by Maira Dawn
Skye raised her gaze and let it drift across the homey earth tones of the large room. Her latte's taste turned acrid on her tongue as her troubled mind replayed what she’d just seen and rejected it. I can’t be seeing this right.
Skye was aware that sometimes the mind comes across something so unfamiliar, so bizarre it refuses to accept it as reality. She worried, for a moment, that was happening to her.
No, Tom was in the video. It had to be real. Blue lips, the dripping red saliva? Was the limp a symptom too? How can a person be shot that many times and keep going? None of this makes sense.
Still worried about Tom, and wanting answers, Skye picked up her cell phone. She punched in his number, but all she heard was ring after ring without a response.
Chapter Three
Jesse
Skye groaned as she ended her third failed call to Tom. Tom's lack of voicemail, and the station's mandate that personal cell phones stay in their lockers, made it almost impossible to reach him during the day unless it was an emergency. But she had to try.
I'll try again later, Skye thought, and turned back to her work. The slight scratch of shifting papers was the only sound filling her spacious office as she reviewed her notes for the umpteenth time. The eerie video tugged at Skye's mind, and she nagged herself to focus on her patient's case.
Her client this afternoon was twelve-year-old Jesse Bailey. Her hardest one to date, and the child she worried about the most. Skye wanted very much to help this boy, but he wasn't having any of it. She sighed and nipped her inside cheek, a frown starting on her face.
Chipping away at his granite exterior is proving harder than I thought, and I figured it would be difficult. No wonder though, Jesse has been through so much.
When Jesse's mother died over two years ago, it left him alone with his abusive father, Frankie Bailey. Jesse’s grandmother took his older sister, Sue Ellen. Other than them, Jesse had no other relatives that Skye could track down. And if he knows of any, he isn't sharing that information with me.
Skye had called the grandmother, hoping to place Jesse with her instead of a home, but his grandmother refused to take him.
"I could use the help of a girl around the house," she'd said, "but I'm not up to takin in another young'un, especially a boy. I know Frankie whales on the boy, but he'll be fine. After all, a boy needs a good beatin now and again."
Pfft. Skye puffed out a breath over the hand loosely covering her mouth. Let's see you get a good beating.
Skye shook her head. This wasn't the first time she ran into this attitude, no matter where she worked, and it wouldn't surprise her if Frankie had been the object of some harsh treatment himself. When Skye asked the grandmother if she could speak to Sue Ellen, and the woman flatly denied her, it reinforced this thought. Skye made a notation to suggest someone stop in on the girl.
Skye brought a hand to the back of her neck. Jesse's lack of any loving family was a concern. To help a young person through trauma was a complicated process for them. When there was no support system, it became almost impossible.
Skye turned the page on his report. No one remembered when the abuse of the boy started, but teachers and neighbors alike had been more than willing to offer other family details.
Jesse's dad, Francis Lee Bailey, aka Frankie, hadn’t aspired to be a great dad or even a good dad. When he was younger, he'd had big dreams of being a race car driver. Those disappeared when his girlfriend became pregnant, and her family insisted on marriage. It appeared it was never a good union though Frankie tried at first. There were regular paychecks, and neighbors said he was home most nights.
"A second kid. He begins over-drinking," Skye mumbled as she ran her finger down the report. "Two nights becomes most nights. Less money for necessities." By the time Jesse enrolled in school, the family was getting all the state help they could but hardly got by.
"Troubles at school from the beginning. The teacher visited the home and reported the home and mother in bad condition." Skye flipped the page.
After his mom's death, things got worse. For long stretches, Jesse often missed school, his demeanor changed and his grades, never good, started steadily falling. He repeated his last grade twice.
Somehow, all this slid through the cracks until Jesse showed up in the ER with a broken arm, which he insisted happened when he fell from a tree. Skye sighed. I sincerely doubt it. And that didn't explain the evidence of abuse, the bruising and welts covering his back. When asked about them, he shrugged them off as if they were commonplace.
Small for his age, skinny to the point of being boney, authorities also strongly suspected he hadn't been getting enough to eat. Jesse insisted that he ate, but by his father's hand or by his own, it was hard to tell. It was clear that something was wrong.
That was the day the whole process started, and he ended up in my office. That was, oh, over two months ago, and I have yet to get him to open up.
Skye had only gotten herself settled in her chair when she heard a light knock on the half-opened door to her office. Jesse slowly peeked around the door and scanned the room. After satisfying himself that it was safe, he pushed the door open the rest of the way, came in and shut the door behind him. He paused and took a deep breath before continuing.
Jesse never seemed able to relax even though everything in this office, from the calm colors to the comfortable furniture, and even the toys, had been chosen to put the kids at ease. Jesse tried the couch, then one chair after another as if he too realized that he should be more comfortable than he was. In the end, he settled on one spot and used it almost without fail.
She greeted him, wishing she could make this easier on him, but gaining his trust would take time. Jesse didn't reply, but she watched him walk to his favorite chair, putting the coffee table between them.
Well, at least I know the one he prefers. Although I am sure if Jesse felt he’d given me even that much satisfaction, he’d switch it up on me.
Jesse’s shoulders hunched inward. He kept his eyes on the floor as he walked, refusing to take in the room around him.
He either carries the weight of the world on his shoulders or is waiting for the next blow... or both.
Once Jesse got to his chair and settled, he straightened his shoulders, lifted his head and stared straight into Skye's face, his brown eyes challenging her.
She sighed, and a dispirited expression flittered across her face.
Another one of those days. Will I ever get Jesse to realize I am trying to help him? Has he received so little help in his life that the mere thought is so impossible to believe?
His eyes flickered and slid away.
"Hello, Jesse," she said again with a small smile.
"Hey," was his cool response.
Skye straightened in her seat as she slyly examined Jesse. His slight frame seemed even smaller in the overstuffed chair and his preferred dark-colored clothing. She checked the doctor's notes. Jesse had gained two pounds this week. He was making progress.
Jesse eyed Skye. He knew what she was up too. The boy was a perceptive one. He ran a hand through his ever-spiky black hair, too many cowlicks on one small head. He was nervous. It was time to start.
We'll begin with something good. Hopefully, lighten the mood. Skye began, "Can you tell me something good that happened this week?"
Jesse was ready for her weekly question and was quick to say, "We had French fries three times for lunch at school." He was quiet for a minute, then he blurted out, "Did you see that video?"
Skye's head jerked up. "What video?"
"The one with the guy who can't die."
"Oh, Jesse, please tell me you didn't watch that."
Jesse huffed and crossed his arms. "Everyone else was, why wouldn't I?"
"They were?" Skye put a hand to her cheek. Of course, they were. "It's just—it's rather violent."
"No worse than what's on the news and every one of the shows."
She hated to admit it, but he was probably right. Though th
at subject they could talk about further another day. But today, he was cooperating, which was more than she expected after the look he'd given her.
"Well," Skye said going back to their original topic, "sounds like a good week if you enjoy French fries. And as for the video, I saw it. I was very sorry for the man. Something was wrong with him."
Jesse mumbled an unintelligible reply. Her lack of excitement over the video disappointed him.
Her gaze zeroed in on the game pile. She'd often found it was easier to get children to talk freely when you were doing something together. Some kids liked to draw or color. Jesse preferred playing a board game.
"Ok, so what game are we going to play today?"
"I don't care." He tapped his fingers on his armrest, avoiding her eyes.
"You do care, and it's your decision. It's not for me to decide, all yours," Skye insisted in a cheerful voice.
Jesse rolled his eyes. She was in way too high of spirits for his taste. He sighed. "Fine then, Jenga."
Skye laughed to herself. Of course, it is Jenga. Another favorite he has given away without realizing it. It's his favorite because he always wins, and I always lose. I'm so awful at this game.
After she set up Jenga, they settled in at the table. "You go first since you're so bad at it," Jesse offered with a flick of his hand as he relaxed back in his chair.
"That is thoughtful of you, Jesse, to give me a fighting chance." Skye's voice was laced with sugar.
Jesse snorted. "Ain't nothin fighting about it. Not like you have a chance in h- ah, blazes of winning," he corrected himself. Skye did not allow swearing in her office.
Skye smiled her thanks at his restraint, then removed her first piece. "There! I'm off to a great start."
"Hope you're enjoying it." Scorn trailed from Jesse's lips, along with his soft West Virginia accent.
"Seriously? You are mocking me with my first piece?" She chided him, then changed the subject, "So how are your goals going this week?"
His small shoulders shrugged, "I dunno. Okay, I guess. You don't smell me, do ya?"
"No, I don't, and your hair looks good too," Skye said after looking him over. "So we will say bathing went well. And were you able to get all your meals in?"
"I stayed full."
"Did you eat all the meals we discussed during our Goals session?"
"Yeah, I ate all the meals we discussed during our Goals session," he parroted.
"Great! Two of your goals completed this week. That's an accomplishment!"
"I guess." Jesse shrugged and tried to seem indifferent, but there was the ghost of a smile on his lips.
"Were you able to complete any other goals?"
"Ms. Smith said to tell you I cleaned my room and took out the garbage for her without complaining or giving her a sour look."
Whoa. Helping others, this was a first.
"I'm sure you made her happy," Skye said. "How did you feel?"
"Okay, I guess."
"Okay is good, Jesse," she said with a soft smile.
He scowled, "Yeah, maybe."
Skye was happy the week had gone so well for him. This was the breakthrough Jesse needed.
"Any other news for me?" Skye asked.
"I seen my Dad."
Skye's hand tightened on the chair's armrest. This was unusually fast, and not what she had recommended. "How did the visit go?"
Jesse spoke without emotion, still unsure over the turn of events. "Dad said he hasn't been drinkin. He's going to those meetings and counseling, like me, and he's gonna see if the judge'll let him have me back."
With care, Skye said, "That's a big change. Are you okay with that?"
"Well, if he ain't drinking..." Jesse drawled, then he became defensive, "He is my dad, you know."
And there it was. No matter how bad a parent was, a child will almost always continue to love them. It may be mixed up with many other feelings, but it was there, even when they didn't recognize what it was.
"Yes, he is your dad. Okay well, we will talk about what to expect with these changes during our sessions next time. In the meantime, how did school go?"
"I only got in trouble, like once a day. Dad and I are both trying to do better." Pride tinged Jesse's voice.
So Dad was the source of Jesse's turnaround. "That's good, Jesse, it will mean a better way of life for you both."
"Yeah."
"Fights in school?"
"Yeah," he sighed.
"Yeah," she sighed.
At the end of her sessions, Skye tried Tom again, but it was close to 5 o'clock when she reached him. At the sound of his voice, she sighed and leaned a hand on her desk. "Tom, I saw a YouTube video you were in, and I--"
Tom interrupted her with a throaty chuckle. "Yeah, the crazy thing has made me famous. The number of calls I've gotten since it went live is insane." He became serious. "That was a bad one though."
"Tom. It seems—I don't know—I am not even sure what I want to ask or where to start."
"Yeah, I get it. If I hadn't been there myself, I wouldn't believe it either. Skye, I been brushing off people when they call but there's something... well, we need to talk."
Tom's tone of voice set Skye on edge. "Sure. Just name the time and place."
"Better at the coffee shop, I reckon. How about tomorrow afternoon? Around 2?"
That was Skye's regular coffee break time, so the hour was clear of any appointments. "Looks good for me too, Tom. I'll see you then."
Skye rubbed her tight shoulders. What does he want to tell me? Why do we need to talk it over in private and not over the phone?
Without a doubt, this would be a hard case for her cousin, especially since his shot was the one that killed the man. To Skye's knowledge, Tom and his officers had never had a shoot-out during his daily work in this small town. Perhaps he just needed to talk about it.
But she wasn't sure. Skye nibbled the inside of her cheek. It seemed like there was more to this case than Tom mentioned on the phone, and he wanted her to know about it.
Chapter Four
Ohio
The next afternoon, while getting ready to meet Tom, Skye hummed to herself feeling the glow of a job well done. She had just wrapped up a session with a young girl who was making excellent progress, and that put her in a great mood.
As she made her way out of the waiting area, she stopped to talk to her assistant, Caroline. Skye’s gaze scanned her desk. The best employee Skye had ever had, Caroline had a serious attachment to an amazing array of knickknacks, all of which littered the tall reception area. Skye moved aside a small snow globe that held a miniature range of mountains with a tiny rustic cabin teetering on the top of one peak. The slogan "Mountaineers are always Free" scrolled across its midnight blue base. Skye leaned over the high counter and reminded herself that the kids loved them.
It was Caroline's usual habit to listen for Skye's arrival, to be helpful before Skye realized she needed help, but today she didn't even turn around when Skye tipped over one of her precious baubles. Caroline's eyes were glued to her computer screen.
Skye cleared her throat and said, "Caroline, I wanted to mention--" Caroline almost knocked over her chair as she clenched at her heart. Both women gave a nervous, little laugh.
"I am so sorry, Caroline!" Skye said, her own hand on her chest.
"Oh my goodness! Ms. Jackson! I apologize! I never do this. It was just... this is just so crazy!" Caroline said in a flustered rush, as she pointed to the computer screen.
"Please, Caroline, call me Skye," she reminded her again. But Caroline had returned to the monitor, and Skye talked to the back of her head. "What are you watching?"
"Just so you know, I don't surf the web while I'm working, I really don't. But my friend called at break and said I had to see this video as soon as possible. She was right. This is crazy!"
"Is it the one that happened here, right outside town?"
"What? No, thank the Lord! This was up in Ohio."
A tingle trail
ed Skye's spine. "Can I watch too?"
Caroline turned the monitor so Skye could see, but she soon wished the receptionist hadn't. Skye felt the hair lift from the back of her neck, and nausea start in the pit of her stomach. "What is going on?" she murmured.
"I've never heard of anything like this except rabies, and we hear of some odd things in these hills," Caroline said, her quiet, serious tone suggesting how strange some of those things had been. Caroline's shivered.
Her words fired up Skye's already frenzied imagination, and she had to drag her attention back to the screen. A mother cried bitter tears in the semi-blurred background. A white ambulance with blood-red striping down its side, its bright lights flashing, sat close to the camera.
Two gym-honed emergency workers with masked faces wheeled a gurney between them. A young teenage girl lay on top, restraints binding her. The bands dug into her upper arms and wrists further whitening her skin around them. It was clear she would have been dangerous without them.
The girl's long, blond hair fell in a tangled jumble over the front of the gurney as she thrashed her slim body from one side of the cot to the other. She twisted and turned trying to escape the bands that held her in place.
The girl moved with such force the small wheels of the stretcher lifted off the ground before banging back to the concrete. The paramedics strained as they rolled the gurney along the sidewalk and dodged the girl as she lunged toward first one and then the other.
A wide-eyed, freaked-out newswoman tried to hold it together as she reported the story. Her gaze darted between the camera and the girl on the stretcher as she told the news story. The girl, she stated, had been ill for a few days with cold and flu symptoms. A frantic, mother had reported a dramatic change today.
Known by all in the neighborhood to be a respectful, cheery teenager, the girl had become angry, screeching and ranting, often making no sense. As the day wore on she became physically aggressive, striking then kicking and biting her mother. As the newscaster looked over at the girl, she shuddered before droning on.