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Powers kept her gaze on Victria. Victria's never wavered. Holy Cheevers; yeah right. Praying I don't make his ass grass, is more like it. There would be no looking away. How many now were dead; Dobbs, the others, three criminals and stupid, stupid Yazmina? It seemed to Victria that she was assumed guilty for all the death around her, no matter how innocent she truly was, remotely connected, victimized by circumstance or even having acted out of clear self-defense. Victria suddenly felt herself losing control. No matter how innocent she knew she was: they would find a way to keep Melody away from her and to lock her up, the police, Geralynne, Cheevers. She'd had enough. She was finished. Oh my God, I give; I give-

"Okay, so what the fuck?" said Victria; her voice rough with emotion, "You want to search my house for a fuckin Voodoo doll of Yazmina? Go right the fuck ahead detective. And let me know when you find Melody's too, okay? Because I need it, to tuck her in next to me so that I can fucking go to sleep at night while my real Melody is somewhere by herself or with a bunch of fucking strangers, prodding at her, drugging her with who knows what. This is utter bull shit lady; bull shit. Someone has to fucking help me here."

Powers continued to stare at Victria. She watched as a single tear fell from the outer corner of her left eye. Following its slow course, the detective tried to decide whether its soreness was that of a cold lire's weak effort or because Victria was a gravely prideful woman who could not handle any public showing of her true feelings.

There came a new rapping at the door, quieter but insistently repetitive. Victria looked away and wiped her eye as Powers met the caller's gaze.

"Dr. Peebles." She announced, "I'd like you to meet Victria Charpentier."

Her eyes slightly red and puffy then, Victria angled her head to the door, and looked upon a bespectacled man of average height and build. His brown tweed coat and cardigan lent also to his scholarly air, though he was otherwise in jeans and a fairly worn pair of hiking boots. Clipped to his coat's breast pocket was his hospital ID. His likeness was somewhat darker, his expression cool and his brown hair was shorter. Beneath the image was his name and certifications: Dr. Jeremy Peebles, MSSW, PsyaD,LCP, BCBT.

"Hey there Ms. Charpentier," said Peebles as she slowly advanced to the right side of Victria's bed, "It's nice to meet you."

Smiling pleasantly enough, the man extended his hand. Victria looked at it, her expression seeming Leary of some sign of MRSA or ringworm. He wasted no time with her hesitation and quickly stepped back and interlaced his fingers at his midline.

"I was hoping we could talk about the young lady that was brought in with you."

"Melody." Said Victria, not looking at him.

"Ah Melody!" he repeated excitedly; suddenly disengaging his fingers and clapping once, "That's perfect. And there I was guessing her a Zoei or a Christina."

Oh Jesus Christ, thought Victria as she met his eyes, they sent me a reject from Good Will Hunting. She couldn't, wouldn't hide her incredulity. His good humor certainly didn't boarder on obnoxiousness, at least not yet. But, Victria thought it would, and quickly.

"Would you mind terribly," Peebles intoned; both slowing and softening his voice, "If I ask you a few questions about her?"

Again, Victria looked away. What could she say? Never did she expect to be in the position she was in, to have to talk to a psychologist about someone she'd dominated and had been humiliating over the last four months. Has it only been four months, she thought. It feels like forever. Fuck, I don't want to talk to a psych. I can't. I don't, I don't; know her. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Damn it, where's Vance?

"Ms. Charpentier?" Peebles continued, "I can't try to pull her out of the vacuum she's been sucked into if I can't get an idea-"

"She was homeless when I found her; when we met."

Powers had been reviewing the notes on her pad, and was prepared to wr

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