Becoming Ellen Read Free Page A

safety and care that were never delivered. She stood, wondering if anyone could see that she was inside out and praying that they couldn’t see her at all. Struggling to fend off the panic, Ellen began to take sharp, shallow gulps of air as the woman’s expression, a fixed smile that did not extend to her eyes, stimulated a flurry of ugly images for Ellen. Before she fell spinning into that dark, gaping void of emotions she could not control, Ellen fled.
    She reached the corner of the hallway and powered on around it, so targeted on the anonymity that would hide her beyond the exit that she did not see the man directly in her path. Ellen tried to alter the direction of her momentum—not an easy shift when her one hundred and eighty pounds were fully committed elsewhere.
    â€œI’m glad you’re okay. Are you leaving?” It was the undercover police officer from the bus.
    She looked up in both surprise and relief. Somehow this capable cop in jeans didn’t frighten her the way the uniforms did. The harshly lit hallway revealed that he was much older than he first appeared, closer to midthirties, she thought.
    â€œUh, yeah,” Ellen managed.
    â€œI’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to give you this.” He pulled out a card and handed it to Ellen. She looked down at it to avoid the naked feeling of his eyes on her. It read DETECTIVE LIONEL BARCLAY . Beneath that were his precinct and phone number.
    Ellen mumbled, “Sure,” and pocketed the card.
    â€œHow’s the little girl?” Detective Lionel Barclay asked.
    â€œI don’t know.” She hesitated. For some reason she felt compelled to share something with this man. The sensation was alien, yet not as threatening as she would have thought. So she ventured, “I don’t suppose she’s doing very well, do you?”
    Lionel Barclay sighed. “No, I don’t suppose she is. I think it really helped that you were there. You seem to be good with kids.”
    If the detective had pulled out his gun and shot her, Ellen could not have been more startled.
Good with kids?
Kids had made her own childhood a living hell. She had been
good
at avoiding them, but that was the extent of it.
    â€œI, uh, don’t really know any kids,” was all she said.
    The detective laughed. “Well, let me know how you’re doing. I’m really grateful to you. If there’s anything you need, please let me know.”
    Ellen nodded shallowly and got going more carefully this time, but picking up speed as her need to be invisible grew to an aching necessity. The hospital doors opened and Ellen felt the chilly early-morning air rush over her, soothing her tattered nerves.
    But the name Lydia Carson repeated itself over and over with a steady, constant beat in her brain. The mantra grew from weak to strong, forcing back the paralyzing memories.
    Lydia Carson, Lydia Carson.
Over and over, Ellen repeated the feeble syllables of the name in a syncopated rhythm until they steadied and grew stronger.
Lydia CARson, Lydia CARson, Lydia CARson,
like a new heartbeat born of intent.

2
    A re you sure this is coffee? It smells like something BP scraped up off the Gulf of Mexico,” Temerity was exclaiming loudly to Justice as Ellen opened the door to the loft. The blind girl sniffed at the green mug and wrinkled her nose. Her brother looked beseechingly across the expanse of floor at Ellen and shook his head.
    â€œJust add some hot water if you think it’s too strong,” he told his sister.
    â€œIt doesn’t matter how much you dilute battery acid, it’s still acid.”
    â€œYou’re a bit acidic yourself this morning,” he countered, slurping his coffee audibly to let her know he was enjoying it.
    â€œWhich gives me an idea for this Drano.” Temerity found the sink with her free hand and poured the contents of her cup down the drain. Then she set about making herself a fresh pot of coffee in