The Red Poncho
From, Adult Education: Stories
Dr. Beth Perkins is a famous Forensic Psychologist, scholar and writer who is days away from conducting an exclusive interview aired on prime time television. Her subject and guest will be no other than the daughter of the infamous Child Slayer, Stanley Robinson who traveled nationwide with his daughter in tow and killed over twenty-eight children over the span of twelve years. Maya, his daughter, is out of prison and telling her story exclusively to the doctor who is writing a book about the father-daughter killing team.
“I don’t understand why you want to waste your time talking to her.” Eugene Perkins said to his daughter, Beth.
“Dad.” She sighed.
“Don’t you have better things to do, like plan your wedding?” He asked as he continued washing the dishes. “I mean for Christ’s sake, why would you even want to be in the same room with her, and what’s this I hear of you interviewing her father?”
“I want to get the full story. I’m interviewing all who were involved with her upbringing, or lack thereof.”
“Promise me that you are not going to interview her father.”
“Sorry, Dad.” She said, “My agent is already arranging a meeting.”
Eugene slammed down a dish and stared at his daughter. “Why?”
“Maya had Stockholm Syndrome or Trauma Bonding with her father who was a child serial killer. This is a once in a lifetime story!”
As Maya was being prepped in the Green Room she swore that she heard a classical version of Europes, The Final Countdown playing on the overhead speaker. She laughed to herself at the absurdity of it all; the interview and the fact that years after the murders, people are still interested and fascinated by her and her dad. There was a knock at the door and Dr. Perkins popped her head in.
“Are you ready to get started?” She asked Maya as the two were being prepped for the interview in a studio with a live audience.
“Yes.” Maya pauses. “Can I smoke during the interview? I’m more relaxed when I smoke.”
“The entire building is smoke free.” Dr. Perkins saw a flicker of anger flash in Maya’s eyes. “But we can stop if you need a break of any kind.”
“Thank you.” Maya said as she wondered why she would do a film interview every now and then. Anything with a reporter was out of the question. It’s way too easy to have her words taken out of context and possibly used to create the next world war.
The filming for the interview started at seven o’clock in studio B inside of the WILL Channel 12 Station and before Maya uttered a word; the audience was captivated.
“Maya. This isn’t going to be a cake walk like your other interviews. I will be going deep. Deep into your past. Deep into your present and deep into your thoughts.”
Maya smiled. “I know.” She said, “That’s why I agreed to this. I want to finally get my side of the story out there.”
Dr. Perkins reached across the table and grabbed Maya’s hand. “You are very brave. Know that.” The camera’s begin to roll and the two slip into their roles of saint and sinner.
“So they call you The Great Manipulator? Tell me more about that?” Dr. Perkins asked.
Maya looked surprised. “Wow, Doc. For the first question, you are not holding back.” She added,
“They also call me a Monster. I have a daughter who does not know that her mom has done some very bad things. I can’t hide her from it, forever not with the existence of the internet, television and people like you.”
The crowd gasped.
“I’m just asking what the people want to know.”
“Are you really?”
“Yes. I am.” Dr. Perkins smiled. “Do you wish to answer the question?”
“I always wanted a secret life, and with Dad; I got one.” She said, “He would let me pick my new name every time we moved to a new town or city. It was exciting shedding off who we were and becoming someone new.”
My older sister, Tasha was the beautiful, first born, golden child and I was the terrible mistake. I don’t think my sister was born stupid, she was just not self aware.”
“And you were?”
“Are.” Maya corrected.
“I see.”
“My mom used to joke about it, calling me her “Oops Baby. At first I didn’t understand. After a while I got it. She didn’t want to have me, but she was caught in the crossfire of her own moral right and wrong. Mom had marched in Washington D.C. for women to have the right to an abortion, but when faced with Surgical Aspiration as a choice for herself, she couldn’t or wouldn’t go through with the procedure. I was twelve when I called her on it and she made things ten times worse by calling me her B.L.A.”
“I’m sorry? B.L.A?”
Her “Beautiful Little Accident.”
“Oh. I see.” Dr. Perkins said.
“Pretty shitty, huh?” Maya stopped and leaned forward. “Can I cuss?” She whispered.
“Feel free to express yourself however you want. We are shooting this for Netflix.”
Maya leaned back in her chair and continued. “My mother was a party girl. She liked her skirts short and her Martini’s dry. She met my dad at a Halloween party after he dropped out of college and applied to become a Dental Hygienist at our local community college. She went as Catwoman in a sleek, body hugging costume and my dad was The Joker complete with crazy makeup, a purple three piece suit, spats and a green wig. After the two met, they were inseparable. They fell in love and married. Children were born and soon she grew tired of me and my dad. Shortly after they were married with children, she asked for a divorce that my father did not want, and once it was finalized she took my sister (the good one) and moved out of the country back to her native motherland of Ghana.”
“Wow.” Beth said. Astonished. “That must have been very difficult. Please, continue.”
I was left behind with dad in Illinois. Half-black and living in the all white town of Paris was difficult. Then we started to move around alot due to his job being a traveling businessman with IBM. I was always the freak new kid that no one wanted to get to know. I was quiet, bullied a lot and focused on my grades which was hard at times from our frequent moving. It was especially difficult when I was in the fourth grade; we moved more than five times that year.”
“I’m glad you changed your mind and decided to see me.” Beth smiled, but inside she was reeling from the stories Maya was telling her.
“I know you’re writing a book about this. About us, about our sessions.”
The audience gasped.
“How did you know?”
“Doc. Come on.” She said, “I have my ways.”
“Maya, I was going to tell you about it. I really was.” Dr. Beth Perkins apologized. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, everybody is sorry. You. My mom. My dad.” Maya snapped. “I trusted you.”
Maya was quiet and glared at Beth.
“You’re only quiet because you know it’s true.” Maya stood up and ripped off her microphone.
“Maya, let me explain.”
“No explanation needed.” A chill of rage was building inside of Maya and she had to get away from Dr. Perkins. “Good luck with your book. I’m out.” Maya wanted to kill her. She could have killed her, instead, she moved to the nearest exit, opened it and ran down the sidewalk to her car. Maya got inside and started the V-8 engine. Slamming the gears into reverse she peeled out of the parking lot and blasted down University Avenue. The speed of the car was moving past seventy in a thirty-five mile per hour zone. Angry, devastated and re-introduced to betrayal I weaved her 1986, red, Chevrolet Iroc-Z in and out of traffic. Maya thought about her first betrayal; it was from her mother. She is the reason that Maya does not believe in God anymore. Before her mother decided to leave, the family used to go to church and Maya used to talk to God every day.
Maya was five years old when she stopped Believing. It was the Spring of nineteen-seventy-seven. At school she learned that the Easter Bunny wasn’t real from a classmate during sing-a-long. Puzzled, Maya went home and questioned my mother. She was baking cookies. Snickerdoodles; my favorite. Her daughter pulled herself up onto a kitchen chair and began.
“Mom?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Is Santa Claus real?”
Maya’s mother sighed and smoothed her apron. “No sweetie. Santa’s not real.” Her truth almost knocked her daughter out of the chair and onto the kitchen floor.
“Is the Tooth Fairy real?” Maya asked, braced herself for her mother’s lie or answer and gripped the table.
“I’m sorry.” She said, “The Tooth Fairy isn’t real, either.”
Maya narrowed my eyes on her mother; a devout Catholic. “Are the monsters under my bed and in my closet, real?”
“No, dear. “ She smiled. “That’s all in your head.”
“Monster’s are everywhere!” Maya’s older sister yelled from the basement. She was hogging the new Atari game and had kicked her little sister out of the tv room.
“Francine!” Mom exclaimed. Then she turned to her daughter who was giving her the stink eye.
“Mom?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Is God real?”
Maya’s mother stiffened and a look of worry covered her face. She kissed Maya on the head and then looked at her. This time her face had softened. “Of course, God is real.” She laughed nervously, and patted Maya on the head. “God is everywhere.” She said, “Here. Have a cookie.”
Her daughter bit into the warm, soft, Snickerdoodle cookie, looked around and smacked her lips. Maya saw a kitchen table, chairs, a stove, the cookies, the refrigerator, a ceiling fan and her mother who was the only other figure in the kitchen. There was no sign of God anywhere and thus her daughter had collected enough proof to stop believing her mom and sometimes her dad who were
clearly playing make believe about this invisible, all powerful and all knowing entity they called God.
Back in Maya’s car, she was crying, bawling and barely had her attention and focus on the road. “Everyone in my life has betrayed me. Everybody has tricked me into believing that they are someone that they are not. That’s it! I’m done!” She screamed as she rounded a sharp corner and let go of the steering wheel. Maya could feel the car zigzag out of control and hear tires squealing. Her whole body feels the impact when the car slams into a tree. Maya is dazed. She smells and sees smoke. Sirens are approaching and wailing and Guns N’ Roses, Welcome To The Jungle is playing on her stereo. She looks down, there is a small pool of blood in her lap and she is not on her period. It’s coming from her head and face. She looks up and is shocked the front windshield is shattered and splattered with blood. There are sirens wailing in the distance and they are getting closer. As the Paramedics approach her, she slips into shock and then passes out from the enormity of the experience.
Maya was taken to the hospital and treated. She had a six inch laceration by her hairline that required twelve stitches, and a few bruised chest ribs from when her body slammed into the steering wheel. She was lucky to be discharged to her best friend’s attention and not admitted with injuries that could have been more serious or fatal. That night when she went to sleep, she dreamed about Taxidermy and one day opening up her own shop. Taxidermy and hunting with dad was a big part of Maya’s life when she was a little girl and teenager. Her dad introduced her to guns at a young age of five and taught her how to skin her kills for supper. So when she finally found herself in front of a fresh kill that was human, she wasn’t scared, she didn’t flinch when she cut into the flesh and blood poured out. The process mesmerized her and she was very attentive to what she was doing.
“Okay, kiddo.” Her Dad said, “ It’s just like skinning a deer.” Only it wasn’t. She was about to skin her classmate and two year bully, Tonya. Maya thought long and hard about all of the torment she put Maya through and all of the tears she shed from the fiery toughness of Tonya’s mean girl hands. Maya’s revenge would not be swift, but it would be final. She was riding on a high of excitement and couldn’t wait another minute. Maya stuck her hunting knife into Tonya’s cold, dead flesh and smiled big when she did so.
“Bitch.” I said as I sliced the outline of her belly and began to peel the skin off. My dad turned on the radio. Classic Rock 107.1. The Door’s, “When You’re Strange” starts playing. Perfect.
“Good job.” My dad said as he watched me and placed a bucket underneath Tonya’s body to catch her innards that were spilling out.
She turned away from her work and smiled up at him. He looked so proud. Maya was pleasing him and this pleased her.
“She will never, ever hurt you again.” Her dad whispered over my shoulder into his precious daughter’s ear and he squeezed her in a big, protective hug. His words comforted Maya and she got lost in her work; her work of skinning and dismembering Tonya Cutler; professional bully and living nightmare to the weak and different of Salem Junior High School.
“Never again.” Maya thought. “Never again.”
Olivia Dupree was spotted multiple times before her disappearance. After school; Andie, Karl and Rusty had walked her to her car. Mr Peterson saw her at the gas station when she was filling up her tank. Sam and Leon waved to her as she was speeding down Windsor Avenue. They said that it looked like she was trying to shake a car that was riding her tail. It was a black, matte, Charger. Like the one Maya’s dad gave her for his sixteenth birthday. She was last seen rushing out of Cafe Kopi wearing a red poncho and holding a cappuccino. A current daughter of wealth; Olivia was the only child belonging to Morgan and Issac Dupree; old, university money. She was studying to become a firefighter; something that brought instant shame to the family lineage of scholars, surgeons, lawyers and academics.
A drunk witness noticed a not so sure of the color suv (she was driving a white Mercedes) getting pulled over by a cop up on Monet Avenue in front of the planetarium. “She was wearing a red poncho.” He said. “And there was a pin on it. I think it was a lion?”
Two detectives amplified straight poker faces and leaned in with strong listening skills. Yes she was wearing a red poncho, but the details of the pin had not been released to the public. Plus, it would be impossible for him to see it from his vantage point. Her decomposing remains were found rotting on the last crime scene and the red poncho and lion pin were missing. The drunk’s name was John. John Nathanal Browne. Maya’s Dad and Serial Killer. Olivia Dupree was his last victim, and Maya helped him kill her.
John Browne was the world renowned Child Sadist; a recently caught Serial Killer who lived a dual life of father, husband, nurse, animal shelter volunteer, son, brother and killer. He orchestrated this duality, this lie for over twenty-five years. Once caught, he said that he was tired and wrote a full confession. During processing, Maya’s father told the kind of stories that made the hair on the back of your neck stand, straight up. He admitted that the entire south side of Cranberry Hill was full of pre-teenage bodies in unmarked graves. He was a big man. Six foot six, with big, wild, crazy eyes like Charlie Manson and he had a soft, tiny, childish voice. He wore denim overalls all of the time, his work boots were always shined and he wore his hair long. Sometimes he would sit between Maya’s legs and she would brush his beautiful mane.
When her Dad told his daughter, and partner in crime, to bring home, “One of those first prize sluts from St. Peterson’s.” She did. Maya lured them in with free pizza, beer and their swimming pool. On nights he thought he just wanted to be with a boy who couldn’t or wouldn’t fight back; she brought back wispy, creme de la creme of male prostitutes from the heroin den above The Twilight Bar.
“Whores will do anything for that sexual high and attention. Anything. Whores like to be the star attraction. They are a real, “Look at me! Look at me, type.” He would say to Maya as she watched him lay out his knives and tools on the kitchen table. From him she learned how to plot, stalk, plan and execute perfect murders. Maya learned the difference between various places on the unsuspecting human that would deliver a slow kill or a fast kill. She learned how to slice, chop, dismember and drain the blood out of a body. Maya also learned how to use a blow torch and Silver Nitrate to cauterize the nubs that were left after sawing off the arms, legs and heads of their victims. It was Maya’s idea to start lining the bodily remains like gingerbread men because that’s what they looked like to her.
Maya’s father did hideous things to the innocents. Children. He liked children. He loved children, and he killed children. He murdered her classmates. He butchered her friends and had sex with their dead bodies. Maya carried a heavy guilt and received scorn and hatred from people all over town, the country and the planet.. Why didn’t she tell anybody? Why didn’t she call the police? Did she know right from wrong? Didn’t she know any better? Did she know what her father was doing? Did she know what she was doing? Is Maya a psychopath just like my father?
The answer to all of the questions and more was, because she kind of liked it. Maya at the time, was the world’s youngest murder accomplice and youngest psychopath. She was a Media Whore until it got her into trouble. A reporter she dated, from a national newspaper, recorded an off the record conversation she had with him. Maya told him that she was in therapy for all of that, and that she is still searching for answers. After that story broke there were the groupies and more reporters. They are both kind of one and the same. Grabbing and vying for a story of the daughter of a serial killer. Maya had one reporter court me for a lucrative exclusive and another wanting to write an authorized biography with me. A publishing company is willing to front three point five million for the deal. She is seriously thinking about saying yes to the book offer, just to get her story out.
“Do you know how many sick fuckers want to date me or fuck me just for bragging rights?” She once asked her therapist during another failed session.
“Do you date?” Maya’s therapist asks.
“How can I?” She asked. “No. I don’t date. But when I want to, that’s what they want.” Maya told her and stormed out shaking with anger.
All killers eventually make a mistake, and her fathers was a cherub-faced, blue eyed blonde named Olivia Dupree and a gold, lionshead pin she was wearing on her red poncho when he attacked her. Dad was losing his edge, getting tired and getting older. Maya was doing most of the work, and their anonymity wasn’t worth the effort of trying not to get caught because of him getting sloppy. The police never recovered the red poncho or the lion pin.
Maya continued to be groomed by a professional and supplied him with an ample amount of young girls; friends from school who she had brought home to study homework, play, watch cable television, sleepover at your slumber parties and splash about in our backyard pool? Young girls who became the apple of his eye, that he obsessed over, and then made them disappear. Maya’s Dad’s job required him to move around the country a lot, and we always, always, always had a swimming pool. He was a travel nurse. What a perfect cover for the double life he was living. He worked with the sick during the night. He was an angel and a saint for doing so. And by day he was a predator and a monster.
Maya was always the “New girl” and it is terrible what constant motion and instability can do to a youth trying to fight her way through puberty. She was bullied, dabbled in drugs, alcohol and boys. She had feelings. She had angst. She had questions that did not have any answers. Her father offered much needed daddy-daughter time and soon the two were codependent with each other and at times felt like something more. And when Maya told him in tears that the Bronson’s boy, Bobby, attacked her and attempted to rape her; Maya’s father wiped his daughter’s tears away, looked her in the eye and said. “I’ll take care of him.” And on October second, nineteen-eighty-nine, he did.
When Bobby’s body was found, his missing posters with his picture on it began to come down and were removed from doors of the convenience store, and telephone poles. His dismembered head was found floating down Davidson Creek; twenty-five miles away from his body that was found in Marshall Forrest with multiple stab wounds. There were sixty-six in all. Some of the stab wounds went all the way down through bone. The police reported that sometime during the attack on the Bronson’s boy the tip of the knife broke off, and the murderer kept on stabbing him.
Her father never touched me or tried to kiss me. Their relationship wasn’t like that, but Maya’s father has been lying to her since she was a child. He created a world of darkness and isolation for the two of them and shut out the politics of living, the politics of what society projected as “normal”. Today, everyone has abandoned him; Maya’s mother, her sister, his parents and the entire world he used to call home. Maya has stayed and remains lost in misunderstanding. Why hasn’t she left him, too? Maya doesn’t know, and that shakes her to my core as she tries to lay in bed every night to sleep. Multiple shots of Brandy helps, but doesn’t provide her with any answers. Like father, like daughter? After all of these years and after all of his betrayal she still needs him, she still loves him. They still need each other. John Browne, the child serial killer is Maya’s father and she still can’t cut the cord.
A few years later, Maya is released and seeks solace in the mountains of Alaska. She has a remote job as a copywriter for medical journals that she excels at under the pen name, Davis Brown. She now has a daughter, Shayonna; her prime responsibility in life and only reason for living. Her daughter so far has no clue about her mothers turbulent and disturbing past. This is mostly due to having her homeschooled and kept on a straight and narrow trajectory of academics and the learning of several languages. It is a Saturday night and Maya is going out on her first date since being released from prison.
“So? What’s he like?” Sandi, Maya’s only friend asked. The two met while Maya was in lock-up. Sandi works at the women’s prison where Maya patiently served a twenty year sentence. Sandi works as an educator helping women get their G.E.D and she also was a certified Yoga/Meditation instructor who held classes in the gymnasium three days a week. Maya studied hard to attain her G.E.D and then moved on to take courses in copywriting offered from the local community college where she earned her associates in copywriting.
“I’m going out with a felon. They’re all alike.” Maya said.
“Maya!”
“What? It’s true.”
“Try not to think like that.”
“I do try, but there is a maximum security prisons for men and women on the other side of this beautiful mountain reminding me. It’s the complete opposite of what this idyllic tourist village offers to thousands every year.” Maya said. “The duality of this space blows my mind.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Sandi sighed.
“I’m serious. The main thing I have in common with my date is,” She lowered my voice. “That we have both killed a human being.”
“Well. You look like a knockout.” Sandi smiled. “Not a killer.”
“Thank’s, Sandi.” Maya said. “It’s been awhile.” She added. “The real kicker is that Dad has already met him. Says he is really nice.”
Her friend can’t help herself and giggles.
“Sandi!”
“I’m sorry. What do they say about truth being stranger than fiction?”
Maya’s stern face cracked a smile. “I hate you.” She laughed.
The pitter-patter of innocence entered the living room where Maya and Sandi were talking.
“Can I stay up and meet him and show him my puzzle?” Maya’s super attentive eight year old daughter asked, running into the room. She just completed a five hundred piece puzzle of the Amazon jungle and we were as usual, amazed. Her mom hates puzzles. She had very little patience and puzzles pushed all of my buttons.
“No.” Maya looked at Sandi, who was going to babysit. “No later than nine o’clock.”
The day Maya’s father was arrested, she dropped out of high school and was having an affair with a shady heroin dealer who was married. She moved on to a white collar criminal who was committing bank fraud. He gave her a taste of the good life until both were apprehended at JFK when they returned from a stay in the Maldives. Tonight she is going out with a felon who served fifteen years for second degree murder. One could question Maya’s choice in men, but they all treated her well and never asked questions about her pedigree or past and that made her feel human, wanted, needed, loved.
Her date for the night knows about all of the kids she helped her father kill, and yet he still sees something in her. His name is River Boden. In a photo she received from her dad of him, she liked what she saw. River was six-feet–four and has a purple Kraken tattoo on his throat and neck. The tentacles wind and twine around his neck, curl around his ears and up to his slicked back Mohawk. The body of the sea creature rested on his collarbones and its spooky eyes follow you everywhere. Maya loved it.
The doorbell rang and Maya looked at Sandi, worried. Sandi smiled at her friend and gave her two thumbs up. “You’re going to be great, and you look amazing.”
“Thank you Sandi.” Maya smiled as she opened the door to find River transformed. Instead of his usual jeans, black t-shirt and black low-top Converse; he was dressed in a tailored, black, three piece suit with a black button up shirt, a black silk tie and black Cole Haan Wingtip Oxfords. Rivers’ hair had grown out a bit and had a deep part on the left and was slicked back.
“Hi.” Maya smiled, stepping out and closing the door behind her. “You look…”
River smiled. “Different?”
“Yes, but in a very good way.”
“Thanks.” He said and then took my hand and gave me a twirl. “You look like a dream come true.”
Maya was wearing a black, cross body neckline bandage dress with black stilettos. Her hair was pinned up exposing her long, graceful neck and silver hoop earrings. In her hands she carried an item to keep her warm when the temperature dropped. Their date was to take place Downtown. Maya and River could not leave the area because of … ankle bracelets; portable law enforcement that reminded them that they were not really free, yet. Both on parole and loved their newfound freedoms too much to fuck it up.
Deep into their date the two went to Campustown at Record Swap. While browsing around, looking at records, Maya accidentally bumped into a woman wearing a long, floral printed Boho dress with a black motorcycle jacket and black motorcycle boots.
“Oh, excuse me!” Maya said.
“I’m sorry.” She said, “I wasn’t looking, but I am now. Your red poncho; I love it!” She said,
“Thank you.” Maya smiled.
“Where did you get it?”
“Oh, it’s from a friend.”
“And that pin is stunning,” She added. “What is it? A cat?”
“No.” Maya smiled. “It’s a lion.”