“The brother’s still alive. I need to go down and see him. Can you cover for me at rounds?”
Kendall stared. “I just got here. I’m supposed to sum up what happened all day yesterday?”
Susan did not want to waste time bandying words. “Nothing happened all day yesterday, except little things documented on the charts. As far as my patients, Monterey is talking more, and you know about Sharicka.”
“I only know what the nurses are saying,” Kendall reminded Susan. “I have no idea why or what you plan to do about it.” He gave her a smile that, somehow, did not seem patronizing. “Besides, I think the great Susan Calvin should own up to her first mistake.”
Susan realized Kendall made a good point. “It’s hardly my first mistake, but it’s definitely my most horrific.” Guilt clamped down on her again, and she closed her eyes to keep from succumbing fully to it. “I should never have asked them for a home visit.”
She heard the scrape of Kendall’s chair, then felt his arms wrap around her and the warmth of his body against hers. “I was just kidding. I’m always kidding. It’s not your fault.”
Susan fully lost her composure, bursting into tears and clamping her arms tightly around Kendall. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The force of the crying jag prevented more words, and she collapsed against him.
Kendall held Susan, saying nothing, lightly stroking her hair with the patience of a father. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. No one could have known.”
Kendall had to say it; but, to Susan’s conscience, it was all lies. They had had more than enough warnings. It was not even the first time Sharicka had assaulted Misty. She had tried to kill her sister before. She had done so many terrible things and had proven herself manipulative and deadly dangerous. Somehow, Susan had allowed herself to believe a four-year-old would not have the wherewithal to kill, not under the watchful eye of educated, professional, and wary parents.
But even educated, professional, wary parents have to sleep. And the beast within Sharicka, apparently, never did, a charming four-year-old genius with a penchant for murder. Susan sobbed out, “I shouldn’t have suggested it. I shouldn’t have approved it. I shouldn’t have allowed it.”
Kendall cradled Susan’s head. “Hindsight is telescopic.”
“But I knew what she was. What she could do. I knew she was manipulating the nursing staff. Why did I let her manipulate me, too?”
“Because you’re human?” Kendall’s grip never wavered. “And she’s four years old. She’s a cute little bundle of baby fat. . . .”
“And homicidal fury, Kendall. What does a four-year-old have to be that angry about?”
“Angry?” Kendall’s voice revealed confusion. “I’ve never seen Sharicka angry, and I don’t think she’s lashing out in some kind of seething fury. She’s colder. Calculating. It’s as if she’s . . .”
“Possessed?” Susan tried.
“Do you believe in that?”
“No.” Susan found her faith in science wavering for the first time ever. “Do you?”
“No,” Kendall said without hesitation. “Just because we can’t explain everything yet doesn’t mean everything doesn’t have a logical explanation. I mean, so far, everything in history that people once attributed to supernatural phenomenon has been thoroughly and utterly disproven or explained.”
Susan did not argue. She was absolutely grounded in science. “Four years old, Kendall.”
“Almost five,” he reminded her. “And not the youngest killer in the world.”
That caught Susan off her guard. She finally pulled away far enough to look into his face. “Who’s the youngest?”
“Who knows? In every state in the union, probably in every country in the world, kids under the age of seven are automatically presumed not responsible for their criminal acts, including murder. We just throw a few meds at them, send them home, and wait until they kill someone else, when they’re old enough to prosecute.”
Susan wondered why Kendall knew that. And she did not. Likely, he had done some research since learning about Sharicka’s night. “What’s the youngest you’ve heard of?”
Kendall obliged. “Well, we have the Kelby Cross gun containment law because a two-year-old shot his sister.”
Susan knew that well-publicized case. “That was accidental. I’m talking about a deliberate act.”
Kendall reached across her to consult his palm-pross. He tapped a few buttons, then studied the screen. “In 2001, an Illinois three-year-old bashed in the skull of a two-year-old and injured a three-week-old left in his care.”
“Who would leave babies in the care of another baby?”
Kendall shrugged. “That’s not the point, is it?”
Susan supposed not. She had asked about children with a penchant for murder, not about irresponsible parents.
Kendall continued to consult the palm-pross. “In 2021, a three-year-old in Detroit fatally shot his drunk father while the father was beating the boy’s mother. A four-year-old girl in India snatched and killed three infants in separate incidents just last year. In 1986, a five-year-old shoved a three-year-old off a Miami Beach balcony and, when the younger boy grabbed onto a ledge, the older boy pried his fingers loose and dropped him five stories to his death. There have been at least three recent cases where kids, usually in groups of two or three, between the ages of three and six, brutally murdered infants or toddlers.”
It seemed insane to take solace in ghastly crimes, but it did help Susan to bring reality back to the fore. Sharicka was not possessed by some demonic entity; she was betrayed by some terrible defect in her brain. With any luck, the nanorobots could find it because, clearly, current treatments held out no hope for her at all.
By the time Susan fully regained her composure and Kendall returned to his work, the other residents had arrived. Soon afterward, Dr. Bainbridge came for rounds. They all looked so alert, clean, and well rested to Susan, who felt like she had aged a decade in the last few hours. She joined them reluctantly. The nurses may have talked to some of the residents, but they would leave Susan to break the news to the attending doctor.
Dr. Bainbridge swept in with all the authority in the universe. “Good morning, Doctors.” He looked around the assembled group, surely noticing the somber faces. “Judging by looks alone, I’d say Dr. Calvin took call yesterday.”
Stony Lipschitz stepped in to rescue Susan. “She’s had rather a bad morning, sir.”
The grin wilted from Bainbridge’s face. “Why wasn’t I called?”
The R-3 continued to take the heat. “I just found out about it myself an hour ago. It didn’t seem worth bothering you for that little bit of time.”
Susan had delayed calling her superiors until she had a reasonable grasp of the situation. She had also been taught not to bother sleeping people unless there was something they could do. Seeing no reason to prolong the agony, she explained, “Sharicka Anson went on a home visit yesterday. In the wee morning hours, she attacked her siblings, killing one and badly wounding the other. The police escorted her back here.”
Bainbridge listened intently without interrupting as Susan described the situation. When she finished, he stroked his chin thoughtfully. “So, I guess we can all see now why Susan came down so hard on a four-year-old when others mentioned discharge.” He looked around at the nurses intently. “Now does everyone understand the manipulativeness that characterizes the antisocial mind?”
Susan would not let her detractors take all the heat, though she did wish Shaden’s shift had not ended hours earlier. “I’m afraid she manipulated me, too, Dr. Bainbridge. I’m the one who okayed the home visit and suggested it to her parents.”