My phone begins to ring as I drive home from the store. I glance at the screen and sigh when the caller ID reads Mike. I press the accept button. "What's up Mike? Everything good?"
There is a sigh on the other end, and I can almost see him rubbing his head. "Look Stef, I know today is your day off, but something has come up that we need your help with. Can you come in?"
"Mike, as I recall, it's your day off as well. What is so important that both of us need to come in?"
"There is a young girl here. She's soaked, but she won't talk to anyone. Won't let anyone go anywhere near her. And the guys and I think you might be able to get through to her. You're softer than us."
I scoff. "Well, Mike, I'm going to let that sexist comment slide for now. What makes you think I can get through to her?"
"Can you please just come in and try?"
I press my lips together in thought. "Okay, I will pop in and see what I can find out. Be there in about ten minutes. See you soon." I end the call before he can say anything else and quickly switch into the lane I need to be in.
Once I get to the station, I see immediately the girl that Mike was talking about. She is sitting in a chair in front of my desk. Her hair is plastered to her skin and her face is covered in bruises. She is scratching at her arms, and blood is mixing with the water on her skin.
Mike sees me and walks over. "She won't say anything. We have tried to get her to stop scratching, or to give her a towel to dry off with, but whenever we try she flinches away and moves away. I think some man might have given her those bruises and now she's afraid of men."
I shake my head. "Usually a fear like that develops over time. It's likely that those bruises aren't the first ones she's ever gotten." I slowly walk up and pull a chair in front of her. "Hello, sweetie, I'm officer Adams-Foster. Can you tell me your name?"
She shakes her head swiftly, sending droplets of water flying around her.
"Okay, you are safe here. Whoever did this to you, you are safe from them. Can you at least tell me who did this?"
She opens her mouth and looks like she's trying really hard to speak. After her attempt bears no fruit, she shuts her mouth tight and shakes her head.
I sigh and look down at my feet. "Mike, have you called social services yet?"
"Yeah, I did, but they can't get anyone here until next week."
"Damn." I look back up at the girl, who has resumed her scratching. I grab her arms gently and hold her hands in mine. "That's not good, hurting yourself isn't good. Let's get you out of these wet clothes and get your arms cleaned up, okay?"
She looks up from our hands to my face. She searches my eyes with her grey eyes and then slowly nods.
I smile. "Okay, there's a bathroom just down that hall, first door on the left. Take this towel and dry yourself off while I get you a change of clothes. Then we will clean up your arms." I watch as she gets up and grabs the towel. She goes into the bathroom and I turn to Mike.
"She can stay with us until the social worker can get her. In the meantime, I need to call a therapist."
"For you?"
I groan and look at him. "For her. I think she refuses to talk because of what happened to her. It's a defense mechanism. And we need to try to get past that if we have any chance of helping her." I sigh and go to look for a pair of clothes.
