Bringing All the Bad, стр. 10

Baby didn’t seem to care one way or another. That was, in a word, odd.

They engaged in some minor discussion of the group home and the weather, then the food came. When the smells hit Mel it was like her stomach developed its own form of consciousness. It took squeezing her hands together in her lap to stop herself from snatching the plate. Her blood sugar must have truly been at rock bottom.

The fish was delicious. Exquisite. At her first bite there was a burst of sensations. The salty ocean, the crisp air, the brightness of herbs growing in sunshine, the flaky creaminess of the fish itself. The surprised sound she made was entirely out of her control. Baby gave her a pleased look.

Little conversation interrupted the meal, which was fine with Mel. Baby was so different that she was prepared to invest a lot more time. Regular activities might help where obliquely worded questions wouldn’t.

There was only one thing to mar the otherwise perfect meal. The potatoes were awful. Mel suspected that either their creme fraiche or butter had gone off. There was a sour taste, an unpleasant something that seemed to coat the tongue. She pushed the offending potatoes to the side of her plate, ensuring it didn’t touch the rest of the food.

By the meal’s end, Mel had a cup of steaming coffee in front of her and Baby worked on a bowl of cut fruit for dessert. It was time to start with the questions, but carefully.

“Do you have any questions about what’s happening with you? What will happen next? Anything at all?”

Poking at a strawberry in her bowl, Baby seemed to speak to the fruit rather than to Mel. “I’ll be put into a group home, and then I’ll go to school. That seems to be the sum of it.”

“Yes, in one way.”

She did look up then. There was something in her eyes that said she was messing with Mel when she asked. “What other way is there?”

“With your case, Baby. With the case involving the other girls.”

“Oh, that.”

“And? Do you have any questions regarding that?”

“Not really.”

Mel was at a loss. This was not at all normal or average or even something that had ever happened. What would be normal is to wonder about her future, about what might be expected of her, about what would happen tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. It was more common to have to avoid a child’s best attempt to pin down a commitment for every single moment of every day.

“I see,” Mel said, though she didn’t.

With a sigh, Baby laid down her fork and put her hands into her lap. Leaning forward a little so that her shoulders met the edge of the table, she looked small. She was a slight girl as it was, on the short side in terms of height. Her bones were delicate looking. When she grew up, she wouldn’t likely be tall or big or robust. Petite is what she was and probably always would be. Mel waited for her to speak.

At last, she said, “It doesn’t matter what will happen, because none of us really knows what will happen. I know that you’ll try to find out who took us and you’ll try to get justice. That’s all I really need to know.”

Mel didn’t know how to reply to that. Not even adults reacted this calmly or logically. They wanted to know now, now, now. They wanted blood and vengeance or to hear about a perpetrator in a cell with a horny giant named Bubba who liked to rape perverts. No one responded like this.

What was strange was that Baby seemed more receptive to questions when she wasn’t in a protected environment. All the things they did to make young victims feel safe when being questioned didn’t work on Baby. It was the opposite. Mel wondered if she should try to take advantage of that. Maybe she should test the waters.

“Baby, what’s your name?” she asked.

She didn’t move an inch, but she answered. “I’ve been Baby for so long that I don’t remember what my name was. I’m sure I had one. I just don’t remember it.” It was said in a straightforward manner, almost without any inflection and no hints of emotion. It was a simple fact, shared simply.

Mel’s heart squeezed an extra hard beat, but she stuffed it down and pressed on. “Do you remember anything about before you were taken? Or how you were taken?”

Baby’s short hair gleamed under the lights when she shook her head. “Not really. I don’t think I was taken really. I think I might have been loaned, but never returned.”

It was hard not to react to that statement. It wasn’t only victims who felt passionately about the injustices they faced. Taking a moment to ensure her voice remained steady, Mel asked, “Do you know where this was? Who did it? When?”

Baby’s eyes unfocused a little, lost in her memories. “I think about it sometimes, trying to remember, but it’s hazy. As to when, I do know that. Or I think I do. I remember the newspaper that day.”

This was more than they’d got from Baby in all the time she’d been in the hospital. A newspaper headline, properly researched, could give them a location and a date. The girl couldn’t be more than twelve years old, though the doctor said she might be eleven or even ten. Her scans were a bit odd, though the doctors were of the opinion that her living conditions may have stunted her growth. In short, they couldn’t get a firm age. She would go to a dentist next, to see if they could pin it down by her teeth.

Still, she couldn’t be more than twelve or less than ten. Newspaper archives online would be very complete if they only had to look over the last five to seven years. And there were so few paper newspapers left, it would be