The Brand Ch. 11

The detective flipped once, then twice.

"Age?"

"She just turned twenty-five in November, on the seventeenth. Who is treating her?"

"A dr. Peebles; said he'd be up to speak with you," said Powers; looking at her pad, "But since he's not here yet, and because of the circumstances we found her in, I'm inclined to ask: had she ever talked to you about any early traumatic experience she might have had?"

Powers quickly raised her eyes again to gaze on Victria, and saw that the sadness and regret that had been on her face not a minute ago was now replaced with what she read as a guarded, detached expressionlessness. Powers watched, and tried to calculate how many layers regressed behind Victria's stare. The May woman was important to her. There was no doubt of that. Was it as simple as a friendship or something more complex?

"A rape kit; was done." Powers intoned; tilting her head, gauging for any further change in Victria's expression, "She hadn't been; sexually violated, thankfully. It appears that Ms. May submitted without a struggle and was quickly brought into the kitchen and tied to the chair. She certainly may have been quite traumatized by having witnessed you getting shot at, and then you taking down that last perpetrator, but Dr. Peebles believes there was something else at work, in her mind; shutting her off."

Powers waited. Still, Victria said nothing. The detective reflected; recalling what she saw of the living arrangements in the house. The more she thought about it, the more complex the relationship actually was. The detective didn't want to assume they were lovers, but there was little else you could gather. Hence, if the relationship was complex, Charpentier should have been in the know as to what personal trauma the May woman might have suffered in her past. Or, if May wasn't being honest, then there was something else at work. Privacy was fine. Powers didn't give a rat's ass. However, in a multiple homicide investigation, she would get her transparency, sooner or later. And that meant still another layer behind those hard, distant, grey brown eyes; a layer defined by Carpenter's will, her boldness, to fatally shoot three men.

Were they righteous shoots: three intruders with a shot gun a piece, each fully loaded but for the shots fired; the serial numbers on each of the weapons scratched off? But those weren't the only shell casings we found. The woman has two decent hand guns of her own, licensed to carry concealed, a big house with lots of stuff and she had a legal right to protect herself. She'd been caught off guard. That too was for sure; Charpentier found naked; May wearing nothing but a night shirt; discarded clothes on the master bedroom floor around a bed that someone had occupied.

Had Charpentier been aware that May had let them in? Someone into home protection wouldn't have let that happen, at ten at night, if she'd been aware. Unless; that was part of the plan? Sure; on the surface, they were justifiable homicides. But, Charpentier wasn't out of the woods yet. Powers reached into her pocket and withdrew something. Victria saw the detective's hand extended inside her right periphery.

"I also needed to ask you," said Powers; her voice firm, "Do you know this person?"

Victria took the photograph. She stared for a time, not sure of what to make of what she saw; until it came to her. Her rich brown skin drained of most of its color, her lips purple, her teeth brown with dried blood, her short stubble of hair frosted with ice, her lifeless eyes staring blankly back at her, Victria winced at the sight of Yazmina. Oh Yazz, you dumb bitch, she thought. Keeping her eyes closed, her stomach roiling slightly, Victria handed the picture back to Powers.

"She was found in a snow bank about four hundred yards north of your place." Explained the detective, "There was a Ford Transit parked at the bottom of your driveway, unregistered Jersey state plates, its driver's door wide open. We think she fled from your address, from the van-"

"I know her." Victria interrupted; staring at the cloudless blue sky outside her window again, "I knew her: Yazmina Moldenado."

"How did you know her?"

Victria turned quickly to face Powers, wincing in pain as she did so. She'd thought of Geralynne in that instant, wondering if she'd actually pay a visit, what she might say, or what she might not say; in the wee hours of the morning, slinking into her room, past a nurse skeleton crew, prepared with some sort of lethal injection. . Why not? It was all a game after all: life, death, love, hate.

"You know; a little Dilaudid could go a long way." Powers remarked.

"I can handle it." Victria returned, "Yazmina and I dated for a few years. I broke it off because she stole from me. That was like; three years ago. We started seeing each other again after that, on and off, under more controlled circumstances. You know; you give somebody a second chance, you try to forgive and forget. Anyway, she knew what I had and where I kept it. I guess it was only a matter of time before she'd try to get more of it."

"A matter of time?"

"Yeah, before she felt like it was okay to, I don't know, hook up with some crew so she could take all my shit while trying to scare Melody and me in the process?"

"Was she jealous of Melody?"

"Yes, I suppose she was." Answered Victria; her tone bordering frustration, "Look; please, can't you go get Melody and just wheel her up here? I mean; why can't she be catatonic or whatever right here next to me?"

Powers stared back at Victria. Take it easy little rich girl, she thought. I ain't your fucking hand maid. But then, In that very instant, the woman detective saw, imagined, the two women; both bound to wheel chairs, Victria attending to Melody, feeding her, wiping her drool, Victria struggling with her own physical pain, the PTSD of having killed in her own home, that home falling apart, her love for Melody being the only thing that might possibly keep her sane as her world gradually devolved to total ruin. Be careful what you wish for, doll. What? This is weird. Powers suddenly looked away. What the fuck is this, thought the detective as a sudden emotion choked in her throat. Get a hold of yourself Cassie. Powers pocketed the photo, and then turned to face the window. She felt the sudden turmoil in her heart, worked her emotions back in check, took a deep breath and willed her welling tears back behind the business of seeing a case logically and objectively through to its closure.

"I'm sorry Ms. Charpentier, " she answered, "Both you and Ms. May are too in need of help for staff to take care of you together. I'll let Dr. Peebles explain.

Powers did not see the anger flash in Victria's face as she turned away.

"Will I be able to keep my guns?"

Composed, the detective turned back to face Victria. From love to guns, Powers thought, that's extreme; I'd guess.

"I can't say beyond right now," she answered, "And right now, they're evidence."

That should settle that, thought Powers; for now. Charpentier might get her guns back in a month, but likely longer; as long as the DA rules the homicides as justified. The detective moved away from the foot of Victria's bed, and then stepped to the window and rested her seat against its sill.

"The thing is," Powers continued; referring back to her note pad, "I'm a bit troubled. Well, let me say; I'm perplexed?"

"Perplexed?" Victria queried.

"Hmm. I got a call from a detective out in Putnam; Mangiafico?"

"Of course you did." said Victria; wagging her head and uttering a small ironic laugh.

Powers paused; noting Victria's response.

"He gave me a breakdown of the Dobbs incident," she continued, "And his; impressions."

"This is truly farcical." said Victria as she leveled a disdainful gaze at the detective, "And your conclusions are?"

"My conclusions are; that I think Mangiafico's a fucking crack pot. Excuse my French."

"I know, right?" said Victria, her gaze softening slightly.

A silence ensued, the one anticipating the other, the distant sounds of nurse chatter, and calls into the nurse's station and the occasional moan of pain from a nearby room.

"So how's your own mental state; asked the detective suddenly, "I mean; since the Dobbs incident?"

Victria could not help glaring at the detective.

"It's just that," Powers continued, "You've got a string of; trauma here you're dealing with."

Oh here we fucking go again. Victria had hoped she would feel more comfortable with the attractive detective, to trust her, but it was short lived; snuffed out by the sight of the same doubt in her eyes that Mangiafico had had in his and by her new line of inquiry. . Oh well, thought Victria as she looked away. God harvests a few souls for itself and I get yet another self-righteous defender of mortal justice trying to pin the divine's dirty work on me. It's enough to make a pretend Voodoo practitioner want to throw a doll together with whatever the nurses might have handy. Total bull shit, I swear; total bull shit.

"Not all trauma has to be life shattering." Answered Victria, "Let's say the recovery was really short, "Seeing as the world took him out right before my very eyes."

"Hmm; I see."

Hmm, she says. Fuck you too, fucking Clarice Starling. Let's cut to the chase then detective.

"I bet he also mentioned the others;" Victria went on; sneering at the detective, "Rancourt, Duffy and Ricchio?"

"Yes," Powers answered calmly, "And your boss, Cheevers, mentioned them too."

A silence fell again as the two women waited each other out: Powers, alert, expressionless; Victria, eyes narrowed, wary, incensed.

"Cheevers?" Victria repeated.

"Yes." Powers answered; nodding, "Actually, he came up here to see you early this morning. He's a very religious man, you know."

Victria stared; her expression a sort of amused incredulity.

"Really?" she said; mockingly, "I had no idea."

"Sure. That's why it was so important to him that you joined him for their funerals."

Powers kept her gaze on Victria. Victria's never wavered. Holy Cheevers; yeah right. Praying I don't make his ass grass, is more like it. There would be no looking away. How many now were dead; Dobbs, the others, three criminals and stupid, stupid Yazmina? It seemed to Victria that she was assumed guilty for all the death around her, no matter how innocent she truly was, remotely connected, victimized by circumstance or even having acted out of clear self-defense. Victria suddenly felt herself losing control. No matter how innocent she knew she was: they would find a way to keep Melody away from her and to lock her up, the police, Geralynne, Cheevers. She'd had enough. She was finished. Oh my God, I give; I give-

"Okay, so what the fuck?" said Victria; her voice rough with emotion, "You want to search my house for a fuckin Voodoo doll of Yazmina? Go right the fuck ahead detective. And let me know when you find Melody's too, okay? Because I need it, to tuck her in next to me so that I can fucking go to sleep at night while my real Melody is somewhere by herself or with a bunch of fucking strangers, prodding at her, drugging her with who knows what. This is utter bull shit lady; bull shit. Someone has to fucking help me here."

Powers continued to stare at Victria. She watched as a single tear fell from the outer corner of her left eye. Following its slow course, the detective tried to decide whether its soreness was that of a cold lire's weak effort or because Victria was a gravely prideful woman who could not handle any public showing of her true feelings.

There came a new rapping at the door, quieter but insistently repetitive. Victria looked away and wiped her eye as Powers met the caller's gaze.

"Dr. Peebles." She announced, "I'd like you to meet Victria Charpentier."

Her eyes slightly red and puffy then, Victria angled her head to the door, and looked upon a bespectacled man of average height and build. His brown tweed coat and cardigan lent also to his scholarly air, though he was otherwise in jeans and a fairly worn pair of hiking boots. Clipped to his coat's breast pocket was his hospital ID. His likeness was somewhat darker, his expression cool and his brown hair was shorter. Beneath the image was his name and certifications: Dr. Jeremy Peebles, MSSW, PsyaD,LCP, BCBT.

"Hey there Ms. Charpentier," said Peebles as she slowly advanced to the right side of Victria's bed, "It's nice to meet you."

Smiling pleasantly enough, the man extended his hand. Victria looked at it, her expression seeming Leary of some sign of MRSA or ringworm. He wasted no time with her hesitation and quickly stepped back and interlaced his fingers at his midline.

"I was hoping we could talk about the young lady that was brought in with you."

"Melody." Said Victria, not looking at him.

"Ah Melody!" he repeated excitedly; suddenly disengaging his fingers and clapping once, "That's perfect. And there I was guessing her a Zoei or a Christina."

Oh Jesus Christ, thought Victria as she met his eyes, they sent me a reject from Good Will Hunting. She couldn't, wouldn't hide her incredulity. His good humor certainly didn't boarder on obnoxiousness, at least not yet. But, Victria thought it would, and quickly.

"Would you mind terribly," Peebles intoned; both slowing and softening his voice, "If I ask you a few questions about her?"

Again, Victria looked away. What could she say? Never did she expect to be in the position she was in, to have to talk to a psychologist about someone she'd dominated and had been humiliating over the last four months. Has it only been four months, she thought. It feels like forever. Fuck, I don't want to talk to a psych. I can't. I don't, I don't; know her. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Damn it, where's Vance?

"Ms. Charpentier?" Peebles continued, "I can't try to pull her out of the vacuum she's been sucked into if I can't get an idea-"

"She was homeless when I found her; when we met."

Powers had been reviewing the notes on her pad, and was prepared to write when Victria spoke. The detective eyed Victria, the pen poised in her hand, and then glanced at the doctor. The doctor's eyes never left Victria's. Powers was certain that the doctor would ask her to please step out. Anticipating his request, the pretty detective tucked her pad and pen away, crossed to the door, told Victria that she'd be back, and then left the room. Peebles casually followed to the door, and then closed it part way. Victria watched him take a seat in the blue chair by the window, cross his legs, and then fix his boyish face and alert gaze on her. They stared at each other for a moment before Victria finally sighed and looked away.

"I just want you to know that I am a silenced clinical psychologist," Peebles said; his voice calm and quiet, "And I'm certified in bereavement trauma."

Wordy fucking do, Doc, she thought. So I should be comfortable enough, with all your acronyms and your peaked interest, to rat on Melody and spill my guts to you? Well; I can't rat on Melody.

"I have to say," began Victria, "That I don't know a whole lot about her."

"Well; what is it you do know?"

Victria paused, looking away, almost dreamily, to her right.

"She's loyal." She continued, "She's supportive. Melody is; very smart and nurturing and creative. And, I've seen her; totally shut down in fear; before."

"Hmm." Said Peebles, "Tell me about that."

"We were getting in line at the Westbrook Deli and these two guys came in to rob the place. They each had guns, but one looked fake. The other was real, as we learned. I think Melody hit the floor before he'd ever fired any shots. She'd, she'd pissed herself. The rest of us, I just-"

Victria trailed off, her gaze shifting ever leftward.

"Did anyone get hurt?" asked Peebles, "Did Melody?"

"No." Victria quietly answered; meeting his gaze, "But Melody has a scar; below her right hip; a bullet's graze."

"From when; where?" the doctor asked.

"Victria looked away again, picking and choosing her way through her thoughts. Peebles gaze remained fixed, his expression wrapped, deliberating.

"I, I don't know." Victria intoned distantly, "She won't tell me. I mean, we talked about her shitty dad, her spineless mom and the little one horse town she grew up in. She told me about a few of her experiences walking away from it, from them; I guess, walking across the country, telling me stories about some of the people she met and that was it. I found her in the middle of downtown Hartford-"

Again, Victria's stare roved up and to the right. When she spoke next, Peebles heard a woman who seemed suddenly transported; entranced, languid, and wistful.

"She was rummaging through garbage. Pigeons flocked all around her, just her, and there were all these bees all over the cans in the trash, just swarming on her hands and arms; and she never got stung."

Peebles stared in rapt attention. This one's smitten; very much so. But, she's not as trusted by the patient as she'd like to be. Why not? Minutes past. Would she say more? I need more, he thought, tell me-

"So," said Peebles; breaking the silence, "Melody walked away from dear old mom and dad; walked away from everything she knew and from something that hurt her very badly."

"She walked away from boring," asserted Victria; bringing her gaze back to bare gloweringly upon the doctor's, "She walked away from nothing; from people who walked away from her."

Peebles shifted in his seat.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Come on Doctor." Victria said scornfully, "She couldn't be gay out there. They're not progressive in those sleepy little Midwestern cow towns! She walked away to find freedom!"

"Well; did she find it?"

"Find what?"

"Freedom; was she free, being homeless?"

"Maybe? But, who was it that said that even freedom is a kind of oppression?"

"You just said it. And, it was you that took her in; saved her from the streets, per say?"

Victria looked away.

"Tell me; did she ever call home, while living with you?"

"I don't know. Maybe; when I wasn't around. I don't know. She never told me."

A new silence fell then; Victria staring off distantly while Peebles stared fixedly at her.

"Alright then Ms. Charpentier." He said as he prepared to stand, "Thank you for your help. But, now that I have her name, I believe I will pick this up with Ms. May's parents."

"Wait!" Victria said excitedly, "What? No! You can't. They'll take her back."

Peebles paused.

"Ms. Charpentier," he said, "Melody is in a very severe depressed catatonic state. I'm not sure when she'll be able to make her own decisions. I'll need to track down the best advocates to manage-"

"I'm her advocate Doctor!" Victria shouted, "I can make decisions on her behalf!"

Peebles slowly sat back down.

"Ms. Charpentier; there is no legal ground for you to serve in such a capacity for her. And besides, you're obviously not in the best of health yourself at the moment."

"Okay, let me fucking tell you something mother fucker. Sorry. I'm trying to be nice, but now you're fucking with me!"

"Fucking with you?" the doctor repeated.

"Yes, God damn it! I am going to get in touch with P & A, and I will find an advocate that will represent the both of us! You had to do it Peebles! You had to fuck with Victria Charpentier! Melody loves me and I love Melody! She's not fucking going anywhere! Now get the fuck out of my room ass hole!"

Peebles slowly got back to his feet, his expression no less sincere and interested, but much more alarmed. He gave Victria one last look, taking in her agitation, her bright red face, the inconceivable pain in her eyes, and her clenched red fists. After quickly checking her chart, he left Victria's room. He stopped by the nurse's station and requested that Dr. Gupta be paged. Peebles was certain his patient, his other new patient, would be much better off with a higher dosage of pain medication. And getting a sedative in to her as soon as possible would certainly make it safer for anyone to approach the woman in the critical moments that would follow. Mamma Bear, thought Peebles, Is missing her baby; and if they don't send her back to sleep, she's liable to take a bite out of somebody.