So Much Pretty (30 page)

They knew where she was. They talked about it, and I didn’t do the right thing at the time. I thought they were joking.

No, I wouldn’t call it an act of revenge. I would call it an act of extreme rationality. It’s clearly eliminating a problem. I mean, I feel really good. I feel really really good about what I did. Probably better, more relieved, than I’ve ever felt. I don’t like jail, I really miss being outside and swimming, and I’d like to see how the butterfly house is doing. But ultimately it’s not that bad, considering I was able to have this positive outcome, remove six people who lack moral responsibility and would have likely gone on to do more violent things. You have to start somewhere. If a boy hurts you or your friends intentionally, he is going to hurt other people, you have the most intimate, accurate information you would need to act, you shouldn’t expect a government
that still debates the basic human rights of women in other countries or never passed the Equal Rights Amendment to take care of these things. That’s not logical. You must already know this, though. You must have had to do a lot of research for the paper that came out when Wendy’s body was found.

Are you okay?

The action I chose had the best return. School is for learning, correcting, and preventing mistakes. If I were to get caught, it would be better if it was for removing several problems in the most instructive way. People tend to think that girls don’t or won’t do things like this—but there’s nothing stopping us, technology makes it so you can address these problems immediately instead of going through a system that doesn’t work very well. Right?

There should be a more rational way to think about it, like: Men are generally nice people who live in the world, and it’s possible to remove the ones who cause harm, or will in the future, in order to have a better society in which women getting raped and killed isn’t entertaining or a cause for political discourse. That’s not good for anyone. You know what I mean? It’s great that you wrote the things you did. But by the time you are writing about it, it’s too late. Plus, they were all there in one place, not expecting it, and not armed.

Nothing ever made me feel quite this responsible. It’s okay if I don’t ever get out of here. You should probably leave, though. You should probably leave Haeden.

Flynn

A
FTER LEAVING HER
, I drove out through the countryside with the windows rolled down. It was a warm day, golden buds of leaves crowned the top branches of the maples that lined the narrow winding lanes, and the cold of the recently frozen earth swept into the car from the ditches and gullies flanking the low-shouldered road.

She’d thanked me.

I had everything I needed now.

And nothing.

I didn’t know if she would go on to tell Dino this story, if she would wait until her next appearance in court to give the same matter-of-fact explanation. Of course she gave this confession to me. I had a long history of breaking the stories of her achievements. Smiling at her inventions. And that was obviously how she saw it.

How did she know exactly who took or raped or killed Wendy White? The fact was she didn’t. She couldn’t. And because of mishandled DNA evidence, neither could anyone else who might have made a difference.

I drove into town and parked the car on Main Street, near my office, but didn’t get out. I sat and watched the light begin to slant against the buildings. It was close to five-thirty, and I could see people walking from their trucks into the Rooster and the Alibi, musicians carrying fiddle cases, men in paint-splattered Carhart pants headed for happy hour, a group of girls wearing track uniforms walking into Sal’s to get pizza, a waitress sitting and smoking on a bench outside the Laundromat.

* * *

I had come here wanting to save Haeden and had not been able to save even one woman.

Not until that day.

I went home that night and called my editor at
City Paper
, and she thought I was joking when I asked to be put back on beat. Called Brian and told him me and my boyfriend were coming home. Said I didn’t care if Schiller Street was half abandoned again, could he help find us a place.

And then I deleted the interview.

This was how we left Haeden, Tom and I, and a trunk filled with photographs, transcripts, and depositions. I would not stop writing about this. I would not stray again so far from the source of malevolence, the catalyst for each criminal compulsion I’d set out to uncover since J-school. The big “who benefits” at the end of each story that we somehow keep missing in amassing the details. It was not about selling a piece anymore. Or a Polk or a Pulitzer. It was and still is about freedom. Hers and yours and mine.

Like the weapon she used and the lives she took, Alice Piper’s confession no longer exists.

Beverly Haytes

APRIL 22, 2009

I
HEARD FROM SOMEONE
that Bruce threw himself in front of Kyle, and that’s why he was the only one who was shot three times and shot in the chest as well as the head. He was trying to protect his friend and his teammate. He was braver than most. That was always true of both my boys.

I can’t talk about Brucie. I don’t think it would be right.

This is the last picture that was taken of all of them. Look at them. The little bucks. They all got their hair cut like that, the same way, for homecoming.

Jim talked to Alex Dino. He said they’re going to see to it there is a full investigation. We just don’t know why or how such a thing could ever happen. Alex told Jim it’s something about that girl’s family being a part of a terrorist cult. They’re hiding out here in Haeden, who knows what they got up to in New York City. Well, you saw how the mother always wore black or those strange homemade clothes.

I really can’t say a word about Brucie. I will not be able to do it. I can say I will live my life like Brucie lived his, and especially like he lived his on his football team, which was the most important thing to him. Jim read this at his funeral, and this is our family’s philosophy and the one thing we know in our hearts our boys and our whole family brought to the world:

The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life. Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than successes, than
what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness, or skill. It will make or break a company . . . a church . . . a home. We cannot change our past. We cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude . . . I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me, and 90% how I react to it. And so it is with you . . . we are in charge of our attitudes.

That quote came from Charles Swindoll, who wrote
Sanctity of Life
. It’s such an apt quotation right now, as we are hurting in this way. We had it printed on a thousand prayer cards. I sent one to Dale, down where he’s at the parent company. Poor Dale with his heart broken now all over again. It was just too much for him to come home for more grief.

It’s a small comfort, at least, to know that to the very end, Brucie was in charge of his attitude, and I am sure he never thought twice about trying to protect Kyle. That’s how he was. He was part of the team. And he was my baby. I am proud to have raised him, and I am proud to have had the opportunity to know him. And Jim feels the same. I won’t see him dishonored by my self-pity.

You know, his life, as it turns out, was a little like Jesus’ life. That’s what our pastor said. We allowed the sin of that terrible family to gestate in this community, and Brucie paid for it. Brucie my son, my baby, paid for those sins.

Alice

ELMVILLE COUNTY JAIL, APRIL 30, 2009

S
HE WOULD TEAR
the pages from every book her mother had brought, after reading them. Tear out the pages and fold them into neat squares. Then she would fold the squares into frogs and butterflies and cranes, tossing each one onto the floor beside her bed. This was how she would clear her thoughts, sitting and folding squares and triangles by the dozen. She flicked them through the bars of her cell into Lorelei Ramos’s, who unfolded them and read.

“What
is
this shit?” Ramos asked.

“It’s a frog.”

“No, stupid. From what book is it?”

“I think that was John Berger’s
Ways of Seeing
.”

“How many you got folded? Don’t just dump them around, you should set them up in rows or something, super neat and orderly. That’s how they do.”

There was no bail set for her, so she could not go home. In Ramos’s opinion, there was no getting out, but if she somehow were to do it, now would be the time, because she hadn’t had the second psychiatric evaluation, she was just sitting there while whoever her parents hired did whatever they did to free her. There was always a chance of getting out during transport; Lorelei had heard of that kind of shit happening. These tiny town jails were always overcrowded, so eventually, they’d be moved around, moved over to Chemung County, maybe. Other than that, this was her best bet. Lorelei, like Alice, was a strategist. But as she’d explained to Alice, even strategists can make some dumb fucking mistakes if they didn’t know what to anticipate.
And Alice might possibly be the stupidest smart person Lorelei had ever known.

“I just don’t think there’s any evidence that I’m mentally ill,” Alice told her.

“No?” Lorelei asked, and sucked her teeth. “You don’t think so?”

Alice shook her head. But there was no one to see her do it.

Soon it would be May 1. She wished that there was a table in her cell with a bottle on top that said
DRINK ME
, like in
Alice in Wonderland
, and then she could drink and fold up like a telescope and walk through the bars, tiny as a mouse. She had not talked to Theo in a week, and any letters they might send would be read. There were things she needed him to bring her. She did a handstand and walked in a circle around her cell. Then leaned on the wall, still upside down, with her heels against the cool cement. She had to do something with her hands soon. She wanted to sew.

She did some push-ups and then rolled herself down slowly into a ball and lay on the floor. Then she did what Lorelei said and began arranging her origami animals around the bars as if they were an audience.

“You’ll call them?”

Ramos said, “I’ll call them. I’ll call them fast, you just make sure you don’t make no mistakes. There’s a camera anyway, but no guarantee they see it. You really gotta talk gibberish. Not like the way you already do. I mean really fucking crazy. Words that just don’t go together at all. But make sure they know you’re serious, they got to think you’re really going to do it.”

“Okay,” Alice said. “Thank you.”

“Don’t fuck up,” Lorelei said. “You fuck up, you don’t
get
no other chance with this kind of shit.”

Alice held on to the bars of her cell and did fifteen pull-ups. She would do it, and then Lorelei would call the guard. And after that, everything Theo would learn would be public information, and hopefully, that would be accurate. He would have to just
know her. Know what she intended. There was no other option, really. He would have to go back and replay it all for the subtext, figure out how and where and what she might have needed. He would have to remember their underground river. He would have to remember the wild wood, as she did now. Remember how he always brought her things, magnets and beeswax and army men.

They were both quiet, waiting. Then Lorelei whispered to her, “Piper.”

“What?”

“I wanted to tell you before you go . . . that my mother . . .” She faltered. “My mother . . .” She began again but didn’t finish the sentence, and Alice could hear in her voice that something had happened that had taken her breath. She said nothing and listened to Lorelei clear her throat a few times. Eventually, the woman said, clearly and quietly, “You did right.”

There was a loud echoing buzz and their lights clicked off and they sat in silence in their separate cells. Alice waited for her eyes to adjust. The corridor in front of the cells was dimly lit by one fluorescent bulb.

Alice pulled the sheet off her bed and ripped the corner, tearing one long strip down the side.

“What are you doing?” called Ramos from her cell.

“Nothing.”

Alice tore two more strips and began braiding them together. Pulled herself up again against the bars, as high as she could get, and tied the fabric tightly round.

“Pipe Bomb, what the fuck are you doing?”

Alice fashioned a loop and slipknot with the remaining length. She put her head through the noose, standing on her tiptoes.

“Alice,” Lorelei whispered. “Stick with the fucking plan.”

“No,” she said, “I’m doing something better. Permanent.” And she hopped lightly, her arms out to her sides, then swung back and down against the bars, and everything went white.

Alice

HAEDEN COUNTY MEDICAL CENTER
APRIL 30, 2009

H
AEDEN COUNTY MEDICAL
overlooked the river, but the room she was in did not. In the first few minutes before she moved to the new bed, she looked through the blinds and saw only darkness and the lights from the parking lot below. The hospital was thirty miles from the jail, and by the time the ambulance got her there, Gene and Claire were waiting. They looked drawn and pained but seemed relieved at the chance to touch and kiss her. That was before she began to drift again. Alice smelled her home on them, the dirt and baking bread and coffee, and their own smells, something about Claire’s face, like honey or apples. Another man in the room asked them to leave, and she opened her eyes to see who it was. A blue uniform but a face she hadn’t seen.

She was not restrained, not that she could tell. No plastic handcuffs, nothing on her ankles that she felt, but she couldn’t seem to feel anything. Everything was slowed down. Any movement at all took too much time or thought or something it never used to require. She felt like she was watching everything on a screen. She looked at the guard, and he looked tired, too. Claire stood beside Alice, holding her hand. She examined the IV, then looked down and smiled at Alice, brushed back her hair.