Mommy, Mommy
Theresa Evans sat behind the steering wheel of her Ford Taurus at the end of the long dirt driveway leading to her house, waiting for the West Sheraton Elementary School bus. It was raining heavily, so she decided to pick her two children up at the bus stop and drive them home. As she sat listening to Eighties classic rock on the car radio, she saw the yellow-orange bus come rattling up Mountainview Road. Rather than stop, however, it continued on its way past the Ford station wagon.
What is that stupid woman doing? Theresa thought as she drove after the school bus, honking her horn and flashing her headlights to get the driver's attention.
About two miles down the road, the bus driver finally saw her through the rearview mirror and pulled over.
"What is it, Mrs. Evans?" the driver, Mrs. Baxter, asked, somewhat annoyed at the disruption in her schedule.
"You passed our stop," Theresa replied, equally annoyed that she had to chase the bus to get her children. "Would you let Ashley and Corey off now, please?"
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Evans, but Ashley and Corey aren't on the bus," the driver informed her. "They weren't at the bus stop this morning either."
"But they must have been. They left the house at the same time as always. If they missed the bus, they would have come straight back home."
Mrs. Baxter then turned around and addressed the dozen or so schoolchildren who were still on the bus.
"Are any of you kids in the same class as either Ashley or Corey Evans?"
Several students confirmed the disturbing fact that Ashley and Corey had both been absent from school that day.
Driving back to her house, Theresa shivered uncontrollably, not only because she was soaked through to the skin but also because she was frightened beyond words. Her house, surrounded by acres of woods, had always seemed so safe, so far away from the violence and crime of the cities and suburbs. Now that very remoteness presented a danger. Something apparently had happened to her two children on that long walk from their front door to the bus stop at the end of the driveway, and there had been no one around to help them or even see what had happened.
When she got home, Theresa immediately telephoned all her children's friends, even though Ashley, who was only nine years old, and Corey, only six, were not likely to have cut school to visit friends or to hang out at the nearby shopping mall. Not one of the children she spoke to, however, had seen or heard from either of her children. Finally, the frightened woman had to admit to herself that Ashley and Corey were missing. Fighting down the mounting panic she felt, Theresa picked up the receiver and called the police.
Officers Ellery Woodley and Ainsley Culver responded quickly to her call. As the distraught mother answered all their questions, she tried to remain calm, even though she felt like screaming when they questioned her about possible child abuse, any drug or alcohol problems she might have had and whether or not the men in her life might have sexually molested the two children.
"Look, officers, my husband and I are separated, but there's been no dispute over the custody of the kids. Neither one of us drinks, takes drugs or molests our children, and I haven't been seeing any other men, either before or after the separation," she said firmly, hoping to put an end to their questioning. "Now, it's getting late, and soon it will be dark. Why don't you go out and start looking for my kids?"
"A statewide search has already begun. When we first received your call, we issued an Amber Alert," Officer Culver explained.
Yet by nightfall, no one had spotted the missing youngsters.
* * *
Candy looked down at the two children who were both still sleeping soundly. The Hershey chocolate drinks she had given them at lunch—or rather the Seconals in the drinks—had done the trick. She hoped it would not be necessary to keep the two sedated, that there would not be a repeat of the scene they had caused earlier. Hopefully, they would accept their captivity without resistance. What choice did they have? Kids were supposed to be adaptable, weren't they? Besides, it was nighttime now, and most children were afraid of the dark. She doubted these two were brave enough to go wandering through the pitch-black woods.
* * *
Theresa sat at the kitchen table the next morning, drinking a third cup of strong coffee, desperately in need of caffeine if she were to make it through the day. The police had promised they would contact her as soon as they had any news. Since she had not heard from them during the night, she assumed her babies were still not found.
As she ran her hands through her short, dark, curly hair, Theresa realized that she must be in some form of shock. The horror of the situation had not sunk in yet. At the moment, she felt nothing but an all-consuming numbness. Once, when Ashley was only four years old, she had wandered away from the family at Busch Gardens theme park in Williamsburg, temporarily getting lost in the crowd. When Theresa discovered that her daughter was no longer with them, she became frantic, running through the crowd, calling her daughter's name. But this time it was different. This was not just a case of a child wandering off. Ashley and Corey had not merely gotten lost in the woods on the way to the bus stop. Something far worse had happened; someone had deliberately taken her children.
"Please, God, just let them be all right," she prayed aloud.
Her mind did not dwell on any possible motives the abductors might have had. If she gave rein to her imagination, that blessed numbness she currently felt just might wear off.
* * *
Just after eight o'clock the next morning, Candy brought the children their breakfast: a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios in low-fat milk and a glass of Minute Maid orange juice.
"Come on you two. Wake up and get out of bed. It's time to eat breakfast."
The little boy, Corey, still dressed in his school clothes from the previous day, started crying.
"I don't like it here. It's cold and it smells funny. I want to sleep in my own bed, in my own room where it's nice and warm."
"Listen, kid," Candy responded, "If you're a good boy and your sister is a good girl, in a few days I'll let you out of here. But if you're not good, I'm going to have to tie you up. You don't want me to do that, do you?"
In reply to her threat, Corey and Ashley shook their heads in unison.
"Here, I brought you both something," she said, putting an oversized Toys R Us shopping bag on the old wooden table.
Inside was an assortment of coloring books, crayons, jigsaw puzzles, children's board games and other toys mothers usually bought to keep their offspring busy on rainy days or when they stayed home sick from school.
"I have a lot of things to do today, so you two play nicely, you hear me? I'll be back later to check on you. Maybe I'll bring you some ice cream or cookies."
Candy took a compact mirror out of her handbag and checked her makeup. Then she brushed her long, straight, platinum hair before leaving the children and locking the door behind her.
"How long do you think she's going to keep us here?" Corey asked his sister.
"I don't know, but I hope it won't be too long. I want to watch cartoons and go outside and play. And I don't like that funny smell."
"Me either. It smells like rotten eggs."
"When did you ever smell rotten eggs?" the little girl teased.
"Never, actually," Corey admitted sheepishly, "but I bet that's what they smell like."
* * *
Slowly, the hours passed, yet Theresa still received no word of her two missing children. As noon neared, the anxious mother had the urge to telephone the police again, but she had already called them three times that morning, only to be reminded each time that they would notify her when they discovered anything.
At half past three, the telephone rang. Theresa's heart jumped to her throat as she reached for the receiver.
What if the children are dead? she thought, reluctant to answer.
Maybe she was better off not knowing, holding on to the last remnants of hope, however slim they might be.
"Hello," she said apprehensively.
"Is this Mrs. Theresa Evans?" a woman's voice asked.
"Yes. Yes, it is," she answered, her heart hammering in her chest.
"How are you today, ma'am? My name is Suzie, and I'm calling from Verizon Wireless to let you know you're eligible for ...."
Theresa slammed the phone receiver into its cradle and broke down in tears.
"Goddamned telemarketers!"
The numbness was beginning to wear off.
* * *
The following day Candy was late bringing the children their lunch. Bored, tired and hungry, Ashley and Corey were not in the best of moods, but then neither was Candy. She was not happy about having to cook three meals a day. Of course, only a woman like Candy—who was by no means Martha Stewart—would consider making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cold cereal or Chef Boyardee's canned ravioli cooking.
"Here are your sandwiches and fruit punch," she moodily announced.
"I'm sick of peanut butter and jelly all the time," Corey whined. "I want a hamburger and French fries instead."
"This isn't McDonald's, kid. You either eat this or go hungry."
"I want a hamburger," the six-year-old insisted defiantly.
"I don't care what you want. This is all that's on the menu."
Candy was quickly losing her patience with the boy.
"Well, I'm not gonna eat it!"
"Fine, then. I'll just take it back."
Angered by his rebelliousness, she grabbed both his sandwich and carton of juice and left, slamming the door behind her and locking it.
"Don't worry, Corey. You can have my lunch," his sister offered.
"Why? Aren't you hungry?"
"Not really. That smell is getting to me. I don't think I could eat without throwing up."
* * *
Around four in the afternoon, Officer Woodley drove to Theresa's house in his patrol car. When she saw the Ford Crown Vic with the West Sheraton Police Department emblem on the door and no children in the back seat, Theresa feared the worst. All sensation left her legs and she had to grab the screen door for support to keep from falling.
"Mrs. Evans, I'm sorry to bother you again, but I have a few more questions."
"You haven't found my kids?" she asked with renewed hope.
"No, not yet, ma'am."
"Oh, thank God," she said, relief flooding through her. "I was afraid you'd come with bad news."
"No, but we do have a possible lead. My partner and I tried contacting your husband. It seems he is missing, too. He hasn't been to work all week, and no one at his office has heard from him. When we drove by his apartment, we found a week's worth of mail in the mailbox and a pile of newspapers on his doorstep."
"You think something's happened to him, too?" she asked.
"It's possible. But I think it's more likely that he's the one who took the kids and ran off with them. In most abduction cases, it's a relative who is responsible."
Theresa was at a loss for words. Did Gordon take the children? The idea had never occurred to her.
No, she concluded. It's just not possible.
"Was your separation an amicable one?" Woodley asked. "Are you and your husband on good terms?"
"If we were on good terms, we wouldn't have separated," she said a bit too bitterly. "I'm sorry, officer, my nerves are raw right now. I don't mean to take it out on you."
"I understand, ma'am. I have a son and daughter of my own. Believe me, Mrs. Evans, I don't want to pry into your personal life, I only want to find your children."
"The truth is that my husband was unfaithful to me several times during our marriage. I finally had enough and made him leave. But I doubt very much Gordon took the kids. He wasn't too fond of fatherhood. He never spent time with them when we were still together, so why would he want to take them now?"
"He could have taken the children to get back at you for kicking him out," Ellery theorized. "Was your husband the vindictive type?"
"No, he wasn't, and I don't think he did it. In fact, I'd be willing to bet my life on it."
* * *
Candy did not come back at dinnertime. Having had nothing to eat all day except the bowl of cereal at breakfast, Ashley and Corey finally succumbed to their hunger and shared the peanut butter and jelly sandwich and juice box of warm Hawaiian Punch. Ashley was unusually quiet for the remainder of the evening.
Lying on his cot, looking through a Berenstain Bears book, Corey finally turned to his sister and asked, "Are you still mad at me?"
"I'm not mad at you. Whatever gave you that idea?"
"You haven't talked to me all night. I thought maybe you blamed me for not getting any dinner."
"No, silly. I was just thinking; that's all."
"About what?"
"About how we can get out of here without her knowing."
"I wouldn't try to escape if I was you. If she finds out, we'll be in a lot of trouble."
"Yeah, I suppose you're right. We'll just have to try to be good, so she'll leave us out as she promised she would."
"Or," Corey said hopefully, "maybe Daddy will come back, and he'll let us out."
* * *
It was morning again, and the children had now been gone for two days. According to Officer Woodley, there was still no trace of them. When Theresa asked if there was any further news of her husband, the policeman refused to discuss the matter with her.
Why? she wondered. Is he afraid I'll try to warn Gordon? But I'm the children's mother, for Christ's sake! I more than anyone want them found safe and sound.
* * *
Ashley got up before Corey. It was the awful smell that woke her, penetrating into her sleep. What was it? She began searching the basement, determined to find the source of the foul stench. There was nothing behind or underneath the old couch or under the two cots. There was also nothing in the laundry area, either behind the washer and dryer or inside them. Next, she looked in a small storage area beneath the stairwell. It held only tools, lawn furniture and auto care products.
As the little girl walked toward the old cellar, which had been built before the additions to the house were made, the odor was more pronounced. The subterranean room was dark, cold and damp, with a dirt floor and spider webs hanging from the ceiling rafters. Covering her nose with the sleeve of her New England Patriots sweatshirt, Ashley cautiously crept forward.
To her right was a wall of shelves containing rows of dust-laden mason jars, relics of a time long past when women put up their own fruits and vegetables. Now the jars were empty except for dust and an assortment of dead flies, gnats and other insects. To her left was a large wooden structure that resembled the animal stalls Ashley had seen in her neighbor's barn. This enclosure, however, was a coal bin, made obsolete when the house was renovated and an oil-burning furnace was installed.
Ashley stood on her tiptoes and looked over the wooden partition. When she did, she had to shove the sweatshirt sleeve into her mouth to keep from throwing up. This action also prevented the scream from escaping from her lips. Tears fell from her eyes as she ran back to the newer section of the basement, where Corey was still sleeping peacefully. There, Ashley curled up in a fetal position on the cot and cried.
You can forget about Daddy coming back for us, Corey, she thought mournfully.
She had to find some way to get out of the basement or else she and her brother might end up in a dusty old stall in the old cellar just like their father had.
* * *
Candy finally came back, bringing with her two Burger King kids meals.
"I brought you both a treat," she announced, "chocolate milkshakes, but you only get them if you eat your entire meal."
She gave them the hamburgers and fries but kept the shakes in the bag.
"What time is it?" Ashley asked her.
"Why do you care? There's no TV here."
"I just wondered; that's all."
"It's around 2:30 in the afternoon."
Ashley started eating her hamburger. Corey had already eaten his and was now devouring the French fries, not even bothering to dip them in ketchup. Normally, he would have been more interested in the free toy that came with the meal rather than in the food itself, but having eaten so little the past two days, he was famished. Ashley, too, ate quickly, afraid that Candy would soon leave.
When her brother finished his fries, she gently kicked him under the table.
Receiving the prearranged signal, Corey glanced quickly at his sister and then put his hands on his stomach and started moaning, "Oh, my belly hurts. I think I'm gonna be sick. Ohhhh."
What a ham! Ashley thought, wishing he could be more convincing.
But Candy fell for it, gross exaggeration though it was.
"Do you need a bucket or something?" she asked, walking toward him.
The little boy doubled over and continued to moan. When Candy knelt down to see if he was all right, Ashley pulled out the large wrench she had found under the stairs and hidden beneath the table. With surprising force, the nine-year-old hit the woman over the head. Candy screamed and fell to her knees. When she grabbed her head in pain, the blond wig came off, revealing the short, dark, curly hair underneath. Then Ashley hit her again.
"Come on, Corey, let's go," she urged her brother. "If we hurry, we can reach the end of the driveway before the school bus passes. Mrs. Baxter will help us."
The two children ran up the basement stairs, through the house and out the front door. They were halfway down the driveway when they saw the West Sheraton Police Department patrol car headed toward them.
"Whoa," Officer Ellery Woodley called to them. "Don't run away. We've been looking all over for you two."
Officer Ainsley Culver got out of the police car, her hand on her gun.
"Where's your mother?" she asked.
"Down in the basement," Ashley replied quietly, afraid she would be in a great deal of trouble if the police found out what she had done.
"Ashley hit Mommy over the head," cried Corey, who was not about to take the blame for his sister's actions.
"You two were here in the house all along, weren't you?" Officer Woodley asked.
Ashley nodded and explained.
"Mommy told us there was a surprise for us down in the basement. When we went to see what it was, she locked us in. Then she came back wearing a blond wig and saying her name was Candy."
"Your mommy didn't hurt either of you, did she?" Ainsley inquired.
Corey assured him that she had not, but Ashley kept silent. Ellery Woodley took her aside when Officer Culver and Corey went to the patrol car to radio for backup.
"There's something wrong, isn't there?" he asked the little girl.
"I didn't want my brother to know, but while he was sleeping, I found my daddy in the cellar. I think he's dead."
* * *
A month later Officers Culver and Woodley were discussing the Evans murder case.
"How's Theresa Evans doing?" Ainsley asked her partner.
"Did you read her psychiatric evaluation?" Shawn answered. "Her doctors think she is suffering from multiple personality disorder. She'll probably be going to an institution rather than to jail for murdering her husband."
"But why do you suppose Theresa kidnapped her own kids?"
"Technically, Theresa didn't take them; Candy did. Remember, Theresa told you that her husband had been unfaithful and that she kicked him out? I talked to his family, friends and coworkers. They said Theresa was the one cheating on him. She'd get all dressed up, put on her blond wig and cruise the bars, sometimes not coming home until the following morning. The husband finally got fed up and walked out. The next day he went to see a lawyer. Apparently, he wanted a divorce and was going to seek custody of the two children."
"So, she killed him to keep him from getting the kids?"
"Probably."
"But according to her, he didn't want them. She said he wasn't much of a father."
"Everyone I talked to claimed it was Mr. Evans who took care of the children. The next-door neighbor told me Theresa was a quote 'stuck-up bitch' who thought housework, cooking and taking care of her children were beneath her, that she thought herself above such a menial life. In fact, no one I spoke to had anything good to say about Mrs. Evans, and no one was surprised to learn that she murdered her husband."
"You know what I think?" Ainsley asked. "I think deep down Theresa really wanted to keep the kids, so her mind invented the Candy side to kill the husband and kidnap the children. Doesn't that sound logical to you?"
Ellery Woodley, the more cynical of the two, shook his head.
"No. I think Candy was the real personality behind Mrs. Evans, the party girl who liked to go out and have a good time. She didn't want those kids, but she didn't want her husband to have them either. I think the Theresa side of her—the loving, worried mother—was the front she showed to us. Either way, those kids are sure lucky they got out of there when they did."
"Why's that?"
"The state forensics team that examined the crime scene ran an analysis on the two milkshakes that were found in the basement. They were both laced with cyanide."
Don't be silly, Salem. Mommy would never hurt you.
