Silent Son Read Online Free PDF Page A

wound on one side and the innards had crumbled to sawdust long ago.
    He looked at the sky. Dawn was just moments away. He approached the tree and thrust an arm deep into the wound, up, high inside.
    He grasped an object and twisted it from its niche within the hollow tree. If they got their hands on
this
it could be real trouble.
    He grunted and pulled a 12 gauge shotgun from the dust. Attached to the trigger guard was a crudely marked tag: BOWERS SPECIAL
     $189.95.
    He checked the hole and smoothed the surrounding fallout with his foot. The sun had broken the plane of the far ridge. Time
     to move. In twenty minutes, this link to the crime would be severed for good. Hidden where no one would ever look. He was
     back in business.
    Gardner and Carole sat in the doctor’s office awaiting the verdict. They had stayed with Granville all night, comforting and
     soothing, holding his hands. Giving support as much for their own needs as his. But now it was morning. Granville had dozed
     off peacefully, and they felt comfortable taking a break.
    They were told to go to the chief neurologist’s office. He had made a complete examination of the child and could give some
     answers to the parents. There were some other patients to check, but he would be with them soon.
    The walls were bare, the furniture Spartan. This was obviously a part-time job for the doctor. With his background, he probably
     had a plush private medical compound somewhere in the suburbs. The hospital work was pocket change.
    Gardner and Carole sat in silence, each on the verge of exhaustion. Suddenly, the door swung open, and the doctor entered.
     He was in his fifties, tanned and healthy looking. “Mornin’ folks, I’m Wilson Robertson.”
    Gardner stood and shook his hand. “Gardner Lawson, and this is my—”
    Carole extended her hand. “Carole. Granville’s
mother
.”
    “Okay… okay.” The doctor was smiling. The news could not be too bad. He sat behind the narrow metal desk and laid a clipboard
     out on the table. “Your boy is very lucky. There is not going to be any permanent physical damage. He’ll have some short-term
     side effects, but in the long run he should be fine.”
    The listeners broke into smiles. That was terrific news.
    “How long does he have to stay in the hospital?” Carole asked.
    “Another day or two,” the doctor answered. “We’d like to keep him under observation, just to be sure there’s no brain swelling.
     And we’d like to get him started with the therapist—”
    “Therapist?” Gardner interrupted. “You said he had no longterm injury. Why does he need a therapist?”
    Carole’s face mirrored the same concern.
    “I said no permanent
physical
injuries—there may be some mental problems…”
    “What kind of mental problems?” Gardner’s voice sounded like a cross-examination.
    “Too soon to say for sure,” the doctor said. “Violence-induced traumas in children can take their toll. All we know at this
     point is that he’s begun disassociation…”
    Gardner suddenly saw the full picture. This often happened in child abuse cases. A hurt is so overwhelming that the child
     represses it deep in his subconscious mind. Unable to deal with the reality, the child makes it all go away. But it doesn’t
     leave. It stays inside and festers. Gardner had been so caught up in the physical part he’d forgotten about this ominous aspect.
    “He took a hard blow to the head,” Robertson continued, “and there was a weapon involved, but that’s not the problem.
    …It’s what he
saw
that we have to deal with…” The doctor’s voice faded out, and the room went silent. They were waiting for him to continue,
     but he had stopped.
    Gardner caught his eye. “And what was that, Dr. Robertson? What did he see?”
    “I’m afraid that’s the problem. At this point he’s unable, or
unwilling
to say.”
    “So what can we do?” Carole asked.
    “Start therapy as soon as he’s feeling better,” the doctor