“What can you tell from this x-ray?” Liam’s lawyer asked the medical examiner, referring to the x-ray displayed in the front of the courtroom.
“Well, the obvious first things to note are the collapsed left lung and the broken left-fourth rib, the fracture being the likely cause of the collapsed lung,” the medical examiner stated.
“And what could have caused this?”
“These injuries are from a sharp blow to the chest, such as the airbags going off in a car accident, or a football tackle.”
“What caused it in this patient?” the lawyer asked.
Liam felt his chest tighten. He remembered that day so clearly.
“When the patient came in, the initial claim was that he fell down the stairs.”
“And that wasn’t the case?”
“I’m afraid not. The injuries suffered were inconsistent with a fall down the stairs. First of all, the rib was fractured in the front, in all my years I have seen very few falls down the stairs resulting in frontal rib fractures. Any bruises and scrapes on his body were old, and you don’t fall down a flight of stairs hard enough to collapse a lung and get off scotch free. The only other marking that appeared from that injury was a bruise going straight across his chest, like his chest was impacted with a long thin object, like a baseball bat.”
Liam cringed slightly at the memory. It wasn’t a baseball bat. His father had slammed him into the kitchen countertop.
“And what made you call social services?”
“Well, my initial medical exam indicated signs of abuse. There were old bruises and healing wounds, if you look at the x-ray there are signs of healing bruising on the right collarbone. When I asked him about the injuries, he got defensive, tried to make up excuses, saying he was an athlete, which I may have believed, but when I said I was going to call his parents, he panicked, and said not to. He gave me his mother’s work number, and said that was the only number to call. I called, and there was no answer, and he insisted that I keep calling that number. We had his father’s number on file, and I asked if I could call that number. He looked terrified. I knew something was wrong.”
“Was there anyone with him in the hospital? Friends, other family members?”
“No. He was alone. Paramedics said his sister called 911, but that she didn’t go in the ambulance with him. I don’t know why.”
It was because they had to go to school. Their mom had already gone off to work. Their dad had gone off on Leah, and Liam tried to defend her, so he ended up chest first into the countertop. Their father just rolled his eyes, and said something along the lines of “your bullshit made me late for work.” Then he left. They were supposed to get ready for the bus in half an hour. Leah called 911 when he started having trouble breathing. She wanted to go with him, but both of them knew she couldn’t. One of them missing school would cause their father to go insane, but both of them playing hooky was potentially catastrophic.
“Now, let’s go back, you called social services, correct?”
“Well, I went to try calling his mother again, and when I came back, he was gone. No 13 year old just rips out an IV and walks away after collapsing a lung. Most people can’t even walk after that, much less escape a hospital. He was running from something.”
“Do you know what happened to him after that?” the lawyer asked, making a subtle sideways glance at the defense that said ‘You’re fucked now’
Liam trailed his fingers along his jawline, feeling the subtle outline of the plate on there. Anyone who didn’t know it was there wouldn’t notice it, but he knew it was there.
“He came back into the hospital later that night,” the ME stated.
“He came in an ambulance. His mother and sister were there with him.”
“And why was he brought in?”
Liam clenched his jaw to hold back his tears. He turned his head to look at Gen, desperate to get some sort of salvation from this moment. She gave him a weak smile, clearly seeing how upset he was. He looked away, and down at his hands, wishing hers were there to hold. He began to fiddle with his wedding ring. It felt heavy. He wished he could just remove her from the room for this. He didn’t want her to know about this. She knew they left, but he chose to keep the details—these details—as to what actually made them leave. She knew his mom’s coworker (who their father knew nothing about) had given them money, and a place to stay in Rhode Island, which is how they ended up there. But he never told Gen the final straw. He never told her this. He couldn’t. He never wanted her knowing the darkest parts of his past.
At the same time, he would have done anything in that moment to have Gen next to him. He would do anything to be able to have her arms wrapped around him. He wanted—no, he needed her next to him, telling him that everything was going to be okay. He needed her right there, not in the gallery, which right now may as well have separated them by a hundred miles.
“By the time he arrived at the hospital, he had fallen unconscious. His mother said he had his head slammed into a bookshelf,” The medical examiner explained.
Liam felt his eyes fill with tears. His of all of that was a little fuzzy. But he did remember his father finding out he wasn’t in school, and the call to social services, or maybe he just knew that happened because he had been told so many times and created a memory of it. But he distinctively remembered his head hitting the bookshelf, and feeling his jaw crack against the wood. He remembered a loud, shocked gasp, but he never found out of it came from Leah or his mother.
“What injuries did he sustain?” the lawyer inquired.
Liam had his elbows propped on the desk, his hands clasped together, resting mouth on his intertwined fingers. He closed his eyes, a few tears falling, as he zoned out. He didn’t need to listen to the injuries he sustained. He knew. Severe concussion, whiplash, cracked cheekbone, 13 stitches total, and, of course, a broken jaw. The ME, who was a practicing doctor when she treated him, failed to mention the lovely bruise he had on that side of his face for the three weeks. Then there were the complications of the added stress on his still recovering lung. Liam didn’t need to listen to her, because he knew all too well.
Once the first few tears fell, they didn’t stop. He wasn’t a crier—with the exception of his wedding day—but they kept coming in this instance. He felt his mom’s hand on his back, rubbing it gently, but the tears kept coming. It might have even made it worse. He heard the ME explain how he had to be transferred to another hospital. He needed surgery on his jaw, but they needed to wait until they determined the severity of his concussion before anything. And with their very angry, clearly very violent father trying to get into the hospital, they transferred him the first chance they got, rather than waiting until after surgery. The memory made him sick, despite it being fuzzy. He remembered the faint sounds of his father yelling in the distance, and being absolutely terrified. His father had been violent always, but he never got his head smashed. Who knew what would happen if Liam’s father got his hands on him. They knew that their father was trying to get into the hospital, but to this day, he still isn’t sure if the yelling was a figment of his imagination. But he knew he was scared.
He remembered constantly apologizing to his mom for ruining everything. Terrified as he was, he felt like he had ruined their family. If he didn’t go to the hospital, social services would have never been called, none of this would be happening. He was 14, and just had his head smashed into a bookshelf, yet he thought it was his fault their family was being ruined. Who the fuck makes their child think that way?
Hot tears continued running down his face. He was just so angry. He wanted all of this to end now. He hated all of it. He hated testimonies. He hated lawyers. He hated crying. He hated courtrooms. He hated Ohio. He hated this trial. He hated that he had to do it twice. But most of all, more than anything, he hated his father.
