A Deadly Wandering: A Tale of Tragedy and Redemption in the Age of Attention by Matt Richtel
Authors: Matt Richtel
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break room, they laughed. As advertised, Disneyland, to Terryl, was the happiest place on earth.
Encouraged by Dr. Ganer and the young people she met from USC, Terryl applied after two years at Cypress to a bunch of colleges: George Washington and Georgetown, the University of Kentucky, UCLA, and USC. She got into every one of them, which, still highly uncertain of herself, she silently attributed to the fact that she was poor and filling someone’s quota. But she was still elated, particularly when the envelope arrived from USC, which was attended by all those happy, privileged kids from Disneyland.
At USC, she took a class in criminal psychology, which she thought would fulfill a credit but wound up touching her deeply. She knew well how “bad men” acted, after years of living with Danny. She started thinking about becoming a prosecutor. She took classes at the university’s Annenberg School for Communication. It was interesting stuff, but it also felt practical. She might not be able to afford law school, she thought, but she could always make a living doing public relations. She liked having a glass-half-full outlook and was adept at putting a good face on things.
She got scholarship money to live in the dorm. Her roommate was a music major, which meant Terryl got to attend music events. She joined the “Helenes,” the smiling, effervescent greeters at USC sporting events. She told no one about her past, her home life, and they didn’t seem to care. She felt safe. The dorm had a guard. She could sleep without keeping one eye open, as she had to do at home.
Danny, though, would not let her go. Far from it.
One late afternoon in the summer after her first year at USC—her junior year, given all her Cypress credits—she took Mitchell to the movies at the Cerritos mall. Mitchell was now six, and a sweet little guy. The pair left the theater through the back doors. By now it was dark. In a vivid recounting, Terryl says she didn’t see Danny until it was too late: He was standing right next to them, wearing the familiar blue work pants and shirt, literally stinking drunk.
“Terryl, say good-bye to your little brother,” she recollects him saying.
She looked at him. What did he mean?
“You’re never going to see him again!” Danny grabbed Mitchell by the arm.
“No! No! No! Help! Help!” Terryl screamed.
She grasped Mitchell by the other arm. She pulled, and Danny pulled. And then Danny, so much bigger than Terryl, swung Mitchell away.
“That’s when I lost him. I didn’t have a grip on him anymore. Danny grabbed him and ran away and threw him in the truck and they drove off.”
Terryl remembers running to her Pinto after the confrontation with Danny. She climbed in. She became paralyzed. Tears poured from her, hysteria. It was the days before cell phones—she couldn’t call her mom. She didn’t know if she should call the police. What could they do? What had they ever done?
She sat in the car for a long time. Still hysterical, crying the way she hadn’t in many years, maybe since high school graduation. In that state, she drove home, blind with anger and helplessness. It nearly cost her dearly. She was so consumed that, driving on the highway, too fast, she rounded a curve and the Pinto swerved; she lost control, and then, at the last second, recovered.
Danny returned Mitchell unharmed, but another scar was left on Terryl, the seeds of a recurring nightmare. Whenever she slept at home, she’d have it: her dad taking Mitchell, threatening that Terryl would never see the boy again. And, in the nightmare, she never did see her brother again.
Mitchell, looking back, remembers the incident differently. He says his dad came to get him because Terryl had him out too late. His dad, Mitchell recalls, never got out of the car, and only got upset when Terryl wouldn’t hand him over and resisted. “She was always mouthie,” Mitchell recalls, suggesting Terryl provoked Danny. And he says his dad
Encouraged by Dr. Ganer and the young people she met from USC, Terryl applied after two years at Cypress to a bunch of colleges: George Washington and Georgetown, the University of Kentucky, UCLA, and USC. She got into every one of them, which, still highly uncertain of herself, she silently attributed to the fact that she was poor and filling someone’s quota. But she was still elated, particularly when the envelope arrived from USC, which was attended by all those happy, privileged kids from Disneyland.
At USC, she took a class in criminal psychology, which she thought would fulfill a credit but wound up touching her deeply. She knew well how “bad men” acted, after years of living with Danny. She started thinking about becoming a prosecutor. She took classes at the university’s Annenberg School for Communication. It was interesting stuff, but it also felt practical. She might not be able to afford law school, she thought, but she could always make a living doing public relations. She liked having a glass-half-full outlook and was adept at putting a good face on things.
She got scholarship money to live in the dorm. Her roommate was a music major, which meant Terryl got to attend music events. She joined the “Helenes,” the smiling, effervescent greeters at USC sporting events. She told no one about her past, her home life, and they didn’t seem to care. She felt safe. The dorm had a guard. She could sleep without keeping one eye open, as she had to do at home.
Danny, though, would not let her go. Far from it.
One late afternoon in the summer after her first year at USC—her junior year, given all her Cypress credits—she took Mitchell to the movies at the Cerritos mall. Mitchell was now six, and a sweet little guy. The pair left the theater through the back doors. By now it was dark. In a vivid recounting, Terryl says she didn’t see Danny until it was too late: He was standing right next to them, wearing the familiar blue work pants and shirt, literally stinking drunk.
“Terryl, say good-bye to your little brother,” she recollects him saying.
She looked at him. What did he mean?
“You’re never going to see him again!” Danny grabbed Mitchell by the arm.
“No! No! No! Help! Help!” Terryl screamed.
She grasped Mitchell by the other arm. She pulled, and Danny pulled. And then Danny, so much bigger than Terryl, swung Mitchell away.
“That’s when I lost him. I didn’t have a grip on him anymore. Danny grabbed him and ran away and threw him in the truck and they drove off.”
Terryl remembers running to her Pinto after the confrontation with Danny. She climbed in. She became paralyzed. Tears poured from her, hysteria. It was the days before cell phones—she couldn’t call her mom. She didn’t know if she should call the police. What could they do? What had they ever done?
She sat in the car for a long time. Still hysterical, crying the way she hadn’t in many years, maybe since high school graduation. In that state, she drove home, blind with anger and helplessness. It nearly cost her dearly. She was so consumed that, driving on the highway, too fast, she rounded a curve and the Pinto swerved; she lost control, and then, at the last second, recovered.
Danny returned Mitchell unharmed, but another scar was left on Terryl, the seeds of a recurring nightmare. Whenever she slept at home, she’d have it: her dad taking Mitchell, threatening that Terryl would never see the boy again. And, in the nightmare, she never did see her brother again.
Mitchell, looking back, remembers the incident differently. He says his dad came to get him because Terryl had him out too late. His dad, Mitchell recalls, never got out of the car, and only got upset when Terryl wouldn’t hand him over and resisted. “She was always mouthie,” Mitchell recalls, suggesting Terryl provoked Danny. And he says his dad
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