Medical Kidnap Files 1-6, page 82
Riley stared at Renata, her eyes wide.
“The alcohol came from my hair spray? But don’t they… I don’t know… wash it first?”
“Maybe they do, maybe they don’t. I wouldn’t make any assumptions. But even if they do, how do you know how much alcohol your hair has absorbed that can’t just be rinsed off?”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me that? Why didn’t… why didn’t they ask me about hair products?”
“Because the point of the hair strand test wasn’t to find the truth. It was to prove their hypothesis. Just about every test they send to Baby Best comes back positive. That’s the whole idea.”
Riley blinked. Her eyes were glazed, shocked by Renata’s revelation. But that wasn’t why Renata was there. She already knew about Baby Best. She already knew that whether Riley had alcohol-containing hair spray or not, the hair strand test was bogus. Renata didn’t have time to dwell on it.
“Why did Caleb fail to thrive?”
“Can’t we challenge the hair strand test? Can we prove through other methods that I’m not an alcoholic? There isn’t a drop of alcohol in the house! I don’t even like the stuff and I would never have it around Caleb.”
“You’ll challenge the hair strand test,” Renata agreed. “We’ll figure something out. But that isn’t going to do it. They’re still going to say you’re a danger to Caleb, hair strand test or not.”
“How can they? I’m not! I would never do anything to hurt him.”
Renata didn’t see any deception in Riley’s eyes. But then, if Riley was a psychopath, she wouldn’t. She might be perfectly comfortable with lying and not feel guilt over not telling the truth. DCFS would follow the evidence and Renata had to do the same.
“Why are you avoiding my question?”
“What question?”
“Failure to Thrive. They’re going to start every argument with FTT. You couldn’t take care of him properly. You weren’t feeding him properly. There was too much stress in the home. You didn’t bond with him. They’re going to use FTT to prove you were a bad mother from the start, whether you were an addict or not.”
Riley sighed. “No. They never found an organic reason for his Failure to Thrive. He had to have a feeding tube because he wouldn’t eat enough. He was starving to death and a tube was the only way to save him. I was so scared that once they put the tube in, we’d never get it back out. I fought it. And then… it was so easy. You wouldn’t believe how much easier it was to just give him formula straight into his tube instead of fighting to get every ounce of food down his throat.”
Renata pulled open one of the buttons on her shirt to show Riley her tube. “Trust me, I know.”
Riley’s eyes got wide. “I’ve never seen a teenager with a g-tube! Caleb got his out when he was about three. You still… you still use it? You never learned to eat?”
Renata buttoned her shirt again. “I can’t. Anything I take by mouth, I get a reaction and my throat swells shut. The only thing I can tolerate is an amino acid formula, and it has to go straight into the tube.”
“Wow. I’ve never heard of that.”
“So Caleb got his tube out and they didn’t have to put it back in? You managed to keep his weight up?”
“He’s always been low weight, but we’ve been able to keep him around low-healthy rather than underweight. It’s tough, because if it was up to him, all he’d eat is junk food. And that might help with his weight, but not with his nutritional needs. Or behavioral issues. He needs good, healthy food, but like a lot of kids with autism, all he wants is refined carbs and dairy.”
Renata knew how that would go over with DCFS. She had a child that she was struggling to get enough calories into, and she was limiting his calories based on their quality? Caleb was lucky they hadn’t kept him on the tube, or his mother would still have him on straight formula to optimize his nutritional status. And Renata knew from experience that even the best formulas fell short.
Renata looked back down at the binder in her lap. “When he was born, were you taking anything? Drugs or alcohol? Legal or not?”
“No! I don’t understand why you and DCFS think that I’ve ever been on anything. I love Caleb. I would never expose my son to anything that might harm him.”
“What about before you knew you were pregnant? Lots of women drink a little. Some wine to unwind at the end of the day. A beer after work or a margarita on girls’ night out. It doesn’t mean you were a drunk.”
Renata forced her mind away from flashbacks to her own mother, Elena, and her glass of wine every night before bed. She insisted that it was good for her. Renata didn’t imagine Elena had stopped the practice while she was pregnant. Renata couldn’t point to it as the cause of any of her troubles, but there were studies examining damage to mitochondria in babies with Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder.
“Caleb was planned. I didn’t drink anything before he was born or during the pregnancy. I’ve never used any kind of recreational drugs.”
Renata cocked her head, running the words through her mind. “But you were on prescription drugs?”
“Nothing that would have had any effect on Caleb. I asked at the time. The doctor said it was perfectly safe.”
“What?”
Riley didn’t answer right away. She looked down at the thick volume on Renata’s knees.
“I started having issues with depression and anxiety.”
“While you were pregnant?”
“Yes. But I asked. They said the meds couldn’t have any effect on Caleb. They were perfectly safe.”
“Why did you start having depression in the middle of the pregnancy?”
Riley frowned. She shook her head. “Why? No reason. A lot of people have depression or anxiety when they’re pregnant.”
“Did it stop when Caleb was born?”
“No. I still have some issues… but that doesn’t have anything to do with Caleb being apprehended. They didn’t do that because I’m on antidepressants. I’ve never done anything to hurt Caleb.”
Renata closed her eyes, concentrating on the connections that she could feel, but couldn’t quite verbalize yet.
“Did you tell DCFS you had depression and anxiety?”
“Yes. They asked a lot of questions…”
“Did you get sick while you were pregnant?”
“Morning sickness, you mean? I had some, but never bad enough that I needed a prescription for that.”
“No, I mean… colds, flu, any weird viruses…?”
“Well, sure. The flu. Tired, sore throat, muscle aches. Stuff goes around. But nothing concerning.”
“What tests did Caleb have when he was born?”
“There are copies of his medical records and everything I could get my hands on, in there. I don’t know for sure all of the tests they did. There are a lot of tests that are routine when a baby is born. Checks that every baby gets. And then there were tests that he had because he was sick. Low birth weight, jaundice, seizures, problems with feeding and putting on weight… they ran a lot of tests.”
Across the street, a white van pulled in. No one got out. Renata shifted her position and could see the driver sitting in the front seat, his phone or a radio held to his mouth. She slid the book off her lap and put it on the couch. As much as she wanted to read and study it, she couldn’t take it with her. The book was huge and heavy and would slow her down too much.
“I want you to write down for me all of the tests they did on Caleb, and the results. I want to know what was eliminated.”
“All of the tests he had when he was born, or…?”
“Everything done when he was a baby. Cut it off at two years old. Or three, that’s when his tube came out, right? All of the tests that were done before his tube came out.”
“That’s going to be a lot of work.”
“Do you want him back, or not?” Renata snapped. A lot of work? Did Riley think it was going to be a walk in the park? That they were just going to be able to make a phone call and DCFS would reverse their decision and send Caleb home?
“Yes. I’ll do it. It’s just that I don’t see what bearing this has on anything.”
The driver of the van was still talking on the phone. Renata got up. “Mind if I use the back door?”
“We’re done? Are you leaving? I thought—”
“We’ll be in touch. Get that information together. Someone will contact you.”
Renata was careful not to cross in front of the living room window. She kept to the outside of the room in hopes that the van driver would not be able to see her shadow or any movements inside.
“What do we do about the hair strand testing?” Riley asked, following Renata. “You said we would do something about that.”
Was she trying to delay Renata? Had she called the cops or someone else? Had Judge Dee-Dee put surveillance on the house, figuring that sooner or later, one of them would show up there?
Where was Gabriel? He hadn’t sent her any warnings. Had he already been arrested?
“Renata? How can I prove the hair strand testing was wrong?” Riley persisted.
“SCRAM.”
Riley stopped following Renata, frowning. Renata turned to face her for a moment, laughing in spite of her anxiety.
“Secure Continuous Remote Alcohol Monitor,” she explained. “It’s an ankle monitor. Look into it.”
She cracked the back door open and listened for anything out of place. Footsteps, breathing, any sign someone was close by. Birds chirped, traffic swooshed in the distance. Renata slipped out the door. She made her way to the alley, but as she was about to open the gate, heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel. Slow and stealthy.
She waited. The footsteps got close, then they stopped. Someone was nearby, waiting for her. Renata jolted when her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She slipped it out.
Time to get out.
No indication of any particular danger. Gabriel might just be worried about how long she was taking.
Watcher in back, Renata typed back.
Me.
Renata let out her breath. She opened the gate a crack and peered out. Gabriel. Alone. No cops. Renata exited, and they moved as quickly as they could without burning too much energy. They were a few blocks away before Renata looked at Gabriel for an explanation.
“Van in front,” Gabriel said. “Did you see it too?”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t be the first time I was scared off by the cable guy, but I didn’t want to take any chances.”
He nodded. “How did it go?”
“I can see why DCFS is so concerned. I think we need to be careful. I don’t want to do anything without being sure.”
“Munchausen?”
“Maybe. Not to start with, though, I don’t think. She might have decided she liked the spotlight after a while, but I don’t think she’s the reason he had so many problems when he was born. There’s something else going on there.”
They walked some more.
“She’s very controlling,” Renata said. “That can be a problem when you’ve got a kid with behavior problems. Battle of wills. Can lead to physical abuse.”
Gabriel nodded soberly. He’d seen a lot in the time they’d been running the Underground Railroad. He was so naive when she first met him, but he’d seen a lot since then. He’d learned what Renata already knew—that not every parent who claimed DCFS had done them wrong was innocent. Not by a long shot.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After the scare with the van at the Hibberts’ house, Gabriel didn’t want to go anywhere near there for his interview with Wes. He didn’t want to meet Wes at his office, either. Nowhere that he was on home ground. He arranged instead for a meeting on neutral ground, first suggesting a shopping mall, and then having Wes take the train to a park. Gabriel observed him from a distance to make sure that he wasn’t with anyone or reporting the change in plans back to them on his phone. He watched for anyone who might be following Wes. Just because Wes followed the rules, that didn’t mean someone else—Judge Dee-Dee or a cop or social worker who was involved—couldn’t have Wes followed.
But Wes seemed to be clean. Gabriel waited a bit longer, and then approached. Wes looked through him at first, not expecting his contact to be a thin black teenager who looked like he was just a student who had strolled off the university grounds for a little fresh air.
“Uh—you’re Gabriel?”
“And you’re Wes Hibbert. Good to meet you.”
“Oh. Well, you too. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that this… organization would be using people so young. Riley said that the woman she met with was very young, but I thought… it’s just unexpected.”
“That’s the idea,” Gabriel said, not bothering to tell Wes that the organization was actually run by teenagers. Adults had messed things up enough. Gabriel and his underage partners were easily overlooked. They could more easily navigate the technology and databases, having grown up with it, and it was easier for them to disappear and operate below the radar.
“Right. Of course. So…” Wes looked around, obviously still thinking that they were going to be joined by an adult who would take over, “…where do we start?”
“Let’s sit down.” Gabriel motioned to a park bench near the pond. It would be easier for him to conserve his energy if he didn’t have to be wandering around while they talked.
“Do you guys really think you can help us? It seems sort of weird, after everyone else we talk to says we have to cooperate and not challenge the system. Lawyers, advocates, everyone we’ve talked to has said you can’t fight the system. You have to do whatever they say, and just hope they’ll bring Caleb back again.”
“Sometimes DCFS gives kids back when they realize they’ve made a mistake. But it can take a couple of years. During that time, a lot can go wrong. Autistic kids in the system… it’s pretty hard on them. And if he has physical health problems too, it’s that much worse.”
“And you guys just whisk him away? We get new identities and avoid the law?”
“I don’t know yet. We do our own investigating. We don’t want to be wrong and put a kid back together with an abusive parent.”
Wes’s jaw clenched.
“It happens,” Gabriel said. “Abusers can be tricky.”
Wes’s face relaxed. “Yes, they can. Kids stay stuck in abusive homes for years.”
“Then you can understand why we don’t want to take a kid who’s escaped an abusive home just to put him right back in it.”
“No. Of course not. We’ll do whatever we can to show you that we’re not going to hurt Caleb. Our home is the best place for him. We’ll be open and transparent.”
“Have you ever thought your wife might be abusive?”
Gabriel watched the shock chase across Wes’s face. He opened his mouth with a sharp retort, then held back. When he answered, his voice was calm.
“I haven’t ever seen her do anything abusive. You wonder sometimes, when you hear these horror stories. Could that ever be us? Would we ever snap? And when you hear about mothers who intentionally make their kids sick, you get that little chill, thinking, What if that was your family? What if it was happening right under your nose?”
Gabriel nodded and waited. Wes thought through his answer, shaking his head slightly.
“I don’t believe that Riley is doing anything to hurt Caleb. I don’t believe she ever could. I don’t understand how it works, these women who pretend to love their children and make them so sick. Riley could never do that. It’s not her.”
“And what about you?”
“I wouldn’t either. I might not have quite the same patience that Riley does, but I don’t hit. I don’t hurt my son.”
Gabriel absorbed the emotion in Wes’s words, and analyzed his previous comment about abused children being left in the home. He thought he sensed something deeper, behind what Wes had said.
“Is that what your father was like?”
Wes shook his head slowly. He studied Gabriel’s face. “Did my wife say that? She told you…?”
“No. I’m just guessing.”
“You’re a pretty good guesser. It’s not something I usually talk about.”
“You said you would be open and transparent.”
“Is this really part of that?”
“Yes.”
Wes stared at the pond. Gabriel waited, knowing that he’d talk sooner or later. There was no sign of anyone watching or following them, so they could take their time.
“My father was an abusive drunk,” Wes confessed. There was so much emotion behind the words that Gabriel was worried about what would happen when the dam burst. When Wes Hibbert let go, it was going to be an event.
Was this what the social worker had seen? A man on the edge of letting loose? Worried about what would happen if Caleb stood in the way of that fury? Just because Wes knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of violence, that didn’t mean that he could never become an abuser himself. In fact, the opposite was true. Having been abused, he was far more likely to be an abuser. That was how he had been taught to handle life’s difficulties.
“My brother and I… he’d say it was discipline. Punishing us for things we had done wrong. But it wasn’t. It was just a big, drunk guy beating on someone smaller because he could. He told us we were bad kids. He had to discipline us, or we’d grow up to be bad men. Like him? I don’t know if he thought he was a bad person, or if he really convinced himself that what he was doing was right. Maybe he didn’t think anything at all. But he was a devil.”
“That must have been awful for you. Nobody ever… tried to help?”
“People must have known what was going on. They must have at least suspected. But… we were alone. We stayed there until we were old enough to escape. Kris left when he was eighteen, old enough to get a job and his own place. I was younger. I left when I was sixteen. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I figured living on the street or dying were both better options than staying.”
Sixteen. Gabriel knew what it was like to be on the street at sixteen, trying to make his own way.
“I’m glad you got out. What about your mother? Did she live with you, or…?”
