grab it to steady it. My voice, when it comes, sounds oddly flat. “That’s wrong. Connor didn’t do that. Let him go.” I don’t look at my son. I don’t dare, and I can’t even think why. Maybe because I’m afraid he’ll think I’m doubting him.
The officer, of course, doesn’t let go. He fixes me with a cool, assessing look that tells me he’s ready if I decide to flip out on him. I get myself under control, though my muscles are all tense and twitching, desperate to grab my son and wrap him protectively in my arms. The officer must see that, because he says, “Ma’am, please go outside to the police vehicle and take a seat on the curb. We’ll sort all this out when the detective arrives.” It’s not warm, but at least it’s a little less than aggressive, and I take a breath, then look at my son.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell him. He’s pale, tense, and I can’t read the expression on his face at all. I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s never been in this place before.
“Don’t worry, Mom. I didn’t—”
“I know,” I tell him, and I believe it to my bones. “Honey, I know.”
“Let’s save it for the detective,” the officer says. “Ma’am. Please go ahead. We’ll be right behind you.”
It’s very hard to turn my back on my son, even though I hear the footsteps following me. I want to look back, turn around, somehow reset the clock to half an hour ago, to peace and safety and love.
I want to protect him, and I can’t. I can’t. It feels like it’s going to end me, this need, but somehow I keep walking through the living room, out the door, down the sidewalk.
Sam and Lanny are seated together on the curb beside the police car, and Sam’s got his arm around Lanny’s shoulders. They both stand up when they see me, and I see them look past me, to Connor.
“Oh hell no, you get your hands off my brother!” Lanny shouts, and lunges forward. Sam catches her from behind, and I step in her way. She rushes right into me, and I throw my arms around her as Sam does the same from the other direction. She struggles. Hard. “Let go! Let me go, you can’t let them do this—”
“I’m not,” I tell her. I sound icily calm. “Lanny. It won’t do anybody any good if you pop off and get arrested. You know better. Sit down. Now.”
I’ve never used that tone with her before, and it gets through. She goes still. Sam doesn’t let go, and I don’t either, until I feel her muscles unclench. “You’d better fix this,” she says. I hear the fury in it. The betrayal.
I let go. Sam takes our daughter back to where they were, but he’s watching me closely as the cop leads Connor past us. I reach out and put my hand on my son’s cheek, very briefly.
He says, “I’m okay, Mom. It’s fine.” Empty words, and I’ve never felt that more than I do right now. He’s putting on a brave face, but he’s scared and I know that. I’m terrified.
I watch my son put into the back seat of the police car, and I force myself to sit down next to Sam. I pull out my phone with trembling fingers and say, “Lanny. What message boards does Connor post on?”
“He—he doesn’t—”
“Don’t bullshit me. Not now.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and turns her head to face the police car. Connor. Then she says, “Some of the crime boards, but not under his own name. Sometimes he posts on a forum that a couple of guys from school set up. It’s called Loserville.”
I search for it, and find it fast. I take in the content quickly—mostly complaints about school, mockery of teachers, some truly horrible harassment—and my heart sinks. I don’t know why my son would post here at all. It’s a cesspool of the darkest impulses of young men. There’s a whole thread on girls at school. I don’t read it. I can’t. I’m afraid what I’m going to find out about my own child.
I feel sick. Sweaty. I blink and focus on the search bar, and ask Lanny what he goes by on the board.
She doesn’t want to say, that much is obvious.
She’s crying. Silent tears running down her cheeks. Angry at herself, disappointed in him, I don’t know. Then she says, “Ripperkid.”
I can’t move for a few