Changing the Rules (Richter Book 1)(69)

“Thanks, Millie.”

One of the housekeepers took that moment to walk past them pushing a cleaning cart out of the ICU.

Claire used the distraction to take a deep breath.

Phelps turned her attention to Cooper. “I guarantee you she won’t talk if you go in there. She doesn’t trust men.”

Claire placed a hand on Cooper’s arm. “I’m okay.” She turned to walk into the room, paused. “What is the extent of her injuries?”

“They didn’t tell you?”

“We have a lot of questions and not a lot of information.”

Phelps looked between them. “After brutal abuse, they tried to burn her alive.”

Claire felt bile rise in the back of her throat. Hearing those details wasn’t something she was looking forward to.

Her expression must have shown her unease, since Cooper placed a hand on her shoulder.

Claire reached in her purse and turned on a recording device before squaring her shoulders and walking into the room.





CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE


The mug shot of Marie Nickerson looked nothing like the teenager who morphed into what looked like a breathing airbed.

Her eyes were closed. Bandages covered her neck and chest, her hair had either been burned or shaved to the scalp. Bruises in all stages of healing were a dark rainbow of colors. What wasn’t bruised was swollen. She lay on the bed like something out of a cartoon meme, of a person in a body cast with all four limbs stretched away from her body. Knees supported by pillows in a slightly bent position, arms extended and elevated. Her hands were both completely bandaged.

And there was something about the scent in the air Claire knew she’d remember for her entire life.

Marie’s eyes fluttered open, a moment of question swam in what looked like a sea of pure despair.

“Hello, Hope.”

The girl closed her eyes.

“My name is Claire.” She moved a little closer. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

She didn’t answer.

Claire pulled a chair closer to the side of the bed that housed fewer medical devices. She sat and secured her purse in the chair beside her.

The sound of the bed humming and the devices on her legs squeezing them filled the silence.

“It looks like they’re taking really good care of you.”

Marie turned her head away, slightly.

Get her talking, Claire’s inner monologue chimed. Anything to start the flow of words. Any words.

“Do you want me to call you Hope? I was told the nurses gave that to you. Everyone seems to care about your recovery.”

Still nothing.

“There’s a lot of protection, too. Everyone’s making sure you’re safe.”

Marie swallowed and looked at Claire without turning her head. “You a cop?” Her voice was tired and hoarse like a ninety-year-old woman who’d smoked all her life.

“No. I’m not a cop.”

“You’re a shrink.” And that didn’t interest her by the way she closed her eyes again as if ending the conversation.

“God no. I’d be a terrible shrink. I’m a private investigator.”

Marie looked now, turned her head. “You don’t look old enough.”

Claire chuckled. “I’m older on the inside.”

Her words brought the first sign of any emotion, and Claire ran with it. “I was forced to do well in school. And not in the typical way most think of.” She sighed. “Do you know why Beethoven was so great at such a young age? His father all but chained him to a piano, and he was forced to do nothing but play from the moment he could sit up and put his fingers on the keys. His first concert performance was when he was like six.” Claire shook her head, spoke slowly. “People get good at things they’re forced to do.”

Marie was looking at her now.

“I bet he felt old before he was ten,” Claire let her voice fade.

A few seconds passed.

“You can call me Hope.”

Claire squeezed the fist in her lap to keep from showing too much excitement.

“I bet you’re feeling pretty old, Hope.”

“You sure you’re not a shrink?”

Claire smiled. “Would a shrink tell you that you kinda look like crap right now?”

Hope laughed and came up coughing.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Claire reached for the water that sat on the bedside table. “Do you want some water?”

Hope nodded, and Claire brought the straw to her dry lips for her to take a sip.

“Thank you.”

“I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

Hope closed her eyes. “It’s okay. Everyone comes in here and looks at me like I’m going to break.”

“I think you’re stronger than that.”

She went silent again.

“You have to be. Pretending like you’re something you’re not for so long.”

“I’m leftover trash.”

Claire swallowed, kept her teeth clenched. “They tell you that? The cowards that did this to you?”

She didn’t say yes, didn’t say no.

“You know what I see? I see a young woman who was handpicked out of a crowd of children and manipulated into this life. You’re older now, so you know kids can do stupid things sometimes. But when someone is older and they’re telling you the stupid things you’re doing are right, you start to believe them. Maybe you keep doing those things, and maybe they start to feel stupid again. Maybe they hurt more. Or maybe you’re just older. But somewhere in the back of your head you know this isn’t the life you want.”