Copyright 2011 Amy Rust

All Rights Reserved except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including Xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author. This work is fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

SAVE ME

An experimental facility, backed by a powerful family, seeks ultimate power through the use of innocent children.

SAVE ME

Caught in a web of deceit that reaches far beyond her control, a child named Celeste needs someone to save her. Celeste makes a desperate attempt to escape from her captor knowing that to fail would mean her very life and the lives of others that are depending on her. She stumbles upon Josephine “Joey” Miller who happens to be in the wrong place at the right time.

SAVE ME

Secrets. Rolland Miller has a harrowing secret that he hasn’t shared with his wife, for her own safety. Until now. A family of survivors will fight to the finish pitting innocence against merciless evil.

PROLOGUE

A hiss. Closer. She froze. She prayed it was the wind. It wasn’t the wind. The girl walked quietly listening to the sounds of the animals and the wind. The trees that stood like pillars towered overhead and their leaves rustled softly in the breeze. An owl soared swiftly through the night letting out a ravenous cry and then the rustle of adversaries could be heard, bird and its prey. Then silence. The girl listened closely, as if in hope that whatever the bird had been after had perhaps evaded its pursuer. Slowly she walked on with the quiet of the trees and the whispered secrets of the bitter wind making their own melody. The girl lifted her hands to the cloudless sky and closed her eyes in surrender to the power of the earth. Above her, clouds formed, and within mere moments snow began to fall.

She pulled her coat around her and with tears glistening in her eyes she continued on her walk through the snow layered woods. By the light of the afternoon sun her shadow walked beside her. She would face her destiny soon. She would face her fate in the coming hours of the night. Her name was Celeste; she was named for the heavens above with their celestial lights. Although now when her name was called it was not spoken with love, but with mockery and ill disguised disdain.

CHAPTER ONEThe enraged man rushed into the room, his hair was wild and his eyes blazed with hatred. He

stared down at the forlorn figure huddled on the bed, ghostly pale and trembling. “Please, Dean the hospital, please….” she begged, whimpering as another pain took her in its

grasp and tried to wring the very life from her. With his lips curled back in a snarl of disgust he watched as another pain racked the woman’s body. “You want me to help you? I wouldn’t lift a hand to help you!” From the corner of the room came a rustling sound, that of someone shifting their position. A girl sat huddled on the floor as she watched from behind a large chair.

“What are you doing here?” the man screamed, amazed at the girl’s audacity.“Please…”she begged him, “please…don’t do this bad thing, take her to the hospital.” The

girl used her hands to speak, using sign language to communicate her plea, her motions were fluid and strong, and her eyes seemed almost to glow with an unnatural light.

“Are you trying to say something sweetheart?” The man asked in a mock fatherly voice, and with a menacing gleam in his eye he strode toward her, flinging furniture from his path. Towering over the girl who huddled before him, he turned back to the bed and addressed his wife, “Would you like to go to a hospital Ann Marie?”

“It’s too late. I’m dying.” Came her pitiful reply. A vicious yell arose from the man and he grabbed the girl by her hair and dragged her over to the woman’s side.

“Make her well, if you think you can! Do it! Put your hands on her and put her out of her misery.”

With tear filled eyes and trembling lips the girl moved toward the woman who was not her mother, but had been kind to her. She leaned close and placed her hands on the woman’s protruding belly. She closed her eyes in concentration. Immediately an anguished scream pierced the air and the girl watched as the woman writhed in agony and finally pushed the baby from her body. Another cry was heard, that of an infant being brought into a world already filled with sorrow. Black spots

began to swim in front of Celeste’s eyes and the last thing she heard was the woman whisper, “Celeste be safe.”

With a grief stricken moan Celeste finally succumbed to the darkness that called her. She fell away into a sleep so deep that it seemed to swallow her whole and take away her breath completely. Celeste knew even before her eyes closed that she could not save the woman or the innocent baby. She knew without a doubt that she would never be safe. She was eight years old.

Tears trailed silently down the child’s face as rain battered at the umbrella held high above her head. The procession of people that had known the woman in life thought of her as an odd woman who seemed lost and confused. She had only been twenty-nine, a life to short and briefly spent. Celeste could feel the stares of the people gathered around the grave site. She knew what direction their thoughts had taken.

No one spoke to her. She was used to this, at one time she had been able to speak. But somewhere along the way she had lost her voice and communicated only with sign language. With a bowed head Celeste watched as the man who called himself her father performed for the crowd, his face contorted with grief. She watched as the others circled around him to offer their condolences. Yet not one of them touched Celeste, not one of them spoke to her. Her heart began to hammer an erratic beat and her fist clenched under the coat that she wore. The soft rain that started as a light mist began to fall relentlessly, hammering down in harsh unforgiving sheets. Still Celeste did not move, she stood with her back straight and her head slightly tilted to the sky. Although the rain fell and others began to turn back to the house to take cover, Celeste stood still with her arms held stiffly by her sides. She spread her fingers wide like eagles wings and whispered soundlessly to the heavens. As if in answer to a request a rainbow appeared to bless the sky. It was the least that she could do for the woman who had shown her kindness from the moment that she had arrived in their home.

“Celeste, come here honey, it’s time for the guests to start leaving.” The child was interrupted by the slightly derisive voice of the man who called himself her father. She heard footsteps behind her and stiffened as she felt herself lifted and carried to the house. She wondered if other children felt safe with their parents. She imagined that they did, but could not comprehend how that might feel.

At the age of eight she not only knew unimaginable grief but she also knew what it was like to be truly alone. She also had a secret. The woman had told her before she died that this man was not her true father, she pleaded with her to always remember that. The woman had reminded her on a regular basis that she was taken from a family that surely loved her but that they were not her real parents and one day she hoped that Celeste would escape. Celeste despaired that she would ever be free but she also felt a small spark of hope. The man had taken her in as his own special experiment and even though she was gifted, her talents had never been enough for him. The man who called himself her father grasped her hand firmly as she walked beside him. He didn’t slow as she tried unsuccessfully to match her small steps to his long stride. She looked at the house that had never been a home and never would be especially without the presence of Ann Marie who had been her nurse and the doctor’s wife until her death. Now the house had once more taken on the role of a prison. Inside the lights were turned down low and there were many candles burning on the mantle that gave off a slightly sweet odor causing her tummy to feel sick.

People huddled with glasses of wine and talked in whispers. There eyes straying to the girl who was being led by her hand to sit at a table. Celeste knew what they were feeling and she tried her best to block out their emotions. She closed her mind to their thoughts as she looked around the room, catching the eye of a few and was startled to find that there was an array of different colors. Some glowed orange, others red, still some green. Celeste often saw people in shades of colors and

she hadn’t yet figured out what each color meant. But the woman who had taken care of her had always been surrounded by a calming blue aura. Although anytime the man came near, her colors would change.

The onlookers were curious, of course, because a pregnant woman doesn’t die suddenly and without notice while her husband is constantly in the public eye. If a person watched closely they would be able to talk about this funeral for a long time to come. Celeste knew that no one in the world cared about her. With all her heart she sent a wish to the heavens, with all her heart she wished for love.

CHAPTER TWOJoey had loved her child. With everything inside her soul she loved the baby that she had

lost. It was just so difficult now with everything that had happened. How could she ever hope for things to go back to normal again? It was like a piece of her heart was gone. Who was she kidding? The other half of her truly was gone. It had been a strange day, with the rain beginning as a drizzle and then turning into a torrential downpour to rival that of the biblical flood. The weather at first seemed to match her current mood. With a toss of her head Josephine Miller kicked off her shoes and watched in silent approval as they flew threw the air to land in a heap on the floor.

She thought of her husband Rolland and then she closed her mind to thoughts of him. It had been months since the miscarriage and still things between them weren’t the same. They hadn’t healed. Other women had gone through the same thing before Joey, but somehow she hadn’t rebounded. She still missed the small life that had lived inside of her for only a few short months. The doctors had assured her that nothing she did had caused the miscarriage. But that hadn’t assuaged her guilt and Rolland had taken the brunt of her unhappiness for months now.

This left Joey feeling alone, scared and lost. She had no family, except for her husband Rolland; he was a constant in her life. She sighed as she realized how easy it was to drown in her own sorrow and how simple it was to take her husband for granted. The pain in her heart was so deep and the pressure in her chest was so tight, that she felt she might explode. Plopping down on the hotel bed, that should have been a king but was only a queen, she tugged and pulled her mane of unruly copper and blond streaked curls from the fashionable chignon that held it. With arms and legs spread eagle she allowed herself a quiet moment to truly determine what she wanted out of life. The sounds of thunder and rain traveled into the room. There was a storm raging outside her window. Somehow it seemed fitting.

Closing her eyes she thought back to a time when things were a lot easier and magical in there own way. The first thing that came to mind was her childhood. She remembered her family’s cottage on Blythe Mountain. It had been a place out of a storybook and a time when life was only a joy. With a deep sigh she allowed herself to remember. She believed in miracles and wonderful things that happened to good people.

Those were the days, thought Joey as she lay there on the uncomfortable hotel bed and thought about the simple joys of childhood. Now as an adult she couldn’t imagine anything more important than her work as a child psychologist. She’d worked on some high profile cases with important clients, and she had also done her share of work with abused children and children living broken homes. It had been her dream for as far back as she could remember. Her work was really important to her and although she didn’t get any recognition she felt that what she did for a living really meant something. At least it had until last year when she’d taken an official leave of absence because of “unexplained personal issues” as her file most likely read.

Unexplained personal issues didn’t begin to identify the cause of her life spiraling out of control. Her debilitating headaches had started shortly after the miscarriage. Joey had only to think of the pain to start the beginnings of one of her migraines. Her incurable, no reason for them, not sure exactly why you’re having pain, cursed migraines. With a moan of absolute disgust and lips that began to tremble with pain she tried to sit up only to find that her head felt like an invisible hand made of stone was holding her to the bed. With a suppressed cry she tried to turn over fumbling on the bed for her purse. Undoing the clasp with her eyes closed must have taken a little over one minute. But she refused to open her eyes, for some reason the light made the headaches more intense.

Time seemed to slow down as she placed a pill under her tongue. She carefully reclined against the mattress that now felt like it had needles for bed springs and tried every technique that she knew of to calm herself. However, the pain that now invaded her mind, took over her body and forced tears from her tightly closed eyes, it took away all thought, all reason, all time. Unexplained personal reasons, what a crock!

Run. That was the driving thought in Celeste’s mind as she looked for a place to hide. The man was coming to find her. He was very angry. Her thoughts raced in swirling waves behind her eyes and her ears strained to hear his footsteps on the stairs. Be safe, be safe, she repeated like a mantra. Silently with her lips clenched firmly shut to let no breath escape for fear that she might give away her hiding place. She only wanted to escape.

Her breath came in gasps as she lay as quiet as a mouse under her own bed. From the hallway came the sound of heavy steps on the stairs. Celeste counted the steps, she knew that there were exactly twenty steps and then he would be on the second landing. From somewhere she heard a soft mewling sound like the sound a little kitten would make. It seemed to come from a far away place.

Celeste imagined that she was a small animal, huddled in a hole, hoping that the big bad wolf wouldn’t come and gobble her all up. She felt sweat drip down under her arms, it made her want to scratch there, but she knew that the man was close. He was hunting for her. If he caught her he would lock her away in the basement.

The basement was horrible, it smelled sad and lonely. There was no light down in the basement and no chairs to sit on. Only a dark angry hole, which made her think of the poor kitten that must have found it’s way into the house because it was really making a racket now. She popped her eyes open not realizing that at some point she’d closed them and at some point she had lost count of the man’s footsteps.

How many steps had he taken? If the man was close, he would certainly find her. Little bead of sweat dotted her forehead, she wondered if the man could hear the kitten too. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what color the kitty was, he was probably snow white with a lot of fur. Be safe, be safe, she kept repeating the words in her head as she listened for her his footsteps by the door. She knew that he was coming for her. Usually the woman would try to protect her, but she wasn’t here anymore, she was sleeping in the ground. Be safe, be safe, she repeated to herself, hoping to make the word come true.

With her eyes squinted, and her lashes glistening with unshed tears she tried to take a deep breath. But her throat was full of scary tears and her stomach had that hurt feeling that meant danger was near. The door to her bedroom slammed open with a crash and Celeste realized that although she could think of many things at one time, she hadn’t remembered to listen for the special floorboard that would alert her to her father’s footsteps right outside the door. She looked around frantically for the poor kitten who was still crying, probably for its mother. It was to late when her

father’s shadowy figure filled the doorway and lunged toward the space where she hid under the bed. Only as his hands grabbed her by the neck and hair and dragged her from her safe place did she realize that there was no kitten in the room with them, because although she had never uttered one word in this house, she had at some point learned to cry aloud. The sound of her fear was the same as that of a motherless kitten. The soft mewling of an animal left all alone in the world.

CHAPTER THREE

Be safe, be safe, startled awake Joey jerked to an immediate sitting position only to feel pain shoot from some place behind her eyes to some place else in her tortured brain. She wondered if these horrible migraines would ever go away. There was no explanation for them. But for six months they had plagued her. Ever since the day she went to that a small toy store. She didn’t know where the urge had come from to venture back to the store; to imagine her childhood all over again. But one day, a few months ago as she was driving downtown she saw a toy store that she had gone to as a child. It was on a whim that she decided to go inside. In fact it was really weird because she hadn’t paid the meter. She had just parked her car and hopped out. That was unlike her, because she was a stickler for following rules. Faithful in the least, faithful in the most was her motto.

Rushing into the store as if there was a toy she urgently needed to buy for some non-existent child, she found herself drawn to isle number eight. In fact, the reason she wanted to go to isle number eight and only isle number eight was questionable in itself. But in that particular isle at that exact time was a man crouched with her back to Joey and kneeling in front a little girl. If there was a reason that the man and child should draw Joey’s attention she wasn’t sure, certainly in successive aisles there were other parents found kneeling by there children and showing them a new toy.

However, this situation seemed odd to Joey’s trained eye, upon looking closer she could see that the child was in tears and the man was grasping the little girls arms and then Joey’s breath caught as the man shook the child firmly. Taking a tentative step forward Joey watched as the man touched the child’s forehead and began speaking to her in an urgent whisper. “Breathe in slowly like I told you to, nice and slow, breath like I told you!” the man hissed. Joey was shocked that the man would speak to his child so callously. His voice was not kind or patient, in fact it was insistent and demanding. She was attracted to the child by some instinctive desire to comfort. She stood over the father and child, ready to offer some sort of help, although they hadn’t yet noticed her presence. She wasn’t sure what assistance she could offer in this situation but if the child was having trouble breathing she would certainly try to help.

With determination and the thought that everyone should at least try to help someone in trouble she announced her presence, “Hi, I couldn’t help but overhear, is everything okay here?” The man who had previously been crouched next to the child started slightly and then stood to face her. The little girl was lost behind the tails of the man’s dark coat.

“No, everything is fine here, thank you anyway.” The man replied as if he were highly annoyed at the interruption. Joey carefully smiled although the look in the man’s eyes chilled her she managed to look past the irate man to see the child. She noticed that the little girl had on an oversized brown hat and matching coat that looked a few sizes to big. Her left shoe was untied and her nose was red as if from crying. Joey couldn’t see the girl’s face as the child kept her eyes trained on the floor and her head bowed low. Joey couldn’t see the color of the girl’s eyes, because she kept them downcast but she could definitely see that something was wrong.

The little girls hands were balled into fists and her knuckles were white. “What’s wrong with your daughter?” she asked the man who seemed to be trying to block Joey’s view.

“Nothing is wrong with her, she’s fine, please mind your own business.” The man replied this time with a slightly reassuring smile. Joey didn’t buy it for a minute. She wasn’t born yesterday, something was definitely wrong. She tried another tactic.

“Please, I just want to help. Does she have asthma? Let me see her, she looks like she can’t breathe and I’m a doctor.” Joey uttered the first thing that popped into her mind she realized that she wanted more than anything to get a good look at the child up close. She had to make sure the little girl was okay and that this really was her father. Joey spoke in a voice that got through to most of her patient’s parents. Her voice held half of a question and half of a command. In that moment it didn’t matter that she practiced psychology and not pediatrics. Her words did serve to make her offer of help sound more official.

The man moved slowly to the side and put a protective hand on the little girl’s head. Joey started to bend down but before she could do that she looked into the man’s eyes and what she saw there stopped her cold. They were an icy blue, cold and uncaring. What she saw there caused a tickle of fear to skip down her spine and made her take a step back, in retreat. She had a sudden flash back of her college days and a class she had taken on Criminal Psychology.

It was said that the eyes of serial killers told their own story and Joey remembered vividly that she had pushed her professor for details. He then told the class that looking into the eyes of the worst of humanity was like looking into a black hole, there was simply nothing there and even what was there could only be compared to infinite nothingness. He had then gone on to other subjects, but she had never forgotten that description.

She quickly broke free from his stare and turned her attention once again to the child. She couldn’t stop herself from asking the little girl if she was okay. The girl had quieted and didn’t respond to the question, her eyes remained glued to the floor. She asked her if this man was her father and the little girl still avoided looking directly at her. Joey wondered at her silence and something tickled the corner of her mind with the way the child seemed to be ignoring her.

She softly repeated her question and this time the child nodded, but never once did she meet her gaze. She was just about to ask for the little girls full name, when a cheery voice from behind her called, “Dr. Kincaid are you and your daughter finding everything okay?” a man’s voice came from behind Joey and so she turned her attention away from the man and child. That quickly, the man pulled the little girl along behind him and slipped past Joey toward the clerk.

Joey assumed that she had made a mistake somehow; obviously they were regular customers since the clerk knew the man by name. This wasn’t a child in distress and she didn’t need saving. As the child was pulled past her she very gently brushed her fingers across Joey’s hand. It took everything within Joey to stand still and watch her walk away.

“Yes I’m fine thank you,” the man replied to the clerk, “We’ve found exactly what we were looking for.” The doctor replied in a cheerful tone that belied the coldness that Joey had seen in his eyes. Joey was rational enough to determine that she had misread the entire situation. But she soothed herself with the thought that in this day and age one could never be to sure.

Children were stolen in this country everyday and if adults would only take the time to ask questions then so many of them could be saved. The thought of that made Joey’s heart shudder. She still didn’t like the image that those two made. She watched to see if the girl’s father would grab her hand, but instead he held onto her arm and propelled her along beside him.

As she watched them walk away Joey saw clearly all the “what if’s” of her own life. What if her parents hadn’t loved her? What if they hadn’t cherished her? What if she hadn’t been given a sense of self-worth and a positive self concept? The feeling that somehow she had been allowed the blessing of a life, rich in love, happiness and security was overwhelming.

“Well you two have a nice day.” The clerk called out to the retreating figures as they left the store without purchasing anything and then he turned to give Joey an odd look. She smiled slightly and turned toward the dolls that were packaged on her left as if intent on her purpose to choose the right one.

She glanced up to get one more look at them as they passed by the front of the store and it was as if her eyes sought them out of their own volition and when she caught the empty stare of the man as he glanced back, something inside of her went cold and she gave an involuntary shiver. The thought of that poor, defenseless child caused her head to ache and she headed to the front of the store. Be safe, be safe, be safe. It was odd but that phrase was going through her head at what seemed to be a mile a minute, she wondered if she was coming down with a cold or virus.

That was the first of many headaches. As she left the store her breath came in waves, moving in and out in a rush to receive oxygen and she glanced up to find that she had somehow made it back to her car. She walked with uneven steps, dizzy and sick at the same time, feeling as if everything was moving in slow motion. She had stumbled out onto the street finding it warm in the afternoon sun, barely making it to her car. She couldn’t find the strength to walk around to the driver’s side, so she got in on the passenger’s side and wished only to close her eyes for a minute. She woke up to the blaring of horns in what must have been rush hour traffic which would mean that she had either slept or been unconscious for three hours.

With surprise she noticed a parking ticket on her windshield and found that she wasn’t able to remember where she was or what she was doing there. She drove herself right to the emergency room, where she was treated for a migraine and sent home with a prescription for pain killers. The little orange pills gave her only temporary relief. With no understanding of why she had suffered such a horrible pain that it would cause her to pass out, or why she hadn’t paid the meter or what the little girl’s name was in aisle number eight. She went home only with the knowledge that she very dearly wanted to find out. That she needed to know and she wished with all of her heart that she had caught a glimpse of the child’s face.

Her migraines started on that day, at that toy store and they continued to plague her. Did she look like someone who dealt with chronic pain on a daily basis? The scores of doctors that had reviewed her file and given her so many tests that she couldn’t keep track of them all. They each had theories that ranged from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome to a severe case of PMS each month. The only hypothesis that Joey paid any attention to was from a man named Dr. Sanders who called Joey three weeks ago with a slightly unique theory. It was so odd that she hadn’t even shared it with Rolland.

“Hello?” sleep deprived Joey answered their home phone. Rolland had been gone on another work assignment, he was due home that day.

“May I speak with Josephine Miller please?” said a distinguished voice. “Speaking.” Joey replied as she winced at the morning sun that blared through her partially opened blinds.

“Mrs. Miller, this is Dr. Sanders with the Los Angeles State Hospital neurology unit, I’m calling regarding your case.” He waited for her to acknowledge his existence or possibly for her to remember him. Instantly she did, he was a nice man with a gentle smile. He walked with confidence, talked with confidence, and seemed to be more than efficient for a Senior Surgeon and Scientist at the California Institute of Neurology.

“I remember you Doctor.” Joey replied with a slight smile. Where some women woke up sounding like frogs, Joey awoke with her natural voice intact, it was a warm voice that Rolland told her sounded inviting, like music to his ears.

“Yes well, I would like to schedule some time this week for you to come to our office and speak with me regarding your migraines. How would-“ the doctor was cut off by Joey’s interrupting yawn of derision.

“Whatever you have to say to me go ahead and say it over the phone, I won’t be coming to the office to hear you tell me that I’m crazy and that there is no cause for the pain I’m in every day.” Joey said this in a monotone as if she had said it all before. Which she had. She’d said this over and over again after the first few times doctors had called with a cure for her pain.

“Ms. Miller, first of all let me inform you that I don’t think that you’re crazy, not at all. I have studied your file and I found that although there is no physical reason for your pain there may be a mental one.” The doctor paused for air most likely and Joey jumped right in.

“I thought you said I wasn’t crazy, now you’re saying I have a mental problem?” Joey was basically yelling as she tried to rub the sleep from her eyes, untangle her hair from the phone cord and sit up in bed all at the same time.

“Mrs. Miller what I’m trying to say is although most doctors have studied your case and come to the conclusion that the migraines are a neurological disorder, with a variety of symptoms including severe headaches and blurred vision, I have come to the conclusion that you may have these intense periods of pain because you are repressing energy. I believe you may have an ability that you aren’t aware of and this could be the cause of the pain that you experience. If you would come in we could do some tests to prove that you have unusual brain activity and this would-“ Joey interrupted the doctor yet again, she just couldn’t help herself. This was insane, not to mention that she might be insane as well.

“So now you’re are saying that I’m repressing “energy” as you put it? Thank you, but no thank you. Have a nice life Doc. ” Joey smiled at her own wit and started to hang up the phone on the elderly doctor when she heard him ask, “Why did you pick up the phone?” she frowned at the idiocy of that question.

“Because it rang.” she responded calmly. Waking completely as she answered his question. “No it didn’t ring, Ms. Miller. It didn’t ring at all. You picked up the phone before it had a

chance to ring.” Dr. Sanders said this as if he had just proven that the earth really was round. Joey would have laughed at his exuberance under any other circumstances. Instead she

found herself sitting on the bed, with the phone somehow on the floor and what must have been a dumb expression drawn upon her face. Because as she thought methodically about the chain of event she realized that he was right. The phone had not actually made a sound, she’d thought it would ring and so she roused herself from sleep and picked it up before it could ring and disturb her.

Ever since she was little Joey hated to be woken up by bells, ringing phones or loud voices. So instinctively in her sleep, her subconscious had saved her the irritation of a ringing phone. She’d picked up the phone before it had a chance to ring. Startled by the muffled sound of Dr. Sanders’s voice, Joey shot back to reality and scooped up the telephone from the floor, thinking of Rolland and what he would say if he ever found out about this. Over the course of their marriage he had constantly told her that she answered the phone and even the doorbell before they rang. It was almost a running joke, because she consistently denied it, until now. She groaned and said. “What time should I be there?” The words left her mouth before she had time to change her mind.

So here she was at nine o’clock on a bright Monday morning sitting in the waiting room of a doctor whose name she could barely remember. Joey glanced around her trying to see if maybe his other patients actually looked crazy. But none did, there was a distinguished looking older man who couldn’t be termed elderly but was long past the bloom of youth. To her left sat a young man who kept biting at his nails in a way that made her think that perhaps he was a worrier, or an accountant. Now that was a stressful job. Keeping a company running strictly by watching the numbers, she

wouldn’t want to be in his shoes. Of course he may have just been released from the mental ward in the hospital across the street because now he was staring at her nails as if they needed nibbling.

Tucking her hands self consciously in her lap she wished that she had brought something to read. Her purse held a day-planner, calculator, a small make up bag and her wallet which included her driver’s license and a few important cards. That made her smile, maybe she was a little crazy, carrying a purse with her life story in it. She giggled nervously to herself. Glancing up to see the young man sitting next to her was staring once again intently at her hands.

Joey had soft curves and an attractive smile. With her long unruly blond curls and the bounce in her step she drew attention where she went. In fact she knew that her features were classically beautiful. It was just that she liked to blend in with people, so she wore minimal makeup and just the lightest touch of mascara and lip gloss. Rolland had always told her how naturally beautiful she was. He still did, it was just that somewhere along the way she had stopped listening.

Joey glanced up as a door opened bringing her back to the present and giving her a whiff of the antiseptic smell that all hospitals and doctors offices held. It was a smell that made a person not prone to nerves, feel that maybe they should be a little nervous. A nurse or maybe an assistant stood there with a clipboard in hand and surveyed the small waiting room. Joey rose as if her name had already been called; when the woman merely looked past her she realized her mistake reclaimed her seat. The woman shot a smile her way and said, “Next, Josephine Miller.” as if to announce an honored guest instead of to call a patient in for an appointment.

Slowly gathering herself together Joey followed the woman down a long hallway that made her think immediately of her dislike for closed in spaces. The hallway opened up to a row of offices with glass walls. She could see directly into each small office where doctors were sitting behind identical desks working on one thing or another. Some of them seemed to be consulting with patients or other doctors and a few were on the telephone with serious expressions on their faces. Following the woman, whose name Joey hadn’t heard although she was sure the woman must have mentioned it, she noticed a sign on a door that said Dr. Sanders.

“Please be seated, he’ll be with you shortly” the woman said. Joey wasn’t sure what she expected, maybe to be sitting on one of those beds with stirrups for unknown purposes, in a gown that wouldn’t tie in the back when the doctor came to speak with her. Much to her surprise she was seated on the opposite side of a large oak desk. Her back was to the hallway but she didn’t mind. She could easily become lost in thought staring at the framed picture of Dr. Sanders and a beautiful woman, obviously his wife. Joey had always been one for details. Before the migraines when her brain hadn’t felt riddled with pain, Rolland had always been impressed by her innate ability to take in her surroundings at a glance and make a sound judgment based upon what she saw.

“I’m glad you were able to keep our appointment” said the doctor from behind her. He must walk like a mouse because she hadn’t heard him enter. Still she prided herself on appearing unaffected by his quiet entrance.

“I must say my curiosity was piqued.” Joey admitted sheepishly. The doctor smiled kindly and sat in his chair behind the desk. As she looked at him she thought that he had kind eyes which worked in his favor and increased his grandfatherly appeal. She watched him expectantly as he opened a drawer on his side of the desk and slid out a stack of cards. They looked like playing cards and she humorously wondered what he was going to do next, a magic trick?

He introduced himself again for her benefit and explained that he was not a doctor currently on staff with the hospital, he was doing personal research for a research paper that he wished to write and she had come to his attention through one of his colleagues. The fact that he failed to mention the colleagues name did not escape her attention. Sharing patient information was not legal, however, in the last several months Joey had signed so many forms and patient releases that she wasn’t sure if she

hadn’t signed over her information to research. Rolland had cautioned her to be careful in her quest for answers, but here she sat, waiting for the doctor to begin. Dr. Sanders explained that he wanted to play a simple guessing game and Joey bristled slightly but nodded for him to continue.

“I’m going to lay these cards flat on the desk and I’d like you to flip them over and say out loud what you think is on the other side.” He smiled slightly and seemed to be waiting for her reaction. His clear blue eyes seemed to catch every movement and change of posture that Joey made.

“So you brought me hear to play the game “Memory”? Great.” Joey blew out her breath and decided to play along, it couldn’t be that hard. Looking at the twenty-five cards that he’d put down in five neat little rows of five. On closer inspection they didn’t look like playing cards but more like flash cards, like the ones she used as a child to learn spelling words for school. Maybe that was the trick, she was supposed to think they were playing cards when they were actually flash cards.

Joey nibbled at her lower lip as she always did when she was nervous. After taking a deep breath she gingerly touched the first card. Immediately an image of a heart came to mind, so she told him she saw a circle. She flipped it over and saw a red heart. Dr. Sanders turned the card face down again, but he didn’t make any comment.

He flipped over the other cards consecutively and Joey preceded his actions by guessing what would be on the face up side of each card. When she was finished all the cards had been turned face down again without a word from the doctor. He asked her to repeat the game three more times, with each game she lost more patience as he remained silent after each guess.

She consistently answered incorrectly, although there were only five shapes to choose from, she never got one answer correct. With each guess he showed her the actual face of the card. She sank back in her chair, wincing at the pain in her head when she did so.

“Well there goes your theory that I’m special in the way you imagined. I think we can both agree that theory just flew straight out of the window and into the trash.” She smiled sardonically and sent the doctor a charming smile. She started to rise so that she could make a hasty retreat. But the words that he said next, stopped her in her tracks.

Dr. Sanders sighed and eased forward, “Wrong!” he exclaimed, his green eyes lit with an inner glow.

“Joey don’t you understand what you just did? You didn’t get one card correct; do you know what that means? I’ll tell you what that means,” he stated, interrupting her response, “It means that it would be statistically impossible to get each card wrong. This stack of cards are made up of hearts, squares, triangles, rectangles and circles, that all. After the first seven cards you should have known that-in the very least.” Joey stared at him uncomprehendingly, was he crazy, and was all of this some kind of trick to see if she was out of her mind.

“Wait a second,” Joey exclaimed in disbelief, “Are you saying that I guessed incorrectly on purpose? I’ll tell you right now that I didn’t and furthermore that’s not possible.” She started to rise, feeling that this was going no where. Even if the doctor was kind and easy to talk to it was a waste of her time to be here.

“Mrs. Miller I’m not telling you that you got those cards wrong on purpose, I’m suggesting that you may have tricked yourself into saying the wrong answers unknowingly. It happens more than you would imagine.” He rushed to add as she once again made an effort to stand.

“Tell me, honestly, did an image come to you when you touched the first card. That was the only card that you seemed to hesitate on before answering?” he waited patiently for her to consider his question. Joey decided that perhaps she’d better remain seated; after all she couldn’t deny that an image of a heart did come to mind after touching the first card.

“I see.” Said the doctor with a knowing smile as Joey readjusted her position. His enthusiasm was contagious. But Joey wasn’t catching. It was just too weird, it was an unknown territory that was better left unexplored in her book.

“Let me ask you Ms. Miller, have you ever been able to hear a telephone ringing before it actually made a sound?” he paused for a moment as he reminded her of his initial call and there was a definite sparkle in his eye.

“Or perhaps you have found yourself driving down the road and the light is green but you decided to slow down because you feel like it might turn yellow any moment and then it actually does? Or perhaps you can catch a pencil before it actually starts to fall from a desk? Ever lose an item of clothing and then once you concentrate on it you’re able to imagine exactly where it might be?” his voice held a hint of delight at her incredulous expression. Before she could respond he continued, holding up one finger, silently asking for her patience.

“Not only are you able to imagine where the item is, but upon going to that spot you find it immediately? Better yet, have you ever known someone’s name before they tell you, or read someone’s thoughts?” Joey sat stunned listening to the doctor’s enthusiastic ramblings, his words sparked memories which rushed by like speeding cars on an express way. She sat in absolute shock as she listened to his words, knowing before actually knowing that her answer to each question was affirmative.

“No, never.” she said and then she got up and turned to leave. With her hand on the doctor’s office door she turned slightly to find that the he was watching her with a kind smile playing upon his lips. Sighing, because Joey was a sucker for a kind face she turned back to him and said, “Well, maybe I can answer yes, to some of those questions but certainly not the reading someone else’s thoughts.”

“Please have a seat Mrs. Miller, we have much to discuss” Dr. Sanders motioned to her empty chair. Joey looked at the seat for a moment; she was never one to walk away from a challenge. She stepped forward and then sat slowly and leaned forward to listen to what he had to say.

CHAPTER FOURCeleste found that it was easier to ignore the hurt if she didn’t move a muscle. She

concentrated on staying very still. Her breathing slowed and she decided that it was better to keep her eyes closed. She listened to the sound of her heartbeat and found it comforting. She tried to think of the woman, but that made her sad so she focused on her breathing. She lay perfectly still, a lonesome figure huddled against the chill that emanated from the floor. At least this time, the man hadn’t tied her up. The man had used a belt this time and Celeste focused her mind on pushing the pain away.

She spread out flat on her stomach and wondered what her back looked like. The woman had never let her see but she knew that it was bad. The pain in her back was intense, but Celeste willed it away. She had always been punished in the past before she had come to live with the man. But it was usually a different type of punishment, something that didn’t hurt her physically. Ever since she had come to live here the man had used his open hand to hit her or a belt. At first she had been stunned, having never endured a beating before, but now she was resigned to it.

At the Center they had told her that she had a special purpose but the man said that she was bad. Now the doctors and nurses from the Center were no longer able to shield her from the man. But Celeste remembered what the woman had been planning right before she died. She was going to

take Celeste and run far away. Celeste wanted to curl up into a little ball but her back hurt and she didn’t dare move yet. She heard his voice coming from the hallway. He was on the telephone talking to someone at the Center. She listened closely.

“Yes, I’m returning her to you. I’m sure you understand.” He paused as he listened to the person on the phone. “Yes, I expect to arrive tomorrow.” There was a pause and then he said, “Good day to you too.” Celeste lay shivering on the floor as she listened to his footsteps approaching the room. He appeared in the doorway and paused there for a moment to look at her. He walked toward her and stood over her still form. She tried really hard to slow her breathing and she closed her eyes lightly to pretend sleep. He picked her up by her arms and she tried unsuccessfully to bite back a moan of pain.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” he sighed and she felt his displeasure radiating from him in waves. He carried her down the stairs and through the hall way, holding her rigidly away from his body, talking more to himself than to her. Celeste knew to remain quiet and not to open her eyes. The man didn’t like it when she stared at him. Sometimes she could see his colors. He didn’t want her to see his colors. Sometimes she saw people and an orange glow surrounded them and that often meant that they were worried. Children usually had a red glow that seemed to exude energy and life. The man’s glow was inky black and darker still. Celeste hadn’t figured out what those colors meant yet. Some of the doctors and nurses at the Center, where she was from, had the same colors. So it couldn’t be good. Not good at all.

“That’s it just a few more steps and you’ll be where you belong, down in the basement. You’ll love it down there; it’ll give you some time to think about why I’m angry with you. I’ve told you over and over again not to use your talents in front of people. Did you think that I wouldn’t notice that stupid rainbow on the day of the funeral? He shook her roughly and she gasped at the pain that shot through her back.

“You’ll stay here tonight, where you belong, and tomorrow I am taking you back to the Center.” The man seemed to be talking to himself, but Celeste was used to this kind of treatment, he still expected her to listen.

She shivered in fear; never had she spent more than three hours in the dark, damp cellar. She didn’t know how to spend the night without her special blanket and she wanted to beg him not to make her. She knew it was useless to beg, he would only find some way to make her suffer more. Celeste was also very hungry. She hadn’t been able to eat the food that was set before her at the funeral. There was a stash of crackers that were stored in her room. She had put them in her sock drawer for safe keeping.

He carried her to the steps and just as he started down the doorbell rang. It was a shrill ring that seemed to startle him and Celeste braced herself for a fall. He turned quickly and carried her towards the door, where he peered out the blinds at the caller. He wasn’t surprised by the reporters that had shown up at the funeral. Of course the world wanted to know how their famous scientist was doing.

Dr. Dean Kincaid was the head of the San Antonio Research Department for Medical Advancement. He had become famous after making several breakthrough discoveries as the Director of the Board at the famous research facility. His theories on brain activity were now taught in colleges across the country. Directly out of college he’d begun conducting his own research and with his family money and relentless drive for success he had made great strides in the study of human intelligence and genetics.

He had yet to be allowed to publicly test many of his theories on human patients. It was a source of frustration for him that he had sought to overcome. The unconscious mind was an amazing

thing and Dr. Kincaid meant to make his mark on the world with his knowledge and genius. He glanced down at the girl; she had such potential, as his first patient he had brought her to a point where no one had ever gone before.

He remembered the first time he had tested her at the Center she had been little more than a toddler and was already reading fluently and speaking in clear sentences. He recognized genius when he saw it. Her IQ had been tested and even then she had ranked higher than anyone had estimated.

The little girl had an uncanny ability to listen to conversation and understand from a young age. It was more than possible that the techniques that they used at the Center had somehow enhanced her brain activity. He had requested that the Center allow him to monitor the child from the comfort of his own home.

No one had dared to speak against the idea. Dr. Kincaid was greatly respected and feared. He wanted full access to the child because not only was she brilliant, she was also able to do amazing things. She’d already made him wealthier than he’d ever dreamed.

Of course his cowering wife hadn’t been aware of everything the girl was capable of with her array of abilities, in fact, at times he wondered if had missed anything. He spent most of his time studying and cataloguing her abilities. Even with his careful monitoring he was concerned that there was more to the child than what he had already learned. He filed a weekly report with the Center and they updated him on the progress of the other children that were participants in their experiment.

Recently though the girl had started to change. He should have noticed it that first year after she’d stopped speaking. Instead he had followed the advice of the doctor’s at the Center and allowed her to learn sign language, which she used to communicate. Time and time again he had taken her to the lab and hooked her up to the machines to monitor her vital signs and brain activity.

Then he’d begun the normal tests and procedures. His theory was that mankind used less than ten percent of their brain all except Einstein who was rumored to have had used more, no one knew for sure. Imagine what a person could do if they could use only half of their brain. That was his belief, that was his theory and that was his dream. Unfortunately he had to devote some of the child’s time to “free” play. From his studies he had concluded that free play promoted better learning, memory retention, and growth of the cerebral cortex. It also enhances the development of language, spatial intelligence and mathematical skills. He had allowed his wife to spend time with the child each afternoon only because it helped to enhance his investment.

The child stirred and he glanced down at her flushed face with contempt. Her eyes were glazed over as if she was in shock. He hoped that he hadn’t beaten her too badly. He was usually more careful. But it was her fault for her disobedience the previous day in front of guests at his wife’s funeral. Laying her on the settee in the foyer he opened the door to exploding flashes of light, oh how he loved reporters. They were so gullible, so easy to fool. He schooled his expression into one of pained sorrow and opened the door.

“Dr. Kincaid!” he heard his name being called, requests for his thoughts and feelings at this time of tragedy.

“I know that you are interested in our welfare, I would like to thank you for the outpouring of kindness that I’ve found in this time of need. My foster daughter and I miss my wife deeply and I’m sure that you understand our need for privacy. Again I appreciate your sympathy.” He smiled sadly for the cameras and was delighted when flash after flash blinded him capturing for all to see his tear filled bluer-than-blue eyes shimmering with grief. Not only was he a great doctor, but a very good actor. The blood hungry reporters wanted news, not a widower’s grief. But his performance staved off questions about the mysterious death of his young wife and stillborn child.

The police had already questioned him. They’d found him at work where he volunteered a few hours a week at a local hospital, he was right in the middle of a lecture in a cramped room full of interns, doctors and nurses. He’d worn the perfect look of shock when they told him that an emergency call had been placed and police had responded to his home to find his eight year old daughter standing at the door and his wife upstairs in their bedroom. She had gone into early labor and died from massive hemorrhaging. His child had died along with his wife. They told him that there would not be an investigation due to the fact that foul play wasn’t suspected.

Celeste wasn’t able to talk, so they weren’t sure whether she or his wife had called the police. They tried communicating with the child in sign language, but she had been unresponsive, refusing to answer any questions. However, his wife in her weakened state couldn’t have been able to reach the phone in the hallway. In the end it was concluded that the little girl must have dialed the number at his wife’s request and then waited for the police to get there.

The police had responded as quickly as possible, but they lived more than thirty miles away from the nearest precinct. It had taken at least thirty-five minutes for them to get to the house with the inclement weather and sirens blaring. They found the little girl in her nightgown standing by the door, soaked and shivering. She had been unable to tell them what the problem was or who had called the police. Upon searching the house his wife was found, already dead. Too late, too late. Dean smiled to himself he was very careful not to fall into hysterical laughter under the watchful eye of the reporters.

Questions were thrown at him from the mass of reporters and instead of answering them Dean turned and walked back into the house. From the corner of his eye he saw the small figure of the child on the couch and decided to play on their sympathies while he had the opportunity.

He looked out at the small crowd of reporters, their faces eager for a story. “My daughter is not taking this very well. I’m taking an official leave of absence to spend time with her. She needs me right now and I need to be with her, to heal with her. This tragedy has shocked us both.” He allowed his voice to crack on the last sentence; suddenly flashes went off in the crowd a look of shock appeared on his face when he realized that in his rush he had accidently left the door open. Now the reporters had pictures of Celeste in the background and what a forlorn figure she made.

He turned and walked back into the house, closing the door firmly behind him. “Good job Celeste, they thought you were great. But you don’t win anything for your performance. Not until we make that breakthrough that I need. Now let’s put you where you belong.”

With swift steps he took her to the basement, laid her down on the cold floor, turned off the lights and unscrewed all the bulbs, taking those with him. He jogged up the stairs and glanced down at her. He thought he should probably take the blanket with him, he didn’t want her to be to cozy. On second thought she looked barely conscious. He closed the basement door but not before telling her to sleep well. All good fathers should wish their children well. “Sweet dreams.” He whispered and firmly closed the door.

Celeste knew what the man wanted her to do down here in the dark. He wanted her to think, he wanted her to dream, to go to that place in the back of her mind where she was able to see things, to know things before they happened. She wasn’t special. He told her time and time again that other children could do this. That she could learn, but was too stupid, didn’t try hard enough.

She took deep even breaths and thought about the white light that heals. After a while she noticed that her back didn’t ache as much as it had before. A nurse at the Center had taught her that little secret. The nurse had said that it should be their secret and she wouldn’t put it in the report because it took to much energy from Celeste. For instance right now she could barely stay awake.

She wanted to let her mind run free but just couldn’t find the strength to make her brain obey. She allowed herself to fall into the dark where the man said she belonged. Be safe, be safe, stay safe. Maybe if she said it often enough it would happen.

Joey awoke with a jerk. Her eyes were open but the room was pitch black and that couldn’t be right because it was only six p.m. and she was taking a nap. The sun should just now be setting. When she last curled up on her couch it had been sunny, but now she couldn’t see anything. She could smell a musty, dark smell, that reminded her of old, wet clothing. Her breathing was irregular and she wondered where she was. She found that she had an aching soreness all over her back and that she was shivering from the cold, damp air that seemed to be all around her. Her eyelids flickered as she tried to orient herself and just like that she was back in her living room.

The setting rays of the sun were shining in through the blinds and the birds outside were chirping a soft song. The movie that she’d fallen asleep on had long since ended. She lay there trying to figure out what had just happened to her. It was only a very vivid dream, she assured herself, but it had seemed so real. She instinctively reached over for Rolland and realized that he was still away on business.

She wondered where her mind had taken her. Inhaling she waited for her delicate nose to be assaulted by that moldy smell but it’s elusive stench was gone, replaced by the soothing scents of jasmine and lavender that wafted from a candle on her living room table. Her thoughts seemed to be racing and the words “be safe, be safe” seemed to be painted on her brain. In fact she was whispering them over and over again. Abruptly she stopped, clamping one hand over her mouth. She was losing it. She groaned aloud and buried her head in her arms.

She couldn’t remember when that may have started. Slowly she sat up expecting the pain she had experienced in her dream to still be there, but it wasn’t. She felt fine. But she had the striking feeling that somewhere someone she knew was in pain. She picked up the telephone to call Rolland and was dialing his cell number before she realized what she was doing. She couldn’t call Rolland. She had agreed that they would take this business trip as a time apart, to think clearly about what they both wanted.

Joey rose from her place on the couch and walked to the kitchen, where she placed ice in a glass and filled it to the brim with water. She gazed out of her dining room windows. Starring out at the busy city street below their apartment usually soothed her. The whir of traffic, the sounds of the city below wasn’t enough to distract her from the thought that somewhere out there she was needed in some urgent way.

As Joey stood there looking out the window she felt what she always thought of as a singing in her bones. It was a vibration that traveled throughout her body. Laying her head against the cold window pane, she closed her eyes in concentration. She could see darkness, and smell a cold, damp odor, almost like that of a basement. She saw a small shape huddled under a blanket. It looked to be no larger than a small child. Be safe, be safe, stay safe.

That chant raced through her mind and her heart beat began to accelerate until it filled her ears with a life of its own. She was bending over the still figure and she felt pulled towards the darkness that called to her. There was a child, lost somewhere, crying out for help. She didn’t want to leave but she couldn’t stay. She wasn’t strong enough to stay. Joey’s eyes flew open at the sound of her glass of water crashing to the floor. As she bent to retrieve the broken pieces of glass one thought resounded in her mind, that of a human being in terrible pain.

Celeste felt warmth surround her and she smiled slightly. She felt the warmth begin to draw away from her and she struggled to hold onto it, but it was gone. Her hear beat rapidly in her chest.

Akin to the sound of thunder, her heartbeat rumbled and pulsed. Be safe, be safe, stay safe…. “I’m trying.” She thought earnestly.

Her eyes opened wide in the darkness as the basement door was flung open and the silhouette of the man as he filled the doorway. “Celeste it’s raining outside, why is it raining outside?” he yelled at her from above. Storming down the steps Dr. Kincaid jerked Celeste to her feet and prodded her towards the stairs. Celeste had no idea how much time had passed and the light hurt her eyes. But she welcomed it, she hated the dark.

He followed closely behind her and carefully directed her to the bathroom. Her clothing was laid out on the vanity, including socks and shoes, so she knew that he meant to take her somewhere today. He told her to shower and that he wanted her in the kitchen ready to go within fifteen minutes. He didn’t threaten or yell, his voice was kind and even. But Celeste shivered in fear just the same. She avoided looking at his eyes by keeping her own eyes on the floor. He was displeased to see such weakness in the girl. He hated to think that this was the result of years of research and study.

Celeste hurried through her shower, wincing at the memory of the damage done to her back. Taking a brush from the cabinet, she ran that through her curly hair a few times until it crackled with static. She had hair that curled into long spirals and unlike others that she saw, her hair was a mixture of blond streaks that ranged from burnished copper to silver. Celeste sent a secret smile to her image in the mirror; everything was going to be okay soon. She had a plan, and a promise to keep to the other children at the Center. She was going to get away.

Her heart thumped in anticipation and she closed her eyes against the look she saw there, her reflection didn’t show confidence, it showed fear. Breathe, she ordered her lungs to move in and out. If she could hold on to her resolve, then today would be the last day she would ever see the man who called himself her father again. Be safe, be safe, stay safe. She held her special necklace in the palm of her hand and repeated the words over and over in her mind. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.

There was the sound of footsteps outside the bathroom door and Celeste knocked on the door as she finished tying her shoelaces. The man entered without waiting for a response. Celeste watched him through crystal violet eyes that seemed to be peering into his soul. He turned swiftly and ushered her out into the hallway and then into the living room. He gathered his briefcase and jacket and then headed out to the car. Celeste followed obediently behind him. She didn’t want to go back to the Center and she was determined to look for an opportunity to escape. The Center was a bad place and if she could find an opportunity to run away, she was going to take it. Then maybe she could help the other children who were counting on her. It was time to go. He didn’t want to be late. He had an appointment to keep.

CHAPTER FIVE

Celeste buckled her seat belt and sat very still. She wanted to listen to his thoughts, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was more afraid of what she might feel than of what he might actually do to her.

Before he shifted the car into gear he reached over and squeezed her wrist until tears came to her eyes and she panted out her pain, since she couldn’t cry out. But if she had a voice it surely

would have made her cry. She felt something wrench lose in her wrist and she sobbed openly now. With no sound coming out of her mouth she cried.

“Good now you look like a girl who lost her mother.” He smiled, satisfied. “We’re on our way to the Center. Are you looking forward to it? You’ll have your old room

back.” he spoke as if waiting for a response, but she remained silent staring straight ahead without blinking.

“Oh no, I guess you wouldn’t be.” He answered his own question when she remained silent. “You don’t like going back there do you?” He laughed when she refused to answer.

Celeste thought of the flowers and birds around her, anything to stem the flow of silent tears that trickled down her cheeks. She glanced out the window, but all she saw was a blur of trees and sky. She held her right wrist in her other hand and prayed that the throbbing would stop. She knew that she needed both hands if she were going to follow her plan to escape.

There was no doubt in her mind that today had to be the day. To ease the ache in her chest she brought back the memory of the woman telling her that Dr. Dean Kincaid was not her natural father, no matter what he told her. That was one thing that she carried close to her heart. It was most likely that her real mother and real father had created her out of love. Without that fact, she might not have any real sense of self, without it she might not have any hope at all.