“She looks so young and sweet. I wouldn’t have thought it possible for her to be like her father,” Rory mutters, sounding like he finally sees her.
I shake my head. “She doesn’t know she is. She doesn’t know what she does when she sleeps. She remembers nothing. She believes herself to be a victim of him. When she thought she’d done something wrong it nearly killed her.” I run my weak and trembling hand through her silky blonde hair. “She’s not bad, not on purpose.”
He lifts me back from the bed, helping me from the room. I don’t look back. That was the last look I should take. I need to separate us now. I need to be me again.
When we are in the hallway Rory sighs again. “Are you sure you’re all right? Ya look a bit pale.” His thick Irish accent always makes me smile.
“I’m fine. Stop.” But he’s not the only one attacking me. As usual, Dr. Angie comes running from the viewing and monitoring room. “Och, lass. Ya shouldn’t be outta that room just yet. Ya know I hate it when ya do that. Ror, ya need to be on top of this. You’re supposed to be in the room until we clear her.”
“She’s meaner than she looks, Ang.”
She glowers at him. “Ya wee chicken, letting a small girl boss ya around.” She winks at me. We both know what kind of small girl I am.
Rory points at the chair. “I’ll wait out here.” I nod and let her take me in her arms. I don’t need the help, but I have to humor her or she starts cussing and soon I’m no better than all the other bloody Yanks who annoy the piss outta her or the friggin’ leprechaun she lives with. She’s a bit racist, but she sounds funny when she does it, so everyone lets it slide.
She leads me to a chair, quickly checking my eyes and listening to my heart. I breathe several times as hard as I can, in and out. She sits next to me, shaking her head. “No more, Jane. Seven is more than anyone else.”
I sigh, letting her put her fingers on my neck and arms. “I just wish I could fill the gap, you know?”
She shakes her head again. “No, I don’t. But I’m not missing most of my life.” She smiles, giving me that sweet face she always does.
It’s then that he walks in, offering me a sweet smile. His lopsided lips make me cringe inwardly. I recall every caress and every moment of them brushing against me. I know I blush every time I see the man, but I can’t help it. I know I shouldn’t use people I know when I slide into the minds of the criminals or patients, but I can’t help it. Something real brings me back easier, and more whole than a made-up story.
Dr. Dash nods at me. “How was it?” His gray-green eyes fix on me, more gray than normal. He must be upset about something.
I shrug, desperate to seem cool and casual. If only he knew about the things I imagined he has done. “I found it, the spot. It was a lake. He wrapped the little girls in blue tarps and sunk them to the bottom of a lake.”
“Jesus.” That’s his version of swearing. He’s akin to a saint, but when he gets really worked up, that’s it, he says Jesus or what the hell. I try not to say motherfucker or twat or any of the others my Irish partner and I chant regularly.
Dr. Dash shakes his head, mystified. I can see it on his face. “How long has she taken up after her father?”
“Since she was nine or ten, I think, but it was animals then, and no one knew. Her aunt came and took her away during her father’s trial, abducted her from the state house she was always running away from. She lived in North Carolina and then went to university, but she never finished, so she worked in a shop. She started killing people three years ago when her father was released from jail.”
“He was released after such a short amount of time?”
I nod. “Molestation charges were all they had on him. The disappearing girls were never seen at his residence. Everyone believed he did it, but they never proved a thing. When he got out, she went crazy. She went, from what I can understand, and tortured him. Then she killed him and stayed at that horrid old house. She lived like he was still alive, afraid of him. She would bring him the little girls like she did when she was a kid. He used her to lure them. She would take them back to his house, and they would dress up in pretty dresses and play. Last week she burnt the house to the ground when she woke covered in blood again.”
He holds a hand up. “I can’t do any more, Jane. Sorry. I don’t know how you live with that in your head.”
I lift my gaze to his. “I take things in there with me, things that will create a better memory than the ones the patients try to give me.”