-FOUR-

Dean stared at Melinda, who let out a sigh as she pushed her hair back from her face. She had fallen asleep while it was still wet, and it now waved gently to her shoulders. He was still holding her hand, and she kind of liked it. His hand was rough and calloused, a hand that wasn't afraid to work, and she liked the way hers fit in it.

"I don't know what to say."

Melinda smiled as she brought her eyes up to his.

"There's nothing you can say. Thanks for not telling me how sorry you are, though. I hate that."

Dean nodded, rubbing his thumb on her hand.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

Melinda closed her eyes as she felt that feeling in her stomach, the one she always got when she thought of her family. She felt sick and sad and she just wanted to curl in a ball and die, but she knew she couldn't. She opened her eyes again, looking to Dean.

"It's a terrible story. It's sad and horrifying and … ugly."

He gave her a gentle smile, moving a hand to her face, pushing some hair behind her ear.

"I can take it."

He could tell that it was bothering her, that she needed to talk about it, but she wouldn't ask anyone to listen. He gently squeezed her hand and Melinda let out a long sigh.

"I was four when it happened."

She looked in his eyes when she said that, then looked down at their hands. Her voice was quiet, and if he wasn't watching the words come from her mouth, Dean would swear someone else was telling the story.

"We'd gone to the park that morning, Mama and Daddy and me. Daddy was a doctor, but he was off work that day. We played all day, and had a picnic for lunch, and we had to hurry and get home, because my brothers would get off the bus soon. Wyatt was in third grade, and Chris was in second. They didn't have any homework, and we played together all afternoon. They never wanted to play with me, because I was a girl. They loved me, I knew, but they didn't like playing with me. I wasn't good at cars and I didn't like bugs or outside or boy stuff."

Melinda smiled, still staring at their hands. Dean smiled, still holding her hand. She took in a deep breath, going on with her story.

"Mama made supper, and we ate together. We went upstairs, to get ready for bed. Mama helped me with my bath, washing my hair, because I had so much. It was long and thick and blonde, just like my dad and Wyatt. Chris' hair was dark like Mama's."

Tears gathered in her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall.

"Mama and daddy came in, tucking me in bed and reading me a story. Wyatt and Chris both came and kissed me goodnight, which was weird, because they usually didn't. It's like they knew something was going to happen."

She shut her eyes, shaking her head, letting out a shaking breath.

"I went to sleep, and I woke up when it was so dark outside. Wyatt was there, shaking me awake. He told me to get in my closet and hide. He said to be as quiet as I could, and everything would be all right."

Tears slid down her cheeks then. Dean gripped her hand and she started breathing hard.

"He helped me climb out of bed, helped me get in the closet and hide behind my clothes. He told me he loved me and that everything would be okay, and that he'd be back for me. He shut the door, and he locked it. I heard him walk away, and that's when I noticed the screaming."

She let out a sob and Dean took hold of her other hand.

"I could hear Chris, and Mama. I heard these loud sounds, and Daddy, begging someone to stop. Chris was crying, and then I couldn't hear him anymore. I heard Wyatt yelling, and then he was quiet. Mama was screaming louder, and crying, and Daddy was crying, and I heard Daddy call out Mama's name, before her screams stopped. And then I couldn't hear Daddy anymore."

Melinda was shaking, and Dean swallowed. Tears kept sliding down her face as she continued to talk.

"Three men had broken into our house. They pulled Mama and Daddy out of their bed, and Chris had a nightmare, so he was in the room with them. When Wyatt heard what was going on, he ran to me, to try and save me. He was leaving my room when one of the men found him and took him down to the living room. The noises I heard were gunshots. They shot my dad in the stomach, then Chris in the head. Wyatt was next, and they shot him in the chest. They slit my mom's throat, and shot Daddy a couple more times. The leader of this group then shot the other two, and just left."

Melinda was staring at the wall now, tears continuing to slide down her face as she spoke.

"My mom's sister came to the house later that morning, and she found them. She called the police, and when the cops got there, she told them that she couldn't find me, didn't know where I was. We knew one of the officers, Darryl. He went to my room, looking around, and opened my closet. I can still hear him. His voice was soft and gentle. Not the way I'd usually heard. He wasn't mean, he was just loud. And funny. He wasn't funny then, though."

Melinda closed her eyes, drifting back, letting the memory take over.

She was so scared. Where was everyone? Why hadn't Wyatt come back for her yet? Why had Mommy been crying? She stayed still behind the clothes, too scared to move around. She thought she'd heard someone calling her, but she might have fallen back to sleep. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe Wyatt had fallen asleep too, and forgotten about her.

"Mel?"

Melinda looked at the door, scooting back in the closet.

"Melinda, sweetheart, it's Darryl. Are you here?"

Darryl? Daddy's policeman friend?

"Please, God. Let her be here."

Mommy had always told her that if something bad ever happened, Melinda should go to the police. A policeman could help her. They were there to take care of her and keep her safe. Melinda moved around in the closet, getting to her feet. She heard Darryl let out a sigh and she knocked on the closet door. It was locked, and she couldn't get out.

"Mel? Sweetheart, are you in the closet?"

Melinda knocked again, and Darryl walked over, his heart in his throat. Please God, let her be okay. He gently turned the key, pulling the door open, his heart falling when he looked down at the tiny blonde staring up at him with her wide blue eyes. He sighed, tears gathering in his eyes as he knelt down, taking her in his arms.

"Thank God. Oh, sweetheart."

Melinda laid her head on Darryl's shoulder as he lifted her. He sighed again, not even caring about the tears that were falling from his eyes. He walked out of Melinda's room as she linked her little arms around his neck. Melinda closed her eyes, and she could hear people sighing, some saying "Thank God," as Darryl carried her down the hall. He carried her down the stairs, through the dining room, moving her around to hold her against his chest so she wouldn't see the horrible, bloody scene in the living room.

She blinked her eyes, seeing Dean in front of her. He ran a hand through her hair, coming to cup her cheek, and she leaned into him.

"I don't remember much after that. I asked my mom once, about how I came to live with them. She told me about the murders, and that the police weren't sure if the killer left me behind on purpose, or if he just didn't know I was there. Then, they decided that he'd been watching our family for a while, so he knew about me. I guess my mom's two sisters were afraid he'd come back for me or something. They put me in foster care and moved away. I don't really remember them. Don't know their names or where they are, and I don't care. They gave me away, Dean."

She looked at him then, and he sighed.

"My whole world was just completely flipped upside down, and instead of trying to help me, they gave me away. I stopped talking, got pretty sick. Bounced around the system until I was six, I think? That's when the Moores got me. They already had Jess, and they wanted her to have a brother or sister, but they couldn't have any more kids. Plus, as some social worker once said, a pretty blonde-haired, blue-eyed little girl can only be in the system so long before … Well, use your imagination."

A shudder went through Dean and he shut his eyes.

"Jess was nice to me, played with me. She didn't try to make me talk. She talked enough for the both of us, and I was fine with listening. I'd been doing it for two years anyway. I realized Jess and her parents weren't like some of the other people I'd been with. I started talking again. Started smiling. And when they told me they wanted me to stay with them…"

Melinda smiled, then shook her head.

"The social workers tried to talk them out of it. God only knew what kind of problems I'd have. Obviously, I'd be psychologically scarred."

Dean let out a breath, realizing he'd been gripping Melinda's hands a bit tighter than he meant. She didn't seem to mind, though. She sighed.

"They fought for me, though. And they got me. I was adopted a week before I turned 8, a couple months after Jess. Went through all sorts of therapy as a kid. Learned how to function in society. And grew up as "normal" as I could be."

Melinda nodded, letting out a sigh.

"The nightmares happened every night when I was a kid. I'd wake up screaming, and my mom would run in the room, take me in her arms, and sing to me until I'd calmed down. And she'd stay with me until I fell asleep again. When I realized I might get to stay with the Moores, the nightmares became less frequent. Every other night, instead of every night. And after I was adopted, they slacked off to every now and then. I think the last one I had was when I was 17. Just a freak thing, watching a horror movie one night, and my own personal horror story revisited that night."

Melinda ran a hand over her face.

"Mom did the same thing she'd always done, too. She ran in the room, took me in her arms. Bit different rocking a seventeen-year-old than a seven-year-old. But she held me, sang to me, ran her fingers through my hair until I fell asleep again."

Dean ran his thumb over her knuckles and she looked from their hands to his face. Her voice went quiet and tears filled her eyes again.

"I'm sorry I dumped all this on you. I just …"
"I know. It's okay, Mel. I'm pretty good at listening myself."

She smiled and wiped a tear away.

"Hey."

Dean reached up and moved her chin to where he could look in her eyes. He smiled, catching the tear that fell on his thumb.

"It's all right, Mel. You're safe. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

She closed her eyes, and Dean moved, closing the space between them and setting his lips on hers. Melinda sighed, moving her hands up to cup his face. The kiss was soothing. The heat she'd felt from him the night before was still there, but it was banked. He ran his hands through her hair, and she wrapped her arms around him, moving to lay back, bringing him with her. She looked up at him when he pulled back, moving to run his hand down her face.

"Mel, I didn't… I mean, I don't… I'm not trying to—"
"I know. It's okay. I want it—"

He bent down, covering her mouth with his again. She sighed, moving to slide her hands up under his t-shirt, pulling it over his head, letting it fall to the ground with barely a sound.