Tatonka, I

“Well, it’s not like she has anything to pack, so I don’t see why - ”

“Ben.”

“ - And she’s not going to get anywhere if she just keeps sleeping in that goddamn tent every night, and you know that as well as anyone, so don’t - ”

“Ben.”

“ - I know you said it could have been a rape. You know what I think - but even if you’re right, she can’t deal with that properly here, can she? She needs to take it up in a court of law - ”

“Ben, would you listen to me, for a single fucking minute?”

Caitie rarely ever raised her voice, not like that. Whenever she did, it meant business. Ben stared, shocked.

“Okay,” he croaked.

“I’m going to tell you something important, and I don’t want you to get angry. At least, not until I’m done explaining. All right?”

“Okay,” he repeated, although sounding unsure.

“This morning Charlie talked to Jeff and I about it, and it took a while, but I agree with him now. It may take you some time, too, but I know you better than to stay mad for long. You’re too perceptive, anyway.”

She sat down with her iced tea, and patted the spot beside her. Ben took it.

“Elsa is not being cooperative. You are aware of this. We’ve been paying a lot of attention to her, Ben. Mannerisms, ticks, social behavior, the works. Charlie’s been taking note of everything she does. We want to be able to understand her.”

“And?”

Catie took a long gulp from her tea and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. “She’s depressed.”

Ben squinted at her. “Oh. Well, yeah. Isn’t that sort of evident by now, though?”

“Hon,” Caitie sighed, “Let me finish. You’ve got to understand that there are many different levels of depression. Many. We’re not talking about the whole teenage phase where life treats you harsh so you go harm yourself in the corner, in hopes somebody will notice your ‘agony.’ No. It’s not the attention-grabbing sort of thing where all you want to do is dump your overly dramatic crap on somebody who will pity you.”

“I know that,” Ben said.

“Good. Keep listening. In Elsa’s case, Charlie and I have come to the conclusion that she needs some help.”

“And I agree completely, but -- ”

“Not listening,” Caitie said, her voice sing-songy, and continued without letting Ben have room to protest. “Elsa is very bizarre, Ben. Very. She won’t be affected by people who shrink at her all the time. There’s something else there that those types of people wouldn’t be able to lay a finger on.”

“And what would that be?”

“She’s homeless, Ben. She’s broke. No hospital in the world knows that language.”

“Did she tell you that she’s homeless?”

“No. But honestly, think about it. If she weren’t, wouldn’t she have something to get back to? And in the scenario that she’s running away from something, wouldn’t she at least have taken some belongings with her?”

“What about amnesia?”

“Same thing. Not being able to remember anything practically makes her homeless. She’s got no money, no insurance, no family to speak of. A walking time bomb.”

“I know where you’re going with this, and I don’t like it.”

“Do you? Tell me, what do you think?”

“Caitie, she can’t live here. She just can’t.”

“And why not? Why are you so dead-set against it?” She looked at him with curiosity.

“Because she’ll be out of place. She’ll be restless. I can feel something unsettling about her, and it’s worrying me. I don’t think she’s… I don’t think…”

He trailed away. “Never mind.”

“No, tell me. Tell me.”

“I don’t think she’s safe,” he blurted. Then he looked away.

“What makes you say that?” Caitie asked, sounding amused by him.

“Can’t you feel it, too?” Ben asked hopelessly. “She’s a creep. She’s dangerous. She’s planning something, I know it.”

“So cynical,” Caitie sighed sadly.