The Reluctant Psychic Ch. 08

"Stop," I heard. So I stopped. I looked around, but couldn't find the source of the voice. "Look right." I looked and saw a set of stairs going downward. I started down the stairs and the voice said "careful" as I tried to negotiate the tight turn at the halfway point of the stairs. It was only with at admonition that I realized I was about to smack the girl's head into the wall.

I was all the way to the mouth of the alley, with my good deed nestled in my arms before I realized the directions had been coming from that pesky voice. I yelled, "Who are you!" and was answered by two barking dogs, a streaking cat and a thrown bottle. When the voice didn't answer, I shook my head and staggered onward.

It took a while to find a payphone, and a while longer to find a cab company that would risk sending someone to the streets I read off nearby signs. I sat on the curb with the wrapped up girl and waited. It took nearly an hour for a cab to pull up, and then the cabbie wouldn't let me in without a down-payment. My mind was so numb from the adrenalin withdrawal that I didn't even think of using my powers on him.

He laughed when I told him to take me to the Four Seasons. But the color of my money ensured that he would get me there. He picked up his radio and called his buddies. I didn't speak French, but I knew he was telling them about the bum he'd picked up, and that they should show up at the Four Seasons for a good laugh.

It was twilight in Paris, and as we weaved through the streets, I vaguely wondered if it was dawn or sunset. I had nearly fallen asleep when I heard a thick Parisian accent say, "Hey buddy, you're here."

I shook my head and opened my eyes to see that it was now uncomfortably bright, meaning it was just after dawn. If my head wasn't pounding so hard, I would have felt proud about figuring that out. I handed the cabbie a few more waded bills as the cab's door was opened by the hotel's doorman.

Doormen at places like the Four Seasons are very well trained, but that didn't keep him from recoiling and saying something that would normally get him fired. I started climbing out of the cab, nearly forgetting the girl in my lap. It took a minute, but eventually I was able to stand up without dropping the girl.

The cabby might have thought it perfectly ordinary for a man to be walking around with an unconscious girl wrapped in a dirty blanket, but the doorman took things differently. I admired his zeal, but I didn't appreciate how loud his little whistle was, that close to my face.

The police arrived almost as quickly as the hotel's security. I was soon circled by a crowd of angry men who were all asking me questions in French. Finally I said to the doorman, "I would like to check in."

Not all of the faces were shocked when I made that announcement, only the ones who understood English. That was when the hotel manager pushed his way into the circle of men. He saw my face and went suddenly pale. He tapped the hotel security guards on the shoulder, spoke a few quick words and made shooing gestures. He spoke quickly to the cops and slowly pulled them away from me. The manager took a moment to tell the doorman, in English, that I was to be taken to the Presidential suite.

The doorman spoke some protesting words to the manager in French. The manager spoke a few more words to the cops before pushing them off down the street. He then turned on the poor doorman and told him calmly, yet firmly to do exactly as he'd said. In fact, the doorman ended up carrying the girl to the Presidential suite for me.

Somehow the maids had made it to the room before we did. I saw a stream of them file out of the room and curtsey to me as we passed in the hall. The head maid waited by the open door and asked if I needed anything. By that point, I was running on fumes and made vague statements and gestures that I quickly forgot.

I staggered towards the bed and was about to collapse into unconsciousness when I heard the doorman clear his throat. I fished a large bill out of my wallet and weaved back towards the door. I only forget to tip when I'm really drunk. Opening my bleary eyes, I realized I had also forgotten the girl, which only happened when I was really really drunk. Of course, usually they are awake to remind me.

My mouth wasn't working too well, so I gestured towards the bed. The maid asked if the girl were alright, if she needed a doctor. I waved her off and pantomimed that she'd need a nice suit and tie like mine, and a wash, and some food.

The hotel manager might have been willing to indulge a fabulously wealthy guest, but the head maid had a greater sense of propriety. "Is she a relative of yours?" She asked timidly, but insistently.

I glared at the woman with the one eye that was still focusing and said, "She's my daughter!" I don't know what possessed me to make that claim, but I decided I couldn't take it back now. I looked at the scrawny little girl laying on the enormous bed and felt my eyes begin to water. "Now please excuse me, I need to pass out. I'm not to be disturbed until precisely noon o'clock!"

I tried to bully the woman from the room, but when I got too close, the stench emanating from my body caused her to cringe. "Might I suggest you take a shower before passing out? I can have your suit laundered and back by noon."

The woman made a lot of sense. I walked towards the bathroom shedding my clothes as I went. Before I took off my pants I fished inside and took out my money clip and handed it to the maid who was busily picking up my cast offs. She looked aghast. I realized the problem, separated the money from the clip, threw the clip towards the table and handed her the money.

* * *

I didn't have the heart to tell Gwen that peanut-butter sandwiches didn't get cold. It took me a moment to realize that Gwen had used the phrase idiomatically rather than literally, and couldn't see the difference. That's the sort of thing that happens when you don't learn to speak until you're fourteen. Even when you have a psychic's help.

I looked into her bright eyes and saw her looking back with utter devotion. The other girl's might be able to leave me, but deep down I knew that Gwen never could, no matter how hard I tried to make it possible. It took years to mold the terror she had lived through into something she could live with, to teach her to speak and behave in a world that was larger than a broom closet and her perverted father. All of that tinkering left too many residues of me in her mind. I still can't tell how much of who she is now is what I wanted her to be and how much is who she wants to be.

I sat on the floor at her feet and wrapped my arms around her legs and hugged them. As I rested my cheek on her thigh she began to gently stroke my hair sending waves of calm through my mind. I clung to her and to her devotion. I selfishly clung to the person that I had ensured could never leave me.

* * *

Waking up under a running shower is dangerous. If you managed to survive passing out in the shower, you are usually okay until you sputter awake. Thankfully, this time there were strong maternal hands that helped me keep my head above water as I thrashed to wakefulness. When I stopped thrashing and was merely sitting miserably in the bottom of the tub, those same hands shut off the flow of hot water.

The head maid looked down at me with the condescending frown that mothers use on their disappointing children. She said, "We have guests who like to sleep in the bathtub, but they have the sense to turn off the water first."

I still felt very groggy and as I made to stand up the world suddenly turned on me. The hot shower had helped eliminate some of the alcohol and other toxins from my body, but I was still quite drunk. "How... time?" I asked half of both questions I felt the need to know.

"You checked in six hours ago, it is now noon," she said. She was going to add, "O'clock," to the end of her statement, but was moved to pity me. Knowing both of those thoughts only made me feel worse. She continued talking as she fetched towels for me. I vaguely heard something about hot water and hypothermia, but was too busy contemplating the irony of my dry mouth.

"Drink?" I asked as I started patting myself dry while still sitting in the tub.

She was professional enough not to harrumph out loud, but I heard it run through her mind. Instead she said, "I brought up orange juice, apple juice, coffee, tea and of course water."

"Water, then coffee, then orange," I said. I tried once again to rise from the tub but failed. I saw the maid's eyes on me and settled for covering my groin from her view. She gave a faint nod of approval and a bit of a smile when I added, "Please."

I was used to breakfast in bed while staying at the Four Seasons, but my bed had never been a bathtub before. I quickly devoured the food she set before me which eventually filled the void in my stomach. But my dry mouth persisted, along with the thought that I was missing something.

"The girl!" I blurted as the maid began clearing my dishes. The maid gave me a queer look, and I amended what she heard to: "My daughter?"

"She's still asleep. I didn't want to wake her, although I have thought about calling child services." The maid gave me a stern look, and I knew that this time she wouldn't leave without a good explanation or use of my powers.

I searched the maid's mind for some plausible explanation, and pieced together a story. I had to use a little of my powers to convince her, but eventually she believed that I had just rescued her from an abusive mother who had fled the States with my daughter. I even had the bright idea to ask the maid to send for someone from the US embassy so I could arrange to take my daughter home.

"I'll tell the concierge to contact them tomorrow," she said. Knowing her thoughts, I understood that she hoped the extra day would allow me time to get sober. She let me know there was a cart of food in the main room, as well as a dress for my daughter and a new suit for me. Apparently my old suit was a bit too damaged to launder. She then left me alone in the tub.

It took some doing, but eventually I managed to climb out and limp out of the bathroom. I sat on the bed and looked down at my latest acquisition. I couldn't foist her off on Betsy, since Betsy was little more than a girl herself. I explored the girl's mind and realized just how deep the psychological damage went. She didn't have a sense of identity and barely had an idea what language was, let alone that one of those words might be her name.

"Well, I'll just have to give you a name," I said out loud. I tried to think of a French name, but the first name that came to mind was Gwendolyn. I tried real French names, but Gwendolyn had already sunk into my mental image of her identity. I whispered her name and saw her twitch ever so slightly. I didn't realize until much later that the name sank deep into her mind and had been the source of the twitch. I might have, except the phone rang.

"Hello?" I asked into the phone.

"Where have you been? I've been worried sick! You're pilot hasn't heard from you in two weeks and your chauffeur and bodyguards lost track of you a week ago. I was afraid someone had killed you." Betsy kept talking rapidly and I felt truly guilty. She'd said she'd been on the brink of calling the police which told me how desperate she had become.

"Betsy, I'm fine." I looked down at the girl on the bed and added, "There is just one little problem." I explained what I remembered from the night before and could hear Betsy scratching down notes. When I'd gotten all the details I could remember, I said, "I'm sorry Betsy. I shouldn't worry you so much. No, I shouldn't give you cause to worry about me. I might not be as horrible a father as the man who did this to her, but I haven't been much good either. I've only ever been able to give you money and safety, and I know that isn't enough."

There was a painfully long silence before Betsy meekly asked "Would you do me a favor?" I could hear a faint wavering in her voice and knew I had made her cry. She continued before I could respond, "Will you at least stop ditching your bodyguards?"

"I'll even stop drinking," I blurted out before I knew what I was saying. I couldn't take the statement back from her over the phone, and I realized I didn't want to. Gwendolyn had been abused and maltreated by a drunk, I had been drunk when I'd caused the Czech man's death...

"You'd do that for me?"

"Yes. Because I love you Betsy, like you were my own daughter. I wish I didn't have to stay away, and maybe someday I can explain why, but I want you to know that I love you."

This time I could hear her sobbing. Finally she said, "That's what makes it enough. I love you too." She hung up the phone before I could ask her what that meant.

I turned to the girl who was still asleep on the bed and said, "You have an amazing sister Gwendolyn, I can't wait for you to meet her."

Cautiously, I entered Gwendolyn's mind and removed the block that kept her asleep. I saw her mind spring to instant wakefulness but her body didn't so much as twitch. I felt her listening intently, her nostril's flared slightly as she puzzled at the strange scents. None of the terror triggers were apparent, so she cautiously opened her eyes and looked around.

When her brilliant grey eyes fell upon me for the first time, I was struck dumb. They were beautiful and full of beauty and hope. But they quickly filled with panic. She bolted from the bed and disappeared into the adjacent room. I was still too drunk to chase after her, and barely reacted to her movements before she was out of the room.

"Gwendolyn," I called as I walked slowly towards the door to the adjoining room. "I'm not going to hurt you." When I mentioned her new name I felt a wave of confusion and hope enter her panicked mind. "Gwendolyn, please come out," I said as I sat on the chair across the room from where I knew she was hiding.

I kept repeating her name and sending out calming thoughts to her. Her mind was so alien to anything I'd encountered that it was difficult to do. But eventually, I saw her peek out from behind the television. I don't know how she squeezed into the cabinet that held the TV, especially without sending the set crashing to the floor. But as I kept repeating her name she slowly came out of hiding. She oozed around the television with the grace and flexibility of a cat before dropping lightly to the floor.

She walked towards me with her head cocked to the side, as if following my voice more than what she saw. As I said her name again, I could hear her softly humming in response. The notes matching the tone and cadence I used with her name. She crept closer and closer and eventually settled onto my lap. Her hands reached out, one touching my lips and the other my throat. I said her name again, and knew she felt the movement of my lips and the vibrations from my throat.

I didn't move as she sat there, fearing that I would panic her if I did. Eventually she lowered her hands and kept repeating her three bar name melody to herself. She climbed off my lap and started looking around the room, still cautious but no longer panicked. When she was halfway across the room, I risked standing up. I crossed to where the cart of food and called her name.

She stopped and looked at me as I spoke. It took three more times speaking her name before she came to the cart. I lifted the silver covers from the food and motioned to it. I knew she could smell the food and I knew she was hungry, but she was also afraid to take any. I remembered how sounds triggered memories of events for her and soon found the one that indicated she was being fed, not merely tormented with the smell. This porcelain wasn't cheap crockery, and there was no rough hardwood floor to slide it across, so I used my powers to make her believe she heard the sound. But she still didn't touch the food until I set the plate on the floor, then she began eating using her fingers to quickly shovel the food into her mouth.

* * *

"You're making me so wet," Gwen said as she continued stroking my hair.

My gloomy thoughts were quickly interrupted by her statement. She'd never been one to talk dirty, and I was upset that she was thinking about sex at a time like this.

"What?" I blurted.

Her hand went from stroking my hair to run gently down my cheek. She showed me her wet fingers and asked, "Why are you crying? I thought you liked peanut butter sandwiches."

"I do. I was thinking about something else, I was remembering how I found you and how sad it made me, and how alone I would be without you."

"I thought you were happy you found me?" She said, and I could see nervousness creep back into her body.

"I'm very happy I found you. I was sad at the time because of what had happened to you."

"You aren't making any sense," she said, her cute French accent getting even thicker than usual. She grabbed the plate from the table, and the glass of milk and sank to the floor in front of me. She had four open faced sandwiches with smiles drawn in the peanut-butter.

"You don't have to eat on the floor anymore, that's past."

She looked at me in exasperation, as if I were going crazy, "I can eat on the floor, just like you could when you first made me a peanut-butter sandwich." Her face never showed much in the way of emotions or feelings, an effect of her cruel childhood, but I saw a hint of mischievousness creep into her usual smile. "But you didn't show me that they could kiss and become whole," she said as she lined up a pair of smiles and pushed them together. She handed me the completed sandwich and told me it was mine. Then she pressed her own sandwich together.

"We have to share the milk, because I would look silly with three hands."

I looked at her and wondered how she could make so much sense and say everything wrong at the same time. She ate her sandwich in little bites and I could faintly hear her humming the three notes of her name. Then she would hum a single lower note and then the notes she has used for my name before I taught her to speak. She then added something else that I had never heard, but she seemed to hum with love.

"Gwendolyn, what did you just say?"

She suddenly stopped humming and put her sandwich down. "I didn't say anything. I had my mouth full, and you always say don't talk with your mouth full." She then quickly took a large bite of her sandwich and made sure I could see that she was chewing.

I knew better than to pursue the question. So, I ate my sandwich and shared the milk, listening to Gwen humming with a mischievous smile on her face. It was always incredibly easy to tell when Gwen was concealing something, but it was confoundingly difficult to tell what it was.

When we finished she said, "I really didn't say anything."

"I just thought I heard..."

She cut me off before I could finish, another sign that she was concealing something. She normally listened a couple of seconds after someone was done speaking before replying, but this time she interrupted me and said, "would you take a nap with me?"

Before I could say anything, she floated to her feet. I'm not sure how she did it, but she just untwisted her legs and rose to her feet. She managed to do so while holding my hand. I was soon looking at her lusciously round bottom as she tried to pull me to my feet.

Eventually she got me to my feet and lead me to my bedroom. She gave my hand a tug towards the bed before releasing her hold on me. I let my bathrobe fall to the floor as I slid into the still unmade bed. I straightened the covers as Gwen walked around the room drawing the curtains closed. She then went to the stereo and turned it on, before switching out the lights.

Rich gentle violin music soon began to fill the room. As the notes filled my head, I thought the melody sounded familiar, but I couldn't place the song. I turned on my side and looked over at Gwen as she slowly made her way to the bed. I held the covers open for her, but she seemed to be in no hurry.