Time Out
At just fourteen years old, Marissa Kurtz found herself living alone. The mother of a newborn baby, she had no means of income and was forced to rely on welfare and food stamps to get by. Still a child herself in many ways, she was by no means prepared to handle the burden of motherhood; however, Marissa foolishly thought that taking care of an infant would not be much different than playing with a doll when she was younger.
"I always wanted a little baby," she declared idealistically.
"We're too young," her boyfriend insisted when she told him she was pregnant. "Hell, we can't take care of ourselves yet. Neither one of us has a job. How can we support a child?"
"But it would be fun to have a baby, to see it take its first step, to hear it say its first words."
Her boyfriend, however, did not look at parenthood through rose-colored glasses. He offered to help pay for an abortion, but Marissa refused to consider that option.
"That's your choice then," he said, washing his hands of the matter. "Look, I'll give you some money from time to time to help support the kid, but I can't stay around and help you raise it. I've got to finish high school and hopefully go on to college."
That was the last Marissa had seen or heard of him.
Sadly, the joys of motherhood fell far short of Marissa's expectations. As a young girl, when she had grown tired of playing with her dolls, she could simply put them back on the shelf or in her toy box. Her newborn son, unlike a doll, demanded almost constant attention.
Somehow, Marissa managed to make it through Zachary's first twelve months and the year that followed. Then, when the boy entered his "terrible two's," the mother's patience began to flag. Yet, no matter how her son exasperated her, Marissa never raised a hand to him—most likely because the welfare worker kept a close watch for bruises, cuts and scrapes.
It was rare that a day passed, though, that the little boy was not being punished with a time-out. If he was caught running in the house, playing with Marissa's personal belongings or simply making too much noise, Zachary was made to sit facing one of the corners in the dingy little studio apartment in which he and his mother lived. Often forced to remain in his chair for extended periods of time, Zachary escaped the boredom of his punishment by daydreaming; and the older he grew, the greater his ability to fantasize became.
Once her son entered kindergarten, nineteen-year-old Marissa began to look for employment. Lacking a high school diploma and previous work experience, the unwed mother was faced with few job opportunities. Eventually, however, she found employment working for a busy auto body shop where she was responsible for answering the telephone, scheduling appointments and preparing customers' bills. Although the position paid little more than minimum wage, Marissa loved it.
After five years of being incarcerated in her low-income housing apartment with only her son for company, she thrived on the attention she received from both the mechanics and the customers alike. Since she was an attractive young woman, it wasn't long before she began dating. Much to her dismay, the extent of her social life depended upon whether or not she could find a babysitter. When Mrs. Calvert, her neighbor, was at home, Marissa could send her son next door and go out with men. But quite often, the old woman would visit her daughter and grandchildren or spend the evening playing bingo at the VFW hall, and Marissa would have to stay home with Zach, wishing she had taken his father's advice and gotten an abortion.
* * *
Having a life outside the house had a positive effect on Marissa but did little to improve her relationship with her son, for she was still low on patience. At eight years old—an age when most children had long outgrown the time-out punishment—Zachary was still spending several hours a week in his chair in the corner.
One night, just as Marissa was preparing for a night out on the town, Zachary became sick. When he walked out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth with a wet washcloth, Marissa was waiting for him, holding his jacket in her hand.
"Hurry up," she ordered. "It's almost seven o'clock. I've got to get you to Mrs. Calvert's. Stan will be here soon."
"Please, Mom," he moaned. "My stomach hurts. I don't want to go to the babysitter's tonight."
"Never mind that," she said, forcing the jacket over his arms.
"I want to go to bed."
"If you want to sleep, you can lie down on Mrs. Calvert's couch."
"But ...."
Zachary's sentence was cut off by a severe cramp in his stomach. He tried to pull away and run to the bathroom, but his mother held on firmly.
"You're going next door, mister!"
Suddenly, the child threw up again—all over Marissa's new dress.
"You little shit!" she said, covering her nose to block out the sour smell of vomit.
The door opened behind her, and Stanley—her latest boyfriend—walked in.
"Hey, beautiful!" he said and then took in the scene of the sick child and the helpless mother. "I never knew you had a kid."
"I'll be ready in a few minutes, Stan. I've just got to change and take him next door to the sitter. Have a seat."
"No, Mommy. I don't feel good," Zachary cried. "I wanna go to bed and sleep."
"Look, Marissa," Stanley said, clearly eager to leave, "we'll do this another time."
"But I can be ready in five minutes."
Stanley, however, was already heading for the door.
"I'll call you next week."
Marissa complained bitterly under her breath as the door closed behind her retreating date. Stanley was not the first suitor to run in fear of a ready-made family.
"All right, you," she cried angrily, turning on her son, "get your ass in bed and don't get up again. Do you hear me?"
"But what if I have to throw up again?"
"Do it in the wastebasket."
* * *
The following evening, when Marissa came home from work, she found Zachary sitting on the couch watching cartoons.
"Feeling better?" she asked.
The boy nodded his head.
"I haven't thrown up since breakfast."
"Good," she replied, turning off the television.
Her anger from the previous night was still smoldering.
"I was watching that," he protested meekly.
"Since you ruined my evening last night ...."
"I couldn't help it. I got sick."
"Don't you dare interrupt me! As I was saying, since you ruined my evening, I'm going to return the favor. You go in your chair and stay there until bedtime."
Zachary did not put up an argument; he never did. Obediently, he sat in the chair and stared at the fine crack in the sheetrock that traveled up the wall to meet the grease-stained ceiling. As his eyes followed the crack, he imagined a river winding through an uncharted wilderness. Soon his imagination zoomed in on that river. In his mind, he saw a boat. He imagined himself upon the deck.
After nearly an hour of concentrating on that image, Zachary miraculously found himself actually standing aboard the ship. He turned his head quickly, expecting to see the old, worn couch and portable television propped up on a wooden snack tray, but they were not there.
"Mom?" Zachary called uncertainly.
There was no answer.
"Where am I? What happened?"
Young Zachary Kurtz was having what was referred to in New Age terminology as an "out-of-body experience." Of course, he was not aware of that fact. He thought only that he was immersed in an incredibly vivid daydream.
He sailed upon that boat for several hours, staring in fascination at the wonderful sights along the riverbank. So intent was Zachary on exploring the strange new world that he had quite forgotten about the old until he suddenly felt his mother trying to wake him.
"Zach," she cried, shaking him roughly. "Get up and go to bed."
Was there a hint of fear or maternal concern in her voice? Probably not.
With a profound mental lurch that left the boy dizzy and physically drained, Zachary's consciousness returned to his body.
What was that? he wondered.
* * *
To his great delight, Zachary learned that he could repeat that wonderful experience. Thankfully, with each subsequent mental journey he took, his departure was easier and his "reentry" was less exhausting. Soon he could leave and return to his body with no more effort than that which was required to toggle a light switch between on and off. Furthermore, his brave new world was not restricted to the small boat on the meandering river. Soon, with little effort, he could travel to Disneyworld and Yankee Stadium or visit ancient Rome and medieval London. The child could now spend his time in the corner sailing through the sky in a hot air balloon or exploring the wreckage of the Titanic in an underwater submersible. The only limits he faced were those of his imagination.
With this wonderful new gift, Zach's time-outs became a reward rather than a punishment—at least as far as the boy was concerned. Marissa, however, knew nothing of her son's out-of-body travels. She had her own problems, after all.
Soon her life took a turn for the better, and she finally found the man of her dreams, one who was young, handsome and single—and didn't mind the fact that she had a child. After they'd been dating for six months, Russ Dunlevy asked Marissa to marry him. Naturally, she said yes.
Once they were married, Marissa and her Prince Charming bought a three-bedroom modular ranch in the suburbs. The down payment had taken every cent they both had—which was next to nothing in Marissa's case—and they had to carry a large mortgage, but they were fairly confident they could handle the monthly payments.
Unfortunately, the following year the company Russ worked for went out of business, and he lost his job. Faced with a stack of unpaid bills and the danger of losing their house, the Dunlevys began to argue. More and more, young Zachary escaped the dysfunctional home life by sending his mind out to more pleasant surroundings.
* * *
"He's at it again," Russ said worriedly.
"At what?" Marissa asked.
"He's just sitting there—staring at nothing! I have a feeling there's something not quite right about that kid of yours."
"I know. Sometimes he gives me the creeps. It's like he's a zombie or something."
"I think he might need to see a doctor," Russ suggested.
"You mean a shrink. Just where are we supposed to get the money to take him to one? You still haven't found a job yet."
Marissa's cruel remark triggered yet another argument, and the state of Zachary's mental health was temporarily forgotten.
As their economic straits grew worse, Marissa and her husband became more desperate.
"Maybe," Marissa ventured hesitantly, "for a short time—until we get back on our feet—I could get a job at that new club on Hamilton Street."
"Club? You mean the strip joint?" Russ asked angrily.
"I wouldn't look for a job as a dancer, just a waitress. I hear the place pays pretty well and the tips are good."
"No wife of mine is going to work in a place like that!"
The ensuing squabble sent Zachary off on another cosmic journey, one from which he did not want to return.
"He's getting worse, you know," Russ said a few hours later when Marissa tried calling the boy to dinner.
"Don't you think I'm aware of that? I might as well have a vegetable for a son. Damn it! Why didn't I have that abortion?"
Russ was no longer surprised by such callous comments. He knew his wife had no maternal feelings for Zachary. At times, he honestly felt sorry for the boy.
Later that night, long after Zachary had gone to bed, Marissa lay awake worrying about the family's financial situation. Their mortgage was past due, their electricity was on the verge of being turned off and now Zachary needed medical help.
Damn it! Why did I have him?
Suddenly, the answer to all her problems came to her.
"Russ," she whispered urgently, shaking her husband awake.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes darting to the alarm clock on the nightstand.
"I know how we can keep the house," she cried with mounting excitement.
"What now? Are you gonna sell drugs? Rob a bank?"
"No, silly. I'm going to kill Zachary."
"This isn't funny!" he replied angrily. "I was sleeping soundly for the first time in months, and you wake me up with this ridiculous joke."
"I'm serious. When he was in first grade, I got him a life insurance policy through the school. You know—the kind where you pay a dollar a week and then you get a check for a thousand dollars at graduation that you can apply toward college. Anyway, Zachary is insured for ten thousand dollars, and should he die accidentally, I get twenty thousand double indemnity. That should be enough to keep us going until you find another job."
"What's wrong with you? I can't believe you're considering such a thing! You're his mother, for Chrissake!"
"Come on, you know he's not a normal child. You said so yourself. Don't you think he'd be better off dead?"
"This is insane! I don't want to talk about this anymore—not another word. You hear me?"
The fact that his wife immediately obeyed him made Russ even more uncomfortable. It was not like her to give in without a fight.
In the next room, Zachary had just returned from a pleasant excursion on a paddle boat sailing down the Mississippi when he overheard his mother's brilliant idea for economic relief.
She wants me dead, he thought with numbed shock.
He had always believed that, although his mother was an unusually strict parent, she loved him nonetheless. Clearly, she didn't.
How could I have been so blind? he wondered as the tears streamed down his face.
* * *
That weekend Russ was preparing to go fishing for the day—a relaxing pastime that cost him nothing. As Russ was making a roast beef and Swiss cheese sandwich to take with him, Zachary came into the kitchen.
"Hi, Zach," his stepfather said.
"Dad, can I go fishing with you?"
Russ was touched. It was the first time the boy had attempted to get close to him.
"Sure thing, Zach. I was just making myself a lunch to bring along. Why don't I make a sandwich for you, too?"
Zachary nodded his head.
"Peanut butter and jelly, please."
Russ was surprised at how well-behaved Marissa's son was. He sat on the dock for several hours, without fidgeting like so many other children would have done. Of course, Zachary had fallen asleep for almost an hour after lunch, but during the time he was awake, his conduct was exemplary.
After catching his third trout, Russ decided to call it a day.
"Let's head home, son," he said cheerfully. On the drive back, he asked the boy, "Did you have fun today?"
Zachary looked up at him and smiled.
"I sure did. Thanks for taking me."
"Maybe we'll do it again sometime. Perhaps in another week or so."
When Russ turned the corner of his street, he saw two police cruisers. One was parked in front of his house and the other in his driveway. A crowd of people had gathered on his lawn.
"What's happened?" he asked, his fear sending spasms along his central nervous system.
The police stopped him before he could enter the house.
"You can't go in there," one uniformed patrolman informed him.
"But this is my home," Russ cried.
"I must still ask you to remain outside."
"Why? Is something wrong? Where's my wife? Is she all right?"
"I'm sorry, sir," the officer said, more gently. "Your wife has been found dead."
* * *
Despite an exhaustive investigation, the police detectives could find no suspects in the murder of Marissa Kurtz Dunlevy. There was no sign of forced entry and no DNA or other forensic evidence pointing the finger of guilt at her murderer.
Child services stepped in and found a foster home for Zachary, but the boy was soon taken from his temporary home and placed under observation at the state psychiatric hospital. There, the boy sat in his room, unresponsive to the psychiatrists' commands, vacantly staring ahead for hours at a time.
"Poor thing," one doctor said, shaking her head with pity. "His mother was murdered. I guess his mind can't accept that."
Zachary Kurtz was destined to spend the rest of his days as an inmate of one institution after another. He would never again live in the world outside hospital walls. However, his consciousness—his soul, if you prefer—was free to travel at will.
For Zachary, his "time out" journeys were much more preferable to grim reality, for during his out-of-body experiences he was not a disembodied spectator but an active participant in whatever environment he chose to visit. He could and did interact with all sorts of people. His senses—being nothing more than a stimulus of the brain—were fully functional. Thus, he could see, hear, taste and feel without the aid of his corporeal body.
This unusual and wonderful gift not only meant the boy's emotional salvation, but it also saved his life. The ability to exit his body at will enabled Zachary to leave his stepfather on the dock fishing while he returned to the house to kill his mother before she had the opportunity to murder him.
His was not the crime of matricide, he reasoned, but simply a matter of self-defense.
Salem doesn't mind being sent to his chair for a time out. In fact, he goes there without being told most of the time.
