Because she could. It didn't make any sense—none of this made any sense, really—but she could do it, whatever it was that she'd done. She could help people. A people-helper, that's what she was. The thought made her feel a little better, despite the awful headache and dizziness and pain.
Except . . . except that wasn't what the crazy man had called her. His words echoed in her mind: "She's magic. She has the Devil in her."
Oh God, Kayla thought. I sure as hell hope not.
Chapter Two
Kayla sat on the wooden chair, feeling the sweat drip down the inside of her shirt, wondering how much longer they'd have to sit in this room. "Can I have a glass of water?" she asked Officer Walker.
"Once the homicide detectives arrive, I'll get you something to drink," the policeman said. "Just be patient a little longer, Kayla."
"Okay," she said, trying to find a more comfortable way of sitting on the hard wooden chair. All of this would be much easier to deal with if the chairs in the police station were a little more comfortable, she thought. Instead, she was stuck in this empty room with Officer Walker, who was a nice guy but didn't want to talk very much. He'd said that to her when they arrived at the police station, that they'd have to wait in a separate room and not talk about what had happened at the convenience store until the homicide detectives from the Detective Headquarters Division arrived.
The Hispanic girl was seated on a chair by the door, looking as though she wished she was somewhere else. Kayla understood exactly how she felt.
The silence in the room was making her crazy, she decided. After all the noise of gunshots and screaming, the silence was more than she could handle. "Do you know who that guy was, Officer Walker?" Kayla asked.
"Kayla, I've already said that we can't talk about it, not until the detectives arrive. Please, no more questions."
She sat with her arms folded on her knees, curled up on the chair, until the door opened again. Two more police officers walked in, a blonde woman and a heavyset man. "So, Dale, what did you bring home today?"
Officer Walker stood up. "Consuela Rodriguez was the first person to arrive on the scene, and she called the police. Kayla here was in the store when it happened. She wasn't hurt; none of that blood is hers."
"I'll start with the kid," the woman said. She gestured for Kayla to follow her. Kayla did, wondering what was going to happen next.
They walked down the hallway to another office. The policewoman closed the door after them and turned to a small table with a coffeepot, cans of soda, and paper cups. "Here, take a couple of paper towels; let's get some of that blood off you. Dale didn't even let you wash, did he? Would you like something to drink?"
"Anything with sugar in it," Kayla said, reaching for a can of Pepsi. She opened the bottle of aspirin that she'd lifted from the convenience store and swallowed several of the pills with some soda, then carefully wiped her face and hands with the paper towel.
The woman poured herself a cup of coffee and glanced up at the clock on the wall. "One A.M. Well, this will certainly be a long night. Have a seat, young lady. I'm afraid you're going to be here for a while, and I can't let you talk to anyone else just yet, not even your parents. By the way, I don't think I introduced myself. I'm Detective Cable. You can call me Nichelle, if you'd like."
Kayla gingerly sat down on one of the chairs. Detective Cable set a small tape recorder on the table next to them and took out a small stack of paper forms and a pencil.
Then the questions began.
Forty-five minutes later, Kayla was trying to stay awake as she explained for a second time how she hadn't seen the gunman actually walk into the store, how she hadn't seen anyone outside the store who could've been with the gunman, and that she hadn't heard the gunman say anything until after the police arrived.
I wish Billy was here. He'd know what to say, how to handle this.
"All right," Cable said, stifling a yawn. "Let's go over what happened when your friend Billy was shot. You said you jumped the guy, he knocked you down and you fainted, and . . . ?"
" . . . and I woke up when Officer Walker was asking me if I was okay," she said, not saying anything about the entire "blue lights" situation. They'll lock me up in a padded cell in five minutes if I start talking about that, she thought.
To Kayla's relief, the policewoman switched off the tape recorder. "Thank you, Kayla," she said with a tired smile. "Thank you very much. Now all I need is for you to fill out some paperwork, and then I'll give you over to Elizabet Winters, our resident psychology therapist, specializing in juvenile psychology. She'll want to talk to you a little, make sure that you're handling all of this okay. I know it's been an awful night for you, and you seem to be dealing with everything just fine, but we have to be certain. Elizabet will also call your parents and make sure you get home all right. I'm sure they're worried about you, and will want to know where you are." She set a form and a pen in front of Kayla, then walked over to pour herself another cup of coffee.