He was too old to sleep with his mommy. Other kids in his class, they would tease him if they ever found out. On the other hand, maybe he’d stay one more night. Or the night after that. Then it would be the school week, and school would help. His mother said so. The counselor lady, too. Routine would be good for him. They both said that, though when his mother uttered the words, she’d had two small lines pinching her brow, right between her eyes. He didn’t like those lines. He wanted to reach up and brush them away.
He’d hurt his mom. Worse, he’d scared her, and now, just like he couldn’t stop jumping at loud noises, she couldn’t let him out of her sight. So they’d spent all day yesterday huddled together on the sofa, watching stupid TV shows and eating junk food until even Jesse started worrying that he was rotting his brain. He could actually feel it, growing warts and holes and lesions, like a zombie brain, right there inside his skull.
He’d set aside his half-eaten Twinkie and requested an apple.
His mother had burst into tears. He’d immediately picked up the Twinkie, but she’d taken it from him, so apparently the Twinkie hadn’t been the problem.
He’d been a bad boy. That was the issue. He’d broken the rules, followed a stranger, met a demon, and watched a boy die. And he didn’t know how to undo it. It had happened. He’d been bad. And now…And now…?
If he could, he’d go backwards in time, like a video in rewind. Look, here’s Jesse walking backwards to the library, then up the outside stairs, then up the inside stairs, then sitting down with the stranger danger boy except now getting back up and moving away from the stranger danger boy, back downstairs to his mother. Look, here’s Jesse with his mother. Stay, Jesse, stay. Be a good boy, and your mommy won’t cry.
The police had taken his computer. Thursday night/Friday morning, he guessed. He’d fallen asleep in the back of the police cruiser, which had taken them home from the station after all the questions, questions, questions. His mother, he guessed, had carried him upstairs to their apartment, all three flights, though he was way too big for that, too. She’d put him on the sofa, where apparently he’d been so exhausted, he’d never stirred even when she’d taken off his shoes.
At 6 A.M., he’d bolted awake screaming the first time. Bad dream. He couldn’t remember it, but it had something to do with a scary thin demon with jagged shards of teeth and too bright blue eyes.
Back to sleep, his mother had said. So he’d tried, only to wake up screaming an hour after that, then an hour after that.
At nine, she’d let him get up. Good news, no school for him, no work for her. They’d have a mental health day, she told him, but that frown was back, those two little lines wrinkling her brow, and he could tell she wasn’t really happy and they weren’t really having fun.
They went out to breakfast, at the little diner around the corner. On the way back, she broke the news. The police needed their ancient laptop to help them with their investigation. She’d handed it over to the officer who had driven them home. They might get it back when all was done, but Jesse’s mother had told them not to bother. She never wanted to see it again.
She’d looked at Jesse as she said these words. He didn’t argue, just nodded. She’d sighed a little, her frowny forehead momentarily clearing. One burden off her shoulder, a million more to go.
Jesse thought he understood his role now. He’d been bad. And you couldn’t go back in time, you couldn’t rewind, undo what had been done. He could only try to fix it, to balance being a bad boy with being a good boy, like in order to eat Twinkies, he had to drink a glass of milk. Good behavior to offset the bad behavior.
Last night, the police lady had said they needed his help. He was a witness. And they needed him to be brave, to tell them everything that had happened. No need to be embarrassed, nothing was his fault. He just needed to talk.