Keith Ablow - Compulsion

"Hello?" a woman answered after a single ring, her voice thick with pretension-lingering too long on the l's, underpronouncing the o. Hellllleeew?

"This is Dr. Frank Clevenger," I said. "Is this Ms. Sanderson? Jason's mother?"

"It is," she said, tentatively.

"I'm a close friend of Julia Bishop and her mother, Candace," I said. "Billy's with me right now."

"Oh," she said. Her voice was chilly.

"He's pretty shaken up," I said. "I was hoping you could fill me in on what happened tonight."

"All I can tell you is what Jason told me."

Had I asked for more? "Please," I said.

Sanderson sighed, as if I were asking the world of her. "We've had a continuing problem with a group of boys at Jason's school. We're year-round here, you know, and they've teased him for an eternity-all the way back to second grade. Jason isn't a slight boy, but he has the habit of retreating when confronted."

I had a sneaking suspicion Jason had gotten into that habit at home, backing down from Mommy. "Children can be very cruel," I said. "And, tonight? What happened tonight?"

"More of the same, apparently. Just name-calling."

More of the same. Sanderson wasn't being very helpful. "Billy came home with blood on his shirt," I said, hoping to shift her mind into gear. "Did Jason mention a fight?"

"A fight. Well, yes, of course. If you want to call it that. Billy attacked the three boys," she said. "Bloodied noses. Split lips. Apparently, a broken arm."

Relief washed over me. At least it didn't sound like Billy had killed anyone. "Is Jason all right?" I asked.

"He's frightened. He said Billy flew into a terrible rage." She paused. "He was actually foaming at the mouth."

"Did Jason mention that one of the boys had spit at Billy first?"

"No," she said. "As I understood it, name-calling seems to have been the extent of it, until Billy-"

"Billy can't stomach bullies," I said. I glanced at the scars across his back.

"I understand," Sanderson said. Her tone suggested otherwise. She was silent a few moments. "I am glad you called, on another front," she said finally, her voice descending into an almost comical mixture of pretension and gravity, like William F. Buckley stammering that you had cancer and your situation was utterly hopeless.

"Oh?" I said.

"We had a very distressing thing happen with Billy before the boys went out for their movie tonight," she said.

A pregnant pause. "Would it be more appropriate to discuss it with Julia?"

"Julia's still a little under the weather," I said. "I'll certainly share whatever you tell me with her."

"Very well, then," she said. "My husband and I have started something of a second family. We have a new baby. Two months old."

"Congratulations," I said, not sure exactly where she was going, but not feeling good about the general direction. Not enough time had passed since Brooke's murder for infants to be linked with anything but with death in my mind. I looked over at Billy, who was trying to wipe the blood off his chest.

"Before the boys left, Jason had a few chores to finish up around the house-nothing major, picking up his belongings in the yard, and so forth."

"Right," I said, hungry for the punch line.

"While he completed them, he left Billy alone in his bedroom. Jason has a new Nintendo game the boys have enjoyed."

"Okay."

"And when Jason had finished up outside, he asked my husband to let Billy know to come downstairs, so the boys could be off."

My patience had worn thin. "So what happened?" I said, more pointedly.

"Just this: My husband found Billy in the nursery, next to Naomi's bassinet, staring at her. She was napping. I had put her down about an hour earlier."

Despite the fact that Darwin had been charged with Brooke's murder, it couldn't have been comforting for Mr. Sanderson to find the former lead suspect in the case eyeing his infant daughter. "What did Billy say he was doing?" I asked.

"My husband asked him that. He didn't respond. He seemed like he was-away, in some sort of trance. Nicholas had to lay hands on him-jostle him a bit-to bring him back to the moment."

She could have said Billy seemed dazed or in a fog. Trance is one of those code words people reserve for psychopaths. "You were worried about him harming your daughter?" I said, to cut to the chase.

Billy looked at me, his eyes sharpening.

"I'm not saying that, exactly," Sanderson said. She paused. "Friends of ours on Nantucket have told us that Billy had problems, long before the tragedy with his sister, Brooke. I'm speaking of his stealing. Hurting animals."

"That's true," I said. It didn't look like Martha's Vineyard was going to offer Billy a second chance.

"And one never knows what to believe these days," she said. "About anything. It seems that there's always another shoe waiting to drop. Another bit of intrigue."

Translation: The police could have screwed up and wrongly accused Darwin Bishop of infanticide when his crazed, Russian adoptee son was really the guilty one. Maybe Darwin even sacrificed himself to shield the boy from prosecution. "I understand completely," I said.

"So we-my husband and I-talked it over. We'd prefer Billy not visit our home, anymore. It's best he not spend time with Jason, either."

I felt in my own gut what I knew Billy would be feeling: disappointment, isolation, abandonment. Losing a friend can be tough for anyone, but for an orphan like Billy who has just lost a sister… "I'll certainly let him know," I said. "And I'll make sure he abides by your wishes."

"Thank you so much," she said. "It's a difficult thing to speak about."

"Have a nice night," I said, as kindly as I could manage. "I hope Billy taught those boys a lesson. Maybe they'll stop torturing your son."

"Yes, well. Good night, then," she said.

I sat down on the couch next to Billy. He started to weep. "Listen to me," I said. "You didn't kill anyone. But you did hurt those boys who were picking on Jason. The way it sounds, you hurt them pretty badly-maybe even broke a bone or two."

He nodded somberly, getting control of himself again. "I lost it," he said.

"There's something else," I said.

Billy had overheard enough of my phone conversation to know I was referring to the Sandersons' baby. "I was just standing there, trying to imagine what Brooke went through," he said. "I haven't let myself. Not once. But when I walked past Jason's sister's room and saw her sleeping, I couldn't stop imagining it." He squinted at the floor. "So I just went in there and watched her. I mean, think about it: Waking up and not being able to breathe. Suffocating in a little bed with your mother downstairs, while your father watches you die."

As much as I welcomed Billy empathizing with the suffering of others, I was worried he missed how inappropriate his behavior had been. "Mr. Sanderson had trouble getting your attention. He had to shake you."

"I was staring at her, but I saw Brooke."

When he looked at me, his eyes were filled with sadness, but I also thought I saw (Did I, though?) the slightest hint of morbid curiosity-something close to excitement. "You lost control with those boys," I said. "And it was wrong to go into Jason's sister's room without permission."

Billy nodded.

I looked out the cottage window, at the full moon, gathering the will to tell him the consequences. "The Sandersons are going to need time to feel comfortable with you again. They don't want you to visit the house-or to spend time with Jason."

Billy's eyes thinned. "Why not?"

"You worried them," I said.

"I stood up for Jason," he said.

"No. You went beyond standing up for him. You also wandered around the Sandersons' home, into the nursery and…"

"What are they saying?" he said, indignantly. "They think I killed Brooke?"