The ICU waiting room appeared as if an impromptu town meeting were about to be called to order. Scores of familiar faces milled about, both in the waiting area and in the hallway just outside. The chairs normally situated in the center of the room had been pushed up against the wall to accommodate the standing-room-only crowd. Paul and Vera Dressler were surrounded by a throng of friends and neighbors, each offering their heartfelt support and condolences. A small table in the corner was overflowing with a striking assortment of flowers, whose fragrance and brightness seemed to permeate the room. Children sat together in small clusters, giggling and chattering rapidly to one another, and a collection of teenagers from Monica’s high school had gathered at the far end of the hallway, talking quietly among themselves.
As Ben and the officers approached, they were greeted with careful smiles and warm handshakes. They were pulled into the crowd as one of its own, and were quickly enveloped in questions and conversation. They inquired about the status of Monica’s recovery, and were updated regarding planned studies and procedures. Ben was barraged with questions regarding the girl’s injuries and prognosis, and when he made eye contact with Susan from across the room, he could tell that his wife had also been tasked with the responsibility of explaining the medical details of the case in a digestible fashion to those who had come here.
In addition to these questions, Ben was asked about the progress of the investigation, about which he simply deferred to Sam and the detectives. Have any suspects been identified? they asked. Are there any leads yet? Do you think Monica was attacked by the same person responsible for killing Kevin Tanner? Do you think this was done by a local, or just someone passing through? Ben answered them all in the same way: ‘I don’t know. You’ll have to speak with the detectives.’ Which was the truth, he decided, more or less.
They had all come to see Monica: this child of the town who had sustained a brutal attack and had been left in the woods to die – this brave girl who had somehow summoned the strength to drag herself more than an eighth of a mile through the mud and underbrush to the side of the road in order to be found. They had come to support her parents, yes; but they all wanted to see her, to sit at her bedside and to pray for her recovery, to will her back to health by their sheer numbers, by the force of their desire to see her well.
It occurred to Ben then, as the faces around him began to blur together into something whole – something unifying – that Monica Dressler represented more than simply one of their own. In many ways, she was the town – a physical manifestation of the emotional assault they were all enduring together. To Ben and most likely to others, she represented their will to fight back, their refusal to succumb to the evil that had descended upon them. She had become an inspiration, even as she fought for her life. For if she could find a way to survive this thing, then perhaps so could they all.