All of Us. A. F. Carter
contrite. “I was carried away.”
“By what?”
“By a chance to exist, to become flesh and dwell among you.”
Halberstam responds with a sagacious nod. “‘Dwell among you,’” he says. “Very nice. But Carolyn Grand committed herself to an appointment she couldn’t keep. And before you say anything about there being no Carolyn Grand, please understand this. From my point of view, there must be a Carolyn Grand, a responsible adult who can function, with appropriate support, in the community.”
I can see why Martha hates this man who doesn’t get it, who will never understand because he cannot step far enough away from his own needs to know the needs of another, to make those needs his own, a burden freely held.
Victoria whispers in my ear and I repeat what she tells me, word for word. “We’ve been living at the same address for the past nine years. We have no debts and we never, before the incident, had any contact with the police. In addition, we’re good to our neighbors, maintain our apartment and take out the garbage before it begins to stink. As for being a responsible adult? We receive a disability check every month for a good reason. We’re disabled.”
Halberstam’s chin rises as I go on, a thin smile exposing just the tips of his teeth. “Those are not your words, Serena. Whose are they?”
“They belong to Victoria, whose special skill lies in arranging simple ideas in little choppy elements that sound like accusations. But we don’t think we did anything to merit commitment, none of us. It’s not right.”
“I’m afraid right and wrong don’t apply to what we’re doing. Strictly speaking. But I’m glad you’re being honest.” He reaches for a fountain pen lying on his desk, picks it up, the better to display the green enameled barrel. “Victoria’s presence is a piece of good luck. I can at least be certain that I’ll reach a pair of responsible ears.” He pauses, takes a breath. “Two things. First, I’m reducing your appointment schedule to three times per week, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Second, your father will be released from prison three days from now. He’ll be living in a Bronx shelter and subject to close scrutiny, but he’s on his own during the day until he finds a job.”
I don’t respond because there’s nothing to say. Here he comes, ready or not.
“As a condition of parole,” Halberstam continues, “a court will issue an order of protection forbidding any contact with you. And let me add that your father is sixty-seven years old and has been in one or another sex-offender treatment program for the past five years.”
I try to sit up straight, but the chair resists. Still, I manage a smile, Victoria’s voice again sounding in my ears. “I sense a warning, Doctor. Despite the reassurances, I sense that you’re trying to warn us.”
“There’s that, too,” he finally admits. “I have a hotline number you’re to call if he does show up. Will you use it?
That’s my dilemma in a nutshell. No matter what you tell me, I can’t be sure that you won’t put yourself in harm’s way.”
The red light on Halberstam’s intercom blinks: on-off, on-off, on-off. He lifts a receiver to his ear and listens for a moment before hanging up. I watch him rise, fingertips still on the desk as he leans forward.
“My apologies. I have an emergency here. You’ll have to give me a few minutes.”
CHAPTER NINE
KIRK
I’m up and out of the chair, crossing the room, as soon as the door closes. I’m scared, no bullshit about it, but I’m following Marshal’s simple instructions. I find a USB port on Halberstam’s computer, take a flash drive from Serena’s oversized purse, then plug the flash drive into the open port and move to the keyboard. Halberstam’s computer has a Windows operating system, and I’m easily able to access the device manager on the control panel, isolate my flash drive and order it to open a program. The download takes less than ten seconds.
I’m back in my seat and trying to relax while Serena demands the return of our body. Nothing to worry about there. I’ll be off as soon as Halberstam returns. Satisfied, really fucking satisfied. That’s because tonight, at 3:00 a.m., Halberstam’s computer will copy its files into one of Marshal’s computers. Everything.
I tune Serena out, Victoria, too. Victoria’s really pissed at me because I paid for the malware with money from the family till. Tough shit because we can’t wait until we’re committed, until the locked doors on our locked ward close behind us. That’s for suckers and we’ve been suckers long enough. We need to get out ahead of this prick, to put him in a box.
Halberstam’s taking his time and my thoughts finally turn to Hank Grand, a man with even less conscience than Halberstam. They should have killed him; even Serena agrees. Instead, New York incarcerated him at the cost of $60,000 per year and now he’ll be walking the streets. Five years of therapy? Plenty of time to get it right, to practice delivering the words asshole therapists want to hear. We know this because we’ve done it ourselves, learned to mouth the words this or that doctor found comforting.
Yeah, we can let this one go. She’s safe.
CHAPTER TEN
SERENA
“I apologize for the interruption, Serena.” Halberstam crosses the room and slides onto his chair, his gait surprisingly graceful. “We were discussing your father’s release. If there’s anything—”
“There is, actually. We want to know why he was freed before the end of his sentence.”
Halberstam looks at me for a moment, a question lingering in the arch of his brow, as visible as if spelled out in boldface alongside a cartoon character’s head. Is the question impertinent, a gauntlet thrown before his feet?
“I don’t work for the Department of Corrections, Serena, nor do I sit on the parole board, but I’ve spoken to your father’s parole officer. As he explained, felons in New York State automatically have their sentences reduced if they behave and your father’s behaved for the most part. As a result, his sentence was reduced from thirty to twenty-eight years.”
“Doesn’t that mean he still has a year to serve? Doesn’t that mean our father could still be in prison, where he belongs?”
Halberstam sighs. I’m being tedious. “If your father serves his full sentence, he’ll be released without supervision a year from now. As it is, he can be arrested immediately if he violates the conditions of his parole, which include approaching his daughter. You’ll be granted an order of protection, by the way, so you won’t have to solely rely on his parole officer.”
Martha yells at customer service reps, calls them morons, idiots, accuses them of having, collectively, the IQ of a retarded frog. I hear something of that in Halberstam’s tone, the exasperation, a frustrated adult coping with a slow child who asks too many questions. I can’t fault him because the central fact never changes. Hank Grand is going to be released, and there’s nothing he or I can do about it.
Tina’s already suffering, the old memories churning up, lava from the heart of the Earth, all consuming, her only sustenance.
“You’re drifting, Serena.”
“I have nothing to add, Doctor.”
“Why not?”
“Because the die, being cast, still rolls, the numbers tumbling over themselves. Wait and see.”
“Well put. Now, in my conversations with Victoria and Martha the subject of function came up several times. Martha maintains the household. Victoria is Carolyn Grand’s public face. Two others I haven’t met also appear to have set functions. Eleni’s tasked with satisfying Carolyn’s sexual needs. Tina remembers