Jonathan Kellerman - Devil's Waltz

I began coloring. The markers squeaked. Rustles came from the bed. Cindy stopped telling her story.

“Oh, look, honey, Dr. Delaware’s drawing . What are you drawing, Dr. Delaware?”

Before I could answer, the word doctor precipitated another tear-storm.

Again, maternal comfort squelched it.

I held up my masterpiece.

“Oh, look, honey, it’s a bunny . And he’s wearing a hat. And a bow tie — isn’t that silly ?”

Silence.

“Well, I think it’s silly. Do you think he’s one of the LuvBunnies, Cass?”

Silence.

“Did Dr. Delaware draw a LuvBunny?”

Whimper.

“C’mon, Cass, there’s nothing to worry about. Dr. Delaware won’t do anything to hurt you. He’s the kind of doctor who never gives shots.”

Bleats. It took a while for Cindy to calm her down. Finally she was able to resume her story. Princess Cassandra riding a white horse...

I drew a companion for Mr. HatBunny. Same rodent face but short ears, polka-dot dress — Ms. Squirrel. I added an amorphous-looking acorn, pulled the page out of the notebook, reached over and placed it on the bed near Cassie’s feet.

She whipped her head around just as I got back to my seat.

Cindy said, “Oh, look, he’s done a... prairie dog, too. And she’s a girl , Cass — look at her dress. Isn’t that funny ? And she’s got big dots all over her dress, Cass. That’s so funny — a prairie dog in a dress!”

Warm, womanly laughter. At the tail end, a child’s giggle.

“So silly . I wonder if she’s going to a party with that dress... or maybe she’s going to go shopping or something, huh? Wouldn’t that be silly, a prairie dog going shopping at the mall ? Going with her friend Mr. Bunny, and he’s got that silly hat on — the two of them are really dressed up silly. Maybe they’ll go to Toys “R” Us and get their own dolls — wouldn’t that be something, Cass? Yeah, that would be silly. Boy , Dr. Delaware sure makes silly pictures — wonder what he’s going to do now!”

I smiled and lifted my pencil. Something easy: hippopotamus... just a bathtub with legs...

“What’s your bunny’s name, Dr. Delaware?”

“Benny.”

“ Benny Bunny — that’s ridiculous !”

I smiled, concealing my artistic struggle. The bathtub was looking too fierce... The problem was the grin... too aggressive — more like a dehorned rhino... What would Freud say about that?

I performed reconstructive surgery on the critter’s mouth.

“Benny the Hat Bunny — didja hear that , Cass?”

High-pitched, little-kid laughter.

“And what about the prairie dog, Dr. Delaware? What’s her name?”

“Priscilla...” Working away. The hippo finally hippolike, but still something wrong... the grin venal — the greasy smirk of a carny barker... Maybe a dog would have been easier...

“Pris cil la the prairie dog! Do you believe that !”

“ Pilla !”

“Yes, Priscilla!”

“ Pilla !”

“Very good , Cass! That’s excellent! Priscilla. Can you say that again?”

Silence.

“Pri scil la — Pri-scil-la . You just said it. Here, watch my mouth, Cass.”

Silence.

“Okay, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Let’s get back to Princess Cassandra Silversparkle, riding Snowflake up into the Shiny Country...”

The hippo was finally done. Scarred by smudges and eraser abrasions, but at least it didn’t look as if it had a rap sheet. I placed it on top of the bedcovers.

“Oh, look, Cass. We know what this is, don’t we? A hippopotamus — and he’s holding a...”

“A yo-yo,” I said.

“A yo -yo! A hippo with a yo -yo — that is really silly. You know what I think, Cass? I think Dr. Delaware can be pretty silly when he wants to, even though he’s a doctor. What do you think?”

I faced the little girl. Our eyes locked once more. Hers flickered. The rosebud mouth began to pout, lower lip curling. Hard to imagine anyone being capable of hurting her.

I said, “Would you like me to draw some more?”

She looked at her mother and grabbed Cindy’s sleeve.

“Sure,” said Cindy. “Let’s see what other silly things Dr. Delaware can draw, okay?”

Minuscule nod from Cassie. She buried her head in Cindy’s blouse.

Back to the drawing board.

A mangy hound, a cross-eyed duck, and a spavined horse later, she was tolerating my presence.

I edged the chair closer to the bed, gradually. Chatted with Cindy about games and toys and favorite foods. When Cassie seemed to be taking me for granted, I pushed right up against the mattress and taught Cindy a drawing game — the two of us alternating turning squiggles into objects. Child analyst’s technique for building rapport and getting to the unconscious in a nonthreatening way.

Using Cindy as a go-between even as I studied her.

Investigated her .

I drew an angular squiggle and handed the paper to her. She and Cassie were snuggled together; they could have been a poster for National Bonding Week. Cindy turned the squiggle into a house and handed the paper back, saying, “Not very good, but...”

Cassie’s lips turned up a bit. Then down. Her eyes closed and she pressed her face against Cindy’s blouse. Grabbed a breast and squeezed. Cindy lowered the hand gently and placed it in her own lap. I saw the puncture marks on Cassie’s flesh. Black dots, like snakebites.

Cindy made easy, cooing sounds. Cassie nuzzled, shifted position, and gathered a handful of blouse.

Sleepy again. Cindy kissed the top of her head.

I’d been trained to heal, trained to believe in the open, honest therapeutic relationship. Being in this room made me feel like a con man.

Then I thought about raging fevers and bloody diarrhea and convulsions so intense they rattled the crib, remembered a little baby boy who’d died in his crib, and my self-doubts turned stale and crumbled.

By 10:45, I’d been there for more than half an hour, mostly watching Cassie lie in Cindy’s arms. But she seemed more comfortable with me, even smiling once or twice. Time to pack up and declare success.

I stood. Cassie started to fuss.

Cindy sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose, and said, “Uh-oh.”

Gently, she rolled Cassie onto her back and changed the little girl’s diaper.

Powdered, patted, and reclothed, Cassie remained restless. Pointing at the floor, she said, “Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!”

“Out?”

Emphatic nod. “ Ahd! ”

She got on her knees and tried to stand on the bed, wobbling on the soft mattress. Cindy held her under the arms, lifted her off, and placed her on the floor. “You want to walk around? Let’s get some slippers on you.” The two of them walked to the closet. Cassie’s pajama bottoms were too long for her and they dragged on the floor. Standing, she looked even tinier. But sturdy. Good steady walk, good sense of balance.

I picked up my briefcase.

Kneeling, Cindy put fuzzy pink bunny slippers on Cassie’s feet. These rodents had clear plastic eyes with movable black beads for pupils and each time Cassie moved, her feet hissed.

She tried to jump, barely got off the ground.

Cindy said, “Good jump, Cass.”

The door opened and a man came in.

He looked to be in his late thirties. Six two or so, and very slim. His hair was dark-brown, wavy, and thick, combed straight back and left long enough to curl over his collar. He had a full face at odds with the lanky physique, rounded further by a bushy, cropped brown beard flecked with gray. His features were soft and pleasant. A gold stud pierced his left earlobe. The clothes he had on were loose-fitting but well cut: blue-and-white striped button-down shirt under a gray tweed sport coat; baggy, pleated black cords; black running shoes that looked brand-new.