Part 2
"When are you going to visit this girl in the care home?" Harm asks me as we work in my office on the case the General assigned us.
"Uh, Wednesday evening, next week," I tell him, "I've spoken to the woman who runs the home and she thought it might be better to give Carol-Anne some time to settle in. Paula, the foster parent says that she's still coming to terms with things. But she's in very poor emotional shape; that's why Vivienne is so desperate for my help."
"You need any support or…anything?" Harm asks, hesitantly.
He's so sweet, offering like that and I can tell that he doesn't really have any idea how much is appropriate to offer. This isn't really an easy thing for him to do, I can tell, but he's doing so anyway. And that makes me fall even more in love with him than I already am…if that is possible.
"Thanks Harm," I take his hand, gratefully, "But I think it's something I need to do on my own. But I'd be grateful for any advice you can offer me…and for some support afterwards…"
"Of course," he smiles as he pulls me in for a hug, "Any time you need it."
And with one last intimate smile, we return to the case-file at hand.
And so here I am today…
I take a deep breath as I catch sight of the last doorway along the hallway of this enormous house. It's silly how much I've been anticipating this, I know, but it isn't something I can control. However, all apprehension goes out of me as we reach the door and we go inside after Paula knocks to announce our presence to the room's occupant.
Inside, the radio is on and today's latest wonder is belting out a ballad. The singer's voice is husky and deep, but sounds young and is accompanied by solo guitar and violin. I quickly bat this observation away and concentrate on what is important; the eleven-year-old girl who is sitting curled up on the bed, her knees raised and her arms wrapped around herself. One would think that she hadn't noticed us come in, except for the tension that positively sings throughout her posture. This is defensive. I don't blame her; she's dealing with so much at such a young age. The room smells like lavender and I take note of the scented candle burning on the desktop. They were my favorite way of relaxing when things were getting to me, they still are.
"Carol-Anne?" Paula asks, softly, "There's someone here who'd like to meet you."
The child says nothing, doesn't even look up, her long, dark hair covering her face as her head hangs low.
"Hey there, Carol-Anne," I greet her, quietly, trying ineffectually to catch her gaze, "My name's Sarah…"
Not even a twitch. Her head remains firmly downcast.
"Can I just check on your bruises, honey?" Paula asks, gently reaching out and lifting the child's gaze by tilting her chin up.
I can see now why Carol-Anne has been keeping her gaze down all of the time we've been in the room. Her left eye is blackened and bruising flourishes it's way down the cheek, right to her jaw-line. There is a badly bruised cut on the right side of her forehead, which has required some pieces of butterfly surgical tape. Carol-Anne's gaze stays down for a few minutes while Paula silently assesses the injuries.
"Getting better every day, Sweetheart," Paula nods with satisfaction and a smile.
Carol-Anne's gaze jumps up to connect with Paula's momentarily then shoots to the side, as she realizes her error.
"Sarah's from 'The Big Sisters' organization, Carol-Anne. She's come to spend some time with you, if you'd like that. You don't have to go out or anything. You guys could just stay up here in your room and talk, if you want…" Paula tells her.
No answer.
"My friends call me Mac," and speak gently, as I move closer, "You can call me that, too. It's a short version of my surname; MacKenzie. It's sort of a nickname. Or you could just call me Sarah…I don't mind what you chose. I just thought we could spend some time today getting to know each other…"
Carol-Anne still hasn't looked directly at me and I am now sitting on the edge of the bed. Paula did move away to allow us some privacy but notices Carol-Anne's reluctance to make eye contact and moves back.
"Carol-Anne, honey," Paula goes to tilt her chin upwards again, "Sarah's speaking to you…why don't you look up, honey. It's only good manners."
Carol-Anne obeys her with little manipulation from Paula.
In the millisecond that her eyes connect with mine, I can see so many familiar emotions in her watery dark eyes; fear, shame, suppressed anger, embarrassment, self-loathing. It takes my breath away.
Just as quickly, her eyes dart away and her chin tilts down slightly in self-consciousness. She doesn't turn her face away though, and I can still see her eyes that gaze away at the window, now brimming with tears. I can see how hard this is for her.
"This isn't fair," she whispers softly, her voice barely audible.
I take her hand gently in mine as I see the tears spill from her eyes.
"Oh, Carol-Anne, sweetie," I begin but trail off, knowing nothing can say will really console this devastated child.
"I don't deserve this," she continues, still hushed, "How could this happen?"
Then, like a dam has broken lose, every taut muscle in her little body gives and she breaks down.
I can do nothing but pull her into my arms, unsure of what I can possibly say to make this child's life better. I can't possibly make her mother well, make Carol-Anne miss her any less, take these bruises and cuts from her beautiful, innocent face. What could I possibly say to make even one iota of difference in her life? I think back to my own lonely childhood and can only point out one difference between her situation and mine; one that might make that bit of difference, something for her to hold onto;
"I know, honey," I console her as she sobs in my arms, "I know."
She's not alone in this situation. Sometimes a bit of compassion makes all of the difference. I remember what it is like and I can only hope that she will trust me enough to let me help her through it.
The End.