Protege(4)

“Are you a violent person, Ms. Banks?” It seemed fair to ask, after the brief family history.

“No,” she answered quickly, with grave surety.

“Have you ever hurt an animal?”

Her head shook. “I once lost a litter of baby rabbits I was taking care of after the mother disappeared. I was devastated for weeks.”

She gave the impression of a bleeding heart, but something told him she was also strong. “Where were you the day of your mother’s murder?”

Her eyes blanked. Every slight motion stilled as if she were no longer inside her body.

“Ms. Banks?”

Her tongue slowly licked her dry lips, but she did not blink. “I was in school. Our teacher had just passed out a quiz when the principal pulled her into the hall. Initially, I assumed someone was in trouble. I never suspected his presence had anything to do with me. My teacher stepped into the classroom and called my name. I still assumed the situation was about someone else, thinking she needed me to deliver a note or help the principal with something. But as I stepped into the hall, I saw their expressions and knew something very bad had happened.”

“Were your teachers male or female?”

Her head tilted as her brow knit. “My teacher was a woman, but the principal was a man.”

“Did they move you before explaining the situation?”

She nodded, her eyes again focused on a point just above his shoulder. “They told me to leave my books and for some reason that frightened me, though I think it was meant to calm me. We walked to the front office and no one said a word. The principal, Mr. Mattock, touched my shoulder. He never touched me, so that was when I really began to panic. When we reached the front office, two officers waited, dressed in blue.”

“Male officers?”

Again she nodded. “Yes, but I don’t recall anything beyond their uniforms.”

“Do you recall what they said?” He couldn’t imagine facing such a delicate situation with a fragile child. The tact necessary or lack thereof could easily impact a person for the rest of their life.

“No. I’m certain I cried, but I can’t recall. I was at school. Then I was in a squad car. I can recall the creases of the warn leather interior, but not a single word said. Next I was taken to a building that seemed like a hospital, but it wasn’t.”

“Why did it seem like a hospital?”

“Because it was scary, people only spoke in whispers, and it smelled clean.”

“Did you have relatives nearby, anyone you might know who could comfort you?”

“No,” she rasped, her hazel eyes shimmering. “My parents were both only children like me. It was just me.”

No matter how he tried, he couldn’t imagine how frightening such a thing would be for a child. “How long were you at the building that reminded you of a hospital?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It was dark. They gave me juice boxes and crackers.” Her lashes swept low as her head tipped down. “That’s the day I got lost,” she whispered.

“Lost?” Had she run off?

Her mouth flattened as she audibly swallowed. “I never went home. I never finished my quiz. I never saw my friends at school after that. My belongings, selected by someone else, were transported to the place they took me.” She shook her head. “I was upset, because they forgot my favorite shoes and a doll I liked, but I never complained because none of the other children, aside from the babies, had dolls.”

“There were other children there?”

She nodded. “I think there were nine of us, but it changed every day. I wasn’t there long, maybe five days or two weeks.”

“Did you attend your mother’s viewing?” The state would have insisted on grief counseling, he hoped.

She nodded. “It was just a box. Part of me believed she wasn’t inside, but I guess that was silly.”

“You were eleven, an age where seeing is believing. Death, I assume, wasn’t something you had prior experience with. It’s understandable that you might have doubts.”

“When I went to my first foster home and my mom didn’t come rescue me, I started to believe she was really dead.”

“How many families did you live with before becoming an adult?” She obviously sought stability, and that might be a trigger from her unstable upbringing.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. A lot.”

His curiosity was erroneous, driven by intrigue, and the last thing he wanted was to traumatize her by probing at devastating memories. “We can stop now.”

She surprised him by looking forlorn, as though such a discussion could not conclude until she was finished. “I don’t mind talking about it.”

“You appear upset.”

“It’s upsetting,” she said quickly, and her fervor pleased him. It showed her strength.

“You’re absolutely right. Continue only if you’re comfortable doing so.”

“I am.”

“Do you feel your personal experiences led you to a career with children, Ms. Banks?” It wasn’t rare for submissives to possess a protective nature. They were nurturers, caregivers, and strong-willed despite the outside world’s assumptions.

Her gaze tenuously held his, as if testing their connection, but every few seconds her lashes lowered and she struggled to make eye contact once more. “Maybe. I love teaching and I miss the verve of the school. Children have so much energy. It’s a great distraction from the mundane. I liked my classroom. I miss that a lot . . .”