Her second day at work went much as the first. She was so happy and blessed to have found a job that she thought she would enjoy. Her head was filled with happy thoughts of getting an apartment and being able to see Michael whenever she chose. Hot tears welled at the corners of her eyes. She missed him and needed his gentle warmth. He made her feel loved and cared for. She didn't want to be alone. She wanted to be close to Michael, planning their lives together.
Leon was there at 5:30 to pick her up. “Did you bring an item for Madame Sapphira tonight?”
“I didn’t bring it with me, but I have just the thing. Her Teddy bear! It will only take a minute to get it. I didn’t want to explain why I was carrying around a Teddy Bear at work.”
Madame Sapphira had given them the address of her home. They stood, gazing at the dilapidated old house at the very end of a dead end street. Marianne shivered, as though, ice had replaced her spine. The jacket that she had worn could not protect her from the cold air that enveloped her entire body against the deathly cold. The walkway leading up to house was cracked. Weeds and dandelions poked out from those cracks. The moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. The house's walls showed black decay by neglect. Splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. The door begrudgingly creaked open. A musty, dank odor crept into their noses. The house was dead silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling in clusters, evidence of rain seeping through the roof. They quietly entered the dark living room. Windows were covered with grime and dirt and the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays. Picture frames hanged off-centered. Shadows seemed to roam around the room.
The sofa and chairs appeared to have been moved from their original positions, revealing deep grooves on the carpet where they used to sit. A misplaced bookcase stood in the corner of the room, undisturbed for a long time. Madame Sapphira offered them hot tea and apologized for the state of her home. “My parents bought this house forty years ago. Since my husband died, I have not had the energy or the desire to do the work that’s needed to the maintain this house. I keep thinking that I will hire someone to do the work, but money is always a hindrance.”
Madame Sapphira brought in tea service on a tray and poured each of them a steaming cup of hot tea. “Did you bring me an article of clothing or a toy as I asked?”
Marianne pulled the teddy bear from a black bag and extended it to her.
“No, not again.” She moaned as she took the little bear. A few moments passed and this was no longer her living room and it sure as hell wasn't her body. Tears welled and trickled slowly from eyes not her own. Then the pain started. Agonizing pain, and she couldn't move. She could only endure. Terror clawed at her soul while dying nerves screamed. The pain in her head became unbearable, snatching away all thought. Her body jerked and arched in a macabre dance. Black spots blurred her vision, and still the pain continued. She screamed. Confusion reigned as her mind grappled with reality. What was going on? Understanding crashed in on her. With it came despair and horror. She'd become a visitor in someone else's nightmare. Locked inside a horrifying energy warp, she'd linked to this child whose life was slowly draining away. Another psychic vision. The child’s agonized scream echoed on forever in her mind. She cringed. The child slipped into unconsciousness, but Madame Sapphira wasn't offered the same gift. Now, the pain was hers alone. The pain became hers to experience even though it wasn’t hers. Her gaze locked on a bloody hammer held high by a huge being that looked like a dragon or even a dinosaur, because he was so very large. She shuddered. Please, dear God, let it end soon. The attacker's fury died suddenly. In the dim light, from the corner of her eye, she caught the metallic glint of a gold ring. It mattered. She knew it did. She struggled to imprint the image before the opportunity was lost. Her eyes drifted closed. In the darkness of her mind, the wait was endless. Her soul wept. Oh, God, she hated this. Why? Why was she here? She couldn't help this child. She couldn't even help herself. She welcomed the next blow – so light only a minor flinch undulated through the dreadfully damaged child. Her tortured spirit stirred deep within the rolling waves of blackness, struggling for freedom from this nightmare. With one last surge of energy, she opened her eyes, and locked onto the two people sitting on her sofa. In ever-slowing heartbeats, her circle of vision narrowed until it blinked out altogether. The silence, when it came, was absolute. Gratefully, Madame Sapphira relaxed into death. She came out of it slowly. She was a mess. The physical process usually took anywhere from ten to twenty minutes – depending on the injuries. The mental confusion, disconnectedness, sense of isolation took longer to disappear. She paid a high price for moving too soon. Shuddering, she reached for the frayed edges of her control. It wouldn't be much longer. She hoped. Nothing could stop the hot tears leaking from her closed eyelids. This session had been bad. She'd never experienced one so physically damaging. Nervously, she wondered at the extent of her blood loss. If she didn't learn how to disconnect, these visions could be the end of her – literally. Just like that poor child. She hated that these episodes were changing, growing, developing. So powerful and so ugly, they made her sick to her soul. Several minutes later, she raised her head to survey the room. The pain was manageable, although she wouldn't be able to move her limbs yet. She rolled disgusting spit around the inside of her mouth, waiting. She wanted to run away – from the memories, the visions, her life. But knowing that pain simmered beneath the surface, waiting to rip her apart, stopped her. Weary, ageless patience added to the bleakness in her heart. Ten more minutes passed. Now, she should be good to go. Lifting her head, she spat onto the waiting wad of tissue and noted the time. Transition had taken fifteen minutes today. She was improving. Oh God. She broke into sobs. When would this end? Other psychics found things or heard things. Many of them saw events before they happened. She saw violence – not only saw, but experienced it too.
Warmth was a comfort that belonged to others. She wasn't so lucky. She walked with one foot on the dark side – whether she liked it or not. And that was the problem. Christ, she was tired of waking up dead.
When she could speak, she told them that she didn’t really have any answers. “It appears to me that a dinosaur or a dragon killed your sister, Miss Singer. It doesn’t make any sense to me. Do you have any idea what it could mean?” Marianne replied that it didn’t and that she was sorry for the discomfort it had caused. “There is a gold ring of some sort. Does it mean anything at all to you?” Marianne shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense at all to me.”
The two of them excused themselves and moved quickly to the Cadillac. Leon started the discussion on the way home. “Well that was certainly disappointing,” he said.
“Why do you say it was disappointing?”
“Who could imagine that a dinosaur or a dragon could kill someone? Maybe she was seeing a book that Shelby read?”
“Didn’t she say that when she is having these visions, it’s like she is experiencing the trauma from the victim’s body?”
“Yes, but to say a dragon or a dinosaur killed someone is absurd!”
“Leon, Shelby was a tiny little girl. Any adult could seem like a giant to her,” Marianne countered. “Rex doesn’t wear any rings, but he wears a gold earring in his ear at all times. Besides that he has a gigantic dragon tattooed on his chest. Could it be that Rex killed her and let me take the blame?”
“It’s hard to think a man could kill his own daughter! Why would he do such a thing?”
“I don’t really know. You know I told you about the sexual abuse I suffered from Rex. Maybe he tried the same thing with Shelby and was afraid to get found out.”
They arrived at the house on Lowell Road to find the whole neighborhood was filled with police cars.
“Oh, God.” Marianne cried. “What is happening?” She opened the car door and ran quickly into the house to find Mavis on the sofa with a glass of wine. Leon followed her in. “Celina is missing,” she said before Marianne had a chance to ask. “The police have already been here but they want to talk to you. I told them I would tell you and they asked if you could go to the station to speak with them. One of them left a card and said to ask for him.” She got up to retrieve the card and held it out to Marianne. The name on the card read Detective Charles Stanley, Aniston Police Dept. “He said to call him tonight no matter how late. He said in cases of a missing child they have to move quickly.” Mavis took a deep drink from her glass. “They will want to talk to you too Leon. Helen and I have been talking about it for a couple of hours. They want to speak to everyone in the neighborhood.”
Leon was already dialing the phone. He obviously was on hold because he turned to Marianne. “There’s no reason to be anxious, Marianne. They probably just want to know if we have seen or heard anything or know anything that can help them to find Celina.”
“Yes, but I went to prison after being convicted of killing a little girl. They don’t know if I did it or not. I think they make up their minds about things and it really doesn’t matter what you say to them. Maybe they think I’m a child serial killer, or something.”
Leon laughed out loud at the thought that they could possibly think she might have had something to do with Celina’s being missing.
“Don’t be ridiculous! They just want to ask if she might have told you anything, or if you might have seen anything that could help them.”
Detective Stanley answered the phone himself. When he spoke he was all business. "I've got to take another call. I'll need you to come to the station and give a statement. Yes, tonight as soon as possible.”
She couldn’t recall the name of the police officers she had spoken to so many years ago, but she remembered the building. Approaching that same imposing building for a second time was no easier. She remembered the fear that engulfed her such a very long time ago. Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and walked in. Her reception, this time, was quite different. After letting the front desk know she was there to see Detective Stanley they were taken to an office in the back of the building. A different officer said they preferred to speak to them one at a time and Marianne was taken to a small room and left alone. She shivered as she took in the square table and two chairs. No windows, no couch, nothing to indicate comfort. This appeared more like an interrogation room. Silently, she walked to the far side of the table and sat down. She didn't need any other cues to understand she could be in serious trouble. She just didn't know why. The door opened, admitting a very large detective. Marianne thought he must be at least six feet and 4 or 5 inches tall as he bent down to come through the door.
"Miss Singer, thanks for coming in. I'm Detective Charles Stanley." Marianne grimaced as they shook hands. Warily, she watched as the man pulled out the other chair and sat down, dropping a file folder on the table. He began looking through the folder then glanced over at her, his bristly eyebrows slightly raised.
He opened his folder and started writing notes on his pad of paper. She tried to read his chicken scratch. It proved impossible. She waited until he'd finished writing before asking a question. "Why did you call me in?" Calm, quiet, he gave no inkling of his reaction to her file. He could be writing out a grocery list for all the emotion he showed. Sourly, she realized he'd probably been on the force so long the probably nothing fazed him.
“Miss Singer, the kidnapping of a child is every parent's worst nightmare. Actually it’s our worst nightmare too. Most children are never returned and most times not even any remains are found. Most parents who lose a child through kidnapping, never even get an answer to the question of, "Is my child alive or dead?"
He pulled out a photo of Celina and showed it to Marianne. “Celina is a beautiful child that is always noticed and doted on even by strangers. With a smile like Celina’s who couldn't help but notice? But the bad people of the world notice beautiful children too. Mrs. Facinelli is an excellent, loving mother who has been protective of her children. Kidnapping can happen very quickly-even to very cautious, astute parents.”
He straightened in his seat and turned to Marianne. “Of course we don’t know for sure that Celina has been kidnapped. We are wondering if there is anything you can tell us to help us try and locate this young girl? Her mother tells us that the girl was seen in your yard talking to you just a few days ago.”
“Yes. I was lying in the sun and she just wandered into our back yard while I was out there. We didn’t talk about anything important. I just told her about how much fun I had playing with neighborhood kids when I was her age. That’s all. She only stayed a few minutes.” It took an effort to keep the wobble from her voice. She eyed the officer writing extensive notes. What the hell could he write to fill two full pages? Without a word or a glance her way, he got up and left the room.
Marianne sat waiting with mounting frustration, and when an hour later, she was still sitting there, the frustration morphed into an insidious fear. She couldn't stop trembling. She interlocked her fingers and sat on them. Focus, you idiot. Don't let them get to you. You can do this. There's no reason for them to hold you here much longer. Using a prayer that had helped her in the past, she mentally repeated: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference. After repeating the prayer several times she reverted to what Bill called “self-talk.” Everything happens for a reason. All will be well. Shit happens.
The door opened suddenly. She forgot to breathe. The same detective walked in again. She sighed in disgust.
"I just need to ask you a few more questions."
"Why? What more can you ask me? I’ve told you everything I know.”
He ignored her. Marianne listened in disbelief as the questioning started all over. An hour and a half later, she was shown the front door, the officer's words echoing in her head. Don't leave town. Bitterness overwhelmed her. She had nowhere to go.