9. CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 9
ARI
A curtain separates me from the rest of the chaos of the emergency room. A doctor just came in and checked the bandage at the back of my head, telling me the bleeding has stopped and I don’t need stitches, but they want to monitor me a little longer to make sure I don’t have a concussion.
Axel was taken to a different hospital but, thankfully, Ethan was brought here. I saw him and his parents come in not long after me, and when I started to sit up to call to him, his mother shot me a look that froze me right in place. I’ve been silent ever since.
A nurse wheeled me down for some “imaging,” as she called it, and they took scans of my entire body before bringing me right back to the ER and parking me here. After some time —moments, maybe hours, I’m not sure—a police officer peeks around the curtain.
“Arlene?” I don’t respond. “I’m Officer Diedrick, but you can call me Rick.” Coming around the side of the bed, he stops and softly places a hand on my upper arm. “The doctors say you’ll be OK. The bruising on your neck will get a little worse over the next few days, and your head is going to throb off and on for a bit, but your trachea wasn’t crushed and there’s no fracture to your skull.”
I just stare straight ahead.
“Arlene … Ari? Is that what your friends call you? That’s what the boy over there is calling you.” He tilts his head in the direction I last saw Ethan. “He keeps asking about you.”
I look at him but still don’t speak.
The officer rests one of his butt cheeks on my bed, facing me. He’s younger looking, with short-cropped, sandy-colored blond hair and kind eyes. He’s got two paw prints tattooed on his forearm, right below his inner elbow. “Ari, I need you to talk to me. Not just about what happened today, but what’s been happening at your house for a long time.”
I just keep looking straight ahead. If I focus my eyes enough, I can see the individual threading of the curtain in front of me and pieces of fiber that are as thin as a strand of hair that have separated and float away from it.
Officer Diedrick—Rick—clears his throat. “The doctor says your scans show fractures from previous injuries that have gone untreated. You don’t have to relive it all for me, Ari. That would be cruel. But maybe you could just give me some ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answers, because I need to know that your stepdad—or whoever he is, that he’s a bad man and that’s why your friend hit him with the hammer. Otherwise, your friend could be in serious trouble.”
I think I want to cry. Maybe that’s what this horrible, tight feeling is in my chest, but I just can’t seem to grab hold of it. Instead, numbness seeps into my veins.
I look back at the officer and nod.
“OK, so your stepmom, Lena, she got custody of you after your dad died. Is that correct?” I nod again. “And you and Lena moved in with Axel shortly thereafter? And Axel … he has a temper?” I look at my hands in my lap and a grin stretches across my lips. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Officer Rick continues. “Does he get violent?”
I slide my eyes over to the hand he has perched next to my leg, propping up his body as he leans half his weight on my bed. My eyes make their way over his torso and up the uniform that covers it. I notice the shine of his metal name tag and wonder if he polishes it. Finally, my eyes lock with his.
“Not long after we moved in with Axel, he told me I needed to make dinner. But I didn’t know how. I had only ever used the microwave.” My voice is monotone. It’s also scratchy from nearly being strangled to death. “So, I opened up a can of soup and poured it into a bowl. I dragged a chair over to the stove and stood on it so I could reach the microwave that was overhead. I put the bowl in and covered it with a napkin so it wouldn’t splatter. Then I set it to cook for ten minutes.”
Officer Rick is listening intently.
“After the microwave dinged, I got back up on the chair and opened the door. The napkin was soaked, so I pulled it off and saw that steam was just billowing off the soup. I hopped down and got some potholders, then got back up and pulled the bowl out.”
I pause for a moment, recalling the memory I had buried so many years ago. “I knew the soup was still hot. I could see it steaming, but a lot of food steams so I didn’t really think anything about it. I figured Axel would just blow on it. He came out of the bedroom grumbling about something and sat down at the table. Without even pausing he picked up the spoon, dipped it into the soup, and brought it to his mouth. He screamed and threw the spoon across the room, standing up abruptly, sending the chair falling backward. He picked up a glass of water I had placed next to his dinner and gulped it, then panted for a minute after he was done.”
I swallow, remembering what came after. “Axel roared all kinds of curse words and terrible things at me, and then he grabbed the bowl and splashed all the soup onto me. It hit my chest and face with such a shocking sting that I screamed, and when I attempted to run to the sink to rinse it with cold water, he grabbed me and held me in place. He told me I needed to know what it felt like to burn the way he just burned his mouth. I sobbed and trembled in his hold as the liquid burned its way through my skin until finally he pushed me to the ground, told me never to burn his dinner again, and stomped away.”
A moment of silence passes before Officer Rick shifts slightly on the bed, swallows hard, and then speaks. “So, the … incidents … just got worse as you got older?”
I nod.
“The doctor noted that you have what look like various small fractures, in your tibia, two in your wrist, one in your collarbone.” He looks away, then back at me. “Your tooth?” He tips his head up at me, like he’s pointing at me with it. “When did that happen?”
“A few years ago. He hit me with a belt.”
He nods, then draws in a breath. “Did Axel ever hurt you in other ways? Did he ever touch you—”
“No,” I answer before he has to finish the question.
Officer Rick nods. “OK. OK.” Rubbing a hand down his face, he asks, “Ari, did you ever tell anyone about this? Or did anyone ever notice?”
Embarrassed, I look straight ahead at the curtain again. “The only person I ever really admitted any of this to is Ethan, but I asked him not to say anything because I didn’t want to go to foster care. But now it doesn’t matter, I guess.”
After a minute of quiet, he speaks again. “Lena knew this was happening, obviously?”
I nod.
“Did she ever hurt you?”
I shake my head.
The officer stands, and as he does my eyes land again on the tattoo on his forearm. “Are those your dog’s paw prints?”
He looks down to where I’m pointing and runs his fingers along the ink. “Yes. Well, they were. He passed a year ago. He was my best bud. Had him for twelve years—almost half my life. Since I was a kid.” He looks back up at me. “You ever have a dog?”
I shake my head. “Axel would never let me.”
Officer Rick takes my small hand in both of his. “Ari, I’m going to try really hard to make sure Axel goes to jail and that you never get hurt again. And I’m fairly certain your friend isn’t going to get into any trouble. Hell, from what I understand, he saved your life.”
Relief fills me. I want to ask about Ethan’s hand, but know the officer probably won’t have any information about that.
“You just relax here, and the doctor and probably someone from the Department of Social Services will be back to talk to you, OK?” Officer Rick turns and slides the curtain to move past it but freezes when he sees Ethan’s mom standing there, covering her mouth to hide her sobs as tears pool on her hand. The officer walks around her and away from us.
After a moment, she composes herself. “I’m so—” she starts to break, but composes herself again. “Ari, I’m so sorry. We never, never knew it was that bad. We didn’t know …” she runs her hands up her arms, as if warming herself. “Lena called me. She’s on her way. She just stopped to check in on Axel.”
Of course. Of course she went to check on him first.
With arms still wrapped around herself, Mrs. Walker looks at the floor and then up at me. “Ari, I need to ask you a favor.”
As she talks, I lay back, close my eyes, and pray for a peace I know will never come.