“Hello, Skyler. Your doctor has asked me to come and visit you. I thought we’d ask him to leave so we can be alone together. Just the two of us.” She nodded at Brice.
He bent close, his mouth so close to her ear she could feel the warmth of his breath. “I’m going to keep an eye out for her father. If he catches you in here, there’s no telling what he might do.”
“You think he’ll become violent?” Francesca whispered the question, not wanting the child to hear her. The last thing the girl needed was an ugly scene involving her father. “Are you expecting him?”
“Not anytime soon. He usually spends this time of night drinking,” Brice assured her. With a reassuring wink at the unresponsive teenager he left the room.
Francesca observed the child closely. The girl was lying in the fetal position, her hair hanging in ragged lengths as though someone had chopped it off indiscriminately. There was a crescent-shaped scar on her temple, white and thin. There were bruises all over her face. Her eyes were swollen and her jaw was several shades of green and blue. “So your name is Skyler.” She lowered her voice so that it was soft and beautiful, hiding the underlying compulsion with a silvery sound.
Francesca took the girl’s limp, scarred hand into hers, reaching at the same time for her mind. She wanted to examine the child’s memories, to see what had happened to her to make her lie without moving, so lifeless and without hope. At once a flood of violence and depravity stormed into her. Tears burned, clung to Francesca’s lashes. Such a terrible existence. She felt every blow the child had received, every burn, every rape, every act forced upon her, every single torture, mental and physical, as if it had been done to her. The scars were on the inside as well as the outside, scars that might fade with time but would never really go away. Her own father had sold her to other men, beaten her repeatedly if she fought them and punished her each time she had attempted to run away. He beat her if she cried, beat her when the men returned her, complaining that she was a wooden doll, uncooperative and frigid.
The images were terrible, of fingers forcing their way into the little body, hands squeezing and groping, men fumbling at her with alcohol on their breath. There was breathtaking pain as they rammed into a body far too small to accommodate them. Large, hamlike fists coming at the little face, her small body being flung against the wall. The nightmare went on and on, illustrating the hideous fate of a child impossibly young, without help, without hope. Locked in a stifling hot closet, locked in a freezing cold bathroom. Hungry, thirsty, knowing each time she heard footsteps it would start again.
Francesca pressed one hand to her stomach as it knotted and twisted in sympathy. For a moment, she was afraid she might actually be sick. This child had not only suffered physical hell, but had completely lost the will to fight. Francesca pushed past the total despair and reached for more. She wanted to find the real Skyler, the one that had existed before her spirit had been beaten out of her. Skyler had been a fighter once. A lover of life, of poetry, finding joy in the things around her, simple things, just as her mother had. Skyler Rose, her mother had named her. A beautiful rose without the thorns. She had a voice that could sing to the heavens, yet her brutal parent had managed to silence it. The man was every bit as evil as a vampire. Cunning and cruel and totally depraved. His very existence sickened Francesca. He lived for alcohol and crack. That was his life, his only life.
“Listen to the sound of my voice, Skyler, more than my words.” Francesca projected her voice into the girl’s mind, reached to touch the huddled, cringing spirit. “I cannot lie to you. I know you don’t want to come back to this world and I don’t blame you. You’ve gone far away from this body so you don’t have to see or hear him. You don’t have to feel what he does to you anymore. I can heal you. I can take away the things he has done to you, the scars on your body. I can lessen the impact of what has been done to you so you can live again whole. I can even make it possible for you to conceive a child later if that is your will. You can have a family of your own. You will believe me in this one thing, above all others: you are in no way responsible for the things that have happened to you. I know he made you believe you are worthless, but the truth is, Skyler, he couldn’t stand your natural goodness, your very beauty shining at him, reminding him every day of his own sick depravity.”