Don't Slay the Dragon (The Chronicles of Elizabeth Marshall Book 1) (28 page)

     Chapter Fifty-Three

It felt comforting to have someone with me on this drive down south towards the Mental Hospital. The night before we had had a snow storm. It wasn’t a large one, just enough to paint everything a frosty white. It looked like a frozen wonderland, just unthawing and coming to life once again. The roads were clear and the temperature was rising. The skies were gray overhead and the winter sun struggled to shine through them over the eastern mountains.

I looked over at Logan driving his car through the morning traffic with his usual confidence. It was amazing how quickly I was growing used to having him with me. He had freed up his schedule in order to make this trip down to Provo with me. He wanted to see Lisbeth
under better circumstances than the last time he had seen her, the day he had taken her into custody,

I think he also wanted to see for himself if her new medication had really worked for her the way Dr. Ross had claimed. I had to admit, I was nervous myself about how safe this was for him. In the event that the medication really wasn’t working, she could still be a very serious threat to him.
Especially if she remembered him from her arrest. It had to have been a traumatic time for her, and it was common for a more violent member of the family to appear when a bad memory surfaced. I prayed I wasn’t walking him into a harmful, threatening situation.

“I hope
we’re not making a wasted trip,” I spoke my thoughts out loud as I watched the thawing landscape rush by. I tried not to worry about what I was missing at school today. I was only into the first few classes of my Child and Adolescent Psychopathology class and I hated to miss it, but this was more important.

“Do you think Dr. Ross will let us see her?” Logan asked while keeping his attention focused on the road.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “It concerns me that he hasn’t called me back yet.” I looked at my cell phone in my hand, as though willing it to ring.

“He’s might be too busy handling all the calls from the news stations,” he tried to reassure me.

“You’re probably right,” I agreed.
The news conference had been covered yesterday on the four o’clock news, then reviewed again at 4:30, 5:00, 6:00 and finally again at 10:00p.m. It was probably the top story on the morning news too but I was too weary of it all to turn on the TV to find out. “I bet he’s enjoying every minute of this attention.”

“You know, I have to wonder,” I looked at Logan, noticing a slight change to his expression, “DA Castillo made a few calls right before and right after the news conference. I wonder if by some chance she might have called him, to check on Elizabeth’s condition or to let him know she was about to make the announcement.”

“Do you think so?” That had my attention. “Why would she do that?”

“Professional courtesy.
Maybe to prepare him in case the news media decides to descend on him at the hospital.”

As he said the words, we pulled into the State Hospital parking lot and I began
to see that he was right. It was filled with news vans from every TV station and several radio stations. Reporters were staged in front of cameras, all vying for the best camera angle with the Utah State Mental Hospital sign in the background. Bright lights were blaring, putting more focus on the talking reporters and trying to brighten the gray day. It was chaotic.

Logan slowed as we entered the parking lot and I could see that he was trying to decide
if maybe we shouldn’t leave before we drew any attention.

“Maybe we should try reaching Dr. Ross again,” he suggested, glancing at my phone as he did a slow, tight circle and tried to exit the parking lot unnoticed. We didn’t quite make it to the street before a reporter saw him and must have recognized him from the news conference
yesterday. Before we knew it, the reporter was sprinting across the parking lot and knocking urgently on the driver’s side window, drawing the attention of the other reporters.

“Too
late now,” Logan took a deep breath and found a parking space nearby, not wanting to run over the feet of the reporter stubbornly chasing the car and still knocking on the window. He sat there for just a moment, looking around to see if any of the other reporters had noticed us then turned to me with a resigned look on his face. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? We could still turn around and leave. We could try to come back another time.”

I looked up to see another female reporter watching the reporter knocking on our window. She was becoming curious and motioning for her cameraman to follow her in our direction.

“I have to see her, Logan,” I pleaded. “I have to make sure she knows that the charges have been dropped. I have to see if the medication is still working, or if it ever really worked at all.”

Logan nodded and seemed to square his shoulders for what was ahead.

“Are you Detective Sawyer?” The reporter was demanding before Logan even had a chance to cut the engine. “You are, aren’t you? I recognize you from the news conference yesterday,” he insisted excitedly. “Are you here to see Elizabeth Marshall? Can I get a statement from you?”

Logan got out of the driver’s side, carefully maneuvered himself around the reporter, and came around to open the door for me. As I got out of the car, he pulled the collar of my jacket up as much as he could to cover my face then put a protective arm around me and started guiding me towards the hospital entrance.

A few other reporters started noticing the attention we were getting and sensing a juicy story started heading in our direction. Logan tried to politely side-step the reporters but we hadn’t made it more than several yards before we had numerous microphones in our face.
  There were camera bulbs flashing, almost blinding me as I leaned towards Logan and away from the bright lights.

“Detective Sawyer, can we get a statement?”

“Can you tell us why you’re here?”

“Does Elizabeth Marshall know that the charges have been dropped?”

“Who is that with you?”

“Does she have a connection to Elizabeth Marshall?”

Logan carefully winded his way through the crowd, never dropping his protective arm from around me, showing a remarkable patience with the members of the media. They crowded around us like paparazzi stalking reclusive celebrities. Having Logan here with me was both a blessing and a curse. I might have been able to get into the hospital without drawing too much attention. After all, I was just an unknown visitor.  I could have been visiting any of the patients inside. But it was comforting to have his arm around me and his strength at my side.

“No comment,” was all he said, then when pressed again, “no comment at this time.”

I thought we would never reach the front entrance. There were security guards outside the door this time, something I hadn’t seen before. The hospital administration must have increased the security due to the extensive media attention. Logan’s police badge got us past the guards and thankfully beyond the reach of the reporters.

“Thank you for coming with me today,” I told him as soon as we passed the first security check.
He grudgingly left his weapon behind, locked up with the security staff for now. I knew it was hard for him not to have it within reach, but he understood the wisdom of it. “I don’t know how I would have gotten though that media circus outside without you.”

He gave me a small smile, as if embarrassed by my gratitude.

“I don’t know,” he put his arm back around me as I showed him which direction to go to get to Ward D, “I think you’re one of the bravest, strongest women I know.” He looked around at the dreary, aesthetic surroundings. “After all, you have what it takes to keep coming back here.”

I hadn’t thought of it that way.
Me, strong? Brave? That wasn’t how I usually saw myself. I looked around us at our surroundings through his eyes. I guess it wasn’t exactly the kind of place someone comes willingly, unless you have a specific purpose. Yet I did still keep coming back here, time after time, drawn as much by my need to see and help Lisbeth as I was with the puzzle of who she was and whether or not she could really live a normal, productive life. I didn’t think of all my work to help Lisbeth as anything out of the ordinary or courageous. I was just what you did for a friend who needed you.

As we approached the final security check before Ward D, we were stopped.

“Ms. Stewart. Dr. Ross is expecting you. He thought you might be visiting today.” The voice was Theresa, the same administrative assistant I had spoken to the night before. I had met her briefly during some of my prior visits. “And I see you’ve brought a guest. Let me show you to his office. He will be joining you shortly.”

   
 
Chapter Fifty-Four

“You did WHAT?” I rose to my feet without hardly realizing it, my voice rising as I braced both hands flat on Dr. Ross’ desk and stared down at him in surprise. He seemed taken aback by my response. I’d never really shown a temper with him before. Well, he’d never pushed me this far either.  He cleared his voice uncomfortably before repeating himself.

“I’ve had Elizabeth transferred to a transitional facility,” he seemed to be struggling to put strength in his voice.

“Why in the world would you do that?” I demanded, not backing down, worry and dread fighting within me. Was I hearing him right?

He stiffened his back and tried to defend himself.

“It was the best solution for her safety,” he argued.

“She was perfectly safe here. How many different security check
s do you think I have to go through every time I come to visit her?” I straightened away from his desk but still stood, staring down at him. “You seem to have a very competent staff here, all of whom are aware of her and what she is capable of. This is where she needs to be. This is the safest place for her and those around her.”

“Having all the media here isn’t good for her or for all the other patients we have here. It can be very disruptive to their treatment.” My anger might have caught him off guard for a moment but he was settling back into his authoritative physician’s role again and pressing his agenda.

“This facility is so big and so insulated I doubt any of the patients even realize the media is here,” I scoffed at what I thought was his lame excuse. “What kind of a transitional facility have you transferred her to?”

“What kind of security do they have there?” It was the first time Logan had spoken since I had made the introductions.
Until that moment, he seemed content to let me direct the conversation with the psychiatrist. It was only because Logan was one of the lead detectives on Lisbeth’s case that Dr. Ross had even allowed him into our “meeting”.

Logan had
seemed to read my mind with the direction of his question. As I glanced over at him, I realized that he knew first hand just how dangerous Lisbeth could be and that security would be his foremost concern. He had arrested her after all. He had seen her come apart. As a police officer, and as someone witnessing her violence, he would understand exactly what was at risk here.

Then I noticed that Dr. Ross hadn’t answered us immediately. My attention swung back to him.

“They have low to medium security there,” he seemed to answer reluctantly.

I had my hands planted on his desk again and was looking him straight in his dark
, nervous eyes. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He seemed to be struggling to keep any eye contact with me.

“What exactly does that mean?” Logan’s voice was strong now and I felt him sharing my growing concern.

“Locked doors and windows,” Dr. Ross tried to sound convincing. “They also have a small security detail on staff.”

I drew in a breath, not believing what I was hearing.

“That’s not enough,” I was incredulous. “You of all people understand what she’s capable of. You documented our sessions together. You know she needs a more secure facility. You know-“

I was abo
ut to continue when he held up a hand to stop me.

“Her progress has been remarkable. The medication seems to be working.
Even without the presence of the media, with a charges dropped against her, we would eventually be working towards moving her to a transitional facility anyway. That is the next step in preparing her to live independently. The focus from the media only moved the time line up a bit.” He seemed to be warming up to his subject. “Her complete integration and subsequent re-entry into normal society is the perfect way to prove what a successful treatment this was.”

I looked down at his smug expression and had to walk away to keep myself from grabbing him by the shirt and shaking some sense into him. I paced as far as his wall full of accomplishments before I could calm myself enough to speak.

“Haven’t I warned you before that this could all just be an act?” I insisted.

“There has been absolutely no sign of any deception,” he stated confidently. “Ms. Stewart, this medication has been a success. She is completely integrated and functioning soundly. In no time at all, she’ll have progressed to the point that she’ll be allowed out-patient privileges and then when that goes well, we’ll be helping her transition into a productive
, independent life. Isn’t that what you ultimately wanted for her?  Isn’t that why you fought so hard to prove her innocence? You didn’t want to see her locked away in this institution for the rest of her life, now did you?”

He had me there.  I had to admit, that was what I had thought I was fighting for all this time. The reminder seemed to temper my anger just a bit. Wasn’t that the ultimate goal after all?
Hadn’t she begged me countless times to prove her innocence so she could be released from this institution? And here we were, the charges dropped, Lisbeth on medication, seemingly progressing towards healing. Why was it then that I didn’t feel like celebrating? Why did I still feel this uneasiness? Why did it feel as though there was less to celebrate and more to fear?

“What’s the name of the facility?” I requested. “I would still like to see her.”

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose that or allow you to visit her at this time.” His tone was firm as I walked back towards him, not quite believing what I was hearing.

“What do you mean? I can’t visit her?” I felt my blood pressure rising again. “Why?
You’ve allowed me to visit all these other times.”

“Ms. Stewart, Elizabeth is at a very
tenuous stage in her recovery,” he was back in the position of having total control over the situation, “stability is very important at this point. Since the transfer to the new treatment center has already been a transition for her, I would prefer to keep everything else around her as stable as possible. She needs time to adjust to her surroundings. There will be new doctors there, new patients and a new routine for her. She needs time and space to adjust to all the changes.”

“But you just said the medi
cation was working fine. If it is working as well as you claim, what would be the harm in a visit from me?” I tried to keep my voice calm and to sound reasonable. I wasn’t sure if I was succeeding.

“Unfortunately, based on some of the
unusual
behavior she exhibited during your past visits,” he was certain to stress the word ‘unusual’, “I do not feel it is in her best interests to take the risk of possibly upsetting her at this time.” His statement was final.

“But I have to see her. Does she even know that the charges against her were dropped?” I pressed anyway.

“I told her yesterday, before she was transferred.” He gave me a smile that told me that he was glad he was able to tell her the news before I could. “She was very pleased to hear there were no longer any charges against her.  She’s very hopeful for the future now. This was, after all, the best possible scenario we could have hoped for.”

There it was, all wrapped up in a neat little package. The doctor couldn’t have looked more pleased with himself.
This was a great accomplishment for him. I could just imagine the publications he would be writing about his. It would probably be the crowning glory of his career.

I looked over at Logan pleadingly. What more could I do? He seemed to be as much at a dead end as I was. I felt as though my hands were tied. I wanted to talk to her so badly, but I couldn’t think of any other options.

“Will you at least
contact me and let me know when I can visit her?” I requested, picking my purse and jacket up from my empty chair, feeling defeated.

“Of course,” he was magnanimous now that there was little more I could do.

Logan seemed to sense that we were out of options. He stood and walked with me towards the door. Before we exited the room I turned back to Dr. Ross. I had to make one final effort.

“I hope you’re right, Dr. Ross,” I told him
. He had already turned back to his computer and spared me a glance at my words. “I hope this new medication really is working. I hope that she’s really on the road to recovery. Because if you’re wrong, and she’s still unstable, you have no idea what you could be risking.”