Stand Alone

by P. D. Workman

  Frank wrote it down in his notepad. He put his hand over Justine’s and gazed at her, sighing. An expression of contentment shone on his face.

  “Where are you going to go?” he questioned. “Do you have a place to live? Do you need a place?”

  Justine shrugged.

  “I get along. I don’t want a foster family or something.”

  “I want to be able to keep in touch with you. Do you have a phone number?”

  Justine considered what her future was going to look like, and how she was going to keep track of this handsome policeman who had once held her in his arms and given her life-giving water. She had ditched her old phone when she left Em, worried that they would track her down. But maybe she could get a new one now. She couldn’t tell Frank where she was living, but she could find a way to keep in touch with the only other person who knew her past. The only person who had looked for her, and continued to look for her, all of these long years. She always liked policemen. Even when she was in trouble for something, they made her feel safe and secure.

  CHAPTER 18

  THERE WAS A LOUD knock at the door, and Em went to get it. There was another knock right before she opened it, and she scowled in irritation at the impatience of the visitor. She saw it was a couple of big policemen, and that there were several police cars parked by the curb, lights flashing. She immediately got scared.

  “Is it Justine?” she said, as soon as she opened the door.

  Had they found her? Was she hurt? Why were there so many of them?

  “No,” the policeman in front told her. “It’s Katie Kelly. You’re under arrest for kidnapping. Please put your hands behind your head  …”

  They pushed her into position and frisked her before Em had a chance to properly process what was happening.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded. “Is Justine okay? I don’t understand!”

  “Justine, as you call her, is fine,” one of them told her flatly. “Despite your best efforts.”

  “What? I always kept Justine safe. I always did the best that I could for her. It was those policemen who put her in danger, dumping her outside the city limits.”

  “Ma’am,” the bigger of the policemen said, turning her around and staring her in the eye, holding her firmly by the shoulders. “Do you understand that you are under arrest? You shouldn’t say anything until you get a lawyer.”

  “Under arrest for what?” Em demanded. “For taking care of my own daughter? Do you know how many times that girl has reported me for abuse, or neglect, or kidnapping, or whatever? She’s attention-seeking. You can’t believe her lies. Talk to her therapist—”

  “Your daughter, Justine, died thirteen years ago. The girl who was living with you since then was Katie Kelly.”

  Em gasped.

  “Someone finally believes her,” the cop said. “You’ve snowed everyone else pretty good the past thirteen years. But now, you’re caught.”

  Em was limp as they handcuffed her and took her out to one of the waiting police cars.

  “I was a good mother,” she insisted. “I did everything to take care of my baby.”

  Dr. Morton spread the paper out in front of him in awe, and to start with, just looked at the headline and the picture of Justine. Then he started to read the story, and the sidebars, very slowly and thoughtfully. He checked the next few pages for any related stories, and then just sat staring at the paper.

  “So,” he said slowly, to the air. He turned his swivel chair and stared out the window at the pigeons. “So I was right all along. It was Attachment Disorder. Abandoned by her birth mother, she was too traumatized to ever attach to Em.” The pigeons flew up, and circled, and landed again. “The dreams were actual memories. She was drawn to abandoned houses to relive the abandonment experience over and over again, trying to understand what had happened to her  …” He rubbed his chin. “That was why she could never attach to Em, never bonded no matter what we did. I was right all along.”

  He stared down at her face in the paper.

  It had been easier than Frank had expected to track down the doctor who had been in charge of the treatment of the real Justine Bywater. He was still working at the same hospital, and he remembered the case well. They talked for a while, and Frank got the feeling that Dr. Wilson wanted to tell him something, but didn’t know how to bring it up. Frank’s questions weren’t leading anywhere, and he fell silent, just letting the doctor think about it and figure out his approach.

  Wilson cleared his throat a few times, and shook his head.

  “There were doctors who believed at the time that the mother might have been suffering from Munchausen by Proxy,” he said hesitantly.

  Frank’s eyes narrowed as he considered this.

  “That’s the one where the parent makes the child sick intentionally?” he questioned.

  “Yes. No one could prove it  … but we were on the lookout. It was just a very strange case  … one of those ones that you can’t figure out what the pathology actually is. Her ‘lytes would be all wrong, she’d be throwing up, dehydrated  … then she would stabilize again  … but just when you thought she was on the road to recovery, it would start all over again. We were looking for some sort of metabolic illness, monitoring her diet, we just couldn’t figure it out. And in the end  … we ran out of time.”

  “And you think it might have been Em who was making her sick.”

  Wilson shrugged, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably. His admission was hesitant.

  “We thought it might be  … but there was no evidence. Nothing to pin on her. She met all of the profile characteristics  … extremely close to the child, there at all hours, very involved in her medical care. Very interested in the medical procedures, well-versed in what was going on. She knew all of the doctors and nurses by name.” He shook his head and raised his hands helplessly. “But those are all characteristics of a good parent, too. You can’t accuse someone of something like that without proof. You have to catch them at it, and we never did.”

  “Katie had some odd visits to the hospital as well,” Frank said, fingering the pages of his notebook. “Not with mysterious illnesses, but with unexplained injuries, infections, claiming she was having reactions to her meds, things like that. And she was heavily in therapy and seeing psych doctors for years.”

  “Katie may have been a victim of Munchausen by Proxy as well,” Dr. Wilson acknowledged with a nod. “I’d be interested in looking at her records. Did she ever claim that her mother hurt her?”

  “More than once, but she always recanted again afterward. Her mother or her therapist managed to convince any investigators or doctors that she was just attention-seeking. That she needed psychiatric help.”

  “And all along it was the mother  … maybe.”

  “We’ll have to see whether we can prove anything. Katie’s memories  … aren’t reliable. She often has multiple explanations for things that happened. Somebody convinced her to change her story  … or she’s buried it  … or something has been planted or altered by the therapist  … nothing she says can be taken as gospel.”

  Katie ground down the handrail and made a perfect landing. She looked up at Rooster in triumph. But he was frowning, looking past her.

  “What?” Katie demanded, turning to look over her shoulder.

  “It’s that cop again,” he growled. He stepped on the end of his board with his toe to flip it up into his hand. “How come he’s gotta talk to you so much?”

  “Sorry,” Katie shrugged, watching Frank’s approach. She couldn’t stop her lips from curling up into a smile, and felt her face get warm. “He’s just helping me out.”

  “I’ve seen how cops help juvies out,” Rooster complained. “You can’t trust them.”

  “You can trust Frank,” Katie said. “Or I can, anyway.”

  Rooster beat a retreat as Frank reached them, joining with the rest of the crew, who looked anxious abou
t the cop’s presence.

  “He’s just here for Zel,” she heard Rooster assure them.

  She took a few steps toward Frank, and touched his hand briefly.

  “Let’s walk,” she motioned down the sidewalk. “You make my friends nervous.”

  He glanced at the other skaters and chuckled. The two of them walked together, away from the group.

  “So?” Katie said. “What’s up?”

  “It’s about the hair,” Frank said.

  Katie touched the locket around her neck. She didn’t know why she even wore it anymore. What was the point of memorializing a baby she never knew, who had died? Whose death had led to so much suffering on Katie’s part? But somehow, even though she had never felt any kinship when she looked at the tiny picture inside it, she felt now that Justine had been an integral part of her life. Of her past.

  “It was just mine, wasn’t it?” she suggested. “I told you, I tested the hair from the baby book. And it was just mine.”

  “We farmed it out to an independent lab,” Frank said. “The police lab is so backed up, and I didn’t want to have to wait months or years to resolve it for you.”

  “But it was just mine,” Katie repeated.

  He shook his head.

  “No. It wasn’t yours. It was another little girl’s.”

  She raised her eyes to him, hardly believing it.

  “Another girl’s?” she repeated.

  “X and Y chromosomes. And we compared it to Em’s and Cliff’s DNA samples. They are conclusively the parents.”

  “It was Justine’s.”

  “Yes.”

  Katie blew out her breath, blinking back the tears that threatened.

  “So now you don’t have to dig her up.”

  “No. You made sure that she can rest in peace.”

  “Unless they want to do an autopsy,” Katie remembered.

  “No, there doesn’t seem to be much interest in that. The odds that anything would show up on lab tests that would conclusively show that she was poisoned or something  … they’re pretty long. It’s bad press for the department, and it might swing public sentiment toward Em, as the grieving mother. We don’t want that.”

  Katie nodded. She rolled her eyes up, still trying to keep back the tears of relief. She cleared her throat.

  “I was sure it would just be my hair. Why would she put my hair in the baby book, but not in the locket?”

  “Maybe she forgot it was there. Or maybe she couldn’t bear to get rid of the one last physical piece of Justine that she had. Either way, it was lucky for us.”

  They walked slowly for a while in silence. Katie wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

  “Did they do mine too?” she questioned.

  “Yes. As expected, Em is ruled out as your mother. They’re still checking archives to see if anything with Katie Kelly’s DNA was preserved so we can prove one hundred percent who you are.”

  Katie nodded. Even if science couldn’t prove who she was, they still had the other evidence that had been gathered in the case. The security footage in particular. And Frank knew who she was. Frank had recognized her. And for Katie, that was enough. She finally knew who she was.

  A few days later, Frank stood with Katie outside the interrogation room. She looked through the glass at Em. Em looked so different from what Katie expected. The yellow corrections jumper didn’t flatter her. It was shapeless, and looked sort of like she was wearing a garbage bag. Em’s hair hung lank and unstyled. She had no makeup on, so her face looked washed out and you could see the dark bags under her eyes. Em had always been so careful about her looks. She looked a little like she did when she had one of her migraines. But Katie had never seen that defeated expression on her face before. Em was slumped over instead of sitting up straight, rubbing the deep wrinkles on her forehead.

  “Do I have to talk to her?” Katie asked Frank, suddenly feeling like there was a hole in her stomach.

  Frank raised his eyebrows.

  “Don’t you want to talk to her? To confront her? This is your chance. This is the moment you’ve been fighting for all along.” He paused, studying her face. “Isn’t it?”

  Katie nodded.

  “Yeah  … but now I don’t know.”

  She was feeling nauseated and her heart was beating fast, so hard that it hurt. Frank was right. This was what she had always wanted. To prove to everyone that Em was not her mother and to be able to face Em on an equal footing. How many times had she tried to do this and failed? Now that she really had her chance, she was scared to death.

  Frank put his hands on her shoulders. His big hands were warm and gentle.

  “Katie  … you don’t have to. But I think you need to. If you want to be able to move on  … you should settle this.”

  Katie swallowed.

  “Besides which, the more she says, the better your case?” she suggested dryly.

  Frank smiled and squeezed her shoulders.

  “It’s an unusual case,” he said. “We need as much help as we can get.”

  Katie stared through the glass at Em, sitting alone at the table.

  “Doesn’t she have to have a lawyer or something?” she questioned.

  “She’s refused one numerous times,” Frank said. He let go of Katie, turning back toward the window to look at Em. “She says she hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  Katie’s anxiety disappeared. Her face got hot. In an instant, the fury was back. Her hatred toward Em for the years of lies. Em was still claiming that she was the perfect mom? That Katie was Justine, her daughter? In the face of all of the evidence of what she had done, she still denied kidnapping Katie?

  Frank was watching her face.

  “You ready?” he questioned, the corner of his lip twitching up.

  Katie nodded.

  “Yeah, I’m ready,” she agreed.

  Frank took her over to the door.

  “Do you want me to come in with you?” he questioned.

  “She’ll talk more if you’re not there,” she suggested.

  “It might put a damper on things to have a policeman in there,” he agreed.

  “I’ll go in myself,” Katie decided.

  He opened the door for her, and Katie entered the cool, echoing room.

  Em turned her head and looked to see who had entered the room. Her expression brightened, and she moved immediately to get up and go to Katie. But she was chained to an anchor in the table, which immediately jerked her to a halt, and she dropped back to her chair, looking startled and distressed.

  “Justine!”

  Katie walked up to the table and tried to decide whether to sit down or to continue standing.

  “My name isn’t Justine,” she growled.

  “Justine—” Em protested.

  “My name is Katie.”

  Em was already pale. But what color remained in her face drained, leaving her complexion ivory white.

  “Katie,” Katie repeated, savoring the feeling of her own name on her lips. The name that Em had forbidden, had tried to make her forget. “I’m not Justine. I am Katie.”

  Em stared at her, trying to figure out what to say to her.

  “Are you okay?” she questioned. “When you disappeared  … I was so scared  … I didn’t know what had happened to you.”

  “I ran away from you,” Katie said. “I’m just fine. Better than I ever was with you.”

  Em’s eyes traveled over her, and Katie felt exposed, like she was naked in front of Em. Em would take note of everything that she felt was out of place. Justine’s unwashed hair. The dirt on her clothes and holes in her knees. Her ragged nails. Em would be judging her, thinking that she didn’t know how to take care of herself. Thinking that there was no way that Katie was better off now than when Em had been taking such diligent care of her. But no matter what hardships Katie endured on the street, it was worth it not to have to live under Em’s tyranny anymore. To be Katie; who she really was. Indepe
ndent.

  “How could you do that to me?” Katie demanded.

  “What?” Em questioned, her eyebrows going up. “I never did anything to hurt you.”

  “You kidnapped me,” Katie burst out. “I know all about it now.”

  “I didn’t kidnap you,” Em soothed. Her hand twitched toward Katie, and Katie stepped back slightly, to make sure that she was out of Em’s reach, should Em decide to try to hold her hand or something.

  “You did too. You went to the hospital where I was and you took me. Kidnapped me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that—”

  “I’ve seen the video surveillance,” Katie interrupted. “I saw you! I always knew you weren’t my real mom. Why don’t you just admit it?”

  “I love you, Justine,” Em insisted.

  “You don’t love me. Maybe you love your Justine. The real one.”

  Something flickered in Em’s eyes. Was she remembering the real Justine? The Justine that Frank said Em might have killed with her twisted version of love and nurturing? She remembered Cliff, Justine’s father, talking about how focused Em had been on Justine’s care. How it had been more important than anything, including her marriage.

  “You are the real Justine,” Em said. But there was a quiver in her voice. The slightest vibration, hesitation. Em’s eyes slid to the side, away from Katie.

  “You know I’m not,” Katie said, lowering her voice. However angry she was, Em wasn’t going to admit anything with Katie yelling at her. Katie wasn’t going to get Frank any information helpful to the case by being confrontational. So she swallowed her anger the best she could, and spoke softly. “I’ve talked to Cliff. The one who buried Justine. You’ve always known that I’m not Justine. And I knew that I wasn’t, too.”

  For a long time, Em didn’t say anything.

  “Why wouldn’t you ever bond with me?” Em said in an exasperated tone. “I gave you everything you needed. Food, clothing, and shelter. Lots of cuddling and love. I played games with you, spent so much time providing an enriching environment. You needed so much. The hospital wasn’t taking care of you properly. I knew I could do better by myself. But when I brought you home from the hospital, you never settled in. You never  … accepted any love.”