The Perfect Child

by Berry, Lucinda

  She’d held up her hand to stop me. “Wait. They think Cole was abused?”

  “Not necessarily, but they have to make sure because of the factors surrounding his injuries. Unfortunately, his injuries and the circumstances surrounding them are what we typically see in kids who’ve been abused—the kind of head injury, his age, the mother being alone with the child, no identified accident, and previous emergency room visits due to injury with other children in the home. I—”

  “That’s absurd. Hannah would never hurt anyone, let alone a child. Are you kidding me?”

  “I agree, but you have to understand where the hospital is coming from. They are liable if they miss child abuse, so they always err on the side of being overcautious. I can’t blame them for it, and honestly, if I didn’t know Hannah so well, I’d have my suspicions, too, and probably do the same thing.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “That’s what I was hoping you could help with,” I had said. “Janie has to be in emergency care until the report is finished. It will probably take about two to three days for them to determine that it’s not a case of child abuse, and then the protective order will be lifted. In cases like this, we like to place the child with a family member, so I wanted to ask if you would act as Janie’s guardian during the investigation.”

  She hadn’t even paused before responding. “Of course. I’ll do anything for Hannah.”

  “It won’t just be Janie. If Cole gets out of the hospital before it’s complete, he’ll need to stay with you too.”

  Her face had flooded with worry at the mention of Cole’s name. “That’s fine.”

  “Thanks so much for doing this. I know Hannah appreciates it, too, and she’ll thank you once she’s feeling more like herself.” I had looked around. “Can I talk to Janie before I leave?”

  “Certainly. I’ll get her.” Greg had herded all of them into the backyard for a game of tag, and now Allison had walked to the back of the house and called her inside.

  Janie had stomped into the kitchen. She hadn’t looked happy to see me. She never did.

  “Are you having a good time playing with your cousins?” I’d asked.

  She’d nodded, looking annoyed. “Can I go play now?”

  “I just wanted to talk to you about something before I left. Have you ever had a sleepover before?”

  Her eyes had lit up. “I love sleepovers.”

  “Good, because you’re going to have a sleepover here for a few nights while your parents are in the hospital with Cole.” I’d stared at her, making sure she understood. That’s when I had noticed the fingertip bruises on her neck. My legs had gone weak. I’d needed to sit down. How could I have missed them? In all my twenty-five years as a social worker, I’d never missed something so important.

  Luke’s voice broke into my memory. “Did you report it that day?”

  “I had back-to-back client meetings, so I wasn’t able to.” It was true, but we both knew it didn’t matter.

  “For the record, you didn’t report the incident that day?”

  “I did not.”

  He locked eyes with me. “In fact, you didn’t even note it in her chart until three days later, did you?”

  FIFTY-ONE

  CHRISTOPHER BAUER

  We were waiting on Cole’s discharge papers. The doctors had finally cleared him to go home, but that had been two hours ago, and we still hadn’t gotten any of the paperwork we needed.

  I stared at Hannah as she paced the room, treading a path across the linoleum. She was in the same clothes she’d been in since we had gotten here. Her shirt was filthy now. She held Cole against her chest as she walked, babbling underneath her breath. I needed to get them both home. I had understood her being this upset when we hadn’t known if he was going to be okay, but she was worse now than she had been before, and the doctors said he was going to be fine. Dan’s former nanny, Greta, was coming to our house tomorrow for an interview. I hadn’t told Hannah, but I didn’t think it would matter all that much because she spent most of her time lost somewhere in her thoughts. There was no way I was leaving her alone with either of the kids. Not until she was better.

  Someone knocked at our door. Everyone always knocked before coming in, but it was more of a formality than anything else. No one ever waited for you to invite them inside. Piper walked in with a man and a woman dressed in civilian clothes. I’d never seen them before.

  “Hi, Hannah,” Piper said.

  Hannah gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

  “Hi, Christopher,” Piper said.

  “Hi.”

  We stood there awkwardly. Why wasn’t she introducing me to the people with her?

  Piper cleared her throat. I’d never seen her look so nervous. She kept clearing her throat like there was something stuck there before she finally worked up the nerve to speak. “This is a very difficult conversation for me to have, and I’m not sure how to get started, so I think I’m just going to cut to the chase.” She looked at me since it was impossible to make eye contact with Hannah, who still paced the room. “Given that Cole sustained a head injury in the way that he did, the hospital social worker made another report to the Department of Children’s Services that they suspected child abuse was going on in your home. This is the second time the hospital has made a report, and by law, we have to investigate it.”

  I understood child-protection laws. I’d made similar reports before. We all had. It was always better to be safe than sorry.

  “During the investigation, the children have to be removed from the home.” Her voice got softer with each word.

  “What? Why? Where would they even go?” I looked to Hannah to gauge her reaction, but it didn’t look like she was even paying attention. How could she ignore this? I wanted to shake her, get her to snap out of whatever stupor she’d been in. I couldn’t go through all this without her.

  “I spoke with Allison this morning, and she agreed to take the kids until this all blows over. I’m sorry, Christopher. I really am,” she said. The two individuals with her moved forward to stand beside her. “These are my colleagues, Marilyn Fragick and Josh Hoff. They are going to transport Cole to Allison’s.”

  “What? We can’t even bring him to Allison’s? You have to take him there?”

  She nodded. Tears filled her eyes. “I know this is hard, and if there was anything I could’ve done to prevent it, I would have.”

  A knot of anxiety balled in my stomach.

  She placed her hand on my back. “You can follow us there if you want.” She shrugged at my confused expression. “I know. Some of the policies don’t make any sense. We have to be the ones to make sure he gets into proper custody—”

  “And they don’t trust us to get him there?”

  “Of course I trust you, but they don’t know you. It’s just policy. You understand that.”

  I turned to Hannah. “Do you want to follow them there?”

  She’d moved back against the window, cradling Cole against her chest with both hands. Panic filled her eyes, her body tense.

  “Hannah?” I took a step toward her. “Hannah?”

  She shook her head. Her eyes flitted around the room.

  “I know this is hard, hon, but it’s only like ten minutes that we’d be away from him. It’s just for the drive.”

  She shook her head again.

  I reached for her.

  “No!” she screamed and jerked back.

  I stopped, stunned. Piper came up behind me. She reached her hands out toward Cole. “Hannah, give him to me,” she said gently.

  “No!” she screamed. “Get away from me! You can’t have him! You can’t take him! He can’t stay there!”

  “Hannah, calm down. They’re just taking him to Allison’s. It’s not like they’re taking him to a stranger. She’ll take wonderful care of him.” I reached for her arm, but she moved too quickly, stepping out of my reach. She grabbed the night
stand and shoved it at us. The empty tray on top flew across the room and slammed into the wall before clattering to the floor.

  “Get away from me. I’m warning you. Don’t come near me. If you come near me, I’ll jump out this window.” Her eyes were wild, her body tense, ready to fight. Cole let out a wail. “Shh . . . shhh . . . it’s okay.” She frantically jiggled him.

  “See, you’re scaring Cole. Just stop now. Give him to me.” I motioned for him. “Hannah, please. Hannah . . .”

  She plastered herself against the window. Her nostrils flared in and out. She clawed at the window behind her while staring at each of us, daring us to move. “I’ll do it. I swear to God, I’ll do it, Christopher. Get away.”

  A voice from behind me said, “Somebody call psych.”

  FIFTY-TWO

  HANNAH BAUER

  I wanted to scream, but it was caught in my throat. There was water between my legs from wetting myself. My eyes snapped open. I tried to move. I couldn’t. My hands and legs were restricted, strapped down. I fought against the restraints. It was no use. I couldn’t break free. My spine throbbed all the way through my tailbone.

  I scanned left to right and back again, searching for someone—anyone—to help me. There was nothing but four cement walls surrounding me and fluorescent lights above me. No windows. No door. The smell of hospital assaulted me. My heart pounded, threatening to explode. I was covered in sweat. Panic clawed at my throat.

  It’s just a dream. You’re having a nightmare.

  I willed myself to breathe.

  None of this is real. Wake up. Just wake yourself up.

  And then it all came flooding back. Memories shoved their way into my consciousness in random flashes—Cole in the hospital, my screams, strange faces shining lights in my eyes. I shook my head, trying to clear the cotton from my thoughts. My throat was so dry it hurt to swallow. My muscles screamed; my body ached to move. How long had I been here?

  Tears moved down my cheeks, unbidden. I cried myself back to sleep.

  Nothing had changed when I woke up. The fluorescent lights above made my head hurt. I turned to the side. That’s when I noticed a small red light in the upper corner I had missed before. Someone was watching me.

  I started to yell but stopped myself as quickly as I started. What would they do to me when they came in the room? My body flooded with panic again. Not being able to move was excruciating. The straps cut into my ankles.

  I was so thirsty. I’d never been this thirsty. My teeth stuck to my lips, and pieces of skin came off when I tried to separate them.

  A door opened behind me. I froze. The sound of footsteps moved around me. And then she was hovering over me, peering down at me—a woman I’d never seen before, and I’d remember if I had because she was stunningly beautiful. She had a face you didn’t forget—high cheekbones, lashes so long they looked fake, and perfect round lips.

  She laid her hand on my forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  I tried to talk, but my voice was gone; I was so thirsty it’d dried out.

  “Would you like to sit up?” she asked.

  I nodded eagerly.

  She took the restraint off my left arm. I wiggled it around, so glad to be free. Then she took off my right restraint. She grabbed my arms and pulled me into a sitting position on the table. Angry red scratches lined both arms.

  “You did those to yourself,” she said as if she could read my mind.

  She released the straps around my ankles. Her scrubs were white—so bright they hurt my eyes—and perfectly pressed; there wasn’t a fold or a crease. Even her tennis shoes gleamed. She was spotless.

  “I’ve let Dr. Pyke know you’re awake and out of your restraints. Once she clears you, we can have someone show you around the unit and to your room. Everyone has their own room here.” She spoke like a schoolteacher.

  Another woman strutted into the room and moved past the nurse to stand beside my bed.

  “I’m Dr. Pyke,” she said. She had a prominent nose and thin lips. Her short hair was clipped back. “How are you feeling?”

  “Thirsty,” I managed to squawk out.

  She motioned to the nurse. “Can you get her some water, please?” The nurse nodded and scurried away. “It’s frightening to wake up this way, and I apologize for that, but you had to be restrained and sedated for your own safety. Most patients find it very disorienting when they come out of it. Again, my apologies. We wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t absolutely necessary.”

  I nodded, even though I didn’t understand or remember. What had I done? The nurse returned with a Styrofoam cup filled with water. I took the water from her and gulped it down. “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re welcome,” Dr. Pyke said, taking the cup from me and tossing it into the trash can underneath the sink. Her face exuded a neutral warmth. She grabbed the stool and slid it beside the bed, taking a seat next to me. “You got pretty upset earlier today. Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on with you?”

  I stared at her, willing myself to talk, but I couldn’t. There were just images. Flashes. Pieces. I tried to focus—remember—but my memory had too many holes in it. Pain leaked out of me like a bad smell.

  She stood. “Okay, well, if you don’t want to talk, then your nurse, Maureen, will take you to the unit. I’ll check in later to see how you’re settling in, and we can discuss your medication.” She pointed toward the door. “Go.”

  The world spun when I stood. Maureen held open the door, and a long, narrow hallway greeted me. The obnoxious fluorescent lighting was gone and replaced with dull, barely visible light casting a murky gray on all the walls. A series of metal doors flanked the sides. Maureen held my arm and helped me forward, my legs still wobbly underneath me from whatever they’d given me. I stumbled through the hallway. The door to my left opened, and a nurse brushed against me. I stepped back instinctively as if I had a contagious disease.

  We followed the hallway through another series of twists and turns—a sense of impending doom mounting with each step—before arriving at another set of double doors. Instead of using her key card to unlock the door, Maureen pressed a red button next to it. There was a loud buzz, and the doors opened into another hallway. People shuffled around with vacant eyes, some of them talking to themselves. The door clicked shut behind me. The lock engaged.

  “You have to keep moving. You have to stay in front of the red line,” Maureen said as she nudged me gently forward.

  I hadn’t realized I’d stopped. I looked down. A thick red line stretched across the hallway in front of the doors. Maureen nudged me again. I stepped over it.

  “You can’t go past this line without a staff member. If you do, it will sound an alarm. Do you understand?” She spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable like I had difficulty hearing.

  I nodded.

  She pointed to the tape again and repeated herself like I still didn’t get it. “Patients can’t go past this line.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I was safe now.

  FIFTY-THREE

  CHRISTOPHER BAUER

  The smell of spoiled milk assaulted me when I walked in the front door of our house. Everything was exactly like we’d left it, including Janie’s cereal bowl from breakfast in the sink. I rinsed it out, but the place still smelled foul, so I walked through the house searching for other culprits. Our house wasn’t big, but it felt huge without my family.

  I found the sippy cup Janie used each morning for her snack on the coffee table in the living room. The leftover milk was turning into cottage cheese. I didn’t bother to clean it but just threw it in the trash. I filled the dishwasher with the remaining dishes in the sink and added detergent before pressing start. I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms against my chest.

  What had happened that morning?

  It was the question that chased itself around and around like a snake trying to catch its tail. I’d spent the last three days racking my brain for anything I might have missed,
but there wasn’t anything unusual. It had been a rough morning, but most of our mornings were difficult. That wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, so it never gave me any cause for concern, at least not any more than it did every day when I left for work.

  I walked aimlessly through the house searching for clues as if they were hidden in the walls somewhere. I moved from room to room, picking up things as I went. I couldn’t remember the last time our house had been messy, and I missed when Hannah hadn’t cared so much about cleaning. Who was I kidding? I missed Hannah, period. But I missed the old Hannah. Not this new one who had taken her place. What if I never got her back?

  I moved into the bedroom and sat on the edge of our bed. How would I fall asleep tonight? It didn’t feel right without them here—the kids at Allison’s and Hannah at the hospital in Columbus.

  When the psychiatric response team had arrived at the hospital, I had begged them to take her to Worthington Presbyterian. It was twenty miles away from Clarksville, but she couldn’t stay at Northfield Memorial. There was no way her admission to the psychiatric ward would stay a secret, and she’d be mortified that she’d been institutionalized once she felt better. I had to protect her reputation and career. She would’ve done the same for me.

  Our bedroom floor was covered with family photos and various albums. They were arranged in neat piles that Hannah had constantly gone through, getting just as worked up as she had the first time. She didn’t need them staring her in the face when she came home. I grabbed an empty box from the garage to store them in. I would go through them when things calmed down. Maybe there was a chance I could salvage a few, but for now I needed to get rid of them. They were the last thing she needed to see when she got home. I started sorting through the mess.