Page 81 of High Intensity

I go on to tell her their names, breeds, how I got them, and the kind of work they do, although I don’t mention Emo is a cadaver dog. That’s probably information she can do without. She seems to listen with interest, even occasionally asking a question.

I hesitate to ask her questions though, afraid it might either remind her of what she lost, or send her back into the silence I just lured her out of. However, I do really want to get her to eat, but I have to be careful how I approach that.

“I’m getting hungry,” I announce, rubbing a hand over my stomach. “It’s gotta be close to lunchtime.” I lean forward and lower my voice conspiratorially. “Do they have any decent food here?”

She shrugs. “I dunno.”

“Okay, well, if you keep an eye on Nugget for me, I’ll go see if I can scrounge something up for us.”

I get up and move to the door when I hear her behind me.

“You’re coming back, right?”

When I look over my shoulder, I catch a look of concern on her face.

“Of course I am. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Bellinger has made an appearance and is in the kitchen with Agents Williams and Kramer. All three of them are looking at me expectantly.

“And?” Bellinger prompts. “Is she talking?”

“I’ve been here all of an hour. I’m not a magician,” I tell him. “My first concern is to regain her trust, and to get some food into her. What have you got?”

A few minutes later I head back upstairs with a tray holding a few Pop-Tarts, a banana, two small containers of yogurt, a piece of cheese for Nugget, and two bottles of water. Hayley’s eyes zoom in on the tray the moment I walk in. Instead of going back to the desk, I slide the tray in the middle of the bed and take a seat at the foot end.

“Unless you want that piece, Nugget happens to love cheese,” I tell her casually while I grab a spoon and start on one of the yogurts.

From the corner of my eye, I see her reaching for the cheese, breaking off a piece to feed my dog. I don’t let on I’m watching her every move, and pretend to be focused on eating. But it’s not until I rip open the package of Pop-Tarts, I see a reaction to the food when she furtively licks her lips. I fish one pastry out of the package and leave the rest on the tray. Then I take my Pop-Tart and walk over to the window, looking out at the view while keeping an eye on Hayley in the reflection.

“Did you know there’s a herd of elk that sometimes comes down to the creek?”

“Isn’t the creek frozen?” she asks from the bed.

“It is, but they seem to like to eat the fresh snow off the rocky shores. I guess that’s how they keep up their water intake in winter.”

With my back turned, I ramble on about other wildlife and tracks I’ve seen on my hikes along the creek, while I watch her lean forward toward the tray of food. I keep talking even when I see her hand tentatively reach for the second Pop-Tart I left in the package.

It’s hard not to get excited when I see her take her first bite, but I don’t want to make this a big deal. I feel it would likely backfire and we’d be back where we started. So, I’m not going to focus on it, and instead hop onto a different subject as I casually turn around.

“So do you like dogs?” I catch her with her mouth full, looking guilty, but I ignore it. “Because if you do, maybe next time I visit, I could bring Peanut along as well.”

“I like dogs,” she mumbles, her hand covering her mouth.

“Good. Peanut will love it. Word of warning though, she likes to cuddle as much as Nugget does, but she’s the size of a calf and partially blind, so at times a bit clumsy.”

“I’m used to big dogs,” she volunteers. “We used to have a Great Pyrenees. His name was Max, but he died last year.”

It’s like a switch is flipped. She claps a hand in front of her mouth as her face crumples, and her eyes well up. All of a sudden, the stubborn and resilient mask falls away, revealing the devastated and scared little girl underneath.

This time I don’t hesitate. I shove the tray out of the way and climb on the bed, pulling her rail-thin body into my arms.

“I’ve got you. Let it out, sweetheart, just hold on to me.”

Her sobs, quiet at first, turn into deep guttural wails, as the full force of her pain and trauma seem to be ripped from her innocent soul. All I can do is hold on as her body shakes andheaves with the violence of it all. During the worst of it, the door opens a crack, and Agent Kramer sticks her head in, alarm on her face. I give her a light shake of my head and she slowly closes the door again.

At some point, I manage to move us in the bed, so I’m a little more comfortable with my back resting against the headboard. Hayley is plastered to my side, her head against my chest, while Nugget presses up against her back, anchoring her.

I don’t really know this girl, but my heart is open, and will every ounce of love I have in me to surround her. It takes a while, but eventually the storm of grief wanes and is replaced by sniffles and occasional hiccups.

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