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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I waited anxiously in the visitors’ lounge at the jail. Standing up, sitting down, standing again. Walking back and forth across the narrow space. The DNA test took ninety minutes to run. Stan had stayed with me on the phone all the way down here and walked me through the front door, talking me through everything that was about to happen step by step. He told me to go home, and that he’d call me when they had results. That it might actually be longer than ninety minutes, because they were really backed up. But I couldn’t bring myself to go home.

What if Hunter came downstairs while I was there? What would I say to him? What would I do? There was no way I could act normal and keep this all a secret. It was better to stay and wait, not to approach him again until I knew for sure.

It’d been ninety-seven excruciatingly long minutes since they put the underwear in a plastic bag and carried them to the back. That wasn’t the only thing I gave them: I grabbed Hunter’s toothbrush from his bathroom before I left the house, too. I even pulled a couple of hairs from the sink and put them in a Ziploc baggie just in case, but they hadn’t needed them—the toothbrush worked just fine.

I didn’t tell Hunter where I was going or what I was doing, just texted to say I was running an errand. Nothing from him since.

Stan came through the door wearing a grim expression and I knew the results without him needing to say a word. He announced it like a doctor delivering a terminal diagnosis—straightforward, honest, and to the point. “The DNA on the underwear matched Chloe’s. There was also DNA from three males, and yes, one of the samples matches Hunter’s.” I felt the color draining from my face, and he wasn’t done talking. There was more.

I’d brought the other pairs of women’s underwear along with Chloe’s and turned them in with hers. I didn’t even know why, really, I’d just done it. They’d taken samples and run the DNA on each. “His DNA is on all the other underwear, too. We’re running those samples through our databases, and that’s going to take a significant amount of time. However, we already have a match on one of the pairs.” My mind raced. Why would the girls Hunter hooked up with be in the police databases? They were high school girls—sweet, innocent kids I’d fed dinners and asked about college plans.

Stan steeled himself. He didn’t want to tell me, but he had to. “It’s a rape case from two months ago. Remember how I mentioned there were a couple of other open investigations?”

My hand flew to my mouth.

Stan’s face shifted from detective to friend as soon as he’d delivered the news. “I’m so sorry, Felicia. I’m just as shocked as you are. They’re connected to those cases.” He reached out like he wanted to hug me. “Do you want to sit down?”

I didn’t want to sit down. I wanted to jump out of my skin. Scream at the top of my lungs. How could this be happening? I was a good parent. Good parents didn’t raise criminals. That’s not how it worked. What did this mean? Who was my son? I still loved him. I loved him so much. What could I do now?

I stumbled back into the chair. I felt the fake leather padded seat. The one I’d gotten up and down from while I waited to see which way my world would spin. I’d hoped and prayed. But deep down, I knew. A mother always knows.

“What do we do now?” I asked. My body had gone from being unable to sit still to frozen. And tired, all of a sudden—a wave of exhaustion pummeled me.

“We’re going to charge him with first-degree sexual assault. The DA wants to come out hard with this one, to set a precedent from the very beginning.” He looked sorry to tell me.

“So… what now? We just go to my house, and you put him in handcuffs?” The entire neighborhood would see. Everyone would talk. They were going to dissect our lives, pick us apart piece by piece until we weren’t even real people anymore. And what would they find when they looked at me? Where had I gone wrong? What had I done?

“I know—I don’t want to cause a scene, either. I trust you. If you want, you can go home and get him, then bring him back here to turn himself in.”

Stan could trust me, but I couldn’t trust Hunter. Not anymore. The truth was that if I went home, I wasn’t sure he’d come back to the police station with me. What if he stuck to his story and refused? He’d shown no remorse so far. And I couldn’t physically make him get in the car. He was bigger and stronger than me now. Would he get angry? What would I do then? Would he hurt me? I didn’t know. It was a devastating blow. Our world was never going to be the same, because I was afraid of my son in a way no mother ever should be.

“Thank you, Stan, but I’m not sure he’ll go with me. You might have to come with,” I said. Everything felt like a dream. So many of my clients talked about this when they’d been blindsided by their partners’ leaving: that it didn’t feel real. That they felt like they were living in an alternate universe. I’d never really understood it until now, but I’d never felt so removed from my body. Like one giant head floating around; unattached. “I know you’re busy, but… do you think you can?”

“Sure, of course,” Stan said, doing a quick pat down of his pockets to make sure he had everything on him that he needed. I’d never been so grateful for his friendship as I followed him out the station door.

Hunter had lied to me. Straight to my face. Over and over again. Even when he was confronted with real evidence, he’d clung to his claims of innocence. Something about that scared me almost as much as what he’d done. How could he behave this way?

“Do you want me to drive?” Stan asked when we got to my car, and I tossed him the keys because I definitely couldn’t handle it. My thoughts were jumping all over the place. My nerves were firecrackers popping off inside my body. I’d never known anxiety like this. The kind that made you want to go straight to the emergency room and tell them you were having a heart attack.

“Breathe, Felicia. Breathe,” I said it out loud because saying it silently wasn’t working.

Stan put his hand on my back and gently guided me into the passenger seat. “It’s going to be okay.”

But it wasn’t.

Because my son was a rapist.

Please no. I thought. Not my son.

And then it struck me, like I’d been jolted with electricity. It was always somebody’s son.

We assumed parents were as bad as their kids. Hunter wouldn’t be the only one considered guilty of his crimes. I would be judged just as harshly. It didn’t matter how open-minded and empathetic we pretended to be with other parents. When kids were fucked up, we pointed the finger directly at the parents, especially the mothers.

I’d done the same thing my whole life. It never occurred to me that a kid could do something terrible if they had a nurturing home, with good parents who instilled good values. Not that I was perfect. I certainly wasn’t. I was way too permissive. I remembered spoiling him with toys when he was little because I felt guilty over him not having a father or siblings. I cried way too much in front of him, and I’d snapped at him more than once when I was exhausted by the challenges of single parenthood. But for the most part our home had been kind, loving, and stable. That was the most important thing to me once I decided to have him.

Except that didn’t matter. He’d still turned out bad. Not cheating on a test or shoplifting bad. This was vile. I always thought of myself as a good mom. Being Hunter’s mom was as natural to me as breathing. It was the thing I was best at. And now he’d turned bad. Or he’d always been bad. I didn’t know. Nothing made sense anymore.

I didn’t notice I was crying until I wiped the tears on the back of my sleeve. I rolled down the window, sticking my head out like a dog. There wasn’t enough air. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“It’ll be okay. You’ll get through this,” Stan assured me, just like I’d assured Chloe. I thought back to that first conversation, which felt like a lifetime ago. Telling her that everything would be okay. I didn’t believe him any more than she’d believed me.

What would happen to Hunter? Would I have to pay for his trial? His lawyers? I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to do any of that. He was dangerous, and if he was found guilty, he deserved to go to jail.

Would I keep him in my house? Even if he did serve time, what would I do when he got out? Would he turn on me, angry for turning him in? What kind of violence was he capable of? How far would he go? My thoughts chased themselves in circles.

“You’re going to get through this,” Stan said again, because what else could he say? I didn’t have a choice to stop being Hunter’s mom. Even though I wanted to. In that moment, I’d never wanted anything more.

Within minutes, we were back at my house, but I couldn’t get out of the car. Stan came around and opened the door for me. He held out his arm. I shook my head, but I had to get up. We both knew that. My legs were lead as he escorted me down the sidewalk and toward the house. Would Hunter run if he saw me with Stan? I couldn’t predict any of his behavior. I didn’t even know him anymore. Had I ever? That was the saddest part. I almost crumpled on the sidewalk.

“I’ve got you,” Stan said. One hand on my elbow. The other on my back.

I turned to look at him right before we stepped inside. “What happens if he doesn’t go?”

“Then I arrest him.”

I gulped and we moved into the house without another word. It was quiet inside, but Hunter’s backpack and shoes were at the door. He was definitely home.

“Hunter?” I called out. My voice weak and wavery. He’d know from the sound of it that something was wrong. “Can you come downstairs for a sec?”

His footsteps thundered above us and then he appeared at the top of the stairs. He froze when he saw me standing in the entryway with Stan. I couldn’t speak.

“Hey, Hunter,” Stan said like he’d just stopped by to visit after work, like it was any other day. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’ve been at the school talking with some of your classmates and friends about the assault on Chloe Danes. We haven’t had a chance to talk to you about the incident, so I’d like it if you’d come down to the station with me and your mom to answer some questions.”

Hunter crossed his arms on his chest defiantly and stared down at us with a huge scowl on his face. “I already told my mom—I don’t remember anything about that night.”

“It’s protocol, since you were at the party. We’re interviewing everyone who was there that night. We can talk about all that down at the station,” Stan said, maintaining a neutral tone and stance.

Hunter shook his head. “I’m not going to the police station with you.” He shook it again. “No, I’m not going down there. I already told you what I know.”

“Hunter, you don’t have a choice,” I said, finally finding my voice.

He glared at me, and turned around like he was going to head back to his room. Stan dashed up the stairs before he could get far and grabbed his arm. He whipped him around.

“You’re coming with me.” Stan’s tone wasn’t neutral this time. He meant business. I’d never heard him sound more like a police officer than in that moment.

Suddenly, Hunter realized what was happening, and his eyes searched mine for understanding. Waiting for me to make it better. To do something to help him, because that’s what I did. That was my job. I was his mother.

I spoke quietly, my voice almost a whisper. “I took all the underwear I found in your closet to the police, and they ran the DNA.”

His mouth hung open as he read the betrayal stamped all over my face. He knew exactly what I had done. What it meant. He slowly closed his mouth. His eyes narrowed to slits. A darkness clouded his features.

And in that moment, something inside of him died. Right in front of my eyes. It was as if Stan had showed up at my door and told me there’d been a terrible accident, and my son hadn’t survived. The person I thought I knew, who I loved so fiercely, was gone.

The only thing left to do was cry.