He beckoned her in every voice she knew, calling out her name in all his stolen tongues. He whispered things that would make her happy. He made her promises. He begged for help and mimicked the cries of children. He capitalized on her innate motherly instincts, on her buried memories, and on the vulnerability of her unconscious state. And all I could do was stagger around and wait for the thrum of my death-gripped heart to subside.
