Before She Was Found

by Heather Gudenkauf

  We talk this way, as if the disorders are our own. It’s challenging, at times, to remain detached, to always approach each case with a clinical, dispassionate eye. We work with children, after all. It’s easy to become enamored with the idea of playing God. Desperate parents at a loss in how to help their child who is in pain. Mental anguish is just as excruciating as physical pain, if not more.

  The girl in the train yard. According to the referring doctor it was a simple case. I imagined meeting with the child once or twice. I would listen to her story. Certainly scary and traumatic, but not the worst I’ve encountered. I would nod my head in all the right spots and ask questions about what happened in the train yard. But not too pointed that she would shut down and not feel comfortable talking to me.

  I would instruct the parents on what to look for in their daughter in the coming weeks: intrusive thoughts, avoidance, negative moods, anxiety. I would tell them to seek follow-up professional care for her if any of these symptoms persisted.

  I wasn’t worried. I was intrigued. As I learned more I became more invested, more absorbed. Three twelve-year-old girls walk into a train yard and two come out unscathed. What doctor wouldn’t be fascinated?

  I often wonder what would have happened if Dr. Soto had called another psychiatrist. Perhaps the end results would have been different. But I picked up the phone and I made the long walk down to the emergency room.

  Case #92-10945

  Excerpt from the Journal of Cora E. Landry

  Sept. 9, 2017

  Well, volleyball lasted all of four days. I knew I would suck but I figured some of the other girls would be just as bad as me and we’d just end up on the B team. No such luck. There is no B team and I actually am the worst player.

  Of course Jordyn is also on the team and really good. I swear she kept serving the ball right at me and I couldn’t bump a single one. This happened like eight times in a row. At first the girls on my team were really encouraging and said, “It’s okay, Cora, you can do it!” and “Shake it off!” But after a while it was pretty clear I couldn’t do it, so they stopped saying anything.

  I tried, I really did. I even dove for one of Jordyn’s serves and ended up twisting my ankle. It didn’t really hurt but I started crying. Why do I do that? The coach told me to go get a drink of water and sit out until my ankle started feeling better. I sat on the sidelines the rest of practice. Afterward, when we were changing our shoes, everyone told Jordyn how good she was. No one said anything to me, not even to ask me how my ankle was.

  I told my mom and dad that I got hurt and didn’t think I’d be able to play anymore. Of course my dad was like, “You can’t quit! Landrys aren’t quitters. You’ll be fine!” and I had to go to practice the next day. And the next. And the next.

  Then it was like I had a target on me. Jordyn wasn’t the only one serving the ball right at my head. EVERYONE started trying to serve or spike the ball at me. Even the ones who are just as bad as I am. It was so obvious. Even Gemma, who is normally nice, got this mean look on her face just before she served. I swear she glared right at me and aimed. At that point I didn’t even try. I just stood there and the ball hit me on the shoulder. Everyone laughed. Except the coach and I bet that’s because she’s paid not to laugh at the kids.

  When I got in the car after practice my mom asked me how it went. I told her that I wasn’t going back. “You can’t quit,” she said and I started crying and I couldn’t stop. When we got home my mom tried to get me to tell her what was wrong but I couldn’t. It was so embarrassing. I finally told her that I hurt my ankle again and I might have sprained it or maybe even broke it.

  She got me an ice pack and told me that she’d make an appointment with the doctor. Obviously, the doctor didn’t find anything wrong with my ankle but he did say that I should take a few weeks off from playing.

  At school today Jordyn asked me why I hadn’t been at practice and I told her that the doctor said I couldn’t play anymore and she said that was too bad. She said it in a way that I thought she really meant it. She was so nice that for a second I actually considered going back to practice and trying again.

  Gabe and I haven’t had much of a chance to talk since school started. He sits with his friends at lunch and we don’t sit by each other in social studies but he says hi to me in the hallway and my stomach does a flip every single time.

  Guess what! A new girl showed up at school today. I can’t remember the last time someone actually moved to Pitch. Usually people move away from here. Or die of old age. My best friend since kindergarten moved to Illinois last year when her dad got a new job. Ellie’s mom said that Pitch was a dying town and I guess she’s right. Once the packing plant closed down lots of families left but no one who I liked as much as Ellie.

  Ellie and I wrote letters and emailed back and forth for a while but then I guess she’s made new friends that keep her pretty busy. I haven’t heard from her since summer. I miss her so much that my stomach hurts. It’s so hard to go from having someone you can talk to about anything to having absolutely no one to hang out with.

  After Ellie left, the world suddenly became very quiet. I can go days without anyone my age speaking to me. I told my mom that it would be much easier to keep in touch with Ellie if I had my own cell phone so we could at least text back and forth. Of course my mom said no. My parents think that I’m too young for one. Check back in when you’re fifteen, my dad said. I told him that by then everyone will have forgotten that I exist, so never mind.

  The new girl’s name is Violet and she has pretty black hair and is from New Mexico. Jordyn said that her grandma saved Violet and her mom and brother when their engine exploded outside of town. She said they were standing in the dark on the side of the road when her grandma pulled up next to them in her truck. They all piled into the front cab and Mrs. Petit drove them into town and dropped them off at the Do Pull Inn.

  I don’t know if I believe Jordyn. She doesn’t always tell the truth. I guess Violet and her family are going to stay because Violet says that her mom got a job at the gas station and they rented a house on Hickory Street.

  I felt kind of sad after she told me that. Violet seems nice but my mom will never let me go over to her house. Hickory Street is where my sister, Kendall, and her best friend, Emery, say the meth heads live. I asked Emery how she could possibly know that and she told me to get a good look at their teeth. Without trying to be too obvious, I tried to see Violet’s teeth and they seemed just fine to me. Emery told me to check again in a few months. It takes time for enamel to turn to mush.

  Not to brag, but we live in a pretty nice house. It’s made of brick that my mom says is salmon-colored. I think it looks more pinkish but whatever. I have my own bedroom and we have a rec room in the basement where we keep the foosball table, the karaoke machine and the Xbox. We have a huge trampoline in the backyard with a net around it so no one falls off and breaks their neck.

  Last year, after we got the trampoline, lots of my classmates came over to try it out but that stopped once school started again and it got colder. Kendall says it’s because I’m weird and if I tried harder I’d have friends.

  In social studies class we sit in pods and Mr. Dover pulled an empty desk from the corner and added it to my group so Violet would have somewhere to sit. She didn’t say much, just sort of watched everyone.

  At one point, when Mr. Dover said that we were going to take the ITP tomorrow and it was a very important test that the Department of Education makes every student take to see if we could make it to college, I thought Violet was going to start crying. Violet told me that she hasn’t been to school much in the last couple of months because of the move and all.

  I whispered to her not to worry, that it wasn’t that big of a deal. That all teachers seemed to talk about anymore was “college and career readiness.” I made air quotes with my fingers and Violet smiled. I was hoping that Violet wo
uld sit next to me during lunch but Jordyn got to her first. Oh, well, maybe tomorrow.

  I ended up sitting next to Joy Willard, which is okay. One thing I like about my school is that they don’t let people get away with saving seats or telling people that you can’t sit next to them. If Mrs. Morris, the lady who supervises the lunchroom, sees you don’t have anyone to sit next to she’ll send you to a specific spot. I swear she’s got this superpower that kicks in the minute you carry your tray from the food line. She sees you desperately looking around the cafeteria for a place to sit and then she swoops in and points. “No arguing, Landry,” she’ll say. “Sit there and start eating. This isn’t Perkins, you know.” Even the jerks don’t talk back.

  Then at lunch I felt something hit me in the back. I turned to see what it was and I saw a tater tot on the floor behind where I was sitting. I turned back around and it happened four more times. Plop, plop, plop, plop. The last tater tot landed in my hair and stuck there. I pulled it out and turned around to see who was throwing them. Jordyn and some other girls were sitting at the table behind me and were trying not to laugh. I know it was her. Violet was just staring down at her lunch tray like she didn’t see what happened. At least she wasn’t laughing.

  When I got home and took off my shirt there were four dark spots on the back. Like four greasy bullet holes. I don’t know why Jordyn’s being so mean to me. I’ve never done anything to her. Ever.

  At least I have just about every class with Violet. Everything but math and home base, which is what they used to call homeroom in elementary school. My mom is the school secretary at the elementary school I went to last year. It’s kind of weird not being in the same building together anymore, but I’m glad. I would never tell my mom that, though. She keeps saying things like, “Don’t you miss seeing me every day, Cora?”

  I really don’t miss it. I never realized how awkward it was having my mom around all the time. She knew every move I made. Let me tell you, the school secretary knows everything and I mean everything.

  Last year I found out that my second grade teacher was having an affair with the gym teacher. Of course, my mom didn’t come right out and tell me this; I overheard her telling my dad. I also learned that Mr. Simon, the custodian, had brain cancer and that Darren Moer, a kid in my class, had lice again for the third time. Needless to say, having a mom as the school secretary had its perks, but it feels kind of freeing knowing that she’s a few miles away and can’t peek in the classroom at any point during the day just to see how I’m doing.

  After the last bell rang I started turning my combination lock—56 left, 13 right, 2 left—when Tabitha came up behind me and reached over and spun the lock in the wrong direction, screwing everything up. I started over and then Charlotte did the same thing. My mom was waiting outside for me and I knew she would be mad at me for taking so long. I tried to open my locker for the third time and Jordyn came up and messed me up all over again.

  I leaned my head against the locker door and tried not to cry, then I heard Gabe say, “Real mature, Jordyn.” And like it always does when I see Gabe, my stomach flipped. Gabe was sticking up for me!

  “We’re just joking around,” Jordyn said. “You’re not mad, are you, Cora?” Jordyn asked in this fakey voice. I shook my head even though I felt like slapping her. “See?” Jordyn said, looking at Gabe all innocent.

  “Here, let me help,” Gabe said. “What’s your combo?” The last thing I needed was having Jordyn know my locker combination so I waited until Jordyn left before I told him the numbers. Gabe opened my locker and said, “Just ignore her. Jordyn can be such a bitch sometimes. See you tomorrow.”

  My face was burning up I was blushing so hard. Jordyn and some of the other girls might not like me but Gabe does. I grabbed my book bag, shut my locker, and that’s when I saw Mr. Dover watching me from his classroom doorway. My stomach flipped over again, but not in a good way.

  Beth Crow

  Monday, April 16, 2018

  They load us into the back seat of a police car telling me that in the time it takes for another ambulance to arrive we can get to the hospital. I hold Violet close to me, doing my best to keep her as still as possible as we wind through the countryside. The nearest emergency room is twenty-five miles away in Grayling and the officer is determined to get us there in record time and I’m worried that the bumpy ride will injure her further.

  I’ve given up trying to find the source of the blood that blooms across her chest but am fairly confident that she isn’t bleeding anymore. Instead I focus on keeping her eyes open and on me. Violet’s skin is a scary shade of white and she seems to be floating in and out of consciousness. She isn’t going to pass out—it’s not that—but every few moments a light seems to go out behind her eyes and she disappears into some unknown, private place.

  “Violet, honey,” I say, shaking her lightly. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. Can you tell me where it hurts?” No response. “Stay awake. Keep looking at me.” Her dark lashes flutter, casting fanlike shadows across her cheeks. I smooth her hair away from her forehead and tell the officer to drive faster. My mind is swirling with questions. Who could have done this? What kind of sick monster would attack two innocent girls? The injuries on Cora are horrific. Has she made it to the emergency room already? Is she still alive? I think of her parents and wonder if they have been called. Another girl, Jordyn Petit, was supposed to be at the overnight, too. Where was she? Was she attacked, as well?

  The air is filled with the earthy, rich scent of newly tilled fields. The once hard-packed ground now loosened and velvety to the touch. So different than the red soil back home. We are approaching the city of Grayling and the officer merges onto Highway 218 and vehicles move swiftly to the right so we can pass. Signs for the University of Grayling Hospitals and Clinics let us know that we are getting close. Traffic thickens the closer we get to the hospital and despite the sirens it feels like an eternity for vehicles to get out of our way.

  Finally, we pass by a handful of restaurants, the university softball fields and a number of university buildings. We arrive at the newly constructed children’s hospital, a beautiful structure built of steel and glass that rises high above the others. The officer bypasses the main doors and drives directly to the emergency entrance. “They are expecting us,” he says, pulling to an abrupt stop.

  Three hospital workers converge upon us and Violet is carefully but firmly taken from my grasp and laid out on a stretcher. The officer reaches for my arm and Violet is whisked inside without me. “My name is Keith Grady and I’ll be right in. Keep trying to see if she can tell you anything, anything at all about what happened.”

  I nod and rush through the doors, looking left and right for any sign as to where they have taken my daughter. She’s gone. “Are you the mother?” A heavyset woman rises from behind a counter.

  “Yes,” I say. “Where is she?” My voice shakes and I press my hand against my throat as if to steady my words. “Can I be with her?”

  “The doctor is looking at her right now. Let me get some information from you and then we’ll take you back to her.” I answer her questions as quickly as possible and then take a seat to fill out the reams of paperwork. When I get to the section that asks for a list of family members I think of Max.

  I forgot about him. I pull my phone from my pocket. He still doesn’t answer and I shoot off another text to him telling him to call me immediately. “I’m going to kill him,” I mutter and am immediately sorry. How can I say something like that after what happened to Violet and Cora?

  “Ms. Crow,” the receptionist says, approaching me. “I can take you to see your daughter now.”

  She leads me down a hallway to a boxy room where Violet lies atop an examination table, face turned away from the door. Her bloody clothing has been removed, snipped from her body and tossed to the floor. All she is wearing is her underwear and a training bra that she doesn’t rea
lly need. Both are streaked with red. Her hands look as if they’ve been dipped in red paint, a stark contrast to her pale forearms. I scour her skin in search of any wounds but find none. I look to the doctor, a tall man who gives me a reassuring nod. “Looks like only a few bumps and bruises but we’ll check her over carefully.” He turns to one of the nurses. “Let’s get a heated blanket on her and then we can get her cleaned up.”

  “But all the blood...” I begin.

  “It’s not your daughter’s,” he says and I nearly collapse with relief. “I’m Dr. Soto. You can come on over next to her,” the doctor invites and I go to Violet’s side.

  I bend over her and lay the palm of my hand against her cheek. Her skin is cold to the touch. “Violet, honey,” I whisper, “what happened?” She blinks up at me and I see no recognition in her eyes. She opens her mouth but no words come out, only a weak croak. I think of head injuries, drugs and monstrous acts that might leave a child speechless. Panicked, I look to Dr. Soto, who has stripped the bloody gloves from his hands and drops them into a hazardous waste container.

  “She’s in shock,” he explains as if reading my mind. “We’ll get her warmed up, give her fluids and watch her vitals. Barring any complications, she most likely will be able to go home today.”

  “I want to stay with her,” I say, bracing myself for a fight. There’s no way I’m going to leave her side.

  “Of course,” Dr. Soto says and drags a chair from the corner of the room and situates it right next to the examination table. “Judy here will take care of you. I’ll be back in just a bit.” Dr. Soto briefly puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder and exits the room. I sit down next to Violet, who still doesn’t seem to register my presence. Judy, a woman around my age with deep commas etched into the corners of her mouth, speaks to Violet in a low, soothing voice.