Head bowed and hands tapping the carpet, Liam rocked back and forth in his corner.
Isaac stood. “Do you need help?”
“Maybe,” the nurse said. He walked near Liam and called his name again.
This time, he looked up.
“Mr. Murphy, I need you to come with me,” the nurse said.
“No!” Spittle flew from Liam’s mouth as he yelled.
The nurse didn’t flinch. “You asked to be admitted. I’m here to help you.”
Liam pushed his back into the wall and continued to knock the floor.
“You want to be safe for Tasha, remember?” Isaac said.
The tapping stopped.
Isaac shoved his hands into his pockets and refrained from crossing the room and shaking some sense into him. “You decided to come here. You want help.”
Liam placed a hand on the wall and pulled up to shaky legs. The nurse stayed put and pointed toward the door, allowing his patient some personal space.
Fists balled into tight circles, Liam walked toward the door. Before he disappeared behind the white walls, he inhaled deeply. Then, without a backward glance, he entered the clinic.
The nurse shot a last look at Isaac. “We’ll take it from here,” he said.
The waiting area, now devoid of Liam’s various tics, fell quiet.
Isaac knocked on the glass at the receptionist’s desk. In full menial-bureaucratic-boss mode, she returned with an angry huff and crossed arms.
“What contact can we expect from the clinic?” Isaac asked.
“Whatever contact Mr. Murphy approves,” she said.
So, no contact at all.
This woman tried patience he no longer possessed. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Will you at least notify us when he’s discharged?”
“It’s not required.” She shrugged apathetically. “It’s up to him to notify you.”
He placed the palms of his hands on the window in exasperation. “But we need some sort of indication when he gets out. His mother and I need to know where he is.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened, and she stepped away from the glass like he was some sort of Hulk who could break her window if he pressed too hard. “That’s not my problem, sir.” She turned her back to him, forestalling any further arguments, and marched behind the white walls.
Left with nothing but the glossy pamphlets lining the front desk, Isaac hung his head. He couldn’t control what happened next. He’d done his best to help Liam. Only time would tell if it’d been enough.
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 2nd
hirty-six hours after admitting Liam to the Rose Smith Clinic, Isaac looked up from the briefing he reviewed to answer a knock on his office door.
“Colonel Northman, may we speak?” a willowy woman with light tan skin asked. She kept her brown hair cropped short and sported a smart russet-colored pantsuit.
Isaac pushed back from his desk and smiled in greeting. “Of course, Ms. Alvarez. I always welcome Family Advocacy. Do you have a case for me?”
“I’m sorry, but this isn’t my typical visit. It’s rather…more personal than usual,” Camila said. Her eyes fell to the floor as she closed the door.
The smile dropped from Isaac’s face. He motioned to the seat opposite his desk. “I see. Please, make yourself comfortable.” A bright red light glowed from his telephone as he hit the “do not disturb” function.
The visit from Family Advocacy shouldn’t have surprised him considering the suspicion heaped upon him by the white receptionist at the clinic. Nevertheless, it still stung. He didn’t enjoy sitting on this side of an interrogation.
Camila retrieved a smartphone, pen, and notepad from a well-worn leather briefcase before placing it on the floor and seating herself. She set the phone on Isaac’s desk and opened up a recording app.
“Do I have your permission to record our conversation?” All familiarity from her voice disappeared.
Isaac knew his rights. He didn’t have to cooperate with the investigation. But he also knew it’d be better for his career if he did.
“Yes,” he said.
Camila pressed record. “Tuesday morning at 0900, Camila Alvarez conducting an interview with Lieutenant Colonel Northman.” She cleared her throat. “Colonel Northman, does your stepson, Liam Murphy, reside with you at 9709 Eagle Drive?”
“Yes.”
Blue ink flowed from her pen as she began to take notes. “How long has he lived with you?”
“For about six months. He moved in shortly after his father died.”
“I understand he faced some legal issues around that time?”
He resisted the urge to crack his knuckles. “After his father passed, Liam suffered a psychotic break that culminated in him brandishing a knife in a convenience store.”
Camila tipped her head. “Instead of serving time for the incident, I see from his records a judge placed him on probation and ordered him to stay under a psychologist’s care. Another stipulation was he live with family until deemed healthy enough to live independently.” She looked up. “Your stepson’s legal requirements must have been a difficult development for his mother and you.”
Silent, Isaac held her gaze until she looked down again at her notebook. She flipped through it until a heavily marked page stopped her search.
“Are you the person who checked Liam into the Rose Smith Clinic on Sunday night?”
“Affirmative.”
Her cheeks tightened. “We received information from the hospital that Liam was admitted with wounds on his arms and legs consistent with being tightly bound. Did you see the wounds in question?”
“Yes.” Isaac leaned back in his chair.
“Do you know how he obtained the wounds?”
“He zip-tied himself in an effort to keep from hurting anybody.”
“So Mr. Murphy zip-tied his own wrists together?” Camila’s pen halted its motion.
“I wondered at his ingenuity myself.” Isaac rolled his wedding band with his thumb. “Somehow, yes he did.”
She eyed his fidgeting fingers. “An impressive feat for one suffering a breakdown.”
He froze his thumb and dropped his hands to the desk. “Liam is a man of unique abilities.”
Camila tugged at her suit jacket. While she couldn’t have felt as uncomfortable as him, they had worked in the past on a number of cases. Either she investigated a complete hypocrite or an innocent man. Neither scenario made for a fun interview.
“The staff also noted Liam had a significant bruise and knot on his temple, as well as a gash on his cheek. Can you tell me how those wounds happened?”
“I reserve the right to not answer the question.” There was no good way to say he’d hit his stepson.
Camila jotted in her notepad. “You have a daughter with Liam’s mother?”
He nodded. “Tasha. She’s five.”
“She recently received treatment at the base hospital for a near-drowning experience?” The words came out of her mouth in a flat monotone, like she read a boring instructional manual and not the details about his daughter’s terrifying ordeal.
“Yes, early on Sunday morning.” Isaac’s jaw tightened with anger at the memory. He could still taste the salty ocean water that had almost killed his daughter.
Camila gazed at his face. “Did the accident occur before or after Liam received his head wound?”
He remained tightlipped.
“All right.” She tapped her pen against her notebook and frowned. “How did Tasha end up on the beach in the early hours of Sunday morning unsupervised?”
His left eye twitched. “Liam sneaked out of the house with her. He had some delusion Tasha was in danger.”
“Why does he consider your house dangerous?” She set the notebook on the table and smoothed the exposed page, even though no wrinkles marred its surface.
“There’s no telling why Liam thinks half of what he does.”
She leaned forward. “Does he have reason to be afraid?”
The aggressive questioning and presumption of abuse put him over the edge. He’d had more than enough. It always came back to the same issue. All he was guilty of was being a black man in an impossible situation.
He placed his face near Camila’s. “Why am I the person being investigated here? My white stepson nearly killed my daughter, but his actions aren’t your concern. No, it’s whether or not his black stepdad is nice to him. My family isn’t afraid of me. I’m not the one with the criminal record. They’re afraid of Liam. You should be here on Tasha’s behalf, not his.”
Camila flinched. “Are you accusing me of being racist?” Her eyes narrowed. “You should know me better than that.”
“I could say the same.” He failed to keep the rising anger out of his voice.
Bright-red spots blossomed on her cheeks. “I don’t know whether these allegations will be substantiated, but I thoroughly investigate every report I receive. I do my job, whether the results are painful or not. I can’t allow our previous positive interactions to influence my decision, but rest assured your race won’t affect it either. Are you officially requesting me to open a file on Tasha?”
“No!” Isaac gritted his teeth. His daughter needed a Family Advocacy case like he needed another stepson. Besides, Liam would never have the opportunity to hurt Tasha again.
“Listen, Liam has had delusions for years now. You may want to consult with his regular psychologist. She can confirm this fact.”
“I’ve spoken with his therapist.” She picked up her notepad. “Colonel Northman, I’ve got a job here and need to make sure your stepson is safe. It’s not personal. Please don’t take it as such.”
The interrogation was entirely personal. Camila came here to judge his moral character. He’d be a lot less stressed if he didn’t question it himself.
“Do you have an update on Liam?” Every passing day brought his stepson’s release closer. Exactly how much closer, he wouldn’t hazard a guess.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss the particulars of his healthcare with you.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “I’ve got a few more questions. Can you tell me where Tasha is now?”
From a framed portrait on his desk, Tasha flashed her adorable smile. She wore her favorite pink glittery dress and hugged her well-loved stuffed bunny. “She’s at her grandparent’s house in Georgia. Since we have no idea when to expect Liam home, we’ve had to relocate her.”
“Is your wife staying with her?”
“Yes.” His chest constricted.
Camila gave him a sharp look. “So when Liam returns, it’ll be only the two of you at home?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
She tugged at her jacket again. “Then I’m going to request you remove yourself to the barracks until our investigation is completed.”
Unable to hide his disdain, he snorted. “My stepson is still in the hospital. The house will be completely empty if I leave.”
“Can you tell me when he’ll return home?”
The now familiar blend of resentment, anger, and fear boiled in his stomach. “No.”
“Then I must insist, Colonel Northman. If he comes home and something happens” She shifted in her chair. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but it’s merely protocol. I’m sure you understand.”
He didn’t, but nodded all the same. “May I stop by my house and at least replace the window screens Liam ruined while he kidnapped my daughter?” He tried not to hold it against Camila when she didn’t wince at his mention of Tasha’s abduction.
“Call maintenance to fix the screens. You should stop home long enough only to get clothing and essentials.”
He found the ridiculousness of his predicament hard to stomach. Liam could live alone in the house. The house Isaac’s job paid for, the home Isaac had made with Allison. None of that mattered. Evidently, Liam and his needs trumped all.
Camila stood and clicked off the record button. “I could finish my investigation in a timelier manner if you answered all the questions.”
What answers? Does she think there’s an actual solution to my problem?
He shot her a disdainful look.
Unlike every other time the two of them had concluded business, she didn’t offer a parting handshake. “I’ll be in touch.” She gathered up her briefcase and left.
A massive headache spread its tentacles across his brain. He pushed back into his chair and opened the top drawer of his desk. A quarter full bottle of ibuprofen rattled next to his pens. He shook out two pills and cracked open a cold soda from his personal fridge. He knocked the pills back with a long pull, then dialed up his wife. The phone rang five times before she answered.
“Allison? How are you and Tasha doing?” he asked.
Silence filled the air. Then, “We’re doing fine.” Allison didn’t ask about his welfare.
“We’ve got a new issue,” he said.
“Does it have a little something to do with Liam baring bondage marks when you admitted him to the hospital?”
The soda churned in his stomach. “How did you―”
She interrupted him. “Family Advocacy interviewed me via telephone this morning. They’re concerned Liam is being abused. Do you have something you want to tell me?”
He rolled his neck. “Liam tied himself up while we were at the hospital with Tasha and insisted on being driven to the clinic still bound. I didn’t want to worry you and planned to tell you about it later.”
“It appears ‘later’ is now. When I insisted Liam be picked up by Security Forces, I wasn’t thinking just about Tasha and him. I was thinking of you, too. I knew getting Liam to leave would be messy. After you punched him the other night, I wanted to keep the potential conflict between you two at a minimum. And what happened when you disregarded my wishes? My son shows up injured, and Family Advocacy begins investigating you. Exactly what I tried to avoid. We don’t need this extra stress.”
Isaac scrubbed his hair.
“You thought it’d be easier, didn’t you? With all your beautiful ideals and theories, you thought you could handle living with Liam. That you could do a better job of it than I could,” she said.
Shamed at the truth in his wife’s words, he closed his eyes.
“You promised Liam would be safe with us. That we could take better care of him than a mental institution. That our family could stay intact. And, while I’m being totally honest, I have to admit I knew your promises were too pretty to be true. But I wanted them to be true so badly I let myself believe you. I don’t anymore.” Her voice cracked. “Don’t let yourself slip into his illness, Isaac. Even when he makes nonsensical decisions, you have to remain rational. Sean spent the last decade of his life spiraling down the same rabbit hole that captured Liam. It’s hard to scratch your way out of it.”
If Liam’s father, Sean, had constantly worried he never made the right decision for his family, then Isaac felt a certain kinship with the man. And that, even in a life full of increasingly hazy emotions, did not bode well for his marriage.
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 16th
he stove clicked a staccato beat until a flame sprang up in a circle around the gas burner. Allison set a saucepan on the stovetop and poured enough olive oil in it to coat the surface. She would’ve liked to make Liam a favorite meal for his homecoming, but food didn’t interest him much these days. So she’d decided to make an old standby. Kielbasa sausage, bean, and kale soup. It’d been one of Sean’s favorites.
Peeking out of the kitchen, she saw Liam sat where she’d left him: smooshed into the corner of the couch with RP lying in his lap. How and why the family’s surly tomcat had taken a sudden liking to Liam mystified her. RP simply didn’t like people. He tolerated Tasha and begrudgingly allowed Isaac and Allison to feed him, but he never, ever snuggled up to anybody like he did to Liam now. She sighed. If only the rest of Liam’s life could be so charmed.
“Hey, Mom,” Liam called.
She walked out of the kitchen and toward her son.
“Yes?”
“Who took care of RP when you were in Georgia?”
“The Channers. I gave them a key.” She cringed, anticipating his reaction.
His body went rigid. “They have a key?” he whispered.
“Not anymore. I picked it up earlier.”
RP rolled over and stretched his legs. In such ecstasy over Liam’s return, he hadn’t stopped purring since her son had walked through the door. Now his pink tongue stuck out between his fangs, and he nudged Liam’s knee, begging to be pet. Liam’s shoulders lowered, and his face relaxed as his fingers sank into the cat’s fur. “They could’ve made a copy, though. We need to get our locks changed.”
On a normal day, Allison would’ve ignored his suggestion. She found participating in her son’s delusions unwise. Moreover, the Channers couldn’t possibly be a menace. Sara had taken a nasty tumble outside her house a few weeks back and suffered numerous injuries. She was in no shape to lurk about. Preoccupied with caretaking and calling his mistress on the side, her husband didn’t pose much of a threat either.
Today, though, she looked at Liam, knuckles white from clenching the couch, and caved. “Okay. I’ll call up maintenance.”
He exhaled and then smiled.
She laced her fingertips above her head and tried to come up with a viable reason for maintenance that didn’t make Isaac look guiltier of domestic abuse than he already did. A request for new locks one day after Liam’s homecoming didn’t look great. But it certainly beat him going off the rails again.
Smoke billowed from the kitchen, followed closely by the fire alarm sounding. She rushed into the kitchen and cursed. The olive oil burned a dark brown semi-circle in the saucepan. She lowered the temperature on the stovetop and waved a towel around to cut the acrid smoke.
Once the alarm subsided, she pulled out the cutting board. Never the fastest chopper in the world, she slogged through dicing the onions and tossed them into the pan. They hissed when they hit the hot surface, and she muttered a prayer they wouldn’t set off the alarm again. She dumped in the sausage, beans, and chicken broth without waiting for the onions to turn properly translucent. In a different lifetime, she’d followed recipes meticulously. Now, she had more pressing concerns than cooking the perfect meal.
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