Black. There were no other colors. Just black. A deep, dark black that spread from one edge of her brain to the other and back again. A black so dark that it took her weeks to wade through its depths, fighting against the waves of pain until they finally dulled enough that she could open her eyes and rejoin the world as she knew it.
Except that she couldn't see.
"Chantal? Chantal, can you hear me?" Her mother's voice sounded strained and that wasn't something Chantal was used to hearing from Helaine Warriner.
"I hear you, Mommy."
A chorus of ragged sobs broke out, quite close to her ear and she tried to reach out to her mother, upset to find that her arms had been buckled down. A warm, consoling hand touched her forearm and she relaxed a bit, tears of frustration stinging her eyes.
"Calm down, kit." The use of her nickname made her sob aloud. "We're here." Chantal felt him lift her into his arms and she sighed past the tears, welcoming the chance to be Daddy's Little Girl once again. Franklin carefully set her back down, smoothing her wet cheeks with his wide fingers. "Do you remember what happened?"
She sniffled a few times, her lip trembling as the image of Jean-Claude balls deep in another woman flooded her memory. Then the accident. "The man in the truck?"
"Yes, baby."
"Did he make it?"
"No." Franklin looked over at his wife who was still unable to speak. "The Highway Patrol said that the accelerator stuck in his truck and he couldn't negotiate the turn."
"He was screaming, Daddy." She couldn't help the tears from coming again. "He was holding onto the steering wheel for dear life and screaming."