PAPER MEN
—CHAPTER 30
SUMMARY: All Evelyn Tozier wanted to do was make Derry High School a safer place for her kid brother. Well, somewhere between kissing Patrick Hockstetter and telling the principal to go f*** himself, things got a little off track. Now she’s stuck in the middle of a bizarre love triangle with two of Derry’s most troubled teens while her little brother and his friends hunt down a creepy, child-eating circus clown. This year, summer can’t come fast enough.
PAIRINGS: Henry Bowers x Tozier!Sister; Patrick Hockstetter x Tozier!Sister
WARNINGS: violence, profanity, sexual content, bullying, sexual assault, physical abuse, emotional abuse, all kinds of abuse, trauma, mental illness, implied/referenced self-harm, child death, angst, lots of angst, recreational drug use, underage drinking, underage sex, love triangles, toxic relationships, slow burn, slow build
WORD COUNT: 5,446
MASTERPOST
MASTERLIST
Evelyn couldn’t remember the last time her mother picked her up from school.
This dawned on her while she was sitting outside on the wooden bench, her overstuffed backpack beside her and tipped onto its side, her hands bundled snugly inside the sleeves of her much-too-big coat. Sitting like this, Evelyn couldn’t help but feel like a little kid again. Goofing around on the playground after school. Dirt under her nails. Grass stains on her knees. Her coat and backpack unneeded, discarded in a pile off to the side. Back then, time was an equally unnecessary burden, and so it too was cast aside and forgotten. Free of it, Evelyn would run and jump and laugh and play… until there was no one left to play with, until Evelyn waved her last goodbye, looked around the empty playground, and realized she was all alone. Then she would pick up her coat and backpack, sit down on the bench, and wait patiently for her mother to arrive. She would have happily waited forever.
Maggie Tozier’s lateness rarely went unnoticed by the Derry Elementary School faculty and staff. At some point, Evelyn’s teacher would come out, stoop down beside her, and say, “Honey, is someone coming to pick you up?”
“Yeah,” Evelyn would answer placidly, “she’s just running late.”
“Your mommy’s late a lot, isn’t she?”
“No… only sometimes.”
And her teacher would smile that sad, pitying smile and think, She really is a sweet kid. It’s a shame she has such a scatterbrain for a mother.
Of course, Maggie Tozier would arrive eventually—in her usual chaotic fashion. They’d see her old, beat-up station wagon chugging down Jackson Street. See it swerve erratically and screech to a stop in front of the curb. Then Maggie would scramble out of the driver’s seat—sometimes dressed in her nursing scrubs, sometimes dressed in old house clothes splattered with baby food—and come sprinting across the lawn with embarrassed, apologetic urgency.
“Sorry, I’m late,” Maggie would always say. By then, Evelyn would be buckled safely in her booster seat and singing merrily along to the radio, unaware of the adult conversation happening outside. “I got off work and laid down for a quick nap and—I dunno, I must’ve slept through my alarm or something. I’m really sorry, I promise it won’t happen again.”
“It already has happened again, Maggie. This is the third time this week.”
“Right,” Maggie would answer, swallowing the lump in her throat. Then she would look back at her young daughter, see her wave and wave back, feel that old, familiar sting of shame, and revert back to her ten-year-old self. A hopeless little girl getting scolded by her teacher. Now go stand outside in the hall, Maggie, and think hard about what you’ve done. And Maggie Tozier, an overworked mother of two lovely, energetic children, would bend her head, look down at her loafers… no, sneakers; Maggie hadn’t worn loafers since grade school… and say in a small voice, “Look, I’m doing my best here.”
“I know you are, Maggie, but maybe it’s time to get some help. You seem to have a lot on your plate right now. It’d be a shame for your children to suffer because of it.”
“Right… Yeah, okay.”
Humiliated, Maggie would slink back to her car, slump into her seat, and drive home while listening to her daughter describe every delightful detail of her day. Evelyn used to look back on these car rides fondly, but now… for some reason now… all she could see was her mother’s teary-eyed expression in the rearview mirror. She must have felt like such a failure when Evelyn, at only six years old, told her she no longer wanted rides to school.
Maggie confronted her about it one afternoon, while Evelyn was sitting at the kitchen table and drawing with her crayons. Maggie sat down across from her and said, “Sweetie, why do you wanna walk to school?”
“Because…”
“Is it because Mommy’s late all the time? Does it make you feel sad to see all your friends getting picked up and you have to wait?”
“No… I don’t mind waiting.”
“Well, then why do you wanna walk to school?”
Evelyn put down her green crayon and gave her mother a very grown-up look that said, Oh Mother, isn’t it obvious? “Because Victor walks to school.”
Maggie’s eyes lit up with sudden awareness. “Oh, Victor walks to school… You wanna walk with Victor.” Of course it was that simple, and now Maggie felt silly for thinking otherwise. This wasn’t a case of bad parenting (the jury was still out on that charge). This was a case of puppy love—bright-eyed, bushy-tailed puppy love—and her six-year-old daughter had it bad. Maggie laid her cheek on her palm and smiled at her lovestruck child. “Victor’s a very nice boy, huh?”
“Yeah,” Evelyn said, utterly smitten, “and he’s real smart, too. He knows everything.”
“Everything, huh?”
“Well… not everything, but he knows a lot.”
“Is that a picture of you two?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Are you smiling and holding hands?”
“Yeah…” Evelyn pressed her tiny hands to her rosy cheeks and began to giggle at seemingly nothing at all. Then she picked up her green crayon and finished coloring the grass at the bottom of the paper. “I’m gonna give this to him tomorrow.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’ll love that,” Maggie said, and promptly bit her tongue. No, Victor Criss would not be glad to receive that drawing, just like he wasn’t glad to receive any of the other drawings her daughter had given him, but Evelyn didn’t need to hear that. “Sweetie, why does Victor wanna walk to school? Did he tell you?”
“Yeah… He said he doesn’t like riding with his mom anymore. He said all her talking makes his head hurt real bad.”
Maggie winced, heartbroken for her friend. Oh, poor Tabby. I bet she’s crying her eyes out right now.
Her assumption wasn’t wrong. Tabitha Criss was, indeed, crying her eyes out. In fact, she had been inconsolable for the better part of the afternoon—ever since those gut-wrenching words came out of her darling son’s mouth.
You talk too much, Mom. It’s annoying.
“That’s it,” Tabitha declared to her husband in his study, “my son officially hates me!”
Her husband replied in a calm, clinical voice: “He doesn’t hate you, Tabby.”
David Criss was sitting behind his desk, his glasses perched neatly upon the bridge of his nose, head bent studiously over a small stone meteorite fragment he held in his gloved hand. David was performing his monthly inspection, see, and that was serious business—far more serious than whatever problem his wife had recently dreamt up. David had a moderately impressive collection of iron meteorites, chondrites, achondrites, and pallasites. The one in his hand was likely an ordinary chondrite, but David had yet to get it professionally evaluated. Next week, perhaps. The rest were housed in the wooden display cabinet behind him, each sample carefully backlit and labeled according to its classification. Nobody was allowed to open that cabinet… although David suspected somebody had. There were little fingerprints all over the outside of the glass.
“No, I think he does,” Tabitha was saying now. “In fact, I’m sure he does. All I did was ask about his day, David, and do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘Mom, I’m really not in the mood to talk to you right now.’ It was like a knife to my heart! My own son doesn’t wanna talk to me. He never wants to talk to me. He thinks I’m annoying. My son—my pride and joy—thinks I’m annoying, and now he doesn’t even want me driving him to school anymore.”
“So?” David said. “It’s perfectly natural for children to desire independence.” There was, however, nothing natural about this discoloration. Was it rusting already? No, impossible. David held the fragment under his desk light to get a better look.
“He’s six, David. Six-year-old boys are supposed to want their mothers.” Tabitha threw up her hands helplessly, wishing she knew how to make her husband understand. David, meanwhile, reached across his desk for a Q-tip. “You know, I thought I had a few more years before he wanted nothing to do with me, but no… he came out of the womb preseasoned with hatred like a Thanksgiving turkey.”
“Turkey?” David repeated with baffling interest. He craned over his shoulder and glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late. When are we having dinner?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t even started it yet.”
“But it’s almost six-thirty.”
“Yes, I know what time it is.”
“We always eat at six-thirty.”
“Well, tonight we’ll be eating a little later,” Tabitha said, exasperated. “Can you listen, please? This is important.”
Frowning, David temporarily set his meteorite fragment aside. “So, what, you’re not letting him walk to school now?”
“No, I will.” As if she had any other choice. “But I’m not letting him walk alone. Victor’s way too young for that.” The elementary school was only three blocks away from the house, but still… a lot could happen to him in those three blocks. He could get hit by a car while crossing the street or worse, kidnapped and killed. “I was talking to Maggie earlier today. She said Evelyn wants to walk to school now too, so…”
David sighed. “Tabby, don’t.”
“What?”
“Stop forcing that girl onto our son.”
“That girl? What’s wrong with Evelyn?”
“Nothing’s wrong with her. I’m sure she’s a perfectly normal child.” And like all perfectly normal children, Evelyn Tozier was—frankly—incredibly annoying. Always showing up at the house unannounced. Harassing their son. Vandalizing their driveway with ghastly chalk drawings of rainbows, smiley faces, flowers, and unicorns. David stepped outside one morning and there was Evelyn, doodling away under the bright summer sun. Any requests? she said with a proud smile. David, needing to get to his car, answered: Yes, kindly move. “I just don’t think it’s right to force our son to socialize with someone he doesn’t like.”
“Well that’s life, David. Sometimes you have to get along with people you don’t like.” Under her breath, she said, “Just like I’m not particularly fond of you right now.”
David took out a small cloth and began cleaning his glasses. “You’re being emotional.”
“And you’re being hypercritical of a six-year-old.”
“She broke into my study.”
“What?”
“She broke into my study. Her fingerprints are all over the place.”
“Oh, she did not break in, David. For God’s sake, listen to yourself. The door was unlocked. You, in all your wisdom, left it unlocked. She wandered in because she was curious, because she wanted to see all the sparkly rocks behind the glass.”
“You let her in,” David said begrudgingly. “You always let her in. One of these days she’s gonna break something.”
Oh, I hope she does, Tabitha wanted to say, but she held her tongue. There was no point in arguing with her husband. David’s opinion was like concrete. Once it was set, there was no changing it. “I’m gonna go make dinner.”
“Good,” David said. “It’s already six thirty-five.”
“I know what time it is,” Tabitha snapped and walked out, slamming the door.
You’re being too emotional, Tabby. Her husband might not have said it, but she knew that’s what he was thinking. She didn’t care. She went upstairs to her son’s room, knocked on the door, and opened it once he answered. “Hey…”
To her private terror, Victor was lying on the floor with a children’s book about asteroids, comets, and meteors. Did David give that to him? Or did Victor seek it out all on his own? The two were so dreadfully similar: quiet, intelligent, candid in a way that was sometimes charming, sometimes cruel. It made her worry for her son’s future. She didn’t want him to end up like David: absorbed in his work, in his hobbies, apathetic to his wife’s feelings, unaware of her growing resentment toward him. Tabitha didn’t want that life for her son... or for the poor girl who tried to love him.
“Okay, you win,” she said. “You can walk to school.”
Victor nodded once, satisfied, then returned to his book.
“But,” Tabitha went on, trying to reclaim his attention. It didn’t come easily, though; things with Victor rarely did. “I’m not gonna let you walk by yourself, okay? You’re still a little too young for that. So Evelyn’s gonna walk to school with you. All right?”
Victor’s back stiffened with precognizant dread. “I changed my mind. I wanna ride with you.”
“Ha, nice try,” Tabitha said. “You made your bed and now you get to lie in it. If you wanna be a big boy and walk to school, that’s fine with me, but there are rules, okay?” Victor rolled his eyes and turned away from her. Tabitha’s jaw dropped. “Hey, excuse me, I’m still talking. Don’t go back to reading your book, Victor. That’s very, very rude.” Victor huffed and looked directly at her, or tried to anyway. That was another thing that didn’t come easily with him. “I want you to walk to school with Evelyn, okay? Straight to school and straight home. I want you to stay on the sidewalk, look both ways before crossing the street, and hold hands when you do.”
“What?” Victor cried, grimacing. “But she’s gonna make it weird.”
“What do you mean she’s gonna make it weird?”
“She’s gonna smile at me all funny. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“Well, sweetie, sometimes we have to do things that make us a little uncomfortable. It’s all part of growing up. And who knows,” Tabitha said as she went out, “one day you might actually want her smiling at you.”
Victor scowled, doubtful. “No, I won’t.”
For Evelyn, those were the happiest years. Sunny day followed sunny day, and she lived with a kaleidoscope of butterflies constantly flittering in her stomach. Victor didn’t like it nearly so well (for the first year, his mother had to drag him down the street and then give him a little nudge to get him going), but that was okay. Evelyn didn’t mind that he never talked to her or that he sometimes walked so fast she had to run to keep up. None of that mattered. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and Evelyn was walking to school with Victor Criss, who was so tall and smart. In class, he never raised his hand, but he often mumbled the answers under his breath. Evelyn was the only one who saw him doing it. It was like finding buried treasure. A precious secret that only she knew. That day, the first butterfly hatched and took wing. Evelyn knew instantly that she was in love.
But that was a long time ago. Victor was a different person back then, and so was she.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Evelyn wasn’t supposed to be sitting on this bench, in this stolen coat, wiping her tears away. No, she was supposed to be at the library with Jimmy and helping him come up with ideas for his next big anti-bullying campaign. That’s where she was supposed to be—by his side, supporting him. Eventually, Vic would wander in, act like he didn’t want to be there, but hang out at the table anyway: doing his homework, criticizing all of Evelyn’s suggestions, stealing little glimpses of her face while she wrote in her notebook. Only Jimmy would catch him doing it. He’d shoot his best friend a playful, knowing smile and think, How long are you gonna keep this up, Vic? Another year? Two? She’s not gonna wait forever. Then they would all go home together, Jimmy in front and Vic a few steps behind, yelling for Evelyn to hurry up and quit lollygagging. You guys walk too fast… No, you just walk too slow. They’d walk together, laugh together, and right before they crossed the street Vic would immediately, instinctively, reach for Evelyn’s hand.
That’s how it was supposed to be, but that’s not how it was. After that summer in ’85, everything changed. Now Vic was in detention, Jimmy was at another school, and Evelyn was sitting on the bench with a ripped skirt and a stolen coat, waiting for her mom to pick her up.
I wish you were still here, Evelyn thought, grief-stricken. I know you’re not dead, Jimmy, but sometimes it feels like you are… I can’t do this without you. I know you said I could, but I can’t. My ideas aren’t good enough. I’m not good enough. Everyone thinks I’m annoying and they’re right! The only way I can win an election is if someone hands it to me. You handed it to me. Christie Gibson handed it to me. You gave me some really big shoes to fill, Jimmy, and so far I’m not doing a very good job.
Evelyn put her hands over her face, stifling the sound of her sobs.
I keep getting distracted by stupid things… Patrick… Henry… We used to stand up against people like them, and now… now I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.
She was sitting on a bench, in a stolen coat.
I don’t even know whose this is, Evelyn thought suddenly, mortified. I just took some poor kid’s coat without even hesitating. What’s wrong with me? What if this is a precious family heirloom, a grand coat passed down from generation to generation, and I just singlehandedly killed the line of succession? She couldn’t have that on her conscience. Evelyn wasn’t a coat thief. She was just a girl without options, desperate to get home with her dignity intact—what little remained of it, anyway.
Yes, Evelyn would return the coat
(the coat)
(she would focus on the coat)
(and memories of Martin)
(Are you open for business now?)
(of the cut on her lip, the tear in her skirt)
(of Henry’s terrible black eyes)
(She’s not worth it)
(would slip further and further away)
(away)
(she pushed them far away)
just as soon as she figured out whose it was. Maybe the owner had written their initials on the tag. People still did that, right? Evelyn’s mother used to do that to her coats when she was in elementary school. Maybe someone had done that to this coat, too. Yeah, maybe. Maybe. But likely not. High school students didn’t need to write their initials on their coats (Evelyn still did, of course, out of habit). They didn’t throw them into a giant pile on the playground, forget them, then accidentally take home the wrong one. High school students loved their coats. They lived for their coats. They were both functional and fashionable. Bomber jackets. Ski jackets. Triple F.A.T. Goose jackets. A few of the senior boys had Members Only jackets. In the fall, they would lean against their cars with their hands in their… pockets.
Remembering this, Evelyn curiously slid her hands into the front pockets of her stolen coat. In the left pocket, she found some loose, sticky change, a nearly empty tube of shimmering pink lip gloss (Steph Price once had a tube of this exact shade, Evelyn remembered; she was constantly slathering it on her lips during class), a ticket stub to some obscure horror movie, gum wrappers, a broken pencil, a few paperclips bent into indefinable shapes, and—most curious of all—a tiny piece of translucent plastic that was faceted on one end like a diamond.
What is this? Evelyn wondered, lifting it into the light to examine it. It almost looked like a piece of jewelry. An earring, perhaps. A tiny earring for a tiny ear.
Her other hand, meanwhile, dove deeper into the right pocket and closed around something cold, hard, and smooth. Metal. A lighter. A brushed chrome Zippo lighter.
Evelyn’s eyes widened, a gasp rose in her chest, and her whole body straightened with surprise. Her right grip tightened. Her left grip loosened. She pulled the lighter out of her pocket and held it in the middle of her palm. It shimmered hypnotically in the sunlight, rendering all her other findings worthless. The strange piece of plastic fell, forgotten, bounced off Evelyn’s knee and tumbled into the grass. She would never think of it again.
This isn’t a stolen coat, she realized. This is Patrick’s coat. Patrick gave me his coat.
And now Evelyn was thinking back to the morning Patrick returned from suspension. She dropped the clipboard and he picked it up for her. Why did he do that? Why did he follow her to her locker after class and ask with such genuine curiosity, Where have I seen you? Why did he return the shirts Henry had stolen? Why did he give Evelyn that postcard that she cherished so much?
(And why did I frame it?)
Why did he let her into his house and introduce her to his mother? Patrick didn’t want her there, but he let her in anyway. Why? Why did he break into the Denbrough house while she was babysitting? Why did he taunt her, terrorize her, then purposefully push his hand into the knife?
(He did. I know he did.)
Why did Patrick stare at her face and call her colorful? Of all the adjectives in the English language, he chose that word specifically. Why? Why?
Confounded, Evelyn whipped the lighter open, flicked the wheel, and sparked a flame.
Why did you give me your coat, Patrick? Do you even know?
Sighing, Evelyn flipped the lid closed and saw her mother’s car coming down Pasture Road. This wasn’t the beat-up station wagon from Evelyn’s childhood. No, her mother had sold that car back in ’86 and bought herself a Plymouth Voyager, a three-door minivan big enough to fit the entire family. They ran errands in that van. Went on family road trips in that van. Two weeks ago, Maggie had driven Evelyn to her first high school party in that van. It ended up being a horrible night in the end, but that moment was perfect. They sat parked in front of Liz Mueller’s house, awestruck by its grandness, while Evelyn's stomach flipped and fluttered with excitement. Her mother had embarrassed her with a very crude lecture about boys and unprotected sex. What? I’m a nurse, not a nun. It began with Evelyn cringing and ended with her laughing, as most talks with her mother did.
Yes, it had been a wonderful night. Evelyn felt so grown up.
Now she felt guilty. She didn’t want this moment to overshadow all those amazing memories. She didn’t want this to be the one moment her mother remembered forever. Evelyn wanted her mother to remember her arguing with Richie in the backseat. Carrying in armfuls of plaques and trophies from the school awards banquet. Spilling her milkshake. Dropping her fries. Freaking out because there was a bee in the backseat. Stop swatting at it, Richie, you’re just gonna make it mad! Falling asleep on the way home from the amusement park, her brother’s head resting on her shoulder. Sitting in front of Liz Mueller’s house, nervous, smiling, laughing, getting out of the car and waving goodbye from the top of the driveway. Those were the memories Evelyn wanted her mother to hold on to. Not this. Not this.
Sniffling, Evelyn dried her eyes on the sleeve of Patrick’s coat and stood up from the bench. As soon as she turned to leave, an ominous feeling swept over her, as if carried by the wind. Evelyn looked back at the school and thought: The next time I walk through those doors, everything’s gonna be different, isn’t it? Somehow, she just knew that to be true.
Steeling herself, Evelyn put the school behind her, pulled her backpack over her right shoulder, and walked on.
“Well, that’s certainly a look,” Maggie Tozier said, observing her daughter’s choice of outerwear with a bemused smile. “Where did you get that…?”
Without saying a word, Evelyn climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door. She burst into hysterical tears while trying to buckle her seat belt.
The next three minutes passed in a tumultuous blur of panicked shrieks and anguished sobs. Evelyn cowering in the passenger seat, shoulders trembling, chest heaving, fingers splayed across her face. The seat belt, partially retracted, clinging to her right shoulder. Maggie’s distressed voice piercing through the air: “What happened?” Evelyn’s response, strangled and desperate: “Just go! Please, Mom, please, just go!” The school doors opening and closing. Victor Criss emerging with Belch Huggins, stopping on the steps, spotting Maggie’s van, leaning forward and squinting fiercely in the sunlight. Evelyn sinking into her seat and shrinking against the door. “Please, Mom, please, I just wanna go home!” Maggie nodding frantically, not understanding, saying, “Okay, okay, we’ll go, we’ll go!” Slamming her foot on the gas pedal. Turning the wheel. Taking off and gunning down Pasture Road. The outside world flying by, golden and serene. Maggie gripping the steering wheel tightly. Her heart pounding. Head spinning with questions. Evelyn beside her, collapsing into herself, into that coat. Where did she get that coat? Maggie glancing at her, back at the road, running through a stop sign, cursing under her breath, and saying, “Evelyn? Evelyn, you need to talk to me, sweetie. I don’t know what’s going on.”
And finally, she told her; with tears streaming down her face, she told her.
And all Maggie could think about was Cheryl Lamonica—fourteen and pregnant—shaking and screaming in her mother’s arms.
Please, don’t tell Daddy! Please, Momma, please don’t tell Daddy!
Now the van was parked on the shoulder of Center Street. Maggie, who had been paralyzed with grief, reached across the seat and pulled her daughter into her arms, holding her close to her breast while she rocked her gently and soothed her with nonsensical words of comfort, something Maggie never had to do before, not even when Evelyn was a baby.
She was always such a happy child, never crying, never fussing. Maggie and Went thought they were the luckiest parents in the world. Perhaps this is the universe’s cruel way of balancing the scales. Maggie thought this and held her daughter even tighter, stroking the top of her head while she continued to weep savagely against her chest. Maggie’s own tears fell silently and dried on her face. She didn’t know what to do. She never thought this would happen, not to her daughter, not to her family, not to her.
“He ripped my dress, Mom!” Evelyn cried suddenly, her voice muffled by Maggie’s cable knit sweater. “Mrs. Criss’s dress—her beautiful dress—Martin ripped, he ripped it—he ruined it! How am I supposed to return it to her now?”
Maggie’s chest ached at those words. “Sweetie,” she said, pulling away and looking at her, “I don’t think Tabby’s gonna care about her dress.”
Evelyn nodded weakly, sniffling. Maggie cradled her face and dried some of the wetness from her cheeks.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah…” Evelyn answered huskily, while a single tear clung stubbornly to her bottom lashes. She blinked it away. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
She settled back into her seat and stared despondently out the window, her eyes glazed and distant. They were parked beside the public library. From where Evelyn was sitting, she could see the slab of red brick where Henry Bowers had pushed her against the wall and pressed his lips against hers. The memory used to leave her breathless. Now it made her want to cry.
Maggie took the wheel again, her hands clammy and tense. “Okay, Evelyn,” she began uneasily while her eyes darted from street sign to street sign, “where am I going, sweetie? Do we need to go to the police station? To the… hospital? Tell me where you want me to go, honey.”
“I just wanna go home,” Evelyn told her. “Is that okay?”
Maggie’s heart clenched painfully. “Of course,” she said. “Of course that’s okay. We’ll go wherever you want.”
Evelyn smiled—a sad, grateful smile. Then she sat back, burrowed herself deep inside that strange black coat,
(Where did she get that coat?)
and went back to staring out the window.
Maggie watched her daughter for a moment and felt her heart swell with so much love she thought it might burst. Went and I got lucky. God knows we did.
She started the car.
Halfway down Main Street, Evelyn turned toward her mother and asked in a soft, childlike voice, “Are you disappointed with me?”
Maggie’s heart shattered completely. “What?” she said. “Why would I be disappointed with you?”
“Because I am,” Evelyn blurted out and immediately burst into tears again.
Once more, Maggie eased off the gas pedal and prepared to pull over, but it wasn’t necessary this time. Evelyn stopped crying all on her own.
Hugging herself, she said in a low voice: “I always thought I’d be stronger, you know? I told myself I’d be stronger, but…”
The thought of walking into that police station, of walking up to the desk and seeing him there. Having to sit in that chair while he sits across from her, his arms folded over his chest, his cold eyes bearing down on her. Crumbling beneath those eyes. Seeing them slowly darken from bright blue—the same bright blue as Henry’s—to such a terrible, hateful black. Having to relieve everything. Tell him everything. While he glares at her, at her torn yellow skirt, and thinks to himself: She was asking for it, wearing a skimpy little skirt like that. Girl should be glad she wasn’t raped.
(Lucky you. Right?)
No, Evelyn couldn’t do that. She would have rather died than do that.
Besides, nothing would come of it anyway. Evelyn learned that lesson a long time ago… when she dared to tell her teacher about a bruise she’d discovered on her classmate’s neck.
“Henry was there,” she rasped. It pained her to say it, but she did.
At once, Maggie looked at her. All the color had drained from her face. “What?”
“He was there, Mom. He was there and he didn’t do anything.”
Saying these words out loud made Evelyn’s heart throb with unbearable pain, but she didn’t cry; somehow, she didn’t cry. Maybe she had finally run out of tears for him.
“You know he’s done a lot of messed up things to me over the years, but… I dunno, I guess I always thought that… that when it mattered, that when I really needed him…” Her lips twisted into a wry smile. “I guess I’m pretty stupid, huh?”
“No,” Maggie said. “No, honey, you’re not stupid. And if you are, then so am I… I never thought he would do something like that.”
Or rather she hoped he wouldn’t.
At the next red light, Maggie said in a tired voice, “This has to stop now, Evelyn. I’m sorry, but it has to stop. I’ve tried to be patient, I’ve tried to be understanding, but I just can’t deal with this anymore. I can’t and I won’t. Okay? It’s too much. It’s too much. I tried to let you handle it, but you didn’t so now I’m going to. This is done, Evelyn. It’s done. I don’t want Henry coming to the house anymore. I don’t want him calling you anymore. Yeah, I know he’s the one always calling here, Evelyn, and it’s done now, okay? It’s done. I don’t want him sneaking into the house at night. I don’t want you sneaking off to go see him. I don’t care if he needs you, I don’t care if he loves you. It’s done, Evelyn. All of this is done. If I ever see him around the house again, I’m calling his father and—”
Evelyn jumped in her seat as if struck. Terror closed around her throat.
(??WHAT??)
(!!BUT YOU CAN’T!!)
“—and yes, Evelyn, yes, I know EXACTLY what that means for him!”
Evelyn flinched back, startled. The strength of her mother’s voice left her shaken. It’s done now… it’s done… done… is it really done? Tears flooded her eyes and blurred her vision, but still she nodded. She nodded and she understood.
“It’s enough now, Evelyn,” Maggie said, but there was no triumph in her voice, none at all.
A somber silence fell over the cabin then. The van pulled forward, made a left turn onto Summer Street, and continued down the road. Evelyn already knew what was waiting for her at the end of this road. She knew and she was ready for it.
She would have to face Henry sooner or later.
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