“Hey, Harry,” she said, leaning tiredly against the wall. “Did you see this morning’s paper?”
He sighed heavily. “Julia. I’ve been worried about you.”
“I’m worried about myself.”
“You need to start giving interviews, tell your side of the story. It’s ridiculous to shoulder the whole blame for this thing. We all think—”
“What’s the point? They’ll believe what they want to, anyway. You know that.”
“Sometimes fighting is the point, Julia.”
“I’ve never been good at that, Harry.” She stared out the window at the bright blue-skied day and wondered what she would do now. They talked for a while longer, but in truth, Julia wasn’t listening. Treating patients was all she had; all she was good at. She should have built herself a life instead of just a career. If she had, she wouldn’t be alone now. And talking about her emptiness wouldn’t help. She’d been wrong to reach out. “I better go, Harry. Thanks for everything.”
“Julia—”
She hung up the phone and walked around her office. When she felt tears gathering, she stripped out of her suit and put on her workout clothes, then headed to the treadmill she kept in the next room.
She knew she’d been on it too much lately, that she’d lost so much weight she was down to nothing, but she couldn’t seem to stop.
Staring into the murky darkness of her beloved office, she stepped on the black pad and set the incline button for hills. When she was running, she almost forgot her pain. It wasn’t until much later, when she’d turned the machine off and driven back to her too quiet home, that she thought about what it meant to run and run and have nowhere to go.
In these late evening hours the halls of the county hospital were quiet. It was Max’s least favorite time; he preferred the hustle and bustle of daily emergencies. There were too many thoughts that waited for him in the shadowy quiet.
He made a few last notes on the girl’s chart, then looked down at her.
She lay perfectly still, breathing in the deep, even way of sedated sleep. On her left wrist, the brown leather restraint looked obscenely heavy and ugly.
He reached down for her free hand, picked it up and held it. Her fingers, clean now but still stained by blood and lined with scars, were thin and tiny against his palm. “Who are you, little one?”
Behind him the door opened and closed. He knew without looking that it was Trudi Hightower, the charge nurse of the swing shift. He could smell her perfume—gardenias.
“How is she?” Trudi asked, coming up close to him. She was a tall, good-looking woman with kind eyes and a loud voice. She claimed that the voice had come from raising three boys on her own.
“Not good.”
She made a tsking sound. “The poor thing.”
“Are we ready to move her?”
“The old day care center is all set up.” She reached down and unhooked the restraint. When she lifted the heavy strap, Max touched her wrist.
“Leave it here,” he said.
“But—”
“I think she’s been bound enough in her life.”
He bent down and scooped the sleeping child up in his arms.
In silence, they walked down the brightly lit hallways to the old day care center.
There, he tucked the girl into the hospital bed they’d moved into the room. At the last second he had to stop himself from whispering, Sleep tight, kiddo.
“I’ll stay with her awhile,” he said instead.
Trudi touched his forearm gently. “I’m off in forty minutes,” she said. “You want to come over to the house?”
He nodded. God knew he could use a distraction. Tonight, if he went home alone, the memories would be there, waiting to keep him company.
Ellie stared at the computer screen until the letters blurred into little black blobs on a field of throbbing white. A headache opened its parachute at the back of her skull and floated down her spine. If she read one more report of a missing or abducted child, she was going to scream.
There were thousands of them.
Thousands.
Lost girls who had no voice to cry for help, no way to reach out. The few who were lucky enough to be alive somewhere were counting on professionals to find and save them.