A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

and wait. You go into the exam room with the nurse alone. Dad
offers to go with you, to hold your hand, which is weird as fuck. The
lady cop tells him no. She says it gentler than that. “I don’t think that
would be a good idea, Josh.” You’re not six years old anymore, but
try telling that to Dad. The lady cop sits with us during the whole
entire exam. “You shouldn’t be alone,” she says to Dad, though he
isn’t alone. He has me. I wish that she would leave.
It takes so long I think it will never be done.
They confiscate your clothes. They send you home with something
else to wear.
There’s never any question of if you are who you say you are,
though the DNA results won’t be back for another day. Child services
could take you for the night. Child services is supposed to take you
for the night. But after all that you’ve been through, the lady cop
breaks the rules and lets Dad and me take you home.
She tells Dad what you told them about where you’ve been. Dad
nearly goes through the roof. “It doesn’t make sense,” he says, and
he’s right, seeing as how Mom was found dead of a self-inflicted
knife wound with a note: You’ll never find her. Don’t even try.
The note went on to say that you were safe, that you were fine.
If what you say is true, you weren’t fine. You were far from fine.
But maybe you’re lying. No one thinks about that but me.
We leave with promises to take you to a shrink and to our own
doctor for a follow-up. They’re worried about malnutrition, muscle
atrophy, physical abuse; they’re worried about your eyes. You have
to wear special sunglasses because you haven’t seen daylight in
eleven years. At home, we’re supposed to keep the blinds closed.
They’re worried about your feet. They’re wrapped in bandages. If
you had shoes, they took those, too.
They’re also worried about your mental state. It’s clear to see
you’re not all there. You’re not right in the head. You’re scared as
heck, wasted and emaciated. You should be seventeen but no one
would ever think you’re seventeen. You could pass for ten. You’ve
got no boobs. You’re about four and a half feet tall. You weigh maybe
eighty pounds.
We drive home. You ride in the back seat. You say nothing.