2: 2
It wasn't just the foam boxes. There were cardboard ones too, stacked so high they almost reached the ceiling.
Even the bed had several piled on it.
On the wall beside the bed hung a poster of a young girl.
In the bottom right corner were two lines of small print.
Nancy Dickerson.
Taken June 18, 2013.
Dana paused.
Today was also June 18.
Could it be a coincidence?
"Officer, there was nothing we could do."
My father's voice cut into Dana's thoughts.
"When Nancy was ten, her mother and I went to work in a coastal city and left her back home with her grandmother for seven years."
"Later, when we came back for her, she had to sleep next to boxes at night."
"Without them, she'd scream and scream."
"We didn't have a choice. We just moved the boxes left over from shopping into her room."
He pointed at a foam box near the foot of the bed, close to the door.
"That's the one that used to have the watermelon in it."
Dana stepped into the room.
"Why was she like this? Didn't you take her to a doctor?"
My father lowered his head.
"We figure it was because her grandmother got into a fight with someone and fell to her death right in front of her. It traumatized her."
"We asked her why her grandmother was fighting, but she wouldn't say."
"Push her too hard and she'd scream like she'd lost her mind."
"She wouldn't go to the hospital either."
"Later the community arranged a counselor for her. She went to that doctor's office once a week, and only then did she slowly settle down."
Dana listened to my father while he examined the foam boxes.
Something still felt off.
Just then, Joy walked in quickly.
"Captain Lawrence, forensics found something."
"They just sent these photos over."
She opened her phone.
In the photos were my arms and legs.
Covered, edge to edge, in purple bruises and old scars.
Dana's eyes went cold.
"Mr. Dickerson, how did she get these injuries?"
My father rushed to explain.
"Officer, Nancy did that to herself."
"When she was at her worst, the second she got upset she'd slam herself into the wall, into the table. It still comes back now and then."
"We even bought padding to cover every sharp corner in the house, because we were afraid she'd hurt herself."
Dana looked around.
The corners of the tables and the edges of the cabinets in the living room really were all wrapped in padding.
It seemed to match what my father had said.
Joy frowned.
"Captain Lawrence."
"If she was this unstable, and had a history of self-harm, could she have killed her own baby brother without even knowing what she was doing?"
Dana handed the phone back to Joy.
"We can't rule it out for now, but we can't confirm it either."
"Get someone to collect fingerprints off the foam boxes. And bring in everyone who was at the one-month celebration today for fingerprint comparison. Tell the Forensics Division to rush the results."
"Yes, sir!"
He turned back to my father.
"That counseling office you mentioned earlier, do you have an address?"
Half an hour later, Dana and Joy drove to the community counseling center.
"Hello, we're with the police. We'd like to ask about Nancy Dickerson."
"Which doctor was in charge of her care?"
The receptionist pointed to an office at the end of the hall.
"Dr. James, right there."
The two of them had just started over.
The office door opened, and a woman came out carrying a black trash bag.
When she saw the officers, she visibly froze.
"Heading out, Dr. James?"
"No, just taking out the trash."
She smiled a little, set the bag down by the door, and led the two of them into the office.
When she learned Dana wanted to see my case file.
Sandra James showed no surprise. She just quietly took out the records.
"What happened to Nancy and her brother has spread through the whole community."
"I really didn't see it coming either. She'd been doing so much better lately. How could she…"
Dana opened the file, and his brow furrowed.
"Why is there only the past year?"
Sandra sighed.
"There was a fire in the office a year ago. A lot of the paper files and computer records were destroyed."
Dana looked straight at Sandra and got to the point.
"Dr. James."
"Do you think a mentally ill patient, in a state where she wasn't clear-headed, could have killed her own baby brother?"
"You suspect Nancy killed her own brother?"
Dana didn't deny it.
Sandra was silent for a few seconds, then shook her head.
"Impossible."
"Why?"
Sandra looked at the file on the desk.
"Nancy wasn't mentally ill. She was only depressed. She wouldn't hurt anyone."
"She just felt she shouldn't exist."
