Burn (Indigo) Page 10

  He got three results, all for an athletic shoe called the Cinder, which came in white.

  He tried her ex-husband’s name, spelling it three different ways before his search yielded the first ten of thirty-six thousand hits on Sumchai Wyatt. Gian had to read the headline of the first one twice before he could bring himself to double-click on it, opening the page.

  North Shore teacher found guilty of

  first-degree assault in spousal abuse case

  Cady Winters-Bailey

  Special to the Herald-Star

  A Middlesex Superior Court jury yesterday convicted Manchester-by-the-Sea high school teacher Sumchai Wyatt of first degree assault, the most serious of 18 felony counts against him following the June 9, 2007 attack on his wife, Cinder B. Wyatt. The jury delivered mixed verdicts on the remaining 17 counts.

  After two days of deliberations, the jury of eight men and four women found Wyatt guilty of eight charges, including torture, spousal abuse and child endangerment. Wyatt was found not guilty of seven counts, among them false imprisonment, making death threats and second degree assault. The jury remained deadlocked on three charges of assault, making death threats and assault with a deadly weapon.

  Jurors heard from 56 witnesses and reviewed 310 exhibits during the two-month trial, including the police photos below reprinted with the permission of Dee Bolds, an administrator with Project Protection, a North Shore advocacy group for victims of spousal abuse . . .

  Gian stared at the disclaimer above the photo— WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IMAGES MAY BE DISTURBING TO SOME READERS—for a long time before he took a deep breath and looked at the photographs accompanying the article.

  Twelve years of active duty as a Marine in several war zones hadn’t prepared him for what he was seeing. The first photo depicted a young woman on a hospital gurney. Her bloody, swollen face made it impossible for him to identify her. He had to trust the caption, which read: Cinder B. Wyatt upon admission to North Shore Medical Center.

  Cinder was naked, but there was so much blood on her body, the newspaper probably didn’t need to cover her breasts and crotch with black bars. The photo was more than two years old and Gian had seen Cinder only whole and healthy, but his heart still pounded hard, his stomach still knotted as if her pain and suffering were fresh.

  A second photo showed Cinder in a hospital bed. A large bandage covered half her forehead above her left eye, which was black and swollen to the size of a baseball. A circular close-up set in the photo revealed the stitches that had been used to reattach the lobe of her right ear.

  She wore a uniform of casts and bandages, her left shoulder, feet, right knee, and right arm the only exposed parts of her. Oxygen fed into her nose, and an intubation tube jutted from her puffy and torn lips.

  Gian touched his monitor as if he could feel the uneven scrub of her hair, which had been crudely chopped off.

  He read on, determined to learn as much as he could about what she had endured.

  . . . .aid Bolds: “I’m sure there are people who wouldn’t want these photos publicized, but I think it’s important for people to see precisely what abusers do to their spouses. A battered woman might look at those photos and see herself the next time her spouse decides to go upside her head, and she’ll get out before that happens.”

  Fourteen months prior to the attack on his wife, Wyatt, 35, had been released from his position as history teacher and soccer coach at West Reading High School after a physical altercation with a student.

  While not underplaying the severity of Wyatt’s crime, his attorney attempted a creative defense, blaming Wyatt’s actions, in part, on extreme emotional duress and cultural conditioning.

  “My client is a proud man of Thai descent,” defense attorney Vincent Gorman said. “He comes from a culture where women are meant to care for the home and children and men are meant to support the family. Losing his job and his role as breadwinner led to a severe psycho-emotional breakdown for Mr. Wyatt, who has no memory of the crime. The jurors didn’t take that into consideration during the trial, but I hope it makes a difference in sentencing.”

  Wyatt has been held in custody without bail since his June 11 arrest despite attempts by his counsel to get him released on bail.

  Said former Commonwealth prosecutor Evelyn Cranston, who has commentated on the case for TruNewsTV, “Wyatt’s defense screwed the pooch for him when they allowed him to testify that the ‘psycho-emotional stress’ of being financially supported by his wife led to his attempt to beat her to death.

  “What judge in his or her right mind is going to name bail for a defendant who testifies to having no memory of his crime? If it’s true, and this is an ‘If’ the size of Texas, what’s to stop him from going out and beating the (expletive) out of someone else? Wyatt is where he belongs and I hope his sentence keeps him there for the rest of his life.”

  Gian scrolled down, skimming over the rest of the lengthy article. He stopped at a third photo. According to its caption, the image was a captured still from an interview televised by TruNewsTv shortly after Sumchai Wyatt’s sentencing hearing. In it, Cinder was more recognizable, yet still unfamiliar. Her hair was short, but it was nicely styled in an adorable pixie cut. Her physical wounds appeared to be healed, but her thin frame, gaunt face, and flat eyes indicated that her emotional injuries were still fresh.

  Gian clicked on the link beneath the image, which took him to TruNewsTV.com’s video archives. He clicked on the white arrow centered in the middle of the video box, and it began to play.

  “Twenty-eight-year-old Cinder Bloch had a very happy upbringing in Milton, Massachusetts,” started TruNewsTV reporter Andrew Dalton, who Gian recognized from the expose shows Drake regularly did for the network. “Her parents, a Northeastern University English professor and a third-grade teacher, built a home for their daughter, full of warmth, love, and humor, as evidenced by young Cinder’s name.”

  Dalton, who was reporting from Manchester-by-theSea in Massachusetts, turned and half raised an arm toward the huge farmhouse in the background. “But as their daughter’s marriage to Sumchai Wyatt progressed, the Blochs came to realize that Cinder’s home was nothing like the one they had made for her.”

  Gian settled into the chair, glancing at the running time of the tape. At twenty-two minutes, an entire segment of the news show was devoted to Cinder. The camera cut away from the charming farmhouse to a picture of a woman. The photograph captured the sparkle in her eyes, which were so dark, they reflected the photographer’s image. Her wide, bright smile forced a lazy grin from Gian, who again reached for the screen to touch the long fall of black hair framing the woman’s face.

  Cinder. Younger, happier.

  Cinder, before it all went bad.

  “Cinder Bloch, 28, met Sumchai ‘Chai’ Wyatt during a Career Day event at their high school alma mater, Wakefield’s Eichorn High School. Nicknamed “IQ” High by local residents, Eichorn’s student body consists of some of the brightest students in the United States. Chai, a math prodigy, was a senior at Eichorn when Cinder was a freshman. Yet the two wouldn’t meet until that fateful career day ten years after Cinder’s graduation . . .”

  Gian spun his chair to face his tall windows instead of his monitor. A cool breeze carrying a hint of the approaching fall stirred the sheers drawn over the window. The sheers muted the glow of the full pearl moon, which seemed to stare back at Gian. He saw none of its beauty, not with the new images of Cinder tattooed onto his retinas. His stomach roiled and burned, and for a moment, he thought whatever was left of his dinner would come up. He was no stranger to senseless and brutal violence—he’d been a soldier. What Cinder had suffered was worse than anything he’d witnessed in war simply because she had been victimized by someone she had trusted, who had claimed to love her.

  Gian had never met Sumchai Wyatt and hoped he never would. He knew he’d have no problem killing him on sight.

  Chapter 6

  Chip walked among the couples squared off for s
parring, checking their stances and fighting positions. “I want you to strike your opponent with an open fist, and—”

  Zae giggled.

  “What’s so funny, Mrs. Richardson?” Chip asked amiably.

  “That’s an oxymoron,” she grinned. “By definition, a fist is a closed hand. If the hand is open, it’s not a fist.”

  In a fast, fluid motion, Chip demonstrated the open fist strike on Zae, catching her upper right shoulder and sending her bum-first to the floor. “Oxymoron or not, it’s still effective, isn’t it? Now I want you all to try that move.”

  From the lobby, Cinder watched Zae pick herself up, rubbing her offended backside. Chip’s class was nearly over, which meant that she would soon have to take a place of her own on the big mat for her first group class.

  Sionne had always seemed kind and patient, and Zae had no complaints about him, so Cinder had decided to man up and take the class, even though she had no confidence at all that she was at the level Gian thought she was.

  Cinder wanted to get in and out of the locker room before Zae’s class ended. She started there, making a quick stop in Gian’s office. A dark head was bowed over Gian’s desk, and she started to greet him.

  But he wasn’t Gian.

  He looked up and Cinder stammered a hello to Karl. “Hey, don’t run off so fast,” Karl called after her once she’d backed clear of the doorframe.

  Cinder kept walking, pretending she hadn’t heard him. Karl’s long legs caught up with her, circling her to obstruct her path to the locker room. Cinder wondered if he’d vaulted over the desk to get to her so quickly.

  “Hey, Cinder, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Karl continued, “ever since you started coming here.” He swiped a forefinger under his nose and moved closer to her, nearly backing her up against a vending machine. “I, uh, am usually pretty good at this sort of thing, but you make me really nervous.”

  The feeling is mutual, Cinder thought, little appeased by his lopsided grin.

  “I was hoping you were free tomorrow night,” he said quietly. “We could have dinner and catch a concert in Forest Park, or—”

  “Karl, I’m so flattered,” she started. “I—”

  “So what time should I pick you up?” He stroked a fingertip along the lapel band of her gi.

  “I have to say no,” she finished.

  He stood to his full height, drawing away from her. “I already have plans for tomorrow night,” she explained.

  “Well, what about the night after that? Or maybe Saturday?” He smiled, and for once, it didn’t leave Cinder with the feeling that he wanted to peel the skin from her face with his teeth. “Once you get to know me, you’ll see that I’m really a nice guy.”

  “I’m seeing someone.”

  “Oh, yeah? Who?”

  “I don’t think that’s any of your business, Karl.” She sidestepped away from him.

  He grabbed her by the arm. “Is it Gian?”

  She shrugged free of his grasp. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, but—”

  “You’re sorry?” Karl’s friendly, open expression instantly hardened.

  Cinder clutched the strap of her gym bag, hunching her shoulders.

  “Don’t be so stuck on yourself,” he scoffed. “I don’t need your pity. I can go out right now and find ten gals prettier and skinnier than you to spend my time with. Peace out, homegirl. Isn’t that what you people say?”

  Cinder hurried to the locker room to put away her bag. Even though she had done nothing wrong, she couldn’t help feeling that she had yet to be punished for refusing Karl.

  * * *

  Cinder took deep breaths to steady her heart rate. None of the veteran students had looked pleased when Karl entered the studio and informed them that he would be teaching Sionne’s class. One of two new students in the class of seven, she was Karl’s first target.

  “We meet again.” He spoke low in Cinder’s ear. “And so soon.” He threw out a fist, the force of it shoving air currents around Cinder’s head. She blinked, but made no other outward sign of fear or shock.

  “I’ve never seen anyone pass Karl’s flinch test before,” one of the male students, eyeing Karl, softly whispered.

  Karl hurried to him and placed his fingertips against the student’s head. He pushed, cracking his knuckles against the man’s skull. Karl followed it with a quick punch. He didn’t make contact, but the student flinched just the same.

  “Twenty for flinching,” Karl said, ordering the guy to the mat for twenty push-ups to be executed on his knuckles.

  Karl returned to Cinder, circling her. “You’re going to pair off and show me what Sionne’s been teaching you, and then I’ll spend the rest of the hour teaching you how to do it all the right way.”

  He paired them up, leaving Cinder standing alone. “I guess it’s you and me after all, baby girl.”

  She bit her lip.

  Karl, his hands at his waist, bent to speak directly into her left ear. “What’s the matter? You don’t like being called baby girl?”

  “They’re just words, sensai,” she said. “Words can’t hurt me.”

  Karl’s big body overshadowed her, his thick, overly muscled arms making him appear even wider. He threw a strike, stopping his fist mere centimeters from Cinder’s cheek. Every other student flinched, but Cinder remained frozen.

  “You really think you’re tough, don’t you?” The friendliness of his inquiry failed to blunt the menace in his challenge. “Assume the fighting position.”

  Four groups of two squared off, and at Karl’s signal, they began throwing and blocking slow strikes and kicks. So intent on his fight with Cinder, Karl paid no attention to the other students, one of whom carelessly walked into a blow to the eye.

  Cinder ducked and blocked, neutralizing Karl’s strikes and kicks. She had never watched him teach as she had Sionne and Chip, so she had no knowledge of his fighting style or habits. He stalked her over the mat, and she realized it didn’t matter. Karl wasn’t teaching. He was pursuing a personal grudge.

  “Sensai, you said we’re only sparring,” one of the male students remarked.

  Cinder barely noticed that the rest of the class had become the audience for her and Karl. The more skillfully she avoided contact from him, the more complicated his moves became. He implemented skills far outside her realm of experience, and even though Gian had taught her well, she knew that her reflexes and blocking techniques wouldn’t serve her much longer.

  Karl executed a drop spin, his long leg sweeping her feet from under her. She felt as if she’d been struck by a tree trunk as she rolled out of reach of his subsequent ax kick, his foot coming down on the mat hard enough for the impact to move painfully through her upper body. With a frustrated growl, Karl lunged at her, grabbing her by the waist and throwing her across the mat. Two of her classmates intervened.

  “Sensai, I think that’s enough,” the male student said. Karl responded with a short chop to his windpipe. The fellow dropped to his knees, gasping for air, his hands clasped at his throat.

  “Karl!”

  Gian’s voice boomed throughout the studio, freezing Karl in place as he leaned over Cinder and the woman protectively kneeling beside her.

  “My office,” Gian demanded. “Now.”

  Panting, Karl spent an extra second glaring at Cinder before he turned and stomped out of the studio, flinging sweat from his face.

  No sooner than Karl exited the studio, Zae entered, Chip close behind her. Cinder picked herself up from the floor and thanked the woman who’d come to her aid.

  “Karl has lost his damn mind,” Zae proclaimed. “What did you do to make him so mad?”

  “He asked me out before class,” Cinder quietly explained. She went to the man who had tried to stop Karl. Chip was checking out his throat.

  “And you turned him down,” Zae said.

  “You’re going to have a nice bruise, but I can’t tell much more than that,” Chip told Karl’s victim. “Let me tak
e you to Urgent Care, just to make sure nothing is broken.”

  Chip dismissed the class. Shouting from the corridor drew everyone from the studio. Gian and Karl had made it to the office, but the noise of their confrontation didn’t stay confined to it.

  “That girl came through hell to get where she is now, and I won’t have you turning Sheng Li into a place she can’t call home!” Gian shouted. “Grow up, you dumb self-centered bastard!”

  “You’re not the biggest cock on the walk, Gian! Criticize my teaching all you want, but I’m the best you’ve got here!”

  “You’re fired, Karl.” Gian lowered his voice, so the gang in the corridor shuffled closer to the office to get a better listen. “I’ve had too many complaints about you from students, the staff, even the cleaning service. I can’t keep you on.”

  Zae punched the air in a silent sign of triumph.

  “It’s her.” The darkness in Karl’s voice raised the fine hairs at Cinder’s nape. “If you got your head out of that woman’s ass for one second, you’d see that—”

  “If you so much as look at her funny ever again, it’s gonna end badly for you, son.”

  Gian’s cold warning gave Cinder an unexpected thrill. “Oh, I’m your son now, Gian?” Karl challenged. “Is that it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  Brusque, heavy movement in the office sent Chip running in there, his entourage of Zae, Cinder and two students behind him. Chip tried to position himself between Gian and Karl while everyone else crowded the doorway.

  “What are you gonna teach me, pops?” Karl demanded, angling around Chip to strike at Gian. “You gonna teach me this?”

  Karl’s right fist shot past Chip, aimed right at Gian’s face. Gian caught Karl’s wrist and gave it an expert twist, bringing him to his knees with a pained cry. He leaned over Karl to speak into his face. “Go near Cinder, her house, her car, anything, and I will end you. Do you understand me?”

  Karl muttered a stream of curse words under his breath, earning a savage little twist to his hand.