Silent Pledge

by Hannah Alexander

  Chapter Seventeen

  Once upon a time long ago, Thursday had been Mercy’s day off. She could barely remember the feeling of freedom. When Lukas was off at the same time, they had gone hiking together in the Mark Twain National Forest…back when life was simple and she felt righteous for hating Theo, and she could dream about a future with Lukas without worrying if her dreams were sins. During the summer, when Tedi was out of school, the three of them went swimming at the lake. If only Mercy had realized then how precious those times were.

  Now, at eight-thirty Thursday morning, she not only missed her days off, but she also especially missed the joy of those first few months of living with her daughter without guilt. Whatever made her think she needed a busier practice? She didn’t want a bigger income. She wanted more time for the important things in life. She craved a few hours during the week when she wasn’t fretting over noncompliant patients or fighting with insurance companies or taking calls in the middle of the night and worrying if the effects of her sleeping pill would impede her judgment. She loved her patients, and she loved her work, but there was always the possibility of getting too much of a good thing. She was far past that limit.

  The clinic telephone rang for the third time as she was preparing to meet with two patients who had arrived moments ago. Several people who had canceled their appointments yesterday because of the icy roads were scheduled to come in later today. Today was still the nurses’ traditional day off, and Loretta was feeling ill today, so Mercy was on her own.

  “Richmond Clinic.” She sat down at the front desk and tried to decipher Loretta’s writing in the appointment book.

  “Hello, this is Lee Becker. Dr. Mercy, is that you? I’m so glad someone’s there.” Lee’s words spilled over each other in a soft rush of urgency. “Something’s wrong with Shannon. If we had an emergency room I’d take her there, but I don’t want to risk driving her that far.”

  “Shannon?” Mercy was suddenly alarmed. “What’s happened?” Fifteen-year-old Shannon Becker had been the victim of a rape last fall, and her parents had been concerned about her emotional condition ever since. So had Mercy, especially since she hadn’t seen the girl in a couple of months. Shannon had failed to show up for her last appointment.

  “She’s gotten so weak she almost passed out this morning,” Lee said. “I haven’t been able to get her to eat much for the past few weeks—she says she’s on this diet, but I don’t like it. She’s lost way too much weight. Now I’m wondering if she’s got the flu on top of everything else. Anyway, I gave her some orange juice and it perked her up, but she just doesn’t look right. Will you check her out?”

  “Give her more juice if she can keep it down, then bring her in as soon as you can.” Mercy glanced up at the clock, suppressing a sigh. “I’ll probably be here for a while.” And maybe she would have to call Lauren in to help. Josie had left early yesterday with the flu.

  “Thanks, Dr. Mercy,” Lee said.

  “Is she still seeing her counselor?” Mercy had recommended weekly counseling sessions for Shannon after the rape.

  “Not for several weeks,” Lee said. “Dr. Metcalf said she thought Shannon was doing well, and Shannon’s been so busy at school there just hasn’t been time. I’ll give her more orange juice and bring her over.”

  After disconnecting, Mercy switched on the answering machine so nothing would interrupt her meeting. She walked down the corridor to her office and stepped inside. She took two deep, sustaining breaths and said a quick prayer for strength.

  Kendra Oppenheimer had silky golden brown hair, and her eyes were the color of sparkling purple-blue tanzanite. Her delicate features and heart-shaped face only needed a smile. Mercy knew that smile would be a long time coming.

  Buck sat slumped in the chair beside his wife. Though he was only in his late twenties, the bags under his eyes suggested an age increase of ten years since Saturday night. With his body-builder muscles and height, he looked like a giant beside Kendra. But the same message of disillusionment filled both their expressions: What was happening to their lives? To their marriage? What was going to happen to Kendra?

  Mercy sat down in the swivel office chair behind her desk and faced the young couple. “Kendra, you look a lot better than you did Saturday night. How are you feeling?”

  Kendra drew a slender shoulder up in a half shrug. “Drugged.” She rested her hands on the arms of her chair, her gaze slightly out of focus. Her eyelids drooped halfway over those beautiful eyes.

  “That’s normal.” Mercy studied the report in front of her. Kendra was on several different medications to treat bipolar disorder. “When your psychiatrist gets the medicines regulated you should feel better.”

  “They’ve already changed the stuff once,” Buck said. “That lithium messed her up, so they had to put her on Haldol.” He glanced sideways at his wife. “They shouldn’t have sent her home so soon.”

  Kendra’s eyes came open wide. She looked at Buck, then away, and her hands stiffened on the arms of the chair. “Maybe I should’ve just moved in there.”

  Buck didn’t reply, and Mercy felt her heart contract at the pain that raced across Kendra’s face. A sense of identification brought back memories that Mercy thought she had released months ago.

  “Buck, they wouldn’t have allowed her to come home if they thought she was still suicidal,” Mercy said quietly.

  “I just think I know my wife better than some doctor who never even met her before this week.”

  “You just think life would be a lot better with me locked away.” Kendra didn’t look at Buck this time but kept her head bent, her full lips pressed together.

  “I never said that.”

  “You don’t have to say it.” Kendra’s hands gripped the armrests of the chair.

  “Hold it, you two.” Mercy had been their family doc since they were married. She’d been through a lot with them, and she felt as if she knew them well enough to speak frankly. “Kendra, you have to understand that your husband loves you, and his only concern is to keep you safe through this.”

  Kendra looked up at Mercy briefly, and the doubt was evident in her eyes.

  “And, Buck,” Mercy continued, “you have to remember that your wife is not rejecting you now. She is ill. I think all this springboarded from the grief of losing her father and her disappointment over her inability to conceive. Somehow that sense of loss has metamorphosed into something more sinister, and that’s what we’re treating.”

  “He thinks I ought to just snap out of this depression,” Kendra said. “He told me that once.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Buck protested. “I just told you to try to get your mind off everything for a while. I thought if we went on a trip or something, the change of scenery would do you some good.”

  “You told me I should get my mind off myself—that’s what you said.” Kendra shot back.

  “That isn’t how it works,” Mercy said. “And Kendra isn’t doing this to get attention. The way she feels right now has nothing to do with weakness of character.”

  “I know that,” Buck said sharply. “I do.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  “Calm down.” Mercy braced herself against the unhappy tension in the room. “We have to work together on this. The two of you especially need to realize that the illness is the enemy, and you are allies. Of all psychiatric illnesses, bipolar disorder is among the most responsive to treatment.” Mercy leaned forward. “With proper treatment and dedication, and with prayer, we can beat this thing.”

  “Have you treated something like this before?” Buck asked.

  “Yes. Unfortunately, some studies show that nearly half the people in this country suffer from some form of mood disorder.” Mercy pulled a pamphlet out of her drawer and pushed it across the desk toward Kendra. “I’m sure they gave you a lot of literature at Cox North, but here’s one you may not have yet. Kendra, statistically speaking, probably thousands of people in Knolls suffer from depression or m
anic depression, OCD or some other mental or emotional problem.”

  “How many have you treated here?” Buck asked.

  Mercy felt their sudden, concentrated attention, and she couldn’t help picking up on the implication. “Believe me, not nearly as many as your psychiatrist. Dr. Guthrie handles this kind of illness all the time.”

  “He’s a two-hour drive from here, Dr. Mercy,” Buck said. “He wants to see Kendra every Monday and Thursday, and that’s eight hours of driving a week. If I can’t get off for the appointments, that means Kendra will have to drive herself. I don’t want that.”

  Mercy sighed and glanced down once more to study the report on Kendra from Dr. Guthrie. She was taking Serzone for depression, Haldol for the mania and Ativan for restlessness. To Kendra, all those prescriptions must seem like an onslaught of medication. There would probably still be some quantitative adjustment.

  Of course, if Mercy could call Dr. Guthrie for consultations every week…she knew it would be possible. On an intellectual level, she knew she could care for Kendra’s needs medically. But even as she silently accepted the responsibility, she felt another burden of stress load her down. When would the deluge end?

  She cleared her throat. “Kendra, I know Dr. Guthrie has already emphasized the importance of taking your medication faithfully. Do you have a daily dispenser?”

  The couple looked at her blankly. Mercy turned and pulled open a door on the credenza behind her. She reached in and brought out a plastic device about half the size of a small paperback novel. The container had fourteen connected snap-on lids, each marking morning or evening for a particular day of the week. The pill box was smaller than the one Mercy had purchased for Crystal Hollis. “I want you to use this. It’ll help you keep track of everything at first.”

  “But that’s what forgetful old people use,” Kendra complained, staring at the dispenser as if it were a mousetrap with a mouse still inside.

  Mercy felt a rush of irritation at the whiny sound of Kendra’s voice, but before she could snap a retort, she stopped and reminded herself of the despair and emotional pain the depression could foster.

  “Kendra,” she said gently, “I need you to work with me. If you want me to help you, I will try, but I can’t do this without you.” She waited until Kendra met her gaze. “Will you help?”

  Once more Kendra gave her that disconcerting stare, first at Mercy’s left eye, then the right, then back again. She nodded.

  “And I want you to keep in touch with me and call me anytime you notice a change in your emotional or physical reactions. Will you do that?”

  Again Kendra nodded. Buck nodded, too. Mercy sat back in her chair. “Buck, during the first few weeks, Kendra and I will be depending on you to catch any warning signs. Kendra’s depression can make it difficult for her to follow my instructions, and I need you to make sure she does, especially taking the medication. If her mood swings to mania, the resulting euphoria could convince her she doesn’t need treatment any longer. I need you to call me if that happens.”

  “So now I’ll be living with a prison guard instead of a fireman?” Kendra’s voice sounded weary of it all.

  “No, Kendra, you’re going to be living with your husband, who loves you and knows what to watch for.” Mercy stood to her feet and came around the desk. She sat down in the empty chair on Kendra’s right and reached out and took her hand. “We can beat this together.”

  “I’ve got a brain in there, huh?” Seventy-year-old Mr. Fletcher sat on the exam bed and looked at the CT film Lukas held up to the light. “My wife will be happy to hear that. She says I’m so dense a sledgehammer wouldn’t hurt me. Guess I almost proved her right.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Lukas said as he laid the film on the counter and turned back to Mr. Fletcher, “for an extra couple of bucks I’ll get you a copy to take home with you. Then you can prove to her you’ve got a brain.”

  The man grinned as Lukas helped him to his feet. “That’s too good a deal to pass up. Guess I’d better stop messin’ around out in the barn when Mildred’s at her sister’s. Where do I go to pay for the film?”

  Lukas directed him to the secretary, then bent down to finish filling out the chart. The Fletchers had been married for forty-five years, and except for those days she visited her sister down in Arkansas, they’d never been apart. He’d told Lukas that five minutes after he’d stumbled into the house with a bump on the head from a falling tractor chain, his wife had called to check on him. She’d said she just “had a feeling” something wasn’t right. Then she’d insisted he hurry to the emergency room and get checked out. She was on her way home now.

  How would it feel to be that connected to someone who loved you?

  “Nice set of wheels, Doc,” came a deep voice behind him.

  Lukas stopped writing and turned to find Catcher grinning at him through the E.R. window, his broad, weathered face beaming. Between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand dangled a very familiar set of keys.

  “It’s outside,” Catcher said. “Good as new. I drove your Jeep around some to charge the battery, but you could probably use a new one.”

  Lukas looked at the keys, then back at Catcher. “A new Jeep?” He reached up and took the keys.

  “Just a battery. You don’t want a new Jeep, because then you’ll worry about messing up the shiny new paint job. Don’t ruin a good thing.”

  “Thank you, Catcher.”

  “Soon as you can dig her out of the mud she’s all yours.”

  Lukas met the ornery grin with a chuckle.

  “Lays rubber nicely.” The biker’s grin broadened even farther; then he sobered some. “I bought my kid one like yours two years ago when he went off to college. He’s still got it, and he treats it better than I treat my baby.”

  “You have grown children?”

  Catcher nodded. “I know, I look too young for that, don’t I?” He reached back toward the hip pocket of his jeans. “Better than that, I’ve got a grandson.” With a practiced, fluid motion, he flipped open his billfold directly to a small photograph of a grinning little boy about three years of age. “He’s my daughter’s kid. She’s a paralegal up in Jefferson City. I’ve been after her for three years to take off and stay home with him, and she finally agreed. They can afford her staying at home. Her husband’s got his own auto parts store there. She’s six months along with the next baby—a little girl. What do you think, Doc? Isn’t he something?” The child had dark brown hair that had already grown down over his ears, and he was wearing a tiny replica of Catcher’s black leather jacket.

  “He looks just like you,” Lukas said. Poor kid.

  “Yeah, well, don’t worry, he’ll outgrow it. That jacket’s the closest he’s getting to my biker gang.” Catcher flipped the billfold shut, but as he did so, a business card fell out and landed faceup on the counter. “No grandkid of mine’s going to be splattered across the highway because his grandpa’s too stupid to set a better example. I told my girl as soon as she quits her job, that bike out there’s going to market and I’m hanging up my jacket.” He stopped, shook his head. “Grandkids can sure make you take another look at your life. Guess this is my last big fling. Got any kids, Doc?”

  “I’m not married.”

  “Neither am I—now.” There was sadness in Catcher’s voice. “Cop work is hard on marriages, hard on families.”

  Lukas stared at him. “You’re a cop?”

  “Used to be.” Catcher gestured to the business card that had fallen onto the desk.

  Lukas picked the card up and looked at it. The man’s legal name was Jeff Golhofer. He was a stockbroker and financial advisor with a well-known financial institution. Lukas looked back at the man. “You get around, Catcher.”

  “Yeah, a little too much. I got the cocaine habit when I was a cop. I tried to blame my addiction on stress for a long time, but I have no one to blame but myself. I was weak. I had to admit I had a problem and make a change in my life. I’m just glad I di
dn’t develop an addiction to money the way I did to drugs. Wouldn’t have lasted long as a stockbroker if I had.” He grimaced, as if he felt he’d been talking too much. “Well, you’d better get that new battery before you get stalled somewhere again. I might not be around next time. When are you going to rip these strings out of my arm?”

  “Come in Friday night.”

  “What, you’re going to make me miss out on party night?”

  Lukas chuckled and shook his head, then handed Catcher the card. Catcher slipped it into his pocket, then glanced around the empty waiting room and leaned casually against the counter.

  “Don’t guess you’ve heard any more about that kidnapping business, have you?” he asked softly.

  Lukas looked up at the man and studied his expression. Was the man being a little too casual? “Not in the last hour or so. In a small town like Herald, gossip is as abundant as lake water. Last I heard, the Special Crimes Unit is still in the area, questioning residents.”

  “Yeah, I know, they’ve been by to see me a couple of times.” Catcher didn’t seem upset about the visits. “I told ’em I’d do anything I could to help them, even if it means snitching on my own people. It’s not going to come to that, though. Ever tried carrying a baby on a motorcycle? Can’t you just see pastel blankets and booties blowing in the wind?” He grinned, but the humor died quickly. “I don’t know, Doc, with two kids disappearing in this town, even if that other kid is found, I think the search ought to continue for the kidnapper.”

  “So do I.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mercy sank down onto her secretary’s chair and took a deep breath as Buck and Kendra walked out the front door of the office. They had orders to call if they noticed any problems. Kendra was supposed to check in by telephone tomorrow and come in on Monday. She had a new appointment with her psychiatrist in Springfield Tuesday. The constant vigilance for the first few days would be comforting to both Kendra and Buck, even though Kendra was still resisting. The overwhelming power of a mood disorder could make its victim feel hopeless. Kendra needed to be reminded repeatedly in the next few weeks that she was not fighting this thing alone. Buck needed that reminder, too.