Sarah Sparrow - A Guide for Murdered Children

“If you’re going to put me on a desk because of the shooting,” said Lydia, “there’s no reason to punish Daniel too.”

“I’m not putting either one of you on a desk.”

“You want us to go to middle schools and talk about gangs and the perils of medical marijuana?” said Daniel, smiling.

“Not even close.”

“ I know!” said Lydia, as if she’d solved a riddle. “You want us to play ourselves in a movie.”

Owen grinned and sat back, letting them have their fun.

“The only role I’d consider,” said Daniel, “would be the sequel to Space Jam . Funniest movie ever!” His laugh was strident and too young. “Michael Jordan and the Looney Tunes characters? Are you kidding me? Fucking best movie ever!”

Lydia looked at him sideways, rolling her eyes and trying to laser-beam the “crazy horseplay” caveat of Rule Number Three into his head. Time to deflect. “What do you have in mind?” she asked.

“I’ll let you know. What I guess I want to hear is that you both won’t mind a change. And a challenge.”

Daniel looked at Lydia and grinned. “You up for a change?”

“Life would be boring without it.”

“Good,” said Owen. “Okay, we’re done.”

He wasn’t sure why but decided not to go further. But in that moment, he understood the real purpose of seeing them: putting them in a room together so he could read their energy. He smiled to himself because “reading energy” was a strange, tried-and-true technique that he’d put to effective use over the years, having picked it up from his gifted former partner, Willow Wylde.

As they stood to leave, Owen said, “Oh—there’s just one more thing.” They knew what was coming: the sheriff’s signature way of ending all his meetings. “Get the fuck out of my office.”

After work that night, they changed into civilian clothes and went to a coffee shop off the beaten path. Whenever they wanted to dish about Annie and the Meeting but were too amped to go home, they enjoyed having dinner at an anonymous, unfamiliar place.

“ Space Jam ?” said Lydia. “ That was awkward. You are such a spaz.”

“You could at least have brought up Harriet the Spy .”

“Oh my God,” she giggled. “ Harriet the Spy ! We need to rent it, Daniel, like, we need to rent it tonight .”

“So what do you think Owen’s cooking up?”

“Haven’t got a clue.”

“Maybe The First 48 ’s gonna do Macomb and he wants us to star. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“We’re not homicide detectives, Dumbo . In case you haven’t noticed.”

“There’s lots of those kind of shows that follow regular cops around.”

“I don’t think Annie would approve.” She took a bite out of her tuna melt and got serious. “I saw the shrink today for the last time.”

“How’d it go?”

“She was a little… concerned. You know—that putting a bullet in Crazypants didn’t seem to ‘bother’ me. She said I had what’s called ‘flattened affect.’ Thinks I’m gonna have PTSD.”

“Those people just want return visits. It’s all about billable hours.”

“She’s probably on salary, don’t you think? But it was kinda helpful, overall. Kinda sorta. I guess. And I did have this realization… that the first thing that went through my head when I shot him—I mean the very first thing, Daniel, that went through my head was, I’m not here for this. It was like hearing a really loud voice.”

“‘Not here for this.’”

“You know, like, I know I’m supposed to kill —someone —but not this turkey . It was just… very, very weird. When I was standing over the body looking at him, I had this other thought: I’m done. ‘I’m done.’ It was like I’d had some kind of… moment of balance —and at the same time I was thinking I’m not here for this I was also having this feeling that I had done what I was here for, accomplished my ‘mission,’ my whatever—that I’d finished what I was meant to finish. Even though I totally knew I hadn’t, that it was a fake moment of balance ! And that I wasn’t finished at all.”

“That was my first thought too—when I got stabbed. I mean, a variation of that.”

“Are you serious?”

“I was thinking that if I died—if I die, I… fail. Not that I would have failed in stopping him or protecting you —but I would have failed to have done what I was meant to.”

“So weird, right?”

“I’m telling you, we’re a fucking Netflix series.”

“Maybe. It’s either Black Mirror or some manga comic—I just don’t know which.”

They left the restaurant and walked to the car.

The street was dark. As Daniel opened the door of the driver’s side, a man with a hairnet over his face leapt out and grabbed Lydia’s purse. The strap around her shoulder didn’t give and she got thrown to the ground. Daniel ran around the car and pounced on the assailant. Another mugger stepped from the shadows and pointed a gun.

“I’m-a shoot, motherfucker! Give him the fucking purse!”

Daniel lifted the man with the ease of picking up an infant and used him like a shield to storm the man with the gun. In a controlled frenzy, he pounded them both into unconsciousness and would have killed them if Lydia hadn’t intervened.

On the drive home, they were quiet until she asked if they should tell Annie what happened.

Daniel said, “Probably,” and nothing more.

At home, she rubbed alcohol on his bloody fists. They took bubble baths. As he soaked, she brought him a bowl of popcorn garnished with stalks of black licorice on a tray. After, he wanted to watch Fear of the Walking Dead but agreed to rent Harriet the Spy instead because she’d been so sweet .

Curled up on the sofa, the siblings fell asleep halfway through.

1.

Homeroom at Mount Clemens High.

The lame teacher makes a lame joke about Melania Trump.

The lame teacher is still rhapsodizing over Hamilton . Hamilton is so over!

The lame teacher says the lamest shit, like, “I’ll take Mary J. Blige over Nicki Minaj every time”—

And she’s white!

Honeychile hates her but everyone else loves her.

Whatever…

At lunchtime, all Zelda wants to do is keep talking about the crazy asthma attack but Honeychile’s so bored . Zelda keeps checking in to see if she’s okay and Honeychile says, “Why do you keep asking me that? It’s annoying!” Her BFF (though not for long if Zelda doesn’t shut the fuck up ) shrugs and says, “Because you’re acting weird.” “In what way?” demands the scowling Honeychile. “In that way,” says Zelda. “You’re, like, being a total bitch.” “I’m being a bitch? I’m the one who almost died, not you!” “I know ,” says Zelda, with a pout. “And I probably saved your life, which is why I can’t understand why you’re not, like, being more grateful and acting like such a total bitch to me . ” “Well,” says Honeychile with a crooked, baiting smile. “If you hate me so much, why don’t you just go away?” “I will! I totally will!”—and Zelda leaves, exhaling the B-word as she huffs off.

Though she probably had a point. Honeychile couldn’t quite put her finger on it but she was feeling different, if different was even the word. Maybe she hadn’t gotten enough sleep. She’d been so unsettled by the asthma attack and what followed that whether she’d slept at all (when they transferred to the den) was a muddle. Her parents didn’t want her to come to school, they wanted her to stay at home and rest, but Honey was so insistent—so bitchy —that Harold nodded to his wife that going to class might be the best thing. (The nurses there were pretty great and doted over her. Harold would call ahead to give them a heads-up about the night’s events.) He grabbed the stethoscope they kept in the first-aid kit and listened to their daughter’s chest; no wheezing whatsoever. Under protest, Honeychile demonstrated her lung capacity with a series of long, deep breaths. See? she said contentiously. I’m fine! Rayanne reluctantly gave in because she didn’t want to provoke another respiratory crisis.