a small blue hospital gown. “First thing we’ll do is get you into this lovely outfit.” Judy deftly dresses her, nimbly shifting Violet’s weight so she can button the gown into place. Violet is nearly swallowed up in the fabric.
“Do you know if Cora is okay?” I ask Judy, who situates a metal cart with an arrangement of paper envelopes, jars in a variety of sizes, a large tweezer, a camera and several other items I can’t identify next to Violet’s bed.
“Cora?” Judy asks. I glance over at Violet to see if hearing her friend’s name brings any reaction. It doesn’t. “I don’t know who that is.”
“She’s the other girl who was brought here. She came in an ambulance,” I explain. “She looked like she was hurt pretty badly.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that. Let’s just focus on Violet right now,” Judy says, holding up a small spatula-shaped tool. “See this, Violet? I’m going to use this to clean your fingernails, okay? It won’t hurt a bit.” I watch while Judy uses the spatula to scrape dried blood from beneath Violet’s fingernails and deposit it within one of the paper envelopes.
This is when I understand that this nurse isn’t just treating my daughter for shock or dehydration, she’s collecting evidence. This is why they bagged up Violet’s bloody clothing and cell phone. That’s what the camera is for and the thought of others seeing photos of my daughter, half-dressed and covered in her best friend’s blood, is too much.
My stomach lurches and I leap from the chair, unable to speak. I stagger out to the hallway in search of a bathroom. Probably from the look on my face, a woman pushing a cart of cleaning supplies points me in the right direction. I make it to the toilet just in time before I start heaving. The sour taste of the chicken marsala and wine Sam and I ate fills my throat.
Who could have done this? She’s nearly catatonic and they are poking and prodding her to gather evidence. I think again of Cora, somewhere in this hospital being treated for terrible injuries. I need to know what is going on and at the same time want to know nothing. I only want to take Violet home with me and try not to think about any of this.
I sit on the floor for a minute catching my breath before pushing myself up from my knees and flushing the toilet. I try to rinse the bitter taste from my mouth with water from the tap. I run my fingers through my hair and take several deep breaths before stepping back into the hallway. I’m still not ready to go back into Violet’s room. God, I’m such a coward.
Dr. Soto is standing outside Violet’s room talking with the officer who drove us to the hospital. Dr. Soto glances my way, his face grim. My first thought is that Violet must have taken a turn for the worse and I press my fingers against the wall to steady myself. The officer turns and I register the worry in his eyes, the tightness around his mouth. I will my legs to move me forward but I don’t want to hear what they are going to tell me. I have only been away for a few minutes. What possibly could have gone wrong?
Dr. Soto and the officer move toward me and for an instant I want to run. If they can’t catch me they won’t be able to give me the news. My thoughts travel to the darkest corners: collapsed lungs, a brain bleed, a ruptured spleen, internal injuries that might have gone undetected. I can’t catch my breath and as they draw closer I press myself more closely to the wall, trying to make myself smaller, trying to disappear.
“Ms. Crow,” the officer begins.
My eyes are on Dr. Soto, who must recognize my terror and lays a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Violet’s fine,” he says.
I want to cry. I want to lash out at them for scaring me so badly. “What is it?” I ask, unable to keep the anger from my voice but instantly I’m sorry for it. “Is it Cora, then? Is she okay?”
Officer Grady ignores my question. “I really need to ask Violet a few questions,” he says. “We need to get as much information about what happened as possible.”
“I told him that he needed to talk with you first before speaking with her,” Dr. Soto says before excusing himself.
“I don’t know,” I hesitate. “She’s in shock. I don’t think she’s in any condition to talk to anyone. She tried to say something at the train yard but I couldn’t hear what it was. Maybe one of the other cops heard what she said.” Officer Grady shifts from foot to foot, runs a thumb across his lips but doesn’t say anything. “What?” I ask. “Do you know something? Did she say who did this?”
“I just really need to question your daughter. The more time that passes, the harder it will be to work out what happened. Do I have your permission to talk to Violet?”
“No,” I say. “No one is talking to Violet. Not until you tell me what you know. Who is he?” Again, the worst pinballs through my head. A sex trafficking ring, a deranged drifter, a serial killer. “If you won’t tell me, I want to talk to someone who will.”
“One of the other officers did hear Violet say some names,” Officer Grady tells me, though I know he doesn’t want to.
“Names?” My stomach clenches again. “There was more than one person?” It’s bad enough to think that one horrible person attacked Violet and Cora, but the thought that there were two monsters is too much.
“Yeah, Violet said two names. Joseph Wither and something that sounded like George or Jordan.”
“Jesus.” I lean against the wall for support. “Jordyn Petit. She’s a friend of Violet’s. She must have been there, too. Did you find her? Is she okay?”
“I don’t know anything about another girl but we have a guy back in Pitch checking into it.”
“It’s Jordyn Petit. I know it is. You have to send someone to find out if she’s okay.”
“Don’t worry, we’re on it,” he says and I want to scream. How can he tell me not to worry? I’m about ready to ask him this when it hits me that he mentioned another name. “Wait,” I say. “You said another name—Joseph...”
“Wither,” Officer Grady finishes for me.
I’ve heard the name before. Something to do with a school project, I think. I’ve been working so many hours lately. I really haven’t been paying attention as much as I should have. “Who is he?” I ask. “Did he do this? Is someone out looking for him?”
Officer Grady sighs and he looks oddly at ease. “There is no Joseph Wither,” he says. This isn’t the response I was expecting.
“What do you mean?” I ask in confusion. “He didn’t do this?”
Officer Grady shakes his head. “No, he didn’t. He’s not real. Not anymore, anyway. Joseph Wither, if he is still alive, would be a very old man today. Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt the girls?” he asks.
Officer Grady can see that my mind is still stuck on this Joseph Wither person and he holds up his hand to stop me from questioning him any further. “Trust me, Joseph Wither doesn’t exist. For every minute that passes we lose precious time finding Jordyn and who did this.” Impatience is creeping into his voice so I let Joseph Wither go for the moment.
“They are twelve,” I say. “I can’t think of anyone who would want to hurt them. No one. Do you think someone was trying to kidnap them?” I ask, my stomach churning as sex offenders and human traffickers and other dark
