by Bella Knight
“I do not,” said Sheriff Bob.
“I am satisfied with this witness,” said the judge. “Do you have anything to add?”
“Only that my wife’s description of Dina, and my subsequent viewing of the photos a few short weeks later, were both chilling and disturbing. I thought ‘holocaust survivor.’ Her eyes were hollows in her head.”
“Very well,” said Judge J.J. “Anything from counsel?” Both were intelligent enough to do nothing. Judge J.J’s eyes were beginning to darken with anger. Ms. Trast was, surprisingly silent, but she glared daggers at Bob. Bob glanced over at her with the weight of cold rage in his eyes, and she had the slight bit of intelligence to flinch.
Xenia came up, was sworn in, and sat down. “Sheriff Poulolakis I would like permission to call you Xenia. Your name is a mouthful.” Members of the audience snorted.
“Of course, your honor,” said Xenia.
“Tell me about your visit with the putative foster parent, Former Special Agent Annika Jensen.”
Xenia told her about the disastrous visit, including Donna’s ugly behavior that included cursing in front of toddlers and infants, Dina’s terrifyingly small weight, and Dina’s statement (and that of her foster sister Rayna). She added that Ms. Trast thought she was “…fat and faking her physical pain.”
“Was the girl hospitalized afterward?” asked Judge JJ.
“Not here,” said Xenia. “Her new mother carried her, and got her gel pillows. We were quite worried about overfeeding someone who had been starving, and we were intensely concerned about breaking bones due to calcium loss. Her doctor in Las Vegas put her on a glucose drip for forty-eight hours, and she has been seen by a nutritionist to help her gain weight safely.”
“I have those medical reports,” said Judge J.J. “I also have perused the photographs. I am officially stunned and horrified.” She looked at Xenia. “Do you have anything to add?”
“I do. Rayna is in Las Vegas. She has gained weight. Her hair, bones, and nails are far less brittle. She is learning biofeedback and gets acupuncture on her ears to decrease her pain, which is quite real.” Xenia looked right into Donna’s eyes when she said that. “When her weight is at a healthy level, she will have surgery to repair some of the damage from the injuries and allow her to sit and walk normally again. She will then have physical therapy to help her gain muscle mass, and an occupational therapist will help her move in ways that are not painful.”
“I am relieved to hear it,” said Judge J.J. “You are relieved, Sheriff Xenia.” Xenia stepped down.
Judge J.J looked at Donna Trast. “I am appalled. You had a highly damaged child in your care. It says here that you were a pediatric nurse. I cringe at what the children under your care would have been through. The hospital is checking with former patients, and I am relatively certain that new charges will be filed.”
Xenia and Bob looked at each other, and grimaced. They were the ones investigating. Trast had been let go from her former hospital, and they had not been forthcoming about possible patient abuse due to HIPAA rules that protected patient confidentiality when Trast was getting her foster parent license. So, eight years of child abuse had ensued before Xenia had enough proof to have her license revoked and bring her up on charges.
“You starved and neglected a child; you did not take her to receive any medical care when you signed paperwork. You acted this way when you understood she needed consistent medical care to receive her chronic pain condition, you falsified records about such visits and were reimbursed for them, and you told Dina and your other foster daughter that this child, Dina, a ward of the court, was lying about her pain when you had proof that she was not.” The judge’s eyes were almost black with rage. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Donna Trast glared at the judge. “I did nothing fucking wrong,” she said.
The judge slammed down her gavel. “What part of ‘do not curse in court’ is confusing to you, Ms. Trast? You will speak with respect in my courtroom.” Donna opened her mouth, and began shouting verbal abuse at the judge, including calling her a monkey, a spade, and a fucking idiot. She also ignored repeated bangs of the gavel. “Bailiff, remove this woman. In addition to the other charges, this woman is charged with contempt of court.” The bailiff pulled out the woman, her face bright red, screaming profanity and abuse at the top of her lungs.
“I am sorry, your honor,” said Ramon Cartliff, Trast’s lawyer. “I explained the court rules to her several times.” He held up his phone. “And I recorded those admonitions.”
“You are not at fault, Mr. Cartliff,” said Judge JJ. “That… person does not seem to be capable of decent behavior.” She pounded her gavel. “Court is adjourned.”
Xenia and Bob went out into the white, hammer-bright light. “Let’s get something at the diner. I need some food now,” said Bob.
“I’ll meet you there,” said Xenia. “You know, I thought I would feel good, seeing her put away. I’ve been trying to get her license pulled for years, but she keeps cleaning up enough and squeaking by. I think she has some sort of advocate that warned her about visits, like an admin or something. Anyway, I just feel sick and a little dirty, like I need a shower.”
Bob rubbed his wife’s back. “Let’s go catch some lawbreakers after lunch. Maybe you can get into a fistfight. Make you feel better.”
She grinned at him. “You are the perfect husband for me. You get my bloodthirsty side.”
“You are a Valkyrie,” he said. “Changing that would be like changing the moon.” He waved at her, got into his truck, waved goodbye, and beat her to the diner. They commiserated over pulled pork sandwiches, fries, and cherry Cokes. Bob touched his wife on the nose, their version of a kiss in public.
He went back to the office. Wraith was sitting on his desk, and doing dangerous things to his computer. She had her booted feet up on his desk, and was typing so fast her fingers were flying. “Hello, Wraith,” he said. “Get the system working yet?”
“I made several upgrades,” she said. “Your file systems now match Xenia’s systems.”
“She said they worked a lot better,” he said, and sat down in front of her. He grabbed a stack of things in his inbox, and started going through his messages and reports, putting them into separate piles.
“They do,” said Wraith. “I’ll be out of here outside of an hour. How did the arraignment go?”
“She lost it on the judge,” said Sheriff Bob. “She’s toast.”
“Did you know that someone adopted Dina’s foster sister Rayna?” asked Wraith.
“I heard. A Reno Valkyrie. Soccer enthusiast, too.”
Wraith snorted. “The woman played from age eleven through college, and professionally for two years. Rayna will get scholarships if she’s any good with Hjalmbimul.”
“Good,” said Bob. “Put your earplugs in.” Wraith grinned, flipped her braids (which made them clack together), and slipped in her gel earplugs. Bob got on the phone, and answered all his messages, while simultaneously signing reports and answering correspondence. An hour later, he’d made serious inroads into his paper piles.
He tapped Wraith’s hand. She popped out the earplugs. “Whassup?” she said.
“Want to go terrify some school kids into staying off alcohol and drugs?” he asked Wraith.
She grinned. “Give me two more minutes, and yeah, why the hell not?”
They went to the school, a middle school, holding a summer camp for kids with academic projects and games, and lots of sports. Wraith tried not to laugh through Bob’s presentation. When he was done, she stepped forward. “Drugs slow you down, or speed you up. They make you feel sick and shaky the next day. Many times, you can’t get out of bed. You can’t think straight. You say and do crazy things, scream at the people you love the most, and even get violent. Hit people.”
She looked around; taking note of the kids that understood all that. The ones that got it. It could be anything from a drunk parent, to one on crack, to one
taking pain medication they couldn’t stop taking when the physical pain went away, just because they tipped over into addiction without realizing it. “Some go Incredible Hulk, but not in a good way. Hulk smashes bad guys. Not good ones. Or, you turn into a ghost person, not really at home at all.” Absolute silence reigned in the auditorium. Wraith stepped forward, moving like a panther. She had their attention. “Some people will be kids, offering you a pill, a drink. Some will be older kids. Some are kids that steal their brother’s medication he uses to focus, and uses it to send his friends out of focus. Some will talk to weightlifters, getting them to take something in order to lift more. Some will even be adults, on streets, in your apartment complex. They’ll say it makes you feel good. They’re right.” They looked at her shocked, stunned. No one else had admitted drugs felt good; no one else had been real, like her. “Then, they crash. And for every feel-good moment, the crash gets harder, like a plane taking off and crashing, taking off and crashing even harder.” She showed with her hand what she meant. “If someone you love is doing this stuff, talk to a teacher, the counselor here, or Sheriff Bob here. He’ll give you my number if you want to talk to me.”
She pulled up her shirt, showed the scars down her right side. The students gasped. She knew it was something they’d remember and she felt like it made sense.
“I got in a motorcycle accident. I could have gotten addicted, like that. Pain medication can also be an addiction.” She dropped her shirt, snapped her fingers. Some of the students jumped. “I didn’t because I’ve got friends who cared for me.” She grimaced. “But if you think I didn’t want more, you would be very, very wrong.” She sighed. “So, addicts get into it, some through stupidity, some through injury, and some because they had no idea what it would do to them. So, one pill, one drink, one snort, one spoon.” She scanned the room, meeting every eye, most of them round, some of them blank, and some sad. “But you know, now. And if I did those things, I would wrap my motorcycle around a tree, and be dead (or worse than dead) right now.”
She caught their eyes again. The room was in awe of her words. You could’ve heard a pin drop, they were so intrigued by her. Wraith had been in a position to become addicted and there was nothing more real than that.
“So, this is what I suggest. Walk away. Look down,” she said. They did. “You have feet,” she said. “Use them.” A smattering of giggles ensued. “Walk away; go do what you want to do. Go to the library, go to the gym. Play soccer, read a book, post a photo on Instagram. Ride a horse, or learn to code. Whatever. But,” she said, catching their eyes again, “find something you like. Something you want to do. And. Do. It. Enjoy it. If you stop liking it, find something new. That will keep you happy, healthy. Safe. Loved.” She grinned at them, turning on the charm. “I love all of you. Some of you know what I mean. That still, small voice inside of you. You know I’m telling the truth.” Some of them looked at her, hard-eyed. Most of them nodded. “So, I’m going now, and so is Sheriff Bob. We’ll sit down outside in the shade, for a minute or two, have a drink box.” They all laughed. “If you want to talk, you can. If not, don’t. You have an early out today, half an hour before the buses or whoever picks you up comes for you. Go play outside, or go to the library if that’s your thing. If you need to talk, swing by our bench.” She nodded, and Sheriff Bob put a stack of cards on a table. “Go away,” she said. “Run. Be free.” They stood, and vanished.
All of them did, except for one little girl, the one with the blank eyes. She wore worn (but clean) clothes, her brown hair streaked blonde by the sun, in braids, skin a lovely nut-brown. She went up to Wraith, and said, “I’m Sondra. My mom had an accident. The same as you. Can you come home with me?”
“Sure,” said Wraith. The girl took her hand, and Wraith let herself be led.
The house was behind the school on a side street. The homes were small but clean, most of them with rock gardens and spiky desert plants. The third house on the left was sand-colored adobe, like most of the other houses. Sondra opened the door, and a brown-and-white dog leapt into her arms. Sondra giggled. The dog was clean, so Sondra was probably giving it baths. But, its nails were a bit long, and it most likely hadn’t been to a vet in a while. Wraith followed the girl in. Sondra shut the door.
The living room had a couch and an older-model television. It was clean and worn. The kitchen was clean, but showed signs of a smaller hand missing spots. The same with the floor tiles, in large tan squares, with dust along the baseboards. A child wouldn’t remember to clean them.
Wraith opened the refrigerator, and found milk and orange juice, and some luncheon meat. White bread. Not much else, except for some ketchup, mustard, and mayo on the door. No vegetables. An open box of Pop-Tarts was open next to the toaster. So, here was a child surviving on breakfast pastries and sandwiches.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope,” said Sondra. “Mama said she tried, and failed.”
That held a world of hurt. Wraith understood the mother a little more. “Can you introduce me to your mama?”
Sondra filled up the dog bowl with a little food out of a bag. The bag was small, what a little girl could carry home. She also topped off the dog’s water. “Rimmel’s got food now, so, sure,” she said. She walked toward a back bedroom.
The smell hit first. Urine, vomit, cleaned up over and over with cleansers that couldn’t do the job. Sondra opened up the door. Sondra’s mother was laid on her side, her bony arms stretched out. A plethora of pill bottles and an opened bottle of water was on the nightstand, along with dust. Mama probably didn’t let her daughter clean next to her pills.
Sondra said, “Mama.” But the woman didn’t move.
“Sondra,” said Wraith, “can you get your mama a glass of orange juice?” She put enough pressure in her voice that Sondra left to obey. Wraith circled the bed, and looked into the gaunt face. She circled back, and touched the woman’s neck. There was no pulse. She put her hand in front of the woman’s mouth, and no breath hit her hand.
Wraith stepped out, shut the door, and pulled out her cell. “Bob,” she said, “call the coroner. It looks like we need to adopt another child. And a dog.” She sighed, and gave the address, and how to get there from the school. “I really hope Rimmel gets along with the cat.” She padded into the kitchen, and said, “Sondra.” Sondra carefully put down the orange juice. “Sit down,” Wraith said. “Did your mama eat this morning?”
“A little,” she said. “Half a Pop-Tart.”
“Good,” said Wraith. “I am very sorry to tell you this,” she said, as the sirens came out louder. “You did a great job of taking care of her, but your mama has died.” She held Sondra as she threw herself against her body and screamed.
Rimmel and all of Sondra’s possessions ended up in a rental car Herja drove over. They clasped each other’s neck and touched foreheads, and Wraith gave Herja her precious key to her Harley. “Treat her well,” she said to Herja.
“Same,” said Herja, gesturing toward the girl.
“Got paperwork,” said Wraith. “She’s mine now.” Herja and Wraith shared fierce looks, and Herja took the path to the school.
Bob came over. “Got it straight with Child Services. It’s good that you moved into that honker of a house. You can put her in with your other wounded one. Dina gained weight, huh?”
“And she’s also lost a parent,” said Wraith. “Callie actually thought ahead, and installed two pods in the girls’ room. I thought we’d end up with Dina’s former foster sister, Reyna, but she’s doing better in a soccer family. We’re more martial arts.” She sighed. “That girl’s losing her home, her mother, and her school, everything she knows, in a single hour. Have to shore her up immediately.”
“Go get ‘em,” said Bob. Wraith walked over and knelt. “I want to be your new mom,” she said. “And I have a daughter named Dina. Just like you, she lost her mom, the same way, too, to drugs. From medicines she took too much.” She showed Sondra a picture on her
telephone. “This is Dina.”
“She looks like Mama,” said Sondra. “Too skinny.”
“She’s getting better,” said Wraith. “Lots of sundaes and shakes from Sonic.” She pulled up another picture. “This is War. He wants to change his name, and I showed him how to do a spreadsheet with the best names so he could figure it out.”
“Can I bring Rimmel?” asked Sondra, petting the dog.
“Of course,” she said. “But, we have a cat, and things might get a little loud.”
Sondra nodded. “It’s been real quiet here. For a long time.”
“Not anymore,” said Wraith. “Want to hit up Sonic before we head out?”
Sondra nodded. They got peanut butter shakes, chicken fingers, and fries. Wraith swung by a pet store, and carried the dog inside, Sondra behind. They’d bought a harness, which he liked, and dog treats, which he liked even more. Wraith also got a dog bed, a big bag of dog food, a dog nail clipper, a clip for the harness that plugged into the car seat belt, and blue poo bags.
“Put these in your pocket,” she said, handing Sondra a roll in a plastic blue tube, and she put one in her own pocket. The third tube was clipped on the harness.
They took him for a poo and pee behind the store, and Wraith taught the girl how to pick up the poo with her hand inside the blue bag, reverse it to cover up the poo, and how to throw it away. She ran back in and bought wet wipes, and used them.
They piled into the car, and listened to rock while Sondra sat in the back with the dog on his new bed, crying into his fur. She stopped to walk both child and dog, and held her as much as she could. But, it seemed that the girl was terrified of being in a car and it was better for her to cry in the back some more.
They arrived, and Sigrun, Dina, and War met them in the driveway. “Cat’s in the big bedroom,” said Sigrun. “Who’s this special boy?” She cooed over Rimmel, who kissed her. Sondra smiled.
Dina stepped forward. “This is Mom. That’s Mama. Mom says if you don’t want to call her Mama, call her Wraith.”
