“Rachel, you have two choices: you can either hold my hand, or you can hold on to the stroller.”

Rachel curled herself into a tight ball, being careful not to disturb the greenery around her as the horrifying events played out in front of her. She desperately wanted to call for her daddy, but knew that the attacker would probably reach her to shut her up before her calls of, "Help, Superman" could reach his ears. She bit her lip; desperately holding back tears as the person finished, dug a hole, buried the rock, covered up the disturbed spot with leaves and other debris, and left the scene of the crime. She looked at the body of a small boy, and yanked on a strand of hair. She didn't know if he was dead or alive, but something about his silent form reminded her of the way her first mommy had looked at the funeral.

"Ms. Lane, if Rachel doesn't want to come here, don't force it--we haven't been making much progress, and it's possible that we've gone as far as she'll let us with art therapy." Dr. Summers walked over to her desk and pulled out a business card. "I don't like to give up on my patients, Ms. Lane, but I can't help Rachel if she refuses to let me; and she hasn't been trying. Perhaps Dr. Jenkins can help her--he's the best child psychologist in Metropolis. I'll forward her case file to him tomorrow."