humiliated Priscilla Gaul on the witness stand because he has ‘‘a secret agenda to promote possession of ferrets.’’
‘‘Damn,’’ I said.
Insists Hinkel, ‘‘I’m not saying the ferret lobby has paid him off, but I can’t think of another reason for him, of all people, to be so rough on a handicapped woman.’’
‘‘What a jerk.’’ I tossed the paper down, thinking that Hinkel had proved more resourceful than me; he had come up with three ways to try the case: vermin, hysterics, and now defamation. ‘‘Judge Rodriguez should sanction him. She should fine his ass from here to Tuesday.’’
Jesse rubbed his eyes. ‘‘To Tuesday. Right. I’ll draft a motion requesting it.’’
Luke ran back into the room holding aloft an elaborate construction of string, LEGOs, and duct tape. ‘‘This is so radical. It’s a dispension.’’
Jesse held out his hands. ‘‘Sweet. What does it do?’’
‘‘It can be a sub or a jet. See, this part is the control panel.’’
‘‘Jesse—’’ I said, but his slashing glance shut me up. He began discussing the invention with Luke, treating it seriously, asking questions. I turned back to the paper. This was what had been eating at him all day.
He said to Luke, ‘‘What’s this?’’
‘‘I don’t know. It was on my bed.’’
‘‘Did one of your friends leave it here?’’ Any light-heartedness had left his voice.
I turned around. Luke was holding a small crown of thorns, the size of a bracelet, sculpted from shiny barbed wire. A metallic chill passed through me. I crossed the room and took it from him.
He said, ‘‘It’s sharp. Don’t let it poke you.’’
Hanging from it was a tag on which was written, Let the children come unto me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven .
Jesse and I exchanged a look. Carrying the crown, I walked to Luke’s room. It looked orderly. No, it looked impeccable—compulsively tidy, almost sanitized. My breathing quickened. Luke hadn’t done this. Someone had been in here. Then I noticed his bear, the teddy with the skull-and-dagger patch. It had a note pinned to its chest. Pinned like a voodoo doll, point stabbing inward. I picked it up. For all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.
I backed out of the room. Jesse was still talking to Luke about the dispension, keeping his voice even, trying not to betray alarm. I headed to my bedroom, flipped on the light, and nearly screamed. A humanoid form lay on my bed. I grabbed the doorpost and closed my eyes. After a few seconds I could hear Jesse calling my name.
Turning around, I said, ‘‘We’re spending the night at your place.’’
Luke popped up from the sofa and came toward me. ‘‘What’s the matter?’’
I grabbed him, spun him around, started pushing him toward the front door, too sternly. His face was a knot of worry. ‘‘Aunt Evvie, what’s wrong?’’
‘‘You two go on. Right now.’’
Jesse asked no questions. ‘‘Come on, little dude. Don’t forget your backpack.’’
But Luke wouldn’t need his homework. I didn’t plan to send him to school the next day. I didn’t plan to bring him back to my house, or to stay in Santa Barbara once the sun came up. I had to get him away, up to China Lake. I led him out the door.
On my bed, atop my patchwork quilt, lay a life-size inflatable plastic doll. It was naked except for a witch’s hat and a rubber mask shaped like a dog’s face. In its left hand were pages torn from my book. They had been used as toilet paper. Between its legs were discarded condoms and smeared, stinking dog shit.
Written in excrement between its anatomically correct breasts was SPY.
On the nightstand next to the bed, placed carefully, was the wooden crucifix my grandmother had given to me. The figure of Christ had been pried off with a hammer and pounded into the wall, nailing a note above my headboard.
But as for dogs and sorcerers, fornicators, idolaters,
‘‘Damn,’’ I said.
Insists Hinkel, ‘‘I’m not saying the ferret lobby has paid him off, but I can’t think of another reason for him, of all people, to be so rough on a handicapped woman.’’
‘‘What a jerk.’’ I tossed the paper down, thinking that Hinkel had proved more resourceful than me; he had come up with three ways to try the case: vermin, hysterics, and now defamation. ‘‘Judge Rodriguez should sanction him. She should fine his ass from here to Tuesday.’’
Jesse rubbed his eyes. ‘‘To Tuesday. Right. I’ll draft a motion requesting it.’’
Luke ran back into the room holding aloft an elaborate construction of string, LEGOs, and duct tape. ‘‘This is so radical. It’s a dispension.’’
Jesse held out his hands. ‘‘Sweet. What does it do?’’
‘‘It can be a sub or a jet. See, this part is the control panel.’’
‘‘Jesse—’’ I said, but his slashing glance shut me up. He began discussing the invention with Luke, treating it seriously, asking questions. I turned back to the paper. This was what had been eating at him all day.
He said to Luke, ‘‘What’s this?’’
‘‘I don’t know. It was on my bed.’’
‘‘Did one of your friends leave it here?’’ Any light-heartedness had left his voice.
I turned around. Luke was holding a small crown of thorns, the size of a bracelet, sculpted from shiny barbed wire. A metallic chill passed through me. I crossed the room and took it from him.
He said, ‘‘It’s sharp. Don’t let it poke you.’’
Hanging from it was a tag on which was written, Let the children come unto me, and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven .
Jesse and I exchanged a look. Carrying the crown, I walked to Luke’s room. It looked orderly. No, it looked impeccable—compulsively tidy, almost sanitized. My breathing quickened. Luke hadn’t done this. Someone had been in here. Then I noticed his bear, the teddy with the skull-and-dagger patch. It had a note pinned to its chest. Pinned like a voodoo doll, point stabbing inward. I picked it up. For all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword.
I backed out of the room. Jesse was still talking to Luke about the dispension, keeping his voice even, trying not to betray alarm. I headed to my bedroom, flipped on the light, and nearly screamed. A humanoid form lay on my bed. I grabbed the doorpost and closed my eyes. After a few seconds I could hear Jesse calling my name.
Turning around, I said, ‘‘We’re spending the night at your place.’’
Luke popped up from the sofa and came toward me. ‘‘What’s the matter?’’
I grabbed him, spun him around, started pushing him toward the front door, too sternly. His face was a knot of worry. ‘‘Aunt Evvie, what’s wrong?’’
‘‘You two go on. Right now.’’
Jesse asked no questions. ‘‘Come on, little dude. Don’t forget your backpack.’’
But Luke wouldn’t need his homework. I didn’t plan to send him to school the next day. I didn’t plan to bring him back to my house, or to stay in Santa Barbara once the sun came up. I had to get him away, up to China Lake. I led him out the door.
On my bed, atop my patchwork quilt, lay a life-size inflatable plastic doll. It was naked except for a witch’s hat and a rubber mask shaped like a dog’s face. In its left hand were pages torn from my book. They had been used as toilet paper. Between its legs were discarded condoms and smeared, stinking dog shit.
Written in excrement between its anatomically correct breasts was SPY.
On the nightstand next to the bed, placed carefully, was the wooden crucifix my grandmother had given to me. The figure of Christ had been pried off with a hammer and pounded into the wall, nailing a note above my headboard.
But as for dogs and sorcerers, fornicators, idolaters,
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