Face of Murder

She had been so young back then. So young it was almost painful to think of it now. Like all people of that age, she had thought she was so mature. After being emancipated from her parents and striking out on her own, Zoe had felt like there was nothing she could not do. She was strong, independent, fierce.

And on the other side of the coin, utterly vulnerable and alone.

No one knew, back then, what she could do. There had never been anyone she had felt she could trust enough. Throughout her whole childhood and her early teenage years, Zoe’s mother had pounded the message into her brain: Don’t tell anyone. Keep quiet. Don’t let them notice.

It was her mother’s claim that Zoe’s skills came from the devil that had tortured her the most. Always, whenever she thought about living life more openly, it came back to that. The fear of rejection, of social isolation, of people looking at her like she was evil.

Zoe never wanted to go through that ever again.

Part of the reason she pushed people away, held them at a distance, was that fear. Maybe they looked at her like she was a bitch now, so stuck-up and aloof that they couldn’t stand her. But they didn’t know the truth, and so she would take the alternative.

That fear had almost swallowed her voice and left her mute when she decided to come clean with Dr. Applewhite. But alongside it was another fear, one that had been steadily growing ever since she had first left home: the fear that she would never find a place to belong. She wanted reassurance, wanted someone who would understand. With just one person, she thought, she would be able to go on.

So it was that she decided to spill it all, to pour her heart out in front of Dr. Applewhite and wait to see if she would stomp on it. Maybe it had not been that melodramatic from the outside; just a young girl coming out with the truth, despite the bad experiences she had had in the past. But for Zoe, it had been one of the worst moments of her life, waiting for Dr. Applewhite to respond.

Her response, when it came, had become one of the best moments of Zoe’s life, just an instant later.

“I can see numbers,” Zoe said, her words rushing over one another, almost becoming garbled in her desire to finally get them out. “Everywhere, in everything. Calculations and angles. Counts. They are just there when I look.”

“Tell me everything,” Dr. Applewhite said, her eyes lighting up with fascination.

Zoe hesitated, looking up in surprise. Could it really be that someone was interested in her ability—in a positive way?

“Zoe, what you are describing to me is a very special gift. Tell me how it works. What can you see now?” Dr. Applewhite asked.

There was still doubt, but Zoe pushed on, did as she was told. “Your hair is just under eight inches long. Seven point eight inches, I think. You weigh one hundred and twenty-two pounds and you are five feet, six inches tall. There are fifteen individual pieces of wood in the floorboards of this room. The fingernail of the ring finger on your left hand is four millimeters longer than the one on your right hand. Your—”

Zoe cut herself off, realizing that Dr. Applewhite was staring at her with an expression that Zoe did not know how to read. Had she said something wrong?

Did Dr. Applewhite think she was evil, like her own mother always had? Was she about to throw her out of the office?

“That is absolutely remarkable,” Dr. Applewhite said instead, leaning over the table and squeezing Zoe’s hand. “Thank you so much for sharing this with me.”