Kevin O'Brien - Disturbed

Chris’s eyes narrowed at her. Family skeletons out of the closet , there she went with another one of her weird expressions. It sounded gay-related, but he wasn’t sure.

She opened the photo album and brought it to him. “That’s Charlie and me when we were about eleven and twelve. . ”

Chris glanced at the photos of two kids, bundled up in jackets, earmuffs, scarves, and boots, playing in the snow. They were building a snowman that was taller than both of them. It looked like a scene from the movie A Christmas Story .

“When I look at these pictures,” Molly said, “I still can’t believe he did what he did. But I’m sure your dad explained to you that Charlie was mentally ill. Anyway, if you have anything you’d like to ask me about my brother or my family, feel free.”

“Is that why you and your mother aren’t close?” Chris asked. “Because your brother shot all those people?”

Molly nodded. “Yes. And it’s a shame, too, because I really miss her. But I guess we’re both having a hard time forgiving each other — and ourselves.”

Chris turned the page in the photo album — to some pictures of Molly on what must have been her thirteenth birthday. At least, in the photos, there was a 1 candle and a 3 candle on the cake. She was kind of gawky looking, with braces and braids. At the dinner table with the cake and the stack of presents, it was just Molly, her brother, and one parent. In some photos, it was the mom, in other photos, the dad. The parents must have taken turns snapping the picture. It was sad. There was no one else at her birthday. And there was no one else playing in the snow with them. “Didn’t you guys have any friends?” he heard himself ask.

Chris noticed the slightly pained look on her face. Then he cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” she murmured. She sat back down on his bed. “Charlie didn’t make friends too easily, and I felt responsible for him. It sort of became my job, my role in the family. Plus, to be honest, I was embarrassed to have people over to the house, because of him. So as freakish as it sounds, I guess the two of us were very close growing up.” She glanced down at the bedspread and smoothed it out with her hand. “You’d think I would have known him a little better, and known what he was capable of, but obviously I didn’t.”

“After it happened, did you ever talk to any of the people he shot?”

She nodded soberly. “I wrote to all of them. A couple of them wrote back. This one woman who was severely wounded, God bless her, she said she’d already forgiven Charlie, and she was praying for me. On the opposite side of that, I visited the mother of the man who was killed, and she spit in my face. I’m not sure if I lost a son, I wouldn’t do the exact same thing.”

Chris said nothing. He was thinking of his visit to Mrs. Corson.

“Anyway—” She sighed. “I just couldn’t stay in Chicago after that. So — I moved to Washington, D.C, and tried to put the past behind me. Then I met your dad, and I fell in love. I guess you know the rest.”

Chris closed her photo album and set it on his desk. “So who do you think broke the lock on my locker and left me that note?”

She glanced down at the carpet and shrugged uneasily. “I–I really can’t say.”

Chris stared at her. He’d thought she was being so honest with him, but now he could see she was holding something back. “You can’t think of anybody? I mean, it’s like they have it out for you or something. Could it be one of the people your brother shot — or a relative of one of them?”

“Well, it happened over three years ago, Chris. I can’t imagine they’d wait this long to try to get back at me.” Molly got to her feet. “Anyway, whoever’s responsible, I hope the only damage they did was to the lock on your locker.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Are we okay, Chris?”

He hesitated, but then nodded apathetically. “Sure.”

She started to bend forward — maybe to kiss him on the cheek or hug him. But he turned away in his chair and reached for the photo album. He handed it to her. “Thanks for letting me see this.”

“Oh, yeah, you bet,” she said awkwardly. Clutching the album to her chest, she backed toward the door. “I–I have a lock on my bike that might fit your locker at school. Remind me to get it for you tomorrow morning, okay? The combination should be easy for you to remember. It’s your dad’s birthday — eight-oh-eight.”

“Thanks, Molly,” he said, unsmiling. “Good night.”

“G’night, Chris,” she said. Then she stepped out to the hallway and closed his door.

Part of him felt bad for not being a little friendlier toward her. But he couldn’t help it. She was covering something up, just as she’d covered up for over a year now the fact that her brother was a murderer. He could tell Molly had a pretty good idea who had broken into his locker and left that note. That same person had probably been watching him all day — maybe even longer. They were screwing around with his head, and he didn’t like it.

And he didn’t like Molly, because she wouldn’t tell him who it might be.

“Are you crazy?” Angela asked, with a glass of white wine in her hand. They sat in a booth at Palomino in the City Center Building. The elegant restaurant was busy and noisy with the lunch-hour crowd. Gorgeous, opulent Chihuly glass vases were strategically placed between booths; and the wait-staff all wore black pants, white shirts, and ties beneath their aprons.

Angela had been sitting in the booth and sipping her wine when Molly had arrived promptly at one-fifteen. It reminded Molly of a line she’d heard in a gangster movie once, something about always arriving extra early when meeting with the enemy. With her navy-blue dress and pearls, Angela looked like she was going to a wedding. Molly felt underdressed in her black slacks and a sage-colored sweater.

She wished she’d chosen another restaurant for their rendezvous, ideally a cafeteria where diners paid up front. This lunch with Angela promised to be very confrontational, and they’d both be stuck there at the table, hating each other and waiting for the bill.

Right now, Molly was waiting for her Diet Coke. They hadn’t even ordered their food yet, and already things were getting a bit hostile.

“Molly, you’re not making any sense,” Angela said, rolling her eyes. “I mean, really, why in God’s name would I break the lock off Chris’s school locker and leave him some snide note about you? Talk about crazy. It’s as nutty as you accusing me of smashing the pumpkins on your front stoop — and then breaking into the house. I know how much Erin loves Halloween. Why on earth would I want to ruin that for her?”

“Well, if you didn’t do it, who did?” Molly pressed. “Who else has a key to the house?”

Angela leaned forward. “I don’t have a key to the house anymore. I gave it to Jeff when I left. And I don’t know where Chris’s locker is at school. If I was sneaking around the school hallways, don’t you think Chris would have noticed — or one of his friends would have seen me and told him? Why would I do something so silly? If I wanted to tell Chris something, I’d sit down with him and tell him — face-to-face.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Molly countered. “You wouldn’t want your son to know you hired a private detective to look into my family background. So you planted that note in his jacket. You have a history of being underhanded and sneaky and. .”

The waitress returned with her Diet Coke, and Molly fell silent. She worked up a smile, shifted in her seat, and tried to look interested in her menu.