Seconds later, a blond nurse with a stethoscope draped over her shoulder appeared. The gummed soles of her shoes squeaked on the see-yourself waxed tile as she rushed over to Gab and began a quick examination.
The doors buzzed open again, and Tanner joined them.
"Let's get her into an examining room," the nurse said. The name Cruse was on the tab pinned to her pocket. "Were you in an accident?"
A white-uniformed man with short brown hair and a mustache appeared a few seconds later with a stretcher, and Heaven was transferred from Gab's arms to the clean white sheets.
"Mommy." Her voice sounded weak.
"It's okay, sweetheart. They'll take good care of you. Mommy will be right here." She silently cursed the tyranny of procedure.
"If you want to go on in with her your husband can handle the—"
"U h, he's—"
"I'm a friend," Tanner explained.
"Oh." A look of suspicion crossed her features. "Okay. Well, I'll take care of the necessary information as quickly as possible and let you join her. She's frightened I'm sure."
Gab sat in the chair the elderly man had vacated, conscious of the blood on her clothing and hands as she answered a battery of questions about insurance and allergies, her responses to all of them being typed into the computer. Then, an eternity later, after leaving Tanner in the waiting room to call Katrina, she was led through the doorway toward the examining room.
A gray-haired doctor with a beard that still had a few reddish streaks was already at Heaven's side, shining a penlight into her eyes. His wire-rimmed glasses had skied down to the very tip of his nose and seemed about to plummet over.
Heaven now wore a hospital gown, and a nurse was dabbing at some of her wounds.
The doctor straightened and looked at Gabrielle.
"I'm Dr. Edwards," he said.
"Gabrielle Davis."
"She's going to be fine," he said. "Just some scratches. What the hell happened to her?"
"She was playing," Gab said. "All of a sudden she screamed, there were cuts … I don't know." She suddenly realized how bad that sounded. She was almost incoherent. Her panic hadn't subsided, and she realized her explanation made it sound as though Heaven got the cuts because she was clumsy, always falling down.
That was the typical excuse of the parent of a battered child. On top of everything else, she thought, someone might try to take my daughter away from me.
"Well these are only minor lacerations," Edwards said. "We'll get her fixed up. There won't be a need for stitches." He stroked the hair at his chin "Has anything like this happened before?"
"No. She's been a little strange—upset—this week, but no, nothing like this happened."
He nodded grimly, then turned to the nurse and gave her brief instructions about handling the wounds.
"We'll want to keep her overnight for observation," he said. "She is small, and she's lost blood. We will give her a tetanus shot."
He didn't ask any more questions, but he obviously had a few in mind.
Gab watched him walk toward the door, expecting him to look back over his shoulder, give her a final accusatory stare. He didn't.
She stayed with Heaven, holding her hand while the nurse continued cleaning and bandaging the wounds. Then, when that was done, Heaven was put in a fresh hospital gown and an orderly lifted her and swung her into a wheelchair for transfer to a room.
Heaven giggled as she was wheeled around, the thrill of the ride momentarily displacing the trauma of the attack.
Katrina and Tanner had found each other and were in the waiting room when Gab and Heaven emerged through the swinging doors. The orderly paused at Gab's request.
"She's all right," she assured Katrina, whose frown threatened to crumple her face.
"I still can't understand what happened? I mean you two were talking and all of a sudden—"
"It just happened," Gab said. "I can't explain it. They're probably reporting me to Child Protection right now. '
"Don't worry too much about that right now," Katrina said. "There's no real evidence you did anything, and they have enough instances of real abuse to deal with. If there's much said, my cousin Isaac works in the D.A.'s office. I'll talk to him for you."
"Thanks. They're taking her up to a room for the night. Observation."
“We'll make sure you're settled," Katrina said.
Tanner nodded, his hands in the hip pockets of his jeans. He seemed uncertain as to what to do. He had no defined role here, and it made him awkward.
"Thank you both for being here," Gab said.
~*~
The room was small and narrow, with a bed and a chair that folded back to become a cot. Once Heaven had been tucked into bed, she dropped onto a seat, her hands trembling.
"I don't know what to make of all this," she said.
"I'm all right, Mommy." Heaven's expression was solemn.
She's worried about me, Gab thought. "I know, baby. You just rest."
Before long the medication had Heaven dozing. Gab prayed she wouldn't have another nightmare.
"I can't explain what happened, and I saw it with my own eyes," Tanner said.
"You're saying her clothes tore and these welts just appeared?" Katrina asked.
"That's it," Gab said.
Katrina's eyes flicked to Tanner for confirmation. He nodded.
"Something very unusual is happening here," Katrina said. "These nightmares and now this."
"My God, what if it happens again?"
"Look, we'll talk to Marley tomorrow," Katrina said. “This is his department."
"It's like the first part of
The Exorcist
."
"Come on, she can't be possessed," Katrina said. "Don't be ridiculous."
She looked at Tanner. "You're a mystery writer. Isn't everything supposed to have a logical explanation."
"If there is one for this I'm hard put to say what it is."
Gab rubbed her eyes. "Well, it's late. Maybe some answers will turn up when daylight comes."
Katrina nodded. 'They'll bring you pillows and a blanket. You want me to stay? Harris has the kids covered."
"No, I'm fine. I'm going to have to call in sick tomorrow. I hate to ask this, but could you stop by my house on your way to work and pick up something for Heaven to wear home? I don't want to take her out of here in a gown."
"I'll get some clothes for her and you."
"I'm sorry to have to ask you."
" It won't take me five minutes."
"Would you like me to hang around?" Tanner asked. "I could stay in the waiting room."
"I can't ask you to do that."
"You don't have a car here," he said. "I could come back and give you a lift in the morning."
He was trying to help and to be near her as well. It was imposing, but what the heck? He was offering. "I guess around eight," she said.
~*~
Gab couldn't sleep as she lay on the makeshift bed. The night light on the wall created odd shadows, and the evening’s events kept replaying in her brain. Heaven, standing there, cuts coming from nowhere.
Each pop and hum in the hospital made her jump, as if the whole scary business was about to start over again. She didn't know what had happened. Worse still, she didn't know how to keep it from happening again.
Tanner was standing in the hallway outside Heaven's door while Gab was dressing her daughter when the priest approached.
Tanner had been feeling awkward, had been wondering if Gabrielle was going to tell him to get lost when the priest attracted his attention. A big man with broad shoulders, and with his long black coat fluttering around him, the priest looked as though he'd be more at home holding a longshoreman's hook than a chalice. Jake watched him move, noting the power in his walk.
Still, the man appeared weary. His bearded face looked haggard, and the skin beneath his eyes was discolored. He didn't seem like a traditional chaplain, but he was in command of things as he scanned the room numbers.
He finally stopped at Heaven's door and knocked. Perhaps he was the family pastor. The other inference, in light of the previous night's events, was too weird and frightening to consider. Besides, this man didn't look like Max von
Sydow
.
"Come in," Gab called from within.
Jake wondered if he should follow.
~*~
Gab was startled at seeing the big, red-haired man in the doorway. She'd expected Tanner to walk in, impatient from loitering in the hall. Instead she was facing this imposing man with a slight scowl.
"Can I help you?"
"My name is Danube," he said. She couldn't place the accent. It was an odd mixture of tones, as if it had developed from constant use of several languages, yet he didn't stumble with English.
"Did Katrina ask you to come?"
He was eerie in some way, not like a kindly parish priest at all.
"I came because I am needed," he said.
"What do you mean?" Her voice faltered.
His voice was firm, impatient. "Your daughter has been experiencing some trouble."
"She has, but I haven't talked to anyone about it yet." If he hadn't been wearing a Roman collar she would have been inclined to add an indignant complaint, but she refrained.
Cautiously, behind the priest, Tanner eased into the room, apparently uncertain if he should continue to wait outside. Gab motioned him to come all the way in. She appreciated Jake's presence.
"You've been experiencing some difficulties," Danube said.
"I'm not exactly sure what happened," Gabrielle said.
"Something evil," the priest stated. "Pretending it did not is no solution."
"What do you know?" She hoped he could detect the suspicion in her voice.
"Little at this point. I will need to talk to you.”
“Why?"
"To determine the evil’s precise nature, so that it can be dealt with."
Gab swallowed. He was like someone out of a comic book—The Phantom Stranger—except he was serious.
She could read it in his dark, piercing eyes, his gaze relentless.
She turned, looking at Heaven to see if he was frightening her, but her daughter was more concerned with the Velcro straps of her tennis shoes. The gauze bandages on her arms and legs didn't seem to be bothering her.
"I have to get my daughter home," Gab said. "My friend is driving me, and I don't want to inconvenience him. If you'll excuse me . . ."
Danube peered at her for a long, lingering moment, then gave Tanner a glance and shook his head before walking from the room.
"How could he have heard?" Tanner asked as Gab helped Heaven off the bed.
"I don't know. He's probably some weirdo who found out there was a little girl in here. He can't be the regular chaplain. I'm not Catholic, but he's not like any priest I ever saw. He looks seedy."
"There is something strange about him," Tanner agreed.
"You're probably getting a lot of story ideas from hanging around me." She turned her attention to helping Heaven finish with her shoes. The child was sore, but she didn't wince at movement.
~*~
In Tanner’s car, Heaven aimlessly dialed the radio past blips of static intermingled with sounds she didn't linger on long enough to identify. Gab didn't correct her because Heaven had been through so much. She would worry about social etiquette again once the trauma had been dealt with. She was going to have to talk to Marley again, and hopefully he would provide answers. What kind of answers, though? Something she didn't want to hear, something mystical and dark?
She was afraid he'd tell her things were possible, things she didn't want to acknowledge. She'd seen what had happened. Tanner had too. How could it be explained? Who could cough up a logical clarification of something like that? She wanted one, one that had nothing to do with unexplained phenomena or ghosts or devils. But she also wanted to hear that there was nothing wrong with Heaven's mind, that her child wasn't traumatized by the divorce. Who wanted to deal with the fact that they were raising a child out of a Stephen King novel? That was why she hadn't named her daughter Carrie.
When they reached the house, Tanner pulled in behind Gabrielle's car. She found herself glad that he climbed out to help her with Heaven's things. She didn't want to walk into the house alone.
Nothing inside seemed out of place. She left Heaven in the kitchen with Tanner while she checked her daughter's room for
Gnelf
toys or books, and when she had collected them, she stuffed them all in the closet of her own room. Then she returned and broke in on the chat Tanner was having with Heaven.
"I'm going to put her to bed," she said. "She's still exhausted, I know."
"I'm not tired," Heaven said, but her eyes and the lack of conviction in her voice overruled the statement.