Stand Alone (16 page)

“Know what this is?” she questioned, as she pumped it up.

Justine grinned.

“A sphygmomanometer,” she said promptly.

The nurse stopped pumping for a moment, surprised, then continued.

“You win the prize,” she said. “How did you know that?”

“I like big words,” Justine laughed. “Maybe I’ll be a nurse someday.”

“It’s a good job,” the nurse said, nodding, “especially if you like helping people.”

Justine was silent while the woman released the valve and listened. It occurred to her that she didn’t particularly like helping people. In fact, she didn’t particularly like people at all. Not very many people, anyway. Being a nurse probably wasn’t something that she would enjoy. But she didn’t have to tell Nurse Kim that.

“You like being a nurse?” she questioned.

“Usually I do!” she replied. “Of course, you’ve got your bad days like any other job. Patients who are abusive. Long hours on your feet. But it can be very rewarding.”

“Do you have to do a lot of gross stuff?” Justine questioned.

“Well, you do. But you get used to it, just like changing a baby’s diapers. You get more efficient, develop a stronger stomach.”

Justine nodded.

“I wouldn’t like that part,” she said.

“Your vitals are all looking good,” Kim said, writing them down on Justine’s chart. “I imagine the doctor will send you home today, as long as nothing else comes up.”

“Great,” Justine said. But she was less than enthusiastic about going back home again. Here at the hospital, with the doctors and nurses looking after her, and not having Em hanging over her all the time
  
…
 
it was far more comfortable. Having to go home, and having Em demand why she kept doing this, wanting her to pretend to live a normal life
  
…
 
She hesitated. “I’ve got a stomach ache,” Justine told the nurse. “He wouldn’t keep me here for that, would he?”

“No, not likely. Not unless it got a lot worse. You’re probably just hungry. You’ve hardly had anything to eat since you arrived, and I don’t know how long before that. We’ve got you rehydrated, but to get your energy back and start feeling really well again, you’ve got to eat.” The woman looked down at her watch. “Breakfast will be here before too long. Don’t pig out, but eat a bit and see how it goes. I’ll check in with you later.”

Justine nodded.

“Okay. Do you know
  
…
 
when Em is coming back?” she questioned.

“Em? Is that your mother?”

“Yeah,” Justine agreed, tracing the folds in her blanket with two fingers.

“That’s cute. Em for mother. She didn’t say, but I guess she’ll check in before long. Moms don’t usually stay away for too long!”

“Well
  
…
 
Em is different,” Justine explained. “She’s not like a normal mom.”

“What’s normal?” Kim questioned with a broad smile and a shrug. But Justine didn’t want her to just brush it off and go on with her rounds.

“She’s not my real mom
  
…”

“Oh? Are you adopted?”

“No, she kidnapped me when I was a baby,” Justine couldn’t help pressing the story, even though she knew the DNA results proved her wrong. “I’m not really hers. She’s not my mother at all.”

Nurse Kim stopped and looked at her, frowning. Justine tried to read her expression. Did she believe it? Did she think that Justine was lying or crazy? Nurse Kim smiled and patted her on the arm.

“Really, dear?”

Justine nodded.

“If that’s true, shouldn’t you contact the police?” Kim suggested.

“I can’t
  
…
 
I mean, I have before, and they don’t believe me. Em has them all fooled. She has everyone snowed. So even if I run away
  
…
 
even if I get away from her, they just send me back again.”

Kim wrote something in her chart and put it down.

“She has all of the documentation,” the nurse said, eyebrows raised. “Your birth certificate, social insurance number.”

“It’s all fake.”

“Everything checks out. The computer wouldn’t accept it if it was fake.”

The woman looked at her for another moment, then turned to go and continue her rounds. Justine flopped back on her pillow, frustrated that the nurse was just brushing it off.

“She tortures me,” she tried desperately, “she locks me in the basement, and she doesn’t feed me. Why do you think I was so sick? I didn’t do it to myself, she did this to me! I ran away, tried to hide, but I was so weak, I couldn’t get out again because of the storm.”

The nurse turned back, her eyes serious.

“She tortures you?” she repeated. “Show me the marks.”

“She doesn’t do anything that will leave marks. Water-boarding. Starving me. She doesn’t hit me.”

“I’ll have someone come and talk to you,” Kim said, and walked out of the room.

Justine lay there on the bed, wondering what she had just gotten herself into. She’d complained to the police and Child Protective Services about Em before, but it had never gone anywhere. No one ever took her seriously. There were no bruises, she attended school regularly, and the teachers had no concerns about her being abused. Em had all of the proper documentation to show that Justine wasn’t kidnapped. She referred complaints to Dr. Morton to deal with. Justine had learned that it wouldn’t help her, and just made Em furious. It didn’t get her anywhere, so she didn’t usually say anything anymore.

But now she had. Now Justine was in hospital, and if she could convince them that it was Em who made her sick, maybe they would listen to her, finally. Maybe she could finally get someone on her side instead of Em’s.

It had been a restless night, and Justine fell asleep again after the nurse left. When she next awoke, she was looking into the face of a man she didn’t know. He was shaking her gently, waiting for her to wake up.

“Oh,” Justine said, raising her head and sitting up a bit. “I fell asleep. Who are you?”

“My name is John Burma,” he said quietly. “I’m with Child Protective Services.”

“Oh, okay,” Justine was slightly disappointed. She had hoped that they would send a policeman. But a social worker would have to do. “Hi, there. I guess
  
…
 
you know I’m Justine.”

He nodded and pulled the visitor chair over to the side of the bed.

“So I hear you have something to tell me,” he prompted, sitting back and waiting.

Justine shifted uncomfortably. It was better when they asked questions. It was easier. She didn’t like having to just start off cold, with no momentum.

“I
  
…
 
I guess you talked to the nurse, and maybe my doctor?” she suggested. “So you know that
  
…
 
I was in that house. And I was really sick. I could’ve died.”

“Yes, if no one had found you when they did, that’s a possibility. But I’m not sure how this ties into an abuse or neglect claim. You weren’t tied up and held against your will in that house.”

“No. I went there to escape. But I was too weak, and I couldn’t get up again
  
…
 
to go get food, or to go somewhere warm.”

“I see,” he steepled his hands together, touching them to his nose and chin as he considered. “Why don’t you tell me what happened before you escaped there, then?”

Justine drew a deep breath. Her heart was pounding wildly. Her stomach felt queasy, but it was empty so she was pretty sure she wasn’t actually going to throw up. She looked around and saw her breakfast sitting on the wheeled table. Burma saw her gaze, and nudged the table over to her. Justine pulled the plastic off of the plate and considered the food. She poked at it uncertainly. She was hungry, but she wasn’t sure that she would be able to keep it down, with the way her stomach was twisting around.

“You’re not hungry?” the social worker challenged.

“I don’t feel well
  
…”

“Well, maybe get this off your chest first,” he suggested.

Justine nodded.

“So? Why were you so weak? What did you have to escape from?”

“She
  
…
 
locked me up. She locked me in the basement, and she wouldn’t give me anything to eat, and not even water to drink. I thought I was gonna die. My stomach hurt so bad
  
…
 
and my mouth was so dry,” she touched her cracked lips to demonstrate. “Then
  
…
 
I guess she forgot to latch the door, and so I got out. I was so scared, I just took my skateboard and went as far away as I could. But then I started to get tired
  
…
 
exhausted
  
…
 
I saw that house, and the door in the back was broken, so I went in, and I thought I would just lie down for a minute, get my strength back
  
…
 
but I must have passed out
  
…
 
and then the storm, and the firefighters came in
  
…”

He sat there looking at her, not saying anything, for the longest time. Justine stared down at her plate, knowing that he didn’t believe her.

“Why did she lock you up?” Burma questioned.

“She was mad,” Justine said. “I
  
…
 
I took money from her wallet, and I stayed out late
  
…
 
she doesn’t like me to be out.”

“Did she hit you?”

“No
  
…
 
I mean, a bit, and shoved me, but
  
…
 
not like she broke any bones or left any bruises or anything,” Justine looked down at her arms, marked in places by road rash, but with no injuries that could be construed as intentional.

“How did she lock you up, then? How did she get you down to the basement?”

“She just
  
…” Justine shook her head, trying to come up with something that made sense, “She told me she needed something down there. She wanted me to get her something. So I went downstairs, and
  
…
 
she just locked me in.”

He gazed at her. Justine shrugged, and looked down at her plate again. She poked at a canned orange slice.

“Why did you steal from her wallet?”

“It was stupid,” Justine sighed. “I just wanted to buy myself some lunch. I shouldn’t have taken it.”

“Doesn’t she give you money for lunch? Or make lunch for you?”

“I’m supposed to pack my own lunch,” Justine agreed. “She’s on this big health kick, so I’m not allowed to eat ‘toxins’, and all. I’m not supposed to have anything with gluten or dairy in it, and all of the fruit is supposed to be organic, and all that. I just get kind of tired of it
  
…
 
wanted to eat the stuff that everyone else get to eat
  
…”

“So she’s not withholding food,” Burma clarified.

“No—not then. But when she locked me in the basement
  
…
 
I guess maybe she figured that I’d have a better appetite for that crappy health food if I had to go without for a few days.”

“How long is a few days? How long we’re you locked up?”

Justine thought about it.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, frowning. “I kind of lost track
  
…
 
I couldn’t see outside, and wasn’t getting meals, so I’m not sure. I slept, mostly. Sort of got disoriented.”

The social worker nodded slowly.

“So you’re sure you want to do this?” he questioned. “You want to make these charges against your mother?”

“She’s not my mother!” Justine reminded him. “She kidnapped me.”

He blinked at this.

“The record shows that you’re her daughter,” he said, “so that’s how the law sees it. You want to make these charges? And you think I’ll find the evidence to make them stick?”

Justine bit her lip.

“Evidence?” she repeated.

“Well, we can’t put someone in jail simply on your say so, can we? I’ll need to interview your mother. Take a look around the house.”

“Oh, yeah I guess so.”

“You want me to do that? Or would you like to stop now?” he suggested.

“No, I want you to go ahead,” Justine insisted.

“You told a rather different story to your doctor.”

“Well
  
…” Justine hesitated, “Em was right there. I couldn’t say what really happened.”

“I see. Well, is there anything else you need to tell me? Any evidence?”

Justine shook her head.

“No, nothing else
  
…
 
just
  
…
 
she’s really good at fooling people
  
…
 
don’t believe her…”

He nodded and stood up, towering over her.

“I’ll look into it, then, and I’ll get back to you if there’s anything else I need.”

When he was gone, Justine rolled over on her side and curled up into a ball. She’d done it now. Done it again, even though she knew it was useless. Burma would go look at the house, and he’d know she was lying. The latched door at the top of the stairs hadn’t been used in years, not since she was old enough to understand that she couldn’t ride her tricycle down the stairs. And there was canned food down there; she wouldn’t have starved. There was no evidence to back up her kidnapping story. Burma probably wouldn’t even bother to come back and explain why they were closing the case. And Em
  
…
 
Em wouldn’t be happy about yet another Child Services report.

Justine’s stomach hurt. Whether because she hadn’t started to eat again yet, or because she was tense and stressed out about the interview with Mr. Burma, she didn’t know.

Nurse Kim came in after lunch was delivered.

“What’s up, kiddo?” she questioned.

Justine closed her eyes.

“Don’t feel good,” she muttered.

“What’s wrong, stomach? Becky said you didn’t touch your breakfast, and you haven’t opened your lunch. You have to start eating again if you want to get out of here.”