L.L. Foster - The Acceptance

He touched Bliss’s small foot tenting the sheets at the end of the bed. “You can trust me, Bliss. Gaby’s right. I just want to know that you’re safe, and I want to catch the person who did this to you. Those are my only concerns right now.”

Hope filled Bliss’s expression. “But . . . they keep asking me questions about my real name and stuff.”

“You’re confused,” Gaby told her. “The doctor said so. You don’t have to tell anyone anything, not if you don’t want to.”

New tears filled her eyes. “I am confused. I know you want me to tell you what happened, but . . . I can’t really remember nothing important.”

Appreciating Luther’s silence, Gaby took Bliss’s hand. “Just tell me what you can remember.”

“I sort of remember talking to a boy.” Pain flashed in her blue eyes, but her aura coruscated around her, dancing in shades of yellow—the color of mental activity.

Gaby glanced toward Luther. She hadn’t forgotten the boy that Luther let escape her. And seeing the guilt on his face, she knew that he hadn’t forgotten either.

“A boy? What did you talk about with him?”

Bliss shook her head. “I don’t know. And . . . I’m not even sure it was a boy.” She pressed fingertips to her temples. “I can almost see him. But I remember a woman’s voice.”

A boy and a woman? “Can you tell me what she looked like?”

Bliss shook her head.

Luther stepped closer. “What did she say?”

Her fingers curled into fists. “She was really sick, telling me awful things. Cruel things. But . . . some of the things she didn’t say. I just . . . knew them.” Bliss looked up at Gaby, shuddering anew. “I sound like an idiot.”

“No, you don’t. You sound like someone who was attacked and hasn’t gotten it all together yet. That’s all.”

Bliss hesitated, breathing hard, then she reached for Gaby’s hand. “I remember thinkin’ that I had to get away from her any way I could. Because, Gaby, I knew if I didn’t, I’d . . . die.”

The bitch had really scared Bliss. Gaby wasn’t sure how to calm her, except to say, “I’ll find her, Bliss. I swear I will.”

Bliss squeezed her eyes shut. “I want to leave here, but I’m . . . scared of going, too. Dumb, huh?”

“Not dumb at all.” Gaby leaned down. “But I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Bliss. I want you to believe that.”

“ We’re not going to let anyone hurt you.” After frowning at Gaby, Luther circled the bed to stand opposite her. “Bliss, do you remember how old the boy was? What he wore? Anything about the car?”

Bliss’s brow puckered as she struggled with her thoughts. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Luther.”

“You said the woman said sick things to you. Do you recall any of it?”

“She . . . she told me I’d need my strength.” Saying it aloud leeched more color from Bliss’s face. “That’s it. I can’t remember nothing else.”

“Did she have an accent of any type?”

“She sounded really happy. She was almost giggling. That scared me more than anything.”

Luther touched her shoulder. “One witness said he saw a woman driving away from you, but he didn’t see anyone else. He didn’t see a boy.”

Bliss shook her head. “Maybe it was just a woman, then. But I ain’t sure. I’ve been trying and trying, Luther, I swear. But I can’t picture him or her or nothing. I can’t picture no one.”

Again, Bliss cast an unsure glance at Luther, then leaned in closer to Gaby. “I remember knowin’ what would happen to me. But I don’t know how I knew it. I just . . . did.” She chewed her trembling lips, looked at Luther, then away. “There’s a room . . .”

An eerie sliver of dread snaked down Gaby’s back. “A room?”

“I sort of . . . saw it. But I didn’t.”

Gaby leaned closer, cautious and curious. “It’s okay, Bliss. Just tell me what you saw.”

“It was awful, Gaby. A room full of stuff to hurt people. Places to tie them down. Things to use on them. Like a dungeon maybe.”

“In a house?”

“I think so, but I ain’t sure about that. I just . . . well, I know the room is there.”

Gaby sat up a little straighter. Did Bliss have the curse, or was it just her reverence of Gaby that made her believe such things?

Aware of Luther standing beside the bed, frozen in disbelief, Gaby tried not to give herself away. “Can you tell me what it looked like, specifically? Concrete walls, or paneling, or plaster? Painted walls? Lights?”

“It’s a big room.” Bliss closed her eyes. “Dark wooden walls with fancy trim on everything. Really bright lights. Blood and flesh and . . .” Her eyes opened, stark with horror. “A lot of people have died there.”

Looking like a thundercloud, Luther stared at Gaby, then at Bliss. “How would you know this, Bliss? Did the woman maybe say something?”

“No.” Bliss continued to fret. “But I remember seeing it real clear, and knowin’ that’s where she wanted to take me.”

“It’s okay,” Gaby told her. “A lot of people have special sight in a situation like yours.”

“Special sight?” Luther repeated.

Gaby ignored him.

So did Bliss. “I also knew you’d come to help me, Gaby.”

“I’ve been your protector—”

“No,” Bliss said. “Somehow, I knew that if I got outta that car, you’d come to help me.”

Luther went rigid.

Gaby squeezed Bliss’s hand. The poor girl shook all over. It was a dilemma to be solved later, she decided. For right now, with Bliss so muddled and afraid, she wouldn’t draw any conclusions.

Except that . . . “Luther, I wonder if it’s the same boy.”

He looked relieved for some sound logic instead of psychogenic phenomenon. “The same kid you were chasing when I found you again?”

“Could be.”

“I guess that depends on why you were chasing him, doesn’t it?”

Allowing Bliss to retain her death hold on her hand, Gaby settled more comfortably on the side of the bed. “I sensed he was up to something. That’s all.”

“Murder? Torture?” Luther scoffed. “You sensed he was up to that?”

“If I had, he wouldn’t have gotten away from me.” In no mood for Luther’s lack of faith, Gaby smoothed back Bliss’s hair. “I’m going to take you to Morty’s for a while. You’ll be safe there, and it’s not too far away, so I can visit you whenever you want me to. What do you think of that?”

Bliss said nothing.

She’d fallen back to sleep, her hand still clutching Gaby’s.

“It’s a strange coincidence,” Luther said, thinking aloud as he paced the small room. “For you to be after a boy, and for a boy to be after Bliss.”

“Tell me about it.” Gaby only wished she had a sound connection to share. But she didn’t.

Was it the same kid? She wasn’t sure. But she didn’t believe in coincidence.

Luther rounded the bed to stand in front of her. “Where did you know him from?”

“I didn’t. Until that day, I’d never laid eyes on him before.”

Hands on his hips, Luther said, “So you just saw a kid, disliked him on sight? What the hell would you have done if you’d caught him?”

“He was where he shouldn’t be, and I didn’t like it.” She thought about that, about her intentions that day, and her dead certainty that something was wrong. “Until he ran, I’d only planned to talk to him.” Gaby loosened Bliss’s hold, then pulled the sheet up over her. “But he did run, which seems real suspicious if you ask me.”

“Me, too.” He nodded toward Bliss. “At least now it does.”

“I’ll know him if I ever see him again.”

“That’s a start.”

And a dead end. Knowing Luther wouldn’t let it go, Gaby stood without touching him, brushed Bliss’s cheek one last time, and walked out of the room. Though her hands were steady, vengeance and rage commingled inside her.