In Her Right Mind

Chapter One

2014

The moment John Roland stepped out of his car, and into a puddle left by the previous night’s rain, he was reminded where the sole and leather upper of his left shoe had split several weeks earlier. Walking around on a soggy foot was sure to make a long day even longer. He was used to early shifts and working through the night when a lead was hot. It was the unexpected early morning calls that threw him off balance. He’d been on the force in one capacity or another for thirty years and his heart still jumped when the phone rang before the alarm went off.

This morning’s call came just before 4 A.M. He must have been in a deep sleep because his wife, Claire, answered it before it penetrated the dream he was unable to remember once his eyes opened. When she handed him the phone, a grunt was all he was able to muster until he heard what the caller had to say. Wide awake before his feet hit the floor, he ran a toothbrush over his teeth, slipped into yesterday’s trousers, and was out the door in under a minute-thirty.

~~~

"John, over here."

Roland turned to find his partner, Vince Stanovich, standing on the driver’s side of the victim’s car, about twenty feet from the open door. He called to a woman on the forensic team, Don’t forget to dust the car seat, especially the release mechanism on the strap, as he made his way toward Vince. What’ve you got?

Vince pointed to the ground between them.

His knees let out a dull pop as he squatted for a better look. After a moment, he stood and said, Appears dry. Quite possibly belonged to the victim’s child. Have them bag it. What can you tell me about the mother?

Vince checked his notes. Rita Nass, 27, local. Came out for formula. She said it was a man, nondescript, never saw him coming.

And the baby?

Male, three-days-old.

Roland looked the car over. Is this how it was found? All open?

Driver’s door and passenger rear were open. An employee found the victim at the back-left corner of the car. He pointed to a woman talking to an officer about thirty feet from where they stood.

Was she able to tell you anything before they took her?

Vince shook his head as they walked around the car. Just that someone took her baby. The witness said she appeared unconscious when she first spotted her, but when she came to and realized her baby was missing she became hysterical. She didn’t say much of anything past that point. First responder described her as being incoherent. I figured we’d handle that interview once she’d had time to calm down.

How badly was she beaten?

Roughed up would be more accurate.

Roland cast a side glance and thanked him before making his way to the forensics lead. He couldn’t remember the guy’s name, and wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Anything?

Morning, detective. A lot of prints, hairs, and a few buttons from both inside and outside the vehicle. I just sent someone to bag the bootie.

Roland felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned.

I’m headed in to take a look at footage. You want to join me? asked a detective Roland only knew as Roz.

Right behind you. Roland turned to the man he’d been talking to. How fast can you get a report on my desk?

As usual, we’ve got quite a backlog.

And I’ve got a missing baby. Make it happen. He offered a twitch of his upper lip, which was about as close to a smile as he ever came while on the job. A crowd was forming as the sun’s rays pushed upward. Roland scanned the onlookers for someone who showed too much interest, nervousness, or stared directly at him, knowing the perpetrator often stuck around for the show. No one stood out.

Inside, he noticed several employees in a huddle off to the side of the main aisle whispering among themselves. When the first one spotted him coming toward them, he straightened and stopped mid-sentence causing the other two to follow his stare. They scattered like bees hit by a shot of Raid as Roland approached. He was always amused by the reaction he received from people. Claire said his gun and the badge he wore on his belt dressed him in an air of confidence, which grabbed people’s attention, but if he had to take a stab at what made people take notice of him he’d guess it was his arms and legs that looked too short for his keg-shaped body. The scar over his right eye didn’t stand out as much as it made him look unapproachable. Whatever it was it tended to keep people who didn’t know him at arm’s length, and those who did know him knew enough not to engage in long, drawn out conversation. Words past what were necessary were a waste of his time.

Over here.

Roland turned and joined Roz in front of a steel door. Roz knocked twice with one knuckle and then waited until a woman with a tight ponytail and glasses appeared from behind the door.

Detectives, please come in. I’m Stacy Howarth, the AP here. I apologize for the cramped quarters, but I’m usually the only one in here.

Roz said, No problem. Have you had a chance to look at the footage from the parking lot yet?

I have, she said as she turned her back on them to sit in front of the largest screen. I only live a mile and a half away, so I was here within minutes of the call. She pointed between two smaller screens above her head. Your victim was parked between these two views. I can see her walk out of the store and through the lot, but I lose sight of her right here. She pointed to the edge of one screen.

You have two entrances into the parking lot. Can you tell which one she used? Roz asked.

Yes. She entered from the east driveway.

How far back did you go? Just far enough to see her pull in?

Roland knew what Roz was thinking. Stacy, can you go back further? Maybe see if anyone else pulled in and parked in the camera’s blind spot.

Sure.

As Stacy played through video, Roland switched his attention between the images on the screen and the time in the lower corner of the monitor. They had reached ten minutes before the victim pulled in, and still nothing. He was beginning to think the assailant might have been on foot when something flashed at the edge of the screen.

There, she said as she pointed to what had just caught his eye. Although between the darkness and the camera angle I’m not going to be able to give you much detail. At least nothing that will be of help I’m afraid.

They remained silent while she ran through the same five or ten seconds several times.

Roland straightened and said, You’ve been a huge help. Can you do us a couple favors?

Of course.

We’re going to need copies of the footage from both inside and outside beginning an hour before you see the victim’s car pull in up until the first responder arrived. He pulled a card from his jacket pocket. Once it’s ready, would you please call me immediately?

She took the card from his outstretched hand, and as she looked it over said, Absolutely. Anything I can do to help.

He thanked her as Roz opened the door.

She called out, I hope you find the bast—.

The door closed cutting off the end of her sentence.

Chapter Two

Three weeks earlier

When Dave was alive, Mary’s internet use was limited to Googling her son’s medical ailments, emailing relatives who lived too far away to visit with regularity, and occasional shopping. She had never had any interest in Facebook or the other social media sites that seemed to be so popular. Between her job, her family, and her home, she had had enough to keep her comfortably busy without feeling the need to invite strangers into her life. But her family was gone, and without their nearness and their laughter her home had depreciated into a house. She was alone except for a calico kitten with a slice through its right ear her 4-year-old son, Davey, had chosen from the shelter only a day before the accident, and a computer, which had recently become the portal connecting her to the rest of the world.

Almost everything in the house reminded her of her husband, her son, and the life they had shared. The fireplace where they hung their Christmas stockings was now nothing more than a soot-coated hole in the wall. The table where they took their meals together was now a vast expanse of emptiness. And the family room where they watched movies, put puzzles together, and played Monopoly served as a constant reminder of the life and love that had once emanated throughout the house, but had been unfairly taken from her. Even the front porch where she and Dave would sit once the sun went down and Davey was asleep acted as a threshold, which opened up to a neighborhood she no longer felt a part of. Every corner of the familiar was a painful reminder of what she had had, and what she had lost. The computer was the only thing neither her husband nor her son had ever touched, and for that reason held no special meaning to her now. The desk chair in her small but tidy office was the only place in the house she could sit where memories with shrill voices and pointy elbows didn’t come at her from every direction.

Recently, and solely out of boredom, she had learned a few simple tasks that made using the computer a bit less overwhelming. She had taught herself how to save bookmarks making it easier to return to sites of newfound interest. She had also learned how to create a profile on several online support groups: Mothers Without Children and Suddenly Alone being the two she visited most often. The first sounded more like a place for women who had never had children to swap stories of yearning, or to celebrate their untethered lifestyle while the other seemed more like a place for the recently uncoupled to meet up and cry on each other’s shoulder. But that wasn’t the case. They were grief groups. A place for mourners to feel less alone. She had only been a member on both sites for just under three weeks and had already begun to fill the emptiness created by the loss of her family. Some of the stories she read were as heartbreaking as her own, but rather than to fuel her own grief, their situations helped her to see the faint but steady light in the distance. A light that would help her cross from living on emotional life support, to being able to feel something other than soul-crushing emptiness.

Now, when she turned her computer on it was with purpose. Several days earlier she had met a woman (moniker: MotherAgain) who had lost a child in a similar manner as Mary had, drug herself through the grieving process, and decided to dot the I in her grief by adopting a child. A little girl who, as she put it, could never relight the candle of her lost child, but offered her a new light by which to see and move forward. She had made Mary see that no matter how deep the well of mourning was, there was a way out. She simply had to muster the strength to look for it.

Simply.

Nothing in her life came simply these days, but she did find a thread of encouragement in the woman’s words. Adopting wasn’t the only way, she knew that, but she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since her last conversation with MotherAgain.

There were twenty-two people in the chat room when she logged on, but MotherAgain wasn’t one of them. As anxious as she was to talk to her she understood her absence. When her son was still alive she had had no interest in socializing with strangers. She had treasured every moment she was able to spend with Davey. They had had a routine and there was no room in that routine for the cyber world. She envisioned MotherAgain wrapping her daughter in a thick Minnie Mouse towel following a bubble bath, dressing her in her favorite princess jammies, and then both of them settling under the covers of a white canopy bed while she read until she felt her daughter’s soft and steady breath on her arm once she had fallen asleep. That’s what she would have been doing. That’s what she wished she were doing. That’s what she was desperate to do again. Those simple daily acts had been the center of her world, the beat in her heart. After twenty minutes with no sign of her newly-made friend she ran a finger over the web address she had written the night before. According to MotherAgain, it was a virtual bulletin board of adoption related sites from those looking to adopt to those with questions to those who had a baby they were unable to keep. Was she ready for that?

Ding.

Four nights in a row. I think this qualifies you as a regular.

Mary read the words twice. No one had ever initiated a conversation with her before. Aside from MotherAgain, she hadn’t actually spoken to anyone, only followed along with other member’s conversations. Should she write back? What would she say? After several moments, she typed...

I’m more of an observer than a participant. I’m sorry.

No worries. What brings you here, if you don’t mind my asking?

After some thought, Mary realized she didn’t know how to answer that question in short form. It was an all or nothing story. Although she could easily say, I lost my son, she couldn’t say it without opening herself to further questions. Was she ready for that? She spent several minutes staring at the screen with her fingers poised over the keyboard before typing…

I don’t mind.

~~~

It was two-thirty in the morning when Mary finally turned the computer off. She filled a glass with water at the kitchen sink and carried it upstairs to her son’s vacant bedroom. She flipped the light on and did a slow scan of the room, as she did every night. On a bookshelf Dave had made with his own hands sat the entire set of Dr. Seuss children’s books Dave’s sister, Bren, had bought Davey on his third birthday even though he hadn’t yet learned to read. Next to the lamp on his nightstand sat a baseball glove Dave had bought for their son at a sports exhibition when Davey was still a toddler. Dave had spent many hours oiling and working the leather before retying it around a baseball. She remembered him saying the glove would give him an edge over the rest of the boys as the balls would bounce out of their new, rigid gloves. The memory brought a fleeting smile to her face. She turned the light off and padded down the hall toward her own bedroom.

The cat must have grown impatient waiting for her to go to bed and was curled up on the pillow that once belonged to Dave, lifting its head and throwing an aloof glance when Mary entered.

I know you don’t like me very much. You only stay because I feed you well, isn’t that right? The cat stood, stretched, and re-curled into a tight ball with its back to her.

The sheets were cool on her skin as she slid between them. Once upon a time, the cool silk would have caused her to snuggle even closer to her husband who would wrap an arm around her shoulder as if to shield her from the evils of the world. Now, they were just cold sheets. Back then, her contentment would lend way to sleep within minutes of closing her eyes. Since the accident, the only way she had been able to fall asleep without suffering through hours of unanswered whys and what nows was with the aid of the Ambien prescribed by her doctor. Although it helped her to fall asleep quickly, it came with occasional hallucinations that stretched far beyond her mental control. Lying awake in bed and thinking about her life, past and present, seemed to be the lesser of two evils because at least when she was awake she had lucid thoughts of her family rather than visions of indecipherable images that never fully separated from the shadows.

Tonight would be different. Rather than a reel of memories playing through her head as she tried to sleep she would think of someone else. Someone new. Abigail Stamos. She met Abigail in the chat room she entered earlier in the evening, and they instantly hit it off. Abigail had gone through something similar and tragic and understood Mary’s hesitation. Instead of pressing she told Mary her story, which mirrored her own, but it was how she handled it that had ensured Mary’s attention.

After struggling through the stages of grief, Abigail had made the decision to adopt. At first, Mary discounted the idea. She could never replace her child with another. The idea struck her as being disloyal to her son’s memory. But Abigail didn’t push. She spoke. Of herself, her family, and her new daughter. She shared the deepest, most private parts of her life: the misery, the fears, how she came to make the decision to adopt, and how Chelsea, her adopted daughter, had saved her from herself. By the time they said goodnight, Mary found herself seeing the possibility. Two different women with similar stories in two nights. Something deep inside began to stir at the thought of being a mother again. She was still struggling with the idea of being disloyal, but as Abigail had said, she should look at it as though Davey had been such a precious child that her existence had become meaningless without him. It was because of him she was able to love another child.

Mary had no idea how to go about initiating an adoption. She knew it would be involved, and certainly not easily done, but where would she begin? She could call a family law attorney; she assumed they would know, and if not could point her in the right direction. She told Abigail about the website MotherAgain had given her, and asked her what she thought about it. Abigail told her she had heard of several such sites, but was fortunate in that she never had to use one. Chelsea’s adoption had been a private matter. Abigail’s sister had known a woman whose daughter was pregnant and didn’t plan to keep the baby.

She didn’t know how long she’d been awake and staring at the ceiling while thoughts from how Dave would have felt about adoption, to whether she had a gender preference, to names rattled around in her head. When she looked at the clock she was surprised to see it was already after five. The sun would soon rise and another empty day would begin. From somewhere deep in her loneliness, her answer emerged. She couldn’t bring her family back, and although for a time she wished her life would have ended with theirs it hadn’t. There had to be a reason she was spared while her husband, son, and unborn child were taken, and maybe giving a happy life to an unwanted child was that reason. And just maybe an unwanted child was created to give back meaning to her life.

She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and slid out from underneath the cover eager to begin her day. She reached for her phone before drawing her hand back. It was instinct to call her sister-in-law when she had something worthwhile to talk about, but it was too early and she wasn’t sure Bren would understand her sudden interest in adoption. She might even try to talk her out of it, and that was the last thing Mary wanted. She didn’t want her enthusiasm derailed. It was the first thing to bring a glimmer of hope since the worst day of her life, and she didn’t need a well-meaning friend trying to change her mind.

She slid her feet into her slippers and made her way to the kitchen hesitating in front of Davey’s door. The corners of her mouth turned up in an unexpected smile, and for the first time since the accident she continued on her way without opening the door.

Chapter Three

Every second Rita spent waiting for Greg to finish readying for work and join her at the table was another second she thought she’d jump out of her skin. The time she got alone with him each day was limited, so she had to use it wisely and to her advantage. She would lie awake in bed each night and put together yet another argument disguised as reasoning in the hopes of making her husband see the error of his ways and want to stay. She had thought a baby would accomplish that for sure, but the surprise pregnancy had had quite the opposite effect. Her choices were always crystal ball clear in hindsight, but in the moment, she tended to act irrationally. Somehow, rather than learn from the many mistakes she’d made, she justified them—in the name of love.

When Greg hit the landing at the bottom of the stairs, she struck a relaxed pose and looped a finger through the handle of her coffee cup. Good morning. How did you sleep? she asked as he set his briefcase on the floor next to his seat at the head of the table.

He glanced her way and offered a short nod withholding a verbal reply.

Nothing annoyed her more than when he dismissed her. Well, almost nothing. The fact she had to ask him how he slept was more annoying because it was a constant reminder they no longer slept in the same bed. Or the same room. Another punishment for tricking him into a pregnancy he was vehemently opposed to.

He re-entered the dining room holding