“The whole of Chicago is under an advisory for icing and possibly even a few flakes of snow, tonight,” the radio announcer droned on. “A little unusual for this late in March, but I suppose it gives the kids a last chance to play in the backyards with their snowmen!”
She was digging herself deeper and deeper. Letting Hailey be taken away, using John for comfort, letting herself fall for him. Things were going to get more difficult before they were easier, she knew, but it seemed to only make the reality less explainable.
She was wrapped in a robe, standing before the kitchen stove, flipping bacon. Intermittently, Kerry glanced up at the phone, shifting on her feet with a grimace every few minutes, wondering if she should call, if she could call, if she could bear to hear what Adelle might say.
The little voice behind her heart seemed to whisper, “Call, call, call. Yell at them in your best ER tone, make them work harder, faster, make them find the girl!” But even as that voice screeched at her, Kerry bowed her head and put the lid back on the bacon, hands fastening on the edge of the counter.
Yelling would do no good, for they were doing all they could, and all they could do may not be enough. She had failed the child, the little blond girl that reminded her so much of the child she’d grown up in Adiare with, the angel that died rather than suffer any longer. Had she possessed the courage, Kerry wondered if she might have followed her. In the end, were the memories worth the life she’d chosen to lead?
They haunted her, now. They had haunted her for years.
Doctor Weaver had attended a seminar about eight years ago, long before she dreamt of becoming a Resident at Cook County General, about survivors of child abuse. A man had spoken, through experiences of his own or that of his patients or research that had taken years, she did not know, but his words had struck a previously unused chord with her, and she’d dug her fingernails into her arms to keep from crying.
“Ten percent of victims of childhood sexual abuse suffer from some sort of amnesia, for many it takes a decade or longer to begin to recall the memories. The mind protects itself, forcefully forgetting things that cannot be dealt with, pushing away traumas until the person is strong enough to heal from the old wounds, to understand them.”
Ten percent.
Ten, fifteen, twenty years from now, would Hailey just begin remembering the things her father had done to her, or was it too late to grant her even that bit of peace?
With that thought, Kerry turned the fire on the burner down lower, grasped the phone, and dialed the number for DCFS.
---
~Somebody cries in the middle of the night
The neighbors hear, but they turn out the lights
A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate
When morning comes it'll be too late~
CCGH
Three Hours Later
“It’s been twenty-four hours,” Adelle spoke, interrupting Kerry’s concentration. She was sitting behind the desk, vigilantly staring at a chart, attempting to make out the chicken-scratch Malucci called handwriting. An Egyptologist probably couldn’t make out his scribblings.
Kerry granted the Social Worker a quick once-over, ascertaining her mental and emotional condition, then bent her head to again look at the chart.
“They’re still looking, he hasn’t returned home yet,” she continued, unsure what the doctor was attempting to do by ignoring her. “Doctor Weaver? Kerry? Are you listening to me.”
“Yes, I’m listening,” she replied a moment later, closing the chart and moving on to the next one. She moved to flip the cover, but the other woman’s hand came down, trapping it shut.
“Then look at me, will you? We can’t find her, Kerry. The police have checked his family’s homes, past residences, with his last employer, everything. Did she say anything to you, at any point, where he might take her, where he might go?”
“No, she never mentioned places, not real ones, anyway,” she paused, sliding Adelle’s hand off the chart and flipping the cover successfully. Randi slipped down the desk and grabbed the completed files, glancing over both women and the stiff posture of the social worker, the reluctant attention given by the doctor.
She knew they were talking about the child Doctor Weaver had, for some reason, grown quickly and intensely protective towards. “There’s a story there,” the woman had first thought, but then began to educate herself with the case, quickly sharing flashes of sympathy with both the child and the doctor.
Some people certainly were dealt rotten hands in life.
“What do you mean, ‘not real ones’?”
“I mean… she went somewhere in her mind when he was…” she paused, looking for the word that would express the atrocity but finding none suitable, “molesting her. He never took her anywhere in particular that she told me about. She mentioned things, mostly, things he’d told her, things he made her believe.”
“Like…?” she knew she was fishing, but if she could get something, anything, then perhaps she could find the child before it was too late.
“He told her it was her fault her mother left, that she’d sent her away, that… that she had to be like her mother. Had to be… his. She said she didn’t want to die, that she was afraid to talk because she was afraid no one would listen, or that they would and then they’d all forget her. She was afraid she’d be invisible,” Kerry sighed, eyes again foggy, remembering the tight clasp of Hailey’s smaller hands, the way she gnawed at her bottom lip, the tears she’d cried.
“Her mother died, Kerry. Years ago, her mother was poisoned. Originally it was ruled a suicide, overdose on painkillers, but I wonder about it now, really,” Adelle shared, eyeing the doctor carefully.
“Dead?” Kerry asked, eyebrows knitting together as she finally pushed herself to her feet. “That sounds…” she shook it off, then continued toward the lounge. “He killed her, didn’t he? The mother?”
“I don’t know, Kerry,” Adelle said, again using her given name rather than her title.
“Probably,” she answered herself, seeming to have not heard the social worker. “And he’ll kill her too, won’t he? Isn’t that how it always ends?” These questions were directed, again, more toward herself than the other woman, though she pondered them anyway.
“It’s not too late, it’s not. We still have time to find her. And who’s to say he’ll kill her? He likes… using her, and if she dies, then who will he have left?” she was grasping at straws, but Adelle didn’t want to accept that the child may likely be killed either. After all, she had talked, had provided physical evidence of the things he had done, and there was an APB out on him. There was no doubt that he’d be angry, looking for a release, a fix that no other addiction could sate.
“It’ll be my fault,” Kerry’s voice was low and ragged, “If she dies, it’ll be my fault. I should’ve never allowed him to see her, and I should’ve gotten her to talk to you the first time.”
“You can’t make someone talk about something like this, Kerry. She would talk when she was ready, and not a moment before,” she laid a hand on the doctor’s, attempting to comfort her. Finally, Kerry sat on the lounge sofa, shaking off the hand and running her fingers through the back of her hair.
“She would have talked if I had stayed. She said as much. Oh, God,” she whispered, “This is all my fault.”
“It’s not your fault, Kerry, Doctor Weaver. And it’s not too late. Don’t give up, okay? Don’t give up.” Adelle attempted to comfort, to reach out, but she shrugged away again, staring toward the wall. Finding nothing else to say or do or gather, she stood to her feet and whispered, “I’m going back… I’ll see what they can do with what you’ve said. He might hurt her, but I don’t think he’ll kill her.”
“Not yet, anyway,” she wanted to add, but instead, finished, “I’m sorry we didn’t act faster, Doctor Weaver, but this is in no way your fault. It’s small comfort, I know, but it’s the truth.”
With that, Adelle left the lounge, nodding to Carter as he entered. It took only moments for him to realize what had happened, connecting her with DCFS and Hailey.
“They haven’t found her?” he asked, sliding down beside her and slipping a hesitant arm around her shoulder.
“No.”
“How are you? Migraine threatening?” he attempted a few minutes later when she said nothing more, moved little, breathed less.
“Fine, no.” Her words were curt, anger concealing the hurt and vulnerability she was fighting. After a short silence, she added, “I’m sorry, John. For all of this, for using you – last night – and for falling apart on you so frequently. I’m sorry.”
“You weren’t using me,” he replied, “and you can fall apart all that you want. That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? And lastly, quit being sorry.”
“I needed comfort,” she responded, eyes watery and voice hoarse. Quickly she closed her fists and rubbed her eyes, then squinted in the harsh fluorescent lighting.
“Maybe I did, too,” he responded, turning and kissing the side of her head. “It’s okay to need comfort, you know, and to fall apart every once in a while. I don’t mind it.”
Again, all was silent for a matter of minutes.
“Thank you, for letting me… be used,” he added, nudging her a bit as he chuckled. Ruefully, she cracked a grin.
“Anytime,” Kerry sighed, granting him a small smile. After a few more moments, she added, “They haven’t found her yet, John. Who’s to say that they will?”
“Who’s to say that they won’t?” he countered.
“Four car pile-up! ETA two-and-a-half minutes!” Luka called from the now open doorway, “Sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got four majors and five minors coming in. We need you both.”
Kerry nodded to Luka, then to Carter, and he placed a hand at her elbow to assist her as she stood, though she didn’t quite need it. The door slid shut, and he placed a hand on her face, bringing her closer. "It’s going to be okay, you know,” he breathed against her lips.
“Yeah,” she whispered back, “I guess it will be, huh?”
And then, his lips descended on hers and tongues intertwined, instinctively dueling. After a few seconds, she pulled back, still on the tips of her toes and grasping his arm for support, and placed one last, almost chaste, kiss on his lips. “We should go, out there,” she waved toward the door.
“Yeah,” he agreed, and watched as she walked the few steps past him to the door.
Turning slightly, she asked him, “Can we… talk, later? There are some things I think I want to say, and I want to say them…to you,” Kerry paused, pursing her lips pensively.
“Sure,” he smiled, placing a hand at the small of her back as they exited the lounge and headed toward the ambulance bay. “You know you can trust me, right?”
“Yeah,” she smiled up at him, tired both emotionally and physically. “I do,” she whispered up at him, and his grin grew broader as he replied with much of the same.
“Here we are, folks!” Kerry bellowed as they reached the ambulance bay the moment they began unloading.
“Let’s have it,” she told one of the attendants as she crutched along side the gurney. “Carter, Kovac, take the second one. Mark, divvy the lesser of them up among the others!”
Though the hospital was a place built and equipped to sustain life, she mused just before Zadro began speaking, it was rare that personal lives ever got sorted out beyond the hospital walls – or within them.
