He understood all too well the pain of a parent unable to help a child in need, which is why when Mitch and Grace found Penny resting comfortably in one of the ER treatment bays, he was already deeply invested in her case and care. She was dressed in a hospital gown, a thin white sheet covering her long legs. For all of the problems Edgewater had, the ER wasn’t among them. The four treatment bays were modern and well-equipped. In addition to the monitors reading Penny’s heart rate, blood pressure, intracranial pressure, and oxygen saturation, there were medical instruments to suture cuts, cast broken bones, and listen to lungs. Down the hall was a brand-new x-ray machine, which came with the staff to work it.
Grace took hold of her daughter’s hand as she tried to make sense of the numbers on the monitor. Mitch wasn’t a trained ER physician, but he knew the readings were all within the normal range. What was happening to Penny, the real issue, wasn’t something any instrument could measure.
“Penny, honey, are you okay?” Grace asked, voicing palpable concern.
The confusion and fright on the girl’s face wasn’t because of the name. She was on the verge of a breakdown.
“Mom,” Penny said weakly. “What’s going on? Please, tell me.”
Mitch stepped forward with a warm smile. Easy does it, he cautioned himself. Be relaxed and she’ll relax. “Are you feeling any better?”
“My head…” She touched the gauze bandage a nurse had put over the bump she’d gotten.
“That’s understandable,” said Mitch. “You took a pretty nasty fall.”
“You’re.… you’re … Dr. McHugh, right?” The fact that Penny remembered Mitch’s name from his prior visit was a good sign.
“Yes, I’m Dr. Mitch McHugh,” he said. “But how about you call me Dr. Mitch.”
Penny seemed to like that, and she finally managed something of a smile.
“What’s wrong with me, really? I’ve seen people come in here handcuffed, escorted by guards, strapped to their beds. Am I in a hospital or a prison?”
Mitch leaned in to whisper in Grace’s ear. “Maybe give us a moment alone,” he said.
Grace’s initial reluctance to leave was only natural. Mitch felt the same pang every time he dropped Adam off at another rehab facility. Requesting privacy was an even bigger ask, because at any moment Penny could flee to make room for Eve, and Mitch understood what a devastating loss that would be for Grace.
“I’ll let you and the doctor talk,” Grace said apprehensively. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, honey. Okay?” She gave her daughter’s hand a gentle squeeze.
Penny’s expression turned harder, and for a fleeting second Mitch thought the primary self might retreat like a turtle seeking the safety of its shell. But she simply nodded her head and Grace left—not, however, before planting a gentle kiss on Penny’s forehead.
Now, thought Mitch, eager to get to work, let’s find out what memories you have.
CHAPTER 11
AFTER GRACE DEPARTED, MITCH wheeled a metal stool over to Penny’s bed. He kept a lookout for the nurse who’d summoned him here, and saw that she and Dr. Dan Bouvier were busy with the two patients occupying the other bays. No worries. He felt confident he could handle this on his own.
“Penny, you told a nurse you remembered something important, something from the night that brought you here.”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s important, but I told her I remembered being in my bedroom, long ago. That’s what I said.”
“Yes, you’ve been here for some time now. I want you to tell me the last thing you remember before this hospital. Can you do that?”
According to Grace, the last conscious memory Penny would have would be from the night of the murder, before the crime actually. She closed her eyes tightly, and Mitch could almost feel the concentration on her face.
“I just remember being in my room,” she said, her eyes shut tight, talking in a low voice as if in a trance.
“What were you doing?”
“Nothing … I … I was reading.”
“Do you remember what?”
Details, those were critical. The more she recalled, the more likely it was she could go deeper into that night, following the scent of truth like a bloodhound hot on a trail.
Penny thought … and thought … then shook her head. She opened her eyes, looking dismayed.
“Close your eyes again, Penny,” Mitch said in an encouraging voice, one he’d perfected during his years working with children in private practice.