The Perfect Daughter by Palmer D. J

Author:Palmer, D. J. [Palmer, D. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, Mystery, Suspense, Crime, Adult
ISBN: 9781250267924
Amazon: 1250267927
Goodreads: 53137967
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2021-04-20T07:00:00+00:00

“C. F.,” she said proudly, in case Mitch hadn’t seen them for himself. “See? Chloe Francone.”

“Chloe. That’s a nice name.”

While this wasn’t definitive proof in Mitch’s mind of Penny having DID (she could have known what he was after, which alter he thought he might reach) it was certainly a compelling demonstration. Either way, make-believe or not, Mitch wasn’t fazed at meeting Chloe, nor was he shocked that she’d regressed in age. It could be the stimulation of the crayons opened the gateway in Penny’s subconscious for a switch to take place, and the alter that appeared was of an age where those crayons would have been appreciated and enjoyed. She was acting ten years old, or thereabouts, the same age that Grace said the anchor symbol began to make an appearance on her drawings.

“Chloe, do you know your mother’s name?”

“My mama’s name is Grace. My daddy’s name is Arthur. He makes pizza for a living.”

Is Arthur … makes pizza … all present tense, because in her reality, at her age of ten or so, Arthur’s still alive in her mind.

If this is make-believe it is certainly very consistent.

“What’s that under your hand?” Mitch asked, pointing to the lower portion of the house. He could see she’d drawn a basement in black and gray crayon, but she was hiding what was in it.

A slip of a smile came to Chloe’s face.

She lifted her hand slowly, eyes never leaving his. Mitch’s focus went to a figure Chloe had drawn down in the basement: a woman on her side, two black Xs for eyes. Dead. Although this woman wore the same triangle-shaped blue dress as the woman in the kitchen above, only one of them had Grace’s trademark ears.

Mitch thought: Rachel.

Next to the body, Chloe had drawn a crooked jug filled with a liquid depicted in yellow crayon.

Ammonia.

“How old are you, Chloe?” Mitch asked.

“I’m nine,” Chloe said sweetly. She got up from her seat. “Who are you, anyway? Where am I?” she asked, looking anxiously around the stark room as her calm veneer faded like a mirage.

Oh, no, thought Mitch.

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