Splintered (20 page)

The segment cut back to Alex standing outside her house again. “Maddy Eastin was upset her father had walked out on the family. She wanted him back so badly she concocted a story in the hopes he’d come running home. That didn’t happen. Instead, Maddy became entangled in a web of her own lies. She’s learned a hard life lesson: actions have consequences.”

After a dramatic pause where Alex adjusted his tie, he said, “We wanted to find out what others thought about Maddy’s deception. Her mother, Lily Eastin, declined to be interviewed, so we met with some neighbors.”

The old know-it-all from down the street came on the screen next, talking into Alex’s microphone after he asked her what she thought about the girl who made up the wild story. Maddy stood up to leave the room, feeling numb to everything that was playing out before her. Then Sabrina Marquez’s face filled the screen. Her bouncy, shampoo-commercial hair seemed to move in slow motion.

Knowing Sabrina, she’ll get her own reality TV show out of this.

“Maddy Eastin wants us to feel sorry for her,” Sabrina said. “Like
she’s
the victim. She’s just upset everyone found out what sort of a person she really is. I’m not going to apologize for expressing my opinions online. That’s what the first amendment is all about, right?”

Alex finished the report with the camera trained on him. Maddy noticed his smile once again failed to reach his eyes. She finally recognized him for the type of man he truly was—a sleazy journalist trying to build his career off the backs of regular people just trying to get their stories out there. And he had a network behind him, so he could spin his reports any way he liked.

“Viewers, tell us online what you think,” Alex said. “Log on to the Channel 3 News website and weigh in or leave us a Twitter message at #News3Bullying. Did the kids at Maddy Eastin’s school have a right to be angry, or has online posting of opinions gone too far, crossing the line into cyberbullying?”

In a daze, Maddy realized her mom had put her hand on her arm. She shrugged it off and stood up. She trudged down the hall, unable to comprehend the words following her as the mounting pressure in her head began to block them out.

She stopped by the bathroom. The razor in the medicine cabinet would work far better than a fork.

“Hank? You okay?”

Hank felt someone shake his shoulder. The last thing he remembered was sitting down next to Daniel to watch cartoons on the couch. “What?”

“You fell asleep again. You were moaning. I thought you were having a bad dream.”

Hank rubbed his hands over his face to wake himself up. He’d decided to try and stay awake after working all night Saturday. It was tough getting through the day with no sleep, but he thought it would be worth it if it allowed him to get back on schedule Monday morning. Although it seemed even Sponge Bob’s annoying laugh couldn’t keep him from drifting off. “I need sugar. I’m gonna grab a drink. You want something, Small Fry?”

Daniel grabbed his can of Mountain Dew. “Yeah. Mine’s almost empty.”

Hank looked at the two cans sitting on the end table next to Daniel. “On second thought, it looks like you’ve had enough, don’t you think?”

“You sound like a nagging mom.” Daniel laughed at his own joke.

Hank cringed, thinking that was the last comparison he ever wanted made about him. Their mom had been the queen of nags. She could get away with the bitching and moaning as long as their dad wasn’t around, but if he heard her, Earl Fry would sock her one in the mouth.

Hank walked to the kitchen to grab a drink, marveling that no matter how much their mother drowned her boys in criticisms, Daniel had still loved her in the way only ten-year-old sons could. He was the only one who’d shed any tears the day they’d found her hanging in the bedroom—the same day she’d discovered Hank in the barn with Rosalina. After she had walked in on the two of them, she’d run back into the house. Hank had finished cleaning up in the barn and then had gone inside to have a talk with her. He didn’t want her squealing to Earl about what she’d seen.

His mom had locked herself in her bedroom and wouldn’t answer, no matter how much Hank had pleaded with her. Even when his begging turned to anger, she still wouldn’t open the door. Kicking it in wasn’t an option. After all, his dad slept in that room, so how could Hank have explained a cracked door? He’d eventually gone downstairs and rummaged through the junk drawers until he found a small screwdriver. Back upstairs, he was able to pop the lock.

When he opened the door, he found his mom hanging from a rope tied around the ceiling fan. Her toes barely cleared the floor. Hank stood in the doorway and watched as her body spasmed and she clawed at the rope around her neck. He felt nothing, at least no emotion that could be construed as sorrow. He was more annoyed knowing he would now be forced to pick up the slack around the house by taking over laundry and cooking meals.

A lone piece of paper sitting on the nightstand caught his attention. Hank walked around her body and picked up the note.

After what I saw today, I can no longer keep lying to myself. My oldest son, Hank, has turned into a monster. Try not to judge him too harshly, though, as it’s not his fault. He’s been molded into the person he is today by the Devil himself—his father. I’ve slept beside that savage for the last nineteen years, wondering when I’d finally succumb to death at his hands. Though my own fingers tied the knot around my neck today, he slipped the noose over it years ago.

I can’t go on pretending not to know what’s been happening inside our barn. There’s a caged girl in there, a plaything for the males of this household. She wasn’t the first resident of that cage either. I’ve heard faint screams before, only I discounted them, explained them away as sounds of wind screeching around the corners of the house.

If there is a God, he will punish me for turning a blind eye. Yet, how can there be a greater power that allows so many girls to suffer at the hands of men? I just ask that the police find a safe home for Daniel. He’s been through so much already. I tried to protect him as best I could . . .

Hank bristled as he remembered that line in the note, once again feeling the anger at the thought that his mom had believed she ever acted as Daniel’s protector.

That stupid cow! I was the one who kept him safe, the one who jumped in front of Earl Fry’s fist to save Daniel’s face. That woman had never taken a blow for Daniel in her sad, pathetic life.

Hank opened the fridge and grabbed a Mountain Dew. He thought about when his dad had gotten home and Hank had showed him the scene in the bedroom.

His dad’s only reaction was to say, “Shit!” Then he’d rushed out to the barn. Hank had assumed he wanted to get rid of any evidence of Rosalina. It had fallen to Hank to tell Daniel about their mom’s death.

He’d been the one to sit with Daniel after the cops took their mom’s body away. The one to console him all the nights he woke up from nightmares of terrifying images of her trying to claw her way out of the body bag. Daniel had wasted too many tears on a woman who was never strong enough to be their savior. A woman who took the coward’s way out and left her sons alone to be raised by a monster.

Only Hank had ever read his mom’s suicide note. He’d stuffed it in his pocket that day, memorized each word over the next year. The letter had gone on and on about how she’d been the one trying to save her boys from the monster living in her house.

What a crock.

“Can you bring the bag of chips when you come back?” Daniel called out to Hank from the living room, forcing Hank back into the present moment.

He was still standing at the kitchen counter with the unopened soda can squeezed in his hand. He finally acknowledged the pain the cold had inflicted on his palm and set it down. “No,” Hank answered. “The chips will ruin your dinner.”

“Okay, Mom.”

Hank tucked the can of Mountain Dew under his arm and rubbed his hands together. Heading back toward the couch, he wondered if their lives would have turned out differently if their mom hadn’t committed suicide. Hank doubted he would’ve been any better off. He’d already been headed down the path chosen for him after witnessing one girl bound with leather and bleeding on a worktable and another caged like a wild animal.

The old memories called to him like wolves howling in his ear, begging him to let go and finally embrace his true self. How Hank wanted to shed his outer skin, the one that fit nicely into polite society, and to run with those wolves, to follow the scent of blood. The urge was growing stronger by the day.

Hank had successfully resisted his urges, but more and more often, he asked himself why. Why was he denying himself? The answer was getting harder to remember. It wasn’t because he thought he’d go to hell. Church had never been a real priority in the Fry household. No, the only thing still holding Hank back was his need to preserve Daniel’s innocence. And lately, it seemed that last holdout was hanging by a string—one very frayed string.

Hank sank down on the couch as another episode of
SpongeBob SquarePants
started up. Daniel sang along to the opening song.

Hank looked at the clock on the DVD player. “Aw, man. Is it five thirty already? I missed the news.”

“Don’t worry. I recorded it for you.” Daniel grabbed the remote off the floor and pushed buttons to start the program.

“Thanks, Small Fry.”

“No problemo.” Daniel took a last swallow of Dew and grabbed a Superman comic book lying on the coffee table.

Hank stretched out and put his feet up. His big toe stuck out of a hole in one of his white socks. He waved it back and forth rhythmically during the musical intro to the show. Hank barely listened to Karl Hurley’s first report. His mind was on Joanna Huffing. She was the reason he watched the Channel 3 News whenever he was home. He couldn’t stand that pretty boy Hurley, but he could watch Joanna all day long.

He’d met her once, at a local steak place where she was waiting tables during a benefit for some cancer organization. He had paid the hostess twenty bucks to sit him and Daniel in her section. Hank couldn’t take his eyes off her long, blonde locks the entire night. Much to Daniel’s delight, Hank even splurged and ordered dessert for the two of them. Anything to keep them in the restaurant longer. The picture Daniel had managed to snap of him and Joanna was even in a frame on the wall.

The weather report caught Hank’s attention. It highlighted a thunderstorm due to hit the area later that evening—from the sounds of it, a real doozy. Hank wondered if the job site would be a washout the next day. He could hardly wait for the rainy season to be over next month. Every year, his pocketbook took a hit when, invariably, he and his crew would be out of work for days on end.

After the weather, Joanna’s image filled the screen. She seemed to smile just for Hank. Her green eyes twinkled like they held a secret she wanted to share. Too quickly she handed the broadcast over to some new guy airing a special segment. He’d just started working for the news organization, but Hank didn’t care for him. He thought the guy had a look in his eyes, like he’d sell his own daughter to get ahead in the world. But at least he wasn’t some pretty boy like Hurley.

Wait, what’s this?

The reporter was talking to a fifteen-year-old girl who said some guys tried to abduct her from a bus stop. “She told police one of the men came up behind her, covered her mouth with one hand, and scooped her up around the waist with the other. Quick wit saved the girl. She fought off the attacker by stomping on his foot and running away. Then she frantically waved down her school bus as it turned the corner onto her street. A harrowing tale . . . maybe. Or maybe not.”

Hank leaned forward, watching the screen intently as a security camera recording of the night-vision surveillance played. He was confused at first, when he didn’t see any guys.

Why would this dumbass reporter broadcast the recording if it didn’t capture the guys’ image?

The reporter came back on the screen, standing in front of an ugly pink house. “No, folks, you didn’t miss it. The men this girl reported trying to snatch her from the bus stop never showed up in the recording—because there
weren’t
any men. This whole fictitious story was all one big lie.”

When the face of Maddy Eastin came on the screen, Hank swallowed hard.

The girl. That’s the girl.

He could feel the frayed string that had been hanging together all these years stretching, threatening to snap.

He watched as the reporter grilled her about lying.

What an asshole
.

She looked crestfallen when she tried to explain why she’d made up the story. How her dad had walked out, how she hoped almost being kidnapped would get him to come home. Then she talked about being bullied by the kids at her school once they’d discovered she’d lied about the abduction story.

When Sabrina Marquez came on the screen, Hank didn’t even notice. His mind’s eye still held firm to the mental picture of Maddy Eastin.

It’s . . . what’s the word? Serendipity. Yes, that’s it. Now it all makes sense. Why I’ve been holding out for so many years. Why I’ve been waiting.

Hank had never been allowed to touch Rosalina in the way he truly yearned to. And how many times had he dreamed about what he would have done to the girl on the table had he stumbled upon her alone in the barn?

Hank rewound the recording of the news report and watched it again. Maddy Eastin and the girl who’d been strapped to his dad’s worktable so many years ago had the same strawberry-blonde hair color, containing a hint of red, and the same dusting of freckles across the nose.

He paused the recording so Maddy’s face filled the screen. As he sat back and imagined all the fun he could have with her, Hank swore he could hear the sound of the frayed string finally snapping.

The screaming match Monday morning between Lily and her daughter had gone on for what seemed like hours. It felt like one long continuation of the previous night’s fight.