Dr. Barrow removed his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose to relieve the stress. "So you didn't find anything?"
The counselor leaned back in his chair, unconsciously running a hand over his bald head. "I'm not sure what you would expect me to 'find' ... mental illness isn't a scavenger hunt or a seek-and-find."
The doctor put his glasses back on and glared. "Oh, thank you. Now can you tell me something useful?"
The counselor shrugged, "Is she a danger to herself or others? Not in my estimation."
The doctor sounded exasperated. "And when she trashed her room?"
The counselor shrugged again. "I didn't say she wasn't without problems. She's been under considerable stresses, losing both her parents. I'd recommend keeping an eye on her. But I don't believe she is likely to cause herself physical harm or cause physical harm to someone else."
Dr. Barrow was starting to find his mannerisms irritating. "Do you believe her parents are actually dead? The police still have not found any bodies at the crash site."
"As I said, she doesn't to be suffering from more stresses than one would expect of a child in her circumstances. She seems to believe they're dead, and she does not appear to me to be delusional. But, psychology is an inexact science," the counselor said with a smirk, "unlike medicine. I'm afraid I don't have an answer for you there. I realise that you're in an untenable position regarding her funding."
The doctor nodded, "The board is starting to complain. We can't support her here indefinitely. And if we can't find any relatives to take her in ... "
The counselor reached into his jacket pocket and took out a card. "I know some good social workers at the Federal Welfare Center. Give them a call if need be."
The flying woman closed her eyes, feeling the night wind against her face. It had taken her considerable time to disassemble the robot, and she didn't know how many would come to take its place. And the dangers ahead, she feared, would be worse yet.
She landed on the roof of the hospital. In time the dangers would come in a different form, and she would need different strategies. A mask ... she needed a mask.
The woman placed the cup of hot chocolate on the table in front of the Suzy-Michelle. She appeared to be in her early twenties, attractive but with a hard edge. Her knifelike features were accentuated by her short spiked hair, and the leather jacket she wore like armor.
Her partner sat on the edge of the table and folded his arms. He seemed to be the same age but there was something boyish about his face. His hair was red and his face sprinkled with freckles. He had an overly cheerful, ingratiating manner that contrasted with the blonde woman's directness. "Susan? We can't help you if you won't talk to us."
She glared at him, "Not Susan. Suzy-Michelle." She reached for the cup and curled around it in the big easy chair she had been slumped in.
The woman nodded slowly, consulting a small file folder. "That's right," she said, and laid the file flat on the table, tilting it slightly so her partner could see it, "Suzy-Michelle Starrling. Would you like to talk to us about the accident, Suzy-Michelle?"
Suzy-Michelle shook her head, curling her hands around the cup as she sipped, to warm them against the chill in the air-conditioned room. The blonde woman spoke quietly, "You know, we think your parents may still be alive. There were no bodies found in the crash. Would you like to tell us about the crash? Anything we learn could be helpful ... maybe it would even help us find your parents."
Suzy-Michelle looked up and glared at her, a flash of sudden anger in her clear blue eyes, "I told them at the hospital more than once, my parents are dead. It doesn't matter what you say."
The man sighed a little, looking like he didn't want to be there. As if I do, Suzy-Michelle thought. "Yes, well, the hospital. That's another thing. You can't stay there indefinitely, Suzy-Michelle. That's why we came here to talk to you. You've said that you don't have any relatives to contact, so we're going to have to find someone to take you in."
Suzy-Michelle sat up quickly. "Why can't I stay there? I, um, I know people there. I mean, people know where to find me. I'm not any trouble."
The woman peered at her, tilting her spiked head to the side in a curious motion. "Who knows where to find you?"
Suzy-Michelle looked nervous, "Just ... people. Nobody, I guess, really."
The woman looked up at her partner, who shrugged. She made a steeple with her fingers and rested her chin on it. "If you've made friends with any of the nurses there, or any of the other kids in your unit, that's fine. We'll make sure they know how to contact you."
Suzy-Michelle muttered, "It's not the same. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters."
The man folded his arms. "We've found a very nice older couple, Silas and Marthe Hudson, who have agreed to take you in. They've looked after a lot of kids your age, I think you'll get along with them real well."
"Fine," Suzy-Michelle said sullenly. It sounds awful, she thought, but what choice did she have? She looked out the window, wondering where the woman who rescued her was. Would she ever see her again, especially now?
TO BE CONTINUED ...