The Entirely Fabricated Story of Lizzie Nickerson

Chapter 57

With Indigo's abrupt exit, the electricity seemed to go out of the room.

"She's really bad at doing mom things," said Lizzie.

Sonya smiled gently. "She's worried about you. That's all."

Stoudemire placed a yellow legal pad on the table and offered a pen. "You should write your impact statement while it's still fresh in your mind."

Sonya's tone shifted. "Maybe I need an attorney to help me write it."

"Attorneys are what I'm trying to avoid." Stoudemire glanced at Lizzie. "With your first-hand witness accounts, we can close the case. Be done with the whole mess."

Sonya's expression softened. She held out her hands. "Look at me. I'm still shaking."

Lizzie lifted her hands from her lap. "I don't know why my hands aren't shaking. Am I supposed to go outside and help clean up all that glass and the gravel?"

"They're already taking care of that," Frazier said.

Sonya picked up the pen and leaned forward in her chair. "I don't know how to begin."

"A strange man with a knife tried to force his way into your apartment." He prompted. "You managed to lock the door. You called 911 and that's when Lizzie went to her room. Isn't that right?"

Sonya said, "It all happened so fast."

"When you went back to check on her, what did you see?"

"She was standing at the window. And when I looked down, there he was on the sidewalk."

"Exactly. That's what happened. That's all you need to write."

Sonya began writing.

"And Lizzie. You tell them–"

"Tell them or do I need to write it down?"

"Writing it down would be better."

"Oh geez. I've been struggling with dysgraphia my whole life." 

His expression said 'I don't know what that is' so she said, "My handwriting is like a little kid's. I can't even write in a straight line."

"Maybe your aunt can write it for you and you can sign your name."

She didn't respond.

He added, "Don't forget to mention that you saw the same man a week ago downstairs when your friend's family was cleaning out their apartment."

"It's not their apartment. It's Mr. Gibbs' apartment even though he's dead."

"That's the first time you ever saw him, right?"

"I think so."

"I never saw him before," Sonya said.

"Oh, wait," said Lizzie. "He got too close to me when I was petting a dog named Ginger."

Sonya's voice warbled again. "You need to tell me these things."

"Anyway, Lizzie," Frazier said. "Tell them just what you told me. He asked you where you live and you told him you live up here. And your friend, Skeeter and his family can back up your story, right?"

"Who?"

"He means Scooter," said Sonya.

"Oh, geez. Why did you say Skeeter? That doesn't even make sense."

"I meant Scooter. Scooter and his family saw that guy, right?"

"He was standing right there, right in front of them. Then he almost knocked those guys down the stairs."

Stoudemire watched Buddy swimming in the confined space of the water glass. "When you heard your aunt calling the police you went to your window and you saw that guy trying to get away."

"I didn't see him. I heard him running down the stairs and opening the front door."

"So you threw the fishbowl out the window to scare him. To prevent him from running away, right?"

"Oh, geez. I already said that."

He lowered his voice. "Here's the important part, Lizzie. Don't say that you meant to hit him with the fishbowl. Don't say that."

"But I did."

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn't coaching her to revise the chain of events. He was suggesting one, minor but crucial edit.

Sonya said, "But you don't need to say that, Lizzie. Just say that you were trying to stop him. That's all."

Stoudemire said, "Anybody would panic in a traumatic situation like that. You ran into your room and grabbed the first thing you saw. The fishbowl. And you threw it out the window."

"I didn't panic. I heard him running down the steps. I scooped Buddy out of his bowl, carried it to the window, and waited for the sound of the front door. And I was right. Oh, geez. The fishbowl hit him right when he was coming down the porch steps."

Frazier felt sick. If he couldn't convince Lizzie to edit her story, she'd likely find herself in the juvenile justice system facing a charge of manslaughter. She couldn't prevent herself from telling the truth and in this case, it could have devastating consequences.

He made one last attempt. "The best thing for everybody, the very best thing, is to be brief." He looked from Sonya to Lizzie. "Just say you threw the fishbowl out the window to stop him from running away from the police. Okay? You don't need to go into detail."

"I don't mind the detail," she said.

"It would be better if you didn't," said Sonya with a bitter smile.

"Better for who?"

Frazier had put it off for as long as he could but it now became an absolute necessity to speak the words he had been avoiding. "Listen, Lizzie," he said. "That guy is dead."

"Who?"

He chose his words carefully. "The guy that got hit with the fishbowl."

For the first time that either Sonya or Frazier could remember, Lizzie had no words. She remembered very clearly looking down from her fifth-step perch at the contorted lifeless body of her neighbor, Frederick Gibbs but this was different. Someone was dead because of her.

"It was an accident," said Sonya. "You meant to stop him but you didn't mean..."

"Do you understand?" Stoudemire asked.

"It was an accident," Sonya repeated. "I know you didn't mean for that to happen. Right?"