Page 19 of Leave No Trace
And Lucas? I flipped through pages, skimming for any mention of the boy’s location while his father was locked up, but there was nothing. A scared nine-year-old had no place in a criminal report.
Two days after the arrest Heather’s body was found. She’d died behind a house in the nearby town of Virginia and the medical examiner put her date of death within the time frame Josiah’s camping permit said he was in the Boundary Waters. Heroin was found in her body, the death was ruled an accidental overdose, and within a week the Blackthorns disappeared.
At the bottom of the pile of papers were a series of photographs, mostly shots of the corpse and the townhouse, but the last one looked like a print of an ID badge from her job. The woman smiled at the camera with gaunt cheekbones and too-white teeth, her face framed by perfectly styled, flowing brown hair.
I stared at the picture and then jumped when a nurse and the security guard strode into the room. She glanced at the empty food containers on top of my stacks of papers and raised an eyebrow as she adjusted monitors and changed the IV drip.
‘Has he woken up since you’ve been here?’ she asked.
‘No, just a lot of that.’ I motioned to his twitching hands as he unconsciously pulled against the restraints.
‘You could try talking to him, but I’d stay on that side of the room if I were you. Chocolate pudding isn’t worth an assault.’
‘Depends on the pudding.’
‘Not that pudding.’ After tucking the sheet in and recording his vitals, the two of them left me staring at Lucas’s form, wishing I could take her advice.
I needed to talk to someone and I wished – for maybe the first time since I’d been committed – that I had a friend, someone I could trust. The street kids I ran with before Congdon had all heard what happened and avoided me like the plague after I got out. I started taking college classes in high school, with no time for pep rallies or clubs, and by the time I officially started at the university I was already a sophomore. Then it was all about getting accepted into the speech pathology Master’s program, and the few friends I made there were largely study partners. We bonded over anatomy and assistive technology, and we hugged each other goodbye after graduation. Dr Mehta called my lack of social support an attachment disorder. I never really cared about it until now.
Lucas’s head lolled toward me on his pillow. A dusting of beard colored his cheeks, which looked more sunken than yesterday. His wrists were raw from unconscious fights with the handcuffs. Grabbing a bottle from a side table, I picked up his hand and carefully rubbed some lotion over the red welts, feeling his pulse thrum in time to the blips on the monitor. As I finished one side, his fingers twitched and closed over mine.
‘Lucas?’ I leaned closer. ‘Can you hear me?’
His head flopped away, but his fingers tightened.
‘I need you to wake up. Do you know the name Heather Price?’ I said it again, studying his face for any reaction. Another head jerk and a few mumbled words. Nothing I could decipher. I moved to his other wrist, trying to figure out why I was playing nursemaid to an unconscious, difficult patient who only gave me injuries and riddles. His wrists were warm, though, and for a second I tried to remember the last time I’d reached out and voluntarily touched another person outside of work. No memory came to mind. I glanced at the door to make sure we were alone before carefully closing my hand around his and drawing it to my coat.
‘I’m here, see? I’m right here, but you’ve got to wake your lazy ass up.’ Then I dropped my voice even further and admitted what I would never say to anyone conscious. The reason I was standing here with lotion-covered hands.
‘I miss talking to you.’
My time was up; I had to get back to Congdon before the afternoon sessions began. Capping the bottle, I limped over to scoop up the police papers and stuff them away, then – on an impulse – I left the picture of Heather Price on Lucas’s bedside table, writing a note on top of it in thick black marker.
Her?
– Maya
Eight hours later I pulled up to the house and forced myself to get out of the car. In my first afternoon session one of the female patients stomped on my ankle, laying me out flat and all I could think as I gasped and clutched it was that I should have known better than to wear the brace; some people looked at Achilles and only saw a heel. I used a crutch from Nurse Valerie for the rest of the day, refused the ibuprofen she tried to give me, and spent the drive home counting the number of incident reports I’d had to file in the last two weeks. My phone buzzed with an incoming call from Dr Mehta, but I let it go to voicemail and pulled up in front of the house. At least the day was over. All I had to do now was get myself from the car to my bed. No problem.
I kept up the silent pep talk as I hobbled through the gate toward the house, where Jasper barked with manic excitement. As soon as I opened the door he shot out to pee without even a sniff or a lick hello.
‘Sorry, Jazz. I know it was a long day.’ Guilt wormed its way through the pain as I waited for him to take care of business, until a voice too close to me said –
‘Long, but interesting.’
I whipped around, peering through the shadows to see Lucas standing by my front steps.
10
What the—’was all I got out before Jasper flew across the lawn.
Lucas sprang backward and almost cleared the fence, but Jasper caught him by the foot and held on fast. Kicking, Lucas tried to shake the dog while straddling precariously on top of the chain link.
‘Jasper! Heel!’
He dropped Lucas’s foot immediately and ran across the yard to stand guard between me and our trespasser, a low growl still trembling in his throat.
‘Good boy.’ I scratched behind his ears.
