“Did she say anything about the guy? Has she offered anything?”
“Pretty much the silent treatment,” I said. “She made me promise not to ask her any questions about where she’d been.”
“You didn’t agree to that, did you?”
“Of course I did.”
“Oh, Tom. You can’t make deals with her. She’s a child, and she has to tell us things.”
“Who’s the therapist you’re seeing?” Liann asked.
“Rosenbaum.”
Liann made a little humming noise.
“What?” The hallway was empty, and my voice echoed.
“He’s okay. He’s fine, really. He works with the police a lot. He’s very experienced.”
“Isn’t that good?”
“Can I come over and see her later?”
Before I could answer, Abby opened the office door and made an impatient, hurry-the-hell-up gesture at me. I held up my index finger, and she pulled her head back inside.
“I have to go, Liann. Look, I’ll call you. Things with Abby. . and Caitlin-it’s weird.”
“Of course, of course. Just call me tonight. We have a lot to talk about now.”
“Okay. I will.”
“Tom, this is a major break. We’ll find this guy. This is good.”
“And Caitlin-”
But she was already off the phone.
Rosenbaum came out with Caitlin. He asked us to come into his office and directed Caitlin to a waiting room chair. I hesitated.
“Caitlin will be fine right here. Won’t she?” Rosenbaum said. Caitlin sat down in the chair without looking up at us. “Mary?” He nodded at his receptionist, who nodded back, as though she understood the drill without anything being said. “Shall we?” Rosenbaum said to us.
Abby took a hesitant step forward but kept her eyes on Caitlin.
I felt torn.
I didn’t want to let her out of my sight, fearing a repeat of the night before.
But something else entered my mind, a sudden, darting thought I hadn’t anticipated:
I chased the thought away, pushed it down below the surface of my mind. I pointed to the door Rosenbaum had emerged from. “It’s okay,” I said to Abby. “They’ll keep an eye on her.”
We settled into chairs in Rosenbaum’s inner office. It held a small, uncluttered desk, several comfortable chairs, and even a chaise longue a patient could recline on. A pitcher of water and several glasses sat on a side table, and next to every chair-except the one Rosenbaum landed in-was a box of Kleenex.
“I received a call from Detective Ryan this morning, and he told me about your adventurous night last night. Remember, you could have called me if you needed to.”
“It was late,” I said. “Very late.”
“You’d be amazed at how many late-night calls I get,” he said. “Keep it in mind for the future. But I guess she did settle down and sleep a little?”
“She did,” Abby said.
“Good,” he said. “Her attempt to run away isn’t completely surprising. Although going out a second-floor window is pretty bold. That’s a first for me. Like I said, home is the unfamiliar environment right now.”
“What about-?” I pointed toward the waiting room.
“I don’t really think Caitlin’s going anywhere right now.”
“How can you be sure?” Abby asked.
“I can’t be,” he said, offering that same kind of forced smile. “But I think I am. Right now, none of us can really know anything for certain.” He crossed his legs, ankle on knee, and looked at us, his face pleasant. “I just wanted to touch base with you both about Caitlin and share my initial impressions of our first session.”
“What did she tell you?” I asked.
“Nothing. She didn’t open her mouth. That’s not unusual for someone who’s been through what she’s been through.”
“What has she been through?” I asked. “We really don’t know.”
“If I can be candid with you, the medical and police reports already tell some of the story. Based on that and other cases like this one, I suspect she has been the victim of some sort of sexual assault, most likely at the hands of whoever took her out of that park that day. And most likely this assault was repeated over the last four years.”
The same piercing pain hit me, but this time it came on like someone punctured my lungs, letting the air evacuate from my body. I looked at the floor while my mind raced, trying to find a glimmer of hope.
“So you don’t think she ran away?” I asked.
“She doesn’t fit the profile of a runaway. And whether she ran away originally or not, if a twelve-year-old girl has sexual relations with an adult man, it’s sexual assault.”
Abby remained silent, so I looked over at her. She looked dreamy, distant. While I stared she spoke up.
“Why did she leave again? You said she didn’t feel safe at home.”
“We don’t really know where she was going, but it’s possible she was trying to get back to whomever she was with. As for why she would go back, that too is fairly common in these cases. Quite a lot has been written about this phenomenon. A lot of case studies and research. You see, the victim identifies with the attacker as a defense mechanism. She becomes more attached to him than anything else. After four years, those attachments to this man run deep, much deeper than what she now feels for either of you.” Rosenbaum’s voice was calm, almost soothing, and somehow that made the impact of his words even more terrible. “I won’t kid you-this is a long, uphill climb here. Some of these victims never testify against the people who’ve harmed them. They never see it as a crime.”
“Jesus,” I said. I still didn’t feel like I could get enough air. Rosenbaum’s eyes wandered over both of us. There was more to say, and it looked like he was gauging whether or not we could handle it.
“Caitlin may think of this man as her husband. She may have been told this for the last four years. Adolescence is a profoundly important time in someone’s development. To have such trauma intrude upon that time can have catastrophic psychological consequences. I remember a case in Columbus during my residency. The young woman corresponded with the man who took her for many, many years, even while he was in prison.”
“Oh, God,” Abby said.
“We’re talking years of therapy here, not days or months. And we may never know exactly what happened while she was gone.”
He paused, but neither one of us said anything.
“It’s not just trauma for her, you know,” he said. “It’s trauma for you. How are the two of you handling the adjustment so far?”
“It’s only one day,” I said, grasping to put a positive spin on things.
“And an eventful one at that,” he said.
He smiled again. It seemed less forced and more natural. But I sensed his question for us was probing at something.
“I think-” Abby said, then hesitated before she began again. “I think Tom has some unrealistic expectations for Caitlin.”
“Oh?” Rosenbaum said.
“He wants to push, and like you said, it’s going to take time. A lot of time.”
“Tom?” Rosenbaum said.
“I came down hard on her last night.”
“This is before she ran away?” Rosenbaum asked.
“No, after.” I told him about it: grabbing the sketch and sticking it in Caitlin’s face, bringing her to tears.
