Full Circle (4 page)

I found a robe and put it on over my gown and headed downstairs. Willis and I had decided to keep the kids home from school another day. We had to tell them what happened; we didn’t want schoolyard gossip to be their first hint of the tragedy that had befallen their friends.

Willis was leaning against the bar that separated the kitchen from the breakfast room, his back to me, bacon frying in a skillet on the stove.

‘Where are the kids?’ I asked, aware of the silence of the house.

Willis whirled around at my voice, the Codderville
News-Messenger
he’d been reading shoved behind his back. ‘Ah, hey, babe. Mom came by early this morning and picked them up. She’s taking them to a movie in Codderville.’

I nodded my head. The only good reason, I thought to myself, to have a mother-in-law in the first place. ‘That’s good,’ I said. Then, ‘What are you hiding behind your back?’

‘Hum? Oh, nothing,’ he said. ‘Have some breakfast! I bet you didn’t eat anything yesterday. You must be starving. What can I get—?’

I grabbed the paper from where he’d tried to hide it. The headline: ‘Black Cat Ridge Family Victims of Murder-Suicide.’ The story read:

‘You bet your ass they can find no reason!’ I said, flinging the paper in the trash. ‘Roy didn’t do it!’

Then I looked at Willis, his head bent, one hand covering his face. ‘Honey,’ he finally said, ‘the police said he was sitting there with the shotgun in his lap, his face . . .’

I walked up to my husband and gently pulled his hand away from his face. ‘I know what they saw, Willis, because I saw it first. But that has nothing to do with anything. Roy didn’t do it. You know it and I know it.’

Willis shook his head, tears streaming down his face. ‘Ah, shit, baby . . .’

I put my arms around him and we both cried, long and hard. It was the first time I’d ever seen my husband cry.

Later, after we’d exhausted our tears and cleaned our faces, we sat at the kitchen table, coffee cups before us. ‘Why would Roy do it?’ I asked.

Willis shook his head. ‘I don’t know. He wouldn’t – not unless he went nuts.’

‘Why would he suddenly, out of the blue, go nuts? Have you seen any signs of impending nuttiness?’

Again, he shook his head. I placed my hand over his. ‘Let’s assume for a minute that he didn’t do it.’ Willis looked up at me. ‘Let’s assume,’ I went on, ‘that our funny, lovable friend we’ve known for four years did
not
kill his wife and two of his children.’

‘If we assume that,’ Willis the engineer said, ‘then we must also assume that someone else did.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘And if someone else did it, then that someone else manufactured things to make it look as if Roy had done it.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

Again, the shake of the head. ‘But why? Why in the hell would anybody –
anybody
– do this?’

‘It’s easier for me to believe somebody else did it than to believe Roy did. So there’s a Charles Manson clone out there – I don’t know! I just know Roy didn’t do it.’

This time Willis put his hand on mine. ‘Honey, statistically speaking more murders are committed by family members than by strangers.’

‘Not in this case.’ Then it hit me – the anomaly. ‘OK, answer me this: Where in the hell did that shotgun come from?’

‘The attic,’ Willis said.

‘What?’

He sighed. ‘The shotgun had been his dad’s – the only thing he had of his father’s.’

‘OK, so Roy, the most laidback person I’ve ever known, suddenly goes nuts, and instead of using a kitchen knife to kill his family, goes upstairs, pulls down the ladder to the attic, crawls around up there until he finds this shotgun – oh, and did he have bullets for it? – and then comes back down and proceeds to shoot his family. Is that what you’re saying?’

Willis stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair. ‘I’m not saying shit! We don’t know what’s in other people’s souls, in their hearts! We don’t know what went on in their bedroom! What deep dark secrets they had!’

I stood up and glared at my husband. ‘Well, I do! I know they lost a baby between Aldon and Bessie and Roy cried for days! Did you know that? I know that Roy had an affair the first year they were married and Terry kicked him in the balls so hard he had to go to the ER! Did you know that? I know that Monique went on the pill last year – just in case! Did you know that? I know that Roy’s mother died in an alcoholic ward in Dallas. Did you know that?’

Willis shook his head as he sat back down. ‘No, I didn’t know that. Except for the ER visit – Roy told me about that.’

I sat back down across from him. ‘I also know something else. If Roy Lester was capable of doing what was done at that house yesterday, then so are you – so is everybody! And I don’t believe that! I could not go on living in this world if I thought for an instant that everyone – me, you, Roy – was capable of what I saw!’

‘You don’t think I’m capable of killing somebody?’ my husband demanded.

‘Yes, I do. I think you would shoot, stab, bludgeon or beat to death anyone hurting me or the kids or even a stranger, but I
do not
think you are capable of picking up a shotgun and chasing your children down the stairs and shooting them in the back!’

The tears were again running freely down my face. Sobbing, I got up and left the room, heading up the stairs, feeling the muzzle of an imaginary gun at my back.

ELIZABETH, THE PRESENT

It wasn’t bad enough that I got kidnapped by that horrible cretin a while back, now my mother acts like I’m made of glass. I can’t go anywhere by myself! Ever! I had to make up going to Alicia’s house because there was no way my mother was going to let me take the bus to the new mall in Codderville. And she wouldn’t even let me do that! Just go to Alicia’s house! With her mother there! Alicia’s cool and it would have been a blast at the mall. Half our class was going to be there. With the great big exception of Megan!

I can’t do anything without Megan! You know, sometimes, I’d just like to be myself – not an extension of Megan. If that horrible incident taught me anything, it’s that I’m entirely too wrapped up in this family! I have a family! They’re dead, but they’re mine! Sometimes my mother acts like I’ve always been hers! And that’s not true! And sometimes I wish that guy really had been Aldon. Even if it meant Mom and Dad had been lying to me and were involved in some way in what happened to my family – the up side of that is I would have someone really mine. My blood.

In biology class we talk about bloodlines and genetics and I know nothing about mine! I know my grandma died of cancer. What about my real mom? Would she have succumbed to it too? Would I? There are so many things I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like just taking off! Surely there’s someone out there related to me. Somewhere!

E.J., THE PRESENT

So for six weeks Graham took the girls to school every morning and I picked them up from school every day. I had two more weeks until school was out, and needed to get the kids involved in something. There had been a flyer in the church program the Sunday before about the Methodist Youths doing a summer camp for the smaller kids. I figured that would be a perfect way to keep the kids occupied and watched the entire time. I knew Graham wasn’t going to like the idea, but he was my ace in the hole.

It’s funny how kids change. I always figured Graham would be my problem child. A smart-mouthed, in-your-face child, he turned into a relatively mellow teenager. And, as far as I can tell, the mellow isn’t from anything he smokes. He’s a straight ‘B’ student, does sports, has a lot of friends – albeit some of them not so bright – and does
some
of his chores without bitching. And the way he stepped in and took care of his sisters during that horror, well, I can’t praise him enough for that. Actually, I can’t praise him at all. All three of them get mad at that. The girls are all ‘we didn’t need to be rescued,’ and Graham’s all ‘shucks, ma’am, I didn’t do nothin’.’ It would be comical if it wasn’t so maddening.

I’ve always heard that the teenage years are the hardest, but who would have thought Bessie – excuse me, Elizabeth – would be the problem? She was an angelic child. Always the voice of reason when she and Megan were playing. Megan would say, ‘Let’s play fairies and jump off the roof!’ and Bessie would say, ‘But, Megan, we’d get hurt. Let’s don’t.’ Megan would say, ‘Let’s put the cat in the dryer!’ and Bessie would say, ‘I think that would make her sick. Let’s don’t.’ And Megan would say, ‘Let’s stick our Barbies in the oven and see if they come out with a tan!’ and Bessie would say, ‘I think they’d just burn up. Let’s don’t.’ Megan would always argue, but Bessie would almost always curb Megan’s enthusiasms.

But now it’s different. I’m afraid Megan got thrust into the role of the reasonable one when she began reading Elizabeth’s emails from her ‘brother Aldon.’ And Bessie, poor Bessie, still so desperate for her own family, wanted to believe. No matter what, she wanted to believe.

It breaks my heart a little more that this person did this to her. Someone attacking her for no other reason than the fact that she was a girl and available would have been bad enough, but for this person to seek her out, stalk her, play games with her head, bring up the past that we’ve tried so hard to help her understand and put behind her, is unconscionable. He needs to be put down like a rabid dog. Yes, I know, Texas’s leading unknown liberal is talking. Sometimes politics are just words. I want this monster dead. Hey, I’m a mom.

I found the church program where I’d dropped it by the back door, and found the number for the youth summer program director, Myra Morris. She’d been with the church for three summers, directing the youth summer programs, and the kids loved her. I figured with Myra involved, at least I had a fighting chance of getting all three to go. Especially Graham, who, as I mentioned, was going to be my ace in the hole. Myra was twenty years old, had blond hair that she usually wore in a perky ponytail, blue eyes as big as an anima character, and legs at least twice the length of her torso. She was a serious beauty – a former UT sorority girl who’d seen the light and transferred to SMU to finish up before going on to seminary.

‘This is Myra,’ she said when she picked up the phone.

‘Hi, Myra, it’s E.J. Pugh, Graham—’ I started.

‘And Megan and Elizabeth’s mom! Hi, Ms Pugh! I hope you’re calling to enroll all three as counselors!’

When I was a teenager and young adult, full of angst and anger and rebellion, I would have hated Myra Morris. But as a mom, these things change. I wanted the Myra Morrises around my kids. The perky, head cheerleaders with the Type A personalities and an overload of spunk. I would gladly kick a clone of myself as far away from my kids as I could get her.

‘Actually, that’s exactly why I’m calling. And, Myra, I need to tell you confidentially that Elizabeth was being stalked this spring. We never found the guy who did it, but he did try to kidnap her—’

‘Oh, dear Lord!’ Myra breathed. ‘Is she OK?’

‘She’s fine, Myra, but actually it’s me. I’m scared shi— to death,’ I said, remembering I was talking to someone at the church and trying desperately to clean up my language. ‘I was hoping I could enlist you to keep a clandestine eye on her.’

‘Of course! We’ve got a lot of safe guards in place for the little ones, and I’ll just make sure we follow them for the older kids too. Is there anything else I can do?’

‘Would it be possible for Elizabeth and Graham to work together? He’ll be coming to keep an eye on her.’

‘I’ll make sure of it. What a good big brother he is!’ Myra said, of course finding the bright side. OK, I didn’t say these perky types weren’t still annoying as hell, just that they’d be better around children than I would have been at that age. Personally, more than two minutes around her gave me hives.

‘That’s great, Myra,’ I said. ‘Thanks so much. When does it start and when do they need to be there?’

She gave me all the pertinent information, including location, which, unfortunately, was not on the church grounds. They would be bussed every day to the church sleepaway camp that had a day-camp area, and was about fifteen miles from Black Cat Ridge.

I hung up and sat back in my chair, thinking about my idea. Maybe not such a good one, I thought. I didn’t like the idea of the kids being fifteen miles away from help (and on the road the camp was on that translated into thirty to forty-five minutes), if they needed it. OK, in my mind
when
they needed it. Myra had told me who would be driving the bus, Gus Mayhew, a forty-five-year-old former Marine with arms like ham hocks and legs like sides of beef, who she’d talk to about staying the day. If Gus, one of the deacons of the church, agreed to do it, and I thought he would, then it was on.

BLACK CAT RIDGE, TEXAS, 1999

Willis and I had been raised in different faiths – Willis as a Southern Baptist, me as an Episcopalian – and, at the urging of Terry and Roy, found ourselves firmly in the arms of the Methodists within weeks of moving to Black Cat Ridge. Willis’s mother, Vera, wasn’t happy, but then, I really didn’t care about making the woman happy. OK, we had issues. Everything was fine the first year, but the minister we had moved on and our church was punished for some reason with the entrance of The Right Reverend Berry Rush. The only thing worse than Berry Rush was his wife, Rosemary Rush. Separately they were both pompous, arrogant, self-righteous, and holier-than-thou. Together they were royal pains in the ass.