His Appeal

Chapter Six--Part One

Only half of the chapter, but I was so excited to hear Doug's voice again that I had to write and post!

Doug and Camille were quiet as he maneuvered his car away from the group home.  Both were disturbed by what they had seen in Emma’s room, but for very different reasons.

Doug was having serious problems connecting the Eve he knew in school to the one he’d just witnessed caring for her sister.  She’d never lost her temper, gotten flustered, or shied away from doing what needed done, even as Emma had lashed out every time Eve tried to touch her or feed her.  Eve had eventually asked them to leave because this was apparently one of Emma’s bad days.

“Doug,” Camille began hesitantly.

“I had no idea it would be like that,” he said.  “I would have never brought you with me if I’d…”

“That girl is being abused,” Camille said swiftly, cutting off his apology.

Doug’s head snapped around and he gaped openly at Camille.  “Eve isn’t abusing her sister,” he said harshly.

“Not Eve,” Camille said.  “It was obvious in her mannerisms that she wasn’t putting on an act.”  Camille kept her voice low and soothing.  “I could tell from watching her that she’s accustomed to dealing the with outbursts and she did it with too much patience and skill for it not to be a regular thing.  But when Emma kicked at her—” Camille sighed heavily.  “Did you notice the scratches on her leg?”

“I wasn’t really looking for things like that,” Doug answered.  “But with the way she was thrashing around, scratches can be easily explained.  Hell, I’d be surprised if she didn’t have some bumps and bruises.”

“Doug, she had fingernail scratches going from her thigh to her knee,” Camille told him.  “It was something we were trained to look for.  Elder abuse is very common and scratches are too easily explained away.”

“Couldn’t she have scratched herself?” Doug asked as he wheeled his car up the driveway to Camille’s house.  “How could you tell they were fingernail scratches?”

Camille faced him and held up her hand when he put the car in park.  “A person scratches with their four fingers.”  She wiggled her digits at him.  “If someone is really angry or fighting, they’ll dig the thumb nail in as well.  It leaves a definite pattern.”  Camille put her fingertips on her knee, holding the thumb away from her body.

“Okay,” Doug said watching her hand as it raked across the material of her slacks.

“You see where my pinky finger is?  How the nail starts and ends at a different angle from the rest of fingers?”  When he nodded, Camille twisted her arm so that her hand was backwards on her leg.  “It is virtually impossible for a person to scratch themselves with the pinky toward the inside and make the pattern from thigh to knee.”

“Couldn’t she have just scratched herself with the opposite hand?” Doug asked.

“Sure,” Camille said removing her nails from her pants and meeting his eyes.  “And I’m sure that’s exactly what they would tell Eve if she asked about the marks.”

Camille got out of the car and closed the door gently.  Doug shut off the engine and scrambled after her.

“But you don’t think she made those marks herself,” he stated when he caught up with her at the door.

Camille shook her head and shot him a sad smile.  “When people scratch themselves hard enough to leave marks like that, typically you see a mad pattern of frantic scratching.  Up and down strokes.  Those marks were made in one swoop and they were made from the thigh down.”  She opened the door and they entered the quiet house.  “We saw a lot of that with incoming residents.  It’s a common form of abuse for people who wear adult diapers.”

“Fuck,” Doug swore under his breath.  “Eve’s trying to find a way for her sister to stay in that place.  She thinks they’re giving Emma good treatment.”

“On the surface, it didn’t look like a bad facility,” Camille said.  “It only takes one or two frustrated workers to cover up things like that.  It also could be that Emma needs more care than what they’re equipped for.”

“You definitely think that one of the worker’s did this to Emma?” Doug asked.  “You’re sure that she didn’t do this to herself?”

“I wasn’t there when it happened, Doug,” Camille said.  “Anything is possible.  But from my experience, there is no way that girl did that to herself.”  Camille’s eyes darted around the foyer.  “It’s too quiet in here.”

Camille slipped off her jacket and opened the closet door to hang it.  She jumped back when a grinning RD came barreling out at her.

“You found me, Mommy,” he squealed beaming brightly.

“Hi baby boy,” Camille said gathering the toddler to her for a hug.  “Where’s Daddy and Meri?”

“Dunno,” RD replied squirming out of her grip.  “We playing.  I was hiding.  I is a good hider.  Daddy couldn’t find me for a loooong time.”

“Thad!” Camille shouted.

Doug watched Camille interact with her son and heard her restrained shout for Thad, but his head was still trying to wrap itself around the fact that Camille thought Emma was being abused.  The wheels turned rapidly as he ran down the legal ramifications of what he knew he needed to do.  This case had just turned from a petition for disability into a serious lawsuit with the possibility of criminal charges.

“…knew where he was the whole time,” Doug focused in on the scene in front of him and was trying not to laugh.

“How long was he in that closet?” Camille demanded.

“Did not! Did not! Did not!” RD screamed.  “I is a good hider!”

“You’re a wonderful hider,” Camille soothed her son.  “But Daddy needs to be a better finder or he isn’t allowed to play hide and seek with you anymore.”

“I took a three minute pause to put Meri down for her nap,” Thad defended.  “RD was just fine and I was about to come and find him when you walked in.”

Doug’s lips twitched on a choked back laugh.  He always enjoyed seeing his best friend in the dog house.

“Shut up, dickhead,” Thad snapped at him.

“Dickhead, dickhead, dickhead,” RD chanted, making Thad groan.

“First you lock our son in a closet and then you teach him a bad word,” Camille said her eyes filling up with tears.

“I didn’t lock—”  Thad stopped short when he saw the distress on his wife’s face.  He quickly pulled her into his arms and began comforting her as her body was wracked with sobs.  Pregnancy hormones, he mouthed over her shoulder to Doug.

“Hey, RD,” Doug said interrupting his godson’s dickhead song.  “How about we go raid the fridge?  You can show me where your dad hides all the good junk food.”

“Okay,” the boy said happily and reached for Doug’s hand.  “Uncle D,” RD whispered when they’d taken a few steps away from his parents.  “What’s a dickhead?”

“It’s a bad word,” Doug whispered back, well aware that RD knew this already.  “And I’ll give you five bucks if you only say it to get your dad in trouble for teaching it to you.”

“Fifty,” RD bargained.

“Why you little shyster,” Doug said chuckling.  “Ten.”

“A hundred,” RD shot back.  Stopping abruptly he frown up at Doug, “what’s a buck?”

Doug threw his head back and laughed heartily.  “Never mind, little dude,” he said leading the boy into the kitchen.  “Let’s ruin your dinner.”