Andrew Gross - Killing Hour

‘I know we did the right thing. But then we found something else . . .’ She looked at me, eyes downcast. ‘I can hardly even say it, Jay . . .’

‘We found a kind of diary Evan was keeping,’ Charlie interjected. ‘These ramblings, crazy things . . .’

‘I have to cross myself to even tell you these things,’ Gabriella said. ‘Things like, “Better to suck the dick of the devil than to live here with these two dead people one more day . . .” That’s us, Jay. Our son was talking about us – your brother and me!’ She dabbed at her eyes, shame and grief etched deeply there. ‘But we didn’t know what to do . . . We knew he’s acting truly crazy now. Off the charts. We can no longer control him. It’s clear he hates us . . . That he wants to kill us. And then himself. And who knows, maybe take other people with him . . .’

‘So what did you do?’

‘We showed it to him.’ Gabriella looked at me as if seeking dispensation. ‘Everything. You know what he did? He takes me by the hair, and twists me, like he wants to kill me right there, and threw me against the wall. Look!’ She opened the top of her robe and showed me purplish marks covering her shoulder and onto her neck. ‘He’s too big for us to fight now. Look at your brother. He’s weak, old. He is no longer able to protect me. We didn’t know what to do . . .’

‘So what did you do?’ I asked.

‘What did we do? We called the police,’ Gabriella said.

Truth was, I had always pushed them to do exactly that. To put their son in custody when he assaulted them. But they never would. They never once pressed charges. How could we? they would say. On our own son. And then the excuses would start. He’s just a boy. He’s ashamed of what he’s done. He promises to stay on his medication. I guess I understood. Who wanted to make that kind of choice? But by not getting Evan help, by always protecting him and shielding him from treatment, I saw the events build that could lead nowhere but to catastrophe.

‘When the police came’ – Gabby rubbed her forehead, shaking her head – ‘Evan went out of control. He looked at me. “You do this to me, Mommy? You called the cops – on your own son!” I saw something in his eyes I had never seen before. Like an animal. I told him, “You’re sick, my son. You need some help.” He grabbed me by the hair again and tried to beat the shit out of me. Your brother, he tried to help. But Evan threw him against the wall. He almost broke a rib. The cops saw it all. They finally got Evan in a choke hold. They came and took him away. To the hospital, in San Luis Obispo. To the mental ward. That’s when I called you, Jay.’

‘They placed him under a suicide watch,’ Charlie said. ‘They took away his belt. And laces. Put him under twenty-four-hour observation. I’ve been there before. I know the drill. Apparently he told the doctor who first examined him that he wanted to kill himself. That the gun he was trying to buy was intended not for us, but for him.’

He shook his head. ‘We failed him, Jay. They said they were going to take care of him. Help him.’ A mixture of grief and anger hung in his eyes. ‘We thought maybe we finally did the right thing. That maybe this was the best way. The social worker there told us they were going to keep him safe. That they’d watch him, for as long as they possibly could. Three weeks, they said. Then they’d find somewhere for him. I said, “Whatever you do, you can’t put this kid back on the street. You see how angry he is? He’ll blow people away . . .”’

‘You know the name of the doctor?’ I asked, something starting to tighten in me. They had trusted the authorities to take care of Evan, and they had let them down.

‘Derosa. Mitchell Derosa. But we never even spoke to him. No one would speak to us. Only the social worker there. His name was Brian something. We have it written down. And a nurse. They said for us not to worry, they were going to have several doctors observe him, and they would get him into some kind of facility.’

Gabriella chortled cynically. ‘You know what we were thinking? We’re thinking, Maybe this is a good thing after all. That’s when I called you, Jay. You probably thought it was just for more money, but it was to tell you, maybe Evan is in a good place at last. We felt relieved.’

I nodded.

‘But then they call and tell us they’re going to release him! This social worker. Brian. After around four days. He says Evan is stable now and they had found a place for him. Four days? They said three weeks! I’m telling you this kid was psycho, Jay. I said, “Are you sure, so soon . . .?” But they said, “Your son is an adult, Ms Erlich,” and that they couldn’t hold him indefinitely against his will, now that he had calmed down and was no longer a threat to himself. What kind of a crazy thing is this? I said, “You can’t do that. Maybe he’s an adult, but I am his mental guardian. You see the shape he was in.” But they say Evan agreed, and they’re gonna put him in a good place.’

‘What kind of place?’ I asked.

‘They didn’t tell us shit!’ Charlie snorted. ‘They wouldn’t even talk to us. That’s what happens when you’re poor and on disability in this town.’

‘But now they’re scared,’ Gabby said in a haughty tone. ‘Now they all see what happened. It was on the TV. On the news. They know they screwed up. They’re all running to cover their own asses now.’

Something brushed against my leg. I looked down. A gray and white cat was nuzzling against me.

‘That’s Juliet,’ Gabby said. ‘Poor baby – she misses Evan too.’ She reached down and lifted the cat up and took her to the back door and flung her gently outside. ‘Get back outside. You can’t be bothering us now.’

The cat slinked back to the yard and jumped onto the fence.

‘So where did Evan finally end up?’ I asked.

‘You want to know where they put him?’ Gabby replied, her tone hardening. ‘You want to know where they threw my son, like some sack of garbage? In this unsupervised home in Morro Bay. Completely unrestricted. With a bunch of fucking old people. Alzheimer’s patients. Walking around like the living dead. Evan called me. He said, “Why did they put me in here? Why did they put me with all these old people, Mommy?”

‘The woman who’s in charge there said he went to take a walk. She just let him go. Waved him out the door. They don’t give a shit. They get their money. Evan was just a voucher to her. A check from the state. That’s all! They had him on so much medication. Seroquel. Two hundred milligrams. Two hundred milligrams is enough to drop an elephant, Jay. You know this stuff. You know what it does. It makes you act like a zombie. It takes away your will. She didn’t care, as long as she got paid. My son went to take a walk and never came back. This woman, Anna, she called us late that night. Two days ago. Evan was missing. Where is he, she asks. She said she thought maybe he came home to us. But you know where he was, my son . . .? You know where Evan was? He had climbed the fucking rock there, that’s where he was. He was probably already dead.’

Anger flared up inside me. This just didn’t wash. Every patient had a medical history. Treatment charts. Diagnoses and evaluations. They don’t just dump people at will. In a place where they won’t be watched.

‘She just let him leave?’

‘Yes. Walk out. I told you, she don’t give a shit, Jay. That’s the way it is here. But, believe me – she was scared when she called us. She knew she screwed up. And the next morning, my son, he turns up dead. He was up there on the rock, Jay. The whole stinking night. In the cold. Alone. Without anyone to watch over him.’ She started to sob again. ‘My boy was on the rock. I want to sue that bitch.’