Edge of Midnight (22 page)

“I'll talk to them. I'll—”

“You'll only make it worse. There's nothing anybody can do.” Abruptly, she popped up. “I gotta go.”

Watching Jen sling her backpack over her shoulder, Susan thought of those children who collect weapons and climb up the water tower. She ached for someone to talk to, someone all wise, all knowing, who could tell her what to do about Jen.

*   *   *

When Susan woke up in the morning, her throat was so scratchy it hurt to drink coffee. Instead of heading straight to work, she took a detour to the Barrington Medical Building and went up to Dr. Eckhard's office. She told the receptionist she would appreciate it if the doctor could see her for a few minutes. The receptionist slipped her in ahead of the first patient.

“Back so soon?” China said. “I figured I wouldn't see you again until Christmas. Ear still bothering you?”

“Yes, but that's not why I came.”

Between and around the doctor looking in her ears and checking her throat and making her say “ah,” Susan told her about Jen.

“I'm not a psychiatrist,” China said. “It's a volatile situation and, unfortunately, it happens often. Some schools are trying sensitivity training, but I don't know that it's effective.”

“What can I do to help this child?”

China smiled. “What? You want to march in there and smack a few kids?”

“Oh yeah.”

She sighed. “The child is right. There's not much you can do. These kids are deliberately doing this. That kind of behavior is almost impossible to change. If it were just bigotry or thoughtlessly sexist, then maybe educating the kid might help. But with this situation, the kids know what they're doing. They get off on tormenting and seeing just how miserable they can make the life of the victim.”

“I vaguely know the child who apparently started this whole thing, and she seems like just another sweet kid. She's attractive, has friends, doesn't knock off convenience stores on weekends.”

“There you are. This is a girl who takes deliberate steps to cause pain. And trying to intervene will more than likely make it worse.”

“Jen wants to transfer to another school.”

“Much as I hate to say it, from the little I know, she's right. It goes against the grain. It's wrong, morally, ethically, and satisfactorily, but simply removing her from the situation is the way to go.”

“Why is the other girl doing this?”

China sighed. “Who knows? Maybe something as trivial as a boy she likes gave Jen a smile. A boy in the same situation would go over and beat up on the smile recipient; girls are taught not to fight. They have to achieve results in other ways. This is one that works. And very effectively, too.”

“Like the Amish and their shunning? Once you've become an object of shunning, you're an outcast forever?”

“Exactly.” China wrote a prescription for newer and stronger and, no doubt, more expensive antibiotics.

Susan stuck the prescription in her shoulder bag. “What do I do to help?”

“Be ready to pick up the pieces.”

 

27

Help! Help me!

Joe rolled out of bed and hit the floor ready to run.

Sleep-fogged, he looked around, then scrubbed his hands over his face. Motel room, like all the others, only this one was special. This was in the town he'd traveled so far to reach. The red digits on the clock read two minutes past four.

Easing aside the curtain, he looked out at the parking lot and then up at the stars glittering in the night sky. In the bathroom, he plugged in the pot to heat water and dunked in a coffee bag. He sat in the easy chair and sipped bitter black coffee.

She would suffer for what she did.

 

28

Susan squinted bleary-eyed at the reports she needed to read and initial. The stack was so high it teetered. Her ears throbbed, her head pounded. All she wanted to do was rest her head on the desk and go to sleep. Screw it. She pushed herself back, grabbed her shoulder bag from the bottom desk drawer, fumbled for the keys, and told Marilee she'd see her tomorrow.

When Susan got home, she fed Perissa the cat and put a Vivaldi concerti on the CD player. That activity so exhausted her she pushed the window air conditioner up to high, stretched out on the couch, and let the music ripple over her like soft river water. Sleep took her to a wide, deserted beach, a place she'd been many times before, a gray world of gray sand, gray clouds, and a gray ocean. Footprints, deep, planted by a large man, led a trail along the edge of the water. She followed them. Her sunglasses were so dark she could barely see. Dread clutched at her throat.

“Susan.”

At the sound of her name she tried to turn, but her feet were tangled in fish-net. By twisting her neck, she saw a black silhouette standing against the sun. The voice was not one she recognized. “Do you know me?”

“I've always known you.”

“What do you want?”

“You're going the wrong way.”

She changed direction and was walking through a forest, dread so thick it choked her. Ahead, a hunter raised an axe and brought it down against a fallen log.
Thud
. Axe sounded dull, it needed to be sharpened.

Thud
. She ran toward him and saw it was a woman on the ground. “What happened?”

“She's been shot.”

“How bad?”

The hunter just looked at her. She knelt and turned the woman and stared at her own face, her body lying on leaves soaked in blood.

“Susan?” With heart-pounding confusion, she woke and tried to make sense of continuing thuds. Someone knocking. She dragged herself to the kitchen and opened the door.

Jen stood there, looking miserable. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, Jen. You want something to drink? A Coke, or some tea?”

“No, thanks.”

Susan poured a glass of orange juice and they went to the living room. She turned off Vivaldi, dropped to the couch and took a swallow of juice. Jen sat on the hearth.

“Are you hungry?” Susan asked. Her throat hurt, and every time she swallowed her ears made crackling noises.

Jen grinned. It lifted Susan's heart to see it, that cocky grin that said we both know you're a lousy cook.

“I could order a pizza,” Susan said.

Jen shook her head. “Would you do something for me?”

“Of course, Jen.”

“Would you talk to my mother?”

Oh dear. Jen's mother didn't like Susan and wouldn't welcome a chat about the weather, let alone anything to do with her daughter. “What do you want me to talk to her about?”

Jen took in a chestful of air. “Tell her I need to change schools.”

The care and feeding of adolescents was way beyond Susan's ability. “Well, Jen, this is probably something you should discuss with her. I'm not sure—”

“You said you'd help me.” Eyes accusing.

“Yes, but I'm not sure—”

“You already said that.” Jen scratched at a hole in the knee of her jeans. “I hate school. I hate the teachers. I hate Sheila and Debby and Tiffany and everybody!” Her voice rose on each name. “They're stupid and hateful and nothing but bullies!”

“Oh, Jen. Nobody has a right to bully you. They—”

“They don't need the right, they just do it.”

“I can do something about it. I can—”

Jen was shaking her head. “You'll just make it worse.” Tears spilled over and trickled down her face.

Susan got up and gathered Jen in her arms. She spoke soft murmurred words of sympathy. The noisy sobs grew quieter and quieter, then stopped on a short, fast breath. With a forefinger, Susan tipped up Jen's chin and looked into her miserable face. “Why do you want me to talk to your mom?”

“You can make her understand. She says it's just stupid kid stuff and it'll blow over. But it won't!” Jen clenched a fist. “It's never going to stop.”

“I'll send an officer to the school. I'll—”

“No! That'll just make it worse. They'll call me an informant and say I'm a rat for squealing. No!”

“Okay. Calm down. I won't.”

“I want you to talk to my mom.”

Oh, Jen, I'm afraid, your mom won't listen to me. “Sure,” she said. “I'll do that.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

*   *   *

On Friday Susan didn't feel any better, headache, scratchy throat, clogged ears. It all seemed a reason to stay in bed. Perissa the cat pounced on her feet. When that got no action, she leaped to the top of the tall chest and started knocking off items, a small marble seal, a framed snapshot of her dead husband, her watch. Susan hauled ass out of bed and shook dried food in the cat's bowl. She showered, dressed, skipped breakfast, and went straight to the coffeepot when she got to the department. The hot liquid hit her sore throat with teeth. She persevered.

At eleven she told Hazel she was taking an early lunch and drove to Walnut Street to talk with Jen's mom. Terry was not glad to see her, but she did open the door and murmur an invitation to come in.

“Is it about Dad? He hasn't sneaked away again, has he?” Terry was a woman who spent a lot of time on her appearance. Her light brown hair had been given warm, blondish highlights, her makeup was carefully applied. Even in the heat, when most people were wearing shorts and T-shirts, she had on a pair of pale green tailored pants with a white blouse.

“No.” Animosity toward Susan was always present. Terry resented the friendship with Jen. With Terry's remarriage, her attitude had softened, but Susan was under no illusion that the woman would welcome any suggestions about her daughter.

“Would you like some coffee? It's already made.”

Susan hesitated, then said she'd love some. The offer maybe meant Terry felt slightly less hostile and there maybe was a small chance she'd listen. She led the way to a newly remodeled kitchen, cabinets shiny-new, countertops black-and-brown-speckled granite with sparkly flecks.

“You've done a lot of work,” Susan said.

Terry beamed. “Isn't it great?” She prattled on about the plans she had for the family room, and when that was finished the plans for the Jen's room.

“I know something's bothering her right now.” Terry got out two china cups and saucers, set them on the table, and poured coffee. She handed a cup to Susan, sat down across the table, and picked up the other cup, holding it between the fingers of both hands.

“She's not happy.” Susan didn't know how to proceed here. If she pushed, Terry would probably get stubbornly resistant.

“Yeah. She's in a squabble with some friends. You know how kids are.”

“I think it's more than a squabble. She's being picked on at school. From what I can gather, it's gotten pretty bad.”

“They'll work it out.”

“I'm not sure that's true.” Susan wondered if statistics would sway her, the appalling number of teenage suicides, children who had been in the situation Jen was in and didn't survive. “Jen is unhappy where she is. A change in schools would—”

“They're kids,” Terry said. “Kids get in fights. I can't go running down to school every time Jennifer has a spat with a friend. She has to learn how to handle her own problems. It's part of growing up.”

“She's very unhappy,” Susan repeated. “Her schoolwork is suffering. She hates to go to school because she—”

Terry threw up her hands. “Well, what does she expect me to do? Trot down there and threaten to tell their parents?”

“That's probably the last thing she'd like you to do. She wants to transfer to a different school.”

“It's out of the question. She can't be allowed to run from a fight. If she doesn't learn to stand up for herself now, she never will, and she'll be running away all her life.”

“These kids are making her life miserable. It would—” Susan caught herself and substituted, “
might
be a good idea to let her transfer and—”

“That would be letting them win.”

“It's not a question of winning, it's a question of what's best for Jen. If—”

“I know what's best for my daughter,” Terry snapped.

Right. This was more or less what Susan expected. Drop it for now. Dig up more info on what's happening at school. Maybe do something.

“Besides,” Terry said, “we can't afford a private school.”

But they could afford to remodel the house. Some things were more important than others. Susan thanked Terry for the coffee and took herself out before she said something nasty to the mother of the girl she was trying to help.

 

29

While Ida was patrolling the east end of town, she made a swing out to Kelby Oliver's house. Creepy, the house, sitting across the road from the cornfield like it did, the birds weren't flying. Why not? They'd eaten everything? Somebody removed the body? Leaving her car on the gravel driveway, she trudged across the dirt road to the edge of the field, determined to go in and see what was there. After only a few steps of squeezing along between stalks, her resolve weakened. The huge stalks towered over her. The smell of corn, the dust kicked up by her footsteps, and the heat were stifling.

When she'd first come here, she'd read an article in the local paper about cornfields made into mazes. Apparently, they were intricate and beautiful, but what was the point? Only someone in a low-flying plane could see them. Parties were held where people could go in and try to find their way out. Mostly, guides had to round them up and bring them out. How embarrassing would that be? She could see the headline:
HAMPSTEAD'S NEWEST COP LOST IN ALIEN CORN
. Under the pervasive scent of corn lay a heavy smell of decay. She looked up at the endless blue sky. Something somewhere inside the field had drawn the carrion birds, but she wasn't going to find out anything standing here.