by D. J. Palmer
“Sure thing,” Mitch said, still reeling. Why does she care so much?
“Penny’s a potentially important case, Mitch,” Whitmore said, as if reading Mitch’s mind. “She can give us—and by us, I mean Edgewater—a lot of attention. If it’s not an open-and-shut case as it appears to be, then selfishly, I think I can spin that straw into a bit of gold for this facility without violating any HIPAA obligations.” She paused and sighed, as if she’d caught herself.
“I know what I’m saying sounds crass,” Whitmore admitted. “But managing the money is in my job description, so yes, I’ll exploit every opportunity that comes my way. And it’s not all self-serving: more money means better care for our guests. If nothing else, your contact might give you some new insights to work with.”
Insights.
The word struck Mitch, and no surprise it was in relation to Penny. What could possibly give him the insights he needed into her world and her life? Grace didn’t have a diary of Penny’s she could share, but Mitch thought of Adam, whom he’d be visiting tomorrow and hadn’t yet seen since his return to rehab. As a child, Adam loved to draw and his pictures often reflected his mood. For a time he was something of a serious artist, and had what Mitch thought of as his blue period—sadder works done in a somber palette that in hindsight might have presaged his later turmoil.
Mitch thanked Whitmore for her time and made a mental note to call Grace and ask if she could rummage up some of Penny’s past creations for him to study. It was too late to help Adam avoid his addictions, but the trial wasn’t over, and until the verdict was announced, Mitch vowed he wouldn’t stop trying to help. He wasn’t fooling himself, however. Reaching his son had proved impossible, and getting through to Eve might be even harder.
CHAPTER 25
A FEW DAYS AFTER the ammonia experiment, Grace returned to Edgewater, this time accompanied by Attorney Greg Navarro. As the trial was drawing nearer, Navarro’s workload increased—as did Grace’s bill. They’d driven to Edgewater in separate cars, and the plan was for Navarro to meet with Penny in private, briefly. It wouldn’t take more than a half hour, he said, then he’d wait for her—off the clock—to debrief.
While Navarro and Penny (though of course it would be Eve) conducted their business in private, Grace and Mitch headed to the cafeteria for coffee and a chance to talk. She considered asking Mitch’s opinion about Ryan and his unrelenting hostility, but probably wouldn’t. He had his hands full. They all did.
Of everyone in the noisy cafeteria, Grace believed she was the only one sporting a visitor’s badge, which she had pinned to the lapel of her blue blazer. Mitch returned from the checkout counter carrying a steaming hot coffee for him and water for Grace. On the table Grace had put the leather portfolio case containing her daughter’s artwork, collected and saved over the years. She was incredibly curious what the art might reveal to Mitch, who had asked for this special showing.
“Children communicate ideas and feelings through their art,” he had explained. “If we can learn to interpret this language, we might be better able to understand Penny’s inner world. Maybe it’ll give us a way to get past Eve.”
“I’m glad I had some work to share. Penny hated her art, always wanted to tear up her drawings after finishing them, but I managed to save a lot for posterity. Not all, but a fair amount.”
She expected they’d dive right into it, but before Mitch unzipped the case, he announced he had something to share, a minor breakthrough with Eve that had come with a somewhat disturbing revelation.
“Did Eve or Penny—or anybody, for that matter—ever tell you about an injured cat?” Grace keyed in on the hesitancy in his voice.
“No,” she answered warily. “Why?”
And with that, Mitch launched into a frightening account about Penny (or Eve) walking home after school one day, by herself—a point of fact she mentioned enough times for Mitch to think she might be covering up for someone (Maria, most likely)—and finding the injured animal on the side of the road.
“I can only share this with you because I asked and she gave me her consent,” Mitch said. “Whether it’s all true or a fantasy of hers, I can’t say for certain.” He accompanied that assessment with a shrug. “But I do believe she enjoys the feeling of having life-and-death power over a living being. And I suspect there may be a sexual component to it.”
Grace tried to maintain a deadpan expression even as a sick feeling swept through her.
“I’m not saying that there was a sexual component to Rachel’s murder,” Mitch went on to say. “But there is something in Eve that correlates lustful desire with violence. It could help to explain those murder fantasies she exchanged with Maria. It was a form of exploration for her—a thrill, neurologically speaking. And there’s potential there for a psychotic break.”
“I don’t have to tell you that gets very twisted very fast,” Grace said.
“Agreed, but this revelation could help us understand why the murder was so frenzied. The brutal nature of the crime just doesn’t seem to match with Penny, or Eve for that matter, but the cat story gave me a new avenue to explore. It’s possible it wasn’t even Eve who committed the murder.”
Grace got his insinuation.
“The hidden alter theory,” Grace said. “A fourth alter.”
“Alters can appear at any time,” said Mitch.
“You think it’s an evil persona?”
“It’s not that the alter is evil. It would be that Penny herself has a psychopathic personality, and the expression of that psychosis is through this vehicle, this alter that we haven’t met. The bottom line is there are no hard and fast rules when it comes to DID, but there are a lot of unknowns. So yes, there could be a fourth alter that we don’t know, haven’t met yet, who is more psychopathic. It could even be a male persona with enhanced strength—there’s really nothing entirely off the table.”
Grace almost grinned.
“Are you saying that you now believe Penny has DID?”
“I’m saying nothing is off the table,” Mitch repeated with a rueful smile. “It’s all still an open question in my mind.”
“Well, not in mine,” said Grace, who felt something smoldering behind her eyes. She managed to tamp down the anger before it flared. It would do her no good to start an argument with Mitch. What she needed more than to force a concession from him was an ally in this fight. Besides, she had high hopes he’d come around soon enough.
“Before I take a look at the artwork,” Mitch said, seeming to sense her need to change the subject, “I want to know how you’re doing with all this.”
Grace’s mouth went dry, her face hot. It was as if some kind of internal switch got flicked, firing up a reminder that she existed, too; she was a person going through something traumatic as well.
“I’m doing the best I can,” she managed. “It’s hard, of course, but that shouldn’t be shocking.”
“You seem upset, I’m sorry if I—”
“No, it’s fine,” Grace assured him, waving off any concern. “It’s just … other than my sister-in-law, Annie, nobody ever really asks how I’m managing.”
“Well, I’m asking,” said Mitch, whose friendly aspect encouraged her to share.
Grace tried hard not to dwell upon how she really felt, because going there summoned a host of sad, unpleasant, and confusing questions for which she still had no clear answers.
“You have to understand something, Mitch,” Grace began in a voice loud enough to be heard over the cafeteria din. “What I feel mostly is a tremendous sense of loss … loss of Arthur, loss of Penny, sadness for Rachel, for everyone hurting from this. But I also struggle with guilt.”
“Guilt,” Mitch repeated. “For what Penny may have done?”
“For that, yes, of course. But also guilt for how all of this has impacted my family. I brought Penny into our lives. It was my doing, my … I don’t know the right word. Obsession. When we found her that day, I had a feeling that this child came to us fo
r a reason, like we were picked, and finding her made her my obligation. It’s hard to explain, but I convinced myself of it, and from the first second I was with her, I just couldn’t imagine not being with her.
“In my mind it was the perfect situation and she was the perfect daughter. And I don’t mean to imply that she never did anything wrong or gave us difficulties, even before her mental health crisis. None of us are perfect, but she was perfect for me. That’s what I’m trying to say here.”
“In what way?”
Grace let go a weighty sigh.
“I’ve always wanted to mother a daughter,” she confessed. “Arthur and I had stopped at two because of money concerns. But suddenly … we didn’t have to stop. I loved Penny, and I wanted to be her mother more than anything.”
* * *
“We have two children already,” Arthur had said on the day Penny moved in with them as a foster child, long after the cake and guests were gone. Jack and Penny were playing with toy trucks in Penny’s bedroom, while Ryan was sulking in the bedroom he now had to share with his younger brother. “It’s not like we had nine months to prepare the kids for our new arrival.”
“No, we had four. What difference does it make how she came to us, Arthur?” Grace said a bit sternly.
Arthur folded his arms across his chest and returned a serious expression, one usually reserved for conversations about the restaurant’s finances. “We barely know anything about her,” he said in a hushed tone, as if Penny might hear. “Her past, I mean.”
Grace could see his mind churning, his conscience telling him not to pass judgment, not to assume the worst. Trauma. Mental illness. Genetic disease.
“Arthur, darling, please, just listen.” From down the hall came the sounds of delighted laughter, and the make-believe vroom-vroom of a big truck engine. “She’s a sweet little girl, and she needs us. Please give it some time with an open heart and mind, that’s all I’m asking.”
“The money,” Arthur said, wincing as he voiced what Grace knew was a valid concern. “We can barely make ends meet as it is. The foster system won’t provide for her, not really, and if we adopt … well, then, it’s all on us.”
“Let’s not think about the money just yet,” Grace said. “I’ll start tutoring on the weekends if need be. Whatever it takes, I’m willing to do it.”
Arthur smiled, a little forced, but genuine.
“I’ll keep an open mind,” he said. “As long as you do the same.”
Grace promised, knowing full well her heart and mind were already made up.
She was going to mother a daughter.
* * *
“Were you close with your mother?” Mitch asked.
“Extremely,” Grace said, feeling the familiar bite of sadness she experienced anytime her thoughts went there. “When my mom died, she left a huge hole in my life. A huge hole.” Grace felt the need to make sure this point came across clearly. “I wanted to do the things with Penny that I did with my mother—the crafting, baking, cuddling, shopping. It sounds a bit Norman Rockwell or gender normative, I know, but those were great memories for me. Don’t get me wrong, I love my boys so much, but there’s something about a mother and daughter that’s just, well, different.”
Grace didn’t have a purse with her, so she had to resort to using stiff cafeteria napkins to dab her eyes dry.
“I brought all of this into our lives,” she said. “My family’s struggles with Penny can all be traced back to me.” Grace felt a slight hitch in her breathing, but she refused to have a full-on meltdown in front of Mitch.
“You don’t adopt a little girl,” she continued, “thinking that one day you’ll be glad, on your knees grateful, that Massachusetts doesn’t have the death penalty. That sort of thinking doesn’t once cross your mind, I can assure you of that.”
The cavernous cafeteria suddenly felt quite small to Grace, as if she and Mitch were in a therapy session together.
“For the past year, I’ve had hope—but no evidence—that Penny is innocent of this crime. But now … ‘I wasn’t alone.’ It’s not a lot, I admit, but it’s something for me to hold on to. And right now, I really need something to hold on to, Mitch.”
Grace’s voice shook, for these were difficult words to say.
“It’s not lost on me that Penny most likely destroyed a life. All the evidence points to that simple, terrible, truth. Either she’s sick or truly deranged. And now you’re telling me that she’s killed before—a cat, but still. She’s killed before, and she seemed to have enjoyed doing it. That’s hard to hear, it really is.”
Grace let go a second loud breath.
“None of this is your fault,” Mitch said. “You provided a loving home. You took good care of her.”
“Apparently not good enough.” Grace dotted another napkin at the corners of her eyes. “Arthur was worried. We didn’t know a thing about her … her past, her genetics, family history, none of it. And I brushed it aside because the truth is, you never know. I don’t care how a child comes to be your responsibility, it’s always a risk.”
“There are always risks,” Mitch concurred.
“Yes, but I’m not taking this risk alone. It’s not just me getting hurt. There are other people tethered to my rope, so when I fall, they fall. And we’ve fallen pretty far, and yeah, sure, I’m alive, I’m in good health, but survivor’s guilt … that’s a real, real thing.”
Mitch’s lips creased into a tight grimace.
“I suspect that’s our curse as parents,” he responded. “No matter the circumstances, we always want to do more for our children, take away their pain and suffering if we can. But some things are simply not ours to control, so we get the guilt instead, the what-ifs … should’ve, would’ve, could’ve.”
Mitch broke eye contact for a moment.
“I saw my son Adam at the rehab facility where he’s staying for the first time the other day. It was harder than I thought it would be. He kept insisting none of it was my fault, but it’s one thing to hear the words and another to believe them. He told me I couldn’t fix it for him. He said just talk to me … be there for me … that he needed my support, not my expectations that he was going to beat his addiction this time.”
Grace’s heart broke for them both.
“I’m glad Adam’s where he needs to be to heal,” she said. “And I can relate to your pain, Mitch, on a very deep and personal level. When we found out for sure that Penny had DID—how we found out is a longer story that I’ll tell you later, but suffice it to say, the diagnosis was utterly shattering. We’d known something was amiss for a while, but to have all the pieces put together for us … I couldn’t help but feel responsible, like I did something wrong, that it was my fault.”
“It isn’t, and wasn’t, but yes, I understand.”
“Right or wrong, I wasn’t going to let her down again,” Grace said. “I did my research, read every study on DID I could get my hands on, and every one of them said basically the same thing: that I had to embrace all of Penny’s alters, even Eve, or it could be like LGBTQ kids who get shunned by their parents. Denial or rejection of any of her personalities can be a potentially fatal affront to the self.”
Mitch returned an emphatic nod. “Making Penny feel loved, safe, and supported is a vital precursor to encouraging integration, for her to become whole again,” he said. “I guess in a way that’s what Adam was trying to tell me. He once said a hit of heroin filled him with this incredible warmth, totally relaxed him, so he had no worries about anything. He said it was like taking hits of joy, which was hard to hear because I felt my son’s joy was somehow my responsibility. But then when he got hooked hard that joy went away, and he didn’t need the drug to feel good … he needed it to breathe.”
“I’m so sorry, Mitch,” Grace said, feeling heavy in her chest.
Mitch moved his hand across the table. For a moment, Grace thought it might be to hold hers as a gesture of shared comfort, but instead he undid the zipper of the portfolio.
“You’ve suffered a lot,” he said. “And I don’t want to add to it by giving you false hope here. I honestly don’t know if I’m going to be able to help. I’ve never had a case like this before or dealt with someone quite like Eve. All I can promise is that I’ll try my best.”
“That’s all I can ask,” Grace replied.
“Okay, let’s look at this art, shall we?”
CHAPTER 26
MITCH REACHED INSIDE THE sturdy portfolio case and took out the first drawing from within. When Grace saw which one it was, she got another lump in her throat, thinking of the day Penny gave it to her.
* * *
She was in bed with Arthur, he with some nonfiction book about the Civil War, she reading about attachment in adoption. Penny had only been living with them a few months, but already Grace couldn’t imagine her small purple bedroom ever being empty again. Grace paid particular attention to the chapters detailing how grief and trauma could affect a child’s emotional development, finding those especially important.
“If she regresses in any way, wants to use a pacifier even, we should let her,” Grace told Arthur as she flipped through pages on the early years. “A bit of extra nurturing won’t make her more dependent, but it could make her more trusting. Think about it, honey. She hardly knows us, poor thing.”
Arthur put down his book with a look of resignation, anticipating what was to come.
“We need to sign those papers. Start the adoption process right away.” Grace sent him an imploring look. “Penny needs to know she has a home here with us forever.” She didn’t feel bad about playing the guilt card, not when it came to something as important as Penny. “The more secure she feels with us, the more she can rely on us, the better her emotional development will be. It’s all in this book.”