Live to Tell - Lisa Gardner [30]
Back in the kitchen, I filled a smaller bowl with warm water and found a clean sponge. This time when I entered Lucy’s room, I sat sideways to her. She was by the window, studying a giant square of light on her floor, formed by the sun. She splayed her fingers in the sunbeam, watching the shadow made by her fingers. Then she turned toward the window, closing her eyes and letting the sun fall upon her face.
For an instant, she wore an expression that could almost be called happiness.
I gave her a bit. When she finally seemed to be tiring of sun and shadows, I picked up the sponge, dipped it in the bowl of water, and held it over my bare forearm. I squeezed out droplets, letting the water trickle down. I wanted her to notice this new, intriguing game.
I played for a bit. I dropped water here and there, making dark patterns on my clothes, the flooring, wherever I felt like it. When working with kids, it’s always helpful to be childish.
After a while, I could tell Lucy was watching me. She wouldn’t draw closer, but she was curious. So I stretched it out five more minutes. I splashed water on my face, trickled it in my hair. Then I got up and walked out of the room, leaving the water and sponge behind.
It was tempting to stop and watch. But she was a child, not an exhibit at the zoo. So I kept marching. One of our recent charges, Jorge, ran up to me. I agreed to play dominoes with him. Then it was craft time with Aimee, a twelve-year-old girl admitted for attempted suicide. She sat with her body collapsed on itself, drawing a black sky with black rain. I suggested she add color, so she dotted red on top of the black. Now the sky was bleeding.
I hugged her before I headed back down the hall.
I found Lucy, sitting back in the sunbeam. She had the water bowl beside her, the sponge in her hand.
Her face was finally clean. She’d wiped off streaks of feces, used the water to smooth back her matted hair. She sat now, with her clean face held up to the sun, and the small curve of her lips almost made my heart break.
The next time I checked in, she was gone. The empty water bowl and sponge were stacked neatly in the sunbeam. Otherwise, the room was empty. Lucy had flown the coop.
I didn’t worry at first. We’re a lockdown ward, meaning Lucy was here somewhere. I just had to find her.
I contacted the milieu counselor in charge of “checks”—accounting for every child’s position every five minutes. Greg had the duty, meaning he’d been roaming the unit for the past hour. He hadn’t seen Lucy—she was the exception to our five-minute check rule; her assigned staff member, namely me, was supposed to write down her location every twenty minutes. Greg passed the word along, and soon we were all on a Lucy hunt.
Kids joined us. This was hide-and-seek on a grand scale, and the kids who’d been with us for a while knew the drill and were happy to help. Since our unit didn’t have video cameras, we took advantage of the silver globes in the ceiling, searching for Lucy’s reflection. According to the globes, she wasn’t in the main hallway, the dorm rooms, or the family room. Now we got serious.
We went through cupboards, wardrobes, nightstands, bathrooms, and closets. The kitchen area was locked, but we checked anyway, just in case. The Admin space was locked; we tossed the warren of small rooms as well.
By three-fifteen, when we still hadn’t found Lucy, the staff, not to mention some of the kids, started to grow agitated.
Greg took charge of the kids. Time for afternoon snack. The staff peeled off, returning to the business of running the unit. Karen, the nurse manager, pulled me aside.
“When did you last see her?”
“Two-fifteen,” I reported.
“What was she doing?”
“Sitting in a sunbeam, making shadows with her fingers.”
Karen arched one brow, intrigued. “When did you notice she was missing?”
I hesitated. “Two forty-five.”
Karen looked at me. “That’s thirty minutes, Danielle, not twenty. We agreed someone would check her every twenty minutes.”
I had no good excuse, so I simply nodded.
Karen regarded me for a moment. She’d been