Zagged

            by Maddy Trumble

 

            The girl slammed the door and rushed down the stairs. Shouts of anger hit her like bullets in the back as she continued to make her way to her car. She climbed in, started it quickly, and hurtled down the block, barely making the left turn off of our little street.

            The girl had just resigned as nanny of the Walt boys. She was the fourth in the last two months to quit. The Walts are my neighbors, and I know a lot about them, but I don't quite know what goes on behind closed doors. I'm merely an observer, not lucky enough to see inside. Sitting on my couch, looking out my front window, I watch for hours, staring at the dark blue stucco house that sits behind a dark wood fence covered with tangled vines of jasmine. There's not much else to do with my time, now that I'm widowed and retired. I sit and wonder about what happens to make all the nannies leave.

            There are rumors of abuse and drug use, most of them about the father, Steve. He has a nasty temper and always seems unhappy. The little boys: Troy, ten and Riley, five, often look tired and worn down, their hair unkempt and clothes mismatched.  It's a shame because they're such nice boys. They are quiet and respectful and always say "Hello, Mrs. Johnson" whenever they see me. And Troy is so smart. He won first prize at the science fair last month. When he came home with a big blue ribbon, I tried to congratulate him, but Steve interrupted and informed me they had somewhere to be. The mother, Anna, is extremely quiet. I think she works in Steve's office. I just know it can't be healthy for the two of them to work and live together. It's the way she holds her sweater, hands clutched across her chest, and the way she brushes the hair out of her face, like an ashamed child,

 

that makes me wonder what kind of a husband and father Steve is. Yes, I sit and watch them and their house across our street.

                                                     *            *           *

            The evening after the last nanny quit, Anna knocked on my door. When I opened, Anna was looking down at her feet, a calmness about her that made me quite nervous. "Hello, Mrs. Johnson. May I please come in?" she asked, her voice soft and tired.

            She was still in her work clothes. I looked at her face and saw how tired she was; her eyes purple and sunken in. She kept looking down, as if trying to avoid a conversation with me. But she had come to my house. She must have wanted something.

            "Yes. Come in." She nodded before quickly shuffling past me. Once in the living room, I asked her, "What can I help you with?"

            "Oh. Well. I know this is a lot to ask of you, but I was wondering if you could maybe look after our boys for a while. I mean, they just need someone to pick them up from school and watch them for a few hours. Until we get home from work. The nanny just quit on us again, and I was wondering if you could just help out. Until we can find someone else? And Steve will pay you for your troubles. Is that all right?"

            Although this proposal came unexpected, I was inclined to accept. I loved kids and would enjoy spending time with them. And the thought of going inside the Walt household and seeing their lives behind the blue stucco intrigued me. I wanted to know more.

            "Yes. I would love to watch Riley and Troy for you and your husband."

            She let out a sigh, happy to hear it. She went on to tell me the information I needed. Pick up the boys at 3:00 from school. Bring them straight home, give them an afternoon snack, make sure they do their homework, and keep them in line. This all seemed simple enough. The boys were angels; easy to handle.

            Anna wrote Steve's number down in case of emergencies. She thanked me quickly and scurried out of my house, but slowing down as she hit the street, taking her time. She didn't want to return home.

                                                            *          *          *

            The next day, I arrived to pick up the boys promptly at 3:00. They were waiting for me on the curb. Their blond hair shone in the sun and their matching freckled faces looked pleased to see me. They were standing side-by-side, Troy holding a lunch box, Riley a stuffed zebra. Riley smiled when he saw my car.

            The boys jumped in the car, and greeted me together. "Hello, Mrs. Johnson."

            "Hello boys," I replied, feeling like a kindergarten teacher. "Back home we go, okay boys?" I said in a singsong voice.

            "Uh-huh. We're supposed to go…" Riley started to say before Troy cut him off.

            "… To Totland. Right Riley?" Troy said. Riley nodded his head in agreement.

            It did sound like fun, but I worried that I might get in trouble if I did anything other than what was asked of me. "You know, boys, I would take you, but I don't think I can today. Why don't I ask your father tonight and if he says yes, we can go tomorrow afternoon. That sound okay?"

            "No!" Troy griped. "I wanted to go to Totland today! Please?" Troy begged as he squirmed in his seat.

            "I'm sorry Troy," I said, "not today, but maybe tomorrow okay?"

            He sniffled and a lone tear streamed down his face. "Fine!" he said, as he pulled his legs to his chest and turned his gaze to the window, sticking his right thumb in his mouth. Riley was quiet, looking straight ahead as he clutched his zebra and stroked his back.

            I couldn't believe how hurt Troy was about not going to a playground for little children. He was ten years old. He should be past the sand shoveling age. I always thought older kids liked playing video games and reading adventure stories. I guess I was wrong.

                                                            *          *          *

            After Steve came home and while the boys were doing homework in their rooms, I asked him very carefully about Totland. I was startled by how upset he became.

            "Why would they be allowed to play in the dirt? My boys are better than that. Smarter than that!" He was so angry.

            "I'm sorry. They're just children. I thought it would be all right.  I won't take them." I was beginning to see just why so many nannies had quit. Steve's temper was fast and biting.

            "Well good. I'm glad we understand each other." He turned away from me and screamed for his boys. "Troy! Riley! You two are in big trouble! Get down here this instant!" I could hear little feet shuffling upstairs. "You're excused, Mrs. Johnson. Good night. Thank you. I will see you tomorrow." He exited the room, getting ready to punish his boys. I walked out the front door and crossed the street, looking forward to the comfort of my own couch.

                                                         *             *          *

            Over the next few days, I searched the house for something to give me a hint about what was going on and came across some intriguing items. The parent's medicine cabinet was stocked with anti-depressants and sleeping pills. It was a pharmacy in there, with at least six kinds of anti-depressants, enough sleeping pills to last the family for months and a few unlabeled bottles.

            So far, I have counted three holes in the walls. The holes appeared to be just big enough for a fist. I got the impression that they were Steve's doing when I asked Riley what had happened and he responded, "Daddy would get mad if I told you".

            I also found something in Troy's room that was quite curious. I went into his room one afternoon to ask him what he wanted for a snack, but he wasn't there. I stepped into the room and walked to the closet to see if he was hiding in there, maybe playing a game with me. In the closet, there were only clothes and a tall stack of picture boxes in one corner. I opened the box that was sitting on top and found dozens of toys inside. There were stuffed animals, action figures, and figurines of Looney Tunes characters. The next box held more toys. All of them seemed like they belonged in Riley's room, not Troy's. I figured Troy was just a little immature.

                                                          *       *        *

            Over the next week, the boys and I got along very well. Troy never got upset like he did that first time I picked him up from school. The two of them were always polite and soon began doing favors for me, making my job much easier. I became friends with the boys, especially Riley, who was just the cutest thing. He never complained or cried about anything. Much more mature than the average five year old. He loved to sing show tunes with me. His voice was little and he often sang off key, but he still loved singing. His favorite show was The Sound of Music, same as me. We sang along with Julie Andrews every afternoon.

            Troy wasn't fond of singing. He liked to cook instead, and so he helped me make snacks. He was quite polite and generous; always asking what I wanted. I didn’t see the harm in letting him help me prepare food, not if he enjoyed it.

            Soon he was making everything himself. One afternoon, he copied a recipe he saw on the Food Network- cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches cut into little triangles. He served the sandwiches with lemonade he mixed himself. It was all quite good and I complimented him on his meticulousness. He thanked me as he handed me another sandwich.

                                                            *          *          *

            Early the next morning, before the sun had come up, I woke up to the sound of sirens. I looked out the window and saw police cars, a fire truck, and an ambulance filling our street. Police were rushing in and out of the Walt house. The ambulance turned its lights on, and screeched down our street. I ran outside to the first policeman I saw and asked what was going on.

            "And who are you?" he asked.

            "I'm Martha Johnson. I take care of the Walt boys. What's going on?"

            "Well, ma'am. I'm not at discretion to say.”

            "Please. I'm their caretaker. I have to know what's happened." I looked at the police officer desperately. "Please."

            "Well," the officer was hesitant. He let out a sigh, giving in. "The little boy died sometime last night."

            "What?" One of the boys had died? I held my breath. "Which one?" I asked through the shock I was feeling.

            "The little one. I think he was four?"

            I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. "Five. He was five," I said. "What happened?"

            "I'm not sure ma'am. They think it was an overdose. I don't know how it happened. Poor thing."

            "Thank you," I managed to whisper before walking away to search for someone who knew more. I tried to find out what had happened, but no one had any more information. He had died? An overdose? He was only five years old. How did this happen? I knew something was horribly wrong in that house. I should have done something about it.

            I went back inside my house and sat on my couch. Looking out my window, I watched the police questioning the Walts. Steve had an enigmatic look on his face. He was either stunned or concerned about missing a day of work.

            Anna was utterly hysterical. She had her hand wrapped around a white tissue that she sporadically dabbed her face with. She was crying so hard she was shaking.

            The two parents were soon driven away in the back of police cars. It seemed like they had something to do with it, though I doubt Anna was involved. The police must have found the medicine cabinet and the holes in the walls; something to suspect foul play. They must have recognized Steve's curious nature and realized something was wrong with him. The way he could remain so removed told me he had something to do with it. Maybe it was an accident, or maybe Steve was a madman; either way, they took both parents away from our street. 

                                                *          *          *

            Troy was sitting on the front porch, playing with Riley's stuffed Zebra, whose name I had learned was Zag. He held it close to him as he stroked the black and white stripes. He seemed not to notice the crowd of uniformed men shuffling past him or his crying mother and odd father that had just been taken away in police cars. He just rocked back and forth, clutching the zebra to him.

            I exited my house and approached the policeman I had talked to before and asked what was going to happen to Troy. He said he didn't know, but he would ask around for me.

            It turned out they needed someone to take temporary care of him while they questioned Steve and Anna. Because I was, in a way, their caretaker, they asked if I would take him for the day. I said I would. I knew just where we would go.

            Troy was walked over to my house and after some milk and cookies I asked Troy if he wanted to go to Totland with me. He perked right up. Troy had been waiting for two weeks to go and I thought today was the perfect day to take him.

            We went to Totland. But before leaving, I had to okay the trip with a few police officers. They said it was fine for us to go, but sent a police car with us, just in case. They wanted to make sure nothing happened to us until they knew what exactly was going on with the Walt family and why Riley had died.

                                                *          *          *

            The sky was dark gray and cloudy that morning, with rain and no sun in the forecast. Troy wanted to play despite the poor weather, especially when he saw there was no one else there. It was too early and too cold for anyone else to be out with their children.

            Troy threw open the metal gate and ran inside. He plopped down in the sand and buried his fingers in it. He picked up handfuls of sand and let it slide out slowly as he watched each grain fall to the ground.

            I sat on a bench at the far end of the park. Sitting down, I began to think about the morning. My eyes were closed, my head swimming. Little Riley was dead. An overdose? The medicine cabinet had enough drugs to do it. And Steve did seem capable. He had a short temper. Heaven knows what he could do with it. I thought of how he was probably being questioned by a handful of police officers who don't believe in "innocent until proven guilty". I pictured Anna, with her long blonde hair, holding it in her hands as she told them about her past and her relationship with Steve and the antidepressants…

            I became lost, all these thoughts and more dancing in my mind. When I finally opened my eyes, Troy was standing right in front of me. Watching me. His eyes fixated on my forehead. I gasped.

            "Troy! You startled me."

            "Sorry, Mrs. Johnson," he replied, still looking at my forehead.

            "Why don't you sit down next to me?" He didn't move. "Troy?" I was wondering what he was looking at. I touched my forehead to see if there was anything on it he was looking at. He didn't move his eyes and began biting his bottom lip.

            "Troy? Are you all right?" I asked, my concern growing.

            "Daddy. He gives Riley pills at night. I'm not supposed to know. But I do. They make him tired. Riley has trouble going to sleep, but not anymore. Not since Daddy gives him the pills."

            "If you're not supposed to know this, how do you?"

            "Riley told me. We're good friends, you know. We share everything. Even secrets Daddy tells us not to tell anyone else."

            A gush of wind flew past us. Troy's blue eyes kept focused; intense oceans. I took his small hands in mine and leaned close to his face. "Do you know what happened Troy?"

            He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think I should tell you. Daddy would be mad at me."

            " Your daddy would forgive you. I promise you that, Troy." I felt myself stop breathing.

            "He wouldn't give it to me. He wouldn't do it."

            "What are you talking about, Troy? Who wouldn't give you what?"

            Troy's eyes moved from my forehead to my eyes. "We share everything. I told him I wanted it."

            "Troy, what are you talking about?" I felt myself squeezing his cold hands. The wind swept through his blonde hair, and I felt him shivering.

            "His zebra. He wouldn’t give me his Zag. I wanted it and he wouldn't give it to me. I needed it." He smiled a little and leaned even closer, as if he was telling me a secret he couldn't wait to share. "I put the purple pills and the white pills and a red one in his lemonade. I wanted him to go to sleep so I could go into his room and get Zag. And now I have him. He's all mine."

            I let go of his hands. Now I was shaking. I looked at his smiling face and at his illuminated eyes. He looked down at Zag and gave him a hug. Then he looked back at me.

            "Ms. Johnson? When's Riley coming back?"