Page 11 of High Frequency

A car pulls out right next to the main doors to Cabinet Peaks Medical Center, and I slip the Jeep in the vacated parking spot. I grab the small stuffed lion I found at the gift store around the corner, and head into the lobby.

The woman who gets up from the chair next to the girl’s bed must be her mother. She looks a little worse for wear, like she hasn’t slept in days. Chelsea herself looks better than she did last time I saw her. A little more aware of her surroundings, her eyes no longer hold the blank look but follow me into the room.

“Mrs. Littleton?”

I never met her and am aware I’m not wearing a uniform, so I hold out my hand to introduce myself. She takes it tentatively as she nods.

“I’m Sloane Eckhart. I’m a detective with the Lincoln Sheriff’s Department. I rode along in the ambulance with your daughter on Tuesday.”

Understanding replaces her suspicious expression.

“Yes, Sheriff Ewing shared as much when he dropped in yesterday. He also mentioned you would be by this morning. Nice to meet you, but please call me Donna.”

Then I turn to the bed, where Chelsea looks to have been following the exchange between her mother and me.

“And how are you today?” I ask the girl. “Do you remember me from a few days ago?”

For a moment I don’t know if my question registers.

“Horses.”

“Yes, the guys who found you were on horseback, and you got to ride out of the woods on one of them. You remember that?”

This time she nods.

“I brought you something.” I hand her the stuffed animal.

“Lion,” she identifies it as she tucks it against her chest.

“Yes, I saw him and he made me think of you. Did you know the lion is a symbol for courage?”

Chelsea shakes her head.

“It is. That’s why I got it for you, because I thought you were pretty courageous yourself.” I flash her an encouraging smile. “Do you think I could borrow your mom for a minute?”

She looks at her mother, who nods and tells her, “We’ll be right back.”

“How is she?” I ask as soon as we step out in the hallway.

“I’m not sure,” Donna says, running a distracted hand through her messy hair. “The doctor says there doesn’t seem to be a physical reason for her state. No sign she hit her head or has a concussion or anything, but she can’t seem to put together a complete sentence and she seems so confused.”

She certainly does. From all accounts Chelsea is a spunky teenager, a bit of a rebel with a sharp tongue. The girl in the hospital bed does not seem like the same person. Of course, we still don’t know the full extent of the ordeal she’s been through, although the attending physician who saw her when we first came in already told me she suspected sexual assault and would be doing a rape kit.

Bloodwork would’ve been standard procedure, and I’m curious to know whether anything was flagged on those labs.

Could some drug be causing this lingering fugue state?

Dan

“Sit down a spot, son.”

I glance up to see the old man sitting in a corner of the porch, rocking his chair and having his daily drink.

“I should go wash up before dinner.”

“Oh, bull hickey. Sit yer sorry ass down and keep an old man company.”

Ninety-two years old, a serious heart condition, can barely get one foot in front of the other, but his mind is still sharp as a tack. I don’t think any of us—least of all Jonas—would’ve expected him to still be kicking around, but here he is, issuing orders and making demands.

---