Mr. Dempsey said, “They’re on the way.”
Mrs. Dempsey focused on the bundle in my arms. “Poor little thing.”
The grandmother babysitter held a phone to her ear, and it sounded like she relayed information to the emergency dispatcher. Sherilyn ran from her house. Her scream pulled a cord strung from my head to my soul and it vibrated like an electric eel, shooting through me. “Kaycee!”
In a moment Sherilyn snatched her from my arms and knelt on the hot pavement, surrounded by neighbors. She rocked the child, sobbing and sputtering nonsense words.
Kaycee’s arm flopped with each sway forward and back. She didn’t respond.
The toddler’s face, normally pink-cheeked with a shy smile sneaking out, look so still, a blue tint began coloring bags forming under her eyes. I couldn’t bear to see that arm, wobbling back and forth, back and forth.
As Sherilyn’s teary jumble of words poured over Kaycee’s still body, the soft plunk of stone hitting the pavement caught Frank’s attention. “Well, look at that.” Below Sherilyn, where it had popped out of Kaycee’s pocket, a one inch square tile lay on the street. The cobalt blue looked like neon.
I bent over and snatched it, slipping the piece from my backyard project into my pocket. Why did Kaycee have it? Did she pick it up from my house when she and Cheyenne brought their paintings?
Lilacs. I’d lost time this afternoon. Now this. Frank laughed. “You’re too stupid to put it together.”
The ambulance shrieked at the entrance to the neighborhood. From far away something like my voice sounded strong and firm. “Mrs. Dempsey. Will you stay with the other children while Sherilyn goes to the hospital with Kaycee?”
I sprinted to Sherilyn’s house.
Cheyenne stood on the couch that was set in front of the wide living room window. Her face looked the color of snow, her eyes round and frightened. “Is Kaycee dead?”
I wanted to scream along with the voices in my head. “The ambulance people are going to take care of everything. Can you find your mother’s phone for me?”
As if glad to have something useful to do, Cheyenne hopped off the couch and ran into the kitchen. “She was talking when I got up. She talks to my grandma all the time.”
I followed Cheyenne into a kitchen in mid-baking chaos. Cheyenne found the phone next to the stove and handed it to me.
Mrs. Dempsey filled the doorway behind me. “Hello. You must be Cheyenne. I’ll bet you’re a great big sister.”
“Mrs. Dempsey is going to stay with you. She’s a really nice lady.”
Cheyenne’s eyes shimmered with tears. “I want to go with Mommy.”
I squatted down. “She’s got to take care of Kaycee right now. So you need to take look after things at home until she gets back.”
Cheyenne sniffed. “Can you stay with me and Jackson?”
“I am going to help your mom until your dad can get here.” I pulled her into my arms and kissed the top of her head. “Mrs. Dempsey will need help with Jackson.”
Cheyenne’s bottom lip trembled but she nodded.
When I raced back to the ambulance, they were strapping Kaycee onto the stretcher.
Mr. Dempsey had the neighbors on the sidewalk, giving the EMTs room to work.
Sherilyn stood above the two EMTs, a young man and woman who could have been twins. She held her hand to her mouth, her eyes shiny with tears. She slowly focused on me. “She stopped breathing.” Sherilyn’s own chest heaved and she panted. “Dear God, she stopped breathing. I don’t. It’s. I…” Sherilyn broke into sobs.
I drew her into a hug. “She’s going to be okay.” Though I doubted the truth of this. “Hang on. She needs you.” Nearly the same thing I’d said to Cheyenne and it worked as well with Sherilyn.
She sucked in a sob and turned back to Kaycee. They loaded the little body into the bay of the ambulance. The blood had drained from Sherilyn’s face but she’d stopped crying. She leaned toward her baby. I knew. Oh God, I knew how much she longed to cradle her precious child.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital. Here’s your phone.” I folded her fingers around it.
She didn’t pay any attention to me as she crawled into the ambulance after Kaycee.
The ambulance blipped the siren and pulled a U-turn, then headed out of the neighborhood. I hurried toward my car in the garage.
Someone else should be going. A friend or family. But she’d only moved here three days ago. She was alone and terrified. There was only me.
I opened my car and slipped behind the wheel. “I’m okay.”
Frank laughed. “You’re nowhere near okay, cupcake.”
31
I found Sherilyn pacing and frantic in the emergency room lobby. She ran to me as soon as I stepped through automatic glass doors into the chilled air. “She was blue. And her leg. Oh my God. It started to swell. I tried to call Donnie. He’s on a train. All I could do was get a hold of one of his buddies to get the dispatcher.”
I hugged her and the Chorus let loose in a symphony of discord.
You can’t help her.
It’s your fault.
Kaycee is dead.
“What did the docs tell you?”
She wiped her eyes. “They said they’re giving her the antivenom, but she’s so small and they can’t predict anything.” Her voice squeezed to a squeak. “She wasn’t breathing.”
“But they resuscitated her. They’ll do everything they can and they can do a lot. Don’t give up hope.”
Frank: “You know she’s a goner.”
“She’s not going to die!” I said it with enough force to shut Frank down, but it must have helped Sherilyn.
She straightened her shoulders and sucked in a breath. “She’s not.”
We waited. I assured Sherilyn that Mrs. Dempsey would take good care of Cheyenne and Jackson. I brought her soda and water she didn’t drink, snacks she didn’t eat. Mainly I managed Frank and the others and sat in silence while Sherilyn paced and talked to her mother on the phone.
I thought about calling Tara and cancelling our appointment but I couldn’t risk worrying Mom. Maybe Kaycee would recover and everything would be fine.
After a while, a woman in scrubs came into the waiting room. Sherilyn gasped and rushed to her. The woman introduced herself as Dr. Taylor, a pediatrician. She had Sherilyn sit.
“Kaycee is holding her own. I wish I had better news for you, but right now, it’s touch and go. We have her on a ventilator because the venom has paralyzed some of her functions. It’s a good thing you found her when you did because she had no time to spare.”
Sherilyn shook her head. “She’s going to get better, though.”
Dr. Taylor hesitated. “We’re hoping for the best.”
It’s your fault.
They’re all dead.
Murderer.
Dr. Taylor stood. “She’s in ICU now. I’ll take you to see her.”
Sherilyn jumped up. She stuck her hand out to me. “Come with me.”
“NO!” Frank ordered.
I clamped down on my back teeth “They usually only allow immediate family.”
She squeezed my hand. “I need you. I can’t do this alone.”
She could, but I wouldn’t tell her no.
The hospital’s smell of antiseptic and cleaning supplies set me on edge. The cold air on my skin felt like walking in a morgue.
Bile rose, burning my throat and I braced for the memory.
Leather straps loop my forearms, cinched to the metal frame, covered with the loosely woven white hospital blanket as if they can conceal my imprisonment from me. Have I been here days? Months? The catheter irritates me inside and out, humiliating and insufferable. I beg and scream, call for Mom to save me. The horror inside my head is inescapable. Accusing, threatening. Hating.
I want to die. Always the smell and cold air. And the white.
I mumbled under my breath. “I’m Jamie Butler. I’m Amanda’s daughter. I’m a retired Buffalo cop.”
>
Dr. Taylor held open a swinging door. “This way.” She led us into the unit. “I’m only allowing you five minutes right now. But soon I’ll let one of you stay as long as you want.”
A circular desk filled the space with rooms radiating like spokes. A handful of women and a few men seemed busy, each doing their own task, at monitors, with clipboards, trays of vials, stethoscopes slung around the necks of older staff, younger people with iPads.
Suddenly Sherilyn’s grip tightened and she yanked me toward a room. She let out a cry when she saw the little form in the bed. Too many machines, a tube down her tiny throat, her face bloated and pale.
Sherilyn let go of my hand and raced to the bed. She leaned over and spoke with strength, like the fierce mother she was. “Hi little Kaycee, girl. Mommy’s here. You need to try real hard to get better. Okay? ‘Cause me and Daddy need you to come home and play with Cheyenne and Jackson. We need you to make our family perfect.”
There wasn’t a note of fear or anguish in her tone. She talked for the five minutes we were allotted. Dr. Taylor returned and coaxed Sherilyn out of the room.
When she turned to me, she looked shocked. “Are you okay?”
“That’s the question of the day. No, she’s not okay.” Frank’s derisive laugh helped motivate me.
“Sh-sure.”
Dr. Taylor eyed me and I rallied further. “Hospitals. You know.”
Frank said, “It’s not hospitals, it’s dying children.”
Sherilyn took my hand again. “You haven’t moved from the doorway and you’re so pale. Are you going to be sick?”
A surge of energy bolted from our connected hands. “I’m here for you. Not the other way around.”
It’s the least I could do for now. Kaycee hadn’t wandered away from the house on her own and ended up in a wash with the rattler I knew lived there. Someone inside me knew what happened.
They weren’t talking to me. My fingers stroked the smooth tile in my pocket. I didn’t need them or anyone else to tell me this was my fault. It was all connected and I was the only one who could figure it out.
Donnie burst through the emergency room doors. Amid Sherilyn’s sobs, she let him know what had happened. He was allowed to take a turn with Kaycee.
With Dr. Taylor shepherding us out of the unit, Sherilyn slipped her arm around my waist, making me drape mine over her shoulder. She tucked into me. “Because of you I could be strong for Kaycee. You saved us both.”
Or killed you.
32
I had a short time to walk the river path before my appointment with Tara. I held my phone to my ear and let Frank have his say. It relieved pressure from my head and the tingling in my hands subsided.
Settled on Tara’s sofa, I unclenched my fists and spread my hands on my thighs. I told her about Kaycee.
“Why do you think Kaycee’s accident is your fault? You weren’t babysitting her. You didn’t entice her into the desert. And you certainly didn’t put her in the way of the rattlesnake.”
You know.
You saw.
Your fault.
The voices hadn’t spoken in a session for months. I didn’t welcome their presence now. “It’s more a feeling. Like I should have noticed something I didn’t. Is it possible I’ve gone from hearing voices to having a personality that takes over? Someone doing things I don’t know about?”
She considered this. “I suppose if you suffer another trauma it’s possible. Not likely.”
“What about Mother’s Day. What if I think I’ve done okay and really, I suppressed my emotions and it’s coming out in another personality?”
Tara frowned at me. “Do you feel on the edge? I’m not getting that from you.”
We talked about Kaycee and my worry over taking on a new psychosis, and by the way Tara circled, I knew she wanted to convince me of my paranoia regarding the accident. I held back telling her about Cali.
“Do you think with Mother’s Day you might be stirred up and somehow reliving the guilt you feel from four years ago?”
“No.” Except, maybe that was true. “This is new.” Again, I avoided telling her about the necklace and hair bow, the Hot Tamales. It sounded like a crazy person attaching meaning to random incidences.
I fidgeted. “Can we do the memory work now?”
Tara considered me in silence. “I advise against it. Let’s put it on hold for a week or so, give you time to rest.”
Time was running out and if my memories could somehow help find Cali, I needed to push on. I folded my arms and met Tara’s kind eyes. “You can walk me through it here in your office, or I can get there alone, by my pool. But I’m going to finish this today.”
That drew a concerned reaction. She knew the temptation of the pool. “That’s not a good idea.”
We stared at each other for thirty seconds before she must have sensed my resolve. “Okay. But I will stop you if I think you’ve gone further than I think you can handle today.”
I closed my eyes and listened to her calm voice walk me back to the gate of the Boneyard.
“Remember the concept of then and now. You can come back whenever you need.” She let me go with her invitation. “Tell me where you are.”
“Lilacs clog the bushes all though the junkyard. I’m almost gagging on their sweetness. I used to love them but now they make me want to throw up. Mud puddles pock the ground and the dirt smells like death. It’s cold deep in my bones. Clouds hang so low and heavy I hunch against the weight. Mom marches off in one direction and I follow two officers another way. Everyone is calling her name. I can’t open my mouth. I’m so afraid.”
I swallowed, my mouth too dry. Tara said I didn’t need to do this today. I could stop. But one voice hammered at me. “Remember.” I kept walking.
“Junkers heap on either side of the muddy path. Deep green grass and saplings sprout from between rusted heaps of metal. Everything is damp. The light is dim even though it’s probably the middle of the day.”
Every muscle tensed and I reminded myself I sat on Tara’s couch in Tucson. The sun blazed outside. Now is not then.
“Someone yells. ‘Here!’ It’s a subdued tone. I can’t breathe because I know what it means. Still, I race after the two officers in front of me.”
I didn’t want to see this. Voices begged me to stop. But we all had to face it. Cali needed us.
“Scrubby trees and purple laden lilacs keep the ground shaded so more mud than grass covers the ground. I probably scream, I don’t know. I want to look away but I can’t. I should go to her, but I’m paralyzed. Her pink skin, so perfect three days ago is scraped and bloodied, mud smeared, purple bruises staining skin I’d slathered in sun screen all her short life. Blonde hair, always so beautiful, is dull with mud and blood, patches ripped from her scalp. But her face. Oh God, her face. Nothing like an angel in sleep. Her bulging, glassy eyes, settled in swollen flesh, mouth open as if in a scream. Purple bruises ringing her neck. Her toenails, the paint neat and unmarred from the pedicure we’d done together not even a week ago.”
I paused to control my sobs, and worried Tara would stop me. She didn’t, so I returned to the junk yard.
“He’d strangled her, obviously. A murder of rage and violence at the end of three days of Hell. The mist is turning to light rain, falling on her, but not washing her clean. Drops hitting her eyes and she doesn’t blink.”
Again, I had to stop. But the pause was brief.
“I suppose the other searchers are gathering. I don’t know because everyone is screaming inside me. I haven’t met Frank before but he’s suddenly there, yelling at me to reach my hand to the car beside me. It’s the only thing that makes sense and my fingers close around the steel jaguar leaping from the hood. I wrench it loose to the deafening roar in my head. It must have been there decades to make it possible for me to break off.”
I panted and hesitated. Now is not then.
“It’s cold in my palm but burns at the same time. The pain as it rips open my
chest isn’t enough to ease the agony. It will never be enough. But I try again and again. The blood flows until my hand is too sticky and Mom’s arms hold me like steel bands”
All that’s left was for me to scream my rage.
My child.
My life.
33
Only slivers of ice remained, condensation dripping on the coaster, the lemon slice wedged at the bottom of the glass. The yellow and black hair ribbon and the silver necklace seemed to jeer at me from the pine surface as I lapped the table.
I’d been at this through the predawn when I’d awakened after only a few hours. Unable to sleep, I spoke to the voices, trying to find the one who knew. The message like a bee sting, remember, remember, remember.
When I’d called, the hospital had given me the vague information there was no change in Kaycee’s condition. I wanted to know more but was reluctant to call Sherilyn and disturb her.
The snake bite and Cali missing. They had to be connected. Somewhere, someone inside me knew. Until I could sift to that voice, I needed to work another way.
I waited until the business day started and I could call Rafe without seeming like a hysterical lunatic.
Frank kept up a steady tirade, biting, snarling, keeping me on the defensive. “You know what’s going on here.”
The others weighed in from time to time and the Chorus chimed in at about half volume. But mostly, I talked with Frank. “There’s got to be an explanation.”
“The explanation is that he’s killing girls and it’s your fault. Just like the last time.”
Around the table again. The ribbon. The necklace. I couldn’t stop the memory, like a rerun of the worst horror film.
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