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Chapter Four
"Protective Custody"
Celeste Crowfoot moved Tommy's sleeping head from her lap and slowly slid away from him. Looking around the living room of her friend's home, she stood gingerly and stretched protesting muscles and joints. Sitting in one position too long always made her pay when she moved too quickly.
She steadied her breathing from the painful reaction as tears filled her tightly closed eyes, and then escaped down the side of her face without warning. The only way she knew to comfort herself was to look at the sleeping boy who had magically become her whole life, taking her mind away from such trivial thoughts as an aching body.
Besides, the drugs the doctors wanted her to take to help deal with the pain often dulled her senses to the point where she was less available to the needs of the small form sleeping serenely before her.
Her friend came into the room with a cup of tea for Celeste and caught her with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Cel, what's the matter?" Tracy Zimmerman asked, setting the tea on the coffee table and putting a hand on her friend's shoulder.
For a moment, Celeste could only shake her head. "Sleep is the only peace he gets. Look at him, like some sleeping angel, so beautiful and innocent, so free from the sadness that weighs upon him during his waking hours."
Tracy sat on the coffee table in front of Celeste. "He's such a dear boy. No child that age should suffer what he has, but Tommy is still stuck in that terrible moment from months ago. We need to get him past that point, so that he can have a normal life again."
Celeste grunted. "Normal? How can he be normal when he doesn't even speak? Not a sound, not a single sound. Usually you are screaming at eight year-olds to keep quiet, but not my Tommy. That's the worst effect of the whole tragedy. That's what breaks my heart."
Tracy leaned closer and hugged her crying friend. "Have faith, Cel. He will get past this. They told you you'd never walk again and you're walking. He will talk when he's ready to talk and not before. Give him time, honey."
Celeste nodded and wiped at her face. "I don't know what I'd do without friends and family like you and Chris."
"You're the strongest person I've ever met. Not even Constance had that warrior spirit
you possess. I admire the hell out of you."
Celeste looked down at Tommy and brushed her fingers through his hair. "Do you see how much he looks like Connie at that age? A male version of my dear sister. She was always laughing and into mischief. I was the serious one, but she could draw me out of it in a flash. God, I miss her."
Celeste broke down into tears again.
"Here, Cel, try some of this chamomile tea."
Celeste took the cup, but didn't drink it. "I haven't cried like this since I woke up at the hospital and found out that Connie and Art were dead. Maybe it's because we've been sequestered at Ansel's place for months. Now, being down here with familiar surroundings, the grief is stronger again."
Tracy rubbed Celeste's shoulder. "Cry all you need to, honey. No one expects you to be made of stone. You've lost family. You've been disabled. You are the caretaker for a traumatized little boy. What part of all of that is easy?"
Tears welled in Celeste's eyes again.
Tracy continued, "Lean on us, Cel. That's what we're here for."
Celeste stood slowly and wandered around the living room brightly decorated for Christmas. "Maybe if I wasn't so damned angry with the fact that a powerful man with lots of money used his position to come very close to killing me, not once but on numerous occasions. That's when I decided to leave the hospital and go into hiding with Tommy until the trial. Perhaps after the trial is done, I can get pass that awful night myself and begin to live a normal life again, just as I wish for Tommy.
"But I won't trust a single stranger until I am up on that stand, testifying against the man who killed my family. I don't care if Delmar Clark's father once dined with presidents at the White House and in his home. Delmar is a murderer and no amount of money or clout will change that fact. I hope they put him on the electric chair. He committed acts demanding justice and I'm going to see justice is served."
Tracy rubbed her mouth after remaining silent during Celeste's declarations. "God help anyone who steps in your way while doing it."
Tracy's comment made Celeste chuckle, breaking up her dark mood. She gave Tracy a warm hug. "Thank you, Tracy. Thank you for all that you've done for us, and for me."
Tracy gave her a big smile. "Just wait when the tables are turned and I need your help!"
They laughed as Tracy started picking up the clutter in the living room. She came across some of Tommy's notes. Misspelled words used to communicate when the words wouldn't come from his lips. Other messages were conveyed with drawings. Even hand gestures.
Tracy knelt beside Tommy when he roused in his sleep, rubbing her hand across his back. He settled down right away. Looking up at Celeste, she whispered, "He does have Connie's hair and eyes. What did you call her when we were growing up? Wolf girl?"
Celeste chuckled. "Yes, Wolf Girl was the name I used when I was mad at her. I called her Moonshine on those late nights where we were quietly talking and giggling instead of sleeping. She had so many nicknames, but I looked deep into her eyes, I saw the good in me that I might never have noticed on my own. We were two sides of the same coin, and never intended to be parted, even though we were so different in appearance.
"She had silver-gray eyes and thick silvery-blonde hair like a wolf's coat. And I had the dark skin, hair, and eyes. Papa used to call us Day and Night. To be so different, it's amazing we were so close."
"Day and Night. I remember that."
Tracy smiled at the memories. She was still beside Tommy and rubbed his arm before standing. "It's a miracle that he wasn't shot or killed with the rest of you."
Celeste felt her heart fill with sadness again. "He was always our miracle baby. The doctor said Connie couldn't have children, and then he came along. He became another miracle when he escaped the shooting without a scratch.
"I just wish I had more experience with children. I never married, never had kids, and now I have one, but I only wish I could reach him."
Tracy reached forward and touched Celeste's arm. "But you have, Cel. When he's having nightmares, you're the only one who can calm him down. When he's scared, you're the only one he wants to be with. You have connected. You just need to give love, time, and God the room to work in your lives. I swear Tommy will come back to his old self again. Not without scars, but he will be the boy we all loved."
Celeste stretched to reach for her cane and cringed when stiff muscles protested.
Getting the cane for Celeste, Tracy caught her friend's pained gaze and latched onto it. "If there was only one thing I could tell you, Cel, it's that you need to be back in physical therapy as soon as possible. You were walking much better in the hospital after the shooting than you are now."
"I had no choice. They tried to kill me and might have gone after Tommy. We had to get away quickly. I do okay most days, but when I sit too long, I feel it."
"Well, why don't you go take a nice hot bath and I'll carry Tommy up to his bed?"
Celeste smiled. "Sounds wonderful. You're spoiling me."
"Who else should I spoil? You've been my best friend through all of these years. Spoiling you brings me pleasure and makes me feel like I'm helping out in some small way."
"Some small way? Just by being here, I could be putting you and Chris in danger. That's no small contribution, but we will be gone in a few days and you'll be safe again."
"Shhh," Tracy said as she ushered Celeste to the bathroom. "Go soak a while. I'll be here when you get out."
Celeste nodded, but took one last look at Tommy before she left the room.
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Celeste climbed into bed after another long talk with Tracy, but couldn't sleep. Not when memories of that fateful day came back for their nightly replay...
When Connie had invited her to join them for a live production of "Singing in the Rain" at a popular dinner theater, Celeste looked forward to the outing. Since it was a Saturday night, Tommy had been allowed to go with them. After the play was over, they slowly made their way toward their car, savoring the pleasurable evening.
"What did you think of the play, Tommy," Connie asked.
"It was awesome, Mom! I want to see it again!" he replied with excitement.
Celeste shook her head. "Yes, he is definitely your son with a passion for live theater."
Celeste and Connie watched as Tommy raced ahead with his father. The two males were always involved in some type of competition. The sisters strolled behind them at a more leisurely pace, both of them regretting their order of tiramisu for dessert.
"Dinner was so nice, but I should have passed on dessert," Celeste complained.
"And missed heaven on earth? It was worth feeling a little overstuffed," Connie said as she patted her stomach.
"Heaven on earth? A bit on the dramatic side, isn't it?"
"Well, we just came from a play. I'm entitled," she said, as she took her sister's arm in hers.
Rounding a corner, they soon found the absent male members of their party standing at the edge of a water fountain. Father and son were taking turns as they made wishes and tossed coins into the spraying water, as if each and every one wish had the capability of becoming real if they only wished hard enough.
Not to be left out, the two women chuckled to themselves as they reached into their handbags and retrieved coins for making their own wishes.
"Okay, no more coins. Let's hit the road," Connie said, still smiling from the wish-making.
They were almost to their car when they were accosted by a wide-eyed, disheveled young man ranting long streams of utter nonsense, threatening them in a paranoid manner. Art Hill stepped forward to put himself between his family and the possibly dangerous antagonist.
His simple protective act provoked the young man for some unknown reason. The intoxicated man pulled a gun and began shooting. He didn't stop until the gun was emptied.
The killer was picked up a short time later, out of his mind on a methamphetamine high and oblivious to the real world around him. In his drug-induced dementia, he had managed to lose the murder weapon, but his description matched one given by a passing witness who saw him, but not his face, before running to aid the injured and dying victims.
Celeste remembered hearing the man's account of how Tommy was found screaming inconsolably for help as he held onto the lifeless hands of his deceased parents. Tommy had survived, physically unharmed, because he had been shielded by Art and Connie's bodies, but his injuries ran deep within.
Nothing penetrated his self-erected barriers until Celeste started talking words of love and encouragement, stories about growing up with Uncle Ansel and the magical forest where he lived, anything that might spark a sign of interest as she held him in her arms for hours on end. Slowly, the boy started coming out of his shell, but still gave no indication of ever wanting to speak again.
The man arrested for multiple counts of first degree murder was Delmar Clark, the son of Wilson Cooper Clark. The financial and political clout of the elder Wilson was enough to have his son released from jail even before the drugs saturating his system were eliminated by his body.
No one from the district attorney's office had seen Celeste face-to-face in several months, but she did send their office numerous e-mails from masked web sites, assuring them of her intentions to testify at the scheduled trial.
Celeste turned over, trying to stop the memories from coming, but knew there was nothing she could do to stop them. She took a drink of water from the glass on her night stand and moved again, trying to find a comfortable position in the unfamiliar bed, but she knew sleep wouldn't come. Not for a very long time.
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