Shadows

12

Jeanette Aldrich sat in front of the mirror on her vanity table, staring at the image reflected in the glass. Could it really be her? Those puffy eyes, red from lack of sleep, and surrounded by dark circles of fatigue?

The gray strands that seemed to have salted her curly mass of chestnut hair virtually overnight? Could they really be hers?

Was it really only three days since she had not only looked, but felt, ten years younger?

It seemed more like a year, for every minute since she had gazed at Adam’s distorted face on Saturday morning had dragged by like an hour of pure torture. Always, that image hung in her mind.

Not the Adam she had known, not the beautiful, quiet boy with large dark eyes and thick curly hair that matched her own. That image, the image that smiled enigmatically at her from a framed photograph on the vanity, was gone. Gone forever, to be replaced by the grotesquely smashed face she’d seen on the gurney on Saturday morning.

All his features twisted out of position, his skin torn and smeared with blood, his hair matted, his scalp nearly torn away.

Would she ever forget that image, ever be able to replace it with her memories of the living child? Or would it always be there, superimposing itself on every memory she had of Adam?

She shouldn’t have done it — shouldn’t have insisted on seeing his body, shouldn’t have irrationally refused to accept the truth of his death until she’d seen the corpse for herself.

She shuddered at the word.

Corpse. Such an ugly word to describe what was left of her beautiful child.

But it was too late — too late to go back and choose to remember Adam the way he had been. For the rest of her life that battered visage would haunt her.

Her fingers feeling nearly as numb as her mind, she began putting on her makeup, doing her best to repair the ravages of her grief, but knowing even as she worked that it would do no good. No matter what kind of mask she put on her face, there was no way to cover the bleeding wound inside her, no way to still the pain raging within her soul.

Twelve years old!

He was only twelve! It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t he have come home that night and let her take care of him? Why had he turned away from her?

Now she would never know, never have another chance to soothe him, to assure him that nothing was wrong with him, that he was a perfect child.

“Honey?”

Jeanette’s eyes shifted to the reflection of her husband. Chet was standing at the open door to the bedroom, his voice, filled with concern, interrupting her reverie. “It’s getting late. The car will be here in a few minutes.”

Jeanette nodded once, but made no move to go on with her makeup. Her eyes remained fixed on Chet. He still looked as he always had. Husky, handsome, and seeming several years younger than he was. Did he feel nothing for the loss of his son? Didn’t he even care that Adam was gone forever?

That’s not fair, she told herself, forcing her hands to return to their task. He just handles it differently, that’s all. The difference between men and women. We wear our hearts on our sleeves, and they don’t. It doesn’t mean he isn’t hurting just as much as I am.

Steadying her trembling hands, she finished her makeup, then put on the navy-blue dress she’d chosen for the funeral. As she heard a car door slam outside, and the doorbell ring a few seconds later, she started down the stairs, her eyes carefully avoiding the closed door to Adam’s room. So far, she still had been unable even to bring herself to enter the room, let alone think about the task of disposing of his things.

Indeed, she had no idea when, or even if, she would ever be able to enter his room again.

Downstairs, she found Chet and Jeff waiting for her. Automatically, she ran her mother’s eye over Jeff’s suit, reaching out to straighten his tie. “Where’s …?” Her voice abruptly died.

“Adam,” was what she’d been about to say, the reflex of years coming to the fore even as she was departing for his funeral. But she caught herself in time, biting her lip painfully as she struggled once again to control the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Ducking her head, she hurried out into the morning sunlight and slid into the backseat of the waiting limousine, the filtered light of its darkened windows closing around her, giving her the illusion of comfort. Then Jeff was in the car, too, perching on the seat facing her, and already exploring the controls of the car’s television and stereo system.

“Can I have a Coke?” he asked, discovering the ice bin concealed beneath one of the armrests.

“Not now, Jeff,” Chet replied, feeling Jeanette tense beside him as he settled into the seat next to her. “Maybe later, okay?”

Jeff frowned. “But I won’t be coming back with you, will I? Aren’t I going back to school today? There’s going to be classes tomorrow.”

As his parents exchanged a quick look, Jeff’s frown deepened. “You’re going to let me go back, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice heavy with suspicion.

“I’m not sure we’ve made up our minds yet,” Chet told his son. His eyes flicked to the back of the driver’s head, and he reached for the button that would raise the divider window. “Your mom thinks—”

“But ifs not fair!” Jeff exclaimed. “I like the Academy. It’s where all my friends are!”

“No!” Jeanette told him, more sharply than she’d really intended. “I don’t want you there anymore. Can’t you understand that, darling? After — After what happened to Adam, I want you at home.”

“But why?” Jeff demanded, his face setting into a stubborn mask. “I didn’t do anything wrong. How come you’re punishing me?”

“I’m not punishing you,” Jeanette tried to explain for at least the fourth time in the last twenty-four hours. “Darling, you have to understand how I feel. I want you in the house, where I can look out for you. And you liked the public school—”

“I did not,” Jeff contradicted. “I hated it just as much as Adam did. The teachers were dumb, and so were the other kids. But at the Academy—”

Jeanette’s fingers tightened on her husband’s arm, and Chet held up a hand to silence his son. “Not now, Jeff,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument. “Well talk about it later, and I promise you’ll have your say. But right now let’s all just get through this, okay? It’s going to be hard enough for all of us without you making it any tougher. So just drop it for now, all right?”

Jeff’s jaw tightened angrily. For a moment Chet thought the boy was going to go on with the argument, but then Jeff apparently thought better of it He lapsed into a dark silence that lasted through the rest of the trip to the chapel on the Barrington University campus.

Five minutes later the car pulled up in front of the chapel. After giving his wife’s hand one more reassuring squeeze, Chet opened the door to step out, squinting as the bright sunlight flooded into his eyes. Leaning down, he extended a hand to Jeanette, and she, too, emerged from the car, her eyes shielded slightly by the veil that draped from the small pillbox hat perched on her head.

Finally Jeff got out of the car, instinctively starting toward his schoolmates, who were gathered in front of the chapel. Before he could take even a single step, Chet’s free hand closed on his shoulder, drawing him firmly to his side. They moved toward the open chapel doors, the crowd of children, and the adults escorting them, falling silent, stepping back to make way for the bereaved family.

As Jeanette stepped through the door into the chapel itself, a face appeared before her, one that she didn’t quite recognize until Brenda MacCallum spoke.

“I’m so sorry, Jeanette. I know there isn’t anything I can do, but—”

Jeanette summoned up a strained smile. “Brenda. How good of you to come. Such a long way …” Her voice trailed off as she failed to think of anything else to say.

“I had to come,” Brenda assured her. “I mean, I know I don’t know you very well, but I feel like we’re friends, you know?”

“Of course,” Jeanette murmured. She took a tentative step, as if to move around Brenda, and the other woman, abashed as she realized she was invading Jeanette’s privacy, turned away. But then Jeanette found herself reaching out to touch Brenda’s arm, stopping her.

“I was wrong about the Academy,” she said. “I know what I told you last weekend, but I was wrong. If I were you, I’d get Josh out of here before it’s too late.”

Brenda, frozen by Jeanette’s words, stood speechless as Chet guided his wife on down the aisle toward the front pew. Then she felt Josh tugging at her hand.

“Come on, Mom,” he whispered. “We’re not supposed to talk to them until after the funeral. Hildie told us!”

With Jeanette’s words still ringing in her ears, Brenda allowed Josh to lead her into a pew near the back of the chapel. Before she went home that afternoon, she would have to find an opportunity to talk further with Jeanette. Was Jeanette simply reacting to the tragedy that had befallen her son?

Or was there something about Adam’s death that no one had yet told her?

After what seemed an eternity to Jeanette, the funeral finally came to an end. George Engersol himself had delivered Adam’s eulogy, but Jeanette had stopped listening after only a few minutes, for the Adam he was speaking of — an Adam who had been a “devoted student, whose interests were as far-reaching as the magnificent expanse of his mind”—was not the little boy she herself remembered.

She remembered the toddler who had come crying to her every time he fell and scraped his knee, the five-year-old who had always pleaded for just one more story before she insisted on turning out the lights, the seven-year-old who had resolutely decided to keep on believing in Santa Claus, even after she and Chet had explained that he was only a myth.

“But God is only a myth, too, isn’t he?” Adam had asked.

“That’s right,” Chet, the most devout atheist she’d ever known, had replied.

“But lots of people still believe in God,” Adam had argued. “So I’m going to go on believing in Santa Claus. And as long as I believe in him, hell keep bringing me presents every Christmas.”

Every Christmas thereafter, Jeanette had made certain that at least one of the packages under the tree was marked “To Adam, From Santa.” Even last Christmas, Adam had saved that package till last, grinning happily as he tore off the wrappings. “See?” he’d pointed out to Jeff. “He never forgets me. And he hasn’t given you anything since we were seven.”

Jeff, ever the realist, pointed out that the writing on the label looked suspiciously like their mother’s, but Adam had been undisturbed. “Count your presents,” he said. “Mom and Dad always give us the same number, but I always get one from Santa, too.”

Jeff had counted, and discovered — to his dismay — that his brother was right. For the rest of the day Adam had taunted him with the fact that his refusal to believe had cost him all kinds of terrific things over the years. By the end of the day, Jeff had been bubbling over with fury and frustration, insisting that his brother had figured out a way to cheat on Christmas.

Not that it had done him any good — even Chet hadn’t been able to keep from laughing at the fact that for the first time Adam had gotten the better of his brother.

And now it was over.

George Engersol had finally stopped speaking. The last prayers had been spoken over the small casket that rested in front of the altar, and the recessional music had begun. With a last lingering look at the closed coffin that contained her son’s body, Jeanette allowed herself to be guided back up the aisle toward the door, then took her place at Chet’s side to accept the condolences of the crowd of mourners.

It was even worse than she’d imagined it could be. No one seemed to know what to say to her, what words to speak to a woman whose adolescent son had chosen to take his own life. All her friends, all the people she’d known for years, now seemed to have lost their tongues, pausing only for the briefest of moments to peck her on the cheek, whisper a brief “I’m so sorry,” and then move quickly away.

Do they think it’s my fault? she found herself wondering. Do they think I failed him in some way?

But hadn’t she? Of course she had. If she’d been a good mother and given Adam all the love and attention he needed, he’d still be alive, wouldn’t he?

She tried to tell herself it wasn’t true, that Hildie Kramer had been right when she’d assured her only the day before that there was nothing she could have done, that she and Chet had done everything they could for Adam, but that there had been forces inside him none of them had understood.

I can’t spend my life blaming myself, she repeated to herself over and over again. I still have Jeff, and I can’t stop living because of what’s happened. And I can’t make him stop living, either.

The last people in the chapel had drifted away. As Chet, Jeanette, and Jeff watched, the casket was borne up the aisle and carried to the waiting hearse. The pallbearers paused for a moment when they came to the family, and Jeanette laid her hand on the mahogany box for a moment, then quietly uttered a single word.

“Good-bye.”

As the family watched silently, the casket was placed in the hearse, and a moment later the hearse pulled away.

By the end of the day, Adam Aldrich’s remains would be cremated and his ashes scattered over the sea.

Brenda MacCallum glanced at her watch. It was nearly two. If she were to get back to Eden at a reasonable hour, she would have to leave soon. But she still hadn’t had a chance to talk further with Jeanette Aldrich, and as she scanned the thinning crowd on the lawn in front of the Academy, she was afraid Jeanette might already have left. She spotted Chet, deep in conversation with George Engersol, and Jeff, sitting with Josh, Amy Carlson, and some of the other kids in the shade next to the circle of trees they called the Gazebo. But Jeanette was nowhere to be seen.

Then, with the certainty of a mother, Brenda realized where Jeanette must be. Placing her empty lemonade glass on one of the tables that had been set up on the lawn, she set out toward the house, moving gingerly, her high heels sinking into the thick lawn with every step. She’d watched the other women ruefully as they balanced themselves on their toes, their own heels never puncturing the green carpet the way her own did. Of course, in Eden hardly anyone she knew even had a lawn, and those few were usually baked brown by the sun, the earth beneath them hard as a rock. Still, she wished she’d thought to wear flats.

Entering the house, she paused to brush the dirt from her heels, then went up the stairs to the second floor. Adam’s room had been right next to Jeff’s, at the far end, facing the front She moved quickly down the hall, then paused at the closed door of the next-to-last room. She tapped softly. When there was no answer, she turned to leave. But her instincts told her that the room wasn’t empty, so she turned back, tried the knob, and pushed the door open.

Leaning against the wall next to the window, staring off into space, was Jeanette Aldrich.

“Is it okay if I come in?” Brenda asked, feeling as if she’d intruded. “I mean, if you want to be by yourself …”

Jeanette shook her head quickly, almost as if she were bringing herself back to reality, then stepped forward. “No. It’s all right, Brenda. I was just …” She looked helplessly around the room. With all of Adam’s things gone, the closet open and empty, the bed stripped down to the bare mattress, the room had a forlorn look to it.

“You were just remembering,” Brenda said, entering and pushing the door closed behind her. “When I didn’t see you outside, I figured this is where you’d come.” Her eyes wandered over the room. “It looks kind of forlorn, doesn’t it?”

Jeanette nodded briefly. “But at least I can stand to be in it. If his things were still here, I don’t think I could. I haven’t been able to go into his room at home at all yet.”

Brenda perched herself on the edge of the bed. “I know how you feel. After my husband walked out, I could hardly even stand to get in the bed for a week.” Her face colored in embarrassment.” ’Course, I know it’s not the same thing, but the feeling’s sort of the same, you know?”

For the first time that day, Jeanette smiled. “What amazes me is that you know.” She came to sit next to Brenda on the bed. “You’re also the first person who’s actually come looking for me. It seems as though none of my friends want to talk to me. They don’t know what to say.”

“Well, I sure know what that’s like.” Brenda sighed. “After Josh cut his wrists, everyone was real nice, but they sure didn’t want to talk about it. For a few days there, I felt like I’d come down with leprosy or something. But what can you expect? Our kids aren’t like everyone else’s to start with, and when they do things like that, it really throws people.”

Jeanette’s smile faded. “Didn’t it throw you? When Josh tried to kill himself?”

“Sure it did. Scared me half to death. But I had to deal with it, just like I had to deal with every man I’ve ever known dumping me, and I had Melinda to take care of, too. So I brought him here.”

The last of Jeanette’s smile disappeared. “Just as I brought Adam and Jeff,” she said. “And now Adam’s dead.”

Brenda said nothing for a moment, but rose to her feet and went to the window. “I’ve been thinking about what you said before the funeral. About taking Josh home with me.”

“Good,” Jeanette replied. “I suppose you know by now that I’ve decided to take Jeff out of here. From now on, I want him at home with me.”

“I can sure see why,” Brenda agreed. “But I don’t know if I can take Josh out.” She beckoned to Jeanette. “Come here and take a look at this.”

Jeanette, puzzled, got up from the bed and came to stand next to Brenda. Gazing out the window, she saw nothing particularly remarkable. Just a group of kids sprawled on the lawn, talking among themselves.

“You know, I never saw that before,” Brenda said. “From the day he started going to school, Josh never was part of the group. It was like they just shut him out, and every day of his life he was hurting. But he’s not hurting here. How am I supposed to take him away? You really think I should do that to him? Put him back where he was, where everyone made fun of him, and he was bored all the time?”

Watching the scene through Brenda’s eyes, Jeanette was able for the first time since the tragedy to remember past the last two days.

She remembered the years before she and Chet had enrolled their sons in the Academy, when Jeff and Adam had had no friends except each other. And now, with Adam dead—

“Dear God,” she breathed, more to herself than to Brenda. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Well, I sure can’t tell you,” Brenda replied, still watching the group of children on the lawn. “But I know I can’t take Josh away from here, and before you decide to take Jeff out, maybe you ought to wait a little while.” She turned to face Jeanette. “I know how much you’re hurting, Jeanette. And I’ve done a lot of hurting in my life, too. But it gets better. Some days you think you’re just going to die, but every day it hurts a little less. The main thing is not to do something stupid when you’re hurting, that you can’t take back.”

Jeanette was silent for a moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was steady. “You mean the way Adam did?”

Brenda shrugged. “I wasn’t really thinking about Adam right then, but I guess that’s what I mean. And I guess I don’t think you ought to make Jeff pay for Adam’s mistakes, either. You know what I’m saying?”

Jeanette hesitated, then nodded. “I think I do,” she said. “And it’s funny. It’s almost exactly what Jeff told me on the way to the funeral.”

Brenda’s lips formed a wry grin. “Well, you know what they say: ‘Out of the mouths of babes …’ ”

Jeanette took a deep breath. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go down and have a glass of lemonade, since they aren’t serving anything stronger. And then I’d better tell Jeff he can stay here after all.” As they left the room, she took Brenda’s hand in her own. “I really am glad you came,” she said. “If you hadn’t, I’m not sure what I would have done.”

“You’d have done the right thing,” Brenda told her. “Maybe not right away, but you’d have figured it out. After all, if we’ve got kids as smart as Josh and Jeff, we can’t be too stupid, can we?”

As she started down the stairs with Brenda, Jeanette heard herself laughing out loud. A few minutes ago she hadn’t been at all sure she would ever laugh again.

“Jeff?” Josh asked.

Jeff turned to look at him, and for a minute Josh wondered if he should even mention the strange sounds he’d heard the night Adam had died. But the more he’d thought about it, and the more he’d thought about the peculiar note he’d seen on Adam’s computer, the less sense the whole thing made. Even though he’d talked to Hildie Kramer and Mr. Conners about the note, they hadn’t seemed to understand what he was saying. Of course, he hadn’t told them about hearing the elevator running when it wasn’t, because he knew they’d laugh at him for having fallen for Jeff’s ghost story about Eustace Barrington. But Jeff had acutally seen the note, and maybe …

He made up his mind. “What do you think really happened to Adam?”

Brad Hinshaw, who was sprawled next to Jeff, looked up. Jeff’s eyes changed slightly, as if a curtain had dropped behind them. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Josh said. “It’s just — Well, all he said in the note was that he was going somewhere. To a better place. He didn’t say he was killing himself. I mean, what if he was just running away?”

Brad groaned. “Come on, Josh. He got hit by a train, didn’t he? I mean, we just went to his funeral, didn’t we?”

Josh felt himself reddening. “But what if it wasn’t Adam at all? What if it was somebody else? They could have switched bodies or something, couldn’t they?”

Jeff Aldrich got to his feet and started away.

“That was really cool, Josh,” Brad said. “If you’re so smart, how could you say something that stupid in front of Jeff? Jeez!”

Josh scrambled to his feet and hurried after Jeff. Catching up to him, he grabbed the older boy’s arm. “Jeff? I–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. I was just — Well, I was just wondering about the note, that’s all.”

Jeff stopped, his eyes meeting Josh’s. “You’re lying,” he said. “There’s something else, isn’t there? Besides the note.”

Josh’s toe dug into the ground in front of him. “I–I heard the elevator, too,” he admitted, certain that Jeff would burst out laughing. When the other boy said nothing, Josh went on. “It was just like you said — I could hear it, but it wasn’t moving.”

Jeff’s lips twisted into the strangest smile the younger boy had ever seen. “Then maybe that’s what happened,” Jeff told him. “Maybe Adam isn’t dead at all. Maybe Eustace Barrington came back from the grave and took him away. And maybe, sometime when you’re least expecting it, Adam himself will come and tell you what really happened.”

Josh, stunned by Jeff’s words, dropped his arm.

Jeff Aldrich, the smile still on his fece, turned and walked away.

• • •

Late that night, Hildie Kramer went into George Engersol’s private office, closing the door behind her. Engersol glanced up, nodded to her, then finished the file he was working on. A moment later he put the file away, leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

“All right,” he said. “How bad is it?”

Hildie smiled. “Not bad at all. The Lowensteins are pulling Monica out of school, and I can’t talk them out of it. But she’s the only one. All the rest are staying, including Jeff Aldrich.”

“Not bad,” Engersol replied. “We can live with it. But it means my special seminar is now short two students. I have two candidates in mind, but I’d like to hear your recommendations first.”

Hildie didn’t hesitate at all. “Josh MacCallum and Amy Carlson,” she said. “They’re both nearly perfect. Two of our brightest students, and both of them have the intellectual and psychological profiles we’re looking for.”

Engersol smiled. “Very good, Hildie. Those are exactly the two candidates I had in mind. Rearrange their schedules for them to start tomorrow.”

As Hildie left his office, Engersol reviewed the files of the two students one more time. He agreed. They were perfect for the seminar.

Josh MacCallum. indeed, had already attempted suicide once.

If he did it again, and succeeded, no one would think a thing about it.