Child Of The Night

by Lee Karr

  This time the little girl’s nod was definite.

  “He had red hair, didn’t he?” Tyla saw a closed curtain fall over Cassie’s eyes. The question was a mistake. Tyla cursed herself for moving too fast. The child must have been pressured in the past about some detail and she sensed a trap.

  Was Cassie clairvoyant? If her statement about Jimmy and the matches was true, she must have the ability to see distant events at the time of their occurrences. Was she also telepathic and able to communicate thoughts without using her physical senses? Cassie was obviously tortured by insights that she didn’t understand. Often children who exhibited any kind of psychic tendencies were ridiculed and called weird. They soon learned to hide any experiences that labeled them as “different.” In occult circles they were called “Children of the Night.”

  “I’ll hang up Jimmy’s cap, and he can get it when he comes to see me the next time.” Tyla used a tone that put an end to the matter. She sat down in her chair and without comment let Cassie stare out the window again.

  She made some notes in her notebook and a few minutes later looked at her watch. “It’s almost four o’clock. Time to go home now, Cassie,” she said pleasantly.

  From experience Tyla knew that any child’s reaction to the end of a session, especially the first one, was important. Reluctance to leave the therapy room could be a positive sign that a climate of acceptance had been established. An eager rush to the door could signal wild joy like a prisoner released from jail.

  Cassie seemed to be pulled in two directions. She left the window seat but stopped in the middle of the room. For the first time she looked around. Her eyes fell on a two-storied dollhouse filled with furniture and a miniature family of father, mother and two children. She walked over to the dollhouse, knelt down beside it and then sent a belligerent glare at Tyla.

  “It’s time to go, Cassie,” Tyla repeated. “Tomorrow you can play with the dollhouse. We’ll spend time together every afternoon except Saturday and Sunday.”

  Cassie didn’t move.

  Tyla held out her hand. “I’ll walk you to the reception lobby. And I’ll meet you there tomorrow. We’ll come back to this room, and you can stay for a whole hour.”

  Cassie weighed the promise for a long moment. Then she slowly rose to her feet. She didn’t look at Tyla as she walked out the door.

  One of the clinic’s secretaries was waiting in the hall to hand Tyla a telephone message. “I thought you should have it right away.”

  Tyla read the note, and a cold prickling touched her skin. Her next appointment had been canceled. Jimmy Myers had been rushed to a hospital. He’d been severely burned in a fire.

  Chapter 2

  Ignoring Tyla’s outstretched hand, Cassie walked stiffly beside her, looking neither right nor left until they reached the clinic’s waiting room. Cassie’s steps slowed as a man who was sitting in one of the reception chairs rose to his feet. Then, to Tyla’s surprise, Cassie’s little hand suddenly clutched hers.

  Cassie’s father? Must be, decided Tyla. The man was somewhere in his early thirties with features too angular to be handsome, but the force of his presence would never be passed over in a crowd. Black eyebrows arched over deep-set dark blue eyes that dominated his hard, lean features. He wore an expensive business suit, and his rich, dark brown hair was professionally styled. As he moved toward her, she was aware of a natural feral aura about him, as if he’d be equally comfortable in torn jeans and bare chest. His eyes darted to the child and then fastened on Tyla, narrowing slightly as if subjecting her to some silent measurement.

  Cassie hung back and pressed against Tyla’s side, still clutching her hand. The little girl’s reaction was not lost on her father, and his expression hardened.

  “I’m Dr. Templeton,” Tyla said.

  He nodded as if he was aware of her identity. “Clay Archer.”

  Strange, Tyla thought. Usually she trusted her instinct about people the first time she met them, but there was something about Clayton Archer that defied assessment. Cassie’s behavior was enough to prejudice her against the man, but at the same time Tyla picked up vibrations that didn’t quite match.

  Clay returned her steady gaze. He’d pictured Dr. Tyla Templeton as an iron-gray-haired woman with hornrimmed glasses and a figure like a double-decker bus. This lithe, raven-haired young woman with devastating smoky blue eyes was not at all what he had expected in a clinical psychologist, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t as ineffective as the rest of them. He admitted a personal prejudice when it came to psychologists and psychiatrists. His late wife had flitted from one shrink to the next all her adult life…and she had remained a witch to the end.

  “Our first session went well,” Tyla said, picking up negative vibrations from him. This vague statement usually reassured most parents.

  “What do you mean…went well?”

  Cassie shot a pleading, don’t-tell-him look at Tyla. She gave the sweating little hand a reassuring squeeze. She wasn’t about to mention the child’s demonstration of ESP. “I meant that Cassie seems willing to come back tomorrow.”

  “I’m not certain that she will be returning.” Clay’s hackles went up. He was smart enough to know when he was being manipulated. In a boardroom he could sense opposition undercurrents before any investor opened his mouth, and the silent exchange between this woman and his daughter had not gone unnoticed. He’d be damned if he’d allow her to assume that she was going to be making the decisions in this matter. He didn’t like being put on the outside, not in business and certainly not where his daughter was concerned.

  “I don’t understand, Mr. Archer.”

  “It’s simple. Cassie’s grandmother insisted that she come for an initial evaluation, but I’m far from convinced that pinning a label on Cassie is going to change anything for the better.”

  “I absolutely agree, Mr. Archer,” Tyla answered, picking up on the anxiety lurking behind his rigid manner. “And I would hope that no one has been guilty of doing that.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly. “I thought that was the way these mental-health evaluations worked. You do tests and more tests and then tie everything up neatly with a general diagnosis that doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

  Tyla refused to respond to his hostility. “I think it would be best to discuss these things with you at another time. Could we schedule a consultation as soon as possible?”

  He couldn’t very well refuse but he didn’t want her to think that everything had been settled if he agreed to talk with her at another time. She was right, of course, that talking in front of Cassie wasn’t a good idea. “If you think it’s worth your time…and mine,” he answered pointedly.

  “Family background is always important. I’m available mornings before ten o’clock and evenings after seven. Shall we set a time? The sooner the better?” He was clearly taken aback by her directness, she thought with a spurt of satisfaction. In fact, there might be a quiver of admiration in the almost imperceptible curve of his lips.

  As if accepting the gauntlet she had flung down, he asked, “Would tonight be convenient, Dr. Templeton?”

  She felt his eyes measuring her. For an instant a wave of uneasiness sluiced through her. She was tempted to reply, “A day appointment would be better.” But the moment of disquiet was vague and quickly disappeared. She chided herself for such foolishness. “Tonight would be fine. Shall we say seven-thirty? In my office?”

  “You understand that this appointment does not mean a commitment on my part to employ your services.”

  “I understand perfectly, Mr. Archer.” More than you think.

  The dark forces swirling around his daughter were becoming all too clear. Like so many parents, Clayton Archer might not want to have his daughter’s powers documented. In Tyla’s experience, many children who expressed any ESP insights were scolded, ridiculed and forced to hide any paranormal experiences. They developed a sense of guilt and were ashamed to admit any unusual “dreams” or happenings. Parents
were often the worst offenders and put the heaviest burden on their exceptional children. Cassie’s father needed to understand that he must accept his daughter’s insights as valid and valuable. From the angle of his firm chin, she suspected that he wouldn’t be easily persuaded if he had already made up his mind to make certain Cassie was not considered different from the normal child.

  “Let’s go, Cassie,” he said but made no attempt to take his daughter’s hand, as if he already knew such a gesture would be refused. In some ways he seemed more vulnerable than his daughter, Tyla thought, and wondered what kind of secret battles he’d been fighting to put that hint of defeat in his shadowed eyes.

  Tyla smiled down into Cassie’s tense little face, a smile she hoped would send a strong, silent message. It’s going to be all right. Then she let go of the child’s hand and stepped back.

  “Ready, Cassie?” asked her father, touching her tiny shoulder. “Maybe we can stop for ice cream on the way home.”

  The offering did nothing to change Cassie’s scowl.

  Tyla watched them walk out the front door. At that moment a wave of such dark presentiment swept over her that she mentally reeled from the impact. Before she could bring the telepathic sensation to a rational interpretation, it slipped away from her. The powerful sensation couldn’t be put into words, but an insidious disquiet remained.

  My God, is it coming back? A spurt of anxiety shot through her. She hadn’t experienced such a strong telepathic impression for years. At one time she’d been able to pick up a variety of thought transference, but she’d been grateful that through the years the ability had practically disappeared. Her telepathic experiences had often been shattering, especially when tragic incidents had filled her mind or when she’d been tortured by sensations that defied logical interpretation. As her thoughts centered on the man and child who had just left, she tried to block out a swelling uneasiness that brought a prickling to the nape of her neck.

  “What’s going on, Tyla?” Dr. Barry Reardon came up behind her. “You’re standing there stiff as a log.”

  Tyla swallowed the impulse to tell him about the frightening intuition that couldn’t be put into words. She didn’t know what his reaction would be. Too often members of the medical community discounted anything that wasn’t scientifically documented, and she had learned to keep this kind of subconscious communication to herself.

  “Just thinking,” she said with a dismissing smile. Barry Reardon was somewhere in his forties but looked younger. A personable psychiatrist with an excellent reputation, he had made her welcome when she joined the clinic staff. To Tyla’s secret amusement, he wore a small hairpiece to cover a balding spot at the back of his head. She wondered how many people knew that the lush dark hair wasn’t his. Barry also dressed well and worked out daily to keep his lanky frame without an extra pound on it. A bachelor, he was the focus of attention from all of the single females in the clinic.

  “Having a rough day?” His smile promised that he was ready and willing to brighten her day if she’d let him.

  “Just trying to figure out how to handle a challenging referral.”

  “Watch it, lady. You’re turning into a workaholic,” Barry chided. “How about a little R and R this weekend? We could drive up to my mountain retreat. Plenty of places to enjoy some great food and take in a little nightlife.” From the beginning Barry had made it clear that he was interested in expanding their professional relationship to a more intimate one. “How about it?”

  She shook her head. Barry was great to work with, but she didn’t want to date him. Once in a while they would go out to lunch or attend a business meeting together, but she was determined to hold him at arm’s length. She’d already been through a painful relationship with another professional colleague before she came to Denver and she wasn’t about to repeat the same mistake. “Sounds good but I’ll pass. I’m way behind in my record keeping.”

  “Get one of the office girls to help.”

  “There are some cases I like to keep to myself.” Like Cassie Archer. She didn’t want any of the office staff pointing out the little girl who had the mysterious “sight.”

  “Sounds as if you’re getting emotionally involved.”

  Was she? She couldn’t remember ever being attracted to a child so fast. She gave Barry a vague smile and turned away, impatient to make a telephone call to check out the message she’d received about Jimmy.

  Barry ignored her purposeful manner and walked with her down the hall to her door. “Well, if you change your mind about this weekend, give me a call.” He winked at her. “You have my number.”

  You bet I do, she thought with an inner smile. She couldn’t help liking Barry. He was good for her feminine ego, but to give him any romantic encouragement wasn’t fair to either of them. She suspected that he’d have someone else lined up before Friday rolled around. Undoubtedly his mountain retreat got a lot of use.

  Tyla went to her office, checked her files and called Jimmy Myers’s house. An aunt told her that the boy had been taken to Denver Children’s Hospital.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” Tyla asked, knowing in her heart even before the woman spoke what she was going to say.

  “Jimmy was playing with matches in a closet. Something caught fire. The child was burned badly before anyone knew what had happened.”

  Cassie had known what was happening. “About what time was the fire?” Tyla asked.

  “Around three-thirty. His mother said Jimmy had just come home from school and had gone upstairs. He must have had the matches in his pocket. Who knows where he got them. She heard his screams a few minutes later.”

  “I’m very sorry,” Tyla said, her heart tightening. “I’ll visit Jimmy as soon as he’s allowed visitors.” She replaced the receiver, leaned back in her chair and slowly turned her pencil thoughtfully in her hands. He shouldn’t play with matches. The tragedy had happened at approximately the same time that Cassie had made the statement.

  Had the little girl picked up some telepathic message or thought transference from Jimmy about what he was going to do? Maybe Cassie had experienced precognition and had knowledge of the whole incident a few minutes before it really happened. Or had she experienced a flash of clairvoyance and had a vision of him and the fire at the time it happened? Maybe both, thought Tyla. Psychometry could involve more than one psychic form.

  Unlike most clinical psychologists, Tyla had undertaken several independent studies of ESP. Because of her own telepathic experiences, she had been especially interested in research programs and had read widely in the subject. The interest was a personal one and she never included her studies on her résumé. Her reputation had been built as a therapist, teacher and lecturer in the area of play therapy. Very few people knew about her expertise in extrasensory perception, and she preferred to keep it that way. She had treated hundreds of children, but none of them had demonstrated the kind of psychic ability that Cassie had.

  As far as the incident with the little girl was concerned, it really didn’t matter what the exact form of ESP had been, telepathy, clairvoyance, precognition or all three. The truth was, Cassie had picked up Jimmy’s cap and known what was happening to him. There was no doubt in Tyla’s mind. The child possessed tremendous psychic ability.

  Clay glanced at his daughter sitting beside him as he drove. Her little hands tightly gripped the sides of her car seat, and she was stiff as a corncob doll. Even when he tried to talk to her in a quiet, reassuring way, Cassie refused to look at him and maintained a stony silence.

  “The lady doctor seems nice. She said you had a good time.”

  No response. He sighed in defeat. What in the hell was going on in that stubborn mind of hers? From the first moment Cassie had raised a protesting howl in the delivery room, his daughter’s strength of will had pleased Clay. But now that character trait had been turned against him. The days when he had held her in his arms, tickled her and tossed her up in the air were gone. She wouldn’t suffer his tou
ch now unless forced to do so.

  Damn Lynette. He knew it wasn’t acceptable to speak ill of the dead, but his late wife had never encouraged a strong bond between him and his daughter. In truth, she’d done everything to prevent it. From the beginning she’d been jealous of any attention he paid Cassie. The woman had been selfish and manipulative. Lies fell from her lips as easily as raindrops from an overcast sky. He could only guess at the stories she must have told Cassie to turn her against him.

  Clay tightened his already tense hands on the steering wheel. Lynette’s death should have removed the barrier between him and his daughter, but things were worse than they’d been before the accident. Damn it, Cassie’s open hostility toward him had increased. He had never meant it to be like this. He loved being a father and would have chosen to have a houseful of kids. Not that Lynette would have gone along with having a second child. Clay suspected that the first pregnancy while they had been dating had been a calculated risk. She had depended upon him to do the honorable thing and marry her when she told him she was going to have his child. He’d tried to make the best of a marriage doomed from the start.

  He glanced at his daughter, so beautiful with her perfect little nose, bowed pink mouth and long eyelashes fringing deep blue eyes. His heart ached to reach out, stroke her childish cheeks and curl her soft brown curls around his finger. But he didn’t dare. When he touched her, her reaction was so violent that it frightened him. Medical doctors had pronounced her in perfect health. He was at a loss to know what was the matter with his beloved child. One thing was sure, he wasn’t going to let any headshrinker make a guinea pig out of her—and that included the damn attractive, self-assured Dr. Templeton.

  A few minutes before five o’clock, Tyla glanced at her watch and decided to go home early since she had an evening appointment. She wanted time to rest and get her thoughts in order before confronting Clayton Archer. She suspected that she would need all her expertise to handle him and the unusual circumstances that had brought his daughter under her care. In their brief meeting, she’d been acutely aware of the strength of his personality, and some inner voice mocked a quiver of nervousness as she thought about the evening ahead. She’d always felt very competent in her professional role. It was her personal life that needed an overhaul.