When the Bough Breaks by Jonathan Kellerman

“It’s Alex. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
    As I talked she calmed down. I blabbed on, knowing that what I said was less important than how I said it. I maintained a low, rhythmic pattern of speech, easy-going, reassuring. Hypnotic.
    Soon she had slipped lower in the bed. I helped her lie down. Her hands unfolded. I kept talking to her soothingly. Her muscles began to relax and her breathing became slow and regular. I told her to close her eyes and she did. I stroked her shoulder, continued to talk to her, to tell her everything was all right, that she was safe.
    She snuggled into a fetal position, drew the covers over her, and placed her thumb in her mouth.
    “Turn off the light,” I said. The room became dark. “Let’s leave her alone.” The three of them left.
    “Now you’re going to continue sleeping, Melody, and you’ll have a very peaceful, restful night, with good dreams. When you wake up in the morning you’ll feel very good, very rested.”
    I could hear her snoring ever so slightly.
    “Goodnight, Melody.” I leaned over and gave her a light kiss on the cheek.
    She mumbled one word.
    “Da-da.”
    I closed the door to her room. Bonita was in the kitchen, wringing her hands. She wore a frayed man’s terrycloth robe. Her hair had been pulled back in a bun and covered with a scarf. She looked paler than I remembered as she busied herself cleaning up.
    Towle bent over his black bag. He clicked it shut, stood and ran his fingers through his hair. Seeing me he raised himself up to his full height and glared down, ready to give another lecture.
    “I hope you’re happy,” he said.
    “Don’t start,” I warned him. “No I-told-you-so’s.”
    “You can see why I was reluctant to tamper with this child’s mind.”
    “Nobody tampered with anything.” I could feel tension rising in my gut. He was every hypocritical authority figure I’d detested.
    He shook his head condescendingly.
    “Obviously your memory needs some polishing.”
    “Obviously you’re a sanctimonious prick.”
    The blue eyes flashed. He tightened his lips.
    “What if I bring you up before the ethics committee of the State Medical Board?”
    “You do that, Doctor.”
    “I’m seriously considering it.” He looked like a Calvinist preacher, all stern and tight and self-righteous.
    “You do it and we’ll get into a little discussion on the proper use of stimulant medication with children.”
    He smiled.
    “It will take more than you to tarnish my reputation.”
    “I’m sure it will.” My fists were clenched. “You’ve got legions of loyal followers. Like that woman in there.” I pointed toward the kitchen. “They bring their kids to you, human jalopies, and you tinker with them, give ’em a quick tune-up and a pill; you fix them to their specifications. Make them nice and quiet, compliant, and obedient. Drowsy little zombies. You’re a goddamn hero.”
    “I don’t have to listen to this.” He moved forward.
    “No you don’t, hero. But why don’t you go in there and tell her what you really think of her? Piss-poor protoplasm, and let’s see—bad genes, no insight.”
    He stopped in his tracks.
    “Easy, Alex.” Milo spoke from the corner, cautiously.
    Bonita came in from the kitchen.
    “What’s going on?” she wanted to know. Towle and I were facing each other like boxers after the bell.
    He changed his manner and smiled at her charmingly. “Nothing, my dear. Just a professional discussion. Doctor Delaware and I were trying to decide what was best for Melody.”
    “What’s best is no more hypnotizing. You told me that.”
    “Yes.” Towle tapped his foot, tried not to look uncomfortable. “That was my professional opinion.” He loved that word, professional. “And it still is.”
    “Well, you tell him that.” She pointed at me.
    “That’s what we were discussing, dear.”
    He must have been just a little too smooth, because her face got tight and her voice lowered suspiciously.
    “What’s to