Bryson City Secrets: Even More Tales of a Small-Town Doctor in the Smoky Mountains (32 page)

I felt Barb reach over and lay her hand on my arm. It was her way of saying, Careful. Be calm! I took a deep breath and tried to keep my composure.

“What did he do then?”

“I don't know,” Kate answered. “The room was dark. He was standing there and rubbing himself and was making some sounds. We were scared, Daddy. Then we heard a car pull up in the driveway. I was praying it was you and Mama. Mickey pulled his pants up, and then he picked us up and ran us to our bedroom. He told us to get in bed — quick. Then he told us to keep our game a secret, and he told us that if we ever told you anything about this, he would hurt us real bad. He told us to go to sleep fast. Then he left our room just as you and Mama were coming in the house.” Kate began to cry. “Oh, Daddy, I was
so
glad it was you and Mama!”

I pulled her into my lap and hugged her tight as she wept in my arms. On the one hand, I was relieved the abuse had not been worse; on the other hand, I was
furious
. I felt violated. And, I felt
terribly
guilty for leaving my children with such an animal. I wanted to scream, and then I wanted to go find the little creep and strangle him.

I took a deep breath and looked at my children — my precious children, children whose innocence and purity had been stolen.

“Come here, Scott.” He stood, and I pulled him to my chest, next to Kate. “Kids, your daddy is
so
proud of you. You are very brave to tell Mom and Dad what happened.”

“Are we in trouble?” Kate asked.

I smiled. “No way, honey. I'm so pleased with your and Scott's courage. And you did
nothing
wrong. Mickey's the one who did wrong.”

I looked both my children in the eyes and smiled reassurance to them. I hugged them close for what seemed an eternity.

Finally I looked up at Barb.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered.

I thought for a moment and then knew what we would have to do. But before starting down that path, I also knew the critical first step. “First let's talk to God about it,” I said.

I led my family in prayer. I asked the Lord for comfort and wisdom. In the days ahead, I would find that I needed both in abundance.

chapter thirty-one

THE PUPPETS

I
closed my office door behind me and walked across the hall to my dictation station and sat to think for a moment. My mind was swirling, confused — full of a thousand questions. My emotions varied between fury and a desire for revenge on one end of the spectrum, and pity on the other for this sick, perverted boy.

But if there's one thing a doctor gains in the grueling training of medical school and residency, it's how, in the midst of life-and-death circumstances, to quickly and efficiently consider all available options, make a choice, and then act decisively.

I knew that as a health care professional the law required me to report
all
cases of actual or suspected child abuse to the local authorities, even though Mickey lived in another county. Nevertheless, I also suspected there would be no way to keep this secret. It was likely to sweep across the town's gossip lines like wildfire. And as the “flatlander” and “outsider” my motives would be intensely scrutinized. I felt nauseous as I considered the options and their implications. Yet, almost immediately, I
knew
what I had to do.

I stood and walked to the nurses' station, where Bonnie was working at her desk. “Bonnie, how many patients do I have left?”

“Just two, Dr. Larimore. They're waiting in the exam rooms. Both are colds, I think.”

“While I'm seeing them, call down to Social Services. If Tim's available, ask him to come up here as soon as possible.”

Bonnie cocked her
head. “What's going on?”

“Barb and I need to talk to him about something.”

To her credit, Bonnie didn't push the issue. “I'll get him up here for you.”

“Thanks.”

Tim talked with Barb and me, privately, in an exam room. As we related the story to him, I could see him become visibly upset. When we finished, he stood and looked out the window for several minutes. His face, which I could see from the side, was drawn. He finally turned back to us.

“If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to the kids — alone. Would that be OK?”

“They're pretty scared, Tim,” Barb pleaded. “It was hard enough for them to tell
us
.”

“I can only imagine,” Tim softly commented. “But it's important. I won't press them on any of the details. I just need to see their faces and expressions. I think I can tell pretty quickly if they're telling the truth or not.”

Tim could see I was taken aback that he was considering the possibility that
my
kids might not tell the truth. He reached out to place his arm on my forearms, which were crossed across my chest.

“Walt, I can't tell you why just yet. But I don't doubt this story one little bit. Still, this is a critical juncture. I've got to know in my heart — I've got to be 100 percent sure. OK?”

I thought for a moment and realized he was right. If I was in his shoes, I would want to do the same thing. I looked at Barb, and our eyes communicated agreement with each other. I turned back to Tim and nodded, and then I took him to my office and introduced him to the kids. I explained who he was and that his job was to help us. I asked them to tell Tim what they had told us and assured them that we'd be just across the hall.

I closed the door behind me and went back into the exam room to join Barb.

“How are you doing?” I asked. She couldn't speak. As her eyes filled with tears, I held her close.

After what seemed an eternity, there was a knock on the door. Tim opened the door and motioned for us to follow him to my office. The kids looked calm. I was relieved. As Barb and I sat down, Tim sat on the edge of my desk.

“Walt and Barb, I've got to tell you, I'm impressed with Kate and Scott. They are exceptionally bright kids and very observant. They've been through a terrible experience, and I'm amazed at their courage.” He smiled at the kids, and they smiled back. At that moment we knew Tim believed them.

“I've called down to the office and asked two of my colleagues to stay and help me out. What I'd like to do is for all of us to go down there. Kate and Scott have agreed to tell their story to my friends. I think we need to do this right now, before supper. OK?”

Barb looked at me with a glimmer of fear in her eyes. We were caught in a storm that was getting ready to increase in intensity and fury. We had no choice but to move forward.

Smoky Mountain Mental Health was located in an old river-rock building on Main Street. During our short trip down Hospital Hill, we had all been caught up in our individual thoughts. When we pulled up, there were no cars in the patients' parking lot. Tim parked his car next to ours, and the five of us quickly entered through the staff entrance, and he whisked us into his private office. We were crowded in the tiny space, but I felt safe here.

Tim left us alone for a few moments. I could tell the kids were nervous. I wanted to reassure them and let them know everything was going to be all right, but I just wasn't sure. I had no idea where the path we were on was going to lead.

Tim entered the room with two colleagues — a male and female. Each squatted down to eye level with the kids and introduced themselves. I could see that they were skilled at working with kids and that the children were immediately comfortable with them.

“Kate and Scott,” Tim began, “I've asked my friends to take each of you to a game room. We've got a problem, and we need your help.”

The children's attention was fixed on him.

“We've recently gotten some puppets in our special playroom. And our problem is that the puppets don't have any names. Would you all be willing to help us out while I talk to your mom and dad?”

Scott jumped to his feet. “I will!” he exclaimed. “I'm good with puppets.”

I smiled as he left with the man.

“How about you, Kate? Will you help me?” the woman asked kindly.

Kate struggled to her feet and looked at Barb, who nodded at her. Then she took the counselor's hand and left.

Tim gave them a moment to get down the hall and then closed the door and sat down.

“In a moment we'll go watch what's going to happen. Each of the kids will be in a play therapy room with their counselor. My colleagues are well trained in this type of interview. With the toys and puppets the kids will be able to tell us the complete story. The interview is being videotaped and can be used in the court case.”

“Court case
?” Barb exclaimed.

“Well, only if you choose to press charges. And we certainly don't have to decide that now. But I do need you both to sign a consent for us to interview and videotape the kids. Is that OK?”

We signed the consent forms — one for Kate and one for Scott — and then followed Tim down the hall to a small alcove. Through a one-way mirror on each side of the observation alcove we could see our children sitting in their individual play therapy rooms, surrounded by toys. In each room was a rack of hand puppets. Some of the puppets were smiling, and some were frowning. Some were younger, and some older. Through a small speaker we could hear what was going on in each room.

The interviews lasted about an hour, and I was mesmerized as I watched these incredibly skilled counselors interact with my children. Slowly, each puppet was given a name by our kids. There was a daddy and a mama puppet. Kate and Scott puppets were picked by each child. Each picked an Uncle Rick puppet and a Mickey Thompson puppet. And in each case the Mickey Thompson puppet looked like a witch — ugly, mean, nasty, and angry.

The counselors had Kate and Scott recount a normal day. Kate picked a puppet to represent her first-grade teacher, Jessie Greer, and a puppet to represent her school bus driver. Scott picked a puppet to represent little Mitch, his good friend. Both kids picked the same happy-looking puppet to represent Pastor Ken; the same jovial-looking, overweight-appearing puppet for Doc John; and the same bearded puppet to depict Rick. Barb and I smiled at each other.

The kids used the puppets to talk about what a typical day was like for them. We were gratified to hear them talk so happily about their friends, family, and faith community.

Then, almost imperceptibly, the counselors steered the kids' discussion to the evening before. And, almost in unison, the kids recounted the horror they had experienced. We watched in disgust as the kids used the puppets to show how they were forced to touch the mean puppet and how he made Scott lie on Kate. Barb gasped, and I held her tight as we relived our children's nightmare in stereo.

As the discussions were winding down, Tim, who had been standing behind us, unbeknownst to us, carefully observing and noting our reactions during the interviews, stepped forward.

“They're almost done. How about we step back into my office?”

We walked to his office, and he motioned to us to sit down.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he sat at his desk.

“I'm numb,” Barb commented. “I'm not sure how I feel. Shocked. Abused. Angry. Dirty.”

“You,
Walt?”

“I'm furious, Tim. I'm just so angry I don't really know what to do.”

Tim's chin rested on his clasped hands. He nodded. “All perfectly normal responses, guys. But my first thoughts are about Kate and Scott. Fortunately, the abuse wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. And fortunately, your kids told you. Had they not, I can only begin to imagine what might have happened on future occasions.”

He was quiet for a moment to let the implications of what he said sink in.

“There's no doubt in my mind what happened. I'll need to get my colleagues' opinions, but I'd be surprised if they were any different. If they concur with me, then we have to report this to the police.”

“The police!” Barb exclaimed.