Fourteen Years Ago
2008
Sweat soaks through my clothing, my curls matted to the back of my neck, as I stumble over another fallen branch. I gasp, scarcely catching myself on a nearby tree.
The sun rose, set, and rose for a second time. Over twenty-four hours have passed since I ran from Francesca’s house. Too many hours to be subjected to the heat in the middle of June, though at least the shade from the trees offered some protection from direct sunlight.
I don’t need a mirror to know that my face is sunburnt and tomato red. However, I’ve made it this far, I can go just a little longer.
Anything for Layla.
I’ll risk everything for her, as long as I’m with her.
In the distance, there’s a break in between the trees where a structure peeks through. My overworked heart stops in my chest, and for several moments, I can’t breathe. Can’t even blink.
I’m terrified that if I do, it’ll disappear, only a figment of my imagination.
If it’s only an illusion—something my brain created to protect me from my harsh reality—I think I’ll let myself burn to death, only so when I do crumble to ash, there’ll be nothing left to put back together.
That same fear drives me forward, my feet tripping over the ground once more, though not from trees that have shed their bark, but from pure desperation.
My vision blurs with tears, and my nose burns from my effort to keep them at bay. I can’t lose it now. Not when I’m so close to being able to find Layla again.
The graveyard of crooked branches and green leaves gives way to a blue, sunny sky, showcasing a quiet suburb of homes beneath.
My lips part, and a choked gasp leaks past the chapped skin. Once again, I’m running, this time toward the closest house. It’s quaint and tan with freshly painted brown shutters. The type of home that burrows a happy, white-picket-fence type of family in its warm embrace.
In the front yard is a man mowing his lawn, muttering soundlessly beneath the loud buzz of the machine. He appears in his forties, with dark brown skin and a thick salt-and-pepper beard. Sweat glistens on his bald head and coats his t-shirt as he cuts the grass beneath the hot sun.
“Help!” I shout, though the single syllable shatters as it’s forced through a throat lined with sharp gravel.
His head snaps up, revealing a startled gaze, his eyes widening further when he sees me barreling toward him.
“Help!” I repeat. “I was kidnapped, I need help!”
He quickly switches the mower off, the sudden silence amplifying my desperate cries. I nearly slip, the worn soles of my shoes no longer gaining any traction on the loose grass like they did on the forest floor.
He holds up his hands—to stop or catch me, I’m not sure—but I throw myself into them anyway. He grabs ahold of my biceps, and though he’s taken aback, his grip is firm.
A sob bursts from my throat, and another choked plea for help follows suit.
“Please, help me. Please, please!”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. Let’s… shit, Latoya!” He trips over his words, ending it with a desperate call for who I assume is his wife.
“You’re safe now, it’s okay— Latoya! Latoya, get out here!”
A door creaks and a soft voice asks, “What’s going on? Who is that?” Urgency taints the last few notes of her second question, and I hear the rapid trek of her footsteps coming toward me.
“She—she just came running out of the woods calling for help,” he explains, his words jumbling together.
“I was kidnapped,” I squeak through another sob, my face planted firmly in the man’s chest. He smells of pine and leather, and it’s such a nice change from body odor and cigarettes that it only makes me burrow deeper into his embrace.
“Oh my God, honey, let’s get her inside. She looks dehydrated!” Soft, warm skin envelops my hand, stirring the shot nerves to life. “Hey, sweetie, you’re okay. Come inside,” she urges gently.
I let her pull me away from her husband, only to be greeted with the warmest, chocolate brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Short, silky black curls billow around her deep brown skin, and she stares at me like a mother concerned for a child.
“Oh, you’re sunburnt, too! Come on, sweetheart, let’s get you cooled down.” Her gaze lifts above my head. “Baby, call the police. I’m sure she has a family who’s worried sick.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her that the only family I have is too young to understand my disappearance.
The oxygen stutters from my lungs as she leads me inside, the cold air radiating from within almost a shock to my system. My teeth chatter as I’m led directly into a cute living room, though I feel nothing except relief.
“Sit here while we wait, honey. I’ll get you some aloe and fresh lemonade,” Latoya instructs gently.
Woodenly, I plop onto a plush taupe couch. It complements the tan walls and pink and brown floral accents placed around the area. A soft yellow glow emits from a tall lamp tucked in the corner to my right, which stands next to a mahogany fireplace, a flat-screen TV mounted above.
Latoya returns a minute later with a bottle of aloe. Gently, she applies some to my cheeks and nose. The motherly affection radiating from her has tears pricking the backs of my eyes.
“There you go,” she whispers affectionately. “Now sit tight, I’ll be right back.”
She scurries off toward where I assume the kitchen is, while her husband comes through the front door. He pauses when he sees me, and his brown eyes soften.
“You look worn out, my dear,” he comments. “Police are on their way. Do you need anything while we wait?”
I shake my head, feeling terrible for bursting into their lives in such a horrible way, yet so relieved that they let me.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks, sitting on the matching couch across from me.
“Molly.”
“That’s a pretty name, Molly. You can call me Devin. How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
My answers are robotic, and now that I’m… safe, I can’t feel anything at all. None of this feels real. It’s an out-of-body experience, and though I can hear and see everything around me, I’m unable to process any of it.
My heart rate picks up as Devin continues to pepper me with questions. Blackness leaks into the edges of my vision, and I begin to wonder if this is a good idea.
What if Rocco shows up, and hurts Devin and Latoya? Would that make me responsible for their deaths?
Images of Latoya and Devin lying in pools of blood flash through my head, their eyes open and lifeless. Senseless deaths. And it’s all my fault.
I shouldn’t be here.
I’m going to get them killed.
My knees crack from how quickly I stand. “I-I have to go,” I stammer, feeling my pulse thrumming wildly in my throat.
Devin slowly rises to his feet, lifting his hands in a placating gesture.
“Hey, hey, you’re safe now, Molly.”
I may be safe with them, but they are not safe with me.
“I just can’t be here. They’re going to be looking for me, and I don’t want you and your wife to get hurt.”
A crease forms between his brows. “The poli—”
I dart for the door, nearly crashing into Latoya, who’s carrying a glass full of lemonade. She gasps and stumbles out of the way, ice and liquid sloshing over the rim and onto her hand.
“I’m sorry! I have to go before they find me. Th-thank you for your help!”
Latoya opens her mouth, but I’m flinging open the front door and flying out of the house before she can manage a sound.
My head is swiveling left and right, finding the street empty, yet convinced that Rocco and his men are here, lurking just out of sight and waiting for the right moment to strike.
Adrenaline is flooding my system, sending dangerous levels of toxins into my bloodstream. I don’t feel the heat any longer, only utter panic that I’m going to be running right back into my captors’ hands.
I bolt off the front porch, Latoya’s concerned voice calling after me as I take off down the street.
There has to be a bus station around here somewhere, right? I’ve no idea where we are—didn’t even think to ask. But it doesn’t appear I’m still in Montana with how different the mountains look.
I run down the street, keeping to the backyards of the houses so I’m out of view. Within a minute, there’s a police car turning a corner, likely heading to Latoya and Devin’s house.
Ducking behind a playground set, I wait for it to pass before darting away again. After running through a few more yards, I spot a little kid playing outside ahead, his parents out of sight. He appears to be around nine or ten years old, wearing swim shorts and a tank top, kicking around a soccer ball. His pale skin is flushed from the heat, turning the entirety of his cheeks and nose bright red.
He stares at me blankly as I slink up to him, keeping light on my feet as if Rocco will be able to hear me from wherever he is.
“Hey, kid. What state is this?” I whisper, glancing toward his house, where a sliding glass door is directly in view.
“Oregon,” he answers casually, curiosity piqued in his crystal blue eyes.
I bite my lip, not liking how far from home I am. Guess it could be much worse.
“Do you know where a bus station is?”
He shakes his head. “I can ask my dad.”
“No!” I whisper-shout just as he takes a step toward his house. He pauses, a little startled but still curious.
“Sorry. Uh, would you know where downtown is?” I ask, my paranoia growing stronger with each passing second.
What if Rocco finds me with this kid? They’d probably take him, too, and it’d be all my fault.
I need to get out of here.
He tips his chin up as he thinks, showcasing gaps and two different-sized front teeth. His lips are bright red, as if he chugged cherry juice.
Hurry the fuck up. Your life is on the line!
“I think you go that way—” He whips his arm out behind him, pointing straight ahead of me. “—and then you will see a McDonald’s, and I think that’s downtown.”
He ends his shitty directions with a shrug, peering back at me with a was that good? expression.
I tighten my lips into a firm line. I’m not much better off, but at least I know I’m going in the right direction.
“Thanks, kid.” I pat his head, then take off again. “Oh, and don’t talk to strangers!” I call out behind me.
“But you’re a stranger,” he counters loudly.
And I easily could’ve gotten you killed.
I don’t say that, too far away to tell him about the horrors of this evil world. The only thing I can do is hope his parents protect him from it, unlike my own.
Because, mine… mine are the ones who sold me to Francesca.
And I’ll be damned if I allow them to do the same with Layla.
