Page 6 of The Drowned Woman
“What can you tell me about Walt?” Leah asked. She was certain she’d never met Risa before, but something about her was familiar. Maybe she’d seen her in the ER?
“He has Huntington’s.” Risa leaned heavily on her walker. “Do you even know what that is?” she asked, her tone sharp. “Because the other cops didn’t, made things worse.”
“I know about Huntington’s.” Leah eyed Walt’s body movements as he came into sight once again. “His voice is still strong, but the choreiform movements, agitation—he’s already passing the early stages, isn’t he?”
“Doctors told Trudy he was moving into the next stage. Trouble swallowing, periods of catatonia.”
“What’s Huntington’s?” Luka asked. Leah liked that he didn’t pretend to know what they were talking about just to salve his pride.
“It’s a genetic disease,” Leah answered. “It causes severe dementia, muscle weakness, memory loss, among other things. Including emotional lability and violent outbursts. Which explains his extreme reaction and inability to calm down.”
“Walt would never hurt Trudy,” Risa added. “The other cops, they kept asking if he threw her over the railing. But he’d never…”
Leah made up her mind. She didn’t know how Trudy ended up five flights down at the bottom of the atrium but it didn’t matter. Walt was her patient now and it was her job to protect him—which meant doing whatever it took to get him safely out of the apartment and into proper medical care. She had a plan, but she doubted the police would agree to it.
She stepped past the SWAT guys at the apartment’s front door, moving so fast that she was inside the apartment before they could question her actions. Luka would be angry, but she didn’t have time to explain her every decision—after all, wasn’t that why they wanted her here? To use her medical expertise and judgment.
“Trudy?” she called out in a worried tone, matching Walt’s. “Trudy, where are you?”
Walt whirled to her, the crystal vase in his hand, held high, ready to strike.
Five
If there was one thing Leah’s chaotic childhood had trained her to do, it was how to pretend. In school, Nellie, the great-aunt she lived with, convinced her to try out for the school play, and Leah had found a home on the stage. She knew why she did it: as a little girl she’d thought that if she changed, if she acted different, her mother might return for her.
Even today, most of her time in the ER was spent playing the role of whoever the patient before her needed her to be: a confidante, a stern maternal figure, a team leader. Whatever helped her to learn their every secret, unravel every lie, every truth behind an injury. For Leah, it was the most satisfying part of working in the ER, more so than the adrenaline rush of a trauma. Being able to offer help without breaking down whatever lie that person had carefully constructed to keep them safe. The lies of an alcoholic vowing never again; the cries of a victim of domestic violence unwilling to forsake their abusive relationship; the blind denial of patients suffering chronic diseases they refused to acknowledge.
In the ER, everyone lied. And Leah did not judge them. That wasn’t her job. Her job was to help them live, with or without their lies. The truth was a luxury some people couldn’t afford.
When Walt cried out for his dead wife, refusing to believe she was gone, Leah knew it was more than his dementia driving his fury. It was heart-shattering grief.
“Walt, have you seen Trudy?” Leah drew on her own experience of loss to fill her voice with empathy that she hoped Walt would respond to. If Walt was going to make it out of here unharmed, he needed to believe her, trust her.
“Trudy?” His wife’s name was a plaintive wail. The vase slipped free of his grasp, hitting the wood floor, crashing into pieces. He was barefoot, she saw. He ignored the shattered vase, his gaze fixed on Leah, pleading. “Where’s my Trudy?”
She felt his denial. It echoed her own grief, a gut-twist of despair. So, she gave Walt what he needed right now, in this moment. Later, medication might help him accept the truth, but right now, her job was to give him peace—or the illusion of it. At least long enough so that they could get him help, keep him safe and allow the police to do their job without anyone else getting hurt.
Leah reached a hand toward him. “Let’s go, Walt. Let’s go find Trudy together.”
He stared, his lips moving but no sound emerged. She tried to keep his focus on her and away from the men with guns standing behind her in the doorway. She took a step forward, sweeping her feet to clear a safe path through the broken glass. “Will you help me find Trudy?”
He nodded but didn’t move. His expression was a kaleidoscope of emotion: fear, anger, sorrow, confusion, relief, and finally, hope. He grasped her hand, his grip trembling. “I’ll help you.”
“Good. Let’s go find Trudy.” For the benefit of the officers at the doorway, she added, “I’ll bet she’s outside. She went shopping, right?”
“We need eggs. And my medicine. Spilled it last night.” He jerked a finger up to point to a stain on his pajama top.
Together they shuffled forward, another step toward the door. It was slow progress, but Leah was in no rush. The whole point of this was to help Walt to calm down so they could safely remove him from the apartment.
Walt stopped, glanced back at the destruction he’d left during his rampage, but it didn’t seem to register. Instead he called out, “It’s time for my medicine. Trudy?” His voice quavered. “Trudy, where’s my medicine?”
“She went to get more, remember, Walt? And she sent me to help you—I’m a doctor.”
“Doctor? No. Trudy takes me to the doctor. They don’t come here.”
“I’m a special kind of doctor. And we’re going to meet Trudy. She’s waiting for you, Walt.”
“But how?” He stuttered to a stop. They were only halfway to the door. “We sold our car. Trudy said it cost too much.”
