground. "Wait! I want to play! Please come back!" He ran to the closest house and pounded on the door. "Please come out and play! Please come out and play!"

House to house he ran, tears spilling over dusty cheeks, until finally a hand grasped his. He looked, and there was Mommy. Smiling sadly, she stroked his hair and straightened the collar of his shirt. "It’s okay Johnny Ray." She turned cold eyes toward the pristine row of houses. "We’ll find someone to play with you…"

 

*************************************

Monday, November 20th

1:45 am

 

Trina’s bare arms protested the frigid breeze that enveloped her as she emerged from the car. Without thinking, she mumbled a "thank you" to the officer opening the door for her. Inwardly berating herself for not standing up to the man, for not yet again declaring her innocence and demanding some better treatment, she quickened her pace and fumbled with her keys. The lock seemed to enjoy her struggle, and took it’s time releasing the door to her home. Teeth chattering, and muscles quivering, she finally slipped through, only to be met with the stench of decay.

Her stomach turned and she moved her hand frantically along the wall, desperate for some light. The sight before her made her want to turn it back off again. Garbage covered the room, adorning the couch, perched on the chairs, displayed on the mantle… Brown smears on the wall left her gagging. She turned to the door, hearing the car that idled outside, but her prior experiences reporting the vandalism stopped her. The police had turned a blind eye before, why any different now?

Instead, she fled to her sanctuary, momentarily pleased that it remained undisturbed. Throwing herself onto the lumpy garage sale reject she had once wrestled into the room, she curled up, hoping the chair would swallow her. Sobs shook her body as she lost herself in the swirl of helplessness. Images danced in her head, far too close for comfort. Memories snaked their tendrils under the scabs of her heart.

Nausea rose in her throat, sending her careening to the bathroom. She flung her head over the cold porcelain and expelled the hot acid. Retching over and over, arms braced while her intestines made their best effort to see daylight. Finally, mercifully, exhaustion overcame her, and she sank to the floor.

Closing her eyes, skin tingling, she gasped for breath as the dam burst and waves of memories drowned her. A little girl, hair of spun gold danced in her head. The happy songs turned to frightened cries as her white robes faded away, revealing her shame. Probing fingers ran through her hair, down her neck, down her body. The years of abuse blurred before her, sending her heaving over the toilet again. Spent, she rested a flushed cheek against the cool seat. How could they think her capable? She cherished the children around her, her scars preventing her from connecting with adults. But the children… The child inside her that begged for restored innocence was able to find hope through them. These were her kids. Her family. Resolve lifted her head. She would do anything to keep them safe. There was another predator out there, and no one was watching for him. It was up to her to fight.

 

 

***************************

4:37 am

 

An abrasive chirp startled Johnny Ray back to the present time and dimension, and he poked the button on his watch. He gingerly touched his head, finding a souvenir of the blow that had sent him reeling into another world.

Silence blanketed the house, punctuated only by the sharp snore down the hall. He could just barely make out his grandmother’s soft breathing, the contrasting melody his grandparents orchestrated every night. Excitement began to churn in his stomach. It was time. Pulling himself up to his knees, he crept along the wall, until cool air met his finger tips. He moved his hands up until his searching fingers wrapped around the knob.

Johnny Ray had to fight to keep from taking the stairs two at a time. The buzz of anticipation made his legs tremble and his heart pound. He held Mommy by the hand as he carefully slowed his pace. Get yourself under control, Johnny Ray. A gentleman musn’t be running about like a madman! Mommy chided. And stand up straight. No one will take you seriously if you slump around. Johnny Ray straightened his shoulders obediently and continued up the narrow staircase. He drew a long breath, the sharp scent of cedar and dust filling his lungs. His intense concentration picked up other scents most would miss. Floral tones mixed with pine, the acrid hint of sweat and urine… He wrinkled his nose. Mommy would want him to clean the attic again.

The dimness of the stairwell broke as it opened into the expansive attic. Johnny Ray stood still in the darkness for a moment, savoring the tingle in his fingertips, the flutter in his chest. Focus, Johnny! Keep your mind on your work! Johnny Ray balked at Mommy’s criticism, but headed her command and reached to pull the rusty chain, piercing the shadows with a blinding beam. Unveiled before him were dusty boxes, piles of books, skeletal furniture, old clothes and… Billy. The buzz returned and saliva pooled under his tongue. Billy looked on, eyes wide. Patience! Work hard and you will receive your true reward. Johnny Ray sighed and turned to a mammoth workbench. He began to arrange utensils in a neat row, finally pulling a dog eared page from his back pocket. His mother’s neat handwriting was faded, but the instructions had been etched into his memory. He turned, and met Billy’s stare. "Time to play."

Billy was frozen as Johnny Ray approached. Didn’t scream or fight as his garments were removed. "That’s a good boy," Johnny Ray told him. But a thought caught in his head, and he sat back on his haunches, studying the small form in front of him. Something wasn’t right. He reached out and brushed the tousled red hair off the small forehead, noting the smatter of freckles generously sprinkled over the round cheeks and upturned nose. The mouth was drawn tight, but that wasn’t what bothered Johnny. It was the eyes. Those large chocolate orbs that drilled into his own. "Eyes, eyes, eyes…" Johnny Ray snapped his fingers and jumped to his feet, running across the room to a dusty shelf. Pulling a thick, tattered book from the row, he flipped through it until he found the passage he desired. "If your eye causeth you to sin," he preached, thrusting his fist in the air for emphasis. "GOUGE it out and throw it away." He peered over the top of the pages to the corner he had just vacated. "And Billy…" He strode purposefully to the workbench and selected a rusty pair of shears. "…your eye causes me to sin." Opening them to test the sharpness of the blade, he turned and lunged at the offending orb, gouging the shears into the socket and pulling back. He returned to the work bench and placed the eye into a small bin.

Johnny Ray frowned at the row of bins on the back of the workbench. Grandmother had said Billy was a special boy. He selected a sphere with an emerald hue, focusing hard to remember his grandmother’s words. He turned and held his selection out to Billy, squinting to judge how it would fit with the mangled face before him. Shaking his head, he chose another that was slightly smaller. Yes, Billy was a special boy. He selected a needle and crossed back to the disfigured face. Billy had one brown eye… Ever so carefully, he stitched the new eye into the cloth socket. …and one green one. He leaned back to critique his work. A smile broke out on his face. "Okay Billy, Mommy will help you find some play clothes." Lovingly, he walked the two dolls hand in hand across the floor.

 

****************************************

Wednesday, December 20th

4:00 pm

"Don’t call me stupid!"

"I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to your head!"

Katie would have laughed if she wasn’t gritting her teeth against the squabble in the back seat. "Girls!" Her stern warning was lost as Bridgt squealed in delight at the familiar tune coming from the radio.

"Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells!"

Maggie rolled her eyes at her cousin’s exuberance and clutched her doll, staring glumly out the window.

Katie’s eyes followed her movement in the rearview mirror. Whether the holidays were reopening the old wounds or the child was moving into the anger phase of the grieving cycle, life with Maggie was becoming more difficult by the day. Her teacher had pulled Katie aside just the other day to discuss yet another outburst. She was hesitant to involve Mark, as he was teetering on the brink of mental instability himself. Not to mention the fact that the child behaved like a little angel when her dad was around. Katie’s dream of taking the girl under her wing and helping her through her grief seemed more like romantic notions. But she’d resolved to help her brother and niece, and she was not one to turn her back on family.

"Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind!" Bridget’s arms flung out dramatically as the melody changed.

"Its not "old acquaintance’, its all," corrected Maggie with a look of reproof.

"It is not!" Bridget replied, crossly. "Why would they be saying to forget all your acquaintances?"

"Why would they tell you to forget old ones?" Maggie glared at her.

"Mommy!"

Katie rolled her eyes at the ridiculous argument. "Its actually ‘auld’, which is an old English word for…"

"You better watch out! You better not cry!"

Maggie’s gaze returned to the passing scenery as her cousin belted out the next song.

Katie glanced at the clock, then back at the traffic ahead, trying to determine whether the upheaval in her stomach was worth stopping the car. The unfortunate pre-natal symptom sapped her energy and patience, and it was becoming a battle to keep up with the frenetic pace of the season. Closing her eyes briefly at a stop, she let her head rest against the window, grateful for the minute relief of the iciness against her flushed temple.

As she opened her eyes, a bedraggled form appeared on the corner, fighting the wind to keep a poster pinned to the telephone pole. Katie bit her lip and drove on, the reminder of Billy’s disappearance sending another shiver through her body. The neighborhood had been on edge since that fateful day. That horrific week… She shook her head, eyes darting once again to the two forms in the back seat. Was that the reason for their battles? Were they acting out to break the tension that smothered their home? Her eyes caught Bridget’s, whose chubby cheeks broke into a wide grin.

"Mommy! Santa’s coming soon!!!"

"There’s no such thing as Santa." Though the angry words were uttered softly, the smile on Bridget’s face flipped instantly.

"There is, so!" She glared at her cousin for good measure.

"Is not." Maggie hadn’t shifted her gaze from the window, but the rising pitch of her voice rang a warning of the storm brewing within.

"IS SO!!! I even saw him come to Grandpa’s house last year!" Bridget’s lower lip stuck out, and though her seat belt hindered the movement, her little hands balled into fists on her hips.

Maggie turned exasperated eyes to the younger girl. "It was just someone dressing up. Santa isn’t really real."

"He is, too, real! Right, Mama?" Her eyes met Katie’s once more, her sunny disposition now turned cloudy with a definite chance of precipitation.

"Aunt Katie?" Maggie challenged.

Katie sighed. "We don’t always believe the same things," she began delicately, turning on the wipers to combat the drizzle outside. "But it is important to be respectful of each other, and what they believe. There’s no reason to fight about it."

Maggie rolled her eyes, shook her head, and went back to studying the fog accumulating on the glass. Bridget was not so easily appeased. "Okay, Mommy. But he really is real." She folded her arms and shot a dirty look over her shoulder.

Trying to find a good compromise, Katie scrambled to pull some long forgotten history from the muddle in her head. "Actually girls, there was a man named Saint Nicholas who lived in Europe somewhere…" Maggie’s eyebrows shot up as she turned her attention to her aunt. The duo was silent as Katie recounted the tale of the man who gave to his fellow countrymen. Finally, they pulled into the familiar driveway. Katie breathed a sigh of relief as the girls piled out and raced to the door.

*****************

4:25

"I’mhungryI’mhungryI’mhungry!!!" Bridgit pulled on Katie’s sleeve as dragged the last grocery bag to the kitchen.

"Bridge, its almost dinner time…"

"But I’m starving!"

"You said we could have something when we got home," Maggie accused, joining the plea.

"Fine," Katie relented, and turned to grab a jar of peanut butter. "But only half a sandwich so you don’t spoil your dinner." Fighting another inopportune wave of nausea, she quickly slathered the bread, bisected it and handed it to the girls before racing to the toilet.

"Mom, Maggie’s playing with her sandwich!"

Katie leaned her forehead against the rim of the toilet seat and fought tears. She desperately wanted to go hibernate in her bed. Just curl up under her grandmother’s quilt and sleep. No more digestive pyrotechnics. No more bickering pre-pubescence. No more yuletide anxiety…

"Maggie, don’t play with your food. Bridget, don’t tattle," she called back, then groaned as she forced herself to rise and stumble to the sink. Splashing cold water on her face, she tried once more to fight the heaves threatening to take her. For a moment, Katie enjoyed the silence that had fallen on the house. She breathed in the fresh scent of the towel as she dried her face. But all too soon, little footsteps sounded outside the door.

"Mom?" Bridget’s head peeked around the door, "I’m finished. And Maggie’s still playing with her peanut butter. She’s smearing it on the table." Katie groaned and headed back down the hall, Bridget close on her heels. "I knew you wouldn’t like having the table messy…" Her chatter was cut short as she ran into her mother, who had stopped in horror at the sight of her niece.

Katie gasped, eyes moving from the girl’s gooey fingers to the brown blobs etched into the table top, running down the leg, ground into the seat cushion. Blood pounded in her ears, and as Maggie looked at her with guilty eyes, Katie had to bite her tongue and silently count to herself. Finally releasing her breath, she pointed down the hall and whispered, "Go. To. Your. Room. Now."

Maggie needed no second command. She was out of the chair and down the hall in a flash. Bridget reached a hand up. "I know you’re mad, Mommy…"

Closing her eyes against the mess before her, Katie ground her teeth. "Not now, Bridget. Just go to your room. Please." Deflated, the child followed her cousin.

Tears stung Katie’s eyes as she scrubbed furiously at the offending goo. This was too far. Her brother had to be told. He had to get his daughter under control! Her failure taunted her as she rinsed out the rag and resumed the unpleasant task.

A thud followed by a loud shriek startled her, and she listened as two pairs of footsteps raced down the hall. Bridget burst into the room in tears.

"She hit me with her doll!"

"She hit me with her cat!"

"She said it was stupid!"

"She was shoving it in Dolly’s face!"

"GIRLS!!!" Both girls jumped at the anger in Katie’s voice. "Hand me the cat." Bridget timidly held up the stuffed kitty. Katie grabbed it and opened the cupboard that hid the garbage, tossing the toy beside the can. Both girls watched, aghast. Katie turned to Maggie, who was already backing up, clutching her doll.

"You can’t take my doll. I’ll tell Daddy!"

"Go ahead and tell him. And tell him what you did with your doll, and your snack, and your paint…" As Katie rattled off the list of offenses, Maggie’s eyes grew hard.

"I hate you! I wish you had died instead of my mommy!"

Katie snatched the doll from Maggie’s iron grip, fighting the urge to slap the child. Instead she threw the doll into the cupboard beside the toy and slammed the door shut. Maggie’s cry turned to a scream.

"Go to your room Maggie. You will not get the doll back until you apologize and make up for what you’ve done."

"I don’t have to! You’re not my mother!"

"Good," Katie thought as Maggie turned and raced from the room. She cringed as a loud bang shook the house. Bridget looked up at her with wide eyes.

"She’s not supposed to slam the door."

Katie closed her eyes and shook her head. "It’s really not a good time, Bridgey." She sank to the table and put her head in her hands. Taking a few more long breaths, she slowly regained control. Shooing Bridget down the hall, she returned to the kitchen, hoping that by the time dinner was done, she would have some inkling on how to deal with her niece.

The familiar chug of an engine mingled with the sound of chicken sizzling in the pan. Katie looked up from the potatoes she stirred as the front door opened. Turning the heat down on the burner, she called to her brother, "Mark, you need to have a talk with Maggie. She…" Her voice trailed off as she beheld the somber faces that entered the kitchen. Mark was the first to speak.

"Where are the girls?"

"In their room," Katie responded, turning concerned eyes to her husband as Mark walked out. Bryan walked to her and wrapped her in his arms.

"They found Billy." The pain in his eyes spoke volumes.

"Oh, God…" Katie breathed, unsure if the simplistic prayer was for the unfortunate boy, or for the child’s family. "…Poor Ann." In a fog, she leaned into her husband. Though they had all held out hope, chances of finding Billy alive after so long had been slim. But still… This couldn’t be happening. A silent sob shuddered through her body. It was unspeakable, losing a child in this, the season of hope. She couldn’t imagine…

She felt a twinge of guilt as she pictured her daughter and niece, safe and warm in their own home. She was so grateful they were safe. The frustrations of the day melted, and she felt a desperate need to wrap both girls in her arms and never let them go. To whisk them away to a safer place. To let them know how vastly she loved them. How she would never again take them for granted. Life was so fleeting. One moment it was so unending, and the next it was snuffed out. Gone. Nothing but tears and memories. And empty arms…

Poor, poor Ann. Would she wish she had hung up the phone and chased Billy to the park herself, laughing and playing with him, instead of tending to whatever business seemed more important at the time? Would she replay the last moment she had seen him, wondering why she had not taken advantage of the time to give him one more hug, one more kiss, one more "I love you"?

Her reverie was broken as Mark appeared in the doorway, panic in his eyes. A very pale Bridget peered around him. His mouth opened and closed, and he finally choked out, "Maggie’s gone."