Mitch pondered the implications, and the possibilities got his blood tingling. He thought of Chloe. If she’d used advanced materials, acrylics or oil paints, to create her work, she might have presented at a more advanced age. The crayons, however, reminded her of the earliest days of her artistic pursuits and for that reason she presented much younger, with memories limited to that specific time period of her life. What did Isabella have for memories to choose from? A very limited supply, Mitch realized.
Then it came to him, a stunning conclusion that tilted his world.
Penny was the girl who’d gone to school, gotten an education, learned to read and write, gained all variety of skills, attained a host of expected developmental milestones and passed those along to her alters. Isabella, poor sweet child, had remained locked away like a prisoner in Penny’s mind, trapped in something akin to a state of suspended animation. Isabella had gone into hiding as a four-year-old girl who’d been abandoned in a park, and a four-year-old girl she had remained.
She hid to escape some sort of abuse. But what exactly had Isabella endured? And, perhaps more importantly, who was the perpetrator?
Sweating profusely, Attorney Navarro shot back to his feet. “Your Honor, we need a recess! My client clearly isn’t well.”
“Your Honor, I admit this is a bit … unplanned,” said Attorney Johnson uneasily, “but I do have the right to cross-examine the witness and see where it goes. To my mind, this appears to be very relevant to my case.”
“Proceed, but I’m shortening your rope, Attorney Johnson.”
“I know about rope,” Isabella spoke up. “Daddy used rope to tie my hands when he was mad at Mommy.”
“What do you mean, when he was mad at Mommy?” Johnson asked.
“I demand a recess,” Navarro barked loudly.
Lockhart’s expression hardened. “You may have enjoyed a military career before you became an attorney, Mr. Navarro, but here in my courtroom, you do not outrank me. You may ask for a recess, but I alone will make that determination.”
Navarro slumped back into his seat, so apoplectic about the turn of events that he slammed his fist gavel-like on the counsel table. Judge Lockhart did not take kindly to his behavior.
“That will do, Counselor,” she snapped at him. “One more outburst like that and I’ll consider a contempt charge.”
“Do you need to take a break?” Judge Lockhart asked the witness.
“I don’t have to stop if you don’t want me to,” Isabella answered politely.
“Good. I’m curious now,” Attorney Johnson said.
“I think we all are,” Judge Lockhart concurred. “Proceed.”
“You say your daddy tied up your hands?” Johnson continued.
“Yes,” Isabella answered.
“Who is your daddy?”
“Objection!” Navarro shouted. “Your Honor, we are making a mockery of these proceedings. This is a murder trial!”
“I know what this trial is about, Attorney Navarro,” Judge Lockhart shot back. “You needn’t remind me—though it appears I need to remind you that it’s not your turn anymore. The prosecution has a right as set forth in our rules of law to question her witness now in a manner she sees fit. And if she wants this young woman to name her father, then by all means, I’d like to hear the answer.”
Navarro slumped back into his seat. He looked around the courtroom, as if in search of a fire alarm to pull. Sweat rained down his face. He took off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and dabbed his brow dry with the towel.
“I don’t know his name. I called him Daddy,” Isabella said, answering the judge. “But I couldn’t call him that when he was in the house because he didn’t like me, so I didn’t call him anything. That’s what Mommy said. She said Daddy didn’t want me … he didn’t like me.”
Grace moved back a row to sit with Mitch. He could see the pain in her eyes. This poor sweet child, to be rejected that cruelly by a parent, to think she wasn’t wanted or loved—when all Grace had ever wanted was a daughter to raise, to give her a place to call home forever and always.
“Daddy never came for Christmas or birthdays or anything … but he did give me something once.”
“Oh, he did? What was it? Do you remember?”
“It was a book … it was the only present he ever gave me. I loved that book because I loved my daddy, even if he didn’t love me.”
Grace whispered to Mitch, “A book with boats and water on the cover?”