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Chapter 17: Dr. Joyce Payne
Craig listened while Harris spoke about him owing it to his dead father to tell the truth, insinuating that he had lied when he'd given his statement before. Craig bit at the inside of his lip and he scratched at the itch that was rising on the inside of his right arm. He kept his eyes fixed on the edge of the table, avoiding the man's cold stare. He glanced at the door a few times, thinking he heard Bobby's voice on the other side of it and at any moment his brother would burst into the room and he'd be able to go home.
Harris shoved the pad of paper across the table once again and smacked it hard with the palm of his hand, the force of the smack vibrating through the table. "I can do this all night young man. All you have to do to get out of this room is start writing."
Craig bit harder on the inside of his lip. "Go to hell." He muttered, trying not to flinch as the intimidating man rounded the table and moved towards him. Instincts took over and Craig stood, pulling away from Harris just as the man reached to grab hold of him. He didn't have any place to go except back into the corner. "Don't touch me you son of a bitch." He barely managed to choke the words out. The fear had been growing as he'd been subjected to more and more of Harris' threats and now his resolve to defy the FBI guy's orders was weakening.
Somewhere in the back of the boy's mind a voice was telling him that he might as well do what Harris wanted him to. Write down his statement and give him what he wanted. That way they could drag him off to a strange town and throw him into the same system that had failed him when he was five years old. It seemed a better fate than being thrown in Juvi' and locked away, or feeling the anger that was radiating from the ass hole. He'd felt too much anger in his fourteen years and he was tired of hurting all of the time.
Harris didn't come towards him, instead he snatched up the metal chair Craig had been sitting in and slammed it hard into the wall just to Craig's right side. He yelled out, loud and mean as the legs of the chair gave way to the cement they were being slammed into. The sound was a mixture of Harris' yell, metal grinding against cement and Craig cry of fear as he pulled back as far as he could into the cold concrete until his muscles ached from the effort.
Craig's arms shot up to protect his head and he felt his legs grow weak. He dropped down to the floor as the chair swung towards the wall to his left. He pressed himself hard into the corner and cried out as the fears of his father boiled to the surface of his consciousness. He had managed to let go of those fears for a few days, or so he'd thought. Apparently they were still there, lying dormant, waiting for a moment such as this to burst forth and take control of him all over again. He wanted Bobby to come for him and take away the fears and the threat looming above him. "Leave me alone!" He cried out, no longer able to hold in the storm of emotions that he'd been holding in since he'd been grabbed out in front of his home while he watched Jack being handcuffed; emotions that had been generating the old familiar grey haze that could keep him safe, though he'd been struggling against falling into the old traps that had controlled him for so many years.
The remains of the chair crashed to the floor directly in front of him and hands grabbed hold of his arms, hauling him up. "You want to do this the hard way kid? Fine, we will do it your way." Harris gave him a hard push into the corner and held him there. Craig was certain that he was about to get the shit beat out of him. He braced himself for bruises or broken bones. By the look on Harris' face the man was quite capable of breaking bones, in his hand maybe, or some ribs. His mind seemed to be calmly measuring up the extent of the damage it was about to suffer while he stared into Harris' wild looking eyes. He was not going to find out how accurate his annalysis was though, it seemed in a matter of two seconds the door opened and William and Jim stepped into the room. "Harris, what the hell are you doing?" Jim spoke quickly.
"Get him over to St. Vincent's. I want him restrained and kept separate from the residents there. He's to be brought back here first thing in the morning." Harris gave the boy a hard jerk out of the corner and shoved him across the room into William's hold. "If he causes any problems you have their resident doctor sedate him. If he gives you any problems before you get him there, you sedate him yourself."
"We'll have him back here as soon as he's finished his breakfast, boss." William spoke calmly and the hold he took up on Craig's arm was much kinder than Harris'.
"No breakfast, William. You have him back in this room by seven o'clock in the morning." Harris pushed his way past the other two men and the boy without saying another word.
Jim looked at William and let out a loud sigh. "Well, you get him to the car, I'll call ahead and let St. Vincent's know we are bringing in a runaway with a history of mental problems."
Craig's ears started ringing loudly, blocking out the rest of Jim's statement. In the same moment he felt William pull his arms behind his back and handcuffs being snapped around his wrists. He felt his lungs empty out as he screamed out and tried to pull away from William. He hadn't planned on fighting them, and it surprised him almost as much as it surprise the men who he was quickly coming to understand were nothing than guards. An arm quickly enclosed around the boy's throat, pulling Craig back into William. Hands grabbed his arms and despite the fact that Craig was kicking out he was lifted off of the floor, causing him to choke from the arm holding him back.
"You calm down Craig. You are only going to make it worse on yourself." Jim yelled the words.
Craig heard the words and even understood the meaning, but he couldn't stop his actions, he was losing control over what he was thinking and feeling. The only thing he could focus on was that he wanted to go home. He wanted to be with Bobby, Angel and Jack, and even Jeremiah. He wanted to argue with Bobby and know that he wasn't going to win. He wanted to be made to take his medication and eat and nap in the afternoon, no matter how pissed it made him to be forced to do all of it. He wanted his brother, the one who had turned into his father and he wanted to feel safe again. He'd felt afraid for so long that he'd been unsure of the safe feeling he'd experience for the short time that had passed between Adam's death and Harris' invasion of his family. Now it seemed he'd never feel that safety of home and family ever again.
He could hear Jim and William yelling at him, telling him what to do and warning him that he wasn't going to be given a second chance. He couldn't stop his tears and his struggles. He tried to break free, despite the fact that he knew it was useless. He kicked and he tried to lung forward no matter how much it hurt and choked at him, and he repeated the actions over and over again, his yells turning to screams, vibrating against his throat and releasing more energy than he'd been aware that he was holding in.
The needle stabbing into his arm came as a surprise, though it shouldn't have, and the almost instant lightheadedness that followed was intense. If William hadn't held him on his feet he would have fallen on his face and let the world spin wildly around him. Instead he was forced to walk out of the room and down the hall. After the hallway everything became a blur until he was in the car and the seatbelt was being tightened across his lap. His head fell back against the seat and William sat next to him holding onto his arm. Never mind the fact that the teenager's hands were handcuffed behind him, or that he had been shot full of something that made him feel groggy and weak and dizzy, the man next to him felt the need to hold onto his arm as if he might miraculously slip out of his cuffs, wake up enough to think straight and dive for the locked door that could not be unlocked from the back seat.
Craig felt his eyes slam shut on him and the grey fog of safety was closing in around him. He was remembering the peace the fog brought with it and was ready to welcome it, allow it to embrace him and sooth away the raw, exposed nerves that were throbbing beneath his skin. As his mind started to shut down and blank out he was sure he heard the voice of Bobby Mercer telling him he was stronger than he thought and he could handle a hell of a lot. He'd already made it through much worse. He just had to stick it out a little while longer and he'd be okay. His brothers would come for him.
Harris had told him his brothers wouldn't be coming; they were all going to jail. His life was falling apart and he was never going to see his home or his family again. He was going to be locked up and lost somewhere in the dark and no one was going to miss him or care. He ached for the touch of his mother and the sound of Bobby's voice. He wanted one or both of them, despite knowing that having either of them was never going to happen. Behind his eyes he tried to picture his mother, tried to remember the way she could sooth away the nightmares and the pain. He mentally strained to feel her and hear her the way he had when he'd needed her before. He tried to summon Bobby to him, as he had when his father had locked him away in the basement at that farm. Instead he found himself drifting into a black void, unaware of what was happening around him.
Dr. Joyce Payne sighed as she closed the file in front of her on the desk. Another teenager on drugs or another teenager whose parents have grown tired of acting like they cared. A girl whose mother decided her boyfriend was more important, or a boy whose parents were so far lost to drugs they forgot they ever had a son. The kids who passed through her office were not the norm as far as foster care went. All of these kids had been hurt or suffered a tragic loss, but it was the worst of cases that she was blessed with. It broke her heart how the numbers seemed to increase every year. More and more she was getting not only the same kids repeatedly, but new kids, younger kids. Younger maybe, but not always so innocent; those was her thoughts as she reached for the next file which had her working past ten o'clock at night. Ten year old girl, in foster care for three months, tried to stab her teacher. Of course, she was at St. Vincent's now, but only until Juvenile authorities could find an opening at one of their higher security facilities. No hearing for her, no trial. She was under age, and in Joyce Payne's professional opinion, she was better off at the county's mental health clinic, in house care of course. She was suffering from the same kind of mental disorders that afflicted soldiers returning from combat. Not surprising since she had witnessed the beating and subsequent death of her mother by the hand of a strung out druggie. Why she hadn't been brought in for proper help from the start was a question Joyce was planning on pursuing. This little girl was going to have to spend the rest of her childhood locked up in a mental ward because she was not diagnosed and handled with some love and care during the most tragic times in her life. The worst of it was that this was not the first or last time a child would slip through the cracks only to be classified as a danger, or a criminal.
Tears prickled at the corners of the doctor's eyes but she refused to let any of them shed. The years she had spent behind that desk seemed to press down on her. Case workers no longer worked with her the way they used to. They worked against her now. The younger breeds would prefer to consider the children under their watch more of a terror than a victim. They were afraid of these kids because they didn't know how to read them or relate to them. At one time the case workers brought in by Social Services were able to look beyond the tough skins the kids wore and see the hurt and fear underneath. It was no longer a mission for them, it was a job and they only went through the barest of motions to get it done quickly so they could move on.
Evelyn Mercer's face popped into her head and she had to smile at the memory of her old friend. Evelyn had ten years on her and sometimes she could figure out what was going on with a kid better than the good doctor herself. She remembered when Evelyn had brought Jack to her for an analysis. Hell, Evelyn already had his problems pinpointed, and Joyce had struggled with getting any kind of hint that there was a problem. Jack hadn't told Evelyn anything, but the woman seemed to look into a child's soul and know what was damaged. She had done it with her three oldest as well, but they had come before Joyce's time.
Joyce had heard all about Evelyn Mercer's family though. Evelyn was proud of each of her sons, and bragged about them nonstop. That was how Joyce had been certain she was the one case worker she wanted to take on the six year old, nearly catatonic Craig when he was brought in from the hospital still healing from the beating his foster father had inflicted on him. She wanted Craig to have the best care and that wasn't about to come from the first caseworker who had been assigned to his file. If his first caseworker had given a shit about him he would have never been in a foster home before seeing Joyce Payne at St. Vincent's. The child had witnessed his father killing his mother, and then had nearly suffered the same fate when he was shot in the back by the maniac. How the hell had he ended up deep in the system without Dr. Payne having her time with him? She still didn't understand that one, but it wasn't an unusual case and the proof of that fact was spread out in front of her in many different colored file folders.
Joyce gave her head a slight shake and tried to concentrate on the file in front of her. She had to get the new kids processed through so she could get out of there and get home. Her daughter was supposed to visit the following day and she didn't want to leave any avenue open for the old retirement debate that her loving child seemed to always bring up. No, she was not ready to retire. She couldn't help but feel that she had more work to do in her life and this was her life. Sure, the long hours were starting to get to her, she was getting older, but that didn't diminish the love of the job, the love of her kids.
A wisp of graying chestnut hair, more grey than chestnut, swung loose from the pin holding it just at her left ear. She lifted her hand to pull it back and tuck it back into place just as the door on the other end of the hall swung open. She had a good view across the open ledge that separated her work station from the rest of the ward. Her office was behind her, locked up tight. The only use her office served was for the private sessions she pulled the kids in for. She greatly preferred working on her case files at the counter where a clear, thick plastic barrier provided a view of her patients as well as the rest of the floor. She liked to be out in the open where she could keep an eye on what was going on and the activity at the end of the hall was a good example of why. She stood and walked to the end of the counter where the wall met up to her office and gave way to the exit into the hall.
Two men wearing dark suites were pulling what appeared to be a strung out drug addict down the tiles. "Excuse me, may I help you?" Joyce called as soon as the door swung closed behind her. Getting back in would require a key, which was in the right hand pocket of the dark blue dress slacks she'd rushed into that morning.
The burly man with the larger stomach seemed to be holding the boy with a little more compassion than the shorter, slimmer jerk who simply had a grasp of the kid's arm that looked as if it would leave bruises.
It was the larger guy who flashed a quick smile as his partner let go of the kid and stepped closer to her while he flashed a badge. "We are with Children's Services, out of Oakland County, the Southfield office to be more exact." The smaller man snapped the words without as much as meeting Joyce Payne's gaze. "We have a runaway juvenile that we managed to track down and pick up just outside of Allen Park. We need to house him for the night before we return him to Southfield."
Joyce sighed slightly. "One of you would be his case worker?" Something seemed off with the whole situation. Sure, St. Vincent's had been used by neighboring agencies in the past, but usually it was never spur of the moment, and the idea that social workers would be out chasing down a unruly runaway was highly unusual, that was left up to the police.
"I am; you can call me William." The larger man spoke with a strain to his voice, though he was trying to sound pleasant, the weight that he was holding, the boy, was obviously more than he was used to. "Do you have a room I can put him in?"
Joyce shook his head. "This is highly unusual, and it has to be cleared with the director of the facility. That would not be me." She shook her head as questions started popping into her brain. "How did you get past Security downstairs?"
"We had clearance from your director." The smaller man who had shown her his I.D. sounded irritated. James, she was sure that was the name on the identification, but it had been flashed too quickly for her to be certain.
Of course it did make sense that the director had cleared them, or they probably would never have gotten past Charlie downstairs. The man was very particular about following rules. "If the staff was aware that you would be coming then I'm sure they have already made arrangements. They should have met you downstairs. He can't be on this floor, this is only for…"
"The security risks," James finished her thought for her.
"The troubled teens that are confined for their own protection," Joyce amended the statement quickly, she didn't like the tone in the man's voice, he sounded too pissed at the moment to be dealing with a youngster. "The security risks are housed on the second floor." She couldn't quite keep the irritation out of her own voice. Her kids were not juvenile delinquents they were troubled kids who had been given a raw deal and needed some help to cope with their situations. "I'm sure if you go back down the stairs one floor you will find someone is there looking for you."
"No, ma-am, we will not. We are here to secure this boy on your ward." William managed to spill the words out before James could make the smart assed remark that was on his lips. Joyce was pretty good at picking the ass holes out of a group and James seemed to be the ass hole if she had to choose between the two at the moment.
"The director never contacted me about this." Joyce looked at the boy and was about to argue the fact again, but there was a familiar curve to the small jaw that was tilted down to the boy's chest. She couldn't see him very well in the dim lighting that was prevalent in the halls at night.
Joyce Payne had learned years before how to trust her gut, and at the moment it was telling her to go along with these men. "What is wrong with the boy?" She slipped her fingers under the chin and lifted slightly.
Craig Mercer's face came into view and Joyce bit down on the inside of her lip to keep from gasping. In the dim light her mind tried to tell her this couldn't possibly be one of her former residents, whom she had seen just a week earlier in the office of the D. A., it had to be her mind playing tricks on her. She had just been thinking about her late friend Evelyn, and remembering the encounter she'd had with Craig eight years earlier, not to mention her acting as child advocate while he gave a statement to the District Attorney with the hollow promise that it would help put Bradley Jordan in prison for the act of kidnapping and rape. She tried to convince herself the shadows were playing across the boy's face in a deceptive fashion, but deep inside she knew who this child was.
"He has a problem with drugs." William's words came quickly.
What the hell were these men doing with Craig Mercer? How did they get him and what the hell had they done to him? It took a certain amount of control for Joyce not to start asking questions as the anger rose inside of her. Instead she decided to play along and get Craig settled into a bed. The men were not going to be near him all night long, it was obvious in the way they carried themselves that they were planning on dropping this child off for the night, with plans of coming back for him at the crack of dawn. "Okay, I have a room available down here."
Joyce turned and started walking down the hall at a slow gate. She listened for the sounds of being followed before she picked up her pace and turned the corner leading to the hallway containing the empty room she was referring to. She opened the security door by scanning her badge. The lights came on when the motion detector picked up the movement in the cramped room. "Right here," She pointed to the door and stepped out of the way to give William space to pull the limp boy to the bed.
"Help me with his shoes Jim." William spoke with a huff.
Joyce made a mental note that 'James' went by the name 'Jim'. She watched over Jim's shoulders while the men removed the boy's shoes and shirt. William was reaching to remove his pants when she spoke up quickly. "You know that is against the law." She tried to hold in the anger. You are not allowed to remove his clothing without following the proper protocol. I will bring a pair of pajamas and our resident medical doctor, and it will be done by the book gentlemen, or you will leave him dressed as is for the night."
William and Jim looked at each other for a long moment before turning to her. "Okay, we will leave him in your care until morning." Jim remarked quickly. "He is a flight risk. This door will remain locked, yes?"
"None of the doors on this ward are left unlocked. As you could see the only way to access the rooms is with a security card." Joyce held her own badge up for effect. "He will not be able to leave the room; however we are required to give him a medical exam, just the basics, to ensure he is healthy and not injured in any way." It was bull, but she thought it sounded good. Everything about these men screamed cop, not Social Services, and they didn't seem to be very smart cops either.
William nodded his head. "He's fine; he's just gotten himself stoned. We cannot risk him getting out of this room, um, what is your name?"
"Dr. Joyce Payne, the resident psychologist." Joyce tried to keep the ice out of her voice, though her heart was chilling to these men quickly.
"No one is to enter this room until we return in the morning." Jim snapped. "Is that understood, Dr. Joyce Payne?"
"There is protocol that must be followed, gentlemen." Joyce could feel her anger starting to overpower her control and had to put it in check quickly before she scared these men out of leaving the boy with her. "Okay, listen, we can bend the rules and delay the exam until you return in the morning. The medical doctor would appreciate not being called in this time of night." She waved her hand as if dismissing the idea, though her intentions were far from calling a doctor.
Both men seemed satisfied. As long as Joyce Payne acted as if she were ignorant to their deception, she was going to manage to get them out of there quickly. They warned her once more that their charge was to remain locked behind the door until they returned, and she agreed, stating that once her relief came in for the night that she would leave strict instructions not to open the door for any reason.
It seemed as if the men raced for the exit once they seemed confident that she was the idiot they had hoped she would be. Instead of heading back to her paperwork, Joyce Payne walked down the hall to the neighboring ward and checked in with the staff, informing them that she was planning on being there most of the night and there would be no reason for them to do the rounds until she told them otherwise. She stuck close to the security monitor until she was certain she seen the two men, William and Jim, leaving the premise. Next she returned to the room where Craig Mercer had been left in his drugged stupor. She quickly felt his forehead and checked his pulse. She was not a medical doctor, though she did have enough medical training and experience to assess his condition. She determined he had been sedated and would probably sleep most of the night. She made certain he was covered before leaving him in the dark once again.
Porter. What the hell was Porter's number? She should have programmed it into her cell phone, but of course that was one thing that was better left up to her daughter, who lived for her cell phone. Joyce unlocked her way into her cubby hole and then into her office where her purse was locked up tight in the bottom drawer of her desk. She loved her job and cared about the kids, but she wasn't an idiot; she knew better than to leave her purse out where one of them could get to it. She sat at her desk while she dug through her purse for the card Porter had given her with his office and cell phone numbers. Perhaps he knew what the hell was going on, and if he didn't, well he was about to find out.
If only she had some idea of how to make contact with Robert Bradford. The man had been all that Evelyn had been able to talk about for months, but she had never really met him until that day, with Porter, during the interview with Craig. She wished now that she had made some kind of attempt at catching up to him after that meeting, to reach out to him. She had always been thankful that Evelyn had found someone who was so good to her, and for her. If only she had made that attempt to let Robert Bradford know that, perhaps they could have exchanged phone numbers. At this moment she would prefer to contact him directly. Instead she was going to have to be satisfied with Porter, from the D.A.'s office, and pray that the man would have some answers or be willing to assist her with the problem lying in a locked room down the hall.