One Door From Heaven

report and closing out the file without further action.
        Beyond the window, the day looked fiery. A nearby palm tree wore a ruffled collar of dead brown fronds. California burning.
        When she stopped typing and turned to Micky again, F said, "One more question, if you don't mind. You may consider it too personal to answer, and of course you're under no obligation."
        Wary, applying a smile no more sincere than lipstick, Micky hoped that the.machinery of Child Protective Services would get the job done in spite of how badly this interview had gone. "What is it?"
        "Did you find Jesus in jail?"
        "Jesus?"
        "Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Vishnu, L. Ron Hubbard. Lots of people find religion behind bars."
        "What I hope I found there was direction, Ms. Bronson. And more common sense than I went in with."
        "People take up lots of things in prison that are pretty much religions, even if they aren't recognized as such," the caseworker said. "Extreme political movements, left-wing and right-wing, some of them race-based, most with a grudge against the world."
        "I don't have a grudge against anyone."
        "I'm sure you realize why I'm curious."
        "Frankly, no."
        F clearly doubted Micky's denial. "We both know Preston Maddoc inspires hatred from various factions, both religious and political."
        "Actually I don't know. I really don't know who he is."
        F ignored this protestation. "Lots of people who're usually at odds with one another are united on Maddoc. They want to destroy him just because they disagree with him philosophically."
        Even with her bottomless reservoir of anger to draw upon, Micky wasn't able to pump up any rage at the accusation that philosophical motives drove her to character assassination. She almost laughed. "Hey, my philosophy is to make as few waves as possible, get through the day, and maybe find a little happiness in something that won't land you in a mess of trouble. That's as deep as I get."
        "All right then," said F. "Thank you for coming in."
        The caseworker turned to the computer.
        A long moment passed before Micky realized that she'd been dismissed. She didn't get up. "You'll send someone out there?"
        "It's got a case number now. There has to be follow-through."
        "Today?"
        F looked up from the computer, not at Micky but at one of the posters: a fluffy white cat wearing a red Santa hat and sitting in snow. "Not today, no. There's no physical or sexual abuse involved. The child isn't at immediate risk."
        Feeling as though she had failed completely to be understood, Micky said, "But he's going to kill her."
        Gazing wistfully at the cat, as if she wished she could crawl into the poster with it, trading the California meltdown for a white Christmas, F said, "Assuming the girl's story isn't a fantasy, you said he'll kill her on her birthday, which isn't until February."
        "By her birthday," Micky corrected. "Maybe next February- maybe next week. Tomorrow's Friday. I mean, you don't work on weekends, and if you don't get out there today or tomorrow, they might be gone."
        F's stare was so fixed, her eyes so glazed, that she appeared to be meditating on the image of the cat.
        The caseworker was a psychic black hole. In her vicinity, you could feel your emotional energy being sucked away.
        "Their motor home is being overhauled," Micky persisted, though she felt drained, enervated. "The mechanic might finish at any time."
        With a sigh, F snatched two Kleenex from the box and blotted her forehead carefully, trying to spare her makeup. When she threw the tissues in the waste can, she seemed surprised to see that Micky hadn't left. "What time did you say you had a job interview?"
        Short of sitting here until security was called to remove her, which wouldn't accomplish anything, Micky had no choice but to get up and move toward the door. "Three o'clock. I can make it easily."
        "Was it in prison you learned all about software applications?"
        Although the caseworker looked harmless behind a heretofore unseen smile, Micky expected that the question had been prelude to another insult. "Yeah. They have a good program up there."
        "How're you finding the job market these days?"
        This appeared to be the first genuine woman-to-woman contact since Micky entered the office. "They