Chapter 22

Our first interview the next morning didn't take long, but it proved more worthwhile than any we'd had so far. The nurse, a woman named Rosemary Rogers, had only worked for Melville for a week when he fired her.

Jerome asked her if she'd ever seen Melville abuse little Donna, and her answer surprised both of us.

"No," she said, "but it wouldn't surprise me if he did. The day he fired me, the little girl accidentally knocked over a glass of juice, which unaccountably terrified her beyond reason. I calmed her down as much as I could by telling her everything was all right, that what happened was an accident, that it wasn't her fault. She begged me to hurry and clean up the mess, and I was kneeling on the floor with a roll of paper towels in my hand to wipe up the juice when Mr. Melville stomped into the room. He saw the mess and in no uncertain terms ordered me to clean it up." She huffed a laugh. "It was my own fault I was fired, but when he inanely ordered me to do something I was already doing, he pissed me off, so I mouthed off. I said, 'What does it look like I'm doing? Praying?' His face went red, and he fired me on the spot. 'Fine, ' I said and tossed him the roll of paper towels. 'Clean the mess up yourself, ' I told him and walked from the room, gathered my things and left."

I couldn't help it. I laughed heartily. "Good for you," I said.

Jerome explained that Donna's mother had reopened the custody issue and asked the nurse if she'd testify to the facts she'd just told us.

She agreed without hesitating. Jerome asked her a few more questions, and at a nod from me we left.

Outside, Jerome glanced at his fancy wristwatch. It had more dials and doodads than any watch I'd ever seen.

"I think we have time for the last interview and still meet Twigs at ten-thirty," he commented.

"Let's do it."

In the car, Jerome said, "That went well. I'll call your father and fill him in while you review the file for our last interview."

He handed me a thin manila folder that I knew from experience contained various facts about the nurse we'd soon meet. As I flipped open the file, he thought, And we didn't need any weird mind reader to make it happen, just good, old-fashioned investigative and interview procedures.

"So you think I'm weird, huh?" I said. "I guess I am. Weird I'll accept, but don't ever think of me as a freak." I chuckled and added, "Or I'll cast a spell on you and turn you into a toad."

Jerome forced a laugh and shook his head. He wasn't happy.

"You don't like me inside your mind. Correct?"

He swung his eyes to mine briefly and then studied the road ahead. "Not really," he admitted.

Don't think, he ordered himself. Don't think what you really think of her.

"Not thinking won't do you any good, Jerome. You'll forget from time to time, and your thoughts will come through to me loud and clear."

"Humph. I need to call your father."

He dialed and listened to the phone ring to control his thoughts. When Dad answered, he relayed the results of our interview. The head cheerleader was obviously pleased, which made Jerome happy, so I decided if Dad wanted to act like a cheerleader, I'd let him and keep my mouth shut.

While Dad was speaking - an assumption because I couldn't hear his side of the conversation - Jerome was listening to Dad with one ear and to himself with the other.

Freaky, sexy bitch. No, not bitch. She's too nice to be labeled a bitch. How about witch? Yeah. Freaky, sexy witch. That's what she is.

Did he actually believe because he was on the phone speaking with Dad that I couldn't hear his thoughts? Apparently.

Look at those legs! The best pair of gams I've seen since... ever! I'd love to have them wrapped around my waist - my neck for that matter. She's gotta be a witch. She's cast a spell on me.

His thoughts didn't surprise me. He'd had similar thoughts before, and I wasn't the only woman around that turned him on. Drooling with tongue hanging out described him when he looked at Sara sometimes, and his partner, Nora, frequently lifted his balls with arousal. Jerome wasn't evil. He was a typical, heterosexual male, so his sexy thoughts didn't bother me. They bothered him, though. He was afraid his normal reactions to an attractive female would make me think less of him.

I wonder if she'd like my big dick? he asked himself. More importantly, could she take it all? Most women can't, but as tall as she is, her pussy might be deep enough. She's not a size-queen, though, and she seems to love that young man she's with. Lucky lad.

Hmm, could Jerome's long one be labeled a horse-cock? I asked myself. Or was he having delusions of grandeur? Unaccountably, my pussy started to cream. Unaccountably? Hardly. Visions of huge cocks were dancing in the theater in my mind. Was Jerome's curvy like Jason's? Or was it long and straight. I'd yet to experiment with the volume displacement between a curvy one and a straight one. Of course, to make a proper comparison, both would need to be the same length and breadth, and from Jerome's thoughts, he was built for size-queens, not an inch above average like Jason.

Jason had asked me if I'd be interested in sex with another man, and I'd answered truthfully that the man and the situation would need to be extraordinary to interest me. Was a horse-cock attached to a reasonable attractive, nice man extraordinary enough? I gotta tell you, my pussy voted a resounding yes, and the little devil on my shoulder was egging my pussy on with comments like, "Go for it! Reach over and pull it out! You know you want to see what he's got. Is he boasting? Or is he telling the truth?" The angel on my other shoulder had a few bits of advice, too. "You're in love with Jason. He might not object to you having sex with Barbie, but he'd be more than a little upset if you fucked Jerome's jolly gigantic giant."

I knew I was in trouble when my angel started to communicate with me using alliteration. I chuckled and studied the open file in front of me.

Jerome hung up and glanced toward me. Don't think! She'll hear you now.

Should I let him believe I hadn't heard him while he was speaking with Dad, or should I pop his bubble? Play fair, I ordered myself.

"Talking on the telephone doesn't stop your thoughts from coming through, Jerome. Sorry."

"Fuck!" he muttered under his breath. His normally ruddy complexion flushed pink.

First his embarrassment and then his anger washed over me. Argh! I needed to put both aside so we could continue to work together. How?

"Your dick might not be normal but your thoughts are as normal as normal can be, Jerome. Just be yourself. Think the way you'd normally think, and stop worrying about what I might or might not hear. Put yourself in my shoes. I've been listening to the thoughts of others for years. With my psychic gifts, I've had to adjust my reactions to what everyone thinks, just like you need to adjust your reactions now you know I can hear what you're thinking. You're a normal, heterosexual male with normal thoughts, and your thoughts don't offend me. If you spoke them out loud, I'd be offended, but I respect the privacy of your mind by curtailing any offensive reaction I might feel. Okay?"

"Humph."

"I'm not a freak, though. Unique? Yes. Unusual? Yes. So I'd appreciate it if you'd adjust your mental description of me just a little. How about weird, sexy witch instead of freaky, sexy witch?"

"I can live with that," he muttered.

But could he live with my invasive mind? I decided to lighten up the tense atmosphere a little. With a chuckle, I said, "I gotta know, though. How long is it?"

He spun his head toward me, wondering if I were serious. When he saw my mischievous grin, he relaxed.

"Ten inches."

"Whew!" He qualified, or rather his dick qualified. It definitely deserved the horse-cock label.

He grinned. "You're wondering if you can take it all, aren't you?"

I laughed. "What are you? A mind reader?"

His boisterous laugh pleased me. My ploy had worked. For the rest of the trip to the hospital to meet with Nurse Sackett, our sexual banter was lively, a little naughty, but not nasty. I don't think Jerome had it in him to be down-and-dirty nasty.

Marsha Sackett was a babe, at least according to Jerome's thoughts. He blushed when he realized I'd heard his thoughts. I winked and he relaxed.

We'd had to track Nurse Sackett down in the pediatric ward of the hospital. She was very busy and didn't really want to speak with us. Her thoughts soon told me why. She'd actually witnessed Melville spanking his daughter, sans panties, too. He was unaware she'd seen him, and she was debating with herself about telling us what she'd accidentally observed.

It's his word against mine, she thought. And he's a powerful, rich man. He'd roll over me like a Mack truck, turn me into road kill in an instant. Besides, the sick pervert frightens me. I wouldn't put it past him if he waited in the shadows and pounced on me one night if I said anything to anyone about what I saw. He's a mean sucker, bad to the bone. I'd better do what I did the last time someone spoke to me about little Donna. Keep my mouth shut.

Argh! Now what. With Nurse Sackett cooperation, we could break the custody suit wide open. We needed her willing testimony. The question I had to answer was how best to approach her so she'd slide over to our side. A glance at Jerome let me know he was blissfully ignorant about what Nurse Sackett could do for us, and if I asked to speak with him privately, the nurse would bolt and run, using busyness as an excuse.

Don't fuck up, I warned myself as I opened my big mouth. "We know you witnessed Melville abusing little Donna, Ms. Sackett, not only physically abusing her but also sexually fondling her."

Jerome's jaw dropped, and Marsha looked just as shocked.

How could she know? she asked herself. I've told no one.

"You were seen observing Melville spanking and fondling his daughter. We'll subpoena you if we must, but it would be better if you testified at the new custody hearing of your own free will. You're a nurse. You were hired to take care of a little girl, but you didn't. You cut and ran, leaving a five-year-old, innocent little girl in the clutches of a violent, sick pervert. It's time you honored your profession and yourself and stepped forward."

"Someone saw me? Who?"

"Who isn't the issue. At issue is how you'll feel about yourself if you continue to let your fear dominate your actions." I hesitated. What I wanted to say put all of us at risk, would let her know we were involved in Donna's abduction. Marsha was on the edge, teetering. She could still fall either way. We needed her to fall in our direction.

"Donna's mother had to kidnap the little girl to get her away from Melville. She risked everything, Marsha. She risked a long prison sentence, or in the alternative, she knew she'd need to remain in hiding for rest of her life because she couldn't allow Melville, the courts, anyone or anything let her little girl stay under Melville's sick care. I'll admit you'll be at risk, too, but your risks don't approach the severity of the risks Donna's mother willingly took. If you step forward and tell the courts what you saw, you'll not only save little Donna's life, you'll also save Donna's mother's life. Waddaya say? Are you going to do the right thing, or not?"

I waited with bated breath as I listened to her personal, silent debate. When she nodded, the air whooshed out of my lungs. "Good. One of our lawyers will contact you this afternoon to set up a time to take your deposition." I opened my arms and moved against her to give her a hug. I had to turn sideways because of the fake baby strapped around my middle. She hugged me back enthusiastically. "You made the right decision, Marsha. I'm proud of you. More importantly, you can be proud of yourself, too."

She was, too. She shared her pride with me. She was still frightened, but relief overwhelmed her fear. The guilt that had been nagging her was gone. She was doing the right thing.

Back in the car, Jerome said, "What you do might be weird, even freaky, but I'll never begrudge what you call your gifts again. You're amazing, Katy."

I was a redhead, looked very overweight, and was draped in a voluminous dress that fell to the floor - to conceal my shapely legs, Twigs said. Nora was with me, not Jerome, and Twigs had rendered his magic on her, too. She wasn't fat, like me, but she was old. I swear she looked seventy.

Jerome, disguised as a businessman and wearing a toupee, sat in the bar. He was backup. Chauvinist. Why did Nora need backup while Jerome could guard me solo? Nora hadn't objected, so I kept my thoughts to myself.

Unlike Nora. Her mind was going a mile a minute, and her mental meanderings reminded me of Barbie's.

Look at the crotch bulge on that guy. He must be hung like a horse, she said silently to herself. I could probably chin myself on it if it was hard.

The vision her comment created in my mind made me laugh. When Nora suddenly remembered I could hear her thoughts, she blushed, or at least I think she blushed. It was hard to tell because of the makeup plastered on her face. To put her at ease, I told her about my best girlfriend.

"Barbie's a lot like you," I commented in conclusion. "Her thoughts keep me half-aroused when I'm with her."

"Does she know about your gift?"

"No. Knowing about my gifts is on a strict need-to-know basis. You and Jerome needed to know, or you would have never been included in the very small loop. You like big ones, huh?"

She laughed unselfconsciously. "Big ones, small ones, skinny or fat. I'm easy to please, but to be completely honest I prefer big ones. What about you?"