Children of Darkness (5 page)

I set my briefcase by my desk and pull out the files, placing them on my desk. I find Emily’s and jot down the news from this morning. My mind travels to my dad talking to a child psychologist about me as I sit there and listen. He tells the doctor that I make up these children that play in my room and that it is my fault my mom is becoming depressed. My desk phone rings, chasing the thoughts away, and I press the speakerphone button.

“Ye—” I choke. I clear my throat and try again. “Yes?”

“Dr. Janet, the Frosts are here.” Stacy’s voice echoes through my office.

“Show them in. Thank you.”

I quickly check my face in the small mirror I keep in my purse to calm my features. I take a deep breath to center myself and blow out all the memories threatening to break the sanity I worked so hard to keep. I gather my files and put my briefcase away as the door opens.

“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Frost,” I say as I come around the desk. My hand extends out to cover theirs individually. This seems like every other time I see them, even though my heart is tight in my chest. “Emily, would you like to go play in the therapy room while I talk to your parents?” I gently usher her away while squeezing her shoulder, carefully avoiding the small ringlet of bruises around her neck.

Emily nods and takes off through the door to the therapy room where she can play with toys. She will be far enough removed to not overhear us, but close enough to get to her quickly if necessary. I motion to the chairs in front of my desk and wait until they are comfortable before speaking.

“Mr. and Mrs. Frost, I’d like you to tell me what happened with Emily,” I say as I sit down.

They look at one another and Mr. Frost takes Mrs. Frost’s hand. In their shared look, I see love and sadness pass between them. My heart physically hurts with the emotions welling up inside. A flashback of my dad holding my mom and yelling at me to stop making up lies briefly rises, but I push it back down.
Why won’t these memories stay buried where they belong?

Mrs. Frost clears her throat and looks at me. “Emily had been crying a lot this weekend and we tried to comfort her, but she wouldn’t let us. We took her to the library, the beach, the aquarium. Nothing worked. She looked as if she wasn’t sleeping at all and I offered to sleep in her room with her.” She chokes on the last word and has to take a moment before continuing.

“I stayed until she fell asleep, and then went to my own room. This morning, I walked into her room to check on her and she wasn’t in her bed.” Mrs. Frost bursts into tears and Mr. Frost wraps her in his arms. “Why did I leave her alone in her room? I told her I would stay with her and I didn’t. This is my fault!”

A sob builds in my throat and I cough to cover it up. I walk around my desk and place my hand on her arm. “Mrs. Frost, this is not your fault. You cannot blame yourself for anything. You did everything a mother should do for her child in this situation.” I nod to Mr. Frost and he continues the story where Mrs. Frost left off as I hold onto her hand.

“When Helen came out of the room, we started searching the house for Emily. We couldn’t find her anywhere. I went to the garage to grab a flashlight so we could search outside and that’s when I saw her. I had lumber piled on my worktable in the garage to build a bench for the family. She had gotten the rope that banded the wood and used it to try to hang herself.” He pauses and swallows hard. I want to hug them both, but remain immobile. “She strung it through the beams of the garage and jumped from the work table. When I came in, she was lying on the floor with tears covering her face. Thank goodness the rope frayed at the end and came loose or we wouldn’t have our baby girl. As soon as I freed her neck, she started screaming, ‘Daddy, Daddy’.”

Mrs. Frost’s sobs quiet after a few moments and she turns to look at me. “We called your office on the way to her doctor. He asked that you would contact him after the visit today. We’ve done everything we could think of. But it wasn’t enough, was it?”

Her question makes a lump form in my throat. I struggle to swallow it down. “If you would’ve known this could happen, you would’ve done everything in your power to stop it. Emily didn’t kill herself. She’s still alive and you need to focus on that. You need to focus on your little girl and do everything you can to keep her here with you. Give her a reason to stay. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

They both nod and I hand them tissues to clean themselves. “Now, I am going to try to figure out why this happened. I’ll do my best, but I'll need both of you to be strong and comfort her when you leave here.”

“We will,” they respond in unison.

I nod and walk into the therapy room. My breath quickens and I try to calm myself. Images of me as a little girl flash in front of my face.
Why does this keep happening? Focus, Janet.
The couch I had placed in the room faces the play area. Numerous chairs are placed throughout the room to promote one on one time in different scenarios.

Emily sits across from me in the small chair playing with blocks. We meet twice a week for an hour and she has yet to tell me anything of her monsters. She plays with the blocks and tells me of her friends at school. Emily is very precocious and learned to read by the age of four. At five, she was reading chapter books. She is two months shy of turning eight and has been living with nightmares for over two years. Her parents think the books she reads are the roots of her nightmares, but I don’t believe that to be true.

We talk for a while about odds and ends, but she won’t touch on the nightmare subject. I’m still not sure how I should approach the attempt of taking her life, yet.

Finally, I try a different tactic. “Emily, did you know I had nightmares when I was young?”

She looks up from her blocks and gazes at me. I can see a tiny necklace of bruises on her fragile skin. “You had nightmares, Dr. Janet?” Her small voice shakes a little.

“Yes, ma’am, I did. They started when I was about four years old. Do you want to hear about them?” I ask. She is responding at last.

Her little head bobs, her eyes hold mine. I put my notepad on the small table and settle down in my chair. She waits patiently, leaving her blocks untouched. I have her full attention.

“The first nightmare I had started with my nightlight flickering in the corner. I was four years old and finally got the big girl bed I always wanted. My favorite doll was in my arms and I whispered to her to stay there. She was scared of the dark so I had to make sure she would be okay.” Emily smiles and reaches for her little doll she keeps with her. “I pushed the covers off my legs, but before I could get out of bed I heard someone running in my room.”

Emily squeezes her doll tightly to her chest. I'm not sure if I’m scaring her or if she’s locked in her nightmares. Her little face is focused on mine, so I continue. “I looked around and didn’t see anyone. The sound of running continued, so I didn’t get off my bed. I pulled the covers back over me and held my doll close. Little children started to appear all over my room, only they weren’t children. Their faces were different. And that was my first nightmare.”

As I finish, I look into Emily's face. Her skin is pale which makes her hair appear brighter than usual. Her big green eyes have the beginnings of tears in the corners. She lifts a trembling hand and pats my leg. “Ms. Janet, I’ve seen them. My nightmares are children, too,” she whispers.

I could only stare at her for a moment. The shock of her response has my lungs burning for air. I swallow several times before I can speak. “Tell me about them.” I don’t want to pepper her with questions and have her withdraw all over again. I’m terrified of what she may be about to tell me.

She takes a long time to answer, but I patiently wait. “Some of them are the same size as me and some of them are bigger. They have a small mouth and a weird nose. The eyes are black, unless it’s really dark, then they glow green. In the moonlight, the eyes look like my cat. Some have claws and they tear up my toys,” she whispers. All I can do is stare, hoping she’ll continue. “There’s one that’s bigger than the rest of them. He has curly, black hair and big claws. He comes and sits on my bed when the others are running around playing. He holds my hand but his claws don’t hurt me. He tries to talk to me and I do my best not to listen to him, but it doesn’t always work. He sometimes whispers to me that they are here to play. I don’t like it when he talks to me. I get really scared and shake and he tries to make me feel better, like Mom does. He even rubs my hair like Mom does. When they're in my room, it seems like the morning will never come.”

Her little face is white with terror. She was shaking as she spoke and her knuckles are white as she grips her doll. I want nothing more than to hug her close to me and keep her safe. I see myself in her eyes and I know what she is going through. Fear pulses in my veins.

I did the only thing I could think of doing. Taking both her hands in mine, I say, “Emily, look at me.” I wait until she looks at me fully in the face. “Those were my nightmares, too. They came every night the lights went out in my room. There’s only one thing I can tell you, sweetheart. They will go away. They aren’t with me now so I know in my heart you will have the same relief I do.”

The tears that filled her eyes start to fall down her cheeks. “You promise?”

My soul feels torn as I look into her face and lie. “I promise.”

My timer chimes and we both jump. Emily’s doll hits the floor and she hastily reaches to pick it up. That is when I notice a strange birthmark on her forearm. “What is that on your arm?” I ask.

She responds, “It’s been there for as long as I can remember.” She rubs it subconsciously.

I ask if I can see it and she pulls up her sleeve, sticking her arm out to me. Against her pale skin is a red, tinted shape. It almost resembles a tortoise. My finger traces the shape of its own accord and suddenly an idea sparks in my mind. “Do you know what this means?” She shakes her little head and I smile. “This means your guardian angel has marked you so he can find you and always protect you.”

Emily’s face shines with pride as she squeezes her doll. “Did you hear that, Joy? I’m marked by an angel.” She looks up at me and asks, “Where’s your mark, Dr. Janet?”

My smile falters for a second. “Mine is on my leg, and I’m afraid I can’t show it to you right now.”

Emily sits back in her chair and I see the small bruising around her neck peeking out again. I lean over closer to her and think of what to say. “Emily, what happened here?” I point to the bruising and she shrinks back slightly. I put my hand on her arm and she looks down at the ground. She mumbles something quickly that I can't hear.

“What was that?”

She looks up at me again and whispers, “I tried to make them go away, but it didn’t work. I don’t think I can get away from them. The big one found me in the garage and cut the end of the rope with his big claws. He told me that I was his little one and I couldn’t do this. That I couldn’t leave him.”

Tears spring into my eyes and I blink them back. I take a deep breath and lift her chin. “Hurting yourself is not the way to get away from them. Your guardian will protect you. You’re a very special little girl and I know the nightmares will go away in time. Be strong and don’t let them take your life away, Emily.”

She smiles and hugs me close. Having to lie to this sweet child is tearing me apart. My insides scream in protest, but my mind knows it is the right thing to do at this time. I stand and lead Emily to the door and shake her parents’ hands in silence.

They have questions in their pleading eyes and I nod at Mr. Frost to follow me to the side. As soon as we are far enough away from Emily, I lean in and whisper, “She was trying to find a way to get away from her nightmares, but I think she’ll be okay now.”

Mr. Frost wraps his arms around me tightly and it takes me by surprise. I know their emotions are fragile so I pat his back lightly before he steps back. “Thank you, Dr. Birch,” he says.

I nod to both of them, but I can’t speak. If I did, I would cry.

Emily turns to me as they start to walk away. “Dr. Janet?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thank you. I feel so much better now.”

I tell Stacy to give me a moment alone and I would let her know when I was ready for the next patient. I need time to process what Emily just revealed to me. Walking into my office, I reach over and grab Emily’s file. I battle the emotions and memories that threaten to overtake me and focus on my notes.