by D. J. Palmer
When daylight came, Grace went home, but returned later with a huge stuffed animal, a bear she’d bought at a local toy store. Spent hours reading to the girl, drawing with her, playing games, and hearing her sweet little laugh for the first time. Whoever this child was, whatever her name, she was perfect and sweet as could be. That was the day, in the hospital room, with just the two of them, playing their games, as a patter of rain from the slow-moving weather system continued to fall outside, that Grace’s heart burst wide open and love, profound love for this precious being, filled her from head to toe.
Tips came in soon, as the girl’s face appeared on the local news, which was how Grace learned the child’s name was Isabella Boyd. According to the many tipsters, the mother was a woman named Rachel Boyd, from Lynn, Massachusetts. Soon, police issued a warrant for Rachel’s arrest. Rachel turned herself in to the authorities, and confessed to having abandoned Isabella because she couldn’t care for both a child and her drug habit at the same time.
It was Rachel’s idea to give up her parental rights. In exchange, police would drop the child abandonment charges. On her own, she had come to the difficult decision that her daughter would have a brighter future with a mother who had more means and no addictions. She didn’t want to be an influence in her daughter’s new life, and agreed to a closed adoption should a willing family come forward.
Grace was more than willing. She had always wanted a daughter, and God had seen fit to send her one.
* * *
“You named her Penny? Why didn’t you keep her given name?”
“She refused to answer to the name Isabella, so Jack—my middle son, very creative and clever—came up with the idea of calling her Penny. We found her and picked her up, he said, so now she’s our good luck. The name just sort of stuck and eventually Penny started answering to it. When the adoption went through, we got the privilege of making that name permanent. Now she is officially Penny Isabella Francone.”
“The state didn’t give you any difficulty with the adoption?” Mitch asked.
“No, not really. We just followed the process,” Grace said. “Rachel was out of the picture early on. The Department of Children and Families told us she had moved to Rhode Island, but we weren’t in touch, for obvious reasons.”
“And the birth father?”
“According to Rachel it could have been any number of men. None of them wanted anything to do with raising a child. She was ours to love and care for.”
McHugh was writing something down in the folder when his cell phone rang. As he spoke, she watched his expression register a deepening concern. He ended the call and his eyes focused on Grace.
“That was the ER. Penny said something to one of the nurses … something … well, I think we should both go see her right now.”
In a flash, Grace was rising to her feet. “I didn’t think I was allowed to go there.”
“You’re not, not really,” Mitch said. “But I’m new here … I don’t know all the rules yet.” He winked.
“What did Penny say?” Grace asked.
“She told a nurse she remembered something from that night. Something important.”
CHAPTER 10
DR. MITCHELL MCHUGH MADE his way to the ER at a pace a few ticks below a jog. With the patients outside in the courtyard at that hour, his fast footfalls echoed in the barren hallway. Grace stayed in lockstep with him, and he suspected they were thinking the same thing: Will it be Penny we find? Or will Eve have returned? And what has she remembered from that night?
Mitch was still unfamiliar with Edgewater, making the creepily similar corridors a maze to rival one of Daedalus’s creations. Twice he found himself backtracking after making a wrong turn. Mitch was reminded of a time, years ago, when he got lost trying to find Adam’s hospital room after his son’s surgery to remove a ruptured appendix. Eventually, Mitch had to call Caitlyn, his ex-wife, to get directions to the room.
Shaken by the memory, Mitch refocused his attention on his job. By no means had he been enthusiastic about accepting a position here, but the bills were mounting and nobody else was calling, so he resigned himself to the equivalent of professional purgatory.
Regret.
Profound, heartbreaking, perspective-shifting, soul-searching regret.
That’s what Mitch felt after his previous employer, MassGeneral for Children at the North Shore Medical Center, decided that the time had come for them to part ways. “Heal thyself” made an excellent biblical proverb, but it was severely frowned upon when interpreted literally by a medical professional. Mitch knew he should have sought help for his depression before turning to his prescription pad, but he was stubbornly self-reliant, a tradition forged by family dysfunction that included an absentee father with whom he had no relationship and an alcoholic mother who gave her life to her disease. Mitch was a poster boy for “grin and bear it,” having perfected the art of bottling up his feelings until they fermented into something unhealthy.
For years Mitch had told his patients there was no shame in seeking help for mental illness, all the while failing to heed his own advice. Technically what he had done—self-diagnosing and self-prescribing—was not illegal, but it wasn’t exactly endorsed, either. Which was why a sharp-eyed pharmacist thought one personal refill was one too many and informed Mitch’s employer of his actions. Two weeks later, Mitch got the boot, along with an invitation to become a client of Physician Health Services.
PHS, as it was more commonly known, provided support and monitoring services for doctors with mental illness, substance abuse, boundary issues, and behavioral problems. Most new PHS contracts required the troubled physician to enter some sort of treatment program or inpatient rehab, followed by regular meetings with their assigned PHS counselor and random urine screens if alcohol or other drug abuse were an issue. While they offered troubled docs a second chance, what they couldn’t provide was freedom from guilt.
“Please, Mitch, please promise me you won’t squander this opportunity.”
Mitch promised his counselor at PHS, Dr. Steve Adelman, that he wouldn’t squander anything, but a friend of his who was familiar with Edgewater didn’t view the opportunity as the brass ring of second chances.
“It’s a real hellhole in there, Mitch,” this friend had warned over beers a week before his start date. “You sure you have no other options?”
Mitch had smiled back wanly. His buddy knew the answer well enough. It takes a lot less effort to dismantle one’s life than it does to build it back up. It was a miracle he’d managed to crawl out of the hole he’d dug for himself far enough to land this gig.
One year. That’s what Mitch gave himself. One year of intensive therapy, no more self-medicating, and then maybe he could work his way back to private practice, provide himself that second chance he’d promised Caitlyn.
“You’re better than this, Mitch,” she had told him. “I’m just not sure you see in yourself what others do.”
What Mitch saw was a failure on his part to stop their son Adam’s perilous descent into drug addiction. He saw his son in his bedroom, skin blue with cyanosis, his body unable to oxygenate the blood, a needle on the floor near his inert form. Like father, like son, Adam’s method of self-medicating involved heroin, and it would have been a fatal injection, too, had Mitch not stocked a ready supply of Narcan for this very occasion. Mitch had talked to countless parents of troubled teens, instructing them on the warning signs for drug abuse, while those very signs were present in his own home.
He understood all too well the pain of a parent unable to help a child in need, which is why when Mitch and Grace found Penny resting comfortably in one of the ER treatment bays, he was already deeply invested in her case and care. She was dressed in a hospital gown, a thin white sheet covering her long legs. For all of the problems Edgewater had, the ER wasn’t among them. The four treatment bays were modern and well-equipped. In addition to the monitors reading Penny’s heart rate, blood pressure, intracranial pressure, a
nd oxygen saturation, there were medical instruments to suture cuts, cast broken bones, and listen to lungs. Down the hall was a brand-new x-ray machine, which came with the staff to work it.
Grace took hold of her daughter’s hand as she tried to make sense of the numbers on the monitor. Mitch wasn’t a trained ER physician, but he knew the readings were all within the normal range. What was happening to Penny, the real issue, wasn’t something any instrument could measure.
“Penny, honey, are you okay?” Grace asked, voicing palpable concern.
The confusion and fright on the girl’s face wasn’t because of the name. She was on the verge of a breakdown.
“Mom,” Penny said weakly. “What’s going on? Please, tell me.”
Mitch stepped forward with a warm smile. Easy does it, he cautioned himself. Be relaxed and she’ll relax. “Are you feeling any better?”
“My head…” She touched the gauze bandage a nurse had put over the bump she’d gotten.
“That’s understandable,” said Mitch. “You took a pretty nasty fall.”
“You’re.… you’re … Dr. McHugh, right?” The fact that Penny remembered Mitch’s name from his prior visit was a good sign.
“Yes, I’m Dr. Mitch McHugh,” he said. “But how about you call me Dr. Mitch.”
Penny seemed to like that, and she finally managed something of a smile.
“What’s wrong with me, really? I’ve seen people come in here handcuffed, escorted by guards, strapped to their beds. Am I in a hospital or a prison?”
Mitch leaned in to whisper in Grace’s ear. “Maybe give us a moment alone,” he said.
Grace’s initial reluctance to leave was only natural. Mitch felt the same pang every time he dropped Adam off at another rehab facility. Requesting privacy was an even bigger ask, because at any moment Penny could flee to make room for Eve, and Mitch understood what a devastating loss that would be for Grace.
“I’ll let you and the doctor talk,” Grace said apprehensively. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, honey. Okay?” She gave her daughter’s hand a gentle squeeze.
Penny’s expression turned harder, and for a fleeting second Mitch thought the primary self might retreat like a turtle seeking the safety of its shell. But she simply nodded her head and Grace left—not, however, before planting a gentle kiss on Penny’s forehead.
Now, thought Mitch, eager to get to work, let’s find out what memories you have.
CHAPTER 11
AFTER GRACE DEPARTED, MITCH wheeled a metal stool over to Penny’s bed. He kept a lookout for the nurse who’d summoned him here, and saw that she and Dr. Dan Bouvier were busy with the two patients occupying the other bays. No worries. He felt confident he could handle this on his own.
“Penny, you told a nurse you remembered something important, something from the night that brought you here.”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s important, but I told her I remembered being in my bedroom, long ago. That’s what I said.”
“Yes, you’ve been here for some time now. I want you to tell me the last thing you remember before this hospital. Can you do that?”
According to Grace, the last conscious memory Penny would have would be from the night of the murder, before the crime actually. She closed her eyes tightly, and Mitch could almost feel the concentration on her face.
“I just remember being in my room,” she said, her eyes shut tight, talking in a low voice as if in a trance.
“What were you doing?”
“Nothing … I … I was reading.”
“Do you remember what?”
Details, those were critical. The more she recalled, the more likely it was she could go deeper into that night, following the scent of truth like a bloodhound hot on a trail.
Penny thought … and thought … then shook her head. She opened her eyes, looking dismayed.
“Close your eyes again, Penny,” Mitch said in an encouraging voice, one he’d perfected during his years working with children in private practice.
He knew to be cautious. Memory retrieval could be a tricky business; there was always the potential for recovering false memories.
“You said you were reading. What’s the book?” he asked. “Try hard to see the cover … a picture … the color of it … the author, anything you can recall. Think, now.”
There was a deep, heavy thumping in Mitch’s chest as he awaited her answer.
Penny, eyes still closed, took her time responding. Eventually she said, a bit dreamily, “It’s dark blue, and there’s water and boats on the cover. That’s all I can remember.”
Mitch tamped down his excitement as his thoughts branched off into multiple paths. Leaning forward, making sure not to crowd her, he contemplated the best way to further his inquiry without influencing Penny’s answers.
“Do you remember what kind of boats?”
Penny shook her head solemnly like she’d been a disappointment. “No. I was just in my bedroom, reading that book. Oh, what was it?”
The desperation in her voice was raw. Even though she had her eyes closed, Mitch kept a neutral expression as he weighed different options to jostle her recall.
“Talk to me about your room,” he eventually said. “What does it look like?”
Penny lowered her chin to her chest, still deep in thought.
“Oh yes,” she said. “I see it now. My bed, all the blankets, I should have picked them up like Mom asked me, and—”
She stopped mid-sentence, and her eyes flew open like she’d been jolted awake. If ever a look cried out for help, it was that one, and the significance of the moment put Mitch on high alert.
“Penny, what are you thinking about right now? What are you remembering?”
Penny blinked rapidly as if dust had gotten in her eyes and she was trying to clear away the unpleasant sensation. Her hands flew to her mouth. She swallowed several shaky gasps.
“Blood,” she sobbed. “I saw blood, so much blood.”
“It’s okay, it’s all right.” Mitch touched Penny’s arm to soothe her. “You’re safe here. I promise.”
Her eyes closed again, mouth puckered as if enduring a bitter taste.
“I wasn’t alone.” She said it quietly, as if she were physically in the apartment where the murder took place and was trying to keep her presence in this memory a secret.
A sharp jolt ripped through Mitch.
“Say that again?”
“I wasn’t alone,” Penny repeated in a breathy voice.
“You weren’t alone in Rachel’s apartment?” he asked, seeking clarification.
Penny’s eyes opened wide, more frightened than before.
“She’s on the floor. I saw her. I saw her face,” she said in a murmuring voice. “I was with her, but I … I … wasn’t alone.”
Mitch went blank for a few seconds. He was torn between several possibilities: probe deeper, run to Grace, or find the nurse to confirm exactly what had been said. Before he could decide, he saw something shift in Penny. The transformation came on so subtly that if he hadn’t been laser-focused on his patient, he’d have missed it entirely. She touched her temples, as if enduring a headache. Her shoulders went back as she sank into her bed. He could see her body relax like the air had been let out of it.
“Penny, is everything all right?” Mitch asked hesitantly.
Tilting her head this way and that, she regarded Mitch in a curious, assessing manner, as if she did not know what to make of him.
“And you are?”
Her voice was different, deeper, more assured. The tone was somewhat conversational, though she breathed an air of mistrust into her question.
“I’m Dr. Mitch McHugh.”
Instinct told him to forgo the informal moniker of “Dr. Mitch” he’d given himself moments ago. The girl’s eyes brightened.
“So you’re the new doctor I’ve heard so much about. Well, lucky, lucky me.”
She checked him over from head to toe. Mitch managed a tight smile.
>
“Can you tell me whom I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“It’s me, silly. It’s Eve.”
A dark gleam flickered in the girl’s eyes. Mitch’s heart sank. For a short time, he had stood on the precipice of discovering something truly astounding about the night Rachel Boyd was murdered, but Eve had come rolling in like a great cloud, summoned by Penny to sweep across the landscape of her subconscious, hiding everything within her protective fog. Mitch had to admit, if she were borderline and not DID, it was a brilliant bit of role-playing. Her switch from Penny to Eve, subtle shifts in body language that could easily go unnoticed, occurred in textbook fashion for how alters often appeared.
“Where’s Penny? May I talk to her? We were having an important conversation.”
Eve shrugged her shoulders. “How should I know?” she answered in a singsong voice. “I’m not her keeper.”
“Do you know Penny?”
Mitch had experience with DID patients who could communicate with their alters, but oftentimes the patient wasn’t aware they had alternate personality states.
“I know who Penny is, of course,” said Eve. “We have the same mother, after all. But this is no place for a girl like her. Really, it’s quite awful in here.”
Eve had spoken confidently of Penny’s existence, as if the two inhabited different bodies. Her response was consistent with what was in her case file. Eve knew she had DID and viewed Penny as one of her alters. In fact, all of the alters, Eve, Ruby, and Chloe, shared the same backstory. They’d grown up in Swampscott, had two brothers named Jack and Ryan, and a father who had died. If asked, each would say that they were abandoned in a park as a young person, and that Grace and Arthur Francone had adopted them.
Mitch cursed himself. He had pushed her hard on what happened that night, and surprisingly his probing, not the attack by the guards, was what had pushed Penny away. She was protecting something, that’s the feeling Mitch got. He knew the barriers between alters could be as fortified as a border crossing, and as thin as a membrane. A rush of sympathy overtook him. What a horribly disorienting, isolating, and confusing condition it must be, he thought. The intermingling of different voices, different personas within a single consciousness, redefined the notion of self and had to be a hellish way to go through life.