Page 20 of Bewicched

“Your parents miss you so much, just like you miss Christopher. They’ll move here for you. They’ll help you bring charges against your ex. Whatever you need, they’ll do. You just need to call them to let them know where you are.”

Eyes haunted, she tipped up her head to look at me. “I can’t,” she mumbled. “I ignored them. Every time they tried to reach out and help, I threw it back in their faces.” She shook her head. “And even then, I couldn’t keep my baby safe.”

“There’s evil in the world. You know all about that. You raised a happy, secure, kind little boy who would have grown into a considerate young man, one who loved going to Shakespeare with you, one whose artistic talents would have grown and become the focus of his life.”

She dropped her head to the table and sobbed. I knew the detective was standing in the doorway, but she was silent.

Gasping for breath, she lifted her tearstained face and choked out, “He’s gone? My baby’s gone?”

I nodded. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but it felt like the only way to break her out of this stasis of mourning.

“Can Detective Hernández call your family for you? They miss you so much. Let them help you through this. Also,” I began, squeezing her hand, “she’s a pretty important cop. She can contact the police in your hometown and warn them about your ex, have them keep an eye on the guy and make it obvious so he knows he can’t do anything more. Right?” I looked over my shoulder at the detective and knew Nancy had followed my gaze.

Hernández wore an expression of stoic strength. “Yes. I can and will do that. Let me take care of this.”

I slipped out, pulling on the glove, understanding Nancy needed strength to feel safe enough to call. I’d delivered the horrible news. I needed to go away. I headed out the front door, intending to lean on the car and wait, but instead rounded the house for Christopher’s window.

Standing in the mint under the window, I couldn’t see in. Granted, I wasn’t tall, but I figured a maybe eleven- to fifteen-year-old wouldn’t be too much taller. So he must have stood on something.

I wandered around the back of the house and a little into the woods, looking for what he could have stood on. Finally, under a bush at the corner of the house, I found a plastic milk crate. I took off a glove and touched it like I would a sizzling skillet. This was it and he’d touched it with his bare hand. It was doubtful they’d have his prints on record, but when they found him, it might help convict him.

When Hernández walked around the corner, I moved a branch out of the way and pointed out the crate, told her about the prints. While she did her cop thing and called who she needed to call, I went back to the car.

“Excuse me.”

I stopped halfway across their lawn and looked up to the porch. Nancy was standing in the open door.

“You’re sure?” Her desperate desire for me to be wrong, to hold on to any glimmer of hope, made my head pound and my throat tighten.

I nodded.

She wiped her face, walked back in, and closed the door. A moment later, the sound of muffled wails echoed in my head.

“Hernández!”

She jogged around the corner of the house. “What?”

“You’ve got to take me home now. I can’t stay any longer.” I needed to curl up in a dark room until the pounding eventually stopped.

“I can’t. I have lab techs coming. I need to be here. You can wait in the car.”

I shook my head, walking backward toward the lane. “I have to go.”

“Wait. I’ll get a patrol car to take you home.” She spoke into a small radio at her shoulder. “It’ll be here in a couple minutes. I need you to wait, okay? I can’t leave evidence unattended. You stay, okay?”

I stood in the road, the wails deafening in my head. “Yeah, okay.”

10

It’s the Balance That Impresses Me

Idon’t remember much of the ride home. As soon as I saw the police car arrive, I tried to open the back door so I could leave. The door was, of course, locked. I had to wait for the patrolman and Hernández to talk. The wailing in my head was too loud to hear them over it, so I waited, head resting on the cool of the metal door.

The farther he drove from the house, the less ear-splitting the wail. By the time he stopped in front of the gallery, the keening had been silenced, though the pounding remained. I think the officer said something to me, but I couldn’t hear it. I got out, trudged up the steps, and walked through the gallery, ignoring the workmen. Once in my studio, I closed the door, turned off the lights, and brought the shutters down.

Exhausted, I dragged myself up the stairs, hit the switch closing the skylight, crawled into bed, and prayed for sleep. Thankfully, the universe listened.

When I woke a few hours later, my headache was almost gone. I showered, washing away the last dregs of pain, and got dressed in my softest loungewear. I wanted a big cup of tea, something to eat, and a book. I checked the time. The workmen should still be downstairs.

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