Free Hope's Vengeance by Ricki Thomas

can’t see you any more.” She growled, waving her fists in frustration. “Hope, I fucking can’t fucking see you any fucking more because I’m a fucking failure!”
She glowed red when she realised the door was ajar and Gayle was leaning through, sniggering. “Finished?”
“Pah! Goddamn it!” Dawn threw herself into a chair. “She’s here, isn’t she?”
“Yes she is, and I hope she didn’t overhear your little outburst!”
Elbows on knees, head in hands. “I wish she had, it would make this easier! Show her in, Gayle, let’s get this over with.”
    The darkness in the room lifted, wintry sun beamed through the window, and the air warmed alongside the uncommonly cheerful smile. “Hi Dawn.” Hope sat opposite, a tinge of concern on her face. “Are you okay?”
    Dawn sighed deeply. “Hope, I, I… damn!” She stood, smoothing her hands along her jeans, stopping at the knee. “I, I, shit, I can’t do this! Look, Hope, I…” Dawn lowered her head, beaten. She knew the best thing for Hope would be to hand her over to another counsellor, but Dawn didn’t want to let her go, she realised she needed to see her, to feed off her, to bask in her strength. Momentarily weighing the unusual situation up, she thought of the fantastic rapport they were beginning to share, the trust. Maybe Hope needed her too, maybe she was the only person who could help her, the only person who could understand her many layers, the chasmic depths. Pat’s words echoed in her head, ‘She’s gotten hold of you, and you’ve let her.’ The relationship was too intense. But the thought of not seeing Hope again? Not suckling from her unique power? Dawn knew that a life without Hope would be a life without a soul now, it was too late to retreat.
    Her mind frantic, she searched for a feasible question, and the unplanned words tripped from her lips. “I wanted to ask you about the first rape.” Dawn’s eyes implored her client to ignore the telling silence before the question had been posed, and the contemplation on Hope’s face, the furrowed brow beneath the chestnut fringe, indicated she’d got away with the white lie.
    Grateful and relieved, Dawn watched as Hope mentally played with her answer, lost inside her own memories. She took comfort in the familiar sip from the plastic cup, knowing the gulp that followed would initiate the painful outpouring. Satiated, Hope began. “I was twenty. Funny enough, I met the guy through Lucy.” A short, ironic tinkle. “Not very good for me, is she!”
    Dawn wasn’t listening, her mind still debating the hold Hope seemed to have over her, it was as if she’d cast a spell. She was just a client, that was all. Famous, yes, but Dawn wasn’t the type to be star struck. Why couldn’t she let her go? Maybe somebody needed to force the point. Maybe she should tell Pat what was going on, then she could intervene and place Hope with another counsellor, maybe even another company.
    “Dawn.” Hope was holding her arm, shaking her. “Dawn, someone just knocked at the door.” Her attention was back with a jolt, she shrugged Hope’s hand away and swooped to the door, accepting the coffee-laden tray. “Dawn, you’re really jumpy today, what’s up?”
    “Hope, what do you think of the occult?” The question came from nowhere, it stunned Dawn, a shock tinged with ambivalence.
    Perplexed, Hope held her palms up, shrugging. “I don’t know, I guess I’m on the fence.”
    “What about witchcraft? Do you believe in witchcraft?” Her heart raced in her chest, thudding above the ticking clock, the white noise of the world outside. Where was this heading? What was she doing?
    Hope’s face was contorted with confusion, the delicate hands still raised, bemused. “I don’t know, no, I guess not, no. Three hundred candles, a sprig of rosemary and a disembowelled frog to make someone love you? It’s piffle, I guess.”
    Suddenly unable to breathe, Dawn sprang up, lean limbs lumbering towards the