Chapter Thirty-One

“Leave it to you,” Vance chuckles as he steps into my office.

“Leave it to me what?” I ask.

He drops down into the chair across from my desk and sits back. He looks at me for a long moment, a smile playing upon his lips. I have no idea what he's doing here or what he is finding so amusing. We just sit there, staring at each other from opposite sides of my desk.

I've had a few consultations with patients the last few days and it feels good to get back into my normal routine.

“You know,” he finally says. “When most people go out of town or on vacation, they bring back a postcard. A shot glass or some other kitschy, lame little souvenir maybe. But you? You bring back a pregnant cult member.”

“Cult escapee,” I correct him with a chuckle.

“Right, right,” he replies. “Cute girl. Smart. How in the hell did she end up in a cult?”

“Her parents sold her into it,” I tell him. “Is she with Jean?”

He nods. “Yeah, she's giving her a prenatal checkup,” he says. “So, this cult – given that you took one of theirs, are they going to be coming after you? Should we hire armed security for the place?”

“Nah,” I say. “We'll be fine. We ditched them back in Colorado.”

“How'd you do that?”

I tell him the story of our escape and he sits back in his seat, his eyes a little wider, but a look that says he's impressed upon his face.

“Look at you go, soldier boy,” he says. “Guess all that Army training came in handy after all.”

“Looks like.”

We sit in silence for a moment. I can tell there are a million questions rocketing through his mind – Vance has always been the curious type. Or as I like to call it, the nosey type. And I know that one of the questions at the top of his list is whether or not I’m sleeping with Calee. It's a question I don't want to answer only because I don't want him to think that's why I'm helping her. Why I brought her here all the way from Colorado.

What happened the other night was amazing. And I know there's something building between she and I. Something special. Something I've never had or felt before. But it's so new and so fragile – and there's still so much I don't yet understand – that I'm afraid to even speak about it. Afraid that everything will crumble and blow away in the slightest puff of wind.

“What are you going to do about that cult?” he asks.

“About the only thing I can do,” I reply. “Call the cops and see what they can do. Calee says there are still girls there being held against their will. Something needs to be done about that.”

He nods and gives me a grin. “When did you start getting all do-gooder on me?”

I shrug. “I've always been a do-gooder,” I say. “You've just never noticed until now.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he says and checks his watch. “Got a consult in a couple of minutes. I'll check in on you later. Glad to have you back.”

“Glad to be back.”

He leaves my office, closing the door as he goes, and I check my email. Nothing that needs to be dealt with immediately, and I don't have any other consults until later today. I sit back and figure that when Calee is done with Jean, I'll take her to get some lunch or something.

As I sit there, looking at my computer screen, I decide it's time. Something needs to be done about Raymond and his band of freaks. I open up Google and find the number of the Elk Plains Sheriff's Department, jotting it down on my notepad.

I punch the speaker phone button on my phone and dial the number. The call connects and a moment later, starts to ring. The call is answered on the second ring.

“Elk Plains Sheriff's Department,” says the woman I assume to be the receptionist.

“Yes, hello,” I say, looking at the computer screen again. “Can I speak with Sheriff Fitzgerald, please?”

“Tell him who's calling?” she asks.

“Dr. Eric Galloway,” I say. “Tell him this is about Noah's Children.”

“Hang on, hon.”

There's a click on the line followed by some obnoxious country tune. I twirl a pen around my fingers and sit back in my chair. A couple of moments later, there is another click on the line.

“Sheriff Fitzgerald.”

“Sheriff Fitzgerald,” I say. “My name is Dr. Eric Galloway from San Diego, California –”

“California, you say?” he asks. “Thought you were calling about Noah's Children.”

“I am,” I say. “I recently – met – a member who just escaped from that cult. And according to her –”

“Escaped, huh?” he says. “You got a name?”

I sigh, his abrupt manner irritating me. “I'll get to that soon,” I say. “But, this person says that the cult not only has a stockpile of illegal weapons, but that they're keeping girls – young girls – against their wills. She says they're being married to older men and treated as sex slaves.”

The Sheriff chuckles, his voice deep and gravelly. “Tell me something I don't know.”

I look at the phone feeling somewhat dumbstruck by his comment. “If you know, then why haven't you done anything about it?”

“It's called proof, son,” he says. “We've raided the place more times than I can count. Brought the Feds in too. And we can never find these magical, mysterious weapons. And whenever we interview the girls, they all say things is on the up and up and they've never been happier in their lives. And because we got freedom of religion in this country, they're free to worship as they see fit – even if that means livin' out on some damn commune like they do – and we can't do shit about 'em.”

“Surely, there has to be some way to get rid of them,” I say.

“Believe me, I want to. More than you know, son,” the Sheriff says. “And I've tried. But I ain't got a legal leg to stand on.”

“But they apparently have a huge cache of illegal –”

“We ain't got probable cause,” he says. “And I'm all out of favors with the local judges. Ain't nobody gonna issue me anymore warrants to search unless I bring 'em some physical proof. Your escapee have any physical proof?”

I sigh and lean back in my chair again. “No. All she had were the clothes on her back.”

“Believe me, I'd really like to help you out,” he says. “You got no idea how much I'd love to run them assholes out on a rail. But I gotta follow the law. Come back to me with some proof and we can talk.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks.”

I disconnect the call and tap my pen against my desk. I understand the position the Sheriff is in, but it's screwed. Young girls are being abused by deviants out there and there's nothing that can be done? It's bullshit.

I don't know what more can be done though. I don't like it, but we might have to just leave things be. Calee is safe. And that unfortunately, might have to be good enough.

A brief knock followed by the sound of my door opening draws my attention. I look up to find Jean standing in the doorway. There's a look of uncertainty on her face as she looks at me.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Come in,” I say. “Please.”

She walks in and sits down across from me. The look on her face tells me that she's still pissed about the last conversation we had – which, I don't exactly blame her for. I did act like an asshole.

“Did you finish with Calee's prenatal check?”

She nods. “Everything's fine,” she says. “Mother and fetus are both in pretty good health. I gave the girl some vitamin supplements she's a little deficient on. Other than that though, everything checks out.”

I nod and let out a small breath of relief. I had no reason to worry, but for some reason, when Jean took her back, I started to worry about the ten thousand things that could be wrong, imagining every worst-case scenario I could think of.

It was ridiculous, really. Completely irrational. But hearing Jean give Calee a clean bill of health eases my mind in ways I didn't even know it needed to be eased.

“Is there anything else, Dr. Galloway?”

“Yes, actually,” I say. I sit back in my chair and clear my throat before looking up at her again. “Listen, Jean, I wanted to apologize. The last time we spoke – didn't go well. And that's my fault. I was going through some things and took it out on you. You didn't deserve that.”

“No, I didn't,” she replies and then looks at me, her eyes softening. “But at the same time, I know I can be a little overbearing. I know I can sometimes overstep my bounds. I never should have tried to correct you with Mrs. Renfro. That's not my place.”

We both sit back in our seats and look at each other for a long moment – the silence between us, for a change, not filled with tension.

“I know we don't see eye to eye on some things,” I say, “but I want you to know that I value you and the job you do. You're an amazing nurse practitioner and a real asset to our office. I honestly don't know what we'd do without you.”

The look on her face is priceless. Her eyes are wide and she's looking at me like I just sprouted a second head or something. Slowly, she manages to regain her composure.

“Forgive me for asking,” she says. “But, have you been drinking today?”

I laugh and shake my head. “No, I'm as sober as the proverbial judge,” I say. “I'm just sort of seeing things a little – differently, lately. Believe it or not, I'm trying to become a better person.”

She arches her eyebrow and shoots me a smile. “This wouldn't have anything to do with the sultry little brunette in the other room now, would it”

I shrug. “Can't a guy just decide he wants to turn over a new leaf?”

“Sure,” she says. “But having a gorgeous young woman to turn over that new leaf for never hurts.”

“Doesn't make the change any less sincere.”

“Didn't say it did,” she replies. “Just noting that sometimes, a little extra motivation can help spur those changes. But at the root of it, you need to want to change for yourself. If you don't, eventually you'll slide back into your old ways – sultry little brunette or not.”

I laugh and lean back in my seat again. “You have wisdom beyond your years, Jean.”

“Yeah, I know,” she says and smiles.

“Listen,” I say. “As part of this new leaf I'm turning over, I'd like to start fresh with you if that's possible. We've butted heads more times than I can count and I'd like to put an end to that. I would like for us to have a good working relationship.”

She looks at me for a long moment and gives me the warmest smile I think she's ever given me. “I'd like that too.”

“I'm happy to hear that.”

There's an awkward moment of silence between us with neither of us knowing what to say after that. She clears her throat and stands, telling me she needs to check in on a patient and I tell her I have some paperwork to catch up on. But as she walks out, she pauses at the door and turns back to me.

“She's good for you, I think,” she says.

“Sorry?”

“Calee,” she says. “I think she's good for you. You just seem – different. Somehow, more at peace.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that there's always been this darkness in you,” she says. “And today? It somehow seems lessened. Maybe not entirely gone, but diminished. And I think it has everything to do with Calee. She's good for you.”

I smile and look at my desk, heat flaring in my cheeks. “I think so too,” I say. “Thank you, Jean.”

She gives me another smile and leaves my office, gently shutting the door behind her.