Lie Down with the Devil Read Online Free PDF Page B

then there’s the serotonin imbalance. We’re learning a lot about neurotransmitters, things that may one day make treatment far more effective.”
    One day
, I thought.
What about now?
What about a girl who ought to be in high school, catching up on her classwork, a girl who should be choosing a dress for the junior prom?
    I’d called in every favor, yanked every string I could pull, to get Paolina admitted here, to East House at McLean, the psychiatric hospital affiliated with Harvard. It hadn’t been easy, and if I couldn’t figure out how to play the insurance game, it would be incredibly costly. Everyone I knew in mental health, cops and civilians both, assured me that this was the best place, the very best place.
    “Then there’s PTSD,” Eisner said.
    “Posttraumatic stress, yeah, I know about that.”
    “She’s been through the wars, this girl. Is there anything else you can tell me about her captivity? Any other details?”
    “I wasn’t with her most of the time. I know she was kept in the trunk of a car. I know she was tied to a chair. And she was forced to make a phone call, to get her father to come, to set up her father.”
    “A tethered goat.”
    Maybe that’s why she won’t talk
, I thought. Because when she did talk, it led to Roldan’s death.
    Eisner glanced at the clock. “One thing you should remember is that this was not a suicide attempt. Cutting is a coping mechanism.”
    His voice was kind and my head suddenly felt too heavy for my neck. I planted my elbows on my knees and rested my head in my hands.
    “Are you okay?”
    “Me? Sure.” I tried out a smile. It felt like my face would crack with the effort, my skin shatter like a mirror and fall to the ground.
    “Really?” he said mildly.
    I nodded.
    “You must have gone through quite a lot yourself. To bring Paolina home.”
    I sat silently, thinking.
    “How do you cope?” he said.
    I don’t talk about it. I fix it. I do things. I move. I make it okay.
    “Do you have any idea how long this will take?” I said. “Paolina’s already missed a lot of school. I don’t know how long Rindge and Latin will wait before they make her repeat the year.”
    “Excuse me for mentioning it, but I can’t help noticingthat you pull your hair. I wondered if you were aware that—”
    “Trichotillomania. I know what that is, too.” I know because another shrink told me when I was forced to see him because I’d shot a man, killed him, on one of my last days as a cop. I dropped my right hand to my side. Most of the time I’m not even aware that I do it, that I grab a single strand of copper hair and loop it around my finger, fondling it, tugging it.
    “I was going to say that hair-pulling is sometimes another way of controlling or altering one’s mood state. Self-harm is not that rare; it affects roughly the same amount of people as the number affected by eating disorders.”
    Right
, I thought.
People who yank their hair out or overeat don’t bleed on the floor.
    “Does she talk to you?” I asked.
    His eyebrows went up.
    “Look, I know you’re not supposed to—”
    “She hums,” he said. “She taps out rhythms.”
    “Can I see her?”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “She doesn’t want visitors.”
    “I’m not a visitor. I’m here for her. Whenever she wants to see me, whenever she’s ready to talk.”
    “I understand.” He got to his feet, not hastily, not rudely. He’d had practice putting an end to interviews.

FOUR
    The icy air in the parking lot felt bracing after the overheated room. I fumbled for my car keys and wondered if I’d always remind Paolina of the terror she’d felt when gunfire erupted in the dimly lit room, if my presence would unfailingly bring back memories of the father she’d found only to lose. I considered the possibility that she would never want to see me again, then shut my mind to it, as firmly as if I were closing a heavy door.
    Driving home, I pondered an early lunch,