Page 23 of Claiming His Bunny
Kayla
“So, how’s your frienddoing?” Michelle asks, giving me an inquisitive look over her laptop screen.
It’s Thursday, my first day back at work after spending three days at Amy’s place. Well, two and a half days before she kicked me out, insisting she’d be fine and that she’d hate for me to lose my job because of her problems.
“Conflicted,” I sigh, allowing my already scattered attention to drift away. “Craig abused her, but she still loved him, so she’s mourning him and celebrating his untimely death at the same time.”
Michelle nods, her expression serious. “I can’t even imagine that. And you? You look troubled.”
Troubled. I suppress a scoff. I’m more than troubled, but not for the reasons Michelle expects. “Well, I’m just glad Craig is gone, and there’s no way in hell he could talk Amy into taking him back. But it hurts to see her suffering. I guess I’m conflicted too,” I joke weakly.
There’s another thing I’m conflicted about, but I’ve already decided not to tell anyone. It’s a terrible decision, and it’s probably going to cost me my life, but I made it anyway.
“No wonder. You could have taken more time off to support your friend, you know. Director Smith would understand.”
“I just started working here, Michelle. I can’t exactly take a month off to binge-watch Friends with Amy while stuffing our faces with Ben & Jerry’s. That’s what Amy told me, anyway,” I add, chuckling. “She flat-out ordered me to go back to work, so here I am, working. How are we doing with Aaron Adam’s case?”
Michelle cocks her brow but doesn’t object to my change of topic. “Not well. I’ve done the basic intake, but other than reports from his physician and therapist, there isn’t much to go on. And Doctor Adams has been most…unhelpful in facilitating a meeting with Aaron.”
“Hmm…” Rubbing my chin, I think about all the praise I’ve heard on the famous Doctor Adams. “One would think he’d be eager to disprove any abuse allegations as soon as possible. Unless he’s hiding something.”
“If he is, he’s doing it well. Aaron’s doctor never mentioned any signs of physical abuse.”
I scoff. “Let me guess—the doctor works at the same hospital where Aaron’s father is the chief of surgery?”
“Yes,” Michelle confirms. “So does Aaron’s therapist. Her reports show nothing suspicious either. She claims that everything Aaron is going through is the result of being exposed to his mentally unstable mother.”
I pull out Cordelia Adams’ file, at least the little we have on her. After she was deemed too dangerous to be around her son anymore, she was shipped off to a mental facility on the other side of the country. By a psychiatrist working in—you guessed it—Bluebell Springs General Hospital. “Why in the world did Adams send his wife so far away? Aren’t there sanatoriums closer by so that she could at least see her son when she gets better?”
“He claims it was the best facility to treat her unique condition,” Michelle replies, frowning. “We don’t have access to her records, so there’s no telling what that ‘unique condition’ actually is. Adams doesn’t talk about it, and nobody dares to ask him too many questions. What we do know is that Aaron got worseafterhis mother was shipped away, not before.”
“His father spends a lot of time at work, so Aaron was probably fixated on her, no matter her condition,” I think out loud. “Even abused kids love their parents. To some point. But if she was the cause, he’d be getting better, not worse. It’s been,” I say, frowning at the therapist’s notes, “nine months since she left. Not only has the therapist made no progress with him, but she also admitted the boy’s condition is getting worse.”
The therapist’s report has me scowling. Aaron has always been a troubled child, it seems, but early on, his problems consisted merely of night terrors and mild panic attacks. After his mother was institutionalized, the list grew to monstrous proportions. Bed-wetting, inability to sleep without medication, violent panic attacks, complete decline of verbal skills. He shies away from other children, and being near unfamiliar adults triggers his panic attacks, which is the main reason his father gives when refusing our visit.
“This report says he’s afraid of men more than of women,” I point out. “It could be a sign of an unhealthy relationship with his father.”
Michelle shakes her head. “Most children are afraid of strangers, especially men. I know what you’re saying, but this is no proof.”
“I know, I know.” I sigh. “What’s his mother’s maiden name?”
“Barnes.”
I enter her name into Google along with the town’s name. There’s no particular reason for me to be doing this, but I just can’t help myself. I feel like she’s a key piece of the puzzle surrounding Aaron Adams.
The search returns several articles from local newspapers, showing Aaron’s mother smiling as she won school debates or performed on the piano. There’s a merry glint to her eyes in every photo until the one showing her in a wedding dress next to an elegant man who I assume is Benjamin Adams. Cordelia is smiling, but that spark of true happiness is gone, replaced by something that looks almost like fear. Or perhaps I’m reading too much into it, and Cordelia is just nervous on her wedding day. People get nervous while getting married. Allegedly.
The few photos published after that show Cordelia standing next to her husband at social events. The look in her eyes is almost as haunted as Aaron’s on his current case file photo.
Michelle looks over my shoulder as I compare Cordelia from before and after Benjamin Adams. “We need to crack this case,” she mutters solemnly.
“We need to talk to Aaron. Or communicate with him somehow if he won’t talk.”
“Well, his father has done a stellar job hiding him from us so far, but…” A corner of Michelle’s mouth quirks up. “Today is Aaron’s therapy day at Bluebell Springs General. Want to take a field trip?”
Grabbing my purse, I’m out of my chair before she finishes the sentence. “Count me in.”
My heart stutters as we approach the parking lot. I cast a nervous glance toward my car, heaving a sigh of relief when I see the windshield is empty. No flowers. No photos.
