by Gavin Reese
“Prader-Willi.” Alex gave up and started unknotting the tie.
Wall silently stared at Alex for few seconds, apparently somewhere between surprised and offended that the new guy knew something he didn’t. “Yeah, sounds right, how the hell you know that?”
“Don’t be too impressed, I saw a documentary a few weeks ago.”
“Right, well, I don’t watch your channels. Apparently, dad passed out drunk on the couch and didn’t close the lock on the fridge. I’m not sure they even lock the fridge doors at Gitmo, pretty fucked up, right?” Wall oscillated between briefing Alex and trying to entertain the charge nurse. “Anyway, Junior woke up and went ape shit when he found the lock was open, ate about 187 pounds of food, and mom found him after he pulled one of the fridge drawers into the floor and woke her up. The docs have him in now pumping his stomach. Nurse Carolyn here called the PD as part of their mandatory reporting protocol for suspected child abuse.” Wall made sure to cast a sincere, grateful smile her way. “I already called Child Protective Services, turns out the family had a similar incident about two years ago, but nothing reported since then. The C-P-S supervisor said their prior investigation turned up nothing more than an accident. They didn’t even bother following up with home visits.”
“Okay, so we’re looking into this as more of a reckless parenting problem than anything else?” Alex saw the liability for the hospital and the police department if neither of them did anything to examine the parents’ actions and the child’s home life, but that seemed to be the likely end of it. He didn’t like the idea of filing child abuse charges against parents unless they were truly warranted. Hitting already-guilt-ridden parents with a felony charge for an accident, a mistake, a momentary lapse, seemed heavy-handed to him. Most parents didn’t need a prosecutor, judge, or jury to publicly emphasize the significance of their mistake. Some, however, very much did.
“Yeah, probably, but stay objective. It sounds like this was completely preventable and dad might have crossed a line. It might suck to play hardball with the folks, but that kid has rights, too. Life, liberty, and the ability to live in his own home without fear of negligent death, even if he can’t say ‘negligent death.’ Carolyn, sweetheart, do you know where Mom is right now?”
Carolyn smiled, and Alex decided her sentiment derived from the attention rather than the man dispensing it. “Her name is Colleen McDougal, she’s probably in the waiting room. Her son, Michael, hasn’t come back from the operating room yet. He should be back in recovery in a few minutes, so you’ll have to hurry to catch her before the doc comes out to bring her back.”
“Any idea what she looks like, sweets? Was she blessed with your stunning appearance and intellect or does God hate her like he hates my partner?” Wall turned his back to Alex and leaned against the counter as though he and Nurse Carolyn were alone.
Carolyn blushed a bit and looked at Alex almost as though to apologize for Wall. “Look for the pale redhead in a Boston Red Sox hat, blue sweatshirt, mismatched shorts. Poor thing must have gotten dressed in the dark waiting for the EMTs. I doubt there are more than a couple people in there at this hour.”
“Thanks, Carolyn, you’re a lifesaver.” Alex followed Wall out the interior ER doors and into the waiting room.
Twenty-Three
Goodyear General Hospital waiting room. Goodyear, Arizona.
Colleen kept her composure until they wheeled Michael behind the automatic double-doors; only then did she allow herself to break down, collapsing in a heap on the floor and sobbing. In the otherwise abandoned waiting room, no one else would notice her emotional collapse, and she remained there, undisturbed, for what felt like an hour. Eventually picking herself up from the floor, Colleen walked the five feet required to find a cheap, plastic waiting room chair; cautiously grabbing the chair’s arm for support, she turned herself around, and sank backwards into it. The surroundings did not instill her with confidence or improve her mood. She looked around the waiting room and thought it more closely resembled a local bus station in Butthole, West Texas, than an ER waiting room. Momentarily wishing she could joke with Jonathan about the Butthole, Texas, bus station, her anger quickly replaced longing as she remembered he had unwittingly propelled them there.
Colleen replayed the morning’s nightmare over and over, trying to find what she could have done to prevent this. The only answer she kept coming up with was ‘Jonathan.’ I should’ve been less understanding, but he’s hurting so badly, she thought. I could have demanded more of him, but he has already given so much of himself. Maybe he needs to see a VA counselor after all, but it’s pointless to go before he’s ready. A few moments’ pause produced contrarian thought. Maybe it’s my fault for not keeping more control over the house. Jonathan’s not used to being home, not used to dealing with Michael’s Praders, not used to keeping everything locked away all the time. It’s habit for me, she thought, and it’s new to him. Well, new again…and again…and again, after every goddamned deployment.
The longer Colleen sat alone with her thoughts, the madder she became. Although accustomed to struggle and absent expectation of any hand-outs, the effort Jonathan’s homecoming had required thus far fell beyond ridiculous. Things were supposed to be better, easier, now that Jonathan was home. Michael shouldn’t be under anesthesia right now, Jonathan shouldn’t be passed out on the couch, and she shouldn’t be here dreading the worst for the two of the three greatest men in her life.
Mad that Jonathan came home, struggled to even take care of himself, and had now hurt their son, even if only temporarily. Mad he took the “guaranteed” job offer and promised her she wouldn’t have to worry anymore. Mad he drank so much and talked so little, as though he trusted the bottle of Jameson to help him more than she could; Colleen realized she had begun to feel as though he had created distance between them, as though he had demons he felt she couldn’t understand or help defeat. Mad he spent all those deployments away from them, putting her and Michael through Hell worrying about him while he’d been gone. Mad she loved him so much despite him having failed her and Michael so badly. Mad that Jonathan’s pure, ideological commitment to protect his country all those years prevented him from realizing how much his family needed him, too. Colleen even felt mad Jonathan had ever gone into the Army in the first place, that he didn’t take the analytical lab job that chemical manufacturer had offered just before he proposed. Even his need to burden himself with fighting for the 9/11 victims and the rest of the country who couldn’t fight for themselves angered her at that moment. Already so enraged, Colleen easily found fault with Jonathan’s willingness to put their family, and his relationship with her, on hold to go fight enemies on the other side of the world.
Colleen alternately felt terrible for being so mad at Jonathan. Guilt and self-loathing quickly rose within her, all while she knew how badly Jonathan needed help, love, and support at that moment. He had endured horrible atrocities and seen the worst possible things happen to people he loved and cared about, and all that happened to him because he volunteered to fight for their country and try to establish a better life for their son. Further guilt piled on as she considered that she had no idea what Jonathan had to go through, and Colleen suddenly felt powerless to help him. She reminded herself how much she had sacrificed, personally and professionally, to stay home and take care of Michael, and now Jonathan, and he had barely acknowledged her efforts or hardships since his homecoming.
As her brain turned toward their financial woes, Colleen grew fearful and incensed while considering how close they could be to losing their home. Even the truck might get repossessed before long. How could Jonathan spend so much time emailing his Army buddies instead of looking for a job when they had such financial troubles? There was nothing he could do for them, and nothing they could do for him!
Colleen resented Jonathan’s withdrawal into his vampire lifestyle and felt he intentionally did so to stay away from her and Michael. Colleen resented Michael’s hea
lth and his disease. She and Jonathan, and Michael, didn’t do anything to deserve this and Jonathan hadn’t recently done anything to lessen her burden or improve his relationship with Michael. Jonathan hadn’t really done anything to help Michael… improve his health… help him become more independent… he had only made things worse.
Colleen’s heart skipped a beat and she held her breath for a moment when it again crossed her mind. She had briefly contemplated separating from Jonathan during his last deployment, but she had thought of it in distant, future someday terms…never as an immediate solution to today’s problems. Completely alone in the waiting room, cycling through her competing emotions, Colleen considered if separation really offered her any better solutions to take care of Michael, and, selfishly, she admitted, for her own mental health. No, she decided, both of her boys were broken right now and she had to see them through these tough times. As long as I’ve still got fight in me, I’ll fight for them, and for us, but I have to go to mom and dad’s for a few days to come to terms with this, and I’m too goddamned angry to be reasonable right now.
The sadness, and potential futility, of her present reality set in, and Colleen again sobbed. She began preparing a mental list of things that she needed from the house to get her and Michael through the next few days. Michael’s clothes, medication, toys, and car seat…which was in…the truck…
Colleen just realized she didn’t remember seeing their Chevrolet Tahoe in the driveway when the ambulance came to bring Michael to the hospital. Did Jonathan drive last night, she wondered, was the car stolen? Hoping to be mistaken, she just couldn’t remember it because she’d been too scared for Michael.
She looked at her watch, which confirmed she would have to wait several hours to call the neighbors and ask them to see if the SUV remained parked in her driveway. Jonathan, likely too drunk to be helpful, might risk driving to the hospital if she told him where they were. He had done everything possible, by effort or by accident, to isolate and betray her. Colleen felt more alone now, with Jonathan at home, than when he’d been half-a-world away. Her soul mate, her best friend, her partner, Michael’s father…all gone, almost nothing of the original Jonathan remained in their house or their marriage. He required more babysitting and supervision than did their disabled son.
Colleen didn’t know what to do, she had to be able to get home, had to find out if their truck had been stolen, had to get some help. Checking her watch again, she knew her parents would understand. She selfishly hoped they would be offended when they found out she had been at the hospital by herself this long. Her dad picked up the receiver after the fifth ring.
“Yeah?” He sounded very groggy, and must not have checked the caller ID before he picked up the phone.
“Morning, daddy. I’m sorry to wake you and mom, but I really need some help again.” Colleen tried in vain to stop her eyes from again welling up. She wiped tears as they cascaded down her cheeks and cleared her throat to regain her composure before she could continue.
“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” He now sounded very awake.
“Daddy, Michael’s hurt. We’re at the hospital now. Can you and mom please come down here with me?”
“Of course, sweetheart, wait…with you? Where’s Jonathan?”
“He’s at home, daddy. I really don’t want to talk about it, can you just please come down here?”
Twenty-Four
Goodyear General Hospital waiting room. Goodyear, Arizona.
Colleen McDougal, mother of Michael. Pale white female…Red Sox hat…shouldn’t require much detection skill, Alex thought as he pushed the large, chrome access switch to activate the door’s mechanical controls. He waited alongside Detective Wall for the oversized, corporate-tan door to open and grant them access to the Emergency Department’s waiting room. The aging door creaked and slowly swung open before them, and Alex saw the room looked exactly the same as the last time he’d been there. What was that, eighteen months ago, on that Fullerton case? Looks like they haven’t even replaced the magazines. Alex thought the long rows of cheap blue plastic chairs, stained and streaked linoleum floor tiles, and medium tan paint gave the impression of a small, underfunded regional airport than the waiting room of a multi-million-dollar hospital. You’d think they could afford a couch or two, Alex thought, but at least the place is easy to disinfect.
After the automatic door finally opened enough for both men to pass through, Alex motioned for Detective Wall to lead them toward the victim’s mother and the senior investigator immediately accepted Alex’s invitation. Upon following Wall into the waiting room, Alex found it surprisingly empty. A few staff members in scrubs chatted near the coffee machine along the back right corner of the room, but he saw that only one woman could be Colleen McDougal, even if she had not exactly matched the ED nurse’s description. It doesn’t hurt that she’s the only one in here not wearing a badge or scrubs. The woman sat across the room and to Alex’s left, which placed her near double-doors that he knew led back into the ground level surgical suites. Alex immediately began assessing her, looking for body language that may subconsciously betray her involvement or guilt in whatever had happened to her young son. Behavior alone did not equate to probable cause, Alex knew, but it certainly added to the detectives’ assessment of potential parental misconduct. This mother’s a wreck, though. In Alex’s experience, the concerned parents of injured children usually had a very distinct, almost unmistakable appearance. They looked and behaved very differently than parents who didn’t care about their kids, or parents who worried more about being arrested than about their children’s welfare, or those who only acted concerned now that their kid was injured and they might be in trouble. Distraught didn’t mean innocent, and the professed emotion wasn’t always sincere. Sometimes they were scared for their kids, sometimes for themselves, and sometimes they feared for the guilty spouse, friend, or family member who had injured or neglected their child. And, he thought, those assessments would ultimately have to be corroborated by actual evidence. Hunches have no place in criminal proceedings.
Alex saw Colleen McDougal had seated herself near the middle of a long row of cheap, faded blue plastic stadium-esque chairs. She leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, and held her hands cupped together over her nose and mouth, which almost appeared as though she were praying. The particular row in which she sat placed her both the closest to the emergency surgical suites and facing directly toward them. Alex thought she seemed anxious for the doctor to emerge and say her son was okay, and he initially felt this woman cared deeply for Michael. She didn’t seem to want to create emotional distance from him or the circumstance. Hell, if she were any closer, they’d be kicking her out of the O-R.
Alex saw no indication that she had noticed their entry into the waiting room, or their approach toward her, as though her grief prevented her from focusing on anything other than those double-doors. Even as the detectives stood within a few feet of Colleen, her intent focus remained on the doors before her and, apparently, the news she awaited from the other side of them. Detective Wall stopped about six feet from the woman’s left side, and Alex hung back several more behind him. All three remained there for almost ten seconds before anyone spoke. The mother, Colleen McDougal, watching only the doors before her, and the two detectives watching only her. Now in close proximity, Alex saw she appeared to be in even greater despair than he had recognized from across the large waiting room. Intermittent tears had spread mascara onto her left cheek, which she had only partially wiped off. Her light breathing sounded fast and shallow, as though she would soon hyperventilate. Occasional sniffles sought to combat a runny nose.
Alex began to feel uncomfortable and considered clearing his throat--
“Ms. McDougal?” Wall pulled out his badge and credentials from a back pants pocket and presented them to her. Alex saw her gaze slowly move from the doors, to the badge, and then up to Wall’s face. Her expression displayed fear, and their unexpected presenc
e seemed to further degrade her emotional state.
“…yes…?” She almost whispered the response, before swallowing hard and finding her voice. “Why are you here? What happened to Michael?” Her eyes teared up, her voice grew louder and faster, and her hands trembled.
“I’m Detective Wall, this is Detect…”
“What’s…wrong?” The pitch, pace, and terror evident in her speech all elevated as she spoke. “Where’s Michael, is he okay?!” Colleen leaned back in the chair, pushing herself away from the detectives. She began to panic; feverishly looking around the room, Alex thought she looked as though her worst fears were becoming reality.
“The nurses told us Michael is still in with the doctors. I’m sorry, Ms. McDougal, I didn’t mean to scare you. We’re not here because something else happened to Michael. We’re here, as a matter of protocol, to speak with you about what happened that originally got Michael admitted into the hospital tonight. The hospital has to notify the police department whenever certain injuries come into the emergency room. We have to come out whenever someone calls the police department, just to talk about what happened. It helps us to protect children from abuse--”
“So you think we abused Michael?!” Colleen’s subsiding fear quickly turned into white-hot anger and outrage at the indirect accusation. “You think Jonathan and I meant for this to happen?!” Offended, incredulous, and simultaneously scared, she seemed to have trouble remaining somewhat civil.
Detective Wall negatively shook his head and left hand while putting away his credentials with his right. “No, ma’am, I don’t think you and Mr. McDougal abused Michael, I wasn’t talking about your family, I was only trying to explain to you why we’re here.”
“What the hell are you doing, scaring me like that? You have to know what I would think, that Michael was…dead…and now you’re telling me you’re investigating us for abusing him?!!” Alex heard her voice and volume begin to more accurately reflect her growing anger, which her body language corroborated. She initially spoke with corresponding hand gestures, but soon defensively crossed her arms and firmly pressed her back against the chair to create psychological distance from her perceived attackers.
