Baby Girl Doe (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 5) (17 page)

July 7, 1988

Margo waited anxiously in Kleeb’s office.
It was at the far end of the underground complex in the executive administration area. With the door closed, his office was like a sealed vault, silent except for the hum of the fluorescent lights and the ticking of his desk clock. Kleeb usually checked in at the nursery every day, but had avoided the children’s facility since the altercation with her. She knew intuitively that the boom was about to be lowered. An official reprimand was coming—she could feel it in her bones.
But how . . . how can he justify it?
“He’s Kleeb, that’s how,” she muttered. “He can do whatever he wants.”

The walls were pale blue. His desk and credenza were gray metal, like all the office furniture in the facility. Kleeb entered and sat down without making eye contact. He opened a folder and spoke to her with his eyes glued to it. “I’m shutting down the children’s program and reassigning you to Female Adult.” He closed the folder and finally looked her in the eye. “That’s all.”

“But, but . . .” Margo was tongue-tied.
“Why?”

“Progress is too slow. Our budget has been reduced again and I have to allocate funding where I can get the most bang for the buck. If I don’t demonstrate sufficient progress this year, the entire facility may be closed down altogether.”

“But what about the children?”

“They’ll be assigned to orphanages by the state.”

“That’s . . . that’s terrible. These kids need time to adjust. The only life they’ve known is down here. I’m the only family they have.”

“You’ll have until the end of the week to prepare them. New York State Department of Social Services will be here on Monday to do the paperwork.”

Margo rose abruptly. “Dr. Kleeb, these children will never be able to assimilate that quickly. Some of them—”

“Should be thankful for the time they were here, cared for and mollycoddled on the Federal government’s dime. You forget that most of these children came from orphanages and state homes originally. They’ve been on an extended vacation as far as I’m concerned.”

“You’re a cruel son of a bitch, Dr. Kleeb. Is this because—”

“It’s because I say so. Is there anything else?”

You piece of shit.
“Can I get a little more time with them—until the end of the month at least?”

“Until the end of the week, nurse. You’re dismissed.”

Margo slammed the door on her way out of his office, ignoring concern for a reprimand. She had only walked a few paces down the hall when she started to cry. She slumped against the wall and dug into her pocket for tissue.
I hate him. That son of a bitch. I hate him.
She blotted her tears immediately—it was still the military despite the guise of being a government research facility, and a commissioned officer could not appear to be weak in front of her fellow officers. Her eyes were red as she continued down the corridor, when necessary dabbing at her nose with the tissue that was concealed within her closed fist.

The nursery was covered for the next hour, but she passed by on her way to the underground hospital complex just to make sure her staff was doing their job.

Access to the hospital area was restricted for all but medical personnel. She swiped her card key, and the electrical lock on the door released. She routinely visited the children’s ward but needed a moment to find intensive care. “Hi, Rose,” she said, seeing her friend.
God, I hope she doesn’t give me a hard time.

“Get lost, Margo? You’re a long way from pediatrics.”

“Just want to look in on a friend. Where are they keeping Bill Alden?”

“I didn’t know you two were . . . you naughty girl,” she said mischievously.

“Stuff it,” Margo said, dismissing the suggestive comment. “How is he?”

Rose laid her head on clasped hands, pantomiming to indicate that he was asleep. “Still in a coma, Betty Boop. He won’t have a clue that you’re here.”

Margo sighed. “So it’s okay if I look in on him?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.” She stepped closer to her friend. “Look, this is just between you and me, okay? I don’t want that son of a bitch, Kleeb, to know I looked in on Bill. Okay?”

“
Please.
You’re kidding right? Like I’d tell that creepy bastard anything other than to take a hike.”

“Thanks, Rosie. You’re a doll.”

“I am, aren’t I?” she said as she cracked her chewing gum.

The ICU was about thirty feet long and contained six beds in a row, each separated by a privacy curtain. She found Alden in the first one. He looked pale, but the dark circles he usually bore were gone from around his eyes. He looked peaceful and appeared clean and well cared for. Oxygen was being fed into his nostrils. Margo checked his IV bag. It contained saline and glucose. She checked the output level of his urine to make sure that he was adequately hydrated.

“So still.” She tried to repress the thought that he appeared deathlike, like someone who had passed, been embalmed, and been made up for showing at a funeral. She sighed and stroked his hair but remained verbally silent.
I’m so sorry.
She owed him nothing, nothing save the pleasure of serving as mother to his little girl for the past three years.
I love her too. You poor man. That little girl is all you have left and now . . . you won’t even know she’s gone.

Alden didn’t respond to her presence or her sentiment. He lay perfectly still drawing even, measured breaths.

She sniffled.
I did my best, Bill. I really tried.

“Hey, Margo, are you all right?”

She turned and saw that Rose was walking toward her.

“Come on, I’ve got to get you out of here. Dr. Jerkoff usually makes his rounds about now.”

“Thanks.” She turned back to Alden.
If you could just wake up.
She kissed her fingertips and touched them to his forehead.

“What’s with the kissy-touchy? You one of those gals who likes banging coma patients?” Rose cackled.

“Take a leap, will ya?”

“Hey, I hear the nursery is shutting down. Is that true?”

Margo frowned. “News travels fast.”

“Are you getting reassigned?”

Margo nodded.

“Tough break for those little kids. Tough break for you—I know how much you liked that job.”

“Thanks, kiddo.” Margo hit the release button, and the hospital door swung open. “Remember,” she said. “Mum’s the word.”

July 11, 1988

“What’s this one’s name?”

“Raven. Raven Gallagher,” Margo said proudly.

Celeste Thax peered at the little girl through veiny, milky-white eyes. “Raven? That’s a name?” Behind the cataracts, her irises were cat’s-eye green. “She’s tiny like a bird.”

Raven tugged at Margo’s sleeve. “Why she has whiskers?” the child whispered.

“
Shhh.
Be polite,” Margo said. “This is the nice lady who’s going to be taking care of you from now on.”

Raven stomped her foot,
“No!”
Her protest was both childish and resolute at the same time.

A child wearing a stained, broadcloth dress and white Mary Janes ran down the stairs and hid behind Thax, peering out at the two strangers.

“And who’s this pretty girl?” Margo asked.

“That’s Kim,” Thax said bluntly.

Raven tugged on Margo’s sleeve again. “Why Kim smells like pee?”

“I’ve got a lot a cats,” Thax explained. “Maybe the kitty litter needs changing.” She looked down at Kim. “Change the kitty litter before you take your bath. You didn’t take one last night, did you?”

Kim shook her head, cowering from her caretaker.

“I didn’t hear you,” Thax snapped.

“N-n-no.” Kim said, her voice trembling.

“It’s no wonder you stink.” Thax looked up at Margo. “You try to teach these brats good hygiene, but they just keep running around like wild Indians.”

“Not want to live here,” Raven sulked. Her eyes grew red.

Thax sneered at her. “Well, ain’t that just tough titty. Listen, your highness, beggars can’t be choosers.”

“
What
did you just say to her?” Margo said with outrage.

“What’s the matter, sister? Got a hearing problem?” Thax said resentfully.

“My head
huwts
.” Raven rubbed her temple. She frowned and began to sniffle.

Margo knelt alongside her. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Do you have a headache?”

Raven nodded and continued to cry. “Since I got shot.”

“Listen to the brat,” Thax laughed. “Kid, if you got shot, you’d have much more to worry about than a headache.”

Margo shot Thax a scalding glance then looked back at Raven. “What shot?” she asked.

“Dr.
Kweeb
give me shot. Now my head
huwts
and my cheeks burn.”

Shot? Kleeb, you son of a bitch.
She placed her hand against Raven’s forehead. “Maybe you’re coming down with something. You feel a little warm.” She picked up Raven’s coat. “Put this on, honey, I’m taking you back to the base.”

“What’s the big tadoo? A couple of Excedrin, and she’ll be right as rain.”

“You don’t give Excedrin to a three-year-old. Come on, Raven, we’re going.”

“Why not?” Thax asked. “I give it to all the brats.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Come. Go. Stay. Whatever,” Thax said highhandedly. “The state is paying me whether she’s here or not. Bring her back when she’s fixed up . . . or not.”

“Half a milligram of scopolamine three times a week?
Are you out of your mind?” Margo shouted as she burst into Kleeb’s office, waving Raven’s medical chart in the air. She was still wearing her coat when she slammed it down on his desk. “Why wasn’t I told that you’ve been medicating my kids?”

“Come in,” he said sarcastically. “Make yourself at home.” He put down his pen and sat back in his chair. “Anything else you want to say?”

“Half a milligram? That’s more than the maximum pediatric dosage.”

He picked up the medical chart and weighed it in his hand. “Just what part of experimental government program don’t you understand, Nurse Atwater? We’re developing techniques to control the human mind. The Army and the Air Force sanctioned this program. You’re a military officer, for Christ’s sake. Pull yourself together.”

“Raven has headaches and a rash. Her father is in a coma. Doesn’t that matter to you? She’s a child, not a soldier.”

“Do you know Bill Alden’s story? Maybe I should tell you. Did you know that his wife died during childbirth?”

Margo sighed a long and troubled sigh but said nothing.

“Alden fell apart and voluntarily asked the great Colonel Frank Prescott to enroll his child in the program because he couldn’t take care of her. So why am I the bad guy? He was in the program almost two years when all this happened. It’s not as if he had any misconceptions about what happens down here—we test and we experiment. We poke, pinch, and prod. There’s nothing cruel or unusual going on down here. It’s just science. I’m a doctor, a doctor paid to run a government research program and develop vital initiatives for the military. We were getting nowhere fast, and I made the decision to introduce psychoactive medications into the program. Aside from a control group, psychoactives are being used on everyone in the study at this point.”

“Including the children? We have absolutely no idea what the effects of long-term scopolamine usage will be. These kids are being exposed to high-energy electromagnetic radiation, isolation therapy, subliminal imagery, and God knows what else. What are the chances of these kids having any type of normal life?”

Kleeb stared at her blankly. “Where are you going with this? These kids were orphans. They were homeless. We cared for these kids. We fed them. We clothed them and gave them shelter. How many times do I have to repeat myself? Maybe if we hadn’t pampered them so much, I wouldn’t have had to terminate the program. Maybe if you saw these kids as experimental subjects . . .” he huffed. “The children’s program is dead now. Raven and every other child in the program is now in the care of New York State.”

“Care of the state? What a joke. I brought Raven back with me. I wouldn’t leave my worst enemy in that foster home. The woman who runs the place is an animal. The house is filthy dirty and it smells like urine. I’ll never bring her back to that place.”

“That’s too bad. Should I write you up for insubordination now or would you like a few minutes to think it over?”

“What?” Margo pressed her lips together until they turned white. “You’d do that?”

“You’re giving me little choice, Nurse Atwater.” Kleeb checked his watch. “Raven can stay the night, but she goes back to the foster home in the morning. With or without you.”

“You’re such a shit.”

“The choice is yours.” He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Is there anything else?” he asked impatiently.

Margo jumped up. “I won’t stand for this. If I have to I’ll adopt her myself.”

Kleeb smirked. “Knock yourself out, but no matter what, Raven will be dropped off at the foster home in the morning.” He lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke across his desk. “Anything else?”

January 1991

“Raven. Raven! Get your boney little keister down here right now.”
Thax plopped into a recliner and put her floppy-sock-clad feet up on the footrest. She picked up the remote, clicked on the TV, and surfed channels until she found something she liked. A talk show host was interviewing a TV star who had long outlived her fifteen minutes of fame. Thax lost patience with the show after a few minutes and clicked the remote again. “Raven. Raven! I’m waiting.”

Raven stood atop the stairs looking down at the old woman. She sighed before taking the steps down to the first level.

“What is it?” she asked as she approached Thax.

The old woman grabbed one of her loose-fitting socks at the toe, yanked it off, and wriggled her toes.

Raven cringed at the sight of Thax’s feet.
Ooh. Gross!
“Already?”

“Yes, already. You’re six years old. How long are you going to bellyache about it?” Thax picked up a mug and sipped the head off her beer, leaving a white, foamy mustache on her upper lip.

Raven couldn’t help but giggle at her, because she thought that Thax looked like a cartoon character. With her mustache and chin whiskers, Thax was just a hat and sunglasses short of a bad disguise.

“I don’t get you,” Thax said. “One minute you’re pissed off and the next minute laughing. I think you’re turning into one of those schizos.” She picked up the nail clipper and held it out for Raven. “And careful this time. I’m too old to lose a toe.” Her toenails were thick and gray. The nail on her big toe was chipped.

Raven accepted the clipper and sat down cross-legged on the floor at eye level with Thax’s hammertoes. She focused on Thax’s feet to avoid seeing her fat, fleshy legs, which extended past the hem of her housecoat. She held her breath so as not to gag from the smell. Starting with the pinky toe, she worked her way from small to large because the nails were thinner on the smaller toes and easier to clip. She needed to put both hands on the clipper to cut the big toenail. A nail fragment shot off and hit Raven on the chin. “Ugh.”

“Hurry up,” Thax complained. “My feet are getting old.” She took a big gulp of beer and redirected her attention to the TV. Rosie O’Donnell was being interviewed on a talk show. “No. I hate this Bozo.” She clicked the remote again and again and . . .

Raven waited until Thax was completely mesmerized with one of the TV shows and then jabbed the point of the clipper into the old lady’s big toe.

“Ouch! You clumsy bitch,” she shouted as she rubbed her big toe. “It’s bleeding. Get some Mercurochrome out of the medicine cabinet.”

Raven popped up and raced to the stairs. “Sorry,”
you old nag.
“I’ll be right back.”

“You’d better be sorry. Get your ass back here on the double.”

Raven used a stepstool to reach the medicine cabinet. Finding the Mercurochrome, she fished a booger out of her nose and stuck it on the end of the applicator. She giggled before returning to Thax. Her booger had turned reddish orange from the antiseptic. She smeared it across the punctured wound and recapped the bottle.

“That burns,” Thax complained. “Better be more careful with my other foot.”

The other foot was far worse than the first. Thax’s nail beds were yellow with fungus. Raven kept her mouth closed and did her best not to breathe the foul odor. She made quick work of the second foot and stood to go.

“Not so fast,” Thax said with spitefulness in the tone of her voice, “For nearly cutting off my toe off, you get the honor of cleaning the toilet today.”

“But it’s not my turn,” Raven protested.

“And you can do it tomorrow also.”

Shit!
“Can I have lunch first? My head hurts a lot.” She pouted sadly, hoping to elicit sympathy from the wretched old woman.

“Playing on my good nature, are you? There’s bologna in the refrigerator. Make me a sandwich too. I’m hungry.”

“Thank you.” Raven’s arms were plastered to her sides as she hurried toward the kitchen.

Kim was sitting at the table eating corn flakes and water.

“That looks like vomit,” Raven said. “No milk?”

“Not for days.”

“The witch wants a sandwich.”

Kim’s eyes lit up. “Can I help?”

Raven nodded gleefully. “One topping each.” She took the white bread out of the breadbox and removed four slices of bread. She made her own sandwich, first adding bologna without any condiments and cut off the crust with a sharp knife. Thax took all of her sandwiches the same way, with mustard and tomato. Raven squeezed mustard into a small dish and added a hefty shake of Bon Ami cleansing powder. Kim approached the table with an impish smile. From behind her back, she produced a cat turd, which she had removed from the litter box.

Raven snorted.

They both giggled while Raven blended it in with the mustard.

Raven placed the sandwich on a snack tray. She squeezed her eyes shut suddenly, looking uncomfortable.

Kim recognized the expression on Raven’s face. “Another headache?” she asked.

Raven nodded without opening her eyes. It took a full minute before she was able to continue. She picked up the serving tray and forced a smile. “I hope she eats the whole damn thing.”

~~~

“You still have to scrub the toilet,” Thax said without looking at Raven, who set the snack tray next to her recliner and topped off her mug with beer.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said politely. She turned and fought to hold back her laughter as she joined Kim behind the stairs to watch Thax eat her cat’s shit.