Stand Alone

by P. D. Workman

  “She tortures me,” she tried desperately, “she locks me in the basement, and she doesn’t feed me. Why do you think I was so sick? I didn’t do it to myself, she did this to me! I ran away, tried to hide, but I was so weak, I couldn’t get out again because of the storm.”

  The nurse turned back, her eyes serious.

  “She tortures you?” she repeated. “Show me the marks.”

  “She doesn’t do anything that will leave marks. Water-boarding. Starving me. She doesn’t hit me.”

  “I’ll have someone come and talk to you,” Kim said, and walked out of the room.

  Justine lay there on the bed, wondering what she had just gotten herself into. She’d complained to the police and Child Protective Services about Em before, but it had never gone anywhere. No one ever took her seriously. There were no bruises, she attended school regularly, and the teachers had no concerns about her being abused. Em had all of the proper documentation to show that Justine wasn’t kidnapped. She referred complaints to Dr. Morton to deal with. Justine had learned that it wouldn’t help her, and just made Em furious. It didn’t get her anywhere, so she didn’t usually say anything anymore.

  But now she had. Now Justine was in hospital, and if she could convince them that it was Em who made her sick, maybe they would listen to her, finally. Maybe she could finally get someone on her side instead of Em’s.

  It had been a restless night, and Justine fell asleep again after the nurse left. When she next awoke, she was looking into the face of a man she didn’t know. He was shaking her gently, waiting for her to wake up.

  “Oh,” Justine said, raising her head and sitting up a bit. “I fell asleep. Who are you?”

  “My name is John Burma,” he said quietly. “I’m with Child Protective Services.”

  “Oh, okay,” Justine was slightly disappointed. She had hoped that they would send a policeman. But a social worker would have to do. “Hi, there. I guess  … you know I’m Justine.”

  He nodded and pulled the visitor chair over to the side of the bed.

  “So I hear you have something to tell me,” he prompted, sitting back and waiting.

  Justine shifted uncomfortably. It was better when they asked questions. It was easier. She didn’t like having to just start off cold, with no momentum.

  “I  … I guess you talked to the nurse, and maybe my doctor?” she suggested. “So you know that  … I was in that house. And I was really sick. I could’ve died.”

  “Yes, if no one had found you when they did, that’s a possibility. But I’m not sure how this ties into an abuse or neglect claim. You weren’t tied up and held against your will in that house.”

  “No. I went there to escape. But I was too weak, and I couldn’t get up again  … to go get food, or to go somewhere warm.”

  “I see,” he steepled his hands together, touching them to his nose and chin as he considered. “Why don’t you tell me what happened before you escaped there, then?”

  Justine drew a deep breath. Her heart was pounding wildly. Her stomach felt queasy, but it was empty so she was pretty sure she wasn’t actually going to throw up. She looked around and saw her breakfast sitting on the wheeled table. Burma saw her gaze, and nudged the table over to her. Justine pulled the plastic off of the plate and considered the food. She poked at it uncertainly. She was hungry, but she wasn’t sure that she would be able to keep it down, with the way her stomach was twisting around.

  “You’re not hungry?” the social worker challenged.

  “I don’t feel well  …”

  “Well, maybe get this off your chest first,” he suggested.

  Justine nodded.

  “So? Why were you so weak? What did you have to escape from?”

  “She  … locked me up. She locked me in the basement, and she wouldn’t give me anything to eat, and not even water to drink. I thought I was gonna die. My stomach hurt so bad  … and my mouth was so dry,” she touched her cracked lips to demonstrate. “Then  … I guess she forgot to latch the door, and so I got out. I was so scared, I just took my skateboard and went as far away as I could. But then I started to get tired  … exhausted  … I saw that house, and the door in the back was broken, so I went in, and I thought I would just lie down for a minute, get my strength back  … but I must have passed out  … and then the storm, and the firefighters came in  …”

  He sat there looking at her, not saying anything, for the longest time. Justine stared down at her plate, knowing that he didn’t believe her.

  “Why did she lock you up?” Burma questioned.

  “She was mad,” Justine said. “I  … I took money from her wallet, and I stayed out late  … she doesn’t like me to be out.”

  “Did she hit you?”

  “No  … I mean, a bit, and shoved me, but  … not like she broke any bones or left any bruises or anything,” Justine looked down at her arms, marked in places by road rash, but with no injuries that could be construed as intentional.

  “How did she lock you up, then? How did she get you down to the basement?”

  “She just  …” Justine shook her head, trying to come up with something that made sense, “She told me she needed something down there. She wanted me to get her something. So I went downstairs, and  … she just locked me in.”

  He gazed at her. Justine shrugged, and looked down at her plate again. She poked at a canned orange slice.

  “Why did you steal from her wallet?”

  “It was stupid,” Justine sighed. “I just wanted to buy myself some lunch. I shouldn’t have taken it.”

  “Doesn’t she give you money for lunch? Or make lunch for you?”

  “I’m supposed to pack my own lunch,” Justine agreed. “She’s on this big health kick, so I’m not allowed to eat ‘toxins’, and all. I’m not supposed to have anything with gluten or dairy in it, and all of the fruit is supposed to be organic, and all that. I just get kind of tired of it  … wanted to eat the stuff that everyone else get to eat  …”

  “So she’s not withholding food,” Burma clarified.

  “No—not then. But when she locked me in the basement  … I guess maybe she figured that I’d have a better appetite for that crappy health food if I had to go without for a few days.”

  “How long is a few days? How long we’re you locked up?”

  Justine thought about it.

  “I don’t know,” she said finally, frowning. “I kind of lost track  … I couldn’t see outside, and wasn’t getting meals, so I’m not sure. I slept, mostly. Sort of got disoriented.”

  The social worker nodded slowly.

  “So you’re sure you want to do this?” he questioned. “You want to make these charges against your mother?”

  “She’s not my mother!” Justine reminded him. “She kidnapped me.”

  He blinked at this.

  “The record shows that you’re her daughter,” he said, “so that’s how the law sees it. You want to make these charges? And you think I’ll find the evidence to make them stick?”

  Justine bit her lip.

  “Evidence?” she repeated.

  “Well, we can’t put someone in jail simply on your say so, can we? I’ll need to interview your mother. Take a look around the house.”

  “Oh, yeah I guess so.”

  “You want me to do that? Or would you like to stop now?” he suggested.

  “No, I want you to go ahead,” Justine insisted.

  “You told a rather different story to your doctor.”

  “Well  …” Justine hesitated, “Em was right there. I couldn’t say what really happened.”

  “I see. Well, is there anything else you need to tell me? Any evidence?”

  Justine shook her head.

  “No, nothing else  … just  … she’s really good at fooling people  … don’t believe her…”

  He nodded and
stood up, towering over her.

  “I’ll look into it, then, and I’ll get back to you if there’s anything else I need.”

  When he was gone, Justine rolled over on her side and curled up into a ball. She’d done it now. Done it again, even though she knew it was useless. Burma would go look at the house, and he’d know she was lying. The latched door at the top of the stairs hadn’t been used in years, not since she was old enough to understand that she couldn’t ride her tricycle down the stairs. And there was canned food down there; she wouldn’t have starved. There was no evidence to back up her kidnapping story. Burma probably wouldn’t even bother to come back and explain why they were closing the case. And Em  … Em wouldn’t be happy about yet another Child Services report.

  Justine’s stomach hurt. Whether because she hadn’t started to eat again yet, or because she was tense and stressed out about the interview with Mr. Burma, she didn’t know.

  Nurse Kim came in after lunch was delivered.

  “What’s up, kiddo?” she questioned.

  Justine closed her eyes.

  “Don’t feel good,” she muttered.

  “What’s wrong, stomach? Becky said you didn’t touch your breakfast, and you haven’t opened your lunch. You have to start eating again if you want to get out of here.”

  “Hurts too much.”

  “Let’s have a look, shall we? Lie on your back, please.”

  Justine rolled onto her back, but kept her hands clamped over her belly.

  “Move your hands off. Let me have a look.”

  Justine pulled her hands back. The nurse poked and prodded her abdomen and listened with her stethoscope.

  “Your stomach’s growling,” she pointed out. “I want you to eat at least five bites. Then wait a bit and see if it feels better.”

  Justine scowled.

  “It hurts,” she said. “I’m not hungry.”

  “You need to try. How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

  “I don’t know  … a few days.”

  “The solution in your IV helps a little, but it isn’t giving you all of the nutrients you need. Have a bit of your lunch, and then we’ll see how it goes.”

  She pulled Justine’s table over so that it was across Justine’s lap, and opened it up. She walked back out of the room. Justine stared down at it for a few minutes. It actually did smell good, and her stomach started to rumble more loudly at the sight and smell of it. Justine took a bite of her sandwich, a bite of her salad, and a bite of her jello. She drank down a few swallows of orange juice. It felt really good going down. She picked at the lunch some more, getting some appetite back, but not wanting to be sent home yet. She didn’t want to go back to Em, back to the suffocating routine. She liked the way that the hospital took care of her, the attention of the doctors and nurses. Before long, at least half of her plate was cleared, and Justine still wanted more to eat. But the ache in her belly was growing, and she wasn’t so sure it was such a good idea.

  Nurse Kim returned after a while, and nodded at her plate.

  “That’s looking better,” she approved.

  Justine jumped up and dashed for the bathroom, dragging her IV pole beside her.

  “Are you all right?” Kim questioned in surprise.

  Justine shut the door on her and flipped the lock. Which was probably silly. She was sure that the nurses could unlock and open bathroom doors if they had to. Justine stood there, trapped, breathing quickly. Now what was she going to do? They would send her home for sure, without further thought. They wouldn’t if Justine couldn’t eat, but if she could, there was nothing to worry about. Unless  … what if she couldn’t?

  Justine steeled her nerves. She hated to be sick. The stomach flu was one of her horrors. But if she was to get her way, she was going to have to be tough. Justine took a deep breath, and jabbed two fingers into the back of her throat. She gagged and coughed, but didn’t bring anything up.

  “Justine?” Nurse Kim called to her.

  Had she never heard someone get sick before? It wasn’t exactly the time for conversation. Justine pushed her fingers back again, and this time gagged hard enough to bring the lunch back up again. She held tightly to the rim of the toilet until she was done. She didn’t flush the vomit down, figuring that if the nurse doubted that she was actually sick, or thought that she was putting it on, that would prove Justine was telling the truth. She rinsed her mouth in the sink and blew her nose, and then opened the door. Kim was waiting on the other side impatiently. She helped Justine over to the bed, fluffed the pillows, and drew the blanket up over her. She put a thermometer in her ear for a moment to check her temperature. Justine was sweating, but the nurse seemed satisfied with her temperature, making no comment.

  “Okay now?” Nurse Kim questioned, patting her arm and pushing the hair out of her face. “Do you want a basin? Are you done, do you think?”

  Justine sighed, closing her eyes.

  “I didn’t have that much in my stomach to start with,” she said.

  “No,” Kim agreed, pushing her table out of the way so the food wasn’t right under her nose. “Maybe you ate too much? Too fast? Sometimes tummies can be sensitive, when you haven’t been eating for a while.”

  “I don’t know,” Justine said.

  “Okay. You rest now. Close your eyes.”

  Justine was already closing them. The nurse went into the bathroom and flushed and sanitized, picked up Justine’s half-eaten lunch, and tip-toed back out.

  “So,” Dr. Harvey said, looking over Justine’s chart, “Still not feeling quite up to par, are we?”

  Justine shook her head.

  “My stomach hurts,” she told him.

  “And you had a little bit to eat, but you threw up afterward. How long has that been going on for?”

  “Just once. Today.”

  “You weren’t throwing up before you got here? Any time in the last few days or weeks?”

  “No,” Justine shook her head. She touched her stomach, wincing at a stab of pain. “What do you think it is?”

  “No idea. Let’s have a look.”

  He repeated an examination similar to the one the nurse had performed, poking, prodding, palpitating, and tapping, and finishing up by listening with his stethoscope. He pursed his lips.

  “Some general tenderness,” he observed, “but nothing that seems too worrisome. You probably just surprised your stomach the first time you ate. Let’s have something else, just a few bites, later on tonight. Let that sit and see what the stomach does with it. If not  … We’ll run some tests tomorrow.”

  “I can’t go home?” Justine questioned.

  “Not until we’re sure that you’re stable. And stable means eating. If you can’t eat, you’re just going to end up back here in a day or two in worse shape. Don’t you worry about it, we’ll sort it out. Trust me on that.” He patted her hand, smiling reassuringly.

  After supper, Em arrived in Justine’s hospital room, looking tired and stressed. She looked around the room, saying nothing at first. She sat down in the chair, looking at Justine but saying nothing.

  “Hi,” Justine greeted uncertainly.

  “Hi yourself. So, what’s this about you not coming back home?”

  Justine shrugged, her forehead wrinkling in a frown.

  “I’m still too sick,” she advised.

  “Oh, you’re too sick. I’m pretty sure that you’re not sick at all,” Em said flatly.

  “What? I threw up! The doctor said I have to get a bunch of tests done tomorrow.”

  “If you’re sick. But I don’t think you are. I should probably just sign you out of here and take you home.”

  “You can’t do that without the doctor’s say-so!”

  “I certainly can, young lady,” Em said primly. “And if I do, what are you going to do about it? Make another complaint to Child Protective Services?”

  Justine was quiet, looking around the room.

  “What do you mean?” she
questioned. It wasn’t like she had thought that she could keep Em from finding out about the investigation. But she didn’t want to admit it. Didn’t want to talk about it.

  “Oh, don’t play dumb with me.” Em’s voice rose. “When are you going to stop this, Justine? You’re fifteen years old! How many times have you tried to get me in trouble by making spurious reports with CPS? Don’t you think they’re tired of you? How big do you think your file over there is?”

  Justine swallowed, her stomach writhing again.

  “I don’t know what to do with you,” Em went on. “You take off and put yourself in hospital. Then you tell them I’m locking you in the basement? Why don’t you get attention by getting good marks at school, or taking up a sport at school, or something like that? Why does it have to be negative attention? You’re smart. You could do so much if you put some effort into it. But instead, all you care about is making my life miserable.”

  Justine shrugged.

  “At least I’ll have something to talk to Dr. Morton about,” she said.

  Em’s face turned a deep shade of red.

  “You think that’s funny?” she demanded.

  “I dunno. Sort of,” Justine said. She wasn’t sure what she felt, or what she was supposed to feel.

  “Justine,” Em said, exasperated. She put her hand on Justine’s leg. “Look—”

  “Don’t touch me,” Justine snapped, pulling her leg away and slapping Em’s hand.

  “I’ll touch you if I like. I’m your mother. I’m not hurting you. You need to listen to me!”

  Justine shook her head.

  “I don’t need to listen to anyone. Just leave me alone.”

  “That’s not the way it works, Justine. I am your mother. You need to listen to what I say. You don’t get to just decide not to. You think you’re smarter and know better than anyone else, but sooner or later you’ve got to learn that that’s not true! Everybody has to listen to somebody. Parents, bosses, government, police. You can’t just decide that you know better than anyone else!”

  Justine shook her head.

  “I listen to police and stuff. Just not to you.”