Page 35 of Property of Quake

None of us argue as we do as she says. The elder sister settles into the chair behind her desk while Whitney and Melissa sit on the worn couch along the opposite wall. I know the moment her eyes land on the girl for the first time because she gasps in shock.

I focus on Sister Beatrice first. “I’m sorry for waking you. Whi—” I press my lips together before correcting myself. “Sister Emiliani called me, and I rushed over without thinking about how it would appear to you.”

The sister waves a hand dismissively. “While I don’t appreciate being woken up by your infernal pounding, I very much appreciate the fact that you came when called upon. The fact that Whitney trusts you is good enough reason.” She leans forward, and shifts her attention to Melissa. “Now, child, what happened?”

The little girl doesn’t answer. Instead, she squeezes her eyes shut as if she can close out the world around her.

In an effort to make myself less intimidating, I kneel in front of the little girl while Whitney keeps an arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“Sweetheart,” I begin. “We need you to tell us what happened?”

She remains silent but opens her eyes to peer at Whitney.

“It’s okay,” she encourages the child.

Melissa’s lip trembles, and us adults wait patiently for her to work out in her head what to say.

“I’m scared,” she finally whispers.

“I know.” She immediately bursts into tears again, and it takes every ounce of self-control to remain calm. “Who scared you?”

Melissa shakes her head, refusing to answer.

“Melissa,” Whitney says softly. “Did somebody hurt you?”

It’s pretty clear that someone did, but what do I know? Maybe she fell.

And maybe pigs can fly.

When Melissa nods, a murderous red haze fills my vision, and I take a deep breath so I don’t physically react in a way that scares her more.

Then she presses her face into Whitney’s shoulder and whispers, “I didn’t like it.”

Her voice is muffled, barely audible, but I catch the words. The stillness that settles over the room tells me I’m not the only one, either.

Finally, I stand up and start to pace. I need to expend my energy somehow, and this is the only safe method at the moment.

“I told him that I didn’t like it when he touched me,” she adds.

Every cell in my body goes still. Whitney’s hand freezes where she’s rubbing circles over Melissa’s shoulder, and Sister Beatrice slowly straightens in her chair. The room seems to shrink, grow colder.

“Who?” I ask with barely contained contempt.

Fear flashes across Melissa’s face so quickly, and she shakes her head. “I can’t tell you.”

The panic in her voice is unmistakable. Every part of me wants to push, to demand an answer so I can kill the son of a bitch. Thankfully, Whitney uses better judgement and speaks before I can.

“It’s okay,” she soothes. “You don’t have to tell us right now.”

Melissa clutches her sleeve. “I can never tell.”

My jaw tightens. Whatever happened, the person responsible terrified her into silence.

They will fucking pay.

I pull out my cell. “We need Carrie.” Whitney nods in agreement so I dial the caseworker’s number, the one I know by heart because I call her enough to bitch. The line rings and rings and rings. Her voicemail picks up after five rings, and I disconnect the call. “Dammit!”

I call again, and then a third and fourth time. Still nothing.