Firstborn Killer
“Shortly before ten o’clock this morning, a Kingston High School student fatally shot three of his classmates,” a newswoman said from the small TV mounted on the break room wall. The coffee mug in Charlotte’s hand fell to the floor, and shattered.
“That’s David’s school!” she cried.
Charlotte stumbled out of the break room in high heels. Ignoring her customers and co-workers in the clothing store, she ran through the aisles and out the door to her car.
Kingston High School, the only one in this small town, had less than nine hundred students. Charlotte Anderson’s son was unhappy there because of the bullies who harassed him day after day. They’d shoved him against lockers many times, and repeatedly called him “faggot.” In P.E. class he’d found his gym bag soaked with urine. Charlotte reported these horrible acts to the principal, but it hadn’t stopped the torment that her son had to face. Now one of these punks had done something so much worse.
Police cars and ambulances surrounded the school. Police officers in bulletproof vests; their guns drawn. Charlotte got out of her car, shivering in the cold air. The sky was gloomy; it would rain soon. Her heels clattered on the blacktop as she ran toward the school. She would find David safe and bring him home, and he would never come back to this school again. But a man stopped her. He wore blue jeans and a dark blue T-shirt with a police emblem over his heart.
“It’s not safe here, ma’am. Please—”
“My son’s in there! Is he all right?”
“What’s your son’s name?”
“David. David Anderson.”
“We’ll try to locate him, ma’am. Now please get in your car and drive to a safe distance.”
Charlotte went back to her car. Her entire body felt numb, as if she were dreaming. And what a terrible dream to have — your own son, killed in the one place where he should have been safe. She got behind the wheel and made a U-turn to exit the campus. In the rearview mirror she saw two SWAT team members dressed in black fatigues and face shields, holding shotguns at their sides. They were escorting a boy from the building. Charlotte slammed on the brakes. It was David.
“David!” she cried, running toward him. “David, are you all right?”
The same police officer stepped in front of her again. He put his hands firmly on her shoulders.
“Ma’am, you can’t speak to him now.”
“Why, where are you taking him?”
“We’re taking him into custody.”
Charlotte felt pins and needles crawl up her spine and over her skull. She shook her head, no, no . . . NO! Her knees buckled. The man caught her before she collapsed to the ground. He held her tightly in his arms as she released her anguish.
* * *
David Anderson had waited at the corner of the street, behind some bushes, for his mother to go to work at 7:30 a.m.. His father had left an hour earlier. When she was gone, he went back to the house. He knew where Dad kept his .22 caliber handgun.
“This is not a toy,” his father had told him. “Don’t ever touch it unless there’s someone trying to break in. It’s only for self-defense.”
Self-defense. That’s why David needed the gun. He’d taken it from the top dresser drawer in his parents’ bedroom and put it in his backpack. When he went to school, he’d actually thought that he wouldn’t need the gun after all. He’d hoped. But, shortly before the third period began, three boys approached him. He knew them too well.
“Hello, faggot,” Mike Johnson had said, pushing David’s head against the concrete wall. David swallowed hard as he tightened his grip on the strap of the backpack.
“Awww, are you gonna cry, faggot ?” He’d slapped David over the head and said, “Piece of shit.”
They all walked away laughing. Everything had seemed so loud as David followed them. The voices and footsteps around him were like those of a wild crowd at a rock concert. The zipper on the pack sounded like the roar of a motorcycle. He’d felt the cold steel of the gun, then wrapped his fingers tightly around the handle. Running, he pulled it out of the backpack and aimed it at Mike’s head. BANG! Then at the other two, Ryan and Bret. BANG! BANG!
Three lives were gone in seconds. Now David’s own life hung in the balance.
* * *
Several hours ago she had watched her son get fingerprinted. She was allowed to see him for only a few minutes, but couldn’t talk about the shooting. Behind the glass divider, David’s head hung low; he couldn’t look her in the eyes.
Finally, Charlotte spoke into the telephone receiver.
“Do you want me to bring you anything? Your magazines or something?”
No response.
Was he aware of how much trouble he was in? Was he aware of her presence? Oh, how desperately she wanted to hold him!
“Ashley and Jason are praying for you. We all are.” She paused. “I love you, David.”
Without raising his head, he whispered, “I love you, too.”
“When is David coming home, Mommy?” asked Ashley, Charlotte’s youngest. She had her mother’s strawberry-blond hair and her father’s green eyes. How do you answer a question like that? She was too young to understand what had happened. Charlotte, herself, didn’t understand.
“I don’t know, baby,” was all Charlotte could say to Ashley.
The Andersons were gathered in the master bedroom. Charlotte lay on the queen-sized bed with her husband, Jon, and their two younger children. Without them, she wouldn’t have been able to cope with this tragedy.
All was quiet except for the rain pattering outside. The Andersons, holding one another, slept through the night with David in their dreams.
* * *
Charlotte was driving home late when the storm had gotten worse. She could barely see the yellow lines on the road. She kept driving, slowly, hoping she was closer to home. She’d come from her friend, Kelly’s birthday party. She and her husband had offered to let Charlotte stay the night until the storm let up, but Charlotte wanted to get home to her family. Now she wished she’d stayed.
There was a small house up ahead, the only one on this lonely road. Charlotte decided to stop there. It would be another half hour until she reached her own house. She got out of the car, holding her jacket securely around her chest. The wind was catching her breath. Charlotte knocked rapidly on the door.
“Oh, please be home,” she said to herself, bouncing on her feet.
She knocked again and waited. Finally, the door opened. It was an old woman, who looked like she’d just woken up.
“I’m so sorry,” Charlotte said. “I was driving home, but this rain is too heavy.”
“Oh, dear,” the old woman said. “Come in.”
“Thank you.”
The only light came from the fireplace. Its warmth was a great relief for Charlotte.
“The power has been off for two hours now,” the old woman said.
“I’m just glad to get out of the rain.”
“Take off that wet coat and sit.”
The woman had a soft, comforting voice. Her white hair hung to her shoulders. She had pretty, blue eyes, and a warm smile. Her name was Valerie.
“I’ll make you a cup of hot chocolate.”
“Oh, that sounds very good right now. Thank you.”
Charlotte sat on the sofa. Her eyes wandered about the beautifully decorated room. Small sculptures of angels and fairies stood on the bookcase by the door. On the wall above the fireplace hung old, black and white photos of a man in an Army uniform. The woman was in one of them; her hair was the same, except it was black then.
“That’s my Ronald.” Valerie was holding two mugs. She gave one to Charlotte. “He died in the war.”
“World War II?”
She nodded, then sat in a chair beside Charlotte.
Charlotte held the mug with both hands, warming her numb fingers. She delicately blew away the steam.
“I lost my husband, too,” Charlotte said sadly.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. When?”
“Ten years ago.” Charlotte looked up at the woman with a grave smile. Then she took a sip of her warm beverage.
“It seems that you’d like to talk about it. I’m all ears.”
“It’s really a long story.”
Valerie waited patiently.
Finally, Charlotte began with her son, David, and the shooting. After David was found guilty of second-degree murder, Jon Anderson had felt his own guilt deep inside. He’d committed suicide a few months later. Charlotte and her two other children moved closer to David’s prison. They visited him once a month.
The old woman slowly shook her head, groaning softly.
“You poor dear,” she said. “That is such a sad story.”
They were silent for a long moment, then Valerie suddenly said, “I have something that might help you.” She rose from her seat and disappeared into the darkness.
Charlotte sat there, feeling a bit uncomfortable after just telling a complete stranger about her tragic life. But at the same time, it was a relief to talk to someone after so long. Life for her and her two children had gotten better. The kids were older now; Jason was twenty, and Ashley was eighteen. Charlotte felt blessed to have them.
She looked at her watch. It was 12:30 a.m.. The woman was still gone, but Charlotte wanted to get home. She went to the window and pulled the curtain back. The rain had finally settled.
“I got it!”
Startled, Charlotte swung around and saw the woman holding a golden locket. The long chain hung between her fingers. Charlotte joined her on the sofa.
The locket glittered in the firelight. On its surface was an interesting design: interlaced lines that formed a spiral. In the top right-hand corner were three stars.
“Beautiful isn’t it?” Valerie asked.
She opened it carefully. It was an antique pocket-watch. The gold hands were set at the correct time, still ticking.
“My husband gave it to me before he left,” Valerie said.
“What did you mean that it might help me?”
The old woman looked solemnly at Charlotte.
“It has the power to take you in time,” she whispered.
Charlotte couldn’t stop herself from laughing.
“It’s not a joke, my dear.”
The serious tone of the woman’s voice quickly silenced the skeptical Charlotte. Now she was interested in what the lady had to say.
“Ronald never told me where he got this, and I never told him what happened to me.”
“What happened?” Charlotte asked.
“I went back to my parents’ old house in Seattle where I grew up. All my brothers and sisters were there. I thought I was dreaming.” Her hand tightened around the locket. “We were all children again!”
Charlotte gasped.
“How?” she managed to say.
“I don’t know how it works. But I remember leaving it on my nightstand before I went to sleep.”
“Then maybe you were dreaming.”
“No,” Valerie said quickly. “It wasn’t a dream. It was definitely real. I’m sorry I can’t give you a logical explanation, but it happened. And I want you to experience it, too.”
Valerie held out the locket, but Charlotte didn’t take it.
“If you believe you can go back in time, why don’t you try to save your husband?”
“Oh, no. I wouldn’t dare try to save Ronald. He was a very important part of history, and to save his life could change the entire outcome of the war. But you can. You can save your husband and your son.”
Charlotte was speechless. This can’t be real, she thought. She just happened to stop at this very house, and was given something that she had wished for: a second chance. She accepted the gift.
“I have to go now,” Charlotte said.
“Always keep it with you,” Valerie said. “The time will come.” She put a warm hand on Charlotte’s cheek and said, “Good luck.”
Charlotte got home at 1:15 a.m.. The kids were asleep. She went into her room and sat on the edge of the bed. She took the golden watch out of her pocket, then opened it. What she saw made her jump. The watch fell on the floor.
She cursed under her breath, then quickly picked it up. The time had changed to 7:45. a.m. or pm? She didn’t know. The “second” hand no longer ticked. It was working fine when the lady had it, she thought. Charlotte tried to turn the tiny knob on the side, but it wouldn’t move.
“What a cheapie,” she said aloud.
Frustrated, she closed it hard and put it on the nightstand. Then she changed into her nightgown, and slipped under the covers. She looked at the thing one more time, shaking her head. An old stupid watch that takes you back in time, she thought. A silly idea.
She closed her eyes.
* * *
“Push, honey,” Charlotte heard Jon saying from her right.
She looked at him. He was wearing green scrubs and a white mask. Then she scanned her other surroundings. She was in a brightly lit room. Nurses were flocked around her, the doctor was in front. Charlotte recognized his dark hair and hazel eyes: Dr. Hamilton. He’d delivered all her children.
Charlotte finally understood what was happening. She was giving birth. Her legs were propped up and spread open. Dr. Hamilton was staring between them.
“You’re almost there, Charlotte,” he said behind his mask. “Give me a few more pushes.”
Charlotte pushed. Oh, the pain! She remembered. She pushed again and again. Then, a few minutes later, she heard the baby cry. The time was 7:45 a.m..
“It’s a boy!” Dr. Hamilton said, taking the baby in his hands. Jon had the privilege of cutting the umbilical cord.
After a nurse cleaned the baby and wrapped him up in a towel, she placed him on Charlotte’s chest. The tiny face was that of her firstborn son, David Michael Anderson.
It was happening. The mysterious watch that the old woman had given to Charlotte was working. Charlotte still couldn’t understand how this was possible. She didn’t care. She was here now to prevent the horror that was to come.
When her son turned five, Charlotte came across an article about home schooling. David could get an education right here at home! And no bullies would bother him. She immediately enrolled him. The results were excellent; David had A’s and B’s by the time he was fifteen.
Charlotte had given up on work to focus on his education and well-being. That was the only thing she had done differently; her two other children were born at the same times as before. The future looked bright for all of them.
But then the 14th of March crept up suddenly. The same day, same year. Charlotte was overcome by fear that it was going to happen again. That’s ridiculous, she thought. David is doing great now; he’s very intelligent and has a lot of friends. She had even convinced Jon to get rid of the gun he’d just bought. So everything was just fine.
* * *
Mom and Dad were asleep when David went quietly into the kitchen to get a butcher knife. Then he entered the bedrooms of his brother and sister. He had removed his clothes so blood wouldn’t get on them. After slashing their throats, he headed for his parents’ bedroom.
* * *
Charlotte awoke to the slicing sound of a knife. Moonlight coming from the window allowed her to see her son, naked and covered with blood, stabbing her husband. Unable to scream, she just watched in horror. David stopped, then came after her. As he brought down the knife, she awoke again to the sound of a baby crying. She ran her hands frantically over Jon’s bare back. There were no wounds. He was still alive!
The baby.
Slowly, she walked through the dark hallway, into the nursery, and switched on the light.
Decorating the room were various Disney characters on the walls, and stuffed animals in one corner of the room. Winnie the Pooh and his friends dangled above the crib. Inside was Charlotte’s infant son. She gathered him in her arms, his head resting on her shoulder. This innocent little creature had grown into a killer in two lifetimes. She couldn’t let it happen in a third; neither he nor his next victim would get another chance.
Charlotte went to the slider chair behind her. A thick blanket was draped over it. She took the blanket and sat down. As she rocked back and forth with the baby cradled in her arms, she sang a lullaby. Her voice broke in the middle of the song, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked down at her son’s sweet face. He was silent now, eyes closed. Charlotte kissed his forehead for the last time. Then she pressed the blanket over her baby’s face until he stopped breathing.
Copyright © 2006 by Bewildering Stories
on behalf of the author
