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A Child's Mind

A CHILD’S MIND
By Sam Roseme

 

Jim Filbert grabbed the carafe’s plastic handle and poured coffee into a “#1 Teacher” mug he’d grabbed from the communal cupboard.  The faculty lounge didn’t have a pump thermos to keep the Folgers fresh and hot.  The one Jim held was cheap metal with a cracked lid that let the heat escape. 

Not only was there no warmth for Jim this morning, there was little coffee.  He held the pot upside down and got the same result…drip, drip, drip.

He slammed the empty container back in its place with a clang that caused the teachers in the room to turn their heads.  He threw the manila folder he’d been carrying on the counter, opened the cupboard and pulled out a prepackaged coffee filter.

“You finish the pot, you make a new one,” he said under his breath.  “Not that hard.”

As he held the pot under the tap, someone’s large belly, covered by a Navy-blue t-shirt, pressed against Jim’s arm where the short-sleeves of his dress shirt ended.

“What’s up, doc?  Everything okay?”

Jim looked over and saw Kyle Hamm, a P.E. teacher, clutching a coffee mug, filled to the rim, steam circling out.  Kyle’s pasty knees were exposed by the same pair of sweat shorts he wore everyday.

“Yeah, everything’s okay.  It’s just whoever finished the coffee didn’t make another pot like he was supposed to.”

“Ooh,” Kyle said, “doesn’t that just burn ya up, doc?”

Jim poured fresh water into the coffeemaker and flipped a switch.

“I’ve told you before,” Jim said, “I’m not a doctor.  So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me doc.  I’m a psychologist not a psychiatrist.”

“Sure thing, doc.”

Why do I even try to reason with this Neanderthal, Jim thought.  Jim knew of only one way to shut him up.

“I saw your brother on TV the other day,” Jim said.  “It must be exciting to have a professional baseball player in the family.”

That wiped Kyle’s dumb smile from his dumb face.  Jim’s eyes darted past Kyle.  Laura Butler, her pretty head poking out from behind Margaret MacArthur’s jowls, sat at a circular table, conversation on pause as they eavesdropped on the jousting males.

Kyle shrugged and said, “It’s hard to get excited about the Cubs.  They haven’t won anything in a hundred years.”

“But still,” Jim said, “it’s the major leagues.  He must be making a lot of money.”
 
Jim knew he had him against the ropes so he went in for the knockout blow.  “You used to play ball, right?  How come you gave it up?”

“Guess I wanted to do more with my life.  What’s baseball, ya know?  It’s just a stupid game.  I wanted to help people, make a difference.”

“So you chose to teach P.E. at a middle school over playing professional baseball?”

Kyle leaned his red, bloated face close to Jim.

“I drank the last of the coffee, doc,” he said, nostrils flared.  “And I didn’t make anymore.”  Kyle stood straight and puffed out his chest almost even with his gut.  Kyle couldn’t win whatever mind game Jim was playing but at 6’ 3”—almost a foot taller than Jim—he could certainly win the physical game. 

Jim filled his mug with hot coffee and held it up toward Kyle. 

“Cheers,” Jim said before walking out of the lounge.

But as soon as the door closed behind him, Jim remembered his folder.  He hesitated before turning back into the teachers’ lounge.

Margaret, who everyone called Marge, stood with her wide back to Jim.  Kyle’s shit-eating grin had returned.

“I’m a little man and I want my coffee,” Marge said in a baby voice while flailing her arms.  “Why doesn’t anybody ever make any coffee?”

Laura watched the performance but didn’t smile.  When Laura saw Jim walk back in she looked down at the table.

Kyle spotted Jim and, while staring over Marge’s shoulder, burst into a loud, staccato cough.  Marge stopped talking and turned to see what Kyle was looking at.

Jim pretended he didn’t hear anything and walked straight to his folder and then straight out.         
***
Like a salmon swimming upstream, Jim weaved his way through the mob of pubescent students making their way to class.  He tried without success to avoid touching any of them as he moved.  With kids pinging off the walls and each other like hormonal electrons, Jim bumped into a different student—a short boy with baggy jeans here, a tall girl in a mini skirt there—with each step he took.

Once he was safely outside the building, he saw a group of some of the dumber eighth grade boys pinning the Albino boy against the wall.  Two of the older boys held the Albino’s arms back while another pressed his index finger to the boy’s cheek. 

“Eww,” said one of the boys holding an arm.  “Is it gross?”

Jim kept walking.  I’m just the school psychologist.  Not my job to discipline these kids.

He walked down the stairs and followed the concrete corridor that led to the gymnasium and his office. 

His office used to be upstairs next to the principal, vice principal and other administrators.  But when the state budget cuts came, Jim found his office moved into the old storage closet next to the gym.  They didn’t save any money by doing that, his old office sat vacant.  It was a compromise.

At a union meeting, one of the teachers said, “Getting rid of non-essentials would save more than any salary cuts.”  As if taking part in a word-association test, several teachers looked Jim’s way upon hearing “non-essential.”  Jim felt their stares the way he’d feel a bouncer shoving him out of a club where he obviously didn’t belong.

But having a psychologist helped the school’s ranking and that’s all the parents cared about.  So the district made the parents happy by keeping Jim, and they placated the teachers by making Jim as uncomfortable as possible. 

 

Jim placed his mug on the metal desk he’d bought at a garage sale.  The metal chair whined as he sat down.  A quick glance at his day planner reminded him he’d be meeting with Billy Mills in a few minutes.  It’d be their first meeting without Billy’s parents.

Jim skimmed through Billy’s folder then removed the books and papers covering his brown corduroy couch. 

A faint scratching noise came from his door.  Jim ignored it, thinking it was kids passing by on their way to gym class.  There it was again. 

Jim opened the door and saw Billy, eyelids at half mast. 

“Billy,” he said.  “Is everything all right?”

“Fine, Mr. Filbert.  Fine.”

Jim put a hand on the boys shoulder both to comfort him and to prop him up.

“Please come in.”  He pointed to the couch.  “Have a seat.”

Billy sprawled out onto the couch, his head depressed into the cushion, too heavy for his neck to hold.  His greasy, brown bangs hung over his eyes.

“Are you sure everything is okay, Billy?  You seem quite lethargic, abnormally so.  Should I be concerned?”

“Fine…just, ya know, out of it.  That’s all.”

Jim picked up the manila folder from his desk and looked inside. 

“It says here that you’ve been prescribed a variety of drugs since the incident to help deal with your anger.  Is that what’s causing your lethargy?”

“Maybe.  It feels weird.  Like I’m in a dream all day.”

“Are you able to do your school work?”

“Don’t have any.”  Jim nodded, remembering.

“How have you been spending your time?” Jim asked.

“Watch TV.  But when I watch it I forget that it’s TV.  It feels like I’m in some sort of videogame that someone else is playing.”

Billy paused to take a breath.

“That’s something I can’t do anymore, play videogames,” Billy said.

“You can’t play videogames?” Jim asked.

“No, too hard.”

“I’m going to talk to your doctor about reducing the dosage of your medication.  You won’t learn how to deal with your anger when you’re heavily sedated.”

Billy didn’t respond, just stared straight ahead.

“Well, since this is our first session and since you’re obviously in no state of mind to engage in dialogue, why don’t you lay back, make yourself comfortable, and I can walk you through what it is we hope to accomplish in our therapy.”

Billy shifted so that his body fell against the seat cushions.

“Good, get comfortable,” Jim said.

Billy shut his eyes.

“You’re here because of your anger,” Jim began.
***
Later that night, long after school had let out, Jim returned to the faculty lounge.  He placed his wet umbrella in a plastic bucket next to the door and peeled off his rain slicker.  He scanned the room, almost every teacher and administrator was already in attendance for the faculty happy hour.

In Jim’s mind, it was a lame attempt to boost morale in the wake of the latest budget cuts.  Nonetheless, he succumbed to peer pressure and handed over the required ten dollars to Marge, self-proclaimed chair of the Good Times Committee, even though he didn’t drink and no one ever spoke to him at these parties. 

The lounge looked the same as it did when Jim fetched his coffee that morning—circular table in the center surrounded by plastic chairs, white counters on either side of a metal sink and cupboards above, a rocking chair and two upholstered maroon chairs with arms worn down to the metal underneath.  The only differences were the rented margarita machine, two Costco-sized bags of tortilla chips, and thirty glassy-eyed teachers.

Jim began his standard party routine.  He slowly moved along the perimeter of the room, making his way to the center in concentric circles like a turd being flushed down the toilet. 

After 15 minutes, his path reached the margarita machine.  He decided to pour himself a drink to keep his hands occupied.  He grabbed a Dixie cup from the top of the upside down stack that someone had yanked off the water cooler.  Jim pushed down on the red lever and out flowed the slushy elixir.

“I don’t care if she’s 11 years old,” said a woman in line behind him, “she’s a lesbian.  I can just tell.”

“No you cannot,” her friend said.  “That’s ridiculous.”

“I bet you.  Ten years from now, she’ll come out to her family and everybody’ll be shocked.  Everybody but me.  I’ve seen it before.”

“I’d rather have a little lesbian in my class than Alex.  Now, there’s one with a severe case of O.D.D.”

Hearing this amateur diagnosis, Jim let go of the red handle and turned to the women. 

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but did you say you have a student with A.D.D.?” Jim asked.

“No,” she responded.  It was Mrs. Hagle, history, and Mrs. Lemons, English.  “Not A.D.D.  He has O.D.D.”

Jim had a quizzical look on his face.  “What is O.D.D.?”

“O.  D.  D.  It spells odd,” Mrs. Hagle said.  “The kid’s just odd.  Do you treat kids who are odd?  If you do, I’ll start sending ‘em all your way.  Then you’d have something to do.”

Mrs. Lemons looked away.

“That’s not what I meant,” Mrs. Hagle said.  “Obviously you have plenty to do.  I just meant you’d be overwhelmed if you had to see every kid who was a little weird.”

She looked past him at the alcohol.  “Sorry, do you mind?” she said and then pushed past him to refill her glass.

The two teachers continued their conversation and Jim looked down at his cup.  Looking around, he saw a blur of unfriendly faces.  He looked at his watch.  Still another 40 minutes to make it through an hour, the proper amount of time.

He slowly made his way back to the edge of the room.  As he turned to begin another series of circles someone bumped into him.

“Oh, excuse me,” Jim said.  Jim looked up and saw the kind smile and fresh, sweet face of Laura Butler.  Her bouncy blond curls rested on the shoulders of her pale-blue button-up blouse that was neatly tucked into a wool skirt.  Former aspiring ballerina with the calves to prove it.  Recently moved from big city to suburb.  Recently single.  So unattainable, yet right here.

“Jim.”  She spoke.  “Hi.”

Stay calm.  Talk to her just as you would any other colleague, except Kyle, of course.

“Oh, hello Mrs. Butler,” he said through tense lips.

“Please,” she said, smiling and looking down at him, “call me Laura.  And whatever you call me, don’t call me Mrs. Butler.”

“Oh, right,” Jim said, shaking his head.  “Sorry.”

“So you heard, huh?”

“Gossip’s the one thing unaffected by the budget cuts around here.”

She laughed and looked at her shoes, black heels.

“That’s very funny,” she said.  “I’m glad I ran into you because I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“For this morning.  What happened in here.  When you came back in and Kyle and Marge were…kind of making fun of you.”

“Were they?  I didn’t notice.”

“Shoot, I shouldn’t have mentioned it then.”

“No, no.  Of course, I noticed it.  But I don’t care if people like them laugh at me.”

Laura laughed again and again looked at her shoes.

“I wanted you to know that I wasn’t part of that,” she said.  “I wasn’t even smiling.”

“I noticed.”

“Good.  Because you’re a nice guy.  One of the good ones.  I used to think you were kind of weird because you kept to yourself so much and nobody ever talked to you.  I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t be saying all this.”  She lifted her paper cup.  “I have had a couple.” 

“No, please, go on.”

“Well, I pretty much hate all men ever since I found out about my husband, soon to be ex.  But when I saw Kyle treating you that way this morning and then Marge making fun of you, I realized that you’re not like the others.  I mean, you’re even kind of a victim, like me.  Almost like a woman.”

Jim held up his empty hand.  “Okay, let’s not take it that far.”

Laura laughed again, this time her head went back and some of her margarita sloshed out of the cup onto the ground. 

“Woops,” she said.  “I didn’t mean it that way.  Here, I’d better put this down before I get into trouble,” she said, placing her cup on the counter. 

“Can I tell you something embarrassing?” she asked.

“Of course.”

“It’s actually about Billy.  You’re still seeing him, aren’t you?”

“I am.  I saw him today actually.”

“Really, what did he say?  Did he talk about me?”

“You know I can’t tell you.  Everything that’s said is confidential.”

“Okay, okay.  But what I was going to say is, I feel bad about it.  I really do.”

Jim knew well what she was talking about.  Billy had been in Laura’s morning English class.  The day everything happened, like most days, he was goofing around, not paying attention.  At one point he put his finger in his mouth, leaned over and stuck it in the ear of Annie Sohn, a nerdy girl who gets picked on often.

Laura made Billy stand for the rest of the class.  While he stood there, she tore into him in front of all the other students.  And then she called him stupid, she said he’d always been stupid and would always be stupid.  The 13-year-old boy started crying as all his peers sat and watched.

The next morning Laura walked into her class and found every chair, every book case, every table turned upside down.  Posters were torn down from the walls and books were ripped to shreds.  On the chalkboard was a crude drawing of Laura with a knife in her head.  Billy was ordered to the principal’s office as soon as he got to school.  He admitted he did all the damage himself.  The principal was about to expel him before Laura intervened.  She felt guilty for humiliating him, partly responsible for what he did, so the school cut a deal.  Billy could stay at the school but was suspended for two weeks and had to meet regularly with the school psychologist for the rest of the year.

“God, I hate myself when I think about what I did,” Laura said.  “But I just lost it.  I’d just found out about my husband over the weekend and when I saw Billy touch Annie I saw my husband.  I saw him fucking his girlfriend.”

Jim took a gulp from his cup and finished the drink.  He wasn’t aware he’d had any of it until that point.

“You’re a psychologist,” Laura continued, “do you think I’m crazy?”

Jim looked down at his empty cup and wanted another drink.  Laura picked up hers and handed it to him.  “Here, finish mine.”

“Thanks,” he said and took a drink.  “Are you crazy?  Of course not.  You were angry and it overflowed at an unfortunate moment.  You’re human.”

She was staring into his eyes now.  “Do you like your job?” Laura asked.  “I mean, do you like working with these kids?”

“I do…sometimes.  Not everything about it, of course.  But the ability to influence a young child’s mind is a powerful thing.  That, and the tater tots for lunch.”
 
She laughed again and said, “That’s how I used to feel but not anymore.  I think people are born the way they are.  The good ones are born good, and the bad ones are born bad.  And there’s not much we as teachers can do to change that.”

Kyle was about to respond by telling his own experience, about how he had changed, how he had problems with rage as a kid, how he was once expelled for smashing every window in his high school, how he became a school psychologist to help kids like him, like Billy.

But just as he opened his mouth to let her in on his secret, Kyle, still in his P.E. clothes, snuck up, grabbed Laura from behind and wrapped her in a bear hug, lifting her off the ground.

“Is this party awesome or what?” he said.

“Kyle, put me down.”  Kyle spun her around.  “I’m serious.  Put me down now.”

Finally, he lowered her to the ground.

“All right, all right.  I’m just trying to have some fun.  Aren’t these margaritas good?  I think I’ve had, like, twelve of these fuckers already.”

Laura rubbed her neck.

“I think I pulled a muscle.”  Her hands moved to her hips as she stretched her back in one direction and then the next.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby.  I didn’t mean to.”  He opened his arms.  “Here, let’s hug it out.”

Kyle moved toward Laura but before he could grasp her, Jim stepped in his path and reached up to Kyle’s shoulders with straightened arms.

“Leave her alone,” Jim said. 

Kyle didn’t know what stopped him till he looked down and saw Jim standing there.

“It’s all right, doc,” Kyle said, “we don’t need your therapy here.”

“You’re being a jerk, Kyle,” Laura said.  “Just leave us alone.”

Kyle looked back, silent.  His droopy eyes trained on Laura.

He put up his hands in surrender.  “I’m just trying to have a good time, but if you’re not into that, that’s cool.”  He turned his gaze to Jim and made a quick lunging motion like he was going to give him a noogie.

Jim flinched.

“Ha, got ya,” Kyle said and mussed Jim’s hair like he was a five-year old boy.  “Little man.”  Kyle turned and walked toward the center table where Marge was alternating sips of margarita and handfuls of tortilla chips.

This is the best party ever, Jim thought.  This is like in the movies.  I’m drinking, talking to the most beautiful woman in the room and even defending her from an ogre.  This is the best night of my life.

“I’m sorry about that,” Laura said.  “He can be a real jerk.”  She looked down at her watch.  “I’d better get going.  It was nice to finally talk with you, though.”

“I’ll go out with you.  It’s time for me to leave, too.”

Protected by Jim’s umbrella, the two walked out to the faculty parking lot where Laura’s car was parked.  There weren’t enough spaces in the lot for the entire faculty so Jim had to park on the street and move his car every two hours during the day to avoid getting a ticket.

Jim held Laura’s car door as she slid into her seat.

“Have a wonderful weekend,” he said.

She looked up at him.  “You too,” she said, letting her eyes linger on his for an extra moment before she closed her door and drove away.  Her tail lights dissolved into the misty night as Jim made his way to the street.
***
The next Monday at 9 a.m., Billy was sprawled out on Jim’s couch.

“Did you talk to my doctor about my medication?” Billy asked.

“I’ve changed my mind about,” Jim answered with a curtness Billy had never heard before.  “For the time being we should keep you on the current dosage.” 

“But I don’t like the way I feel.  I want…”

Jim cut him off, impatient with his slow speech.

“It’s for your own good.  Now let’s get started.  Last time we were talking about your anger.  About your hatred for Mrs. Butler.”

“I don’t think I hate her.”

“That’s what you said.  You said you hated her.”

“I don’t remember.  Maybe I did.  But I don’t think I meant it.”

“Please, put your head back.  Close your eyes and remember back to that day in Mrs. Butler’s classroom.  She made you stand for the rest of the class.  Do you remember how that made you feel?  No 13-year-old wants to stick out like that.  But she didn’t stop there, did she?  What did she say to you?”

“She said I was stupid.”  Billy’s eyes were closed, reliving the experience, his face started to tremble as if he was going to cry again.  “She said I was stupid in front of everyone.”

“And that’s not all, is it?  She said you were born that way and that you’d always be stupid.  That’s when you started to cry, isn’t it?”

Tears started dribbling from Billy’s closed eyelids.  His palm wiped his cheek and he nodded.

“You stood there in class and cried while all the other students watched.  Do you think Mrs. Butler enjoyed humiliating you?”

Billy wiped his cheek again.  “I don’t know, probably.  I think she was smiling.”

“I think you’re right, Billy.  I think she liked watching you cry in front of everyone.”  Jim stopped talking so he could watch Billy.  Despite the drugs, his body was tense, he was crying as hard as he was the day it happened.  He was back there.  Billy had mentioned that under the drugs’ spell he wasn’t able to tell between imagination and reality.  What Jim was witnessing confirmed it.  This was going better than Jim had hoped.

“At that moment, what did you feel?  What did you want to do?”

“I wanted to kill her.  I wanted to run up to her and grab her by the throat.”  Billy’s hands were stretched out in front of him now.  “I wanted to smash the back of her head into the blackboard and then choke her there until she died in front of the whole class.”

“That’s good, Billy.  Are you imaging that now?”

He nodded.

“What’s happening?”

“She’s fighting me.  She’s trying to pull my hands away so I punch her in the face.”  He swung his fist.  “Then I squeeze tighter around her neck.”

Jim sat silently, watching.

Billy was breathing rapidly.  His eyes shot open and he let out a deep breath as if someone had been holding him under water.  He jolted upright, blinked and looked around Jim’s office.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in Mr. Filbert’s office, Billy.  This is a therapy session.”

Billy exhaled, ran his hands through his hair, then dropped back into a reclined position. 

“That was scary,” he said.

“That’s to be expected.  We have to explore these dark feelings you have before we can deal with them.  You still have a lot of anger towards Mrs. Butler, even violent urges.  Please, lie back down and close your eyes again like you were.”

Billy hesitated to follow Jim’s command.

“I promise you this won’t be scary.  We’re going to work with symbols and metaphors to help us learn how to get rid of that dark pit of anger inside you.”

This seemed to reassure Billy as he plopped his head against the pillow and closed his eyes. 

“Good,” Jim said.  “Are you relaxed?”

Billy nodded.

“Try to imagine your anger as something alive and growing.  It’s like a cancer.  If we don’t treat it, it will grow large and consume everything around it.  To help us visualize this anger, let’s think of it as a tree.  Let’s choose a real tree.  You’ve been up in the hills behind the school, haven’t you?”

Billy nodded.

“Great.  Let’s imagine that we walk out of my office and we follow the path to the front parking lot.  Are you with me?”

Another nod.  Eyes still closed.

“We go left at the parking lot, walk across the baseball field and out onto Hutchinson Road.  Now let’s walk up the street toward the hills.  We get to the entrance of the hill and we open the gate.  Do you hear the metal latch and the hinges squeak?  Good.  We walk up the dirt trail that leads into the hills.  To the left is a small side trail that goes to the top of a small ridge.  And at the top is a lone oak tree.  That’s our tree.  We’re in front of it now.  Reach out and touch it.”

Billy lifted his right arm and made a petting motion with his hand. 

“Good, Billy.  This is your tree.  This is the source of your rage.  Take a good look at it because we’re going to be spending a lot of time here.”  Jim looked up at the wall clock.  “Speaking of time, that’s all we have for today so you can go ahead and open your eyes.  Why don’t you come back tomorrow.  We’re making good progress and I want to keep the momentum going.”
***
Billy was on Jim’s couch the next morning.  “A police officer came to my house yesterday.”  Billy was the first to talk.

“Oh?” Jim said.  “What about?”

“Mrs. Butler.  She’s missing, I guess. 

“What?”

“Yeah, she didn’t come to school yesterday and never called to tell anyone.  The cops went to her house and couldn’t find her.  No one’s seen her since last week.”

“Why did they want to talk to you?”

“I think they think I killed her.”

“Did they say that?”

“No.  But they were asking about what I was doing this weekend and where I was and they were asking my parents if they knew where I was the whole time.  It’s because of what I did to her that they think I killed her.”

“Did you?  No, don’t answer that.  I’m sorry I asked it.”

“No, I didn’t.  I promise.  You have to believe me.”  Billy looked up at Jim.  “Do you?”

“Yes, Billy, I do.  If you tell me you didn’t have anything to do with this, then I believe you.”

“I just wanted to scare her.  I’d never do anything like this.”

“I know.  I know.”

Billy sank deeper into the couch.  This was more talking than he’d done in all the other sessions combined and the effort exhausted him. 

“Try not to worry about the police,” Jim said.  “They have to talk with everyone who knows Mrs. Butler.  I’m sure she’ll turn up and everything will be fine again.  The best thing we can do now is continue with our therapy.  So, please, get comfortable and close your eyes again.  I want to talk more about the tree on the hill that you mentioned last time.”

The appointment was similar to Billy’s last session.  Under Jim’s direction, Billy travelled back to the hills.  There he imagined that his anger was buried in front of the tree with the oak’s roots.  Like a demon, his submerged anger called out to him, teasing him, trying to bring him closer.  Billy let out a garbled scream like a person yelling during a nightmare.  He wanted to turn and run down the hill but Jim wouldn’t let him.  Jim demanded that Billy stay and be subjected to the taunts.  Only when the hour was up did Jim allow Billy to turn his back on the tree.

Billy looked dazed and disheveled when it was over.  He stood and slid his backpack over one shoulder. 

“Before you go, why don’t you take my phone number.  That way you can call me anytime you want to talk.”

Billy pulled out his cell phone and punched the buttons as Jim read out the number.

Jim stepped to the door and grabbed the handle.  Jim opened the door for Billy and jumped a bit when he saw a police officer standing just outside his office.  The officer was a short, thin woman in uniform with cropped brown hair parted to the side.  Billy saw the officer then looked to the ground and scurried away.

“Hi Billy,” the officer said to the back of his head.  She turned to Jim and held out her hand.  “Dr. Filbert, I’m Officer Shepherd.”

Jim shook her hand.  “It’s Mr. Filbert but call me Jim.  I take it you’re the one who visited Billy yesterday.”

“He talked about that with you?  What did he say?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss what is said during our sessions.  Do you really think he had something to do with Mrs. Butler’s disappearance?  Isn’t it possible that with all she’s been going through that she just quit and went somewhere without telling anyone?  Or what about her husband?  They’re going through a messy divorce, did you know that?”

“We’ve spoken with Mr. Butler and he has an alibi.  Trust me, Mr. Filbert, we’re looking at all the possibilities, especially anyone who’s threatened Mrs. Butler in the past, like Billy.  So please keep in mind that if he talks about how she went missing or where she is now you have to tell us.  Patient-confidentiality doesn’t cover ongoing crimes.”

She reached into her pocket.

“Here’s my card,” she said.  “If he says anything that’s not protected, I want you to call me right away.”

Jim looked at the card.  Officer Cathy Shepherd.

“I can’t imagine he had anything to do with it.  He’s a good….”  Jim stopped himself.  “He’s not that bad of a kid.  Maybe some violent fantasies, but that’s normal for boys his age with all their videogames and movies.”

“What kind of violent fantasies?”

“Again, Officer Shepherd, I can’t say anything more.”

She nodded and began to turn away.  “You have my card,” she said.

He nodded and lifted the card.  “Will do,” he said.  He started to close the door but stopped when she kept talking.

“One last thing,” she said, “did you happen to go to the faculty happy hour last Friday?  That seems to be the last time anyone saw her.”

Jim squeezed the corner of the door with his palm. 

“Yes.  Yes I was there.”

“Did you talk with her, notice anything strange about her or anything else at the party?”

Jim scratched his chin and looked at the ceiling.

“I may have spoken with her in passing.  Nothing seemed out of place.”

Officer Shepherd stood waiting for him to continue.  When he didn’t, she said, “Well, again, if you think of anything give me a call.”

“Of course,” he said then shut the door on her.
***
That Saturday afternoon, Officer Shepherd drove her squad car out of the idyllic suburb of Shell Ridge to the town of Monument, five miles away and several steps down the socioeconomic ladder.  White picket fences were replaced by chain-linked ones that circled front yards consisting of small patches of burnt grass and weeds. 

Officer Shepherd pulled her car over to the curb in front of Kyle Hamm’s house.  The garage door was open so she decided to give a look in the off chance there was any evidence in plain sight.  None was on display but she did find who she was looking for.

In the middle of the garage was a padded weight bench that had a bar with 75 pound discs on each side.  Kyle was on the bench, shirtless, his arms dangling to the ground, his beer belly drooping to the left side of his body.

Officer Shepherd looked down at him.

“Excuse me,” she said softly.  Then a bit louder,  “Excuse me, Mr. Hamm.”

His eyes opened slowly. 

“What?  What’s going on?”

“Sorry for waking you.  I just had some follow-up questions.”

“Oh.  Yeah, yeah.  Sure.  I was just working out.  Let me finish up.”

He lifted the bar up and lowered it to his chest.  He exhaled and pushed it up, placing it back on the bench.

“All right, I’m done.”

He sat up.  Officer Shepherd waited for him to put on his shirt but, much to her disappointment, Kyle saw no need to cover up.

“Any word on Laura?” he said.

“Nothing yet, unfortunately.  But that’s what I wanted to talk to you about?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“After I talked to you and,” she looked at her notebook, “Ms. MacArthur, I talked with everyone else who was at the happy hour.  Most of them corroborated what you said but then one person mentioned an incident involving you.”

“Me?”

“This person said you got into an argument with Laura that night.  That she told you to leave her alone at some point.  Is that true?  Because I looked back in my notes and you never mentioned that.”

Kyle looked back at the door leading into the house.  He then leaned closer to Officer Shepherd and spoke quietly.

“If I tell you something, you promise not to tell anybody else?”

“I can’t promise you that, not if it involves the case.”

“Fair enough.”  He ran his hand through his hair.  “What you heard is true.  I sorta had a thing for Laura and I was gonna, ya know, let her know that night at the party.  I was trying to figure out what to say to her in my head all week.  But at the party, I don’t know, maybe I had too much to drink or got nervous or something but I walked up to her and was gonna slap her on the ass but at the last second I realized that was a bad idea, it being at the workplace and all, so instead I grabbed her and picked her up.”  He slapped his palm to his forehead.  “God, I hate myself sometimes.  I do these things even though I know they’re stupid.” 

“How did Mrs. Butler respond?” Officer Shepherd asked. 

“Not too good.  She got upset and told me to stop it.  I felt bad so I tried to give her a hug, a nice one this time.”

“What happened then?”

“That’s when Doctor Jim pushed me or tried to push me.”

“Doctor Jim?”

“The school doctor, Jim Filbert.”

“The school psychologist?”

“Right.”

“Was he with Mrs. Butler when you grabbed her?”

“He must’ve been, but I didn’t even notice at first.  He’s not the most noticeable guy, ya know.”

“What happened next?”

“He told me to leave her alone and I teased him a bit like I always do.  She called me a jerk or something, and I left.”

“How did that make you feel?”

He looked at her with a confused expression.  “How did that make me feel?” 

“Yes.  Were you angry or embarrassed?”

“I guess I was bummed.  She was my Plan A and all.”

“Your Plan A?”

“Yeah, ya know, when you go to a party you gotta have a Plan A and a Plan B.  You shoot for the prettiest one and if that doesn’t work out then you go for the chubby one.”

“Did you have a Plan B that night?”

Kyle leaned even closer and whispered.  “Marge.”

Officer Shepherd responded with a quizzical look.

“Ms. MacArthur,” he said.  He pointed his thumb back at the door leading into the house.  “She’s inside right now.”

“Were you, uh, with Ms. MacArthur the night of the party?”

“I’m usually not one to kiss and tell, but yeah we had sex that night.  These school teachers are wilder than you’d expect.”

Officer Shepherd grimaced.  “Got it.  Now back to the party.  Did you see Mrs. Butler again after you walked away?”

“Not really.  My focus was on Marge at that point.  But Doc, now there’s a guy you should keep an eye on.”

“Why’s that?”

“He reminds me of this kid I went to high school with.  Total dweeb.  Something was wrong with him, like, mentally, ya know, so we’d make fun of him all the time.  Then one day he comes to school carrying this massive firework that looked like a stick of dynamite and he threatens to blow up the school.” 

Kyle started laughing too hard to continue.  “Oh, man,” he slapped his knee, “and the thing explodes while he’s holding it.  Blew his hand right off.  What a loser.”  His belly jiggled as he laughed.  “I should find out where he is just to fuck with him.”  He exhaled then regained his composure.  “Anyways, so Doc reminds me of him.  He keeps to himself and we tease him a lot.”

Officer Shepherd stood to leave.  “I’ll keep that in mind.  Thank you for your time.”

“Please don’t…”

“Don’t worry.  I won’t tell Ms. MacArthur that she was your Plan B.”

“Appreciate it,” he said.  Officer Shepherd walked back to her squad car, and Kyle reclined on his workout bench for another short workout and a long nap.
***
Minutes later Officer Shepherd was back in the town of Shell Ridge, driving up block after block of modern ranch houses with manicured front lawns until she crossed a major intersection and turned into Shell Ridge Gardens, a community with identical town houses, a tennis court and a shared pool. 

Officer Shepherd stopped the squad car when she reached the address written on her notepad.

She got out and knocked on the front door.  No answer.  She knocked again.  As she turned to walk away, the door opened a crack, the chain lock still in place.

Officer Shepherd turned back.

“Oh, Mr. Filbert, you’re home.  I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, no,” Jim said, his face poking out of the slight opening.  “I just didn’t hear you at first.”

“I apologize for bothering you at your home, but I have a few more questions I’d like to ask you about Mrs. Butler’s disappearance.”

“I want to help but I  really can’t talk to you about my sessions with Billy.”

“I understand.  Do you mind if I come in?”

“Oh, of course.”  His face disappeared, followed by the noise of the chain being removed from the door.  Jim opened the door wearing a white terrycloth bathrobe and white slippers.  At first, Officer Shepherd thought he’d just gotten out of the shower but then noticed his dry hair.  “Please, come in.”  He motioned to the interior like a gracious host.  “Can I get you some water, coffee, tea?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”  Officer Shepherd scanned the front room.  A white couch and two white chairs surrounded a glass table.  The carpet was off-white without a smudge of dirt to be found.  There wasn’t a thing out of place in the whole room.  It looked more like a staged house than a lived-in one.

Jim pulled out a chair at the dining room table for his guest then took one for himself.  In front of him was a steaming mug of tea. 

“I’ve become a tea drinker recently,” he said, looking down at his mug.  “Coffee made me too jittery.”  He looked up at Officer Shepherd who clutched an open notebook with one hand and a red pen with the other.  “So, what can I do for you?”

“You can tell me more about the night of the faculty happy hour, the night Mrs. Butler went missing.”

Jim kept his eyes on the mug.

“I asked you about that night when we spoke at your office,” Officer Shepherd said.  “And you told me….”  She flipped the pages of her notebook.  “Here it is.  You told me that you were at the party briefly, maybe said hello to Mrs. Butler at some point and left the party early.”

Jim nodded as she spoke but didn’t raise his eyes to her.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your fight with Mr. Hamm?”

A quick burst of laughter that sounded like machine gun fire escaped from Jim’s mouth.  He moved his tea from one hand to the other, causing the liquid to splash out onto his knuckles.  “Ouch,” he yelled and shook his head.  “That’s the problem with tea.  It’s so darn hot.  Much hotter than coffee.” 

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes.  It just surprised me a bit.”

“The fight, Mr. Filbert, why didn’t you mention it?”

“There was no fight.  Look at me, I couldn’t fight Kyle.”

“Well, Mr. Hamm said that you and Mrs. Butler were talking for quite a while and that you were even defending Mrs. Butler from Mr. Hamm’s advances.  Is that true?”

“That’s absurd.  Kyle’s not the sharpest tool in the shed and he was drunk, so I wouldn’t put much faith in his recall of the night’s events.”

“Then tell me your version.”

Jim took a breath and then a sip of tea.

“It’s true that I talked with her that night.  And, yes, I was talking to her when Kyle approached.  We were talking about her husband, in fact.  How much she hated him, how she was starting to hate all men because of him.  And that’s when Kyle groped her.  I don’t know if there’s ever a good time to grope a coworker, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t it.  He was going to grope her again, so I stepped in between them.  Laura was upset so I walked her to her car.  That was all.  There was no fight.”

“You walked her to her car?”  Officer Shepherd stared at him, hoping to pick up any physical cues from his response.

“That’s…correct.”

“What happened then?”

“Well, she drove off.  To her home, I imagine.”

“So you were the last person to see her alive?”

“Yes.  I mean, no.  No, of course not.  I mean, how should I know?  Whoever killed her was the last person to see her alive.”

“Assuming she was killed.”

“Yes, yes.  Assuming she was killed, God forbid.”

“I’m sorry.  That’s not what I meant to ask.  What I meant was, you were the last person from the party to see her.”

“I suppose.  Unless she went back later.”

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this when we first spoke?”

“I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you.  Honestly.  I just didn’t know how any of this was relevant.  And I didn’t give any thought to the confrontation, if you can even call it that, with Kyle.  If I had thought he was capable of harming Laura then I would have mentioned it.  But he’s too dumb to kill anyone.”

Officer Shepherd looked up from her notebook upon hearing this last sentence. 

“That came out wrong,” he said. 

As he continued, Officer Shepherd wrote “Too Dumb to Kill” in her notebook in red ink and circled it.   

“What I meant,” Jim said, “is Kyle’s a big, dumb jerk but he’s not a murderer.”

Officer Shepherd closed her notebook.  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Filbert.”  She stood and turned toward the door.  “It’s possible that I may be back for further questioning so please don’t leave town without telling me first.”

Jim sipped his tea.  “Anything you say, Officer,” he said.
***
Monday morning found Billy back on Jim’s couch in a heavy daze.  His eyes were closed, his mind in between dream and reality.  He was back at the tree on the hill behind school.  Jim sat in his chair next to his desk, but this time he leaned forward and stared at his subject with unblinking eyes and a stern face.

Both psychologist and patient were in wet clothes as another rain storm had moved over Shell Ridge the night before.   

“This has gone on too long,” Jim said.  “Your rage is mocking you now.  It’s mocking you like Mrs. Butler mocked you.  It’s calling you stupid.  It says you’re slow, that you’re different from the other kids.  You’re a loser and you’re always going to be a loser.”

Jim could see that Billy was starting to shake.

“But there’s something you can do about it, Billy.  You can stop it from mocking you, stop it from controlling you.  Your rage is right there, Billy.  It’s right there at the bottom of the tree.  You have to dig it up, Billy.  You have to.”

Jim slapped his desk with the palm of his hand.

“Dig it up, damn it.  Get rid of it before it destroys you.  Dig it up.”
***
Billy laid in his bed that night.  His clock radio read 12:57 a.m., but he didn’t know what time it was.  Nor did he know if he was asleep or awake.  He was in the dreamland he’d been in for the past two weeks, the same hazy state he’d been in since the doctor and his parents put him on the drugs.

Like in a video game, he watched himself put his bare feet on the light blue carpet of his room.  He stood and put on the clothes he’d been wearing that day—jeans, black hoodie, sneakers.

He opened his door slowly and looked down the hall.  His parents’ door was closed and all the lights in the house were off.

Walking on his toes, he made his way through the kitchen and out the door that led to the backyard.  On the side of the house, he opened the metal tool shed and grabbed the only shovel in there.  He lifted the latch on the fence and made his way out the front yard.

He stepped slowly on the streets, staying away from street lamps and in the shadows of the mulberry trees that lined the town’s roads.  The rain seeped through his cotton hood and wet his head and neck.

He reached Shell Ridge Middle School without being seen and kept moving.  Behind his school he trudged up the path that led to the open space and walked through the gate.

Billy looked at the ridge to his left.  It was too dark to see the tree at its summit.  His sneakers sunk into the mud as he climbed the small hill.  He used the shovel as a walking stick.
***
Jim Filbert sat upright in his bed, staring straight ahead in the darkness.  Heavy fatigue from a week of sleepless nights washed over him.  He grabbed his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut, causing the images to come rushing back. 

He saw himself sitting in his car after the faculty happy hour as the rain beat down while he debated whether to surprise Laura with a visit.  They were having such a wonderful conversation—the best he’d had in a long time—there was no reason stop.  The cheap Tequila persuaded him, and before he knew it his fist was pounding on Laura’s front door. 

“Jim,” she said, “what is it?  I didn’t forget anything did I?”  She seemed surprised but not upset.

“No, no, nothing like that.”  There was a silent pause, Jim hadn’t planned beyond knocking on her door.  He had figured she’d be thrilled to see him and, after hugging, invite him in for a glass of Sherry or whatever people drink in these situations.  “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Oh, okay.  That’s fine, I guess.”  She stepped out of the doorway and he walked in.

I’m in her house, he thought.  This is how it happens.  This is how most people live.  They go to parties, have a wonderful time socializing with new people, and then end up inside a stranger’s home.

“So, what’s up?” she asked.

It was a question to which he had no answer.  Another silent pause.  He worried the quiet would go on for minutes or more, so long that she would go off to bed while he stood in the foyer staring at the closet door.

When still no words came, he did the only thing he could think of to break the silence.  He stepped toward her, grabbed her by the waist, and, standing on his toes, pressed his lips against hers.  Silence shattered.

She didn’t push him off right away.  It’s really happening, he thought.  Just like real people.
 
But then Laura came to and peeled her face away from his, plucking Jim’s hands from her waist.

She looked at him for a moment and then started laughing.  It was the same laugh as at the party but now it was at him and not with him.  She kept laughing and looked down at the floor.

“What are you doing, Jim?” she asked through her laughter.  She wouldn’t stop laughing.
***
On top of the hill, Billy touched the lone tree with the palm of his hand.  It was a place he’d visited before in therapy but this felt different.  He was starting to realize this time wasn’t a dream. 

The shovel slipped deep into the wet soil.  Billy tried to scoop the mud and pile it beside him, but he was too weak.  He cut a shallower slice next.  Little by little a mound formed next to the hole he was digging.

The shovel struck an object when the mud was knee high.  He stabbed at the dirt and hit it again.  He widened the hole by digging at its sides.  On one knee, he reached his hand into the hole.  The object was covered in fabric that felt like a rough, old rug.  Following the edge of the cloth, he felt the palm of a hand and then fingers.  He pulled his hand out and jumped back from the hole.

 Billy couldn’t breathe.  Then air came and when it did it came fast in his lungs.  He stood and stepped back from the hole.  He pulled out his cell  phone and punched a button.
***
Jim’s eyes shot open at the sound of his ringing phone.  He slowly picked the handset from the cradle.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Mr. Filbert, it’s me, Billy.  I did something horrible.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  You have to believe me though.  I don’t even remember doing it.”

“Of course, I’ll believe you, Billy.  But what are you talking about?”

“I can’t say.  It’s too awful to say.”

“Then tell me where you are.”

“Do you know the tree on top of the hill behind the school?”

“Yes, the one you mentioned in our sessions.  The one you keep seeing when you’re trying to sleep.”

“That’s it.  I’m there now.  Please come.  I’m so scared.”

“Of course, Billy.  I’ll leave right now.”

Jim pressed “End” on the phone.  He then picked up the business card on his nightstand and dialed the phone number.

“Officer Shepherd, it’s Jim Filbert from Shell Ridge Middle. I’m sorry to wake you, but I just received a disturbing phone call from Billy. He’s…he’s dug up a body. He says it’s Laura Butler. He says he doesn’t remember burying her. This is all so awful. It’s possible he may have blacked it out, I’m not sure. Yes, he’s there now. It’s the hill behind the school. The one with a lone tree on top.  He’ll be waiting for you.”