The Trophy Exchange (40 page)

“
But it
’
s here now,
”
she said and exhaled a heavy sigh. She raised her head up, straightened her spine and faced Lucinda with watery blue eyes.
“
There
’
s nothing to do then but deal with it straight on.

“
Yes, Lieutenant, I do have another son
–
our first son, Kirk. Our last name wasn
’
t Spencer, though, when he was born. It was Prescott. Our oldest son was Kirkland Prescott, Junior
–
named after his father.

“
He was a quiet baby
–
too quiet, I suppose. But that
’
s only my thinking in retrospect. At the time, I thought I was lucky. Then, when he was a toddler, the tantrums began. Children have tantrums, we told each other. It
’
s just a phase. He
’
ll grow out of it, we thought.

“
Looking back, though, his fits were less like the tantrums of other children and more like the rages of a wounded animal. Uncontrollable. Violent. Destructive rages. We wanted another child, but thought we should get Kirk under better control before introducing sibling rivalry into the mix. We sent him off to a public school for kindergarten. Teachers there couldn
’
t control him either and we had to withdraw him. We hired a private tutor
–
a long string of them actually. Kirk drove them off rather quickly. He was a bright boy, but very volatile.

“
When Kirk turned eight, the tantrums stopped as suddenly as they started. Overnight, Kirk transformed into a quiet boy, a docile child. So much so we were able to enroll him in public school again. I suppose we should
’
ve been alarmed by the abrupt and total change. But, quite frankly we were relieved
–
simply relieved. You can understand that, can
’
t you?
”

“
Yes,
Mrs.
Spencer, I certainly can.
”

Lily sighed and then moved on.
“
My husband and I decided it was time for another child. Eleven months later, Evan was born. That
’
s when Kirk
’
s tantrums started up again. He ranted and raged whenever I held Evan. He demanded I put down his replacement
–
that
’
s what he called his little brother. Fortunately, the tantrums did not manifest themselves outside our home this time, so we were able to keep him in school.

“
We made several appointments for him with a child psychologist. The psychologist assured us it was only sibling rivalry
–
just a temporary phase
–
it would pass with time. We just needed to give our oldest son more attention and more affection. The psychologist
’
s dismissive attitude of the problem made me feel guilty at the time, it angered me later, but then, Kirk never threw a tantrum in front of the psychologist so how could he have known?

“
One day, I put Evan down for a nap on a Saturday afternoon. My husband was out playing golf. I was in the kitchen cleaning up from lunch. I heard a loud thump from upstairs. I thought Evan had crawled over the railing and fallen from his crib. I raced up upstairs. I discovered Kirk leaning over Evan
’
s body, pulling on a rope he
’
d wrapped around his little brother
’
s neck.

“
I screamed. I cursed. I shoved Kirk off Evan so hard
–
so very hard
–
that I knocked him across the room and into the wall. I scooped up Evan. He was choking but he was still breathing. I rushed out of the house, jumped into my car and sped to the hospital.
”

Lily burst into heart
-
wrenching sobs. Lucinda rose to offer comfort to Lily but she waved her away.
“
No. Don
’
t.
”
Lily took a sip of her tea.
“
Don
’
t show me any kindness or I
’
ll never make it through.
”

Lucinda returned to her seat. Lily closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She opened them and shook her head.
“
Evan was fine. Some bruising, but no permanent damage. But I
’
d left Kirk lying on the floor. I didn
’
t know if I
’
d hurt him or not. And I didn
’
t care.

“
In fact, I refused to return home with Evan until my husband had Kirk put away. After thirty days, the mental health professionals at the facility expressed the opinion that Kirk was no longer a danger to anyone. They recommended outpatient treatment with a psychiatrist and chastised us for not showing Kirk enough affection and for playing favorites with our younger son. They said the problem had less to do with Kirk than it did with the family. We had a dysfunctional family, they told us, and we were scapegoating our oldest son. Making him bear the burden of the family
’
s sins. Because of this, he had emotional problems requiring professional help. They also recommended family counseling for all of us.

“
We took Kirk to his psychiatry appointments twice a week. However, I refused to see a counselor myself and I was not capable of showing my oldest son any affection. My husband tried but all his attempts were awkward. We never
–
never
–
left him alone with Evan again. For the most part, Kirk didn
’
t seem to mind that. In fact, he usually acted like Evan didn
’
t even exist.

“
The psychiatrists seemed to be helping Kirk. The number of tantrums diminished and then they disappeared. Kirk was a quiet child once again.

“
That
’
s when things got odd in our neighborhood. At the Roberts
’
home, their cat had a litter of five kittens. One by one, they disappeared. I knew Kirk played with the Roberts boy but at the time never gave that a single suspicious thought.

“
Then it was the Stanhopes. They had a Lilac
P
oint Himalayan they were very proud of. They paid a hefty stud fee to breed her to a champion sire. The result was six kittens. One disappeared. The neighborhood buzzed with rumors of a satanic cult stealing kittens in the night for use in ritual sacrifice.

“
A couple of days later, I received a shrieking phone call from Debbie Stanhope. She said that Kirk was no longer welcome in her home and neither was I. She claimed she
’d
caught Kirk sneaking out of her house with one of her valuable kittens. She demanded that I return the kitten he had stolen earlier that week. When I told her we did not have her kitten, she wanted to know how much I got when I sold it. I hung up on her.

“
When Kirk came home I asked him about what had happened. He said, so sweetly
–
so sweetly
. . .”
Lily choked on her words. She took another sip of her now cold tea.
“
He said,
‘
Mama, it was so pretty and soft. Tommy and I wanted to show it the grass. We wanted to see if the kitten liked the grass.
’
He looked so innocent. He sounded so sincere.

“
In that moment my heart melted. I forgave my troubled boy for everything and I took him in my arms. For days, Kirk seemed normal to me
,
just like any normal little boy. I thought the psychiatrist had found the key that opened the door to a normal childhood for Kirk.

‘
A couple of weeks later, my faith in his treatment disappeared like a stone dropped into a deep quarry pit. Soon after Kirk returned home from school that day, I heard a pounding noise in the basement. I
’
d gone down half of the steps, when I spotted Kirk kneeling on the floor, raising a brick over his head and slamming it down into the concrete. I called to him but he didn
’
t respond. He just kept pounding.

“
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I saw the cat
–
the dead cat. It had a rope tied around its neck. Its skull was smashed flat on the cold, hard floor. I screamed out Kirk
’
s name. He stood and turned to me
,
stretching out his arms. They were bloody and covered with scratches. And in the same sweet voice he used before, he said,
“
Mama, the cat scratched me. I didn
’
t mean to hurt it but it scratched me.
”
At that moment I was afraid of my son. I was terrified of my son.

“
I turned away from him and ran up the stairs. I slammed the door shut. I heard his footsteps coming up behind me. I heard him saying
,
‘
Mama. Mama
’,
but I locked the door and wedged a kitchen chair under the knob. He banged and banged on the door, screaming and screaming at me to let him in.

“
My husband had him committed for another thirty days. Once again, we were told that Kirk was not the root of the problem
–
family dynamics were to blame. When he returned home, I kept my distance from him. I never spoke to him if I could avoid it. My husband begged me to try to love the boy. But I couldn
’
t. I wouldn
’
t. Could you?
”

“
I don
’
t know,
Mrs.
Spencer. I don
’
t know. I cannot imagine
. . .”
Lucinda shook her head at the misery of it all.
“
It had to be awful.
”

“
But it got worse, Lieutenant. It got much worse.
”
A steeliness stole into Lily
’
s voice and her eyes glazed. She continued her story, but all the inflection fled leaving hollow, flat words.
“
The two-year-old girl
–
Bethany Hopkins. Blue eyes. Golden ringlets. As precious as any little girl could be.
”