Off the Deep End (23)
He pointed at me. “This.” He was almost yelling. “The fact that you are so delusional you don’t even know what’s going on here. What I’m talking about. That that statement needs an explanation.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oh my God, Amber. You’re driving me crazy. My son was taken eight days ago, and there’s a pretty big possibility that the clothes he was wearing that night are going to show up in a park somewhere today, so that’s some pretty tough shit right there. But on top of that? I also have to deal with a wife who’s so terrified of that being true that she’s gone off the deep end and created an entirely fictional tale about how some other grieving mother is somehow linked to our son’s disappearance. So yeah, it’s pretty maddening, and I’m not sure how much more I can take.”
I yanked on his arm. “But those texts, Mark. Those awful texts. What if they were from her?” He couldn’t just dismiss them. Maybe they were from other kids, but what if they were from her? Could she have been toying with him all along? I let my hand travel down to Mark’s wrist and rest, my fingers creating a bracelet. His entire body went rigid instead of relaxing. He didn’t take my hand. Any other time he would have.
“Those texts were from kids. Spoiled-brat kids with nothing better to do than torture someone else for kicks. They’re sick, but those texts don’t have anything to do with this.” He shrugged out of my hold and headed to the fridge to get milk for the coffee. We didn’t have much longer until the investigators and technicians started showing up. There were more technical people on the team than detectives, but they were monitoring everything inside and outside the house, ready to record anything in an instant. They’d done the same for Brady and Josh. There’d never been any contact.
I stood next to the counter waiting for the coffee to finish and wondering how I was going to get through this torturous day. He turned around from the refrigerator, holding the milk carton.
“Okay, for argument’s sake, let’s just say that you’re right, Amber. Somehow, someway, Jules is involved in this. We’ll go with your theory. Okay?”
I nodded at him, unsure where he was going with all this and not sure I wanted to follow.
“She’s living in a group home for adults with severe mental illness. Her comings and goings are limited and strictly monitored. Where is Isaac the rest of the time? How is she keeping him alive? She has to sign in and out to go anywhere. She’s not allowed to come and go as she pleases. And I double-checked yesterday because I wanted to be sure, but she’s still on one-to-one peer support. Even when she does leave the house, she’s not allowed to do it by herself. She has to have someone with her. So, tell me, how would she kidnap a boy and keep him somewhere?”
“I mean, she could figure out a way.” I tried to sound confident, as sure of myself as I felt. “There are lots of ways, and maybe she has help.”
“How? I mean really, how would she do any of this? And don’t forget—she hasn’t got any money. She’s under conservatorship of the court, and her mom is her executor. Have you seriously thought about the logistics of all that? They’re impossible.”
I shook my head. I wanted to give him something to prove him wrong. A valid reason. An explanation, but I couldn’t explain things the way he wanted me to. I couldn’t come up with anything that made sense given everything he’d just said. He had me in a corner. A good one.
“Don’t you see, Amber?” He put the milk back in the refrigerator and walked over to stand next to me at the island again. He took my hand and finally held it in his, giving it a tight squeeze. “This goes nowhere. Let it go. For the love of God, please let it go.”
CASE #72946
PATIENT: JULIET (JULES) HART
The light is giving off that annoying buzz again. I try to ignore it and focus on explaining my relationship with Isaac to Dr. Stephens. “Isaac saving my life allowed him to create meaning out of all the suffering, and he needed that narrative to go on. Otherwise, there was no point. He made me feel like I owed him something for saving my life, like I couldn’t waste what he’d done for me, and I couldn’t take away his meaning. It would be like taking away his life too. I guess that’s the best way to explain it.” My stomach growls. Dr. Stephens has got to learn to time his sessions better and work in breaks. Another rumble. “Sorry.” I giggle, placing my hand on my stomach. “It’s been a long time since breakfast.”
He doesn’t take the hint and ignores my hunger pain, acting like it wasn’t time for lunch fifteen minutes ago. “Do you think you owed him?”
“No, but I could understand why he felt that way. We all need to create meaning out of trauma. Saving me gave beauty and light to something so dark and tragic. If I died, then all that was left was darkness. He didn’t know how to live in the dark any more than I did. He’s one of those people with an easy life too. And he was a kid, so imagine how hard that was for him.”
But that was only part of the reason he was so angry. I’m not going to tell him the other part. I’m not even sure why. I’ve never told it to Shane either. It’s my biggest regret about that night, my deepest shame.
“It should’ve been me, you know,” Isaac said from the doorway of my hospital room. His voice was thick with emotion.