extremely abbreviated version of Sharicka’s home-based crimes, always preceded by “her adoptive parents report. . . .” The near drowning seemed easy enough to check on, had anyone bothered. Susan made a mental note to do so. “What do you know about Sharicka’s birth parents?”
The parents exchanged looks filled with meaning. Elliott explained. “Recently, we hired a private detective and learned that little of the information the adoption agency gave us was true, and they withheld a lot.”
Lucianne opened a large purse and removed a manila envelope. “Sharicka’s biological father is serving a life sentence for murder. Her birth mother has a long criminal record, too, mostly for identity thefts, drugs, brawling, and credit card fraud.”
Susan nodded thoughtfully. Many articles demonstrated that diagnoses of dangerous social deviancy tended to run in families. Workers in the social field played up the environmental role, that children raised with abuse tended to become socio- or psychopathic. However, adoption and foster studies showed no less of a trend in biological children of dangerous criminals brought up in positive environments. Clearly, psychopathology could be inherited, an unsettling fact often downplayed.
So caught up in her thoughts, Susan would have missed the next utterance had it not fully captured her attention.
“You can see it in her eyes.”
The parents spoke simultaneously, clearly unrehearsed. She had never seen two people so honestly, so innocently stunned by what the other had said.
“You noticed it, too?” Lucianne asked her husband.
“Can’t miss it,” Elliot replied. “Though I thought maybe I was seeing things. The eyes of a —” He caught himself, flushed, and turned to Susan. “You must think we’re crazy.”
Susan knew some relief of her own. “I don’t like to use the word ‘crazy,’ for obvious reasons. But, no. I truly think you’re good parents doing your best with a child hardwired for . . .” “Evil” came to mind, but Susan discarded it as extremely unprofessional. “Sociopathy,” she finished. She had to confess her observations. “I saw those eyes. I know exactly what you’re talking about, and I’m glad I’m not the only one who noticed them.”
Lucianne breathed a loud sigh. “So it’s not all in my head?”
Elliot reassured her. “Not unless we share the same head.”
Susan suppressed a shiver and changed the subject, “So, what can I do for you? What do you want to accomplish during this hospitalization?”
The parents exchanged another look. This, they had clearly discussed in detail. “Can you fix her?” the father asked softly. “Is there any medication, any therapy that can turn Sharicka into a normal child?”
Susan knew no one could do such a thing. “Not normal, no. No more than we could regrow an amputated leg. There are some things medical science still can’t cure. We can only attempt to control it with therapy, medication, accommodations, and training. Most importantly, she has to want help.”
Lucianne spoke so softly, Susan had to strain to hear her. “What do you recommend?”
Susan could read the mother’s eyes nearly as well as the child’s, though they appeared so much different. In Lucianne’s she read pain, love, desperation, and uncertainty as clearly as a billboard. This was a woman in agony, forced to choose between her love for one child and the safety of her others. Despite all that had happened, she still prized all of her children. Susan started to speak, but Elliot interrupted.
“Please don’t say, ‘It’s not my decision; it’s yours.’ Or, if you must do that, at least educate us enough to make a choice.”
Lucianne spoke before Susan could. “So far, the doctors just seem to want to get her controlled enough that we’ll take her home, deal with any consequences, and see what happens. Meanwhile, we want some guarantee that, if we take her home, she won’t just make our lives miserable until she’s finally old enough and strong enough to kill us. Can we work toward that?”
Susan sighed. “The problem is medicine isn’t an exact science, especially psychiatry. It makes sense that the last medical frontier would be the human brain. There are no guarantees; and, even if you gave us a list of what you could and could not tolerate, we have no treatments that would specifically control those exact problems.” Susan’s own words sparked realization. “If we could, everyone would use those medications, and we could selectively eliminate all negative behaviors and habits in everyone.”
Lucianne dropped her face into her hands. Her husband gave his full attention to Susan. “Understood, Dr. Calvin. We’re not asking for absolutes; better odds will do.”
Susan could not help smiling. Despite the seriousness of the discussion, the words were a small attempt at humor. The significance of her next words, however, dispelled all amusement. “Doctors Anson, there is no doubt psychopathology is hardwired. There are definite, proven defects in the chemical makeup of the brain, the neurological response of the brain to certain stimuli, and underactivity of important portions of the brain related to such things as impulse control, empathy, and higher function, such as love and caring. Unfortunately, those abnormalities vary from psychopath to psychopath.”
“Psychopath?” Lucianne raised her hands, fingers spread. “No one’s called Sharicka that before.”
Susan did not want to get deeply into semantics. Psychiatrists, psychologists, and laypeople had argued for years, but the word psychopath still did not exist in the seventh edition of the
Susan paused, awaiting more questions. When they did not come, she finished, “The younger the age the antisocial behaviors start, the more likely it stems from genetic causes, not environmental. Also, the more refractory it will be to treatment and the worse the extent of the illness. A personality ingrained from the moment the egg met the sperm is a lot less amenable to treatment than one developed because of a single traumatic incident — or even because of years of abuse.” As she spoke the words, Susan felt a sudden jolt of realization.
Susan wondered if she had just placed the parents in the position of having to defend their child from a verbal assault. As they had said, they did still love Sharicka.
But the Ansons simply mused over the words, lips tightly pursed. Finally, Elliot spoke carefully, gauging his wife’s reaction to every word. “I do not think it’s fair to subject Rylan and Misty to that, not after all Misty has already suffered.”
Lucianne nodded wearily.
The father flicked his gaze to Susan. “Is it possible you would support us in finding long-term institutional care for Sharicka? We would still visit her, of course, and attend any meetings you thought necessary. We just wouldn’t support placing her back into our home, unless some miraculous new treatment was found.”
Sharicka’s father managed a crooked smile. “Thank you. It means a lot just having someone in our corner.”
“It’s easy to judge only on the superficial. It takes a lot more time and work to truly understand.” Susan could not help adding, “And don’t completely discount the possibility of that miracle.”
Chapter 12
In the first-floor charting room, Susan sprawled across a floral-patterned chair, her legs flopped over the
