Chapter 6 - The Affidavit
It took two hours to give my statement.
I didn't leave out a single detail. I told Deputy Miller about the morning sickness that had kept me in bed since five AM, about Evelyn coming into my bedroom and pulling the sheets off my frame, about Caleb holding my arm while Thomas dragged me down the stairs to the North Barn.
I told him about the scattered apples. I told him about the water bottle. I told him about the rusted iron pin on Stall Four and the sound of Goliath's iron shoe breaking Caleb's leg.
Hannah sat beside my bed the entire time, confirming every detail, her voice clear, precise, and unwavering.
When I finished, Deputy Miller signed the bottom of three white carbon-copy pages, tore them from his pad, and slid them into a heavy manila folder.
"This is an affidavit for felony domestic battery, unlawful restraint, and reckless endangerment of a pregnant person," Miller said, his face dark and grim. "Based on Hannah's eyewitness testimony and the physical evidence on your leg, I'm issuing a warrant for Caleb Vance and Evelyn Vance before the sun goes down."
"What about Thomas?" Hannah asked softly.
Miller looked at her for a long second. "Thomas facilitated the restraint by removing the mobility equipment. He'll be cited as an accessory to felony assault."
He closed the folder with a sharp snap.
"Deputy," I said, reaching out to touch his sleeve as he turned to leave. "Evelyn has power in this county. She knows the judge. She knows the land board."
Miller looked down at my hand, then at the blue scar running across my leg where the surgeons were preparing to re-insert the surgical pins.
"Evelyn Vance owns three hundred acres of corn, Eleanor," Miller said quietly. "But she doesn't own the State of Indiana. And after what she did in that barn today... there isn't a judge in this circuit who will let her step within five hundred feet of you again."
He pulled a white door key from his pocket and laid it on my bedside table.
"I had one of my deputies go to your farmhouse thirty minutes ago," Miller added. "We secured your personal belongings, your clothes, your legal documents, and your vehicle. Everything is locked in the trunk of Hannah's car down in the garage. The house is sealed by county court order."
He turned and walked out of the room, his heavy boots squeaking against the clean linoleum floor.
Ten minutes after Miller left, the door to Room 204 swung open again without a knock.
Evelyn Vance stepped through the threshold.
She had changed out of her blood-stained denim apron, but her hair was still disheveled, her face pale and sunken, her thin hands trembling as she clutched a leather handbag against her ribs.
Behind her stood two hospital security guards, their hands resting near their belts, keeping a three-foot distance behind her shoulder.
"You have five minutes, Mrs. Vance," the senior guard said sternly. "The deputy said you could speak to your daughter, but you are not to approach the patient's bed."
Evelyn ignored the guard. She walked straight to the foot of my bed, her cold, sunken eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that would have made me recoil three hours ago.
Now, I just stared back at her, my chin resting on my palm, my arm resting over my baby.
"You're satisfied now, aren't you?" Evelyn whispered, her voice rattling in her throat like dry straw. "Caleb is in surgery in Indianapolis. They're telling me he might never walk without a limp again. The sheriff is standing outside the lobby waiting to serve me with papers."
"You did that to your son, Evelyn," I said, my voice cool and measured. "You put him in that stall. You told him to stand over me while that horse was loose."
"He was protecting this family!" Evelyn hissed, taking a half-step forward until the security guard laid a heavy hand on her collarbone.
"He was protecting your pride," I corrected her. "And now he's paying for it."
Evelyn turned her hawkish gaze toward Hannah, who was sitting rigid in the visitor's chair by the window.
"Hannah," Evelyn said, her voice dropping into that quiet, terrible tone of maternal authority she had used to control her children for twenty years. "Get your coat. We're going to Indianapolis to see your brother. You're coming home right now."
Hannah didn't flinch. She didn't look down. She looked her mother straight in the eye, her posture straight and proud.
"I am home, Mom," Hannah said softly. "I'm right where I belong."
"You are a Vance!" Evelyn barked, her voice echoing off the white walls. "You belong on that farm! You belong with your blood!"
"If that's what blood means," Hannah said, pointing to the dark red stains still visible on the knees of her denim jeans, "then I don't want any part of it ever again."
Evelyn stared at her daughter for three long seconds—her face undergoing a horrific, terrifying transformation as she realized, finally and completely, that her hold over her youngest child was broken forever.
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"The guard will escort you out now, Mrs. Vance," the security officer said, turning her by the shoulder and guiding her toward the open doorway.
Evelyn didn't fight him. She let herself be led backward out of the room, her eyes fixed on my face until the heavy wooden door clicked shut between us, sealing her out for good.
