"Arthur, what are you doing?" I turned from the window to see my brother, Nathan. There was no need for him to know about the children. My children. Mr. Finch's children. Nathan would never understand. Nobody would. Not even the children themselves.
"I said, what are you doing?" Nathan grabbed my arm. I looked at my old shoes. The children were gone, with the boy holding the little girl's arm. Scout, they called her. What a name! Not much better than my nickname, Boo. I had seen those two, with a small boy, sitting outside our house with a fishing pole and a man, as well as playing with newspaper and scissors. The other boy wasn't here, gone home at summer's end.
"Arthur, you listening?" His voice interrupted my thoughts. My arm hung limply between Nathan's two hands. I didn't reply. Nobody would hear me, anyway. Nathan let go of me and went of to bed, leaving me to think. I liked the two children, had left gifts for them, until Nathan had cemented the hole in the tree. Even if they had a good daddy, a real man, a lawyer, unlike mine, they needed me.
Jem and Scout Finch hadn't come home. It was dark and the night air had sure chilled some. It wasn't like the kids to be out late. The last time I saw them out after dark was when the boy lost his trousers. I hoped I sewed them well. Now, there was nobody calling them home. It was my job to find them and bring them home. Nathan was asleep, so it was safe to go out. Quietly, like the ghost most thought of me, I slipped outside, making sure the door didn't slam. Carefully, testing the porch stairs for creeks, I left the yard and walked. The little ones had been heading to the school. I went around through the back, in the direction of the schoolyard, when I heard the scuffle.
Mr. Bob Ewell had his arms around the boy. The little girl was trapped in a mass of chicken wire. Mr. Ewell wrapped one hand around the boy while he reached for his knife. Jem struggled and brought both of them to the ground. When he screamed, I covered my ears and closed my eyes.
After the air grew silent, I looked up again, seeing Jem, his eyes closed, Mr. Ewell on top of him, with his knife moving lower. The little one, Scout, had wriggled from the mess of wire and ran over to the two, stumbling in the dark. She kicked Mr. Ewell in the stomach, hard. He jumped from the ground, dropping his knife. I bent to pick it up. His hands grabbed her neck, choking her. Without thinking about it, I jerked him backwards and stuck the knife into his ribs. Scout fell to the ground. My world froze.
My body began to shake. I couldn't breathe. Mr. Ewell was the dying man, so why did it feel like my life was seeping out of me by the second? He stumbled towards me, but I stepped back. The world was spinning around in circles, with the colors blurring and mixing. My eyes filled with tears, but I wasn't crying. I felt lighter than air, like I could start to float. Tingling filled my body and I'd be lying if I said it didn't feel good.
"Jem?" Scout couldn't see me; her eyes hadn't adjusted to the dark. I stepped backwards. Mr. Ewell gasped as I panted.
"Jem?" Mr. Ewell coughed hard, blood bubbling around his mouth. Finally, after agonizing minutes, he fell to the ground, still. I gasped again and went over to Jem's body. Please, don't let him be dead I thought silently. It was hard to get him in my arms.
"Atticus?" The little girl was scared now, but I daren't tell her I was here. I didn't want her to be frightened. Struggling with Jem, I made it off the schoolyard, hearing little Scout look for her brother. She was brave for a girl of ten. "Jem?"
I moved towards the road, when I heard her gasp. Scout had found Mr. Ewell. I hoped she couldn't see anything. Her footsteps echoed as she ran to the road. I paused under a streetlight, exhausted. Jem's arm swung loosely and his body was limp, like how I could be. Scout saw me, I think. She made it to the corner by the time I made it to the Finch front porch. Mr. Finch ran outside and helped me with Jem. The woman who lived with them, Alexandria Finch, the children's aunt, saw the boy and gasped. The door slammed and I was able to catch Scout's high-pitched voice. "Atticus, is Jem dead?"
I leaned against the wall, opposite the bed Jem had been laid on. He was pale, unmoving. Atticus had left me in the room. The door slammed again. Doctor Reynolds entered the room as well, but did not notice me. He examined Jem and mumbled something to Atticus about broken bones and x-rays. A car stopped outside and Mr. Heck Tate's footsteps echoed in the hall. I looked at Jem again, with his arm at its awkward angle and his face bruised.
"Yes sir, I'm goin' in to see Jem. Atticus'n'them's in there." Scout's voice cracked. My eyes filled with tears. Don't let them see me like this. Keep Scout away. I'm a murderer.
"I'll go with you." Heck and young Scout walked in. Everyone talked in low voices. She ignored me, not taking my form in, with my arms crossed over my chest. Good.
"I can't conceive of anyone low-down enough to do a thing like this, but I hope you found him." Atticus Finch's voice was gentle and kind, like a mother wrapping her arms around her children. Something I never knew. Mr. Tate looked at me, so I lowered my eyes. My father had taught me that trick. I watched as the men sat down, with Scout leaning against her father's chair. Their mouths moved without making sound I could hear. Don't let them know I killed Mr. Ewell. I didn't mean to. If I go to jail, my brother will kill me. Don't send me to jail, please. I ached to say these words, but couldn't.
"Bob Ewell's lyin' on the ground under that tree yonder with a kitchen knife stuck up his ribs. He's dead, Mr. Finch." I was drowning in a room filled with air and empty of water. Somebody save me. Don't let me die like this. My throat closed up and I fought the wild sobs, which filled my chest and threatened to escape into the air. I leaned against the wall, silently gasping for breath, trying to fill my lungs. How do you explain a feeling like that? It was different than the one I got from stabbing Mr. Ewell, but somehow similar. It was new, but I didn't like it at all. It felt wrong. My life was changing. Before, I was children's protector from harm. Now, I was their protector from these feelings. I hugged myself, trying to still my beating heart. My body slowly relaxed into its normal limpness. Rarely I wasn't still and silent, but tonight it had happened twice.
"Why, there he is, Mr. Tate, he can tell you his name." I uncrossed my hands and let them slide down the wall. My pale skin stood out against the walls. The light hurt my eyes and it felt like my skin was getting burned by all of their eyes, as bright as the sun I never saw. The girl looked me over, starting at my beat-up boots, going up over my stained khakis, and traveling to the worn denim shirt. I looked down, trying to hide my face from this girl, with her youthful innocence. But I broke, looking up, my pale gray eyes scanning her. My feathery hair blew around my head. It felt like the wind was blowing on just me. I felt my face change. It was the first time I had smiled in a long time. It felt like my face was about to split into pieces.
"Hey, Boo." Scout sniffed. My own eyes filled with tears. Nobody else noticed me shake as I tried to smile at the sweet children and kind people. This girl, Scout, was going to save me.
"Jem never stabbed Bob Ewell." The murderer is sitting across from you. Why don't you see him, Mr. Tate? Yes, he didn't. Them seeing me, I could deal with. Scout seeing me, I couldn't. Just don't let her think her brother's a murderer, when he's not. Oh, why couldn't I yell out the truth right there? My hands twitched. Scout looked at me and smiled. Don't smile at me! I could kill you, too. Don't trust me.
"To my way of thinkin', Mr. Finch, taking the one man who's done you and this town a great service an' draggin' him with his shy ways into the limelight- to me, that's a sin. It's a sin and I'm not about to have it on my head. If it was any other man it'd be different, But not this man, Mr. Finch. I may not be much, Mr. Finch, but I'm still sheriff of Maycomb County and Bob Ewell fell on his knife. Good night, sir."
"Well, it'd be sorta like shootin' a mockingbird, wouldn't it?" So that's what I was. A mockingbird, an innocent who never harmed anybody but just gave pleasure. Just look at me. I'm no innocent, no mockingbird. Don't treat me like one. My eyes filled with tears again.
"Thank you for my children, Arthur." For once, I looked Atticus Finch right in the eyes. I would be Scout's mockingbird, I decided. She needed to believe there was innocence left in the world. I may have lost my innocence, but she could keep hers for a little bit longer. How else could I protect her? They needed me just as I needed them.
"Will you take me home?" My voice was no more than whisper. I shivered, not from the cold, but from the thought of her saying no, or worse, yes. Tears worked their way into my eyes. This time, they were good tears. Boo's children didn't need Boo anymore. Scout hadn't made a mistake, after all. I closed my eyes and smiled, practicing saying the words. I was home.