Child Of The Night

By Lee Karr

For his daughter's sake

A LITTLE GIRL'S LOVE

Child psychologist Tyla Templeton realized Cassie Archer had an unwanted gift: she had visions that always came true. And something the adorable four–year–old had "seen" had made her fearful of her beloved father.

A FATHER'S ONLY HOPE

Widower Clay Archer loved his daughter more than anything. But he was losing her. In desperation he turned to Tyla for help. The beautiful doctor's methods involved not only his daughter's feelings, but soon his own heart, as well. Somehow, they had to discover the secret that separated Clay from his daughter or abandon their own growing love.

A FAMILY'S FUTURE

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460880562

Lee Karr

The first time Leona (Lee) Karr saw her words in print was in the sixth grade when she won an essay contest and her entry was published in the city newspaper. That same thrill, always tinged with a little surprise, is still there after over 30 published books. Although she has written mysteries, historical romances, gothics, and paranormal romances, her favorite genre is romantic suspense, and her bookshelves are filled with tales of mysterious heroes and courageous heroines caught up in the excitement of an intrigue. A native of Colorado, she has set many of her books in the majestic Rocky Mountains near her home. Graduating from the University of Colorado with a B.A., and from the University of Northern Colorado with an M.A. degree, she taught as a reading specialist until her first book was published in 1980. Her books have been translated and published in many foreign countries with over a million of her books reprinted. After being widowed for five years, she recently married and is living her very own romantic story with her new husband and soul mate. Leona "wheels and deals" from a wheelchair after she was struck with a bout of polio just one year before the vaccine was approved for use. She has been blessed with children and grandchildren. She has been on the Waldenbooks bestseller List, nominated by Romantic Times for Best Romantic Saga, and Best Gothic Author. She has been honored as the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writer of the Year, and has received Colorado's Romance Writer of the Year Award. She is a presenter at numerous writing conferences and has taught college courses in creative writing. She writes five hours a day, happily chasing new stories of love, danger, and happiness. She is delighted when readers confess that her books kept them up half of the night reading.

Book preview

Prologue

Silvered moonlight lent soft illumination to the little girl’s bedroom as the silence of midnight floated through the spacious mansion. Four-year-old Cassie lifted her dark head from the pillow and sat up, her tiny hands clutching the edge of a down-filled quilt. A whimper caught in her throat as she stared at a vision forming in the shadows beyond the foot of her bed….

She was in the back seat of a shadowy car parked high on a mountain precipice. Her dark-haired father sat in the front seat behind the steering wheel, and her mother sat beside him. Cassie could see the backs of their heads, the edge of her mother’s pink party dress and the collar of her father’s black suit. As the car began to move abruptly, her father jerked open the door and jumped out.

In a burst of light Cassie’s perception changed. Suddenly she was outside the car, watching as the car went off the cliff and plunged down the mountainside in a fiery crash.

She screamed, leapt from the bed and ran crying down the hall. Mama! Papa! She had seen things before— and they always came true.

A plump nursemaid who’d been sleeping in an adjoining room caught up with the hysterical child at the top of the stairs. Wait, honey, wait. What is it, child?

Cassie went sobbing into her arms. Mama…Papa.

I don’t think they’re home from the party yet. What do you want? Tell Marie. You must have had a bad dream. She stroked the little girl’s dark brown curls. It’s all right. It’s all right. Don’t cry.

I saw…I saw, Cassie sobbed. She worked her trembling mouth, but no words came out. She had told people about the pictures before, and they never believed her.

Marie hugged her. There’s nothing scary in your room, sweetheart. You just had a nightmare, that’s all. Come on, I’ll read you a nice story and you’ll forget all about your bad dream.

Cassie didn’t hear the news until the next morning when her father told her that there had been an accident.

I have bad news, Cassie. He touched her rigid little shoulders. Your mother…was in a car accident. I…I don’t know what happened. Last night she left the party without me and was alone in the car when it went off the road.

Cassie pulled away, and a shutter came down over her eyes. She had seen him in the car.

Her father was lying to her.

She knew the pictures in her head were never wrong….

Chapter 1

Dr. Tyla Templeton rose from her desk and extended her hand as the older woman and child entered her office. I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Millard. She smiled down at the little girl. And you, too, Cassie.

The child’s only response to Tyla’s greeting was a fixed stare before she looked away quickly and refused to make eye contact again. Stiff, guarded, like those of an animal prepared for attack, the four-year-old child’s rounded eyes remained unblinking.

Tyla motioned to a floral sofa and matching chairs that flanked a coffee table. I thought we might enjoy some lemonade and cookies while we chat a bit. I always get hungry this time in the afternoon, don’t you, Cassie?

Cassie stared straight ahead without any indication that she had heard Tyla’s question.

That would be very nice, wouldn’t it, Cassie? her grandmother said sharply. At the same time Harriet Millard shot Tyla a look that said See what I mean?

Tyla would have preferred to meet the child for the first time alone, but that was rarely possible when young children were referred to the Colorado Mental Health Clinic. Tyla, as a clinical psychologist, had studied the report forwarded by the preschool where Cassie was enrolled. Since her mother’s death, Cassie’s behavior had become so erratic that the school authorities had requested Tyla’s evaluation of the little girl’s mental and emotional condition.

The way Cassie sat down on the far end of the sofa, a safe distance from her grandmother, told Tyla a lot. In her childlike way, the little girl seemed determined to separate herself from the world and the people in it. When Tyla offered her a plate of cookies, her expression changed slightly. Cassie snatched up three of them and clutched them in her lap as if she expected Tyla to wrestle them from her. She peered through strands of dark brown curls that had drifted down on her forehead. Her eyes were deep blue, guarded and haunted.

Cassie! Mind your manners, scolded her grandmother. The woman’s posture was as rigid as the child’s was listless. Somewhere in her fifties, Tyla guessed, Harriet Millard was a tall woman, all sharp angles with little evidence of any feminine curves under her expensive linen suit. Her hair had been colored an unbelievable mahogany brown, and her makeup was evidence of a cosmetic consultant’s instruction. Everything about Mrs. Millard’s appearance gave the impression that she was trying terribly hard to look younger than she was. I apologize for my granddaughter. Cassie’s always been a handful…and since her mother’s death, she’s been totally impossible!

No wonder the child has built a wall around herself, thought Tyla. The little girl sat listlessly on the edge of the sofa with her thin legs dangling off the cushion like a rag doll. Tyla’s professional insight told her that the child’s lassitude was deceptive. Cassie was like someone poised on the edge of a precipice, ready to leap off.

A sense of urgency made Tyla quickly arrange for the little girl’s daily visit to the clinic. Will you have Cassie here at three o’clock every weekday? I’ll meet her at the front door and, after her hour session, I’ll wait with her at the entrance until you pick her up at four o’clock.

Mrs. Millard’s eyes snapped. Someone else will see that she gets here and is returned home. I only brought her today because her father was against the whole idea of taking her to another shr— She swallowed the last word. My daughter’s psychiatrist saw her once, and he said that Cassie was too young for analysis.

I agree, said Tyla evenly. But we can learn a lot about children when they are free to express themselves. She added pointedly, That’s why all my sessions with Cassie will be private.

But there are things you should know. The woman’s narrow nose quivered. Don’t you want information about Cassie’s background? Heaven knows, I could tell you some things that would certainly raise the hair on your head.

We can arrange for some family consultations later, Tyla said smoothly. She had already gleaned an insight into the child’s background: insensitive, overbearing grandmother and a father who opposed professional treatment for his motherless daughter. She had to get Cassie away from this woman’s destructive verbal abuse before she’d have any luck reaching the child.

Harriet was not so easily put off. In my opinion Cassie has suffered from a deep-seated illness since the day she was born. I warned my daughter that there was something dangerous about the man she married. I didn’t care how much money he had. The marriage was a disaster from the beginning. I always suspected the Clayton Archer Investment Company was built on plenty of under-the-table dealings. She lowered her voice, but her pointed whisper was loud enough for Cassie to hear. If there ever was a man hand in glove with the devil, it’s Clay Archer. And I’m convinced he’s passed on his twisted genes to his daughter.

Tyla struggled to hold her temper in check as she silently cursed the woman for her insensitivity. She made mental notes of the things she would say to this grandmother once the situation was appropriate. But now was not the time. She needed to separate herself from the negative atmosphere the grandmother had created.

I want to spend time alone with Cassie and show her our playroom, Tyla said firmly as she stood up. She caught Harriet Millard’s appraising glance traveling over the simple blue sheath dress that the saleslady had assured Tyla went nicely with her fair skin and raven black hair.

The woman’s evaluation was one of dismissal, as if her eagle eyes had failed to discern a designer’s label. She turned her gaze to the little girl. Now, you behave yourself, Cassie. I don’t—

If you will excuse us… Tyla said pointedly, cutting her off. Come on, Cassie, let’s take our cookies down to the playroom. Just you and me. Nobody else. She waited and then held out her hand.

Without looking at Tyla and ignoring the outstretched hand, Cassie slid off the sofa. She walked beside Tyla like a mechanical robot as they left the office. The two of them went down the hall to a cheerful room filled with all types of play equipment.

As a clinical psychologist specializing in emotionally disturbed children, Tyla had become an authority on play therapy as a means of defining and releasing hidden conflicts in young children. A good many of her referrals came from day-care centers and schools. The report Tyla had received said Cassie’s behavior had become so withdrawn that she spent hours under a table refusing to come out, isolating herself and refusing to participate in any activity day after day. Tyla had agreed to evaluate her and make a decision whether or not the child might be helped through play therapy.

Tyla watched for some reaction from Cassie as she quietly pointed out a sandbox, dollhouse, books, toys, stuffed animals and tables with crayons and paints laid out ready for use.

For the time we have together, you can do just as you please. If there’s something you want to play with, you can. But if you don’t want to play, you don’t have to. Tyla sat down in one of the small chairs and started nibbling on a cookie she had brought with her.

Cassie stared at Tyla. Then she deliberately squeezed the cookies in her hand and showered crumbs down on the floor. Her deep eyes narrowed slightly as if waiting for Tyla’s reaction. When none came, she dropped the remaining bits on the floor and deliberately crushed them with her shoe. The childish behavior signaled deeply suppressed anger and defiance, thought Tyla.

Would you like the rest of my cookie? Tyla held out the remaining half to her.

Cassie shrank back as if withdrawing protectively into her shell. She pressed back against a wall, her eyes darting around the room as if she expected Tyla or someone else to manhandle her. Tyla pretended not to notice and went on eating the cookie.

After a while Cassie slumped to the floor and sat there, half-concealed by a table and chairs. Her little voice was a choked whisper. I don’t want to play.

Tyla didn’t say anything.

I don’t want to play. This time the voice was stronger and more belligerent.

You don’t want to play, Tyla echoed evenly, and didn’t say anything more. She sat and waited. They would spend an hour together. What happened was up to this little girl, who for one hour could make her own choices. To play or not to play. To talk or not to talk. There were chairs to sit in, tables to draw on or crawl under, a carpeted floor for sitting and lying down. Tyla folded her hands on top of the small table and waited.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a little face peep around a chair leg. A moment later Cassie crawled up into a low window seat, curled into a tight little ball against some cushions and looked out the window. She was small for her age, petite bone structure, and flyaway brown wispy hair that gave her delicate features a fey look. Tyla couldn’t tell whether Cassie’s blue eyes were focused on the clinic’s small courtyard or if she was staring off at an unseen point. Tyla knew that she mustn’t invade Cassie’s space unless invited, but the sensation of dark forces at work in the little girl was so strong that it was all Tyla could do to stay seated in her chair. She wanted to put her arms around the child, but that would never do. At this initial stage Cassie would mistrust any offering of affection.

Tyla thought about Cassie’s grandmother and the derogatory way she had talked about Cassie’s father. Evidently Clayton Archer had failed to provide the solace his daughter needed when his wife was killed. What kind of a man was he that his mother-in-law spoke of him in such dark tones?

Time passed. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Then Cassie began to stir. She moved a couple of cushions on the window seat and picked up something she found underneath one of them. For a minute Tyla didn’t identify what it was, and then she recognized a crumpled Rockies baseball cap. One of her other clients, Jimmy Myers, must have left it yesterday. The seven-year-old boy was scheduled for an appointment the hour after Cassie’s.

Tyla was surprised when Cassie turned and held up the cap. Quickly Tyla got to her feet and walked over to the window bench. You found something?

Cassie nodded. She looked down at the baseball cap and then at Tyla as if wanting some reassurance.

It’s all right. Jimmy, another friend of mine, left it here yesterday. He’s coming to see me again today. Tyla took the baseball cap. I’ll give it to him then.

Cassie’s deep blue eyes showed concern. He shouldn’t play with matches, she said solemnly. Her tiny forehead furrowed, and her eyes focused beyond Tyla as if watching some unseen activity.

Tyla sat down on the window seat beside Cassie. After a few seconds the little girl’s eyes cleared. Tyla said in a matter-of-fact tone, You saw Jimmy playing with matches.

A guarded expression fell over Cassie’s face. As if an instinctive antenna had picked up danger, her little body went rigid. The child obviously expected some disapproving reaction from Tyla. A defensive guard had gone up. The air was suddenly charged with Cassie’s fear.

Tyla casually turned the baseball cap in her hand as she smiled at Cassie. When I was a little girl, I used to know things, too. Cassie’s dark blue eyes rounded but they remained shuttered and guarded. I used to tell people about them…and they didn’t believe me. Tyla looked steadily into the little girl’s face. Is that what happens to you sometimes, Cassie?

An almost imperceptible nod of the child’s dark head gave Tyla encouragement. They sat in silence for another long moment, and then Tyla said, Well, I believe you, Cassie. I believe that when you were holding Jimmy’s cap, you saw him.

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.