Текст книги "Malevolent"

Автор книги: Jana Deleon

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“I’m sorry,” Emma said once she regained a semblance of control. “I thought I could handle repeating it.”

“Please don’t apologize. What you described is horrifying. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t upset.”

Emma gave her a small smile. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“No.” Shaye’s response was immediate, and more importantly, the truth. “I think you’re traumatized, and rightly so, but I see no evidence of crazy. What about an alarm system? You didn’t mention one.”

“My aunt installed one right after Hurricane Katrina. Things got rough in the neighborhood for a while, and a senior living alone was an easy target. So it’s old, but it was working fine until two nights ago.”

“The night the man was in your house?”

Emma nodded. “I tried to set it before I went to bed and it was dead. We’d had a big storm that afternoon and lightning fried my satellite, so I figured it took out the alarm as well. At least, that’s what I tried to convince myself, but if I really believed it was all nothing, I wouldn’t have planned an escape route in my old bedroom. I wouldn’t have staged the master bedroom to look like I was sleeping there and had left through a window. Deep down, I knew something wasn’t right.”

“Did you go to the police after you saw the man?”

“Yes. First thing the next morning.”

“I take it they didn’t believe you.”

“An officer took my statement, and two detectives came to my house to check out the doors and windows. But with no sign of forced entry and no hard evidence, there was nothing they could do.”

“I have to ask, are you certain your husband died?”

Emma nodded. “He bled out. I know he did. And I saw the body before he was cremated. He was dead. I’d bet my RN license on it. But…”

“How could he be stalking you now?”

“Exactly.”

Despite the fact that Emma’s story was impossible, Shaye had already come up with a possible scenario. It was a matter of proving it. “I have an idea. I believe that you are being stalked, and that the man stalking you can’t be your husband. You saw him in the moonlight, and given the heightened state of emotion, you could have been mistaken. Maybe the man was similar enough in appearance for you to mistake him for your husband.”

“But the whistling.”

“He might not have had living relatives or close friends, but your husband didn’t live in a vacuum. If he turned on you, wouldn’t it make sense that others might have gotten the same treatment?”

Emma frowned. “Yes, that’s possible, sure, but why come after me? I don’t have much in liquid assets and have never had trouble with other people beyond the normal job kind.”

“That is what I’m going to find out.”

Emma blew out a breath. “So you’ll take the case?”

“Yes. But you’re going to have to discuss your husband at length. I’ll need to know everything about him in order to find out who else could have known details about him and about you.”

“Apparently, what I know about my husband is a whole lot of nothing, but I will do anything to stop this. Anything at all.” She glanced at her watch. “My shift starts in thirty minutes, though.”

“That’s okay. I’ll want to start checking into your husband’s background…coworkers, military buddies, anyone who might be able to shed some light on things.”

“Great. I’ll email you all his personal information. Will that work?”

“That’s fine. I’ll do some poking around and then call to schedule another meeting. Are you still staying in the home?”

“No. I booked a hotel close to the hospital. I’m afraid to go back home, but I can’t afford to live like a vacationer forever.” She sighed. “I’ve always loved that house, but now, I can’t imagine spending another night in it. I started thinking about selling right after I…right after David…”

Emma pulled a checkbook from her purse. “You’ll need a retainer. How much?”

“My rate is seventy-five an hour plus expenses. A thousand is fine for the retainer.”

“Is that enough time?”

“I won’t know until I get started, but let’s not worry about that now.”

Emma wrote a check and passed it to Shaye, then dug a business card from her purse and handed Shaye that as well. A number was handwritten on the back of it. “That’s my cell phone number. I can’t answer during shift—hospital rules—but I check it on breaks. If it’s critical, call the hospital and they’ll page me.”

Emma rose from the couch and pulled her purse over her shoulder. Shaye followed her to the front door. As Emma stepped outside, Shaye put a hand on her shoulder. “Ms. Frederick, can I ask you a question?”

“Please, we’ve got to be close to the same age. Call me Emma, and of course you can ask a question.”

“Why me? You could have hired someone with far more experience.”

Emma smiled. “A nurse I work with recommended you. She said you would believe me even when no one else would.”

Shaye frowned. “Who is the nurse that recommended me?”

“Clara Mandeville.” Emma turned and hurried off down the sidewalk. She jumped into a black Nissan Altima parked a couple buildings down and pulled out into the afternoon traffic. Shaye watched as the car faded into the distance.

Clara Mandeville. 

The name sent Shaye careering back nine years.

Back to the first day for which she had any memory.

Chapter Two

Corrine Archer poked her head inside Eleonore Blanchet’s office and gave her friend a pleading look. “Please tell me you don’t have a client coming anytime soon.”

Eleonore raised one perfectly arched eyebrow up and gestured to the chair in front of her ornately carved antique desk. “I cleared my afternoon.”

Corrine plopped into the cushy leather chair. “Am I that transparent?”

Eleonore smiled. “I’ve known you for twenty-six years. I’ve written prescriptions for people I’ve known less than an hour.”

“That’s comforting.” But not untrue. Eleonore had been working her way through medical school when she’d taken the position of tutor and nanny to a twelve-year-old Corrine, who’d just lost her mother. The two had bonded so well that the friendship continued after Eleonore finished medical school. Eleonore was the one person in the world, besides her father and Shaye, who Corrine completely trusted.

Eleonore turned to open the credenza behind her and pulled out a snifter and an individual serving of scotch. She poured it in the glass and pushed it across the desk along with a package of shortbread cookies.

Corrine sighed and lifted the glass for a sip. “It’s really unnerving…having someone know you so well.”

“Especially when you’re not sleeping with them.”

“If my dry spell continues, I might consider it.”

Eleonore snorted. “You’re not having a dry spell. It’s a voluntary drought. Things are probably starting to wither.”

“I am not withering. Jesus, Eleonore.”

“Uh-huh. When was the last time you had a date?”

Corrine frowned, searching her mind for something that could be passed off as date-like. “Last month. The art festival,” she said, feeling slightly triumphant that she’d come up with something to pass muster.

“The art festival that you helped sponsor? Where your ‘date’ was one of the artists? The very gay artist?”

Damn it. Was there anything that happened in New Orleans that Eleonore didn’t know about? “We had dinner and he held my hand,” Corrine argued.

“The word ‘date’ implies the potential for romance. You weren’t sporting the right equipment, honey.”

“Fine. Then I have no idea when my last date was. Does sometime after puberty narrow it down?”

Eleonore shook her head. “You and I both know that if you wanted male company, there is no shortage of men who’d take you up on an offer.”

“Of course. But would they be interested in Corrine Archer, social worker and general worrywart, or that Corrine Archer, daughter of a state senator and sole heir to Archer Manufacturing?”

Eleonore gave her a sympathetic look. “I know it’s hard to trust anyone. Hell, I’m not saying if I were in your situation that I could do any better. But I don’t even have to be a psychiatrist to know that it would be a good thing if you made your world just a little bigger.”

“What do you want me to do—join one of those meat market dating sites?”

“God no. Unless you want to, of course, and then I’d say go for it. I was thinking more along the lines of friends with boobs.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“Surprisingly enough, you can enjoy an afternoon wasting time with the same sex as well as the opposite sex. Granted, the opportunities for fun are slightly different. And given that my idea of weekend frivolity is not taking off my pajamas until midafternoon, you need to branch out.”

“And you think finding female friends is somehow easier than finding a date?”

“It’s not?”

“Hell, it’s harder. The only women I run across are either socialites with an IQ lower than their bra size or women whose children I’m taking away because they’re horrible people. Netflix is a better option than either of those.”

“Because there are only two kinds of people in all of New Orleans.”

“You know I hate it when you’re sarcastic.”

“No. You hate it when I’m right. I’m almost always sarcastic.” Eleonore leaned back in her chair and gave Corrine a pointed look. “Want to talk about the elephant in the room?”

Corrine took in a deep breath and blew it out. “She’s not ready.”

“We won’t know that for sure until she tries.”

“You’re her psychiatrist, and more importantly, you’re my friend. Why won’t you tell her to wait?”

“Because as her psychiatrist, it’s not my job to tell her what to do. It’s my job to find out what she wants to do and help her emotionally facilitate that. I’m afraid that trumps being your friend.”

“You’re a sucky friend.” Corrine flopped back in her chair and glared at Eleonore. “God, I hate it when you get all logical and professional.”

“Everyone does. You can’t make her stay.”

“I know, but I thought maybe if you talked to her…”

“What the hell do you think I’ve been doing for the past nine years?” Eleonore sighed. “Look, the truth is, I’ve talked over every possibility for issues with her. The bottom line is that she’s determined to go it on her own.”

“What if she can’t do it?”

“Then she can move back in with you until she’s ready to try again.”

Corrine’s back tightened as she thought of the one million things that could go wrong. “And if she relapses? What if being on her own is so hard it sets her progress back?”

“That’s possible, but what if she proves you wrong? Shaye is the most brilliant client I’ve ever worked with, and she’s had three years working at a detective agency. It’s not like she walked out of your house, threw open a door, and yelled that she was for hire. She’s got a bachelor’s degree in psychology and criminology, and she’s fantastic at reading people and the general energy in a room. If anyone can do this, it’s Shaye.”

Corrine took a big sip of the scotch, taking some time to absorb everything Eleonore said. It wasn’t anything she didn’t already know, but it helped to be reminded. “She woke up screaming this morning. That hasn’t happened in months.”

“It’s probably the stress of the move coming out in her subconscious.”

“Do you think…when she dreams…is it about what happened to her?”

“Only Shaye can answer that.”

Corrine tapped her finger against the side of the glass, her concern for Shaye warring with her professional ethics and the thought of putting Eleonore and her professional ethics on the spot. Before she could change her mind, she pushed forward. “I know you can’t talk about the things Shaye has told you. She’s told me very little—I think because she wants to protect me—but what she has revealed is bad. Really bad.”

Eleonore nodded. “Really bad doesn’t come close. Twenty years I’ve been doing this, and I’ve never seen the level of abuse Shaye suffered. Never heard nightmares so vivid and so terrible. Don’t ever want to hear them again, either.”

Corrine’s respect for her friend shot up even more. “How do you handle it? Listening to all that horror?”

“Yoga usually, but this time…after fifteen years of sobriety, I had to start attending AA meetings again.”

“Oh no!” Corrine sat up straight in her chair.

“Don’t worry,” Eleonore said. “I had one lapse. I’m not drinking again.”

Corrine felt tears form in her eyes and she sniffed, trying to hold them in. Eleonore wouldn’t want or appreciate her sympathy. She took her sobriety as a personal show of strength, and Corrine knew just how disappointing the lapse was to her friend.

“I know I can’t make her stay,” Corrine said, “but I don’t know how to stop worrying. She’s been through so much, and we don’t even know…” Corrine choked, trying to hold back a sob.

Eleonore nodded. “We don’t even know who did it to her.”

“He could be living across the street, walking down the sidewalk behind her, selling her coffee in the morning.”

“Yes. And he could have been doing all those things while she was living with you.”

“It’s not the same. I know my neighbors. I know the guy selling me coffee—I used to tutor him in math.”

Eleonore frowned. “I’m not telling you there’s nothing at all to worry about. I would be worried if I were you. Hell, I’m worried and I’m not you. But it’s been nine years, Corrine. No one has come after her. We have no reason to suspect he ever will, and that’s assuming he’s still alive or not in prison. She has no memory, therefore she poses no threat.”

Corrine bit her lower lip. “What if the night terrors aren’t just her mind’s horrific way of working things out? What if she’s remembering?”

“If we don’t know that for sure, how could he?”

“You’re right. I just have to keep reminding myself of that. God, I feel like such a mother.”

“You are her mother, and you have plenty of good reasons to be concerned.”

“So what do I do?”

“You worry because that’s who you are, and you try not to let it drive you crazy.”

Corrine shook her head. “I don’t have that far to go.”

“None of us do.”

###

He stared across the hotel parking lot as Emma pulled her Nissan Altima in a spot near the elevators. She glanced around as she climbed out of the car, her jerky movements and hurried walk giving away her unease. He smiled. She was just like everyone else in the world—predictable.

When he’d seen her put a suitcase into the trunk of her car, he’d already known she was headed for a local hotel, trying to hide. But her practical side had her staying close to the hospital where she worked instead of jetting out of town. It had taken him little time to locate her car that morning and even less time to convince the pea-brained girl working at the front desk to give out her room number. But then Mama had always said women were stupid.

Emma had been in the house the night he’d entered. He was sure of it, and more than a little surprised that she’d managed to slip away. The bathroom window and the tree were a surprising leap for Emma, and one he never would have expected her to make. It almost made him smile just thinking about it. Emma thought she’d won, but she’d actually done him a favor. He’d jumped the gun, going into the house so soon. If he’d found her sleeping, he wouldn’t have been able to keep himself from strangling her until the last dying breath crossed her lips.

And it would have been premature.

He lifted his hand and formed a gun with his fingers, sighting her in. It would be so easy to kill her now. Maybe even the easiest kill he’d ever made. But what would be the fun in that? Even the amount of fear she exhibited now had his blood coursing stronger through his veins. His heart rate was elevated with excitement. He imagined what it would feel like when she was truly terrified.

And she would be.

###

At 11:00 p.m., Emma pushed open the door to the break room and filled the largest cup she could find with coffee. She dumped in three packets of sugar for good measure and carried it to the corner table, still stirring as she sat down across from Clara Mandeville.

“You planning on staying awake for the next week or so?” Clara asked.

“Just until this shift is over.” Emma took a sip of coffee and cringed at the bitterness. She opened another packet of sugar and started the stirring all over again, wishing a Starbucks latte gave her the same energy regular coffee did.

“You pulling a double?” Clara asked.

“Yeah. Heather called off again.”

The sixty-two-year-old Creole woman gave her a disapproving look as only Clara could manage. “That’s three times already this month. Marcy needs to fire her.”

“Please. As long as Heather is supporting Marcy’s worthless son, she’ll never be fired. That would put him right back on the couch at Marcy’s house.”

Clara sighed. “I know you’re right, but I don’t have to like it. You’ve had enough on your plate the past couple weeks. She should have asked someone else to fill in.”

Emma felt the warmth from Clara’s words as if she’d wrapped her in a blanket. If Emma’s aunt was Emma’s surrogate mother, then Clara was her surrogate aunt. The older woman had taken Emma under her wing when she’d started at the hospital a year ago and had been a blessing in so many ways. With almost thirty years at the hospital, Clara’s knowledge and experience was as vast as any middle-aged doctor and better than many. But it wasn’t just the medical part of the job at which Clara excelled. She had an ability with people that Emma had always envied. No matter the situation, Clara knew just the right words to say.

Having trouble with a difficult patient? Call Clara. She’d set them at ease and have them smiling before she left the room. Ready to kill an egotistical doctor? Call Clara. She’d have him apologizing and calling her ma’am in a matter of minutes. Feel like you’re drowning in hospital red tape? Call Clara. In a matter of minutes, she’d have everyone doing his job.

In short, Clara was magic.

“I’d like to say Marcy’s a stone bitch,” Emma said, “but the truth is she asked for a volunteer and I offered.”

“Why in the world would you do that? I don’t think the church is looking to make more saints anytime soon.”

Emma smiled. “If the church tried to make me a saint, lightning would probably strike the place.”

“Then why are you pushing yourself like this? Marcy may be conveniently ignoring the dark circles under your eyes and that skin of yours that’s whiter than any white woman is supposed to be, but you can’t deny it to me or yourself. You’re exhausted. You need to rest.”

“How am I supposed to do that when I know someone is after me? Every night, I climb into bed with good intentions, but as soon as I close my eyes, I imagine him there, standing right above me. Then my eyes flash open and I sit upright, holding my pistol and every light on. What’s the point?”

“I thought you were staying at a hotel?”

“I am, but it hasn’t been the sleep aid I thought it would be. I just can’t relax. When my body gets so tired that my mind can’t keep me awake any longer, I finally doze off, only to bolt upright ten or fifteen minutes later, my heart jumping out of my chest like I’m having a heart attack.”

Clara shook her head. “That is horrible, but you can’t continue like this. If you don’t get some rest soon, I’m going to be pulling a double and you’ll be at the top of my patient list.”

“I know. Believe me, it’s not my choice.”

“And you think working a double is going to make it better?”

“No, but I think being in a brightly lit building, surrounded by lots of people, will keep me from having that heart attack I’m afraid of.”

“Did you even think about my suggestion?”

“Yes! I went to see her today.”

“And?”

Emma’s thoughts flew back to her exchange with the young PI, and that same feeling of hope that she’d had when she finished talking to Shaye coursed through her again. “She believed me. Just like you said she would.”

Aside from Shaye and the New Orleans detectives she’d spoken to, Clara was the only other person Emma had told about the man in her house. And like Shaye, Clara had never once indicated that she thought Emma was firing on less than eight cylinders. The older nurse had simply done what she always did—offered a solution.

“What did you think of her?” Clara asked.

“Intelligent and tough but empathetic. She asked all the right questions and showed the appropriate amount of concern, even though I could tell she wanted to shout at me to get the hell out of Dodge.”

“Well, why don’t you?”

“That would only change geography. It wouldn’t stop me from being afraid that he’d follow me. Besides, being somewhere else would put me at a disadvantage. I know this city. I have people here that I can trust. Somewhere else, I’d be completely alone.”

“Exactly what I’m saying. If you did things right, even the stalker wouldn’t be able to find you.”

“For how long? I inherited a bit of money and I have some savings, but I’m not rich. Eventually, I’d have to take a job, and since I’m not up on the criminal element and such, that means ponying up identification. Then I’d be looking over my shoulder every second of every day. That’s not living.”

Clara frowned. “You may be right on that one, but you can’t keep going like you have been, either. You’re starting to look like one of those Twilight vampires.”

“At least I’m in the right city for it—vampire lore and all.”

“Bunch of hooey if you ask me. So are you going to hire her?”

“I already did. I didn’t have time to tell her everything, but I emailed her some information on David on my break. She wants to start by looking into his background.”

“Something you should have done before you married him.”

“Yeah, well, hindsight’s twenty-twenty. Anyway, I left her a retainer and she’s going to start right away.”

“Good. I think you made a wise decision in hiring her.”

“I have to admit, I was a bit taken aback when I first saw her. She looks far younger than she must be, but then we’ve both seen the advantages of great genetics.”

“We have, but she is young. Twenty-four, give or take a year.”

Emma stared. “Twenty-four? Okay, now you’ve got my curiosity in overdrive. How do you know her?”

Clara looked over Emma’s shoulder and stared at the wall for several seconds. “I was working the emergency room nine years ago on the night the police brought her in. One of the old guard, Detective Beaumont, had found her wandering in the middle of the street, weaving like a drunk. She was clothed but only barely, the material hanging on her like rags. She was dirty and smelled of human excrement. Her hair was matted in big knots all over. She had long cuts in her hands and on her wrists, and was covered in blood that turned out to be her own.”

“Had she been in an accident?”

“The police couldn’t find a car anywhere nearby, and she wasn’t talking, so we didn’t know. The rookie cop decided she was drunk or a junkie, but Detective Beaumont said something wasn’t right about the whole thing and insisted on staying while the staff checked her out.”

“I take it Detective Beaumont was right?”

“And then some. Tests for narcotics and alcohol were negative. She was staggering because of blood loss. Once we got her onto a gurney, she all but collapsed, eyes wide open and vitals strong, but she was nonresponsive.”

“Shock?”

“I’m sure. Dr. Thompson was working the ER that night, so we were lucky.”

Emma nodded. Dr. Thompson was one of the hospital’s oldest doctors and took his time with patients. He was the nursing staff’s favorite.

 “He sent her straight off for X-rays and that’s when all hell broke loose,” Clara said. “That poor girl…it was unlike anything I’d ever seen before and something I hope to never see again.” Clara looked directly at Emma, her big brown eyes misting up. “So many broken bones, some of them old injuries and some more recent, and none had ever been set right. My guess is, she’d never even seen a doctor.”

Emma’s stomach rolled. “Oh my God.”

“Then Dr. Thompson started his physical exam.” A single tear rolled down Clara’s cheek and she swiped it away. “That girl had been violated in every way possible. There were cuts all over her body and a brand in the middle of her back in the shape of a pentagram. I had to leave the room for a few minutes. It’s the only time I’ve ever gotten sick on the job, but I’m not ashamed of it. An hour after he finished the exam, I found Dr. Thompson in his office crying.”

Emma’s chest constricted and she struggled to keep her own tears at bay. What Clara described was unfathomable, that someone could abuse a child to the point that even veteran medical staff struggled to handle it. What kind of monster could do that?

“We cleaned her up as best as possible and treated the wounds on her hands and wrists. She didn’t stir, not even for a minute. Not until the next night when she woke up screaming. Me and one of the new nurses ran in and tried to calm her down, but it took some convincing before she stopped looking ready to bolt.”

“Did she tell you who did that to her?”

Clara shook her head. “She didn’t remember. Didn’t remember a single thing before waking up in the hospital. It was as if her mind had simply erased it all.”

“Self-preservation?”

“That’s what I think. What happened to her was so horrible her mind made it all go away. She didn’t even know her name. Had to pick one out for herself.” Clara sniffed. “Based on her bones, Dr. Thompson estimated Shaye’s age at fifteen or thereabouts. He couldn’t be certain of the year, but he was certain she was a minor. We were about to call social services when Miss Archer showed up. Detective Beaumont had served on a charity board with her and had given her a call. I all but yelled hallelujah when she took a personal interest in the case.”

“Charity board? Wait, Archer? As in Archer Manufacturing and State Senator Archer?”

“His daughter.”

Emma frowned, completely confused. “I don’t get it. What was a New Orleans socialite supposed to do? Pay her hospital bill?”

“Corrine Archer may be one of the wealthiest women in New Orleans, but she’s the salt of the earth. And the best damned social worker we have in this city.”

“Corrine the social worker is that Corrine?” Emma gasped. “Pierce Archer’s daughter? I never realized…”

“Which is a testament to the caliber of woman she is. Corrine could be sitting in a ten-thousand-dollar leather chair in a boardroom or soaking up rays in the Bahamas full time, but she chose to help children. And against her father’s wishes, I might add.”

“I’m absolutely blown away. I had lunch with her one day at a hot dog vendor outside of the hospital.” Emma shook her head, some of her faith in humanity instantly restored. If a woman of means like Corrine Archer chose to spend her time in the trenches helping children, then there might be hope for the future.

“Corrine doesn’t usually throw her weight around. She wants to be seen and treated as any other social worker, but in this case, I was hoping she’d pull out her last name and get things done.”

“Why?”

“Because it was clear that Shaye had been through a horror the rest of us couldn’t even begin to imagine. Putting her in a group home or with foster parents wouldn’t have done a bit of good. The girl needed serious medical and psychological treatment, and Corrine could afford the best of everything.”

“You’re saying she took custody of Shaye herself?”

“Yes, ma’am. Corrine had her father pull some strings, and Shaye was placed in Corrine’s custody. Corrine got her entrenched in her home, cleaned up, and spending time daily with Eleonore Blanchet.”

“I’ve always heard she’s the best.”

“You’ve heard right. Eleonore brought that girl from the brink of madness back to reality—her new reality.” Clara shook her head. “Shaye had several surgeries to correct broken bones that hadn’t been set property. It took Eleonore a year before she could get Shaye to leave Corrine’s house, except for doctors’ visits.”

“But that was only nine years ago. She seems so normal. How in the world could someone come from what you described to the woman I met today?”

“Money to hire the best of the best, time, and a spirit that couldn’t be broken. Shaye could read and knew math up to multiplication and division, so they assumed she’d received at least an elementary education. Corrine hired the best tutors she could find and they worked with her every day in Corrine’s home. Shaye grabbed right on to those books and surprised everyone with her intelligence. In three years’ time, she took the GED and started college. When she turned eighteen, the state released her and Corrine adopted her. Shaye worked for a local detective agency while she was going to college and as best I know, has never looked back.”

Emma shook her head. “That is the most incredible, awful, wonderful story I’ve ever heard. Did they catch the person who abused Shaye?”

“No. With Shaye’s memory gone, the police didn’t have much to go on.”

“I guess a child abuser isn’t likely to file a missing persons report on their victim.”

“Got that right. The police circulated her picture through all the national databases, sent it to schools and churches, and even did those commercials, but they didn’t get any hits.”

The reality of Shaye’s situation crashed into Emma like a freight train. “If Shaye has no memory of her abuser, then she has to assume that anyone she comes in contact with could be her attacker. My God. Every day is some form of nightmare.”

“I would imagine so, although she seems to have found a way to balance it out and try to live a normal life.”

“That’s why you thought she’d believe me…because of her own extraordinary story.”

“I think it’s no coincidence that Shaye became a private investigator. She doesn’t have answers for herself, and my guess is she doesn’t want anyone else to live in the shadow of darkness like she does.”

Emma took another drink of her now-lukewarm coffee, trying to fathom what a normal day was like for Shaye. For all intents and purposes, Shaye was born at age fifteen, with a lifetime of baggage and no claim ticket to tell her where it had come from. The fact that she was sane, much less accomplished, was a testament to Shaye’s strength and Corrine’s determination.

For the first time in weeks, Emma’s bleak outlook cleared just a little. If Shaye could go through all that and come out the other side not only sane, but educated, and eager to help others, then Emma had a chance of regaining her own life and sanity.