Chapter 16

Wizards and Unicorns

For my other Chris, my beloved Big Bro. Get well. I miss you to the depths of my heart.

Tonight you're mine completely
You give your love so sweetly
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes
But will you love me tomorrow.

Carole King

There was green alligators and long-necked geese,
Some humpty-backed camels and some chimpanzees.
Some cats and rats and elephants, but sure as you're born,
The loveliest of all was the unicorn.

Shel Silverstein

"It's about motherfucking time!" Sandra barked at the COs, one male, one female, both burly.

"Calm down," the male CO – CPL Bragdon according to the stenciling over his left shirt pocket – said with an almost amused patience. "You're not going anywhere unless you're ready to cooperate, I don't care if it is for an attorney appointment."

"Fuck you," Sandra snarled. Time had not softened her inner certainty that she was the victim, not the criminal. "I'm gonna sue you people's asses for keeping me locked up alla time."

"Playing by the rules will get you out a lot sooner," Bragdon answered, opening a pair of handcuffs. "Put your hands through the opening."

However grudging it might be, Sandra at last did as she was told. She was escorted to a carrel where she sat on the opposite side of a thick glass barrier from her court-appointed attorney, Denise Ashton. She was uncuffed, and the COs stepped back and cast wary eyes on her.

"When the fuck am I gonna start getting outta that goddamned cell?" Sandra demanded.

Ashton grimaced and looked down, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looked up and tried not to let her disgust show. "Probably when you start playing by the rules. Look, being your attorney for this case does not include trying to get the rules changed for you. You do as you're told and follow the rules of the game, you'll get the appropriate privileges."

"They're all assholes! They're all the time flicking shit at me, and I ain't afraid to flick it right back."

"Fine, but you aren't getting out of your cell into general population until you smarten up," Ashton said with more than a hint of exasperation. "But I didn't come here to get you out of your damned cell."

"Well, what did you come here for?"

"To try to bring you up to date on where things stand."

"When the fuck am I getting outta here?"

"You really don't get it," Ashton said with amazement. "You'll get out when you post twenty-five thousand dollars bail, not a minute sooner. If – if – you start playing by the rules and doing as you're told, maybe – maybe – by this summer I can file a motion for bail reduction. Until then, as long as you keep acting like a goddamned bitch, you aren't going anywhere. Do you understand me?"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Sandra grumbled. What a bunch of fucking bullshit, they get to push me around, and I gotta shut my mouth about it. Fuck it, I need outta here, I need some meth before I go nuts, I'll play their little game. "Alright, alright, I'll play their fucking game. So, where the fuck are we at?"

"There's not much good news for you. Shhh, shut up, let me talk."

Sandra swallowed her bitterness, but her inner outrage remained. "OK, fine, go ahead."

"First off, your daughter's attorney has filed a motion for termination of parental rights?"

"What did you say?" Sandra snapped. This was something that hadn't occurred to her. She needed Laci for the state aid checks she brought. Without her, the money well dried up. Sandra had long since convinced herself that she and her boyfriend were only trying to defend themselves against Laci and her bitch, not trying to rape and murder her. "What the fuck's up with that? They can't do that."

"Oh yes they can, sunshine. You can have an attorney present at the hearing, but you have to pay for him or her out of your own pocket, and I'm not touching that with a ten-foot pole. The right to a court appointed lawyer doesn't extend to child custody cases, only criminal, and she has one of the best family law attorneys in the state on her side."

"No way!" Sandra cried with outraged dismay "What the fuck is up with that fucking shit? She's the one who tried to rob me and Gerry, and I might be the one losing custody? How am I gonna live with no state aid check?"

"You don't smarten up, you won't have to worry about that for a while, because the state will be paying your room and board while you live in Waverton."

Sandra was acutely aware that Waverton was the home of the state's prison for women, and for the first time since the night since her arrest, Sandra felt a surge of real fear. "Holy fuck. But I thought you was gonna get me acquitted."

"Where the hell did you ever get that idea? I told you with any luck, I can work out a plea deal with the prosecution. That's best that you can hope for, the only way I'd represent you at a trial is if the court forced me too."

Having convinced herself that she was the victim, she expected the injustice of it all to be swept away at trial. She only dimly remembered Ashton telling her the same thing at their first meeting. "Holy shit, they're fucking me over hard. OK, what's the deal?"

"Right now, nothing is on the table, the state is only now getting their case together, but I hope I can meet with the prosecutor next week. So far, your case is being handled by the attorney general's office, not the district attorney's."

"What does that mean?" Whatever it meant, it sounded bad.

"It means they're playing hardball, unless you start cooperating with me and following the rules, you're facing a very long time in prison. Got it?"

Sandra understood and respected fear. It was a great motivator, one she'd used many times, great and small, to get something she wanted. Bluster, fighting tooth and nail, anger, righteous indignation, hadn't worked so far. Since it was now clear the state held all the cards, she swallowed her pride in order to survive. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. So talk to me, what am I looking at if everything goes wrong?"

"Finally," Ashton sighed. "Theoretically, you could be looking at twenty plus years, but that's theoretical only. I don't know the guys from the AG's office as well as I do the DA, so it's harder to have a sense of what they're looking for, but my guess is they're going to start by offering fifteen years with five suspended..." Ashton held up her hand when Sandra started to protest. "Listen, don't talk. You, sunshine, are small potatoes. They want your boyfriend. It's my sense he's been involved in some pretty heavy duty narcotic dealing, probably armed robberies, and they want him bad. If – if – you testified against him, you might get off with time served and probation."

"Are you fucken crazy?" Sandra cried in genuine shock. "You want me to get a fucken bullet in my head? I love the guy 'n' all, he's my boyfriend, but he'd as soon kill a snitch as lookit them, and that's what I'd be, a goddamn rat, a snitch. He's got friends, there's no fucken way I'm snitching. I don't wanna be in jail, but I don't wanna be fucken dead either."

Ashton rubbed her eyes. "OK, let's put that aside for now, with luck it won't even come up. Look, between you and me, how much do you know? You don't have to be specific, and whatever you say is safe with me – attorney-client confidentiality. So do you know a little, a lot, or somewhere in between?"

Sandra sighed. This was seriously dangerous territory. In her own way, she loved Biron, or at least felt a degree of attachment to him that passed for love. She knew a lot, a lot more than she was willing to admit. She sighed and lied. "Somewhere in the middle. Listen, just for shits and grins, what am I lookin' at if I keep my mouth shut, no bullshit, just an idea."

Ashton scowled. "It's hard to say with the AG's people. If it were handled by the DA's office – and it might yet – I think I could talk them into seven years or so with all but two or three suspended, long-term probation, and no drugs or alcohol with random urine tests. That'd be contingent on a couple of things, not the least of which is drug and alcohol rehab, either during incarceration or on release."

"What about my kid?"

"What about her? I'll be very, very surprised if your parental rights aren't terminated, which means in the eyes of the law and the bureaucracy, you won't be her mother anymore. She's what? Thirteen, fourteen? If you don't play ball, you'll be in prison until after she turns 18 and then it won't matter."

"That no good, fucken little cunt..."

"Spare me!" Ashton barked. "I don't want to hear it, and if you keep using that word, I will walk out. There's no call for using that word, I don't care how upset you are. So spare me the sob story, and listen to me. You're in deep trouble right now. I seriously don't think you understand just how much trouble you're in. This isn't district court misdemeanor stuff, it's real, no shit felony stuff in Superior Court, and you've already pissed off the judge who may well preside over your case, so you better wake up and stop being a hard-ass if you want to see the outside of a prison anytime in the next ten years! Got it?"

Sandra's street survival instincts had finally kicked in. "Yeah, yeah, I got it, I'll play nice."

"You'd better. OK, that's enough for now. Like I said, I'll try to talk to them by next week to see what their thinking is, see if it's worth trying to suppress evidence, so on and so forth. Once I have something more concrete, we'll meet again. Just remember, cooperate. Honey attracts more flies than vinegar." Ashton motioned for the butchy CO standing outside the glass door to the cubicle that served as the attorney-client conference site.

The CO opened the door. "Done counselor?"

"Yes, all done for today, she's all yours. She's been read the riot act, so I think she'll be a little less ... hostile, isn't that right Ms. Harper?"

Sandra simply glared. Some shit just had to be swallowed.

Once alone, Denise Ashton sat for a moment rubbing her eyes. It seemed each year she came to loathe her job more and more. It so often left her feeling dirty. While some might see the work as somehow noble, standing up for the downtrodden as they faced an indifferent, even hostile legal system, she did not share those feelings. She couldn't recall the last time she had a client who was truly innocent of the charges they faced. Her clients were all guilty, and it seemed her career consisted of trying to free criminals to roam the streets and repeat their various crimes over and over again.

Ashton finally picked up her papers and slipped them into her briefcase. She stood and made her way out of the county jail and into corridors leading to the Superior Court in the county building complex. At last, she stood at the top of the steep granite stairs leading to the sidewalk. It felt good to be in the fresh air. It was a warmish day, and the snow finally seemed to be losing its battle with the sun. She paused while she slipped on her jacket.

Why, she wondered, couldn't she be like Gail Wright, who was fighting to get the daughter away from that slug of a human being, Sandra Harper? That was the kind of work that actually did the world some good.

Ashton lived alone in an apartment two blocks from District Court, a very nice place in a renovated old brick building, only a couple of blocks from where Gail lived. Oh, how she wished she had the courage to invite Gail for a cup of coffee, pick her brain a little.

It was well known that Gail was a lesbian, but that didn't bother Ashton, no ma'am, not one bit. She fantasized about Gail most nights. In her favorite fantasy, she and Gail opened a law practice together dealing exclusively with family law. Yes, that would be like winning the lottery.

Thirty-eight damned years old and going nowhere fast. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself and start looking for something else a little more meaningful, if it weren't for my personal injury and disability work, I'd be eligible for food stamps, what the hell kind of career is that after so many years of college and law school, to go home at night and feel dirty.

At last, Ashton hefted her briefcase and made her way down the steps, passed the statue of a Civil War soldier standing guard with his musket.

For Laci, the return to school after a vacation was always a welcome thing. School had always been her escape from the bitterness and anxiety of her life in the old neighborhood and whatever dump she had to call home. Now school wasn't about escape, it was about growing.

Laci wanted to get to school half an hour early so she could track down Mr. Belden. Karen had no trouble finding a place to drop her precious cargo. The school was a squat, unattractive two-story building, looking more like a fortress than a school, designed to handle two thousand students efficiently while reducing its carbon footprint. It was divided into three discrete blocks connected by enclosed walkways and tunnels, with elementary, middle, and high schools each having its own separate pod, and the administrative offices the hub at the center.

Laci squirmed and bounced. "I can't wait to tell Mr. Belden all about the museum, and about Meg, and the club, and just ... everything!"

Karen chuckled softly. "You look like you're ready to molt and come flying out of your skin."

"I'm excited, Karen! He is gonna be so ... Oh my God, when I tell him about Meg and her wanting to talk to him and all about the museum and..."

"Don't tackle him in the corridor," Karen said, still chuckling.

"Karen, don't tease me."

"You are so easy to tease, how can I resist." Inside, Karen seethed with as much energy as Laci, and it took effort to look and act nonchalant. Oh shit, I can't stand letting her off here, it'll be eight hours before I'll see her again, I can't stand it when I'm not with her, I want her with me all the time, it drives me nuts when she's not with me, I'll be a blathering village idiot when I pick her up again, damn, does she know what she does to me?

It was a struggle to resist the urge to lean over and kiss Laci. Even a chaste peck on the cheek carried risk.

For the entire vacation, Amelia fretted over whether she should approach Laci and ask if she could join the art club. It was something she'd longed for ever since first hearing rumors there was going to be an art club. She liked to draw and help her mother design and make quilts, but even more she was desperate to belong to some group of peers.

Amelia couldn't decide which was worse, the verbal abuse from girls like Jenna, or simply being invisible to the cool kids – especially boys. It hadn't always been that way. Up until fifth grade, even though she'd always been chubby, and she came from a family without much money or social status, she had almost as many friends as any of her peers. A shy and passive girl by nature, when puberty began to loom and kids gravitated into cliques, she was left behind in a pubescent social purgatory.

Amelia fantasized about Laci endlessly, fantasies of being her friend, laughing together, sharing secrets, and talking about how cute certain boys were. These warm, comforting dreams were in stark contrast to her darker fantasies of death and suicide to escape the inner pain.

All week she struggled with the agonizing dilemma of whether to approach Laci about the club. You didn't approach the most beautiful girl in the whole school when you were at best a nobody. Her inner struggle brought her to tears many nights as she lay in bed and her imagination played out the various outcomes. Would Laci laugh at her, call her a fat loser who couldn't even stick up for herself, and tell her to get lost? Perhaps even worse, would Laci would give her a blank look, not even knowing who she was?

At last, she knew she had to do it no matter how terrifying it was.

She took great care in getting ready for school that morning. She couldn't do much with her shoulder length, dull brown hair except brush it, part it in the middle and hope for the best. She put on her newest pair of baby blue jeans, and her one and only Hello Kitty top (It pained her that she had to do all her clothes shopping at Wally World, rather than Old Navy or Abercrombie like the cool kids from well-off families did.)

Amelia was trembling, and her tummy was rolling and surging unpleasantly when she left the house to go to the bus stop. She hardly heard anything her teachers said. It seemed that her lunch break would never get here, and at the same time it would get here too soon.

At last the tone signaling the first lunch period sounded, and the time was at hand. Amelia knew Laci generally spent time in the library, hanging out and doing math homework with Emily. That was something that was vaguely puzzling – Emily was a brainy nerd, yet she and Laci seemed to be good friends.

When Amelia walked into the library and saw Laci sitting alone at a study desk designed for students to collaborate face-to-face, casually sketching something, her knees went weak and shaky, her tummy squirmed, and her mouth went dry. Her heart raced like a cornered rabbit, and for a moment she contemplated dropping the whole thing. What business did she have approaching the most beautiful girl in the school? Surely she would laugh, or say, "Who are you?"

No, she had to do it. She reached down for the last reserves of her courage, and she walked up to Laci in a fuzzy daze. What do I say? Oh God, I'm so scared, what if I faint, I'm sick to my stomach, and oh God. Some inner autopilot took over. She drew a deep, shaky breath, and what came out was a simple, "Um, Laci?"

Laci looked up, and said without so much as a pause, "Oh, hi Amelia. What's up?"

A great surging pang burst over Amelia, and for a few seconds she thought she might actually faint. Ohmygod! She knows me! She remembers my name! Luckily her inner autopilot was still working, and she heard herself say, "Um, I, um heard there's, like, gonna be an art club, and you're part of it."

Laci's expression was gentle and attentive. "Yup, I am. Whyn't you sit down?" she invited.

Amelia shook visibly as she fumbled for the metal and plastic chair directly across the desk from Laci. "Um, is the club for, like, anybody?" she said, her voice weak and distant.

"It sure is," Laci said. It shocked Amelia when Laci very gently reached over and touched her trembling knee as if to say, Relax, I don't bite. "All that matters is you like art and you wanna hang with others who like it too. Do you like to do art stuff?"

Laci's gentle touch had calming effect, and Amelia heaved a great inner sigh, though her mind still raced, and she was sure she'd say something really stupid. "Um, I like to draw and stuff. And, um, I help my Mom when she makes quilts."

Laci broke into a smile that was, as far as Amelia was concerned, radiant. "Your Mom makes quilts? Wow, that is so cool. What do you like to draw?"

"Um, you know, stuff," Amelia shrugged. "I have a kitty cat, and I like to do drawings of her." Why did I say "kitty cat"? That is so lame, something a little kid would say.

"That's so awesome. I always wanted a kitty cat of my own, but I've never been able to." Laci's face suddenly turned animated, even excited. "That's exactly what the club is gonna be all about, people who like to draw and stuff, and what's even cooler is that it's brand new, so we can make it work however we want, it isn't like joining up with a club that has, like, a thousand rules and stuff, we get to make the rules." She reached out and touched Amelia's knee again, as if to say, Look at me, it's OK, I'm not mean.

Amelia looked up shyly. Inside, she could feel herself actually relaxing, as if a great weight was being lifted from her shoulders. "Um, so you don't need to be, like, in the eighth grade or high school to join?"

"Nope, it's for anyone who likes art, even if they're, like in second grade, but I doubt many kids from the elementary side are interested in an art club." Laci paused and furrowed her brow quickly, before breaking into an even brighter smile. "I just had an idea," she announced.

Laci turned to the sketch she had started. "I'm waiting here for Emily to come help me with math – I suck at math, it is so lame – and I've been killing time drawing a picture of Swampy – Mrs. Marsh."

Amelia eased into a smile. Truth be told, she almost giggled. Mrs. Marsh was the sour-faced head librarian who paced the floor looking for violators of her rules of behavior. It was a simple truth that everyone called her Swampy. Still, Amelia wouldn't have expected Laci to call her that. It was another sign that Laci was just a normal kid.

Laci faced Amelia again, and put her hand firmly on the girl's hand and looked directly at her. "Know what? Drawing Swampy is boring. Why don't I do a sketch of you."

Amelia blinked twice, her shock unmistakable. "Me? A drawing of me?" she said almost in a whisper. "Why would you wanna draw a picture of me?"

"Why not? You're more interesting to draw than Swampy. Listen. When I look at someone I wanna draw, my brain kinda figures out what is it is about them that makes them look the way they do, and sometimes what my brain figures out isn't too interesting, and it's like, why bother? Like Swampy. She looks like she's got a stick up her butt and she ate lemons for breakfast. That isn't very interesting, but I hadda kill time."

This time, Amelia did giggle. She was totally enthralled by this encounter with someone she considered a social goddess. Wow, it's like I'm hypnotized or something, my God, she is just so awesome, why can't more people be nice like that?

Laci turned her sketch pad to a fresh page. When she turned back, she studied Amelia for several seconds. Amelia let Laci's gentle hands position her head, just as she'd do for the stylist at Supercuts. Her insides surged with a new and wonderful excitement.

"There," Laci said taking her fingers from the sides of Amelia's face. "Stay like that. I don't mean be a statue or anything, just don't like stick your tongue out at me and go phhbbbttttt, or cross your eyes or anything like that."

Amelia was giggling steadily. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so happy. It was ... it was exhilarating. She sat up as straight as a little girl posing for her formal portrait, her feet dancing and clapping together under the table in barely restrained glee.

Laci picked up her sketch pad and went to work laying the rough outlines. "I think," she murmured, "I'll use a charcoal pencil. Sometimes black and white is better for picking up on parts of you a colored pencil can't really do. Mr. B calls it being subtle, and it's really true, it's like if you have a sleep-over or something, and you turn all the lights off in the bedroom except for a flashlight. Then everybody looks completely different, just 'cause of the shadows caused by the flashlight and it might, like make someone look spooky 'cause now in the shadows her nose looks like it might be a witch's."

Laci laid the pad on the desk's smooth work surface, and it seemed as if some inner artist controlled the sketching, freeing up the larger part of her brain to tend to everything else.

Now Amelia relaxed as much as she ever would at school.

"Do you really help your Mom make quilts? I think making quilts has to be wicked fun."

"Uh huh, it is. Hard, but it really is fun."

"Does your Mom make a lot of quilts?"

"She's always got one she's working on. She's a CNA in a nursing home, and she's always making one for the old people she takes care of."

"Ohmygod! Really? That's so fricken cool, doing something like that for people who can't do it themselves any more. Do you do any of the sewing? I don't think I could learn to use a sewing machine. Probably sew my finger to the table."

Amelia giggled excitedly. "She's just started teaching me the stitches, she usually makes the quilts by hand, and she only uses the machine when she's in a hurry. The sewing's really the easy part. It's way harder to figure out how you want it to look, what kind of patches and panels and designs you're gonna use, and how they all fit together like a puzzle."

"No way! I never thought of that. It makes sense. Hey! Who says that isn't art? Sure sounds like it to me. Oh wow! You could maybe design a quilt for the art club, you know the whole thing, sew it together and everything, and like, give it to your Mom as a present."

"Oh yeah! I never thought of that!" Amelia fairly hummed with delighted energy. "You think I could do that?"

"Of course you can."

Amelia wasn't quite sure if Laci meant that she was capable of making a quilt, or that a quilt was an appropriate project for the art club. Maybe she meant both. She automatically decided to avoid seeming like she didn't totally grasp exactly what Laci meant by answering with a neutral but enthusiastic, "Oh I hope so, I really hope so, it's such a cool idea, and my Mom would love it."

Laci's eyes moved between the sketch pad and Amelia, and both of her hands moved about their appointed tasks. Every now and then, she would reach over and gently lift Amelia's chin, or nudge her it to the left or right. Her face took on a more serious expression.

"You know," Laci said, "You don't need to be scared of me, Amelia. I'm not a mean biatch like Jenna and her little group of A-holes. I know you were nervous 'bout talking to me – I don't know why, well I do, but I don't get it – but please don't be."

Amelia could only nod in stunned agreement. Laci's casual words were yet another surprise in an encounter chockablock full of surprises. Even in her wildest fantasies, she never expected things to play out like they were.

Laci licked her thumb and worked a smudge on the pad, and when she looked up, she smiled. "There's Emily come to teach me math."

Emily, wearing a t-shirt silk-screened with the two Mythbusters' faces flanking the aphorism, "I reject your reality and substitute my own", eased her backpack to the floor, pulled up a chair and sat perpendicular to them. Amelia didn't sense any cause for concern in Emily.

"Sorry it took so long to get here," she said as she took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. "I had to talk to Mr. Bowman about the project I'm doing for the science fair competition next month, and he was, like, talking to that new biology teacher at the high school, I don't remember her name but I think he has the hots for her. So whatcha doing anyway," she said, craning her neck to look at Laci's handiwork.

"I was sketching Swampy to kill time when Amelia stopped by to ask about joining the art club. I figured she was a lot more interesting to draw than Swampy, so why not."

"Can I see? Holy Christmas, Laci, that's fricken awesome!" Emily's eyes widened. "You did that? In like ten, fifteen minutes?"

"Yeah, so? I bet you could tell me when the moon'll be full in June 2075 in the same time."

"No I couldn't, and besides, it's not the same, not even close." She pointed at the sketch and continued, "That looks like it could wink at us."

Amelia's eyes widened and she was all but holding her breath. She didn't dare look at the drawing until Laci said she could.

"Wouldn't you do doo-doo in your pants if it did."

"I hope we don't find out."

Amelia made her way back to her locker in a daze. Everything she thought she knew about her place in the world was wiped away in a short half an hour. A warm, tingly knot settled in her lower tummy. She was a few years away from understanding the sensation had sexual overtones. Right now, it simply made her feel like she was walking while wrapped in a warm cocoon.

When she reached her locker and opened it, she stared at the drawing trembling in hands. Her eyes burned, and she knew she was about to cry. She struggled to hold back the tears. Even though the corridors were empty, she didn't want to be caught crying. Crying was what losers did.

Still, her mind reeled. I can hardly believe it, the prettiest girl in the whole school drew my picture and wants to see my drawings, and she talked to me like I was normal and not some loser blimpo. It must be amazing to be her friend, I know older kids call her a slum bitch loser, she's a druggie, and her mother got high on crack and meth and tried to kill her, but all that stuff is just lies and stupid rumors, and I bet she doesn't even know how awesome she is, oh God, maybe I can be her friend, that would be fricken incredible.

At last, Amelia lost the battle with her tears. She leaned against her locker and wept.

"That was awesome, Laci," Emily said in a low, admiring voice.

"What was awesome?"

"You drawing that picture and giving her a hug like that."

"No, that wasn't awesome. If treating someone decently is awesome, we're in trouble."

Emily frowned. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"All my fricken life I've been surrounded by hateful people who like to hurt and destroy, and I'm sick of it. There's too much of that crap in this world, and I'm not going to add to it. Other people can do whatever they want, but I'm done with it. Except Jenna. I'd love to pop her in the face a good one, she better not fuck with me."