Chapter 41

FORTY-ONE

Wednesday August 12, 2010

We’ve just returned from the ER, where I spent hours with Heath. I managed to free his head from the crib without causing major damage, but they’re keeping him overnight for observation.

Amy hasn’t spoken a word since I woke up screaming. The shock of seeing her baby brother on the brink of death shook her to the core. She clung to me while I dialed 911 and quaked at the doorway when I let in the paramedics.

The ride to the hospital was excruciating. Heath’s wails echoed in the ambulance, every cry a sharp dagger to my heart. I tried to be strong for Amy, but I couldn’t hold back my tears. My hands shook so much I could barely sign Heath’s admittance papers.

Amy continues to be haunted by the specter of Charlotte. Every time a blonde nurse came close, she would squeeze my hand so tightly that her fingernails almost drew blood.

I tried calling Lyle, but he’s in a spot with poor reception. He left a message, saying he’s consulting an attorney to stop Three Fates’ from sending Dolly home while she’s still a danger to others.

He’s staying at a nearby bed-and-breakfast, refusing to sign any paperwork with the institution until he’s satisfied Dolly will be in safe hands. All these sacrifices he’s making for the family squeeze my heart. He’s been like this from the beginning.

Neither Amy nor I could sleep that night, with Heath’s health hanging in the balance. I clung to my little girl, staring into the empty cot, wondering how an entire baby’s head could slip through such a narrow space.

As if Amy was reading my mind, she told me that Charlotte’s ghost did this to Heath because she wants retribution. A life for a life. As much as I wanted to dismiss Amy’s words as the imaginings of a traumatized child, I couldn’t help the chill that ran down my spine.

I told her it was nonsense. There’s no such thing as ghosts, but Amy insists she saw what she saw.

As the sun rose, I drifted in and out of sleep, thinking about how to help Amy without incriminating the family for Charlotte’s murder. I looked it up online. Doctor-patient confidentiality only applies when the patient isn’t a threat to themselves and others.

A little girl talking about sacrificing a baby to appease the woman her twin sister killed and whose murder her father covered up, will attract a horde of police. They won’t just throw Amy in an institution. They’ll imprison Lyle and me, then Heath will be left alone, a ward of the state.

Foster care is a fate I wouldn’t wish on anyone, especially not my own flesh and blood. He’ll grow up among a succession of strangers, not knowing he once had a loving family.

With those bleak thoughts, I decided to buy some books on trauma and work through the exercises with Amy. I will be her therapist and help her sift through the nightmares. I will mend her fragile heart.

The next morning, Lyle arrived from his legal wrangling with Three Fates, looking like he hadn’t slept. He crashed on the sofa while Amy and I picked up Heath from the hospital.

Amy was in better spirits, seeming relieved that Heath was given a clean bill of health. I ordered a crib with wider slats, placed an inch apart, making the spaces barely large enough to fit a baby’s hand. It’s still a mystery how this could happen to a newborn, but I wasn’t about to tempt fate again.

I was so wrung out from all the stress that I trudged past the living room, not bothering to wake Lyle, and took Heath upstairs. After feeding him, I fell into a deep sleep.

When I woke up, I found Amy carrying Heath out of the room.