Chapter 2 - The Emergency Room
The white lights of Vanderbilt Children's Hospital emergency room buzzed like an angry insect against the raw edges of my nerves. Nurses moved with quiet, practiced urgency, their scrubs swishing against the linoleum floor as they wheeled gurneys past the glass doors.
I stood holding Micah’s small, cold hand in mine while two nurses and an attending physician worked over Elsie in Trauma Bay Three. Through the glass partition, I watched them slip an oxygen mask over her face. Her tiny chest rose and fell in jerky, exhausted rhythms.
Dr. Sandra Vance, a pediatrician with sharp eyes and kind lines around her mouth, stepped out into the hallway and pushed the heavy glass door shut behind her.
"Mr. Mercer?" she asked, her voice low and steady.
"I'm here. How is she?" The words felt heavy, scraping against a throat that had gone entirely dry over the last twenty minutes.
"She’s severely dehydrated, Mr. Mercer. Her blood sugar was dangerously low, and she has a high fever stemming from a secondary urinary tract infection and exhaustion. We’ve started an IV line for fluids and glucose, and we're giving her broad-spectrum antibiotics. You got her here just in time. A few more hours..." She didn't finish the sentence, but she didn't need to. The implication hung in the sterile air between us like a physical weight.
"Can I see her?"
"In just a moment. We're getting her settled into a regular room upstairs. But before we do that, we need to talk about what happened." Dr. Vance’s expression tightened slightly, professional warmth shifting into something guarded. "The intake nurse noted severe malus conditions. Her weight is significantly down from her pediatric chart three months ago. She hasn't just missed a meal today. Her body is showing signs of prolonged deprivation."
Beside me, Micah squeezed my fingers. I looked down at him. His eyes were wide, staring up at me with a terrifying level of adult comprehension.
"Her mother was supposed to have them this week," I said, my jaw clenching so hard my teeth ached. "I thought they were at a lake cabin. She told me she was taking them out of town."
Dr. Vance exchanged a brief, heavy look with a social worker who had materialized quietly beside her with a clipboard.
"Mr. Mercer," the social worker said gently, introducing herself as Sarah Jenkins. "When was the last time you spoke directly to the children's mother before today?"
"Monday morning," I said, a cold knot forming in my stomach. "She texted me. She said they were heading out, and that cell service would be spotty. She does freelance graphic design; sometimes she goes off-grid for projects. I didn't question it. We have a shared custody schedule. I trusted her."
"Well," Sarah Jenkins said, her pen poised over the paper. "We've already attempted to contact Delaney Mercer through the emergency numbers on file. Her phone is off. And according to the landlord of the rental house in East Nashville, the lease was terminated two weeks ago. The neighbors haven't seen her around the property in days."
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The floor seemed to tilt beneath my shoes. Terminated two weeks ago.
If they hadn't been living there, where had Delaney been? And more importantly, where were my children living for the past fourteen days?
