The Woman in Blue

A week later, the results of the MRI scan came back. Misha was in the shower when Doctor Paula Quinn, Misha’s regular doctor, called with the news. Dale was the one to receive the call. “The scans do show a possibility of there having been a concussion around the time of the said accident.” “Wow, so this confusion and memory problem really has been because of the fall all along, huh?” “Probably so, but we must keep other facts in mind as well.” “Such as?” Dale asked. “Well, you know she does have a history of psychiatric problems.” Dale froze, suddenly at a loss for words. “You still there?” asked the doctor. “Yeah, I’m here,” Dale said hesitantly. “You didn’t know?” “No, I didn’t.” “I see.” “I don’t know how I could’ve missed something like that. I mean, I had her screened thoroughly, both physically and mentally, upon taking her into my home.” “Oh, but you know how it is with getting hold of old records. It takes time.” “Yes, I suppose it does,” Dale said. “Maybe you weren’t meant to know until now so that she’d be sure to end up with someone as wonderful as yourself.” Dale smiled. “If I may make a suggestion,” the doctor continued, “I’d recommend you not mention it to her. It could very well end up making her feel put on the spot. Let her come to you with whatever she feels safe confiding in you with on her own and when she’s ready to.” “Ok.” “The records don’t tell me much, but they do tell me enough to enable me to tell you not to worry. You’re not dealing with someone who can’t distinguish right from wrong or fact from fiction. She’s very with it, alert and rather bright from what I can see. I think something happened and it was just a case of that particular trauma that set her back a bit.” “So it’s not something that could come back to haunt her, so to speak?” asked Dale. “No, not that I can see. I think she just fell upon hard times and it got a little overwhelming for her.” “Was she hospitalized?” “Yes, she was,” the doctor confirmed. Dale’s heart stopped, then sped up quickly. “You’re kidding!” “That’s what the records say. She was only sixteen.” Dale was silent for a moment. “As long as she takes her medication the way I’ve prescribed, it should help with the nervousness she’s been exhibiting. Remember, she’s been through a lot. That was a very scary ordeal she endured in Sacramento. People don’t just forget these things.” “That’s true. What about raising a child? Do you think she’s fit to handle something like that?” “I don’t know enough about her or her past to give an answer either way. I wouldn’t encourage it, to be honest with you, but I also wouldn’t discourage it either.” “I see.” “As long as you both love each other and you both want the child, then I see no reason not to raise one together once things settle down. The key is to stay honest and open. If one of you has doubts in either yourself or in each other, then I’d be more hesitant. From what I know, though, Misha’s never been dangerous or lost touch with reality other than from her head injury, which looks to be clearing up nicely. Has she been more focused lately?” “Yes, she has, fortunately. It’s almost as if it never happened, but she’s fussy about taking the medication.” “They usually are.” After they hung up, Misha came downstairs. Dale noted how adorably cute she looked in her little nightie sprinkled with pink and purple hearts. “The doctor called,” said Dale as Misha began to brush out her hair. “And?” “And the test results show a healing concussion. Looks like you were right.” “No, Dale,” Misha said sarcastically, “I made it all up.” Dale gave a brief chuckle as she reached for the kettle. “Would you like some hot cocoa?” “Sure.” “Don’t forget your meds.” Misha stopped brushing her hair. “Hey, I’m of age, you know. No one can make me take the stuff.” “No,” said Dale, turning on the stove, “but I’d really appreciate it if you did for at least a while. I think it’ll help keep you calm and lessen the chances of a relapse, don’t you?” “No, but I’ll take the crap anyway. It’s just that it makes me so drowsy.” Dale watched Misha take the medication while she waited for the water to heat up. She shook her head in amusement. “What’s so funny?” asked Misha, noting her expression. “You. You and the way you sometimes act like a spoiled teenager.” Misha grinned. Dale poured hot water into the mugs of cocoa as she spoke. “At least what happened didn’t get bad enough to cause you to need to be hospitalized.” “That’s true,” agreed Misha. “I’ve been there before, and it’s not exactly fun.” “Oh?” asked Dale, hoping Misha would bring up the reason she had been hospitalized five years earlier and settle her curiosity. “When I was nine, I had pneumonia and was hospitalized for a little over a week. Then I was hospitalized when I was sixteen for a whole different reason in a whole different hospital.” “Well, let’s go settle in the living room with our cocoa, then you can tell me all about it.” Once they were settled, Dale sensed a hesitancy emanating from Misha so strongly that at first she wondered if Misha would tell her story. Finally, she spoke up. “It was the summer of ’82. I was at a friend’s house for a week in San Diego. She and I had gone to school together and became best friends. Her name was Wanema. We were friends from something like the fourth grade on up till that summer. She and her family moved from Sacramento to San Diego a year after we met, but we still kept in touch.” Dale listened intently, one arm resting on the back of the couch as she gazed at Misha. “I’d have told you this a lot sooner. It’s just that I loved you so, and I didn’t want to risk losing you,” Misha explained. “It’s not that I thought you’d judge me by the past or anything, but I guess that when a person loves someone as much as I love you, they’re more cautious about what they say.” “I understand,” Dale said softly. “I could tell a complete stranger my whole life story because I don’t have to live with whatever their reaction may be.” Dale smiled softly. “Anyway, the plan was for me to go down and stay with her for a week. They had a nice place close to the beach. I had been there for three days, having a blast, when tragedy struck. Wanema, I, and Wanema’s mother went scuba diving one day when it happened. Everything was fine at first. We had fun exploring the ocean floor. After a while, her mother signaled that she was going back up to the boat, and we’d follow shortly, like in a few minutes. We were at a depth of about thirty feet when Wanema and I realized our oxygen tanks were so low that we’d better get up to the boat fast. We had barely two minutes left of air. Yet something caught hold of Wanema as we pushed off from the bottom to swim up top. I was about ten feet above the bottom when I realized she wasn’t with me. I looked down and saw her struggling. In that split second, I had to decide: do I continue on up to get help? Or do I go back down and try to free her from whatever she was tangled in? Well, knowing I had barely a minute of air left, I swam for help as fast as I could, but by the time help got to her, it was already too late.” “How awful,” Dale said sympathetically. “It was. I felt so guilty. Like maybe she’d have lived if I’d only gone back down to try to help her.” “I don’t think so, honey.” “I know deep down there wasn’t really anything I could do, but either way, I was just a kid when this happened, so it was rather hard on me.” “I’m sure it was.” “I would constantly wake up screaming from nightmares where I’d be in this little paddle boat or something and the water would be really clear. I’d look over the edge of the boat and see her screaming for help on the bottom, arms raised upwards as if trying to grasp hold of me. I was a walking bundle of nerves and finally ended up hospitalized for post-traumatic stress syndrome for a couple of weeks.” “Did that help?” “I think so,” said Misha. “They helped me to see that it wasn’t my fault I couldn’t save her, even if I still wish I could have.” “It definitely couldn’t have been,” Dale agreed. “I guess a part of me was afraid you wouldn’t want me if I told you about it.” “Oh,” Dale chided, “you should know me better than that.” Misha studied Dale’s face intently for a moment. “I love you, Dale,” she said, throwing her arms around her. “I love you so very much, forever and ever and ever.” “Aw, me too, sweetie, me too,” Dale said, wrapping her arms tightly around Misha’s small body. “You can tell me anything anytime.”

Misha was humming along to the stereo she had cranked up in the living room as she scrubbed the kitchen countertops. The knock came right at the best part of the song. Not expecting anyone, Misha cautiously peered out the window before opening the door. It was Doctor Kinkade. What in the world could she want? Misha wondered as she headed for the door. She swung it open to find the good doctor clad in jeans and a T-shirt that declared: Today’s My Lucky Day. “Doctor Kinkade,” greeted Misha. “Gail,” the doctor said with a smile that didn’t seem quite sincere. “What can I do for you, Gail?” “Oh, I just thought I’d do a follow-up and check in on you. See how you were doing. You know, that sort of thing. Is anyone home with you?” “No, Dale won’t be in for a few hours yet.” “Oh, ok,” said Gail, seeming a bit nervous. “May I come in?” Misha opened the door wider. “You can come in, but I’m afraid there’s not much I can tell you other than that they did an MRI and they did find evidence of a concussion.” The doctor stepped inside the door. “How have you been, Misha?” “Pretty much back to normal.” “No more memory loss or wild mood swings?” “No, none.” “That’s good.” During the moment of silence that followed, Misha became increasingly certain that opening the door to this woman was a grave mistake. One that she’d have to pay for over a very long time to come. “I’ve got something here I’d like to show you,” said Gail. “What’s that?” Misha asked, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “And please do make it quick. I don’t mean to rush you along, but I’m rather tied up.” Gail pulled something from her pocket that looked like a washcloth and grabbed hold of Misha before she even had a chance to react. Misha squirmed and struggled to free herself from the doctor’s grip, but the woman was nearly a foot taller and probably a good thirty to forty pounds heavier as well. Gail held the washcloth so hard against Misha’s face that she feared she might suffocate. She didn’t have to fear it for long, though, for within a minute or two, all went blissfully black as total unconsciousness engulfed her.

Dale hit the remote, closing the garage door behind her. She exited the car and entered the house. It was disturbingly quiet. Usually, Misha would come bounding up to her, as excited as a puppy eager to greet its master after being left alone all day. As much as Misha spent her time wisely, she looked forward to seeing Dale when she came home, and Dale looked just as forward to seeing her, too. “Hello, I’m home,” Dale called out as she entered the kitchen, surprised to find that nothing was cooking. She plopped the mail down on the counter and headed into the living room. Its only occupants were Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. She approached the stairs and called up to Misha as she ascended. “Misha, sweetie, I’m home.” Still no answer. Dale tried to ignore the tendrils of alarm that had begun to seep into her and hoped that Misha had simply fallen asleep or had the headphones on. But Misha never used the headphones unless Dale was asleep, and if Misha had been asleep, she’d have woken up to the sound of Dale’s voice. She was a very light sleeper. Ignoring the pitter-patter of her heart, she quickened her pace, glancing into the loft, then into both bedrooms. Misha was nowhere to be found. Now all I have to do is just hope that she went out for a walk and lost track of time, thought Dale as she went back downstairs. But Misha wouldn’t do that. Not without falling and hitting her head—but what was the likelihood of that happening again? That’s when Dale noticed the mess on the kitchen floor. Sure of foul play and knowing, as a cop, not to touch anything, she reached for the phone.