She pulled back the covers and stood in her flowery pajamas looking down at the bed. Even in the darkened room, there was something about an empty, cold bed that brought the reality of a failed relationship back into the light.
***
Carrying her usual emergency gear as well as her PI bags, Becky headed north from Cody at 7:00 Thursday morning. With the fresh snow everywhere she looked, Highway 120, locally known as the Belfry Highway, would be more scenic than usual, despite the high overcast clouds. At first, she glanced frequently at Heart Mountain, the east side of which was a common hiking challenge just a few miles northeast of Cody. After it began to fade in the rearview mirror, the beauty of the Absaroka Mountains to the west was awe-inspiring. The Belfry Highway paralleled the seam between the eastern front of the mountain range and the high plains foothills to the east.
Roughly halfway to the Montana border, Becky passed the exit for Crandall Road, Wyoming Highway 296, also known as the Chief Joseph Scenic Byway. This winding mountain road followed the trail taken by Chief Joseph as he led his Nez Perce tribe toward Montana from what is now Yellowstone Park, in 1877. The 46-mile drive from Cody connected to the Beartooth Highway at Cooke City, and brought the traveler to the northeast entrance of Yellowstone Park. She had been on this road several times when she lived in Billings but reminded herself that she needed to drink in the beauty of this drive at the first opportunity in the spring.
As she entered Montana, her road became Montana Highway 72. A short time later, she turned west on Highway 308 at the town of Belfry. It wasn’t long before the road passed through the town of Bearcreek, Montana, site of the worst coal mining disaster in Montana history. She stopped briefly to read the marker left in tribute to the 74 men who died in a methane gas explosion on February 27th, 1943. This event decimated the town of Bearcreek, turning it into the ghost town that remained today. Mine 43 never reopened and the rusting buildings and entrance still stood guard over the spirits of those lost. Becky wiped tears from her eyes as she resumed her drive to Red Lodge. She could feel the pain all around her.
The remaining drive to Red Lodge was peaceful. As Becky pulled into town, she had to admit that she didn’t feel ready to take on the responsibility of this case. “You can’t think that way,” she said aloud to herself. “Got to be positive and just do what needs to be done. You’ve got this, Becky, so suck it up.”
She called Lizzie, who answered immediately.
Lizzie suggested that she meet Becky alone for coffee and breakfast at the Café Regis. Summer was staying with a friend this morning. Lizzie said the café was a little off the beaten path. However, she said the food is great and hopefully the place wouldn’t be overwhelmed by skiers. They could talk about Summer while eating.
Becky located the restaurant on her phone’s map program. She wanted to get there quickly to satisfy her craving for a coffee. When she walked into the restaurant, she immediately felt the stares from several of the ski bums. Even though she was dressed very casually in her denim jeans and checkered flannel shirt, she always seemed to attract attention. She paid them no mind. She was after coffee right now.
Ten minutes later, Lizzie Hayden joined her. She was a cute brunette with wavy hair, nicely built, and seemed very friendly and outgoing. Lizzie also wore denim jeans but with a beige pullover sweater. Her winter walking shoes were very practical for the weather and time of year. She said she was originally from Idaho but moved here after college for the ski scene. That didn’t last as long as she intended because she met her future husband and married a year later.
After introductions and ordering breakfast, they began to discuss the daughter, Summer. Becky asked what major problems the child was experiencing.
“Mainly, Summer has outbursts at unexplained times, and she gets obsessed with certain activities, such as drawing. In most respects, most of the time, she’s a perfectly normal seven-year-old,” Lizzie said.
Becky listened intently. “As far as you know, Summer has never been abused or attacked in any way by someone?”
Lizzie answered, “No, absolutely not. She’s rarely been out of our sight. Just a few times when we hire babysitters, usually teenagers we know. When she was pre-school, we had her in a daycare facility for one year when I was working. Other than that, she stays with Guy’s parents for the most part when we’re doing something.”
“How about at school? I assume she’s about a second-grader?” Becky asked. “Could anyone be bullying her?”
Lizzie was slower to answer. “No, we’ve asked around among the teachers and have no indication of that. Summer is one of those kids that’s normally very bubbly and liked by everyone. She likes school and is always anxious to go. Not the demeanor of a child being bullied.”
Becky considered that for a minute. “When did her strange behavior first start, Lizzie?”
Lizzie responded, “Well, I don’t know if it’s part of what we’re experiencing now, but around the age of two, she began having night terrors. This was pure hell for us. The episodes were almost nightly and often lasted over half an hour. Summer finally outgrew them when she was nearly five.”
“I’ve heard of those, what are they like?” Becky inquired.
Lizzie took a few seconds to wipe a tear from her cheek. “Heart wrenching! Your child seems to wake up screaming bloody murder. Some think they aren’t awake, but in an altered state of sleep. You learn not to wake them. Just let her scream until it finally subsides, and she goes back to real sleep.”
“Oh, wow. That had to be awful for all of you.” Becky sympathized. “Was it just crying and screaming. No words?”
“All screaming at the top of her lungs. Piercing!” Lizzie seemed to shudder as she recalled those memories. “No words. Well, I don’t know that for sure. When she was older and nearing the end of the terrors, she sometimes seemed to be screaming for a baby.”
“Really?” Becky said. “Do you remember exactly what she’d say?”
“She was very young, so it sounded like she was saying ‘be-be’, but it had to be her attempt at ‘baby’.”
Becky considered that, then asked, “why do you think that, Lizzie?”
“It became apparent shortly after that. We bought her a little boy doll. She almost immediately began to call it ‘be-be’. She still does to this day. It goes everywhere with her, even in her bag to school. It’s her ‘be-be’. Her security blanket.”
Becky leaned back and sipped her last bit of coffee. “Anything else that you find unusual?”
Lizzie reached in her bag and pulled out several sheets of paper. “These. About the time she finally came out of the terrors, she wanted to draw. She’s like a fledgling artist. Many are different and what you’d expect from a girl her age. However, these show a consistent theme for the last three years. She’ll draw something like this sometimes three or four times a week.” She passed the sheets to Becky.
Becky studied all the sheets without a word. Most of them appeared to be a stick figure, seeming to be a girl, judging by the hair. The figure was standing between two posts. That was it. A plain white sheet with three stick figures. The other pictures seemed to show two circles; a smaller one with a large circle around it. It looked as if the little girl would trace around both over and over, dozens of times.
Becky couldn’t make any sense of either. “Do you have any explanation for these?”
“No. I was hoping you might.” Lizzie almost pleaded.
Becky shook her head slowly. “Sorry. No, I sure don’t. Does Summer say anything about her drawings?”
“No. When I ask her about them, she doesn’t seem to know why she draws them.” Lizzie looked worried. “She gets upset if you press her on it. I need your help to make sense of all this.”
“Thank you,” Becky told Lizzie who picked up the tab for breakfast. “You don’t need to pick up my bill, but I do appreciate it. I’ll get the tip. When do you think I might be able to meet with your daughter and get to know her personally?”
“She’ll be back home after lunch. Would you be able to come to our place about 1:00 and I’ll introduce you?” Lizzie was excited. “You can stay as long as you want.”
Becky was equally enthusiastic. “That’s wonderful! Just let me put your address in my phone and I’ll find your place with my map app.”
Lizzie gave her their address. They lived in the rural part of town just to the north. “Say, if you need a place to stay sometimes and don’t want a hotel, we have a guest cottage off to the side of our house. Has its own driveway, kitchen, etcetera. You’re welcome to use it any time you’re up here. Just sitting empty.”
“Well thank you for that offer. For tonight, I think I’ll get a motel room so I can get acquainted with your town. After tonight, though, I might take you up on that.” Becky wanted to see more of Red Lodge.
They said adieu. Becky looked at her phone. It was almost 11:00, so she had some time to find a motel and settle in before going to Lizzie’s.
After driving South Broadway Avenue, the length of the town, looking over the selection of quaint motels, hotels, and eating places, Becky decided to stay at the Beartooth Hideaway Inn for this first night. A bit more than she was comfortable spending, but it would do for now. It’d give her the opportunity to get more familiar with this small, country, ski town, and its 2000 plus residents. It was a gateway mountain town, having an elevation just over a mile high.
Time passed quickly. It seemed to Becky that she had barely gotten checked into her room when she was surprised to see that it was nearly a quarter until 1:00. It was time to head for Lizzie’s house and her meeting with Summer.
She pulled up to the Hayden’s house a couple of minutes before 1:00. It was important to her to be prompt and on time with her clients. Lizzie and Summer met her at the front door of the two-story log and rock house. It was situated in the middle of a well-cared-for, mostly level, five-acre property, dotted with numerous trees and shrubs. Obviously an affluent family, Becky surmised.
Lizzie greeted Becky warmly, shaking her hand profusely and welcoming her to their home. Daughter, Summer, was a little shy and hugged her mother’s leg while eyeing this visitor and saying nothing. She was very tuned in to Becky, though. Becky could sense that this child was more complex than usual. She knelt to Summer’s level. “Hi Summer, my name is Becky. I’m hoping we can spend some time together and get to know each other. Would that be okay?”
The little girl nodded her head in agreement. She still didn’t say anything, though. Her eyes did not leave Becky. It felt to Becky like she was making a connection with this new woman.
Summer Irene Hayden was a cute, slender, and small statured little girl with dark hair. At seven years old, her height barely reached Becky’s waist. She was very alert and gave the impression of being inquisitive and intelligent, even if a bit shy with this new stranger. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of friendliness tempered with caution.
Becky stood up and turned her attention back to Lizzie, sensing that she needed to begin slowly with this child. She said she was excited to see their beautiful home and asked if Lizzie and Summer would show her around?”
With Summer in close proximity, they led Becky on a tour of the house. When they approached the bedrooms upstairs, Becky looked to Summer and asked if she could see her room?
This time, Summer responded. “Sure, ma’am, I have a great room.” She began to show her new friend around the room, pausing at favorite toys, drawings, and books. A small boy doll was on her bed, lying against a pillow.
Becky pointed to the doll. “And who is this, Summer? Is this your baby?”
Summer pulled the doll off her bed and hugged it to her chest. “My be-be,” she said.
“That’s nice, Summer. What do you call your baby?”
“Be-be,” she replied.
Becky could feel Summer’s strong connection to this doll. “So, his name is Be-be. Does he stay with you all the time?”
She nodded affirmatively. “Yes, ma’am. He’s with me everywhere.”
“I see that you like to draw. Is this your only picture?” Becky had paused to study a crayon drawing of a nature scene. It was obviously drawn by a child of her age.
“I love to draw,” said the little girl. “I have lots of drawings. I’m an artist.”
“Wow, that’s fantastic, Summer,” Becky praised her. “May I see some of your other drawings?”
Summer opened a drawer of her dresser and pulled out a small presentation folder filled with pages of her drawings and artwork. Becky and Lizzie sat on the bed with her as she proceeded to show page after page to Becky. The first couple dozen were all bright drawings in crayons and colored pencils. Most depicted some kind of natural scenes with animals and birds. However, there was one like those shown earlier by Lizzie. It was a pencil drawing of the double circle. There was no color, and nothing was in crayon. The stark contrast between this picture and those done in crayon was almost startling.
Becky focused on the picture without really seeing it. She was feeling confusion and fear in this child. This was not just scribbling. It was an expression of something dark, maybe even sinister. It represented a feeling more than a fact or a figure. As much as she wanted to ask Summer what this picture represented, she sensed that would not be productive. Not now, anyway. Maybe some other time when the girl trusted her more. She asked to see the other pictures.
Before long, the other picture which Lizzie had told her about, surfaced. Like the ones shown by Lizzie, the stick figures looked as if they were drawn by someone else. Especially those done more recently. Although slightly more sophisticated, they continued to be eerily similar to those of earlier ages. Again, Becky sensed fear in the child as she looked at these couple of pictures. She decided to chance asking a question.
“These are all very good, Summer. Would you tell me what you are thinking or feeling when you drew these two?”
It was a wrong move. Summer didn’t answer but instead turned away, hunched her shoulders, and crossed her arms.
Becky had to regroup. “Oh, I am so sorry, Summer. I didn’t mean to make you sad by asking. I’m very sorry. Would you forgive me?”
The child slowly relaxed and regained her posture. There were tears slowly running down her cheeks, though she didn’t make a sound. She looked at her mother.
Lizzie took the cue. “Summer often takes a nap after school and before supper, so she’s probably getting tired. I think we should let her take a nap now if she wants.” She looked at her daughter, who nodded her head.
The women left the room and Lizzie closed the bedroom door without latching it. She looked at Becky, knowing that Becky was mortified that she had seemed to blow it with her daughter. “Don’t worry, I just let you go without giving you any suggestions or precautions. She’s reacted that way before with me. I hoped it might be different with you.”
“Your child exudes fear when those two pictures come up. Even as she draws them, she’s feeling fear. I just wish I knew of what.”
“That is the question, isn’t it? Or at least part of the question.” Lizzie sighed as she exhaled deeply. “So, you think she feels fear with both of those? I haven’t been sure what she thinks or feels.”
“Yes, I’m sure that fear is the dominant force behind both those drawings, Lizzie. I sense what she’s feeling. I’m getting a feeling of fear from them, myself. Summer can’t begin to heal until we can identify and help her deal with that fear.”
Lizzie walked over to a kitchen cabinet and opened the door. “How about a glass of wine and just some girl talk for a while? I need a break, a drink, and a woman to talk with.”
Becky was up for a glass of wine. There are times when it is not only okay to drink on duty, she rationalized, but might even be necessary. She picked up her glass of a semi-sweet, red, Montana wine, and toasted her client. They proceeded into the living room for that girl talk.
As they sat into the two rustic log chairs, Lizzie confessed. “Hey, listen Becky.
I know this isn’t the best decorum to have a drink the first afternoon. I won’t suggest this but rarely if ever again. Today, though, you don’t know how good it feels to share this burden with someone who understands. I’ve kept this to myself for so long. My Guy just doesn’t grasp the gravity of Summer’s conflicted mind. So, I really have nobody to talk with. I hope you don’t mind?”
Becky leaned toward Lizzie, who was rapidly becoming a friend as much as a client. “No, I don’t mind, and I do understand. Just don’t tell my boss that I’m drinking on the job.” She laughed.
Lizzie almost scoffed at that thought. “Oh, don’t you worry. You’re on the job right now and this is what your client needs. I think we should give Summer a break the rest of the day, and you can try to get into her trust tomorrow. I want you to just spend time with her and see for yourself the other things.”
“The other things?” Becky asked.
Lizzie gave her a serious look. “Yes, there are other things, and I think it’s best if you just find them out as you get to know her. Summer is a very normal seven-year-old girl; except when she’s not. Would you stay and have supper with us when Guy gets home?”
Into the Light Page 4