Latitude

Chapter 28

by Bridgid

Everything told seems to be nightmare when being told by a patient in a mental hospital. Perhaps the stories about straitjackets, segregation cells and violence in isolation wards are drowned out by continuous killing, aggression and violence seen on television.

Bud was admitted into the women's ward at Gateway Psych by a nurse who sat in a glass cage. The closed ward of women woke up like Pavlov's dogs hearing a bell when the buzzer sounded to open the door. A dozen or so milled around in their unflattering hospital gowns silently padding the floor in their issued soft shoes. Most appeared to be floating on a drug induced cloud oblivious to the man who entered but a few cowered away. It made Bud uncomfortable.

"Barbie McHale," he advised the nurse in the glass box.

"You must be the Detective. We've been expecting you." She signaled an orderly to escort Bud. His dark skin was offset significantly by the white coat and pants that he wore. The lack of color in this place was almost as unnerving as the strong smells. Disinfectant, urine, and something resembling rubbing alcohol blended with the scent of floor wax and baby powder created a mix as reminiscent as the smell of road kill in August. It's one you never forget.

Bud followed the orderly down a long hallway with floors so shiny they could cause mirages. Black spots like apparitions crossed the tile distractingly but they vanished when Bud stepped into the atrium where Barbie waited. His eyes adjusted to the filtered glow from the skylight and at first appearance, she looked like a frail child, ill-used by the hard world.

The orderly spoke to her but she didn't flinch, she didn't look, she just stared at a plastic bird of paradise flower in the corner of the room. A nurse sitting next to it casually turned pages in the notebook she held on crossed legs.

"Barbie, this is Detective White. He's come to talk to you for a bit." The man nodded toward a chair across from the young girl and Bud nodded back before sitting down. He glanced toward the attending nurse who looked up over her glasses at him, twitching a slight smile that seemed staged before she returned to her notes.

Bud studied Barbie for a moment. What if she were his daughter? How would he feel if she were here under these vile circumstances? Easy enough, he'd feel like he failed her and the man that did this to her would suffer a worse fate than Bill McHale had inflicted. Could that be why he killed his entire family, because he felt he'd failed them? His little girl suffered something no woman of any age should have to deal with, and when he took justice into his own hands he got caught. Failure with a capital F. Bile rose as Bud thought of his father and what he did to his mother. Was he a failure too? Did he kill her because he couldn't protect her, couldn't love her properly? McHale must have been walking a tightrope and he missed the net when he fell. If that be the case, Bud's father was a flying Wallenda.

Bud had read the McHale reports. He knew exactly what had happened to the girl and there were indications of how this event had torn her family apart at the seams but he was well aware of what the actions of one man could do. He felt an indirect affinity to Barbie McHale.

He gathered himself up and leaned on the table to see what she'd been doing. In front of her was a box of Crayola crayons and a piece of construction paper where she'd drawn a picture of a teddy bear similar to one she'd clutched in her arm. Though she was about sixteen years old and on the brink of becoming an adult, her inmost being stayed in her childhood and by Bud's reckoning she'd probably never escape from it. For him the freedom of this hellish place lie behind a locked door but for Barbie the locks were on her mind and the only keys were honed from doses of medication and hours of therapy that were no more useful than a shot in the dark. Out, well, getting there a patient had to yield to the norms and sometimes very absurd requisites of standard treatment. Barbie was consumed by her own fears. Though she was quiet now, reports indicated that she screamed, cried and begged to be killed at times.

He did talk to her. He told her as best he could that her family was gone and when he reached to touch her hand she turned her eyes on him briefly as if they were weapons of destruction as she recoiled away. He wasn't sure she understood that her family was all dead since she didn't react in an expected way. The only thing she said in Bud's presence was, "He has a deep voice". Was she referring to him in third person or talking about the man who stole her sanity? Obtaining any information from her was impossible. Bud stood and said goodbye to the lost little girl but she'd be in his thoughts on occasion for a long time to come. Barbie would be one of those many ghosts that haunt a cop, part of the ever growing throng of those the system had not done justice for.

He left Gateway feeling sick but who wouldn't? No matter how tough a cop is or pretends to be, crimes against kids never went down easy.

The day was drawing to a close but he had a promise to fulfill. He pulled into the drive of Addley's home just before sunset. Bud was going to stop to pick up a few things for Lonnie but he had another plan. He figured if he explained to Addley what he knew now, maybe the man would let him take her home. She wasn't guilty, she wouldn't flee but most of all Bud needed to be alone with her.

He knocked and the door and was met by a woman he thought to be the maid. She led him to Addley's study where he waited for the man to join him. Just the thought of knowing Lonnie was somewhere in this house had him on tenterhooks.

"White. You asked to see me? I'm surprised. I thought you'd want to see Lonnie first," Addley announced as he entered the room.

Bud turned slowly, following the man as he wound his way toward his desk chair. "I do, but I want to talk to you. I'll cut right to the chase. I'd like to take her home."

Addley was a deep thinker and he was also a good judge of the way people postured. He trusted Bud White and he didn't suspect the man had anything out of bounds on his mind.

"She's not court committed to stay with me, she's just in my charge. I stand to lose more than my reputation if anything should occur to prevent her from showing up for trial."

"Ain't gonna be a trial," Bud responded

"What do you mean by that?"

Bud proceeded to tell him about the McHale case sparing no detail. "You see, she's innocent. I just need to place McHale in the park that day. I need to find the evidence and I will."

"I trust you'll leave no stone unturned," Addley stated. "I'll agree but I expect a phone call every day, primarily to keep you abreast of any changes in the court date. As it stands, until you turn up the evidence, Bud, there will be a trial. Lonnie will have to check in with the courts at the prescribed times too. They can be tougher than the parole office."

"Understood."

"Alright, take your fiancé home." Addley called for the woman on staff and asked her to bring Lonnie to them. She did as she was told and returned a few minutes later with her. She had no idea what was up. Lonnie figured Bud was there with some stuff from home that she'd asked Bud to bring. When she entered the room, they stood looking at each other for a long moment before she moved to embrace him.

"Missed you."

"Missed you too, baby," he responded. "C'mon. I'm going to take you home." He held her at arms length and looked her over. Is this the first time he'd seen her in a dress like this?

"Home? What do you mean?" she asked

"He means he's taking you home. You'll sleep in your own bed tonight, Lonnie. Not that it hasn't been a pleasure having you as my guest, but I think it's time for you to have a little latitude. Bud has a lot to talk about with you."

"I don't know what to say except ... thank you."

It didn't take her long to get her stuff together. A short while later she was happily pressed up against Bud in the front seat of the car and on the way home. He told her what he'd found out during the ride. Just before they pulled up in front of the house she asked him one question.

"What about Nordstrom? Am I still a suspect?"

"Did you kill him?"

"No."

"Nothing to worry about, Lon. Nothing."

He brought her into the house with every intention of making love to her. She seemed so happy and it put a grin on his face. The moment they were in the door, she kissed him and as he held her he lowered the zipper at the back of her dress.

"We're really, finally alone, Bud. It seems like it's been a year since ..." Lonnie laid her head against his broad chest as she relished the feel of his rough hands on her. "I thought about you and it's what kept me okay. I thought about our kid, about what you're going to look like holding him or her. God damn, I love you."

Did he have to tell her? He didn't pull out any stops to get her back with him. Actions speak louder than words to a man like Bud White. He raised his hands and gently pushed the dress down over her shoulders, handling her as if she were the most fragile thing on earth. It wasn't until they'd got to the bedroom that he noticed it. When she turned just right in the dim light he could see the remnants of the bruise on her face. There was a scar from the laceration she'd got that day in the park but even more than that, the subtle changes in her body stood out. Her belly was paunch and her rosy pink nipples had darkened some. The curve of her hip seemed softer. She was more beautiful then he'd ever imagined but every time he saw the yellow and gray hue of the mark on her face he thought of how he could blame himself for it.

"Tell me what happened in the tombs," he asked in a voice that seemed to be wrought with sadness.

Lonnie turned to lie on her side, facing him. She drew a leg over his and locked her ankle around his. Placing a hand on his thigh, she slipped it upward to his hip then down between his legs. There was no response to her touch. Her arm went around his waist and she settled to share a pillow with him. Close enough to kiss yet far enough apart to talk; Lonnie sensed what was going through his mind.

"You need to know this?"

He responded with a nod.

"I survived," she said. "That's all there was to it. I survived because of you."

"I could have stopped them from taking you."

"No. You can't blame yourself for this. I won't let you. You're not fucking Atlas, Bud. You don't carry the weight of the world. There's no way you could have prevented what happened to me."

"I could have taken you away."

"Then what?" she sighed. "We'd be on the run for the rest of our lives. Our kid wouldn't have a place to call home. We'd have to keep moving and it would all smell like guilt. Think about it, baby. You did everything right. We're here, we're home. This is for the best."

"Who hurt you there?" He placed his palm on her cheek. "Who did this to you?"

Lonnie closed her eyes and turned her head to kiss the flat of his hand. "No one who will ever matter to us ever again. She's there for a very long time. I'm free. Instant karma."

He thought for a long moment before he leaned in to kiss her. The pulse in her lips, the taste of her mouth and the logic to her words swept the thoughts away for the time being. Finally there was a response to the touch.