Marlee peeked through the small window in the door at the petite girl sleeping quietly in the hospital bed. Although a teenager, the girl looked younger, and the mechanical hospital bed seemed to swallow her. Marlee watched for a few minutes, standing very still in the otherwise busy hospital corridor.
She imagined the child’s pain; imagined how betrayed and shameful she felt, and those feelings opened a wound in her own heart. Her past haunted her and even now—even after all that had happened—she still carried that feeling of betrayal and shame. She had made him pay, but all these years later he still haunted her.
Often, when she was alone, Marlee could remember how good the release felt. Since that time she had tried to leave that life behind. She moved away, tried going to school, and when that failed, she’d spent years in therapy. But it followed her and sometimes the anger at not being able to escape welled within her with such a frightening force that she thought it might rip her to pieces.
That was how she felt now. Rage pulsed through her veins, pounded at her temples, and for a moment her vision blurred. Scenes from her own past were superimposed over the girl she watched. The circumstances were only slightly different. The girl’s mother hadn’t protected her. And that cop was no better. Not only was he her family, but his job was to protect innocent children from this kind of abuse. And he failed. They failed.
“Get hold of yourself, girl,” her soft voice fogged the small square of glass directly in front of her. “Get on with your work.”
She pasted a smile on her face, smoothed her hands over her thighs, wiping sweat away from her palms as much as straightening her clothing. Then she walked back to the main desk in the emergency room to collect the girl’s chart.
*~*~*
Marlee spent a long time looking over Lisa Reynolds’ chart. She wanted to memorize as much of it as she could so that she wouldn’t have to refer to it when she tried to talk to Lisa. She also needed time to rein in her emotions. Deep breaths. Focus on the facts.
The bustle of the nurse’s station comforted her. Something about the sounds of non-skid soles creaking, the swish of cotton scrubs, and the various beeps and whistles of equipment and machinery soothed her nerves when it would probably irritate others. Finally, she felt like she knew enough of what was in Lisa’s chart to have a good conversation without seeming too intrusive.
The idea is to make her comfortable enough to talk to me. Only I can do that.
Marlee pushed through the swinging door into Lisa’s room. The girl didn’t even look away from the television show that she was watching.
“Hi Lisa. How’re you feeling today?”
Lisa shrugged, her gaze still not leaving the television. Marlee felt the first twinges of aggravation. She was only trying to help after all.
Willing herself to remain reasonable, Marlee walked calmly over and turned the television off. “Why don’t you move over by the window and sit down?” She pointed to an orange faux-leather-covered chair that would have been tasteful in the seventies.
Lisa looked at her, if you could call it a look. It was more of a glare, filled with hatred and anger. That’s something.
Lisa moved, very slowly, into the chair and Marlee busied herself by straightening the bed, careful to keep her back turned so she appeared less confrontational. “Where do you go to school?” Casual, almost uninterested.
“What do you care?” Venom laced Lisa’s words.
“Just making conversation. That’s a heavy load of anger you’ve got.” Marlee kept her tone neutral. “Guess that’s because of what happened with your Dad, huh?”
“He’s not my father. My father is an idiot that can’t pull his attention away from drugs long enough to face up to his responsibilities. Tim’s a better person than that.” Lisa’s voice softened on the last sentence.
“Oh, well that changes things.” She knew Tim Burris wasn’t Lisa’s dad, but she wanted to gauge what Lisa thought of him. “If he’s not your Dad, it’s different. But that doesn’t help explain what you’re so angry about.”
Silence. Marlee glanced over her shoulder. Lisa sat, head against the glass, staring out the window like a caged animal yearning for wide open spaces.
“I was angry with my Dad, too.” Marlee turned to face Lisa. She wanted the girl to see the truth in her statements. “He died eight years ago, and sometimes I still hate him.”
Lisa sneered. “Are you a moron or something? I said he’s not my Dad. And I’m not “angry” at him.” She made the air quotes with her fingers to emphasize her words. “I love him. I’m in love with him. And he’s in love with me. Can’t you morons with your expensive college degrees understand English?” Marlee caught the flash of a silver barbell in Lisa’s tongue.
That’s what I’m looking for. “Oh, we understand what you’re saying, Lisa. The thing is, it’s hard to believe that you could be in love with someone so much older than you. It doesn’t make sense for a beautiful girl like yourself to choose a man old enough to be your father.” Marlee paused and Lisa continued staring out the window, shoulders heaving with quick breaths.
A response would come when the silence got too heavy.
Lisa turned her body toward Marlee the slightest bit. “I’m almost eighteen years old. If I didn’t know what love is and if I didn’t know what it is to want someone, then why have I stayed with Tim for five years? Our relationship has lasted longer than my mother’s.” She rolled her eyes as she said the last word.
Five years. The poor girl was too young to know anything else. And now she was mature beyond her years. Probably had been for a long time. Not a good thing considering all that lay ahead for her.
“Who started it? Did you try to sleep with Tim to hurt your mom? Or did Tim come on to you?” Marlee gave up straightening the room and sat on the edge of the bed.
“We started it. Tim knew I was attracted to him. I knew he was attracted to me. We started it at the same time.” Lisa still stared out the window, her hands balled into fists so tight her knuckles had turned white and her nails dug into her palms.
“Everyone thinks I’m too stupid to know what’s going on.” Lisa turned a hard look at Marlee. Her icy blue eyes reflected hatred that no child should ever know. “You are the stupid ones. I know exactly what’s going on. Tim loves me. And my mother. Can’t. Handle. It. Can’t you see? Why can’t anyone understand?”
Lisa sounded frantic. Every muscle in her body seemed to coil tightly, ready to shoot from the corner and destroy anything in her path. Time to back away and give the girl some space before she started throwing a tantrum.
“I understand how you think you feel.” Marlee gathered a lunch tray that had barely been touched. “I felt the same way. But you take some time to think about it. I’ll stop back in later and we can talk some more.”
She left Lisa sitting in the chair. The door clicked quietly behind her as she stepped into the hallway and off to the side so Lisa couldn’t see her through the window.
She listened for only a few seconds before she heard Lisa through the door, as she knew she would.
“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you,” the girl chanted when sobs didn’t steal her words.
Experience had taught Marlee that the words spoken to an empty room were the truest words ever spoken in a situation like this. As she walked to the nurse’s station balancing the nearly full lunch tray, Marlee wondered if the words were meant for her, Tim, or Leslie.
SIX
Marlee sized Leslie Reynolds up within a minute of meeting her the first time outside of Lisa’s room. Leslie carried herself with the demeanor of a woman that wanted nothing more than to disappear into the floor or blend into a wall where she wouldn’t be noticed. Everything about her seemed plain, from her face to her clothing.
Sure, she tried to dress it up from time to time to catch some man’s attention. And the tattoo arm band around her upper arm was also a way to get noticed. She’d most likely had it done because she thought
men would find it sexy. Now, it was just a faded reminder of another bad choice in her life.
Marlee knew the woman. She had seen dozens of others in these types of situations. Abuse. When a woman is abused mentally or verbally, she does what’s necessary to become a smaller target. She first made herself noticeable, and then when the wrong man came along, she would work hard to blend in, hoping not to be noticed. Once she became the center of attention, that’s when the abuse started.
Leslie left the smoking area outside the Emergency Room doors and Marlee followed her to the cafeteria. Watching. Assessing. Inside the cafeteria, Marlee picked out a cookie and a diet soda, though she wasn’t in the mood for either, and slid into line behind Leslie.
“How do you drink coffee this late in the day?” Marlee didn’t really care, but it was a way to start a conversation that wouldn’t make Leslie immediately wary of what might be coming.
Leslie turned quickly sloshing coffee over the edge of her cup. “Oh. Hi.”
“Careful.” Marlee handed her a wad of napkins. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She held up her Diet Coke. “I just can’t drink coffee after breakfast. It would keep me up all night, and I don’t get enough sleep as it is.”
“I know the feeling.” Leslie’s shoulders drooped. Her mid-length blonde hair hung in a stringy mess around her face, and what little makeup was left on her face was smeared into the lines around her eyes and mouth.
They sat at an empty table near a window which looked out over a parking lot. “I just checked on Lisa.” Marlee eased into the conversation. She wanted to see how Leslie might be different when she and Lisa weren’t together.
When Lisa first came into the ER the two of them were sharp with each other. Leslie had tried to play the injured parent, but a time or two Lisa had gotten the best of her and she spit venom right back at the girl. Too much emotion flowed between them. The only way to know the truth of their situation was to talk to them both separately before approaching them together.
“She’s ready to go home.” Leslie’s dark eyes seemed to darken more. “We’re just waiting on the release papers. And honestly, I needed a break. You know how teenagers are. Always so angry about everything. Like any of this is my fault.”
“Teenagers can be emotional.” Marlee straightened the top of her scrubs. “It seems like there’s more than teenage angst going on with Lisa.” She let the statement hang in the air and waited patiently. People inherently need to fill the silence when they’re uncomfortable. And if she was right in her impression of Leslie, she would also feel the need to make Marlee take her side.
Leslie played with the rim of her Styrofoam coffee cup, digging her thumbnail into the lip, making a pattern around the whole cup before she spoke again. “Lisa has been angry for so long now that I don’t really remember when it started. A few years ago, I guess. At first it was an occasional temper tantrum. Lately it seems like everything makes her angry. And now she really hates me. I almost wish I didn’t have to take her home.”
Leslie’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth and then closed it. Then went through the process again before she finally spoke. “It’s not that I don’t love my daughter. I do. But she is so out of control. No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to get through to her.”
“Of course.” People simply want others to listen to them. Marlee had trained herself to be a good listener. It wasn’t easy. The human mind is always trying to stay one or two steps ahead in conversation, to have an appropriate response ready. Stilling that tendency had required lots of practice. But over the last few years, Marlee learned how to listen and hear what people weren’t saying. There was always something they weren’t saying.
“I just don’t know what to think,” Leslie ran her hands through her hair. “I mean, I’ve tried with her, you know? It’s not my fault that her dad left. I couldn’t stop it, and I did try. So I’ve spent the last twelve years trying to make it up to her, trying to be both parents to her.”
Tears dripped down Leslie’s face. She didn’t sob. Didn’t make a sound. It was almost as if tears were all she had the energy for.
She inhaled deeply and her demeanor changed. The pitiful woman who sat broken was replaced by someone filled with poisonous loathing. The change was startling, even to Marlee who had seen all manner of people in her job.
“Look at the thanks I get for all I’ve given up for her. For all I’ve done. She’s sleeping with my boyfriend. She threw herself at him. She told me so. And she says she loves him?” The question came out as an accusation. “What could a seventeen-year-old possibly know about love?”
“He is the adult,” Marlee said gently. “He could have…should have told her no.”
“Oh, no. She threw herself at him. He’s just a man. And what man can deny the advances of someone that obviously wants it? I can imagine the ways she paraded in front of him to get his attention. Of course he would notice.” Leslie’s hands clenched into fists. “She did it out of spite, you know. She did this to hurt me.”
Marlee wanted to shake Leslie until she could see how ridiculous she was being. What a spoiled, rotten brat she sounded like. Marlee fought to keep her silence.
It would do no good right now to argue with Leslie. She wouldn’t hear how wrong she was or that her actions, choices, and ignorance were the reason that a very messed up young woman lay in a hospital bed upstairs hating the world.
Leslie wouldn’t accept that this was her responsibility until the very end. Marlee knew that, and already she was planning what had to happen next.
SEVEN
Jack sat hunched over his desk. His left hand hung in mid-air above a computer keyboard. What key was he looking for again? His two-fingered hunt and peck typing method was even slower than usual because he couldn’t keep his mind on the task at hand.
“I hate computers.” No one else was around to hear, but Jack complained anyway. It wasn’t that he was scared of the machines. If he wanted to, he could use them just as well as anyone else. He just didn’t see the point of it. People lost their whole soul inside a computer, and Jack didn’t want to be one of those people.
“Take a break.” Kate walked up and propped her hip on the corner of his desk.
“Just one sec.” Jack poked at a few more keys trying to finish the word he was typing before he forgot again. He grabbed the mouse and clicked around the screen a few times. Behind him, a printer stuttered to life.
“Okay, what’s up?” He focused his full attention on Kate.
“We got the autopsy results back. They confirmed the victim is Patricia Simms.” Kate plopped the open file down on top of the keyboard Jack had just been torturing.
“This wound—” She pointed to the same stab wound she’d tried to show Jack when they were at the scene. “—is the one that killed her. If it hadn’t been that one, though, it would have been another. The ME said she was stabbed thirty-seven times.” The ME, or medical examiner, would have counted the wounds and compared them to see if all of the wounds were made with the same instrument.
“Thirty-seven times?” What would it take to stab a person that many times? Anger. And strength. A lot of strength, because stabbing was a thrusting motion, and repeating that motion with the resistance a human body provided would take a toll on the person doing it. “Definitely an element of over kill.”
“You might say that. The phrase the ME used was extreme rage. Like the rage that an abusive spouse or parent might have.” Kate stood and walked around the desk.
“What do we know about Simms’s boyfriend?”
“I’m getting to that.” Kate reached across Jack to flip to another page in the file.
Her dark blonde hair brushed through the air under his nose fanning a spicy orange scent in his direction. It was Kate’s smell, and images of sunny orange groves played through his mind whenever he noticed it. He loved that scent; it was comfortable.
“Remember I mentioned all those bruises on her arms and face?” Kate slid a picture
from the crime scene on the desk in front of him. “The ME confirmed my thoughts. Some of them were older than others. And there were other signs of abuse, too. Her nose had been broken at least once, her arm once. Bones in her face had been cracked, and her front teeth, both upper and lower, were implants. That’s how they confirmed her identity so quickly.”
“And she was beaten after she died.” She spread several pictures out on top of the file. “See these?” She traced red spots on the victim’s stomach with her fingertip. “That’s where he kicked her after she died. He broke several of her ribs.”
“That’s definitely extreme rage. But the previous injuries, we don’t know if the boyfriend did that or not.” Jack shuffled the pictures around the desk, and looked through them again. Then he pushed them away and leaned back in his chair. “And what do we know about the boyfriend?”
“Ronald Parker.”
Jack knew that.
“His last known address was the Palladium Apartments. He works at a gas station on Pass road.” Kate’s foot swung in time with her recitation of the facts. “He has a 1991 Toyota registered in his name, and he’s got a record.” She handed Jack a white paper she had been holding in her hand.
“Possession. Possession. Burglary. Assault. Assault. Domestic abuse.” Jack dropped the paper on top of the file. “Classy guy.”
“Yep. A real winner.”
Jack glanced at his watch. It was almost six, and he wanted to swing by Leslie’s house and check on Lisa. Leslie had texted him earlier that Lisa was being sent home. They should be there by now.
“Let’s see if we can track down Mr. Winner in the morning.”
Kate stilled and Jack realized that he’d acted out of character. He was a workaholic by nature. His nights rarely ended before eight or nine p.m., partly because his military background dictated he work until a job was done, and this job was never done. And partly as a distraction. When he was working he didn’t have to be in his empty apartment. He didn’t have to remember Susan and Lilly and think about how alone he really felt.
Biloxi Sunrise (The Biloxi Series Book 1) Page 4
