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The hands of a molester.
Images hit her, thick and fast. Oh God, she thought, swallowing back the bile that rose in her throat as pictures and sounds swelled around her. Suddenly she was an eleven-year-old again, lying in bed, wide-eyed and fearful, listening to the sounds night after night. Cries of pain, odd grunting, the rough squeak of bedsprings. Not her. He’d never touched her. Didn’t like her green eyes—they were fey, he’d once told her. Dangerous. But he’d touched Helen, and he’d touched others, here in the long nights of darkness.
His frown deepened, and he rolled forward some more. She retreated. She couldn’t help it. Her memories had too strong a grip, and it felt like her fear was going to stifle her.
“You were one of the kids who lived here?” His free hand clenched briefly.
Get out, instinct said. Run.
She nodded. If he got any closer, she’d throw up all over him—all over his overalls and shiny brown shoes.
Shoes he’d always kept on when he’d lain on top of Helen. Fighting horror, she retreated another step.
I’m here behind you, in the shadows, Doyle said, his mind-voice filled with such anger it burned through her like a flame. I won’t let him hurt you. Question him if you want to.
I don’t want to remember this. The man is a monster.
Yes, he is. But he may also hold some answers. I think you need those answers, and not just to solve Helen’s death.
She bit her lip and crossed her arms. The chill in her body was so strong she was beginning to shiver. But he was right. The past, and this man, had to be faced if she wanted to find answers.
“You’ve got green eyes,” the man in the wheelchair said suddenly. “Fey eyes, like a cat’s. I’ve seen them before. Seen you.” He hesitated. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
Fear mingled with the anger in his dead brown eyes. She frowned, wondering why. “One of who? What are you talking about?”
“One of them bitches that did this to me.” He slapped a hand against the wheelchair and rolled a little closer.
His scent surrounded her—cigar smoke and whisky. The same smell that had haunted her nights, all those years ago. Her stomach roiled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He snorted. “You and those other four. You did this to me. You broke my back, made me dead from the
waist down.”
Dead from the waist down was nearly punishment enough, she thought, and rubbed her arms. “Me and what four? I have no idea—”
“Them witches. You formed a circle and smashed me like I was nothing more than one of your stupid dolls. All of you bitches deserve what’s coming to you.”
He hawked and spat at her. The globule barely missed her toes. She stepped back again, watching him closely, another chill racing through her spine. “Did you kill them? Are you responsible?”
Maliciousness mixed with the fear in his brown eyes. He wasn’t responsible, she realized, but he knew who was.
“How could five children possibly throw a man your size around?”
“Magic,” he whispered. “It surrounded me, a shield of energy I couldn’t see. But I could feel it. Oh God, could I feel it …” His voice drifted off, and for a moment the terror of that night showed in his eyes.
She felt no sympathy for him. One night hardly made up for the many nights of hell this fiend had given Helen and the others. “So you killed them? And tore their bodies apart afterward?”
He snorted. “I didn’t kill anyone. Look at me. I’m a goddamn cripple. I don’t pose a threat to anyone these days.”
“Yet you know who is behind these murders, don’t you?”
“What if I do, girlie? What are you going to do? Beat the information out of me?” He grinned maliciously, revealing yellow-stained teeth. “Might like that, you know. Don’t get touched by many women nowadays.”
“She might not beat the information out of you,” Doyle said, his voice flat and yet somehow ferocious. He moved out of the shadows and stopped beside her. “But I’d love to take a crack at you, let me assure you.”
Doyle twined his fingers around hers. The warmth of his touch flushed through her, and while it didn’t completely erase the chill, it made her feel infinitely safer.
The old man’s face went pale. “Who are you?” he whispered hoarsely. “What right have you to threaten me like that?”
