Bruce Wagner - I'll Let You Go

He kicked and slapped at his cell, then sat on the bed and hung his head. He picked up the page again.

is in “the System” now …

“The System” … did he mean the girl was— the little girl is in jail . The horror of it! His friend Fitz had told him so! He remembered now: the girl had been captured in a dragnet—

He stood and read the letter some more while he paced. Amarillys , in jail … — he imagined her as a fish, flopping and expiring on the ground, and wished to tear his hair out. But the worst part, the very worst, was to read the words

(Who I believe to be— was —Amarillys’s mother.)

But how —how could it be? Phantasmagoric! The detective (and Fitz too) had been trying to tell him, but it never made any sense. Now it came together, and he felt like an amnesiac struck by a rain of blows to the head that restored an old order, an order transformed to new. All of Dowling’s queries … and those of the lawyers — were about the woman who lay dead in the St. George by his hand — the dear child’s mother! By Topsy’s hand. Suddenly, it stood to reason. He’d been seen carrying the orphan off, a block from where the murder was committed … could it be? Could it really? That he was in this place — these Towers — that he was in “the System”— for killing the mother of his adored Amaryllis? Hellish abomination! Then that would mean the woman’s death had led to the girl’s being in “the System” too …

“Guard!” he cried. “Guard! Guard! Guard! Guard! Guard!”

The detective — or the baker Gilles and his wife — or the parents from the Red Lands— someone must arrange for him to visit the child so he could tell her he hadn’t touched a hair on that woman’s head, and let her see he was whole and humble and still in the world for her! She would bury her head in his arms and cry as she used to; and then if he was very brave, he would tell her that her dear Topsy was nevermore. He would tell her who he was — or was becoming.

A man named Marcus Weiner.

As much as the author, out of sheer affection, would like to drop in on those Bel-Air denizens who, being out of earshot of Grannie Ruth’s revelation, remained unaware of the dramatic return of Marcus Weiner — namely Katrina and Toulouse — the propulsion of narrative demands that such a visit be postponed. We will concentrate instead on a triad of developments that occurred in the ten days that followed the arraignment and which significantly altered the course of California v. aka William Marcus .

The DNA extracted from the suspect failed to match that found in the vagina and anus of the deceased. This alone was not definitive proof that Mr. Marcus wasn’t the murderer: an accomplice still could have committed the rape. But the defense rightfully considered the results more than a good thing. The troublesome ascot still nettled.

Shortly after the laboratory returned its findings, Amaryllis was discharged from the Alhambra infirmary and returned to MacLaren, where she lashed out bitterly against the entire staff, not even sparing true-blue Dézhiree, who no longer recognized the girl and mourned a relative innocence lost. When a visitor from the district attorney’s office told her that she would have to appear in court to identify the ascot belonging to her friend, Amaryllis told him to eat shit and die, a command which, to his credit, was omitted from his report.

Lani was the only one she allowed near. The earnest CASA came each day and eventually told Amaryllis of an idea she and her husband had — they wanted her to come live with them. Amaryllis was startled and suspicious, but it would have been impossible to misinterpret Mrs. Mott’s resolve. The child pretended not to heed and let three days pass before inquiring when such a move might occur. The CASA said it depended on her behavior, for that was the gauge used by the court in such actions. She told Amaryllis that the court’s decision would be handled with particular care, as in this case living in their home would be the first step in a formal adoption. She and Gilles had already begun classes with the goal of accreditation.

“You would adopt me?” she asked.

“Absolutely. No hesitation.”

“What happens if you don’t want to do it anymore?”

“We don’t change our minds like that.”

“What if I do something bad or you move away?”

“You’d move with us. Once we make a decision, that’s it, OK? We don’t turn our backs on it — we don’t turn our backs on you . If you do something ‘bad,’ we’ll just deal.”

“What if you die?”

“I’m not expecting to.”

“Neither was my mother.”

“I know that, honey.” She put her hand on Amaryllis’s, and the girl let it stay. “What happened to your mother is very sad, and very … unusual. Things do happen in this world — people get sick, people go nuts, people die. People get killed. But I think I have a relatively long life ahead of me. At least I like to think that,” she laughed. “I’d like you to think that. This would be an adoption, OK? That’s permanent. That’s how the courts look at it, and that’s how we look at it. It’s forever. I want you to look at it like that, too — for better or for worse, in sickness and in health.”

“What about the babies?”

“If you’re with us, in a stable home, the chances are good— definitely better than where we’re at now — that we could establish regular visits.”

“Would you adopt them?”

“I don’t even know if that’s in the realm of the possible; I’m not sure what their status is. Your brother and sister may be happy where they are.”

“They’re not!”

“You don’t know that.”

“They’re not happy!”

“One thing at a time, OK, Amaryllis? Let’s worry about you right now — then we’ll see about them.” The girl relaxed, seeming to go with the logic of it. “For me, for us , we’d like to have you in our home because we love you. And we would hope you love us, or learn to. So I want you to think about it.”

“How can you love me?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t know me.”

“Of course I know you.”

“Only for a little . You didn’t raise me. You can’t suddenly love me.”

“I can — and I do. You see, Amaryllis, I believe a person can decide … can make the decision to love. And then love follows.”

Over time — a short time, for children and the human heart always astonish by the speed with which they heal — Amaryllis lowered her guard. She asked Lani where she lived and where she would be going to school. She asked if she could have a bicycle and a computer. She asked if she would be able to have friends sleep over and even mentioned, albeit briefly, a certain group of children who had taken care of her during her travels (and travails) … but discreetly said no more.

When she felt the girl was ready, Lani eased “Topsy” into their conversation (she knew that was how he was known to her). She questioned her about the same things William’s lawyers did when they visited the child at Mac — but from a different place.

Amaryllis repeated that Topsy had never, in her knowledge, come to the motel where she lived with her mom and the babies. How then, asked Lani, did his ascot make its appearance there? (The silken tie was the one thing left that, forgiving the phrase, stuck in the CASA’s craw; naturally, she withheld referring to the place from which it made its grisly “coming-out.”)