Child Protective Services, Rick figured. “And they moved you into your grandmother’s house?”
“Yeah, with my grandma. Soon my father moved in with us. Until he…you know.” Clara flattened her lips together, her chin low, resting on her chest. “My mother acted all okay about it. I think she was even happy. I visited her once a month…until she told me she didn’t want me coming no more.”
Clara’s head lifted. She looked at Rick with a glazed expression. Then she let out a deep breath and sucked in a sniffle. “I was ten when she told me she couldn’t love me because I’m high yellow and that’s not her taste.”
“High yellow? What does that…”
“It means I’m too light skinned.” Clara’s eyes watered. She squeezed them shut and a pair of tears rolled down each cheek. “My dad is half Puerto Rican. I guess I got the light skin from him. I don’t know, but she said I wasn’t black enough and she couldn’t love me because of that.”
Rick felt genuine frustration for Clara’s tortured life. He wanted to do something for her other than listen. A sudden flutter of dizziness told him he needed to contain his emotions. He could not overstep the bounds of his job. “When was the last time you saw her?”
The question seemed to enrage the girl even further. “About a year and a half before I came here. She called and asked me to meet her in downtown Brooklyn. My grandmother told me not to go, but I went anyway.”
“What did she want?”
Clara slammed her right fist on the desk and began trembling. “To tell me she was pregnant.” She swiped at her cheeks with the palms of her hands. “Not like she had to tell me. She was all fat and shit. She said she was having a little girl.”
Rick handed her a tissue from a box at the corner of his desk. She grabbed it and slowly patted her cheeks and eyes. He wondered why Clara’s mother felt the need to advertise the pregnancy to the girl.
“She said she would love this little girl and do everything for her that she couldn’t do for me.” Clara’s low-pitched voice suddenly turned into a violent roar. “SHE COULD HAVE DONE IT FOR ME!”
Rick placed his hand on Clara’s right shoulder. She jerked away, but then leaned forward, resting her right cheek on the desk. Rick put his hand on her back. He left it there in the only version of a hug he was allowed to give. Clara closed her eyes and breathed steadily in and out, a self-consoling technique all the kids were taught.
After a while she lifted her head, but didn’t look at him. “She don’t love me, but I’m working real hard to get over it. People like you always told me to keep it in the past and focus on the future.” The glazed look had disappeared. “I’m trying, I really am.”
“Are you all right now?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Listen, I have an idea. Why don’t I speak to Miss Miller about having a play here? It could star you and some of the other kids.”
“She’ll say no.”
“We do have school here, and schools are supposed to put on performances. I don’t see why she would say no,” Rick said, certain that it was a good idea, “Now, if she says yes, would you like to perform?”
Clara nodded in the affirmative. “I would like that…I would like that a lot.”
“Well then, may I suggest you control your behavior to a point where I can recommend you? At the very least, until Miss Miller will let you change that shirt?” His attempt at a joke went over her head, or was just ignored. “You have to keep that temper of yours in check, Clara.”
“I know, I know. And I could if everyone would just leave me the hell alone!”
“They’re the ones in control, not you. Someday, you’ll be out of here and your life will be yours to control however you see fit. I hope when the time comes, you’ll make the right choices. Right now, however, you need to do what it takes to get to that point, and what it will take is not defying the authority of those who have the power.”
Clara didn’t respond.
“You have to admit, stubborn rebelliousness hasn’t worked for you yet,” Rick pointed out. “Can you at least agree with that?”
Clara’s eyes faced down, refusing to make eye contact. After a few long moments, her shoulders slightly shrugged.
“Defiant to the end, I see.” Rick suppressed a grin. “Will you at least try?”
“Fine,” Clara offered.
“Good. It’s time to go back to class.”
Clara stood up without speaking further. Rick walked her out of the office and to her class. Once she was inside, he shut the door and locked it before returning to the therapy suite. He went over in his head the sessions he had conducted with Clara, feeling his own anger toward the life she had been forced to lead.
He reached under the hair that hung over his forehead and placed his first two fingers against his seven-year-old scar. A slight sting spidered from the scar and back into his brain. He’d felt this a number of times in the past, particularly during the first several months of his “new life.” The doctor said it was usually triggered by an emotion or a memory from his past, but since he remembered nothing, he could neither prove nor disprove the theory.
This time the feeling, he was sure, had to do with Clara and the abuse she had suffered. Rick felt like he’d experienced it himself. He couldn’t understand why this would be the case, when his memories through hypnosis with Doctor Obenchain usually revolved around a happy family and a white picket fence.
What was it she reminded him of every time he saw rage in her eyes? What memory was trying desperately to rise to the surface but remained a mystery? He truly wished even a tiny morsel of it made sense.
Chapter Twelve
The door to the master bedroom in the Long Island house stood open, so Derrick walked in. He found Jen staring out the terrace window toward the backyard in an almost trance-like state. Her suitcase was open. Folded clothes decorated the king-sized bed.
“I see you’ve taken over the large bedroom,” Derrick said in a somewhat joking manner. “I guess it hadn’t occurred to you this might have been my room, as this is my house and all…”
“What do you want?”
“Everyone’s here.”
“Everyone?”
“Everyone I could get.”
“Tell them I’ll be right down.”
Jen turned away from the window. She strode past the bed with conviction, making sure her white shirt was tucked into her jeans. In the mirror, she double-checked the gun, securely fastened in its holster, on her belt. She gave it an assertive pat and exited the room. Derrick followed.
****
Rick had spent the entire night deciding how to approach Miss Miller regarding his idea for a play. He felt the best approach would be to walk in cool and confident and present the plan. No reason she shouldn’t like it.
Why wouldn’t she listen to him? He was a professional and in a position of expertise on the psychological rehabilitation of his patients. Of course, there was one underlying fact—she intimidated the hell out of him. She was one of the only people he was totally unable to read.
It was just a few minutes before the children were about to be led down here to their classrooms. Rick stood in front of the therapy suite, watching teachers take their place by the open doors to their rooms. Other residence staff members walked various students to the front of Dr. Barnes’ office for morning medication.
Rick’s mind wandered as he observed the activity. He didn’t even notice the tap on his shoulder.
“Earth to Rick Rasner?” Janet Murphy whispered in his ear.
Taken by surprise, Rick spun to face her. “Janet!” He placed a hand on her arm and smiled. “How are you?”
“My doctor says I’ll live. Thanks for asking.” She laughed as he tried not to stare at the large bandage wrapped around her head. “He said I should stay home the entire week, but I didn’t see any reason to.”
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
“God was with me that day,” Janet insisted, with a tone much like a teacher would use on a very young student. “That’s why it’s important to pray, Rick, it’s important to believe. God keeps us safe, even when our own clumsiness does not.”
“I’m not very religious. I don’t think I’ve ever really believed.”
“You may not believe now.” She looked at Rick with curious eyes. “But how do you know you
never
believed? How can you be so sure?
“I guess I really don’t know.”
Katherine Miller walked out of her office and he excused himself from Janet. “Glad you’re all right. I’ll talk to you later, there’s something I have to do.”
Miss Miller stood in a navy-blue suit like a military leader, with her hands at her sides, a clipboard clutched under one arm. Her head moved from far left to far right as she watched the goings-on. Rick strode up to her. The back and forth movement of her head took in his approach but didn’t stop to rest on him. “Miss Miller, if I could speak with you a moment?”
As he waited for an answer, she walked past him without an acknowledgement of any kind. She went to meet Ms. Hefner and Officer James who led a young student, a heavyset African-American boy, through the hallway.
“Who is this?” she asked Hefner.
“He was dropped on our doorstep today. He’s going into the High School class. According to his record, he sold drugs, ran with a gang. Even beat up one of his teachers.”
“I see.” Miller looked into the boy’s face with her chin up and a large frown. The boy looked back at her, his cheeks tight in a gesture of insolence. “And what is his name?”
“I can tell you my name. Why don’t you ask me?”
“I was not speaking to you!”
“His name is Tyrell Birkins,” Hefner said. “He comes to us from good ol’ Philly.”
“I hope he realizes that sort of behavior will
not
be tolerated here at the Brookhill Children’s Psychiatric Residence!” As Miller spoke, she stepped up to Tyrell, which made the large boy shrink a step backward.
Still, he gazed down on Miller with a spiteful glare. She responded with an even nastier one. “Do you understand me, Mr. Birkins?” She took a step closer, coming almost nose-to-nose with the boy.
“I understand you in my face right now.” Tyrell shouted though he took another step back.
“Excuse me?” Miller shouted.
“Your breath stinks, lady!” Tyrell said with a bit less aggressiveness in his voice. “I don’t like people in my face, especially people with bad breath.”
“Understand this, right now! I am the director of this facility, I
can
walk up to your face, and you
will
respect authority while you are here!”
This time Tyrell pushed forward, his chest shoving the director back several paces. The move caught Miller by surprise. The clipboard slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. She righted herself and then let out a deep, angry exhale through her nose. She looked back and forth to see who still might be watching. At that moment, it was only Rick from a few feet away.
“I told you, I don’t like no one in my face.”
Officer James jumped between them, placing his palm on Tyrell’s chest and propelling him against the wall.
Tyrell threw his arms in the air, showing his empty palms. “All right. I’m cool, I’m cool. I ain’t starting no trouble. I just don’t like no one in my face, all right?”
With his hands still in the air, Tyrell looked over the group, from James, to Hefner, to Miller. Rick was curious to see what therapeutic strategies Miller would utilize to resolve things.
She took a step back and nodded her head. “This one’s dangerous. You know where he belongs.” She whirled around and walked away. Hefner grabbed Rick by the arm, turned him, and nudged him in the opposite direction. “Keep walking. We know what we’re doing here.” She let go of his arm, using enough thrust to send home her message. Though Rick continued his forward motion, he peered back over his shoulder, to see Officer James shove Tyrell against the wall a second time.
“What the fuck?”
Officer James shoved Tyrell up against the wall again. This time, Tyrell sidestepped and lunged at the much bigger guard. In one motion, James took the kid to the floor with a straight tackle. Miss Miller returned bringing Doctor Barnes. James held Tyrell on the floor while the doctor stuck a syringe in the kid’s right arm.
Rick realized he’d stopped walking. He pulled in a breath unable to believe the way they were treating this boy.
Tyrell continued to struggle, but his fight grew weaker as the anesthetic took effect. Officer James dragged the boy across the floor and into the seclusion room while Hefner held the door.
“He’s a tough one, difficult to control. Twenty-four hours, followed by a full psychiatric evaluation scheduled as soon as possible,” Miller ordered. “I want the incident reports on my desk by this afternoon.”
“Got it,” Hefner responded as she locked the door.
“I expect the results will not be a surprise to me, Doctor?” Miller snapped toward Barnes, who offered no response.
Rick bent down and picked up Miller’s clipboard. He held it out for the director, who snatched it out of his hands and strode toward the office.
Perhaps it was the wrong time to approach her, but Rick chose to anyway just before she entered the office. “Excuse me, Miss Miller, if you have a moment?”
She paused in her step and turned only her head toward him, annoyed. He remained quiet, until she acknowledged him.
“I wanted to run an idea by you, an opportunity for the children.” He presented his proposal with as much self-assurance as he could muster.
“And what could that possibly be, Mr. Rasner?”
“What would you think of us having the children put on a play as sort of an extracurricular activity?” When there was no response except continued staring, he added, “We could choose a classic play, assign parts to the kids, train them, and then have them perform for an audience right here in the…”
“And who will run this project?”
“We could get volunteers. I would volunteer.”
Miller scoffed. It was a reaction he was not expecting. “Which of our patients would you look to perform this play of yours?” she asked with a hint of mockery. “Perhaps you mean that young man banging on the padded walls in seclusion?”
“I’m sure we have many children here who would benefit from this.”
“For example?”