Do No Harm

"When the study started, Doug didn't think much of it. They paid good-a grand a kid, I think-and he never dreamed they'd do anything harmful to any of them. Two kids went off and did the study. Frank Grant and Clyde something. It was an awful, awful thing. That's a vulnerable age, especially for kids like us. If they wanted to study fear in kids, they could have asked just about any one of us about it and we could have answered. We didn't need snakes and lights and stuff to scare us. Not us."

"Did Frank and Clyde have problems when they got back?"

"Frank wasn't back for long. He got moved somewhere else, down to San Diego or Oceanside or something. But the other kid, he did some awful stuff."

"Like what?"

Tommy returned and stood beside David. He rubbed the top of David's head, and David took his hand and held it, mostly because he wasn't sure what else to do with it. Rhonda stood and handed Tommy the Business section, and he sat and happily resumed his folding.

"That's what we weren't supposed to talk about. They gave some money, so we wouldn't talk to the press, or other foster homes that were involved in the study. They didn't want to admit anything to the others, you know. Liability and stuff. I guess I can understand."

"I'm a representative of the hospital, so that arrangement doesn't apply to me." The limits and conditions of David's honesty, he was discovering, were different from what he'd have hypothesized during a calmer week.

Rhonda took a deep breath. "The other kid, Clyde, he used to wake up the younger kids in the middle of the night and, well, sort of torture them. Doug had no idea this was going on. Not until later. Doug was a good parent to us."

It seemed that, despite the fact that DaVella had rented him out to the hospital, Clyde still felt a certain attachment to him. It was, after all, Da-Vella's name he had chosen to steal. "How would Clyde torture them?"

"Well, there's an upstairs room with exposed rafters. We had three kids in there, five to sevens. Clyde used to string rope over the rafters and make a noose, then dangle the kids just above the ground, so their tiptoes could barely reach. He'd sit there, holding the other end, watching them struggle. The thing that was most awful was, the other two kids had to watch. He'd rotate them, one a night. They were showing up all exhausted at breakfast, none of them sleeping at all, waiting up scared all night. Imagine that, lying in the dark, trying to sleep, but knowing what's coming… It must have been terrifying."

Clyde's own reversal of the experiments. Inflicting fear on others. Empowering himself. He'd certainly succeeded with his alkali assaults at the hospital. Not just by frightening the women he'd attacked, but in creating an environment of intense alarm and anxiety all through the Med Center. The same hospital that had once victimized him the same way.

Rhonda shook her head, her eyes clouding. "None of them would tell, either. Scared, I guess. Doug noticed red marks around one kid's neck but thought it was from wrestling. And then Jim Kipper died. Clyde dangled him too long and he just… died. Doug heard the body hit when Clyde relaxed the rope. Ran in there. The two other kids were crying. Clyde was in shock."

"What did he say?"

Her cheek twitched below her right eye. "He said he was just trying to scare him."

The same thing he'd told the cops about why he'd flashed the hooker. David tried not to let his emotions show in his face. It had been the Med Center that had expunged Clyde's juvenile record, in order to protect the cover-up from future investigations. And the Med Center had paid off DaVella specifically not to alert the other foster parents, so it wouldn't be opened up to paying other settlements. They'd taken kids already terrified of the world and their place in it, and turned up the volume of their fear, yielding remarkable results for the study. Then they'd released these kids back into society, traumatized and angry, and taken no steps to ensure their safety or the safety of those around them.

And David's mother had helped cover it up, providing spin control. His emotions, loose and searing, were of little use right now. He tried to refocus.

"They took him off to a youth detention center," Rhonda was saying. "You know how that goes. Vicious cycle picks up speed."

"Have you noticed anything strange around the house lately?"

"Oh, you know. Bad part of town, so the usual. Spray paint. Mail rifled through from time to time. Someone killed a dog out in our lot last night, but the cops thought it was a cult thing."

"Last night? Who found it?"

"One of my girls. Layla. Like from the Clapton song."

"Can I talk to her?"

"I think she's napping, but I guess I could wake her up."