“You’re a good man, Dave.”
“I’m a father. God knows that boy needs one. Try to reassure him when they come to take him to Buncombe.”
Emily waited, she paced, she woke up an old friend, now a lawyer in Raleigh, for advice.
She took the names of two criminal attorneys he gave her, and reluctantly accepted his advice not to call them at one in the morning.
She made a mental list. Police, lawyer, maybe child services. And yes indeed, a conversation with her sister.
When the doctor came out, Emily all but leaped on her. “How is he? Is he okay? I’m his aunt. I’m Emily Walker, his aunt.”
“I can’t give you details. It’s against the law. I’m going to tell you he’s been treated, and he’s as comfortable as I can make him.”
“Ah, Doctor?” Jim the officer cleared his throat. “I’ve got to ask if he’s cleared. The van to take him to Buncombe’s outside.”
Marshall fisted her hands on her hips. “And if I say no, he needs to stay here for observation?”
He shuffled, looked down at his feet. “Then I gotta tell you, ma’am, Dr. Bigelow said he’d come down and clear him personally. Look, I don’t like it, but the kid went after his mom, his little sister.”
“That’s a lie, a terrible lie.”
Jim’s face toughened, but he didn’t meet Emily’s eyes. “That’s the statement—from his parents. And the law says he goes to Buncombe until his trial. Now you sign off, Doc, or I’m ordered to let Dr. Bigelow know. It’s going to happen either way.”
* * *
Zane felt better. Maybe it was the drugs, or the weird splint, but he felt better enough he dozed off on the gurney.
And came around when a nurse—male—and one of the cops woke him to transfer him to a wheelchair. When they rolled him out, Emily rushed to him, dropped down.
“Oh, Zane.”
“Emily, you’re not supposed to—”
“You shut up, Jim, or I swear I’ll tell your mama you manhandled me,” she snapped back at him as she touched her hand to Zane’s battered face. “I’ve known you since grade school, James T. Jackson, and I’ve never been so ashamed of you.”
“I didn’t—”
“You don’t even have to say it.” Still stroking, Emily cut off Zane’s denial. “I know you, Zane.”
“You have to look after Britt.”
“I will.”
“You have to promise. Don’t let him hurt her.”
“I swear it to you on my life, you hear me? I won’t let him hurt her again, whatever it takes. You have to hang in for me, my man. I’m getting you a lawyer. Dave and I, your grandparents, and people who know you, we’re all going to do everything to get you out of that place.”
“It’s just jail. That house, it’s been jail a long time.”
“We’ve got to take him out, Emily. You’ve got to move back.”
“I believe you, Zane, and I believe in you. You believe me when I promise you, on my life, I’m going to fix this.”
She kissed his bruised cheek, made herself straighten and move back.
When she watched them wheel him around the corner, she turned her face to the wall, wept. And weeping, fumbled her ringing phone out of her pocket.
* * *
Britt woke in the dark, moaned, lifted her fingers to her throbbing cheek. The light snapped on, and her father stood beside her bed.
Hospital, she realized. Her father’s face had bruises, a blackened eye. His lip was swollen.
And his eyes peered out cold and mean.
“This is what’s going to happen,” he said. “When the police come to speak to you in the morning, you’ll tell them your brother hit you. He hit your mother, and knocked her down. He hit you. You don’t remember much after that. Your mother screaming for me, but you threw up and got dizzy. Do you understand?”
Be smart, Zane always told her. Be smart, be careful.
“Yes, sir.”
“You saw me fighting Zane, were frightened. You ran to the phone to call for help. He got past me for a moment, struck you again. That’s all you know. Is that clear?”
He did that to your face. I’m glad he did that to your face. “Yes, sir.”
He leaned down close, and her heart beat like birds’ wings in her throat. “Do you know what will happen if you say anything else? Do you think your face hurts, your head hurts now? It’s nothing. Your mother and I have told the police what Zane did. They, of course, believe us. Zane should be on his way to prison very soon.”
“No, please—”
He slapped a hand over her mouth, squeezed just a little. “Your brother is lost to us. Something’s wrong with him, with his mind. He’s probably on drugs. He attacked his family, and will remain in prison until he turns eighteen. He will be forbidden to contact you, or you him. He will not be allowed in our home again. Do you understand? Nod.”
She nodded.
“Very bad things can happen to a young girl who disobeys her father. Especially if her father’s a doctor. You don’t want to find out what those very bad things are.”
He let her go, took a step back, shot out a smile. “Cheer up. It’ll be like being an only child. You’ll get all the attention, all the benefits. Think about that.”
He walked to the door. “Oh, and your aunt won’t be visiting. I’ve told the nursing staff to keep her away. She’s been a bad influence, I’m afraid. In fact, I wonder if that’s where Zane picked up his drug habit. Rest now. You’ll be able to go home in the morning. I’m going to go sit with your mother, and get some sleep myself.”
When he closed the door, Britt lay very still. She could hear her breath panting, so quick and fast it made her ears buzz. She had to slow it down. Chloe’s mom went to yoga classes, was always talking about breathing. Britt tried to get through the buzzing and remember what Mrs. Carter said when she and Chloe did yoga with her.
Because she had to get out, had to get away. She couldn’t go home, not with him. She couldn’t be alone, like an only child.
Her breath started to speed up again, and tears wanted to come, but she tried really hard. He said Zane was going to prison. She had to do something. But if the police believed her parents, why would they believe her?
And her face hurt. She just wanted to go to sleep until it all went away.
But it wouldn’t, it wouldn’t go away, and she couldn’t go to sleep. Maybe the police wouldn’t believe her, but Emily would. Maybe Mrs. Carter would. Maybe.
She got up slowly, crept and felt her way across the room until she found the bathroom. She turned on the light, closed the door except for a crack so she could see better.
She couldn’t find her clothes, her shoes. She didn’t have a phone in the room. He’d taken them. He would have thought of that. He thought of things.
But so did she, Britt told herself. And the thing she thought of first was: Find a phone.
She went to the door, opened it a crack, too. More light, a little sound, but not much. Mostly quiet. She didn’t know what time it was—he’d taken her watch, too—but it had to be really late. Or really early.