Sweet Revenge

“Get out. Get out before I cut you into little pieces.”
    “I’m going.” He limped to the door, holding the dripping handkerchief to his face. “We’re through, baby. And if you think another agent’s going to take you on, you’re in for a surprise. You’re washed up, sweetheart. You’re nothing but a fucking joke in this town.” He pulled open the door when Phoebe advanced. “Don’t call me when you run out of pills and money.”
    When the door slammed, she heaved the bottle against it. She wanted to scream, to stand in the middle of the room, lift up her face, and scream. But there was Adrianne. Phoebe crouched beside her and gently gathered her close.
    “There, baby, don’t be afraid. Mama’s here.” Shivering, Adrianne curled against her. “I’m right here, Addy, right here. He’s gone. He’s gone and he’s never coming back. Nobody’s going to hurt you again.”
    Her shirt was in tatters. Phoebe wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter and rocked. There was no blood. She held on to that. He hadn’t raped her. God knew what he’d done to Adrianne before she found them, but he hadn’t raped her little girl.
    When Adrianne began to cry, Phoebe closed her eyes and continued to rock. The tears would help. No one knew better. “Everything’s going to be all right, Addy. I promise. I’m going to do what’s best for you.”

Chapter Nine
    She was eighteen years old. Adrianne stood in the quiet, pastel-toned office of Dr. Horace Schroeder, one of the leading authorities on abnormal behavior in the country. It was her birthday, but she didn’t feel any sweep of joy, any tingle of excitement.
    Outside the window was a long blanket of lawn, crisscrossed by bricked paths where people walked or were wheeled by white-coated orderlies and nurses. There was a weeping cherry in full bloom and an ornamental hedge of azaleas. She could see honeybees hovering over the blossoms, then streaking off, plump with nectar. Sun struck the water in a marble birdbath, but the robins and swallows that nested in the nearby grove of oak weren’t tempted today.
    Through the window she could see beyond the lawn and the trees to the shadows of the Catskills to the north. They gave the view a sense of openness, of freedom. Adrianne wondered if it was the same when the window was barred.
    “Oh, Mama.” She rested her forehead against the glass a moment, letting her eyes close and her shoulders droop. “How did we come to this?”
    When she heard the door open, she straightened quickly. Dr. Schroeder walked in to see a calm young woman, slightly too thin, in a pale blue suit. She’d pinned her hair up to add height and maturity.
    “Princess Adrianne.” He crossed to her, accepting the hand she offered. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting.”
    “It wasn’t long.” For Adrianne, five minutes in this place was too long. “You wanted to see me before I take my mother home.”
    “Yes. Please sit down.” He offered one of the wing chairs that helped his office look like a cozy parlor. There was an antique piecrust table beside it. On it was a discreet box of white tissues. Adrianne remembered having had need of them on her first visit two years before. Now she folded her hands in her lap and gave Dr. Schroeder a small smile. With his long-jawed face and sagging brown eyes, he made her think of a big, sad dog. “Can I get you some coffee or tea?”
    “No, thank you. I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for my mother—and for me.” When he started to brush this aside, she held up a hand. “No, I mean it. She feels very comfortable with you, and that means a great deal to me. I also know that you’ve done more than you had to do to keep details of her illness out of the press.”
    “All my patients have a right to their privacy.” He took a seat, choosing the chair beside her rather than the one behind his desk. “My dear, I know how much your mother means to you, and how concerned you are about her well-being. I’d like you to reconsider taking her home.”
    Adrianne braced herself. Though her eyes never wavered, her fingers tightened in her lap. “Are you telling me she’s had a relapse?”
    “No, no, not at all. Phoebe’s progress is satisfactory. The medication and treatment have done a great deal to stabilize her condition.” He paused, then let out a long breath. “I don’t want to crowd this conversation with technical terms. You’ve heard them all