“Where is she from?” I asked and dried my mouth.
“North Dakota. She says she can’t go back. Her mother and her boyfriend were the ones who sold her to the traffickers to get rid of her and to get money for drugs.”
“Oh, dear,” I said. The worst part was that I wasn’t surprised. I had heard so many stories like Amber’s before.
“Let’s talk more tomorrow,” Sydney said, yawning. “I am beyond beat and want to sleep.”
“Me too,” I said.
“You did something good today, Eva Rae,” Sydney said. “You saved that girl.”
“It’s not over yet,” I said. “The next few weeks will determine the rest of her life. What you do is just as important, nurturing them back to life. Creating a connection to these girls is so vital.”
“Good night.”
“Night.”
I hung up with a deep sigh and walked back into my bedroom. As I crawled under the covers, I couldn’t help thinking that, to me, it seemed Sydney was happier and prouder doing this work than from any movie she had ever made. I couldn’t help wondering if she had finally found her true calling in life.
I had just closed my eyes and drifted off into oblivion when a car drove up into my driveway and parked.
When the doorbell rang, the sound became just a part of my dream.
Chapter 8
Jessica stared into the darkness. On the street outside, a car passed, lighting up the room swiftly before disappearing again. Jessica sighed and looked at the clock next to her bed. The house had finally gone quiet. Dad had gone to bed, and he and mom had yelled at one another for about ten minutes or so before they finally went silent. They hadn’t made a noise for at least half an hour now, so Jessica assumed they had fallen asleep.
She sat up in the darkness and hugged her knees. Her cheek was still burning from the slap she had received after dinner. She had dropped the glass on the floor when she saw the breaking news on TV. It had slid out of her hand and shattered across the tiles. But worst of all, it had woken up Dad, and he had been angry as a bear.
“What on earth are you doing, child?” he had yelled, then risen to his feet and staggered toward her.
Jessica had stared at the screen and barely looked at him, her knees shaking, her heart pounding. It wasn’t until the slap fell that she was pulled out of her paralyzed state. She had looked up at Dad and tears rolled down her cheek—not because of the slap, but because of what she had seen.
She couldn’t believe it.
Jessica felt her cheek gently, then placed her feet on the carpet. She was already fully dressed. Maya was sleeping heavily in the bed next to hers as Jessica stood and pulled her backpack from underneath the bed. It had everything she needed in it—her wallet with the little money she had been able to save up from stealing a bill from her mom or dad now and then while they were drunk and sometimes left a five-dollar bill out and forgot about it. She had also been walking the neighbor’s dog once a week for the past year and earned herself ten dollars a month for that. She never spent any of it and never told her parents she earned anything since they’d just take it from her and use it on booze. The backpack also contained some clothes. Jessica didn’t own a phone like most girls her age since her parents never let her have one, even though she begged them. But she had packed some snacks: some bags of chips and some candy and breakfast bars. That should keep her going for a little while.
She swung the backpack over her shoulder, then walked to her sister’s bed and placed a hand over her mouth.
Her sister’s eyes shot open, and she groaned behind the hand.
“Shh,” Jessica said.
The girl went quiet, and finally, Jessica removed her hand. Maya stared at her.
“I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye.”
Maya’s eyes became fearful. “You’re leaving?”
Jessica bit her lip so she wouldn’t cry. This was the hardest part, leaving her baby sister, whom she loved so dearly and had taken care of since they were very young. She was her everything.
“I have to. I can’t stay here.”
Maya sat up. “But…you can’t just leave me here?”
“Shh,” Jessica said. “Mom and Dad can’t hear us, okay? This is important. Now, you promise me you’ll be careful while I’m gone. Hide when Dad throws things and when he yells at Mom. Don’t get in between them. And if Mom becomes unresponsive, what do you do?”
Maya sobbed. “Call 911, then go hide in the cabinet in the hallway till they get here.”
Jessica smiled, relieved, then leaned over and kissed her sister.
“I love you.”
“Dad will beat you when you come back,” she said. “He’ll beat me to tell him where you went.”
That was the part that hurt the most…leaving Maya in the hands of that bastard, not knowing when she could come back to protect her.
“I’m sorry for doing this, but you have to trust me. Do you trust me, Maya?”
She sobbed again, then nodded.
“I trust you.”
Jessica kissed her sister on the forehead, told her she loved her, then grabbed her backpack and walked out of their room, keeping the picture of the red-haired woman in the front pocket of her backpack. She snuck downstairs and into the panic-room in the basement. Here, she opened the safe, using the passcode she had seen Dad use, then took out the gun he had kept there for years. She put the gun in her backpack, closed the safe, and left out the front door, making sure to close it so silently it wouldn’t wake anyone.
Chapter 9
“Mom, someone’s at the door.”
I blinked, trying to focus. It was Olivia. She was standing by the side of my bed.
“Mom?”
I sat up, feeling confused. “I was sleeping; what time is it?”
“It’s one in the morning,” she said. “The doorbell has been ringing non-stop. Couldn’t you hear it?”
I shook my head like I was trying to get the loose pieces to fall into place inside of it. “Someone’s at the door? At this hour? Who is it?”
My daughter growled, annoyed. “You think I’d go open the door at one in the morning? How stupid do you think I am?”
I rose out of bed as the doorbell rang again. “No, of course not. Good thinking. I’ll check who it is. Go back to sleep.”
I looked at my daughter, who was still dressed. She had probably been playing computer games with her friends until now.
“Or at least go to bed, Olivia. It’s late.”
My daughter growled something again, then went to her room and slammed the door shut. The doorbell was still ringing insistently like someone’s finger was stuck in it.
“I’m coming; I’m coming,” I mumbled under my breath as I rushed down the stairs and hurried toward the door. I pulled it open, saying, “Someone better be dead!”
The guy standing outside was tall and young—in his late-twenties, probably. He was wearing the very recognizable FBI blue jacket, the very same I had hanging in my closet upstairs as well.
“You don’t mean that, do you?” he asked with a grin.