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She stares at me for a few moments, likely trying to decide if I’m a threat. As I stare into those piercing eyes, it strikes me that what I sense from her isn’t fear. No, she’s guarded, but not because she’s afraid. She’s careful, protective, and very calculating. Finally, she agrees to let me sit.
“Is your sister in the hospital a lot?” I ask, hoping that will solve my mystery. If Charlie’s been here before, that would explain why she looks so familiar.
“This is her first time,” she says. “Well, the first time I’ve brought her,” she hedges. “Our… parents died recently. They were in charge of her care before.”
Her words stick in her mouth like she’s unsure of them. She probably isn’t used to talking about her parents in the past tense. That’s something I’ve experienced with young patients. It’s an unfortunate side effect of the world we live in.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I tell her earnestly. “It must be hard taking on full responsibility for your sister. Was it sudden?”
“Practically overnight,” she answers, picking at her skin. “They weren’t the best parents.” This time, the words spill out. “They didn’t understand Charlie. They didn’t know how to deal with her.”
“Do you?” I ask, remembering how difficult the girl was.
“I understand her,” she concedes. “It’s enough.”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, you’re quite a bit older than she is. Were your parents like that with you?”
I don’t know what possesses me to ask, other than a morbid curiosity about this woman. She haunts me, and I have to find out why. Given who my friends are, that’s not the most outlandish idea.
“My parents were amazing with me,” she answers, her tone changing. She obviously loved them very much despite their treatment of her younger sister. “They showed me unconditional love and helped me to better understand the world. They instilled a love for strays.”
She stops talking abruptly as if she revealed something she shouldn’t have. Her guard immediately goes back up. My heart sinks. I almost felt like we were getting somewhere.
“My parents were awful,” I tell her truthfully. “My dad was a cruel man who constantly threatened to send me to military school. I don’t think he wanted to be a father, so the idea of sending me away was very attractive.”
She looks up at me in surprise. “You didn’t have one of those fathers who pushed you to become a doctor?”
“My dad doesn’t know I’m a doctor,” I answer. Christ, I hadn’t spared the man a thought in a decade at least. Why did I start this conversation? Thinking of him doesn’t bring back pleasant memories.
“What a pair we make.” She laughs. “Well, I think we’ve exhausted the family conversation. What depressing topic should we dredge up next?”
“You could tell me why you look so sad,” I suggest without thinking.
She cocks her head at me curiously. “Do I look sad?” she asks as if she genuinely doesn’t know.
“Just lost in thought, I guess.”
If possible, her walls go up higher. She’s an impenetrable fortress. I can’t get through to her. I’m not sure why I want to. It’s not like I make a habit of flirting with patients. She’s no one to me, truly.
Why can’t I stop thinking about her? Why am I so drawn to her, so ready to pull her into an on-call room and have my way with her? This isn’t me. If I know what’s best for me, I’ll stay away from her and forget she exists.
“I’m sure it’s difficult having a sick sister,” I say, trying to interrupt my thought process. I need to remind myself her sister is a patient. She’s no one to me. Just another relative of a sick child.
A dark look crosses her face. I can’t tell if I’ve said the wrong thing. A cold chill sweeps over my body, and I wonder if she’s the reason her sister is in the hospital. But, no, that’s ridiculous. The girl had a seizure, I saw it for myself. Maybe she’s stressed about the situation. That makes much more sense.
“I actually should be getting back to her.” She quickly gathers her things. “I don’t like Charlie to be alone for too long.”
Sensing her trepidation, I let her go. She’s uncomfortable with the situation or uncomfortable with me. It isn’t right to make her sit here and be barraged by my questions. Yet Meredith and Charlie are a mystery I feel like I have to solve.
I sit in the hospital room, my eyes welling with tears as the doctor speaks to me. I hug Charlie tightly against my chest, the warmth of her small body soothing against my broken heart. The doctor says they believe Charlie is a danger to herself and others. They need to do a psych evaluation on her. I shake my head before they finish their sentence.
Charlie isn’t crazy, but how do I explain her gifts to people who don’t believe in supernatural abilities? If they run tests on her, they probably will determine something is wrong with her and take her away. I can’t let that happen.
Her doctor tells me they don’t need my consent to do the psych evaluation. Protocol dictates they must proceed regardless. I can see it in their eyes and hear it in their tones. They’re beginning to think the worst. They think I’m unfit to care for her. Since I’m not her legal guardian, they’re only letting me know as a formality.
If she hadn’t run away, if she’d just stayed home, we wouldn’t be in this situation. We’d be safe and I could work on finding her a good home with good parents to take care of her. Now she’ll be carted off to an insane asylum. I won’t be able to protect her anymore. And then he’ll find her.
The injustice of the situation is too much to bear. I break down into sobs, clinging to Charlie as she realizes something is wrong. I plead with them, beg the doctor to leave us alone; let us find our way without his interference. He remains in the room, watching me in discomfort. I remember how Dr. Graves acted around him. He’s young and incompetent. He has no idea what’s best for Charlie.
