Chapter 5

Cynthia watched Carly from the back of the gathering room. It was a special part of the hospital where everyone gathered to listen to music and to sing. A large piano sat at the left corner of the room. A young girl about twelve years old played the instrument with deft, nimble fingers. She had brown short hair and her fingers skimmed the keys with a skill that was quite impressive.

Carly sat on the floor beside the piano with her eyes closed and her chin lifted slightly upward. Her toes were tapping to the beat of the music as if she were familiar with the song.

It was enchanting to watch Carly.

For the first time she seemed calm and peaceful. Cynthia knew it was the music doing this to the young girl. It was a balm to her tortured soul. It was an escape from the events that had led her there in the first place.

Cynthia watched Carly for a few more minutes then quietly left.

One of the nurse's at the station stopped Cynthia on her way out. “You're not staying, Ms. Kendall?”

Cynthia smiled hesitantly. “No, I think I'll come back another day. Carly seems to be enjoying the music so I don't want to disturb her.”

The nurse's face lit up. “She does love the music,” she admitted. “It's really made a difference in Carly's disposition. When she gets upset, we play the music for her, and immediately it calms her down.”

The woman was slightly attractive, a little thin, if not underweight. Cynthia estimated her age to be around twenty-seven, not much older than herself. Her eyes were brown her hair was long, straight and the color of chestnut. Cynthia noticed that her name tag read Nancy Wiggins.

Nancy seemed different than all the other nurses and orderlies Cynthia had met during her previous visits to the hospital. Nancy seemed genuinely concerned about the patients. She made a concerted effort to get to know them on a personal level. Where the others seemed unsympathetic and unemotional to the point of extreme indifference, Nancy was the complete opposite.

She had an air of innocence about her. She was bubbly and spunky and easily excitable. Her personality was contagious and Cynthia decided she liked the woman very much. But more importantly, she knew that Carly had a friend. Someone who would take care of her if anything were to happen. Cynthia felt good about that. She said good-bye to Nancy and departed without another word.

Gil and Wyatt pulled up in front of Stanton's followed by a half a dozen squad cars. The lights were shut off and the building appeared to be abandoned. Gil tried the door but it was locked. When he peered inside the window the interior was dark.

“We're too late. They're gone.”

Wyatt went up to the door and kicked it in. “We have a search warrant. Might as well put it to use. Who knows, they may have left something behind that could be useful to your investigation.”

Gil proceeded Wyatt and the other officers into the room with his hand against his pistol in case he needed to draw it in a hurry. It was quiet and eerie. Gil walked with slow, measured steps aware of everything sight and sound around him. He flipped the light switches as he maneuvered around the room.

Wyatt opened a file cabinet and it was empty, void of all the contents it once held. The men scattered themselves in various directions in search of anything that might be of importance to them.

They moved down the hall toward the rooms in the back. There were three on each side. They were all empty. Gil felt discouraged and hopeless as he entered the last room. It, too, had been deserted.

Gil glanced around eying the walls and the floor with methodical precision. Just as he was about to turn and leave he spotted it. At first it wasn't noticeable. But he'd seen it from the corner of his eye.

“Wyatt, take a look at this,” Gil commanded, kneeling down and examining a small mound of white powder.

Wyatt came up behind him. “Looks like we found something. Let's bag it up and get it analyzed.”

As Gil and Wyatt left the building, Gil felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Suddenly he became aware of how vulnerable they were standing out in the open. He started scanning the vacant buildings surrounding them. His knuckles tightened around the butt of his gun. Wyatt immediately sensed his partner's anxiety. “What is it?” he asked.

“Someone's watching us,” Gil answered as his eyes danced from one dirty building to another. “From one of these buildings. I can feel it.”

“Then we need to get out of here before someone starts shooting,” Wyatt ordered.

Just as Gil was getting into the police car he hear the pop. A bullet ricocheted off the side of his car nearly piercing him in the side of the head. His instincts kicked in as he shielded himself with the door. Quickly he pulled his gun from his holster and aimed, not exactly sure what he was aiming at. Wyatt took cover on the other side of the police car.

Shots rang out. Glass shattered as stray bullets rained down from the buildings. They were surrounded on all sides. In his heart, Gil knew it would be impossible to survive an ambush of this magnitude. They were all going to die.

Gil watched as his fellow officers dropped to their knees one by one in their efforts to find shelter from flying bullets and shards of glass. Blood began to fill the streets. Wyatt was pummeled by a blow to the back of the head. He felt the pain immediately. “Gil, I've been hit,” he moaned as he attempted to break his fall.

Gil was overcome by fear. This wasn't supposed to happen. Wyatt was trained for stuff like this. He wasn't. How was he ever going to get them out of here?

In a state of panic, Gil swiftly climbed inside the squad car and grabbed the radio. “Officer down,” he yelled. “I repeat officer down.”

Gil hastily rattled off the address. “Get here fast,” he shouted in desperation. “We've been shot at.”

Gil slammed the radio down and scrambled to the other side of the car. Wyatt was still alive. Blood pooled at the back of his head.

Gil tore open the back door and attempted to lift Wyatt from where he lay in the street. Wyatt was feeble and unable to assist Gil in getting him inside the car where it was safe. His voice was raspy with pain.

“Gil, you need to go. Leave me here. Save yourself. I'll understand.”

Wyatt was begging, nearly pleading with Gil. He felt anger rise in him. He swore harshly under his breath as he strained to lift Wyatt into the backseat of the squad car.

“I'm not leaving you here, understand?” Gil said between gritted teeth. “I'm not going to let you die. Do you hear me?”

Wyatt heard the agony in Gil's voice as he laid him down as gently as possible then climbed inside the vehicle. Gil looked at the chaos around him as he held his dying friend. Off in the distance he heard the faint echo of sirens. He began to pray.

Dear Lord,

My friend is hurt and he needs your help. Please give him strength to survive this injury. I pray for his soul. Help us through this and guide our steps. Amen!

“What are you doing?” Wyatt questioned heatedly.

“I was praying for you,” Gil answered back. Wyatt heard the anguish and undisguised emotion in his words. “Haven't you ever prayed before?”

“No,” Wyatt said. “I've never even been to church.”

“So you've never accepted Christ as your savior, then?”

“Can't recall that I ever did.”

“Then it's important that you do that now.” Gil exclaimed.

“Why?” Wyatt asked softly. He gasped for air. Blood was seeping out of his wound and covering the seat. He felt himself getting weaker and weaker by the minute.

“Because you're soul is in jeopardy. Without Christ in your life, you'll be condemned to an eternity in hell. You don't want that do you?”

Wyatt closed his eyes and just laid there still and quiet. The roar of the sirens were getting closer. Gil felt the urgent need to save his friend's soul before it was too late. Gently he shook Wyatt and he opened his eyes, staring up into a face full of fear.

“Listen to me, Wyatt. You have to do this. It's important.”

“How can I accept Christ as my savior?” Wyatt asked, confused. “When I don't even know who He is?”

“Do you believe in God?” Gil asked. “Do you believe that he created the world?”

“Yes,” Wyatt whispered.

“Well God promised us a savior to. That savior is Jesus Christ. His mother was the Virgin Mary.”

Gil began to explain the story of Jesus' life and how he died on the cross to save us from our sins. Wyatt listened carefully to every word he said. The story touched him in a way he had never experienced before. He began to weep and grabbed on to Gil's shirt sleeves in desperation.

“He died for me?” Wyatt asked, imagining the pain and suffering that this man endured at his expense. He was so undeserving of this man's love, yet he gave it so freely.

“Yes. But not just for you, but for me and ever other lost soul out there. That was his only purpose in life. To die for you and me. To save us.”

“I believe you,” Wyatt said. Tears were streaming down his face. He loosened his grip slightly. “You think I'm going to die, don't you, Gil?”

Gill shook his head. “I don't know. Only God knows for sure.”

“Then I need to tell you something.” Wyatt struggled to breath. It was becoming more difficult. He felt his friend's arms cradling him and in his touch he felt a despair so profound that it brought him pain and sadness.

“You don't need to talk, Wyatt.”

Wyatt cried out urgently. “Look, Gil, I'm sorry, man. Really I am.”

“Sorry. There's nothing to be sorry about. None of this is your fault. You didn't know this was going to happen.”

“No, no, no. That's not what I'm sorry for.”

“Then what are you sorry for,” Gil asked, incredulous.

“I'm sorry that I wasn't the friend I should have been,” Wyatt admitted. “I was wrong. I should have been there for you. To help you.”

“Listen to me,” Gil said gruffly, clutching his friend around the collar of his bloody shirt. “I don't care about that. It's in the past. What I care about now, is you. Your soul. I want to know that we'll see each other again one day.”

Wyatt's breathing was becoming slower and slower. He felt his eye lids getting heavy. He knew his time was close.

“Lord,” Wyatt began to pray slowly, softly, “I know I don't deserve what you have offered, but I ask you to forgive me for my sins and to save my soul.” Wyatt looked up at Gil and grinned. “How was that?” he asked.

Gil was overwrought with emotions. He embraced Wyatt nearly crushing him in his grip. Then he began to laugh. “It was great,” Gil assured him. “You did great.”

“Gil,” Wyatt whispered weakly.

“Yes, Wyatt.”

“I'm not scared anymore.”

“That's good, Wyatt. You don't need to be. Your soul has been set free.”

Wyatt took Gil's hand in his and squeezed it gently. “Promise me you'll get whoever is responsible for this. Promise me,” Wyatt said faintly. “I need to know you'll do this for me.” And before Gil could say anything else, his friend took his last breath. He was still clutching Wyatt when the ambulance pulled up to the car.

Gil went over that day again and again in his head. Why hadn't he seen the ambush coming? And why had he survived when all the others had perished? It was as if he'd been singled out for some reason and kept alive for a purpose that eluded him. If anyone should have died that day, it was him.

Gil had left Wyatt's funeral an hour ago feeling guilty and remorseful. Guilty because he had lived and remorseful because he'd lost a friend. He hadn't been back to work since the shooting. And he wasn't sure he ever wanted to go back.

Everyone he was close to, including his father, had seen the news reports. He'd been flooded with so many calls that he'd eventually unplugged his phone. He'd gotten tired of hearing everyone's platitudes and condolences. No matter how they said it, it wasn't going to bring Wyatt back. Nor was it going to make him feel any better.

The only person he hadn't heard from was Cynthia Kendall. He didn't know why she came to mind, but she did. Despite his grief, he yearned to hear her voice, to see her smile, and feel her hand against his. In all his life he'd never felt so alone or so isolated.

It was only thoughts of Cynthia and Carly that kept him going. Kept him sane.

He'd spoken to his captain briefly after the funeral service. He couldn't stand the way the man had looked at him. It was with a mixture of sorrow and something aiken to pity. He didn't want or need his pity. He didn't want anything from him. He just wanted the ability to mourn the death of a friend and somehow move on with his life.

First it was Eloise Singleton. Now Wyatt and twelve other cops. Who was going to be next? Gil didn't know where would it all end? And that's what scared him most. The uncertainty of it all.

Wyatt's words kept echoing in his ears. “Promise me you'll get whoever is responsible for this. Promise me.” Promise me. Promise me. Promise me.

Gil closed his mind to the words that resounded in his head. His fingers gripped the steering wheel with a vengeance. He was angry at Wyatt. Angry at him for many different reasons. Gil wasn't sure he could go after his friend's killer. He didn't know if he had the energy or the drive any more. His enthusiasm had run dry and depleted every ounce of strength he had.

Gil couldn't comprehend the depth of his pain. He and Wyatt hadn't been close friends. So why was his death so hard to take? Was it only compounded by the fact the he felt responsible for Eloise's death. And now he felt responsible for Wyatt's death as well?

Suddenly his pager went off. It was the station calling. He pulled over into a parking lot and called from his cell phone. Immediately he was dispatched to the captains office without hesitation.

“Captain Morgan, Dean Gilmore here. I got a page. I was put through from the front desk.”

Captain Morgan leaned back in his chair stretching out his legs. “Yea. I gotta call just a few minutes ago. Remember the hard rain we had a few days ago? The day Wyatt was shot?”

“Yea, I remember. What about it?”

“Well guess what washed up a few miles down stream?”

Gil inhaled deeply. He was growing easily annoyed. Patience wasn't his strong point right now. He was tired and the last thing he wanted was to play guessing games. With his boss of all people. The captain needed to get to the point and fast or he was going to lose interest. Forget it, he already had.

He sighed and answered, “I don't know. What is it?”

Captain Morgan was grinning, the way he always did when he thought he had the cat in the bag. The news he'd received a few minutes ago couldn't have come at a better time. He knew how Gil was feeling. Worthless, doubting himself once again. He needed a reason to stay motivated in this twisted series of murders. He needed a reason to get him back on the job and this was it.

“A body of a male washed up in Macon County near Riversdell. They estimate the time of death around three weeks ago. He fits the description of Aadan Singleton.”

Gil held his breath, knowing what was coming and hating it at the same time. He didn't need this right now. He needed time to think, to come to grips with what had happened. He'd hardly had time to deal with Carly and her situation. Now he was dealing with Wyatt's death on top of that. He couldn't handle much more or he was going to cave in.

Identifying Aadan Singleton's body would be a hardship for him. In more ways than one.

“I want you to go up there and meet with the Coroner's Office. I want you to ID the body.”

There was silence for a moment.

“Gil, Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” he answered politely. “But I don't understand why?”

“It was reported the man suffered a gunshot to the back of the head.”

And what? Gil didn't see much point in identifying the body. Aadan Singleton wasn't much use to them now that he was dead. Gil needed him alive to tie him to Eloise's murder. If he were dead, it would ruin his whole case and Wyatt's death would be for nothing and would forever more hang over his head.

“Look Captain, I'm not sure I can serve any purpose to you at this point. You should get someone more qualified, someone with more experience.”

“Look Gil,” Captain Morgan said roughly, “I don't want someone with more experience or someone who is more qualified. The reason I called you, is because I want you. You. And no one else.”

“I'm useless to you, right now captain. I never should have joined the police force. I did it out of some obligation to my father. I need to face the facts. I'm a failure at my job.”

“You see yourself as a failure. No one else does. What I suggest,” Morgan said cryptically, “is that you get a hold of yourself and find out who is responsible for all this mess. And don't stop until you do.”

“But . . .”

“But nothing, Gil. Look, you've proven to me you have what it takes to be a good police officer. You tracked down some leads and you followed through with them. You can't hold yourself responsible every time something goes wrong. People die in this line of work. It's a fact of life. Wyatt knew the risks when he took the job. He knew the risks the day he walked out of that empty building. But it didn't keep him from doing his job.”

Gil sighed heatedly. What the captain acknowledged was nothing more than the truth. It was meant to ease his conscience. Too bad it wasn't working. It only seemed to intensify the misgivings he had about himself. “But don't you see, everything I do ends up killing someone?”

“Look Gil. The truth of the matter is simply this. Even if you had called CPS and taken Carly out of that home, her mother would still be dead. It wouldn't have mattered if Carly was there that night or not. The consequences would still be the same.”

That statement was true. Probably. “But what if I hadn't gone out to see Carly, that night. She would have died to. I got lucky is all.”

The captain slammed his fist against the top of his desk. He wanted to yell, to throw something at the wall to ease the tension inside of him. Only Gil could aggravate him like this. Why did he fight so hard for the man when he, himself, had not fight in him? Why couldn't he get through to Gil? Why was he so stubborn? Why did he have to make things so complicated? Why?

“It was more than luck, Gil. Can't you see that. You had natural instincts that led you to the house that night. You had a gut feeling something wasn't right and you followed it. Because of that, you saved a little girl's life. You're a hero”

“Well, I don't feel like one,” Gil said derogatorily.

“I believe when this investigation is over, you will be honored for your heroism. For your acts of bravery.”

“I wasn't brave,” Gil revealed shamefully. “I panicked in the throes of gunfire. I watched 13 men die in front of me. And there wasn't anything I could do to save them. I held my partner until he took his last breath. Somehow I feel I should have been more prepared for a situation like that. But I wasn't. I let everyone down. Including myself.”

“Listen, Gil. You didn't let anyone down. You did just what everyone else would have done. You called for help, and you stayed with your partner. You could have left him to save yourself. But you didn't. You never abandoned him. That says a lot about your character.”

Gil was frustrated. This conversation was leading know where fast. He couldn't make his boss understand him any more than his boss could convince him he'd done the right thing. It all seemed so hopeless.

“I know what you're doing captain, and I appreciate it. But I don't know what more I can do at this point.”

“You can't give up,” Captain Morgan argued. “Don't you see it, Gil?”

See what? What he could see was blood. Every night he turned the lights out he saw fire and blood and Wyatt laying lifeless in his arms. He could hear Carly screaming to her mother as he carried her out the door.

He didn't want anymore death. He was through with it all.

“What I see is that it's time for me to move on before anymore lives are lost.”

“You're wrong,” Morgan corrected. He eased down in his chair and planted his feet firmly on the ground. “More lives will be lost if you don't carry on this investigation. Do you understand me? By turning your back on these men who so callously murdered a fellow officer, you're giving them the right to kill others without any recourse at all because they know you'll never come after them. Is that what you want?”

“No.” It was a simple statement, but it was true. Wyatt deserved better than that. He deserved Gil's dedication to solving his murder. It was the least he could do. Then, and only then, could he find peace within himself. “I'll go,” Gil stated matter-of-factly. “Did you get the ballistics report on the bullet that pierced Wyatt's skull? I want to compare it to the one found on this body. See if there's a match.”

“We'll have it within half an hour. How long will it take you to get to Macon County?”

“Give me forty-five minutes. I have a stop to make on the way.”

“Good, I'll call the precinct and let them you're on the way.”

Gil hung up the phone and pulled out of the parking lot. A few minutes later he arrived at the Mannerly Hospital. He needed to see Carly and, hopefully, ask her a few questions. He saw Cynthia from a distance strolling through a maze of cars. Though his heart beat accelerated instantly at the sight of her, he swiftly turned and headed in the opposite direction, hoping not to be detected.

“Dean. Dean is that you?” It was Cynthia calling after him. “Dean, quit moving so fast.” He tried to ignore the sound of her voice, but invariably he couldn't escape her. “Gil, please, wait up. I want to talk to you.” He heard the persistent clumping of her shoes against the asphalt as she scurried across the parking lot. She was out of breath when he slowed his steps and she reached his side.

For a moment they merely stared at each other. Cynthia wore a fashionable navy blue pant suit with a white silk blouse underneath. She wore a delicate strand of pearls around her neck. Her hair was loose and win-tossed. The suit fit her nicely, elegantly. He found himself unable to take his eyes off of her despite the fact that he knew it was wrong in the worst way. He had no right to be gawking at her like some love-struck teenager. He had no right putting her life in danger. And that's exactly what he was doing. Hadn't he learned anything the last few weeks?

When he looked at Cynthia, Gil saw sorrow, and worry and doubt flash in the depths of her eyes. Her expression was one of deep concern. He was angry at himself for having allowed their relationship to develop into something more than it should have. From the very beginning he'd been entranced by her. She had captivated him. Made it impossible for him to live one minute without thinking of her.

“Dean, why didn't you stop when I called you? Didn't you hear me?”

“Yes, I heard you. But I was trying to ignore you.” He had to be honest with her. If there was any hope for them after this was all over, he couldn't hide the truth from her.

“But why?”

Dean snagged Cynthia a little roughly around the upper arms, making her wince. He was taking his annoyance out on her. He knew that wasn't right either. But he knew how imperative it was to make her see the reality of their situation. To mislead her would be wrong. “Ouch. You're hurting me, Dean.” His eyes darted around the parking lot suspiciously. He began to drag her toward a secluded spot where they couldn't be seen. By anyone.

“Look Cynthia,” he said sternly, “I like you. Really I do. But right now is not a good time for me to take up a relationship. It's too dangerous and I wouldn't want to put your life at risk.” He threw no punches. He laid it all out on the table. He waited for Cynthia to speak.

For a moment she didn't say anything. Her head hung low and she closed her eyes briefly to dispel the disappointment and the hurt and the embarrassment.

“You have to understand, Cynthia. It was not my intent to mislead you. I have several deaths on my hands. I can't afford another one.”

“I saw the news report on the shooting you were involved in,” Cynthia declared. “I just wanted to say I'm sorry for your loss and that if you needed anything, I was there for you. Please forgive me for the intrusion. Obviously I misunderstood everything. I thought we were friends.”

“You aren't intruding and you didn't misunderstand,” Gil said harshly. “In my heart, we are friends. This has nothing to do with you and me. It's my job. If I weren't trapped in this conspiracy, I would love the opportunity to get to know you better. You're a fascinating woman. And beautiful. More beautiful than anyone I've ever known. And that's the truth.”

Cynthia wanted to believe him. But she found his words a little empty and meaningless. She couldn't describe exactly how she felt inside, but she knew it would take a long time to get over Gil. He'd put her heart on a roller coaster ride. No one and she meant no one had ever made her feel this way before. Gil had opened her mind and heart to things she never believed was possible. Love. Honor. Trust. Those were the things a relationship was built on. Those were things she had never found in a man she had dated before. But she thought she had found them in Gil. How wrong she had been.

From the moment she had seen him, Cynthia had been awestruck by his quiet charm. He'd taken her breath away. Oh she had tried to play it down and act calm and casual as if he didn't mean anything to her. But the truth was, he'd stolen her heart the day he'd walked into her classroom. She'd never be able to give it to anyone else after all of this. She was his until the end of time. No matter how long that might be. No one would ever be able to fill the whole left behind where Gil once lived.

“I have to go,” Cynthia stated matter-of-factly. “You take care, Gil. May God keep you safe.”

Cynthia started to walk away but Gil caught her by the wrist. She glanced at the spot where his fingers wrapped around her flesh, then her eyes darted to his. There was so much meaning exposed in that one simple glance. At that moment Gil wanted to kiss her, to hold her close. The desire was strong it was incapacitating. But he knew that it was impossible and entirely too risky. Someone might be watching them. He didn't want to expose Cynthia to any unnecessary danger. He wanted to protect her, keep her safe. Those instincts came to him as naturally as breathing.

“I want to kiss you, Cynthia,” Gil rasped, his chest rising and falling rapidly, painfully. He staggered backwards, away from her. But he continued to grip her wrist. He had to get himself under control. He shouldn't be touching her skin. It was soft, smooth and felt like pure silk against his rough flesh.

“The truth is, Cynthia, someone might be watching us. Right now. This very minute. That's how these people work. They're underhanded and vicious. I wouldn't want them to get the wrong idea about us. They just might come after you simply because you know me.”

Cynthia snatched her wrist away in anger. “You forget one thing, Gil. I knew from the beginning there were risks. Remember. Maybe I'm willing to take that risk. And maybe you shouldn't be trying so hard to protect me. That isn't your job. It's the Lord's.”

“Well I'm not prepared to risk your life, because I hope that when this is all over, that there might still be some hope there for us,” Gil snapped at her. The pupils of his eyes dilated with a barely contained rage. “You don't understand what I've been through with Carly and her mother. Then Wyatt. And the dozens of cops that were killed that day. There's too much death on my shoulders. I don't want you to be another victim. So I'm sorry if I've disappointed you. I never should have let this become personal between us. For that I deeply apologize.”

“I see,” Cynthia whispered. Just like that he was casting her aside.

“No, I don't think you do,” Gil responded. “Maybe when this is over with and the killer is behind bars, we can pursue our feelings for each other. Bur right now . . . It's best that we say good-bye.”

“So that's it?” Cynthia asked with a touch of sadness in her voice.

“I'm afraid so. For now.”

Cynthia couldn't hide her emotions. A single tear swept over her cheek. She wiped it away as she turned her back on Gil. She walked a few steps then stopped. She faced him without an ounce of fear in her eyes. “I never thought of you as a coward,” she stated brittly, then she stomped away leaving Gil staring after.

Her stride quickened as she darted between two parked cars. It was hopeless to try and stop the tears.

“I'm not a coward,” Gil shouted back at her. But it was too late. She was gone.

Feeling dejected he walked into the hospital seeking Carly out. When she wasn't in her room, he asked one of the nurses where she might be. He found her in the gathering room.

The place was filled with music and laughter and children shouting. In the midst of it all was Carly banging away on the piano keyboard. She was glowing and happy and very much alive. She wore the biggest, brightest smile he'd ever seen. His heart skipped a beat.

Slowly Gil made his way through the throng of kids. He stood beside the piano listening to Carly as she played.

She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Carly grabbed Gil by the hand and motioned for him to sit beside her. She didn't speak. Not at first. Her fingers flew over the keys with skill and precision. It took a space of ten seconds before Gil realized that Carly was really playing the piano. She wasn't just banging the keys together. She was combining a string of notes together that made a truly beautiful, if not melancholic, song.

For a moment Gil was so stunned he was speechless.

Where had this come from? Gil wasn't aware that Carly was capable of such talent. It amazed him. He was touched by the beauty of the song. It was a subtle touch of sweet romance with a touch of despair. He could relate to the music. It was much how his own life was turning out to be. Full of despair and heartache.

Finally the song ended. Carly turned to Gil and said, “I like music. It comes from here,” she said as she placed Gil's hand over her chest. He could feel the rapid beating of her heart. “I like music,” she repeated, squirming next to Gil.

It seemed so long ago that Carly had been brought to this place. At first he had hated her being there. But after seeing her today, she was like a new person. She seemed full of joy and contentment. She wasn't the same child they had brought in the night her mother was murdered. She had been transformed. It was as if the music had taken hold of her and compelled her to forget the memories buried deep inside of her. It was mystical. Her eyes were vibrant. It seemed as if all the tragedy in her life had vanished and no longer existed.

“Carly, I'm so proud of you,” Gil exclaimed, hugging her and squeezing her tight.

Carly didn't reply back. She just hugged him with a generous embrace of her own.

“Carly, can we talk? I'd like to ask you a few questions. Do you feel up to it?”

“Okay,” she said sweetly. She took his hand and led him to a small, stained couch near the center of the room. There were several children gathered around, but they didn't seem to notice them at all. “What would you like to talk about?”

Gil looked down at Carly with eyes that were filled with sadness. “Carly,” he said slowly, carefully, “do you remember the night your mother was killed?”

Her head bobbed up and down. “I won't ever forget that night,” Carly admitted somberly. “I don't really remember how I did it, but I think I killed my mother.” The last words left her mouth in a tortured breath.

“No sweetheart,” Gil corrected, holding her hand tightly. “You didn't kill your mother.”

“But I did. Someone made me take pills. When I woke up, my mother was dead.”

“That's right, Carly. But listen to me. It is true, someone did make you take the pills. But your mother was already dead. You did not kill her. “

Carly was growing anxious. Her eyes glowed with torment and anguish.

“Can you remember that night, Carly? Can you remember who gave you those pills?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and clawed at her face. “I have bad dreams. I see a man. But it's dark. I hear his boots on the floor. I can smell him. But I can't make out his face. He was angry. He told me he would kill me if I didn't swallow the pills.”

“Was it your father, Carly?”

“I don't know. I can't remember. I hate my father. He's mean. I hate him.”

Gil could only imagine just how true her words were. It was impossible to know exactly what Carly had endured because of her father.

“Try to think, Carly. Listen to the voice in your head. Is it your father's voice. Think about when he screams at you. Is it the same voice?”

“No,” Carly screamed. “I don't want to remember.”

She was quickly succumbing to agitation. Carly's feet became restless and she started to rock back and forth. Gil was torn. He wanted to ask her more questions, but he didn't want to upset her any more than she already was. He pat her on the leg, then pulled her close.

“It's okay. You're not ready to remember. But one day you will.”

“No, I never want to remember,” Carly yelled. She started kicking and thrashing her arms. She hit Gil in the shin. He tried to calm her down.

“If you don't try to remember, Carly. You might end up staying in this place for ever. Is that what you want?”

Carly stopped fighting. Her chest heaved with every breath she took. She shook her head then fell into Gil's embrace, shuddering beneath his arms.

Gil held Carly against him for the longest time. Then he had to leave in order to keep his appointment with the Riversdell precinct. He hated to say good-bye to the little girl. But he had to go identify the body at the morgue. He wasn't looking forward to the task. But it had to be done.