Almost four weeks later
"Is that everything?" Offer Carly Jones frowned up at Officer Hamlin as he finished his story of how he came upon The Ghost Girl.
The officers sat almost knee to knee in plain clothes and were waiting in the lobby of St. Vincent's hospital in Portland, Oregon. They spoke in hushed tones while discussing her case because prying ears were everywhere.
News of The Ghost Girl had spread like wildfire and within a few day's time reporters from all around the country wanted to know her name and, more importantly, they wanted to be the first to hear her story of survival, of her escape.
Hamlin had instantly felt the need to protect her, like a father would his daughter. So he visited her daily, although most of his time was spent alone in the hospitals chapel where he'd sit in the peaceful silence and pray.
It was a miracle the girl had survived because, according to the doctors, she shouldn't be alive. He leaned forward and rubbed at his temples, feeling another migraine coming on.
An image of the girl's matted hair and feral eyes flashed behind his eyelids and, like clockwork, he began to relive that night.
When he moved to slide his coat around The Ghost Girl's shivering body, she froze, as if he was going to harm her. Dim light filtered over them from the open door and the sight of her body made him was to hurl. She had been severely beaten. Scars and semi-fresh cuts littered her arms and legs, not an inch of flesh was clean.
Blood seeped from a badly infected gash underneath her breast. The wound suggested that someone had attempted to cut the damn thing off, but left the flap of tissue hanging partially attached.
The rest of the night was a muddled blur of medics and questions, so many questions he couldn't even begin to answer.
The medics arrived in record time and quickly informed Hamlin that he wasn't, in fact, having a heart attack. He was experiencing an anxiety attack of sorts, brought on by the shock resulting from the accident. And for that he was tremendously grateful.
A week later, when the doctor's cleared him for duty, he learned what had become of his Ghost Girl, and it broke his heart.
Frostbite had claimed the majority of her toes and the fingers on her left hand while the fingers of her right hand remained in limbo.
It can go either way, Hamlin remembered the doctor's saying. And at this point, only time would tell if she'll lose those as well.
Visitors were still denied access to her room. He sat where he could and patiently waited for any information to help ease his mind.
Saying Hamlin was sick with worry would be the understatement of the year. It had been four weeks since she came into his world and, like his late wife Betty; a day hadn't gone by without thinking of her, wondering if she wasn't going to survive this ordeal.
His dreams replayed their first encounter. He'd wake up in a cold sweat, imagining he had just crashed his patrol car all over again. Sleep rarely came now. He'd eventually drag his old body out of bed, showered, changed, and then would head to the hospital with a mug full of coffee in hand. He did this in the hope of gaining a little more information about the girl's recovery. Secretly though, Hamlin just wanted to make sure she was still alive and hadn't died on him.
The doctors were tight-lipped about her condition from the very start and given the media attention this case got he understood why that was necessary. A few of the nurses took a liking to Hamlin almost immediately. But a gentle smile and witty sense of humor worked wonders. It also didn't hurt that he brought free coffee and donuts to those who were willing to speak with him.
The nurses eventually broke down and told him everything they knew thus far or at least everything they wanted him to know. He could never tell just how much they were holding back.
The Ghost Girl, who they've named Jane Doe, refused to speak. She spent the majority of her time staring up at the ceiling in a catatonic-like state. If anyone attempted to touch her, she'd make this god-awful gurgling sound, like she was attempting to speak but her brain wasn't relaying the message. And, like the doctors before them, they told him only time would tell if she'd ever recover.
"So that was everything?" Officer Jones repeated.
Hamlin didn't move. "She came out of the trees then all hell broke loose."
"But Jane Doe's alive because of you. If you weren't driving along the road when she reached it who knows if she'd ever be found." Jones laid a reassuring hand on his knee and gave it a gentle squeeze, "You did well. The newspapers are even calling you a hero."
"I ain't-a hero," Hamlin grumbled, thinking back to how terrified he had been. At how close he came to pulling the trigger. If he shot her dead, the media would've had other things to say about him. He would have been seen as a murderer in their eyes. And they would've demanded he be held accountable for her death. "It could've been anyone. "
"But it was you who found her." Her laugh came out light and a little breathy. "So enjoy the spotlight a little because it'll be short-lived."
They lapsed into a bit of awkward silence. Hamlin checked his watch for the tenth time in the last ten minutes.
"You think they'll let us see her today?"
"Maybe," Jones tone was hopeful, but she shrugged her slim shoulders then sighed, "maybe not."
She glanced around the partially filled room and leaded closer to Hamlin, whispering. "I don't know what they've been telling you, but I overheard one of the nurses when I went to get coffee. She said she'd never seen a case of trauma this horrific."
Hamlin's head shot up. "What are you talking about?"
She rubbed her hands over the jeans covering her thighs. "There was severe damage to her-" Jones pointed towards the apex of her thighs and her eyes glossed over with fresh tears, "They also think she's recently given birth."
"Oh, sweet baby Jesus." Hamlin covered his face with his hands and felt like he was going vomit, "You don't think she had-"
"I don't know. They caught me listening and shut up real quick. And I sure as hell know the newspapers aren't reporting the truth either."
"What are they claiming now?"
"They're implying that our Jane Doe went out into the woods, in the middle of fucking winter of all seasons," Jones rolled her eyes in disgust, "to get high and ended up lost. But I'm calling bullshit. Something terrible happened to that woman, Hamlin, I know it, and overhearing those nurses today proves they're hiding something far bigger than they want us to believe."
"What about the social worker?" He asked, "What's she sayin'?"
"Nothing. I haven't gotten a chance to sit down with her. Every time I do, she runs out of here like a bat out of Hell." Jones gaze drifted toward the floor, and she frowned, deep in thought.
"What are you cooking up in that mind of yours? That they're making her stay quiet?"
It was Jones's head that shot up this time, and when she met Hamlin's gaze his blood ran cold; "It all makes sense! They're forcing her to keep a lid on things. I know it sounds crazy, but I'm starting to think they found out what happened to her out there and they're trying to cover up the truth."
"You're right. That does sound crazy. Why would they want to cover it up?"
"I haven't got a clue."
They fell silent again, each deep in their own thoughts.
"So what are we gonna do about it?" Hamlin's question brought a grin to Jones's lips.
"We keep waiting." She leaned forward, her eyes large with excitement, "We persistently wait for them to fuck up. It's only a matter of time. Then we blow this story out of the water."
"Ya got spunk kid; I like it."
The doors to the waiting room slid open with a soft swoosh, and every head perked up. Someone was about to get an update.
The nurse appeared to be in a hurry as she gazed around the semi-filled room. When her gaze landed on the two plain-clothes officers her face lit up, and she rushed toward them. But her features said it all. Something terrible had happened to the Ghost Girl.
"Tell me she's not dead." Hamlin nearly jumped from his chair.
"Her name-" The nurse tripped over the leg of a chair in her rush to get to them and nearly fell. In the last second, she caught the back of another chair and managed to steady herself before blurting out, "Her name is Eden Burrows!"
"The Eden Burrows?" Jones jumped to her feet, "Did she tell you who took her?"
The nurse shook her head no. "But she asked about a notebook, maybe a diary. Did she have anything with her that night?"
"Wait….what? When did she start talking?" Jones glanced at Hamlin, and he could read the I told you they're hiding something expression on her face.
"She's still not able to speak."
"Then how did she tell you-"
"She stole my pen and wrote me something when I sat with her while that witch of a caseworker went to stuff her face." The nurse's nasally laugh filled the room. She fished a crumpled brown napkin from her pocket.
"What is it?" Hamlin snatched it from her hand and straightened it out over his leg.
"Thought you guys would want to see it first. It took her a few minutes to write, and it's kind of hard to read." The nurse moved to Hamlin's side and read it out loud, pointing to each word. "Eden Burrows. Notebook?"
And sure enough, in barely legible handwriting were those three words:
Eden Burrows
Slightly under it was a question.
Notebook?
Then the realization hit him like a punch to the dick and it all made perfect sense. Hamlin grabbed the nurse by the shoulders. "What room is she in?"
"Room 525 up on the fifth floor." The nurse quickly looked at Jones then back up at Hamlin a little more than confused. "Why?"
"She's not asking about a notebook she's asking for one." He nearly shouted out with excitement, adding, "This is how she's going to tell us who took her. This is how we're going to hear her story!"
