Where is the Baby? by Charlotte Vale Allen Page A

doors and said, ‘Here we are,’ and took her inside.
    There was carpet on the floor, little tiny chairs and tables, and a big bright red wooden box of toys. ‘Just wait here now,’ the lady said. ‘The doctor will be in shortly,’ and she went away, closing the door.
    Really scared now, Humaby studied the little chairs for a time, then turned and looked at the great big mirror on the wall where she could see a picture of herself like the one in the room with the bed where she slept. She walked over and pointed. The mirror-girl pointed back. ‘That’s me,’ she said and the mirror-girl said it, too. Forgetting, she scratched at the bandage on her arm. So did the mirror-girl. She wasn’t supposed to do that. ‘Not s’posed to scratch,’ she told the mirror-girl. And they both stopped.
    The dress had a great big bottom. If she held each side of it in her hands she could lift it way up. Like wings. Birds had wings. Wolf told her that one time, not even getting pissed off the way he usually did when she asked questions. ‘Those’re birds. They can fly ’cuz they got wings. The wings flap up ’n’ down and that’s how they get up in the air and zoom around.’
    â€˜Maybe I’m a bird-girl,’ she told the mirror. ‘I got wings. You do, too.’ She lifted the sides of the dress one more time, then let them drop and looked around again, wondering what this place was. She’d never seen a room like this before, or tiny chairs and tables. She went back to the middle of the room, curled her fingers into her palms so she wouldn’t scratch, and waited, looking down at the horrible shoes. Brown with a strap and a buckle. Too tight. She wriggled her toes but they were trapped and hardly moved at all. She sniffed several times. She could still smell the hair soap. She kept sniffing. The nice way she smelled kept her from getting really scared. She looked around the room, wondering if maybe today she was going to see the baby.
    Behind the two-way mirror were Brian and his captain, Jim Garvey; Dr Stefan Lazarus, the surprisingly young-looking child psychiatrist who’d been brought in by Margery Briggs, the rigid, unfriendly social worker from DCF, and two cameramen. One film was for the department, the other was for Dr Lazarus. This child’s case was so unique that both the police and Dr Lazarus wanted the interview documented. The police believed it would have evidentiary value. Lazarus thought the film would allow him to pick up later on things he might not notice in the course of the interview.
    He was anxious to take advantage of such a unique opportunity. Very few abducted children ever came under therapeutic scrutiny and he considered himself highly fortunate to have an opportunity to meet a stolen child.
    Watching the girl, he felt very confident and was making mental notes, already working up his evaluation: dissociation, if her interaction with her mirror image was anything to go by, a level of fear that was off the charts, and yet a certain whimsy in her play with the skirt and her talk of wings. He thought this was going to be a relatively simple summation with some interesting particulars which, with luck, could find its way into one of the journals. He didn’t foresee any problems evaluating her, and it could very possibly lead to his first professional publication.
    Captain Garvey murmured, ‘Cute kid,’ and Brian said, ‘Yeah.’ He didn’t want to talk. Watching her cut at him like repeated jabs from a scalpel: quick, sharp slices of pain; starbursts of shock that made him dizzy. Given an unguarded minute he’d tuck her under his arm and ferry her away to his home. He and Jan would get her out of those clothes that so obviously made her uncomfortable, stick her in some shorts and a top, soft moccasins maybe, or a pair of sneakers. Let her run through the sprinkler with Lucia, feed her up while