The Second Trial (10 page)

Danny uncrossed his arms. “My father's no mobster, he's not a – not some sort of
psycho
who's going to kill Mom,” he replied through thin lips. “Even that doctor said so.”

“Danny,” Phil continued, “we rely on the police to tell us when there's a situation – a threat – that goes beyond the usual legal means for protecting the victim. These are the cases where divorces and restraining orders and short jail terms won't do the job.”

Sgt. Sandhu leaned toward Danny. “I'm the one who referred your case here.”

“
What?
” said Danny, his eyes going wide. He stabbed his index finger at the police officer. “You? I thought you were trying to
help
me! And now you're saying my dad's a criminal and we have to run away?”

“He
is
a criminal,” Sgt. Sandhu said. “And you're not running away. You're saving your mother's life…and Jennifer's…and maybe your own.”

“
No way
.”

The police officer kept his eyes locked on the thirteen-year-old boy. “You're going to have to move,” he said.

Chapter 15

Tuesday

The broad river split the city in two. Danny dropped onto a vacant bench overlooking the steep-sided valley. His head throbbed, and he felt like he was going to throw up. He hung his head and massaged his temples. His thoughts were puzzle pieces that would never fit together again.
What had happened to his parents? What
had happened to his family? What was going to happen to his life?

Gradually he became aware of his surroundings. Rollerbladers swept past. Joggers puffed their way up the hill. He heard the clip of high heels approaching then receding, and smelled the faint scent of roses. A mother was reading nursery rhymes:
Humpty
Dumpty sat on a wall…

He breathed through his open mouth and pressed his back into the bench. The warm wood felt good. He stretched both arms out along the top, tilted his head back, and allowed the sun to loosen his face. Little by little, the knot in his stomach was replaced by the twist of hunger. He had no money. And no house key. Not that it made any difference. Apparently he didn't have a home, either.

But where do you go when you can't go home? Where do you go when you don't
have
a home? He knew some kids slept away their summers in the river valley under bridges, or in little nests they built out of branches and discarded cardboard. But he wanted to punish everybody else, not himself.

Stay with friends? He didn't have friends anymore. And he didn't have bus fare to get to his neighborhood, and even if he did, they'd be looking for him there.

Where do you go when you can't go home?
The phrase sounded familiar. Then he remembered the black-and-white poster outside the school counselor's office: a girl, sitting on concrete steps, head down, hands hiding her face.
Where do you go when you can't go
home? The Youth Emergency Shelter. Y.E.S.

Yes, that's where he'd go. It was somewhere on Whitney Avenue. He'd passed the sign a hundred times, but hadn't paid attention. He'd have to go down into the valley, cross the river, and head up the ravine on the other side. It would take him a while, but there were lots of bike and footpaths and he should be able to make it in about an hour. It was a good plan, he decided, and it would keep him out of sight in case they'd started looking for him.

At first, the trails were busy with carefree couples strolling arm-in-arm and mothers pushing strollers. But now he was more and more alone, and between trees he began to see the small fires set by the homeless to keep them warm at night.

He picked up his pace to get out of the darkening valley. Mosquitoes had already descended by the time he reached the valley ridge.

Danny checked his bearings and crossed the bridge. There it was, on the other side. Most of the shelter's narrow windows had their red-and-white checked curtains closed against the horizontal rays of sunset.

The door was unlocked. He hesitated and then pushed it open. A heavy, middle-aged woman sat typing at a computer behind a counter. She glanced over and Danny saw the plastic name tag pinned to her shirt: VOLUNTEER – Grace.

“Need a room for tonight?”

He nodded.

“You're in luck,” she said. “There's one vacant. Follow me.”

A set of keys clinked at her hip. She led him up a narrow staircase and scooped up some linen from a wheeled rack: two white sheets, one checked pillowcase, and a thin, graying towel.

The door to room 107 was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and dropped the bedding on the foot of the cot's plastic-wrapped mattress. “Blankets are in there,” she said, pointing to a narrow closet, “along with a toothbrush and toothpaste. Bathroom's at the end of the hall, soap and shampoo in each shower stall.”

Grace took a key off the ring and handed it to Danny. “There's a fridge on the main floor with sandwiches and drinks. Help yourself. Breakfast is downstairs at eight.” Danny moved aside to let her pass. She turned around. “We like to keep a record of the people who stay here,” she said. “What's your name?”

Danny looked her straight in the eye. He snorted. “I don't have a name.”

She paused. “Okay,” she said. “Have a good sleep.” She turned around and closed the door softly behind her.

Back at her desk, she picked up the phone and dialed. “He's here,” she whispered.

The orange display on Danny's sport watch lit up his tired face each time he squinted at the time – 11:31, 1:10, 1:46, 3:37. He punched and flipped the chunky piece of yellowed foam inside the pillowcase and flipped it over. The blanket was scratchy. The plastic cot cover crackled each time he rolled over. The old building creaked and groaned. The hot room smelled of dirty socks, but when he opened the window, the traffic noise kept him awake.

Fragments of the psychiatrist's courtroom testimony started ringing in his ears
. He's a bully. He's a dangerous man. This is a high-risk
relationship. He's like a spider. We're in the category of homicide
prevention. My gut tells me Mr. McMillan is one of the most dangerous
men I have ever met.
His thoughts swirled. By 4:30 a.m., tension had exhausted him, and he no longer had the strength to hold open his eyelids. He fell into a restless sleep.

The room seemed vaguely familiar, but everything was distorted, out of proportion. His bedroom ceiling stretched upward and narrowed to a point that let in a shaft of weak light. The window was missing, but the bed and other furniture were mostly in the right places. He was sitting on his bed, flipping through an assortment of comic books, looking for the right one. But he wasn't quite sure which one it was, and the piles around him kept growing as if they were boiling up from the mattress.

A small crack of light showed under the closed door. Something small, perhaps the size of an eraser, crawled under it. As it moved toward him it appeared to grow larger, until he could see that it was a spider.

He wasn't afraid of spiders. In fact, sometimes in the summers he'd catch daddy longlegs and let them stalk around his hands and arms. Grandma had told him not to kill spiders, even when they crawled into the basement, because they preyed on mosquitoes and other unwelcome insects.

Yes, that's what it was, a daddy longlegs, but a bigger one than he'd ever seen before. He idly wondered how big it would get as it advanced toward the bed.

The spider's movement started to look jerky. As each leg thrust forward, it got longer and the body tilted at a crazy angle. The hair on Danny's arms bristled as the spider grew bigger than a mouse, then bigger than a cat, and then bigger than a wolf. It kept on growing and kept on coming.

Now it was halfway across the room, and its melon-sized head was even with the mattress. The top joint of its legs was level with his eyes. The spider's pace slowed, but with each deliberate step it doubled in size.

Danny's heart began to pound as he scrambled backward across a sea of heaving comic books. He clutched at the blankets and pulled them around his throat.

But there was no hiding. The spider was very close now, and Danny stared up in horror at the feelers dangling above its eight lidless eyes. A pair of hanging jaws as long as his arm started clicking open and shut, open and shut. The spider's putrid breath smelled of burning rubber and hot tar.

Danny shoved off the wall and propelled himself between the spider's legs. The hair on its abdomen raked his skin. He could hear the spider's jaws snap shut on his pillow, sending feathers flying.

He ran for the door but it had disappeared. His eyes rolled wildly as he searched for a way out, but the room was a prison.

The spider spun around and stood, staring, its jaws clicking open and shut, open and shut. Danny backed up until he hit the wall, his palms splayed out at his sides.

The spider lifted two front and two back legs at the same time. Its head and four front legs moved to the left. Its abdomen and four back legs moved to the right. It had split in two.

The head stayed where it was, jaws clicking, as the abdomen began stalking him. Danny scrambled along the wall until he wedged himself into the corner and could go no further. Still, the abdomen came at him, its crusty black casing studded with spikes, its claws banging the floor with each step. It approached the wall and then drew up to the boy, trying to force him out of the corner. Its needle-sharp spikes pulsed closer and closer, threatening to impale him. When the abdomen lunged at him from the side, he shot forward, straight into the waiting jaws of the spider's head.

Danny bolted upright in the bed and screamed, his chest heaving and his hair soaked with sweat. He clawed his way through the blankets and streaked for the door, his eyes rolling as he looked for an escape route. He found the door handle and slapped it down, but it wouldn't open. Blood pounded in his ears. He sank to the floor and gasped for breath. Seconds ticked by. He didn't know how many. Nothing in the room was moving, and he gradually understood it was all a nightmare. He ached for Buddy. He longed to have the dog lick the tears off his face and rub his warm body into Danny's, to jingle the sweet music of his dog tags in Danny's ears.

Chapter 16

Wednesday

Knock-knock-knock.
Pause.
Knock-knock-knock
. He rubbed his eyes, loosening crusty bits along the lashes and at the corners. Where was he? What time was it? He looked uneasily around the room and then remembered where he was and why he was there.

He glanced at his watch. 10:15.

Knock-knock-knock.
“Open the door. It's me.”

The voice was unmistakable. Sgt. Sandhu's.

Danny briefly considered not answering. But the only way out was through that door, so he might as well open it now.

He twisted the key and the bolt slid back. Sgt. Sandhu, wearing casual clothes, stood in the doorway. It was Wednesday, the day Danny's soccer team used to practice. Sgt. Sandhu's day off.

The police officer held a grocery bag in one hand and a paper bag full of doughnuts in the other. He stayed in the hall and offered the bags. “Fresh clothes. And some breakfast. I'll meet you downstairs in twenty minutes.” His voice was purposeful, like his coaching voice at soccer practices. Danny took the bags and shut the door.

Thirty-five minutes later he appeared in the lobby. He'd pulled his cap down over wet hair.

Sgt. Sandhu was chatting with the new volunteer, Dave, a muscular young man now behind the counter. “Ah, here he is,” said Sgt. Sandhu, rising from his chair. “We'll let you get back to work, Dave. Thanks.”

He led Danny down the sidewalk. This time he'd come in his own vehicle, a candy-apple red pickup truck, starting to show rust around the wheel wells. The fenders had a couple of scratches and dents that he'd never repaired. At soccer practice, he had called it his bachelor buggy – the thing he'd spent all his time and money on before he got married and had twin daughters. “I used to think cars were important,” he'd said.

Danny plopped onto the passenger seat and dropped the plastic bag on the floor. Before Sgt. Sandhu started the truck, he turned to the boy.

“Everyone was worried about you.”

Good.

“We're all relieved you're safe.”

Right.

“But we have to go back to the NIVA office.”

Danny tugged down his cap even more, crossed his arms, and examined his runners. Sgt. Sandhu tuned the radio to a local pop station. He didn't nag Danny to fasten his seatbelt.

Same building, same elevator, same intercom. Inside Phil's office, Mom, Jen, Phil, and a woman Danny guessed was Dr. Sung were waiting.

Sgt. Sandhu greeted everyone and Catherine started to rise. The police officer made a subtle hand motion and she sat again.

Danny took the farthest chair. He hadn't thought about his sister at all. Her shoulders were hunched forward as if she were in the principal's office, waiting for a punishment. He'd been so caught up in his own feelings, he hadn't considered how all of this was affecting her. Mother and daughter sat side by side, but it was as if an invisible wall of ice separated him from them.

“Welcome, everyone,” Dr. Sung said. “Now that we're all here, I'd like to explain how everything is going to unfold. You'll be making a number of choices today. There are a lot of decisions to make before tomorrow.”

Danny's eyebrows arched under his cap.
Tomorrow?
He hadn't even processed what happened yesterday; how could something be decided by tomorrow?

“Giving you new identities means making quite a few changes to your past,” Dr. Sung continued, “but some things can stay the same. For example,” she said, looking first at Jennifer and then at Danny, “your school marks won't change, but it'll look like you went to a different school. That goes for your medical records too – same details, different doctor.”