That night after the episode at the morgue I was lying on my bed, reading American Psycho for the second time. It was about a rich Wall Street broker who was also a serial killer. It was my favourite book. Most people couldn’t get past the depictions of graphic violence; the murder, torture and mutilation. They missed what the book was really trying to say, that people ignore the bad things that happen in the world because they’re too selfish and self-absorbed to notice, or because they’d rather not know about it. At least, that’s what I thought it was trying to say. I’d learnt from my time touring death sites that people don’t like to be confronted with dark things. I think most people would prefer it if the whole world was sugarcoated.
There was a soft knock on my door. I put the book down.
‘Yeah?’ I yelled.
Lynette opened the door a crack and peered in. ‘Hilda? There’s someone here to see you.’
Mrs Connor was standing on the doorstep, neat and tidy in a pink cardigan and pearls, her face sombre. I looked for Benji but he was nowhere to be seen.
‘Hi Mrs Connor,’ I said, and she gave me a small smile, as if it took all her strength to form it.
‘Hello, Hilda. How are you?’
She said it with such concern in her voice I thought it was a trick question. ‘I’m good,’ I assured her. ‘Really good. Just reading, hanging out. You know.’
She nodded but didn’t say anything, just stood there in the middle of the porch fingering her pearls, her blonde hair plastered down and severe.
‘Do you have a minute, dear?’ she asked, looking at the porch swing.
‘Sure.’
We sat down. For a moment I saw Lynette through the window, looking out at us, but when I turned to look again she was gone.
I put my foot up on the swing, pushed it slightly so we began to rock back and forth. I waited for Mrs Connor to say something, but she just stared at Lynette’s geranium hanging in a little wicker basket from the roof.
‘They’re beautiful,’ she said, still looking at the flowers. I began to chew on my thumb.
‘Is everything okay, Mrs Connor?’ I asked. I’d never seen her look so pained, and for once I wished she’d flash me one of her robotic smiles, a reassurance that all was right with the world. She looked down at the ground.
‘When you have children, you never quite know how they’re going to turn out,’ she said. ‘Of course you hope for the best, try to give them everything they need to grow, make sure they feel loved, and nurtured. Make sure they feel like they are important. You can only control so much. You can’t control whether your child becomes, well, a beautiful flower, or something else. Something else.’
‘Like what?’ My mouth went dry.
‘Something else, Hilda. Like a weed. Or a parasite.’
‘Mrs Connor, don’t say that.’
Her eyes started to well. ‘It’s true. You can have all the best intentions in the world, but intentions don’t mean shit.’
I flinched when she cursed. It was like seeing a Stepford Wife malfunction. I half expected her eyes to start spinning and her head to come flying off, exposing the wires beneath.
‘Maybe it’s my fault,’ she continued, sounding stronger, as if taking the blame for Benji absolved him, protected him. ‘I always worried about him. You know, most parents worry that their child will become sick, or be crippled in a horrible accident, but I never thought about those things. I worried that my son would be different, too different ever to be accepted. I worried he would be wrong.’
‘Wrong?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Everyone loves to blame the parents, to point their fingers and say it’s their fault, they are to blame. No one ever thinks how hard it is for the parents. Those boys who killed all those children at their own school, did anyone give a thought for how horrible it was for their mothers and fathers? The fact that their child had become everything they feared? What do you do when your child becomes a monster?’
My stomach dropped. ‘Has something happened, Mrs Connor? Is Benji okay?’
Something in her eyes snapped. ‘Oh, Benji’s fine,’ she said, panic rising in her voice. ‘He gets up, he showers, he eats, he goes out with those people. Everything seems fine but I know, Hilda. A mother knows. Something is very wrong with my boy. He’s like a tightly coiled spring, and soon, I don’t know. Something is going to give. Soon.’
She grabbed my hand, her hard French-manicured nails digging into me sharply. ‘Mrs Connor, you’re hurting me,’ I said, and tried to twist my wrist away, but she held on tighter, fixed me with a deathly stare.
‘Hilda, you are the last chance for my boy. Help him.’
‘I can’t!’ I cried. ‘I don’t know what to do!’
‘Be a friend to him,’ she said, and her grip tightened again. She looked at me like a woman possessed, a mother fighting for the life of her child. ‘You’re his only chance. His only chance at a normal life. Please Hilda, help us.’
‘Is everything okay?’
Lynette was standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips. Mrs Connor let go of my arm, smoothed down her skirt.
‘Everything is just fine,’ she said, the robot having returned once more. ‘Hilda and I were just chatting about when she might pop by again.’ She leant across, stroked a lock of my hair and placed it behind my ear. ‘It’s so long since we’ve seen Hilda, and we miss her. Benji misses her.’
‘Yes, well, Hilda’s been helping me with my work,’ Lynette said, sensing something wasn’t right. ‘She’s been very busy. And school starts again soon. I’d like her to get ahead on her studies. I’m sure Benji’s doing likewise.’
‘Yes,’ Mrs Connor said quietly, and her voice sounded a hundred miles away. ‘Next year’s a very important year for them. Soon they’ll both be out and on their own. They grow fast don’t they?’
Lynette moved inside the door. ‘Hilda, don’t be much longer. I need you to finish your chores.’
‘Sure,’ I said, quickly standing while I was free from Mrs Connor’s grip. She looked so small and pathetic sitting there on the porch, her clothes perfectly ironed, her insides breaking.
‘Mrs Connor,’ I said. ‘Benji will be okay. Don’t worry.’
‘Uh huh,’ she said, but I don’t think she was listening. She stood suddenly, patted her hair down, and before I could say anything else had hurried off down the path.