The girl shakes her head hard and burrows herself even further.
“No cops.”
“If she doesn’t wanna go, we can’t make her,” mutters Jake behind me, but I know what will happen if she doesn’t go. We’ll have to arrest her for breaking and entering, and shit will just head downhill from there.
“You know, I have a really nice friend who I think would love to talk to you,” I say softly, my hand still on the woman’s arm. “Her name is Jami, and she’s a social worker. I think she can really help you stay out of trouble, but you have to come with us to talk to her. Can you do that for us?”
The woman shakes her head no, head swinging so violently I think she might just lose it from her neck. “I don’t wanna be in trouble. I don’t wanna go to jail. Please leave me alone. No cops, no cops.”
I glance over my shoulder at Jake and Katie, who are waiting for me to make a final decision. I turn back to the woman on the curb.
“You have two choices,” I tell her. “You can come to the hospital with me to get help, or we can arrest you and take you to jail for the night. It’s up to you.”
I think she’s going to shake her head again, but after a moment, the girl looks up at me, and tears stain her cheeks. She looks over my shoulder at Jake and Katie, and after a long moment, she nods her head.
“Okay,” she whispers, and her voice shakes. “Okay. But no more cops. No more cops. He’ll kill me if he finds out. No more cops.”
11
JAMI
“Hi, Diana, my name is Jami. Doctor Shaffer wanted me to come in this morning and speak to you.”
The young woman looks up from the hands she’s been twisting anxiously to stare at me. She’s a mess. That much is clear. Then again, meth will do that to a person. The fresh track marks up and down her arms make me think she’s probably still riding her last high. Hair so dark it’s almost black hangs limply over the thin woman’s shoulders, and she’s going bald in some areas, either from lack of nutrition or maybe she’s merely pulling it out herself. Scars and scabs dot her face, and her arms are scratched and bloody from where she’s been picking at her skin.
“I don’t need help,” the woman mutters under her breath. “They brought me here against my will.”
“Someone called the police when you broke into their home,” I remind her. “You frightened them, and one of the officers gave you the opportunity to come here and speak to me instead of jail for the night. So, what were you doing in a stranger’s home? Were you looking for drugs?”
The woman twitches and then begins scratching at her arms again, shaking her head. “I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t.”
“Okay.” I sigh and set my clipboard aside, leaning forward to meet her eyes. “Some of the police on the scene wanted to take you to jail instead of bringing you here,” I tell her. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been through, either, but I have to be honest with you … this is your last chance. You have two options: you can stay here and detox, then let me help you find housing and a counselor, or you can walk out of his hospital right now and go to jail instead.”
“I don’t wanna go to jail,” the woman says. Her tone is soft at first, but it ticks up a few notches as her agitation grows. “I don’t wanna go to prison! And I don’t want more cops! He’ll kill me, he’ll fucking kill me!”
“Who will kill you?” I ask. “Are you in danger?”
“The man,” she says. “The man, the man will kill me.”
“Is he your pimp?” I ask, and Diana shakes her head again, still just as violently.
“Drugs,” she says. “It’s the drugs, it’s the cop, it’s the drugs, it’s the cop.”
“Okay.” I sit back in my chair a bit, knowing that until Diana is sober, she might not be able to speak with a clear head. “Do you intend to stay here and get clean?” I ask, and the woman nods so hard I fear her bony shoulders and neck might just collapse under the weight of her head.
“Can you protect me?” she asks, her voice trembling. “Can you protect me from the man? From the cop man? He’ll kill me. I want another hit. Can I get another hit?”
“No. We’re going to get you help, okay? You made the right decision, Diana.” I stand up and go to the linen closet for a hospital gown and hand it to the frightened woman. “Put this on, okay? I’m sending a nurse in to get an IV started. An officer might come by again to talk to you just to get some more details. You’re safe here, and we're going to help you, I promise.”
“Don’t leave,” Diana begs, and her hand snatches out to grip my wrist, pulling me back. Her eyes are wild, and a terrifying grimace crawls to her face.
“Hey, it’s okay.” I take a seat on the patient's bed next to her, allowing her to continue holding my wrist. “It’s safe in here, Diana. You’re safe here. I’m going to help you get past this, okay? I’m going to try and help you get your life back on track.”
Diana says nothing to this, but she nods, lank, dull hair brushing against her face. Her grip on my arm releases, and I squeeze her shoulder.
“Thanks,” she whispers, and I force my best social worker smile.
“You’re welcome. Go ahead and get changed. The nurse will be in shortly, and I’ll be back later to check on you.”
