My Lost Daughter (29 page)

“But I already took my pill,” Shana told them. “You gave it to me yourself, Peggy. You even saw me swallow it.” She tried to wrench away from them. She even tried several self-defense moves she had learned, such as jerking her arm downward against their open fingers to release their grip. These people were pros, though. They seized her underneath her arms and lifted her off her feet.

“Dr. Morrow ordered an injection,” Peggy said. “Give us any trouble and we'll put you in a straitjacket.”

Shana felt Peggy's fingernails digging into the soft tissue under her arm, certain the woman was purposely hurting her. George
made eye contact for the first time. “Just come along now,” he said. “You're making things worse by resisting.”

“I demand to see the patients' rights advocate!” Shana shouted, trying to recall what Alex had told her. “I rescind my voluntary admission. I'm going to call the police, the district attorney, even the governor. Do you hear me? I demand a hearing! The state will launch an investigation into this entire operation. All of you will be brought up on charges.”

Peggy snorted and dug her fingernails even deeper into Shana's armpits. “Demands, that's all we hear from you.” She inhaled deeply and then glared at George. “Take care of her, will you? I'm fed up with this one.”

As a small group of patients stood around and watched, George tossed Shana over his shoulder and carried her from the great room into the isolation ward. He entered a room and deposited her on her stomach on the bed, holding her down while Peggy yanked her pants down and jabbed a needle into her buttocks.

Once she had removed the needle, Peggy slapped Shana's bare backside with tremendous force, the blow loud enough to be heard in the adjacent room. “Since you've been nothing but a pain in the ass since the day you arrived, I decided it was high time I show you what a pain in the ass feels like.” She paused and snickered. “Right, George? We've had plenty of rich girls in here. We know how to handle their demands.”

Shana's vision blurred and her arms turned into rubber. George released her but she couldn't move and remained facedown on the bed, her green pajama bottoms around her ankles, the bottom half of her body fully exposed.

“You shouldn't have done that, Peggy,” George said in a hushed tone. “You know we're not supposed to strike the patients.”

“Oh yeah,” Peggy said, shoving her chin out in defiance. “You try working with these people for fifteen years. This girl needed a spanking, so I gave it to her. Now maybe she'll think twice before she causes trouble.”

Shana could hear their voices, yet she was once again in a magnified
and terrifying nightmare. Every sound seemed as if it was coming out over loudspeakers. George was still arguing with Peggy.

“I'm not supposed to be in the room when you expose a female patient. Why didn't you call Lee or one of the other female attendants? You're going to get us all fired.”

All Peggy said was “yeah, yeah, yeah,” and then both of them moved out of earshot.

Shana pushed her face up from the bed and groped for the green pajama bottoms in a pathetic attempt to cover herself. Her knees suddenly slid out from under her, and she landed with a thud on the linoleum floor. In seconds, she was unconscious.

 

Charles Morrow moved out of the lights from the hospital into the dimly lit parking lot. Thinking he heard something behind him, he stopped and listened. Satisfied it was nothing, he continued on to his silver Mercedes.

A man suddenly grabbed him from behind and spun him around, shoving him against the car door. The psychiatrist's breath left his body. A few moments later, the man's face came into focus. “Good lord, it's you. You scared me to death.” The man was looming over him. Morrow pushed him away and adjusted his jacket.

“I told you what I wanted,” the man said. “You fucked everything up.”

“It was a mistake,” Morrow said in his high-pitched voice. “Everything's taken care of now.”

“There have been too many mistakes. I don't like it, not at all. Do you hear me?”

“Calm down,” Morrow told him. “We're accommodating your needs. I can't believe you're complaining about something so trivial.”

“Trivial, Morrow? I don't consider anything trivial.”

“Fine,” the psychiatrist said, deactivating the alarm on his Mercedes. “Enjoy your evening.” A strong arm reached in front of him. “What the hell . . .”

“We had an agreement, a mutually beneficial agreement. You're
not honoring that agreement. As of today, you're in breach of contract.”

“Don't be absurd,” Morrow said, his slender body trembling. “Get away from my car. I'm going home.”

The man stood there, his feet frozen in one spot. “No,” he erupted. “Not again.” Darting through an opening in the shrubbery, he made his way down a dirt path leading to another parking lot adjacent to the hospital. When he spotted his car, he reached into his pocket for his keys but they weren't there. He searched his other pocket and still came up empty-handed. Sucking air into his lungs until they were about to burst, he wailed, “No! No! No!”

He began slamming his fist into the window until the heavy glass finally shattered. There was no pain. He didn't feel pain, not physical pain. He wiped his bloody hand on his jeans, then reached inside and opened the car door.

Once inside, he began pulling wires leading to the ignition. Perspiration sprang from every pore. He struggled as he tried to put the two wires together. He didn't have enough light to see what he was doing.

His body stiffened as if he was having a seizure. In an explosion of rage, he kicked the passenger window out as well.

Finally he lay spent, the tempest over.

He imagined himself diving into an azure pool of cool water. On the other side of the water was paradise. Getting out of the car, he headed back up the path. He had to find a way to make it to the other side. At least he was moving closer. This time, nothing was going to stop him.

 

Chris was driving Lily's white Volvo home from their dinner at a P.F. Chang's, their favorite Chinese restaurant. “How's the trial going?”

“Pretty routine right now,” she said, glad he was talking about something other than Shana. Outside of the law, she had never perceived him as highly opinionated. The night before, he'd proved her wrong, arguing with her for hours and insisting that she take
Shana out of Whitehall immediately. He believed all mental hospitals were only interested in making money, and that they'd claim a mule was a drug addict as long as it had adequate insurance.

Whitehall was a fully accredited hospital and after hours researching it on the Internet, she'd failed to come up with even a whiff of impropriety. Even former patients spoke highly about their time at Whitehall.

“Has the medical examiner testified yet?”

“No,” Lily told him. “The defense finished their opening statement. Silverstein only just started calling witnesses. The employee of the Oxnard sewage treatment plant who discovered the body testified this afternoon. The killer bagged the boy three times but he was in the water for several months, so there wasn't a lot left of him.” She turned to look at him. “He was such an adorable little boy, Chris. How could a mother do such an unspeakable thing to her child? Even the grandfather is at fault. He was a doctor, for God's sake. He knew his daughter was abusing the boy when he took him to the hospital after she fed him Ajax. If he'd contacted the authorities then, the boy might still be alive.”

“A lot of kids get into cleaning products and other toxic things people keep in their homes. The grandfather must have assumed it was an accident. How could he have known his daughter did it intentionally?”

“Have you ever tasted Ajax?” Lily asked him. “Kids usually get a taste of it and spit it out. It's extremely caustic and burns like hell. This kid had a substantial amount in his system. The mother must have mixed it with ice cream or something that took the burning sensation away.”

“Why didn't the doctor who examined him in the ER report it to the authorities? They're required by law to report any possible case of child abuse.”

“The doctor is scheduled to testify so I guess we'll find out.”

He steered the Volvo into the driveway and hit the button for the garage door opener. “What are you going to do about Shana?”

Here we go again, Lily thought. “I checked some things out today.
You know I can't take Shana out, Chris. She admitted herself. At the moment, she isn't even taking my calls. If I showed up there, it would be a waste of time. I'm certain she wouldn't see me. I know she's mad at me for tricking her into going to the hospital, but maybe she's also ashamed.” She'd tried to speak to Shana again after her last session in court and the receptionist at Whitehall told her the same thing as before. “I did speak to her psychiatrist, Dr. Morrow, and he said it would be a mistake to move her right now.”

“The bastard doesn't want to lose his cash cow.”

Chris got out of the car and slammed the door. Lily jumped back, startled by the loud noise. She was still trying to accept that Shana had been involved with narcotics and instead of supporting her, Chris was beating her up and making her feel like she was a bad mother. His behavior reminded her of John. She didn't understand what was wrong with him. This was a side of him she had never seen before. He was the optimistic one, the rock, never failing to reassure her. His uplifting personality, easygoing temperament, and genuine compassion for others were the reasons why she had fallen in love with him.

The interior of the car was beginning to cool down. She had expected Chris to come back to get her, but he had walked straight into the house without even a backward glance.

She got out and went inside. Chris was on the sofa staring at the framed pictures of his deceased wife and daughter, Sherry and Emily. His daughter was six at the time she and her mother were killed in a head-on collision with a semi truck approximately four years ago.

When Chris had first received the heartbreaking news, he had blamed the driver of the truck and fantasized about killing him. After the highway patrol examined the skid marks at the scene, they determined that the truck driver had not been responsible. Sherry had drifted into oncoming traffic and must not have seen the semi until it was too late. The officers who had investigated the accident said Sherry's vehicle hadn't left skid marks, which meant she had made no attempt to brake. The driver of the semi had been
tired, the roads wet, and the tires on the truck had been low on tread. The investigators believed he'd done his best to avert a collision.

What Chris said had gotten to him the most was that he'd lost his wife and daughter in an “accident.” They weren't killed by a murderer, or an act of God such as a hurricane or an earthquake. All it had been was a lousy traffic accident.

Lily tried to sneak down the hall to the bedroom, not wanting to bother him. He saw her, though, and began speaking. “I'm going to take the pictures down, Lily. I can't thank you enough for letting me keep them here so long. This is your house and . . .” He choked up and stopped speaking, then stood and went to the bar, pouring a shot glass full of Jim Beam. “Can I make you a drink?”

Lily took a seat on the sofa. “No thanks,” she said, placing a pillow behind her back. Every day the pain got worse. She had put off having surgery, but she knew she couldn't last much longer. Her doctor kept offering her narcotics to help her cope with the pain, but Lily had steadfastly refused. Judges couldn't perform their duties unless they were mentally alert. People's lives were at stake.

“Don't take the pictures down, Chris. Sherry and Emily are your family. Why would you ever think I resented them? I've grown accustomed to the pictures. They're like my own family now. And Emily is such a beautiful girl. I enjoy looking at her smiling face in the morning while I'm having my coffee. Sherry looks like a wonderful person as well, but Emily looks remarkably like you. It gives me an idea of what you must have looked like when you were a child.”

He left the shot glass on the bar and rushed over to embrace her. Lily felt a powerful burst of energy rushing through her body. She didn't need pain pills as long as she had Chris. Whenever he touched her, her pain instantly abated. She decided the greatest pain reliever was love.

People at the courthouse said they felt the same way, though. Just being in close proximity to Christopher Rendell lifted a person's spirits and took away their fears. Lily assumed it was because
he was such a deeply religious man. When she found out he'd disassociated himself from the Mormon Church, she was confused. But even if he was no longer involved with a specific religion, he still believed wholeheartedly in the existence of God and the basic principles of Christianity. Besides, it was the way a person lived their life that mattered.

Lily asked herself if she was responsible for his present negativity. Maybe Chris didn't belong with a sinner like herself. She had not only killed a man, she had committed adultery. A sin was still a sin regardless of what someone did to you.

“You're a wonderful person, Lily. Forgive me for telling you what to do about Shana. She's your daughter and I have no right to interfere.”

“You have a right to express your opinion,” Lily told him, tilting her head to one side. “Shana is going to be your stepdaughter. That is, if you still want to marry me.”

He pulled her even closer, his large hands entwined in her hair. “Of course I want to marry you. I'm madly in love with you. The mere thought of spending my life without you is intolerable.” He paused, thinking. “I can't believe you don't know how beautiful you are, Lily. And you're beautiful both inside and out. I can't think of any man who wouldn't want to be with you. You've got a super body, great breasts, and incredibly long legs. And your eyes . . .” He held her away so he could look at her. “They're such an intense shade of blue, I can get lost in them for hours.”