Magic Hour

“Too fast, too free, huh?”

She stared out the window at the passing trees, wishing he would slow down. “Too many organ donors.”

Several blocks passed between them in silence. Finally, Max said, “So, have you formed any specific conclusions about her yet?”

It was the sort of question medical professionals always asked psychiatrists. They didn’t understand how much time an accurate diagnosis could take, but she appreciated the return to professionalism. “I can tell you what I don’t think. Ruling out is always a good place to start. I don’t believe she’s deaf; at least not completely. I also don’t believe she’s profoundly mentally challenged; however, that’s a hunch. As to autism, that’s certainly the best guess for now, although if she is autistic, she’s high functioning.”

“You sound like you don’t really believe that diagnosis, either.”

“I need a lot more time to run tests. When she looked at me . . .” Her words trailed off. She was hesitant to speculate without more information. It was yet another ramification of her recent problems. She was, for the first time in her life, afraid to be wrong.

“What?”

“She looked at me. That’s the point. Not near me or through me or beside me, but at me. And sometimes she appeared to understand words. Hurt. Food. Hungry. Those I’d swear she understood.”

“Do you think a word set her off?”

“I have no idea. Honestly, I can’t remember what I said to her.”

“Can she speak?”

“So far it’s only sounds. Expressions of the purest emotions. I can tell you this: elective mutism is a common response to childhood trauma.”

“And there’s been some serious trauma in her life.”

“Yes.”

The weight of those words made the air between them feel heavy suddenly, and sad.

“Maybe she was kidnapped,” Max said quietly.

It had been on Julia’s mind all day, that thought; it was the dark shadow that lay behind all her questions.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, too. This girl’s physical scars could be nothing compared to her emotional trauma.”

“She’s lucky you’re here, then.”

“Actually, I’m the lucky one.” The minute the words were out, Julia wished them back. She wasn’t sure why she’d revealed something so personal, and to this man she hardly knew. Thankfully, he didn’t respond.

He turned left onto Azalea Street and found it barricaded. “That’s odd. Another broken water main, most likely.” He backed out and drove a block down Cascade, then parked. “I’ll walk you in.”

“That’s hardly necessary.”

“I don’t mind.”

Julia didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, so she nodded.

They walked down the quiet tree-lined street toward the police station. “It’s beautiful here,” she said. “I’d forgotten. Especially in the fall.” She was just about to remark on the brightly colored leaves when she turned the corner and saw the reason for the barricade.

The street was clotted with news vans. Dozens of them.

“Stop!” she said quickly, realizing a moment too late that she’d screamed the word at Max. She spun around so fast she ran into him. His arms curled around her, steadied her. If the press saw her now, with her battered face, they’d have a field day. Especially when they found out that her own patient had injured her.

“The station’s right there. The front door—”

“I know where the damned front door is. I need to get out of here. Now.”

He saw the news vans and made the connection. When he looked at her, she was that doctor.