Stranglehold (31 page)

Perched on a branch. Calmly looking down.

"Mom? What's ..."

Robert was standing in the doorway, eyes almost as wide as the cat's had been.

Her heart was pounding.

She felt wonderful. Terrific.

She laughed. Wonderful, she realized, to finally find herself able to
do
something. Something positive.

Something that made a difference.

"It's all right," she said, smiling. "I just saved a kitty with somebody's old heirloom."

"What's an heirloom?"

"Come on. We'll go downstairs and get it off the lawn and I'll explain it to you over a glass of hot cocoa, okay?" She followed him down.

He knew almost instantly how it was going to be. So did she, the bitch. He could see it on her face. The courtroom was silent, not a sound but Judge Burke's deep flat voice and the stenographer's fingers on the keys.

Arthur listened, and felt the power rise.

"I cannot find with absolute certainty that there has indeed been sexual abuse in this case," he said, "despite Dr.
Hessler's
remarks as to its probability, Dr. Bromberg's suspicions, or Ms.
Danse's
own contentions. Nor do I find that Robert's 'maybes' constitute compelling testimony. It seems to me that a troubled boy, as it has been well established by all who have interviewed him that Robert is indeed troubled, may have inadvertently or even intentionally harmed himself in this fashion. And it would be ill-advised for me to assume differently until further proof is provided or until Robert himself says in a far more clear and straightforward manner that he has indeed been abused by his father.

"That said, I must also admit that I am distressed by the mother's actions here."

He looked at Lydia.

"Ms.
Danse
, I'm sorry to tell you that I believe you've acted against Robert's interests in some very serious ways here. There is evidence of a kind of hysteria in your behavior. A tendency toward which you displayed, I believe, by marching into your ex-husband's bar and accusing him loudly in front of anyone who cared to listen. But more to the point, you have continued to insist on his guilt despite the lack of credible evidence against him. And in order to further those beliefs, in the course of a single day you paraded a troubled boy to a lawyer's office, a proctologist's office, a psychologist's office, and then encouraged yet another interview by Ms. Stone—all in the possibly paranoid suspicion that Mr.
Danse
had done something to your son that Robert wouldn't affirm he'd done nor that you'd had any concrete proof he'd done.

"If this is your notion of helping Robert, I don't share it. And I fear a recurrence of this kind of unstable behavior.

"Finally, I am
deeply
distressed and saddened at your stated unwillingness to adhere to the guidelines of law in this matter. Frankly, I have to wonder how you plan to bring up the boy, with this kind of an attitude. I see far too many youngsters in here as it is who couldn't care less about the law. It is and has always been part of the function of our court system in this country to promote respect for and compliance with the laws of society whatever they may be, and I would not be doing my duty as an officer of the court if I didn't take this into consideration here.

"Consequently, given your own stated recalcitrance in the matter of continuing unrestricted visitation by Mr.
Danse
, and given the absence of proof of the allegations against him, I am transferring custody of the child, Robert
Danse
,
to
Mr.
Danse
. I expect the three attorneys to work out a plan for visitation rights for the mother and submit that plan to me. And I expect, Ms.
Danse
, that you will proceed expeditiously to comply with this order of custodial transfer or else I will hold you in contempt of court, that I promise you. Dismissed."

The gavel rang in his ears like a sudden clap of thunder.

He was the storm
. Unstoppable. The wind that blew them all away and out of here like autumn leaves. It was better than he'd ever expected. He shook his lawyer's cool smooth hand and smiled.

His son was his again.

"I won't do it. I'm running. That's all there is to it. His school's two blocks away. I'm taking him out of there right now and we're getting out of here."

They were walking through the parking lot, Lydia flanked by
Sansom
and Andrea Stone. The day was warm and sunny. Her hands felt like ice.

"You don't want to do that, Lydia,"
Sansom
said, "believe me. For God's sake, they'll
arrest
you. You'll go to jail. You think the courts are going to look at you any more favorably as a custodian for Robert with a jail sentence hanging over your head? You'd risk never seeing him again."

"Listen," said Andrea Stone, "I can buy us some time. Let me appeal the judge's decision as Robert's attorney and guardian ad
litem
. I can get him into a foster home within a day or two at most, and in the meantime ..."

"A
foster
home?"

"... and in the meantime I can go over Arthur's house with a fine-tooth comb, find reasons—
make
reasons if I have to—why Robert shouldn't stay there. You can hire an investigator, see what you can dig up on him. We can draw this out for a long time, believe me."

"She's right, Lydia. Do it our way. Do it through the system."

"The system stinks," she said.

She got to the car and fumbled the keys into the door, aware that they were watching her, as though they were afraid for her. Well, she was afraid for herself. And Robert.

She'd run if she had to.

She'd whore the streets.

For all their good intentions, fuck them. They were the system and the system was shit. The system was nothing but betrayal.

There was one more card to play.

"You sure you don't want me to drive you?" said Andrea Stone.

"I'm fine," she said and started the car. "I'm going to Robert's school. I'll call you."

When she saw him at his desk through the window of the schoolroom door she almost cried, almost lost it. The class was silent. Taking a quiz. The shifting in seats. The scuffle of shoes. And that was all. She took a deep breath and walked on in.

He glanced up and saw her and she managed to smile at him and then whispered her intentions to Mrs.
Youngjohn
, who nodded—trying, she knew, not to show concern and not to pry. Mrs.
Youngjohn
walked over to Robert and spoke to him and pointed to his mother. He collected his books and quietly got up and she put a hand on his shoulder as she walked him out the door.

She knew he wanted to ask her what was going on, but he didn't dare—not here. There was something about the quiet of the empty hall which was denying him permission with each echoing footfall, urging him outside where it was possible to speak in the open air.

She led him to the car.

The air felt even warmer to her now. She was sweating. She felt empty inside, as though being with Robert had calmed her but somehow at the same time had blocked off all emotions but the simple feeling of being alive and in his presence.

She was aware of him staring at her.

She started the car and began to pull away.

"You going to tell me, or what?" he said. His voice was a little angry with her—and frightened.

She braked and turned to him and then turned off the ignition.

"The judge said that you have to go and stay with your father, Robert," she said.

She could think of no other way to do this than to say to him directly.

She was trying not to cry and she could see that so was he. She could feel the tension running through him electric with fear and uncertainty.

"When? For how long?"

He didn't understand. She had never hated anything more than this.

"Robert, the court said you have to go and
live
with him."

It was as though she'd slapped him. He flung himself back against the car door, he was halfway up on his knees. He looked like something trapped there.

"No!"

"Robert ..."

"I won't! They can't make me!
Why won't you help me?
"

And now she
was
crying. Because it was true. She hadn't helped him. Not enough. Not nearly.

"Robert, I
can't
help you. None of us can. Not if you won't say what he does to you. Not if you won't tell."

"I'll tell! I swear I will! I
can't
go live with him! I can't."

He was terrified. Pressed back against the door and trembling, sobbing.

She slid over on the seat and reached for him, put her arms around him and held him, rocked him, both of them letting the tears come freely, her breast wet and warm with them, the musky scent of tears filling the car until finally after a good long while they subsided.

She whispered, "Why not before, Robert? I know you love your daddy but ..."

"I don't love him. I
hate
him."

She looked into his eyes and saw that it was true. "Then why ...?"

"... going to kill you," he murmured into her blouse. He was clutching at the blouse in back, holding onto her like he wanted to burrow deep inside her.

"What? Say that again?"

And then it all came out in a rush.

"He had this rabbit, he killed it. He pulled off its skin and cut off its head and its feet and he said that's what he'd do to you if I told and I knew he wasn't kidding and that he'd do it because he hates you, really
hates
you and now I
am
telling and he'll ..."

"Hey," she said, hugging him close.

His fear was a kind of ozone in the car and she felt she could barely breathe as what he'd said sunk in. She hugged him tighter.

So that was it.

He'd been telling the truth when he denied to her and to Andrea Stone that his father had threatened to hurt him. It was her he was protecting.

Not his father. Or himself.

He'd been doing what he thought he had to do all along. Protecting her life by coming within an inch of destroying his own.

"He's not going to kill me, Robert," she said. "He's not going to hurt me or you at all. I don't care what he said. He's a liar and a coward and he's never going to hurt either of us ever again."

He looked at her.
He wants to believe me
, she thought.

He almost—but not quite—does.

"Do you know how much I love you?" she said. "Do you know how brave I think you are? I love you, Robert. And we'll go through this the two of us together, and then we'll see. Then we'll see who does what to whom, okay? Okay, big guy?"

His smile wasn't much but at least it was there.

She smiled too. Because now there was something to do. Now there was somewhere to go with this.