Solid Walls

Chapter Seven

"Thank you for your time, doctor."

Chloe hung up the phone and sighed. She sipped dregs of tea from her glass and used the tips of her toes to push the porch swing forward and back.

Chloe had now called all the legitimate-sounding names on Talia's list and asked for any information that may not have made it into their official reports. The result was four pages of notes written in her big round handwriting, with underlines, crossing-outs, and paragraphs circled and connected with arrows. The last six months of Willa O'Keefe's life were coming into sharper focus, but the picture only made less sense the clearer it got.

Willa's pediatrician confirmed that before this year, the girl had always been physically typical of her age. The doctor didn't usually make house calls, but she'd come that Sunday when everything started. She agreed with what Willa said about the weight loss, but the other claims were harder to confirm.

"We don't typically track foot size, so I can't speak to that. She did measure about an inch shorter than at her last checkup, but that could've been a clerical error, a change in posture, maybe she was wearing shoes when she was measured the first time, anything like that."

"What was your diagnosis when you were called that day?" Chloe had asked.

"Honestly, by the time I got there she was just lying in bed, a little clammy and shaky. I said it was probably a stomach bug. I've checked on her a couple other times in the past few months, and if she'd continued feeling ill, I may have come up with another diagnosis—chronic migraines or fatigue would have made this a whole other type of case. But besides not being able to gain weight back, she's physically okay. I've prescribed vitamins to make up for the fact that she doesn't go outside."

"You don't find her situation worrying?"

"Of course it's worrying. But I've talked to her mother extensively, and I can't find any real reason to call child protective services. The girl never has a mark on her, she gets all her schoolwork done properly from home, and as far as I can see there's nothing preventing her from leaving that room if she chooses. Her mother follows all my advice about meals and vitamins, and I know she's consulted many of the specialists I've recommended, including a neurologist and a psychiatrist. Those are the people you should talk to about the girl's mental state."

And Chloe had. The neurologist wasn't much help—it's hard to do an MRI or a CT scan from a bedroom—but the psychiatrist at least had some useful information.

"In your professional opinion," Chloe said. "Did you think she was the victim of any abuse?"

"Everyone responds to and talks about abuse in different ways," he'd said slowly, measuring his words. "But just based on my first impressions...no, I didn't get the sense this girl had lived through major physical or emotional trauma. I talked to her about every member of her family, gauging her reactions—because usually even repressed feelings reveal themselves in body language or deflection. But I saw none of the telltale signs I see in my most traumatized patients. Her emotional troubles seemed to be those of any typical teenager. That's not to say they aren't valid or important," he added hastily. "Just that they didn't seem tied to any particular event or person. I will say I remember her family history intriguing me, based on what little her adoptive mother could tell me. Research shows certain types of psychosis may be hereditary, of course."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I believe her natural mother suffered similar symptoms and died by suicide."

"Suicide?"

"That was my understanding. Though admittedly it's hard to extrapolate valuable information from gossip and news stories. What happened to her mother isn't exactly a secret in town, but you'll have to talk to the family if you want real facts. I just mean it's not out of the question that genes play a role. But look, this is all just my unofficial opinion. After all, I only had one session with her."