Some Choose Darkness

FRANK AND MARLA SAT NEXT TO EACH OTHER ON THE COUCH. THE VISITATIONS had taken place every weekend for the past month, with Frank and Marla making the trips out to Peoria each Saturday and Sunday to spend the days at Greta Schreiber’s farmhouse, getting to know the child. The girl was asleep now. Marla had just finished reading Goodnight Moon while the child lay in her arms. It was a ritual she was starting to love, Frank could see. Marla hadn’t wanted to put the child down, and only released her when Greta suggested they talk about the future.

Frank knew the first part of his plan was working. His wife was becoming emotionally attached to the little girl. It was a critical part of his strategy. The bedrock, in fact, that needed to be laid in order for it all to work. Now, as the child slept, Frank was about to present the proposal to his wife. The specifics of which, Frank was sure, would sound simultaneously too good to be true and too outrageous to be possible.

“For this to work,” Frank said to Greta, “Marla needs to know everything. If we’re going to pull this off, there can be no secrets. We’ll help in any way possible, you have my word. I know much of the story, but not all of it. I want my wife to know everything. Please start from the beginning so we’re all on the same page.”

Greta nodded. Her hair seemed to have whitened a shade since Frank first stepped foot on the farmhouse property the previous fall. Clearly, the stress she was carrying on her shoulders was crushing her.

“I’m a nurse,” Greta said. She was speaking to Marla, as Frank had previously heard this portion of the story. “I work for the hospital here in town as a midwife. I make house calls to assist patients who have chosen to undergo a more natural childbirth in the home. I also counsel young women at Bayer Group.”

Frank turned to Marla. “Bayer Group Juvenile Psychiatric Facility.”

Frank watched Marla nod, as if any of this made sense to her. He knew her mind was fixated on the child and the possibility that she would be theirs.

“I work with the girls at Bayer Group who were pregnant, or who had once been pregnant. I counsel them on what to expect. I’ve been doing it for many years, and it was during my time at Bayer Group that I met Angela. She was seventeen then.”

Marla looked away from the bassinet. “Who?”

“Angela Mitchell,” Frank said.

Marla looked at her husband. Her eyes were squinted and her forehead wrinkled. “The girl who was killed a few years ago? The girl from the summer of 1979?”

Frank nodded. “Yes.”

Marla cocked her head. “Your firm represents Thomas Mitchell,” Marla said. “You’re working on his appeals.”

“Yes,” Frank said, taking Marla’s hand. “I told you we needed to understand the full story before we move forward. That’s why we’re here.”

Frank took a second to stare at his wife, making sure she was on board for what was about to transpire. Finally she nodded. They both looked at Greta.

“Angela was at Bayer Group for several months when she was seventeen years old. This was in 1967.” Greta shook her head. “Hard to believe that was fifteen years ago. Whenever I went to Bayer Group to counsel my patients, I noticed this introverted girl off in the corner by herself. One day, I approached her, not as a nurse or as a counselor, just out of concern. I was hoping to make this young woman feel not so alone.”

“Hi,” Greta said as she sat across from the quiet girl she always saw sitting alone.

The girl didn’t look at her, or acknowledge her presence in any way.

“I’m Greta. I’m a nurse here.”

This caused the girl to glance quickly in her direction and then back to her lap.

“I’m not taking the medication,” the girl said. “I don’t care who you are or how nice you pretend to be.”

“Oh, I’m not a psychiatric nurse. I work with some of the girls here, talking with them about the future.”

Greta leaned a little closer.

“Are they giving you medication you don’t want?”

“Yes,” the girl said.

Greta looked around the rec room. The television was playing and a couple of girls were on the couch in front of it. No one else was in the room.

“What are they giving you? Maybe I could talk with someone?”

The girl looked at her. Greta saw fear in her eyes, and a glimmer of hope, too, at the idea that Greta may be able to help.

“Lithium. All it does is make me sleep and cause wild dreams. Sometimes the dreams even come while I’m awake.”

“That’s called hallucinating, and it’s a common side effect of lithium.” Greta scooted her chair closer. “Have you told your doctor about it?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t care. They just want me to sleep and stay sedated.”

“When you say ‘they,’ who are you talking about?”

“My parents and the doctors.” The girl looked at Greta. “Will you help me? No one in here will help me.”

Greta reached down and took the girl’s hand. Greta felt her recoil, but after a moment, the girl squeezed back.

“What’s your name, dear?”

“I’m going to help you, Angela. I’ll find a way to help you.”