The Ivory and the Horn

Dennison turned to the woman and saw then what he hadn't noticed before. The day was warm, but she was wearing slacks, long sleeves, her blouse buttoned all the way up to the top. But he could see a discoloration in the hollow of her throat that the collar couldn't quite hide, Abrasive or not, she was a victim, too, he realized.

'Where is your husband, Mrs. Eisenstadt?' he asked gently.

'So now you're a cop?'

Dennison pulled out his ID. 'No. I'm with Social Services. I can help you, Mrs. Eisenstadt. Has your husband been beating you?'

She crossed her arms protectively. 'Look it's not like what you're thinking. We had an argument, that's all.'

'And your daughter— was he having an argument with her as well?'

'No. She... she just fell. Isn't that right, honey?'

Dennison glanced at the girl. She was staring at the floor again. Slowly she nodded in agreement. Dennison went down on one knee until his head was level with the girl's.

'You can tell me the truth,' he said. 'I can help you, but you've got to help me. Tell me how you got hurt and I promise you I won't let it happen to you again.'

What the hell are you doing? he asked himself. You're supposed to be quitting this job.

But he hadn't turned in his resignation yet.

And then he remembered an odd thing that the other Debra had said to him last night.

I just wanted to see what you were like when you were my age.

He remembered puzzling over that before he finally passed out. And then there was the way she'd looked at him the next morning, admiring, then sad, then disappointed. As though she already knew him. As though he wasn't matching up to her expectations.

Though of course she couldn't have any expectations because they'd never met before. But what if this girl grew up to be the woman who'd helped him last night? What if her being here, in need of help, was his prophetic sign, his burning bush?

Yeah, right. And it was space aliens who brought her back from the future to see him.

'Look,' the girl's mother said. 'You've got no right, barging in here—'

'No right?' Dennison said, standing up to face her. 'Look at your daughter, for Christ's sake, and then tell me that I've got no right to intervene.'

'It's not like what you think. It's just that times are hard, you know, and what with Sam's losing his job, well he gets a little crazy sometimes. He doesn't mean any real harm...'

Dennison tuned her out. He looked back at the little girl. It didn't matter if she was a sign or not, if she'd grow up to be the woman who'd somehow come back in time to help him when his faith was flagging the most. What was important right now that he get the girl some help.

'Which of your neighbors has a working phone?' he asked.

'Why? What're you going to do? Sam's going to—'

'Not do a damned thing,' Dennison said. 'It's my professional opinion that this child will be in danger so long as she remains in this environment. You can either come with us, or I'll see that she's made a ward of the court, but I'm not leaving her here.'

'You can't—'

'I think we'll leave that for a judge to decide.'

He ignored her then. Crouching down beside the little girl, he said, 'I'm here to help you— do you understand? No one's going to hurt you anymore.'

'If I... he said if I tell—'

'Debra!'

Dennison shot the mother an angry look. 'I'm losing my patience with you, lady. Look at your daughter. Look at those bruises. Is that the kind of childhood you meant for your child?'

Her defiance crumbled under his glare and she slowly shook her head.

'Go pack a bag,' he told the woman. 'For both of you.'

As she slowly walked down the hall, Dennison returned his attention to the little girl. This could all go to hell in a hand basket if the wasn't careful. There were certain standard procedures to deal with this kind of a situation and badgering the girl's mother the way he had been wasn't one of them. But he was damned if he wasn't going to give it his best shot.

'Do you understand what's happening?' he asked the girl. 'I'm going to take you and your mother someplace where you'll be safe.'

She looked up at him, those so-familiar grey-green eyes wide and teary. 'I'm scared.'

Dennison nodded. 'It's a scary situation. But tell you what. On the way to the shelter, maybe we get you a treat. What would you like?'

For one long moment the girl's gaze settled on his. She seemed to be considering whether she could trust him not. He must have come up positive, because after that moment's hesitation, she opened right up.

'For there still to be trees when I grow up,' she said. 'I want to be a forest ranger. Sometimes when I'm sleeping, I wake up and I hear the trees crying because their daddies are being mean to them, I guess, and are hurting them and I just want to help stop it.'

Dennison remembered himself saying to the older Debra, Trees don't cry. Kids do. And then Debra's response.

Maybe you just can't hear them.

Jesus, it wasn't possible, was it? But then how could they look so similar, the differences caused by the passage of years, not genetics. And the eyes— the eyes were exactly the same. And how could the old Debra have known the address, the phone number—

He got up and went over to the phone he could see sitting on a TV tray beside the battered sofa. The number was the same as on the scrap of paper in his pocket. He lifted the receiver, but there was no dial tone.

'I... I've packed a... bag.'

Debra's mother stood in the hallway beside her daughter, looking as lost as the little girl did. But there was something they both had— there was a glimmer of hope in their eyes. He'd put that there. Now all he had to do was figure out a way to keep it there.

'Whose phone can we use to call a cab?' he asked.

'Laurie— she's down the hall in number six. She'd let us use her phone.'

'Well, let's get going.'

As he ushered them into the hall, he was no longer thinking about tendering his resignation. He had no doubt the feeling that he had to quit would rise again, but when that happened he was going to remember a girl with grey-green eyes and the woman she might grow up to be. He was going to remember the wheels that connect everything, cogs interlocked and turning to create a harmonious whole. He was going to remember the power of good vibes.

He was going to learn to believe.

I believe it. I learned that from a man that I came to love very much. I didn't believe him when he told me, either, but now I know it's true.

But most of all he was going to make sure that he earned the respect of the angel that had visited him from the days still to come.

Dennison knew there was probably a more rational explanation for it all, but right then, he wanted to believe in angels.

The Wishing Well

Do you think it's better to do the right thing for the wrong reason or the wrong thing for the right reason?