Page 9 of Christmas Past
She was convincing. But then, she’d been taught the show from birth. And been on 'stage' most of her life.
“Fear is like lightning striking your body…” Her words came slowly, her voice thick. “Panic feels…weak. Like your knees are giving out on you. Like you can’t lift your arm…”
He swallowed. Moistened his lips. Put a hand on her knee. To convince her he was with her all the way.
And translated. When she’d first seen Camille the little girl had been frightened. Because Bella had snatched her? More likely not. If Bella had been at Posey’s someone would have seen her. So had Camille found her way outside? Either alone or with help? Was that when she’d come upon Bella? In the snowstorm when so few people had been out. Their witnesses were few.
But no one had mentioned seeing Bella. And the trio at the hardware store would have noticed for sure, since the woman was such a well-known oddity.
And then there was the panic…
He watched Bella. Saw her throat move as she swallowed. Her eyes seemed to be moving rapidly behind her closed lids.
“She wet her pants.”
That again.
“How do you know that if you didn’t see her?”
Bella’s eyes flew open and he realized his mistake. If she thought he didn’t believe her, she wouldn’t trust him. She’d clam up.
“I’m trying to understand the feeling you get that tells you that,” he added, able to infuse a load of sincerity into the statement. Because Bella had called him. And because, deep down, he believed that if Bella had Camille, she wouldn’t knowingly hurt her.
“I felt like I wet my pants,” she said, blushing. “You know the warm wet sensation you get…”
He hadn’t wet his pants in a while.
“So you felt, warm…”
“And wet,” she told him. “I actually checked to see if I needed to change my jeans.”
Frustrated, growing more and more impatient, he sat there. He didn’t know enough. But he was convinced she knew far more than she was letting on.
“Okay, so you felt like you wet your pants,” he said, nodding, his eyes open and focused on her. He hadn’t moved his hand from her knee. And he was pretty sure he’d covered his mistake.
“Then it started again.”
“What started again?”
“The fear. And panic.”
“And that was it? That’s all you know?”
It couldn’t be.
“No,” she said. “My foot started to hurt. A sharp pain. I remember thinking it was broken. And my elbow, right where you were clutching it earlier…it kind of burned. Like it was scraped.”
Now he had something. Something he didn’t want.
Possible confirmation that Camille was hurt.
Fighting the urge to take Bella by the shoulders, to demand that she tell him what she’d done with the girl, or where she’d seen her, he sat there. Waiting.
Her eyes were closed again. She was hugging herself. And started to shake.
Taking one of her hands, playing along by instinct, he said, “What else, Bella? I’m right here.”
“She was freezing. And scared out of her wits. And she threw up.”
