“What’s the little girl like?”

“I didn’t see much of her, just caught a glimpse when I walked in the front door. Small and skinny and cute, very well dressed- your basic little rich girl. When I tried to talk to her she scampered away. I suspect she actually hid somewhere in her mother’s room- it’s a bunch of rooms, actually, more like a suite. While the mother and I were talking I kept hearing little rustles in the background and each time I stopped to listen, they’d stop. The mother never remarked on it, so I didn’t say anything. Figured I was lucky enough just getting up there to see her.”

I said, “Sounds like something out of a Gothic novel.”

“Yes. That’s exactly what it was. Gothic. Sort of spooky. Not that the mother was spooky- she was charming, actually. Sweet. In a vulnerable way.”

“Your basic Victorian princess,” I said. “She doesn’t leave the house at all?”

“That’s what she said. What she confessed- she’s pretty ashamed. Not that shame’s convinced her to try to leave the house. When I suggested she see if she could make it to my office, she started to get really tense. Her hands actually started shaking. So I backed off. But she did agree to have Melissa be seen by a psychologist.”

“Strange.”

“Strange is your business, isn’t it?”

I smiled.

She said, “Have I piqued your interest?”

“Do you think the mother really wants help?”

“For the girl? She says she does. But more important, the kid’s motivated. She’s the one who called the help line.”

“Seven years old and she called herself?”

“The volunteer on the line couldn’t believe it either. The line’s not intended for kids. Once in a while they get a teenager they refer to Adolescent Medicine. But Melissa must have seen one of their public service commercials on TV, copied down the number, and dialed it. And she was up late to do it- the call came in just after ten P.M.”