Off the Deep End (13)

“What did I do that was so bad?” she’d wailed at the officers as they’d finally wrestled her into one of the squad cars. “Tell me! Please, tell me. What did I do?”

They should’ve brought her to the psychiatric hospital that night and locked her up, but they didn’t. That’s why she kept getting away with everything. People felt sorry for her. You couldn’t help it. She was living proof you could go mad from grief, which was terrifying because it preyed on every parent’s worst fear. And since most of us were parents ourselves, we couldn’t say for sure that we wouldn’t do the same thing if we lost our child. So everyone let her slide. Even the police. They brought her to her mom’s that night after she got stitched up instead of keeping her in the hospital where she belonged. Where she probably still belonged.

The next day she showed up at Isaac’s school and caused a scene there. Two days later, she mailed him a knot of her hair. Just the hair. There was no note. No letter. No nothing, but it was stamped with her return address, so there was no mistaking it was her. She hadn’t wanted to keep her identity a secret. We had no idea what the hair signified, but either way, both Mark and I agreed we’d never seen anything so creepy. It was a bunny-on-the-stove kind of a moment. We had recently finished filling out all the paperwork detailing our reasoning and complaints regarding the restraining order, but Mark was dragging his feet about submitting it to the court. He didn’t want to create more stress for her, but I was adamant, and this only solidified how serious my concerns were. It was finally the tipping point for him too.

How could he possibly believe that filing the restraining order and Isaac’s disappearance weren’t related?

But he did.

He was standing in front of me in the kitchen and shaking his head like nothing I’d said to this point had penetrated him. Like all the things that had happened with her before this were insignificant.

“Isaac went missing at the exact same time of night that all those other boys went missing.” He stuck one finger out, then added another, holding them up in my face so there was no mistaking his numbered points. “He was walking the dog just like they were walking their dogs, and yesterday?” He paused dramatically before continuing and putting up his third finger. “His phone showed up in a ditch on a backcountry road just like theirs did.”

“Why are you so unwilling to consider another possibility?” He couldn’t be mad at me for doing the same thing he was doing.

“Because it doesn’t matter. How many times do I have to tell you that it doesn’t matter?” He worked his jaw, trying hard to maintain his composure, but he was struggling.

“Yes, it does,” I stressed. “How can you even say that? The boys were kept alive right up until the point they were dropped. The medical examiner’s report confirms it, so if Jules has him and she’s following the same pattern, then there’s still time to get him, and every single minute counts.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Then why aren’t you doing more? Why are you just sitting on the couch like it’s already happened? Yes, that’s how it ended for those boys, but we didn’t know who those boys were with. We know her. We can get to her. Somebody can. And if they can’t get to her, then they’ve got to figure out whatever clues she left around her so that we can find him.”

“We don’t know if it’s her. We have no idea who it is.” He shook his head. “But that’s not the point. Whether it’s the same person that’s got him or whatever’s happening is a copycat by her or somebody else—it just doesn’t make a difference. Either way, the outcome is the same.”

He didn’t need to say what the outcome was. We both knew. So did the entire country.

“Don’t talk like that,” I shouted, like him saying it out loud had the power to make it happen. I had never been one of those people who believed your words had the power to manifest your destiny, but I wasn’t taking any chances on speaking those things out loud and making them true just in case.

“Like what? A realist?” He stuck his chin out.

“You’re not being a realist. You’re being pigheaded,” I flung at him and shoved him away from me. I wanted him out of my kitchen. Out of my space. This house.

He grabbed my wrist before I could push past him and pulled me back toward him. He put one of his hands on each arm and got right up in my face. “That bastard took our boy, Amber. He took our boy the same way he took those other boys. The exact same way. The only reason you’ve concocted this story with Jules is because you don’t want him to be with a killer. You know if he’s with Jules, then he’s at least somewhat safe because she would never hurt him. She’s a nutjob, but she would never hurt him.”

I jerked away and shoved him off me. “That’s not true! That’s not true!”

But there was a small chance it was.





CASE #72946

PATIENT: JULIET (JULES) HART

“I still don’t understand why people get so disturbed when they find out I parked my car on the railroad tracks and waited for the train to hit me.” Which it did within minutes. Dragged the car almost a full mile before coming to a complete stop. “All I did was what every parent said they would do if they lost a child,” I explain to Dr. Stephens, but he doesn’t understand. How could he? He probably doesn’t even have kids.