I took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do anyone any good for me to lose my temper. “You can go have fun somewhere else. You aren’t welcome here anymore.”
The older man slid out of the booth and stood up, facing me. “Son, you don’t get to decide that. You just fucked up a lot worse than you realize.”
“Sir, if you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the police. As of right now, you’re trespassing.”
I shook with anger and anxiety. Who the hell behaved like this?
The older man’s lips curled up in a contemptuous snarl. “Good luck with your career, son. Because you just ended it here.” He turned and walked away, the younger man running to catch up. Both left out the front door in a hurry.
I sighed then turned around. Linda was staring at me in open astonishment.
“What is it?” I asked.
She shook her head and smiled. “We told our last manager about it plenty of times. He wouldn’t do nothing about it. Honestly, I didn’t think you would either.”
I shrugged. “It’s my job to take care of y’all, okay? Nobody’s going to come in my restaurant and treat people like that.”
She grinned.
“All right,” I said. “Back to work.”
Erin
It was seven in the evening when I finally walked back in to the motel room. It had been an exhausting day, both emotionally and physically. I set down the two plastic bags filled with groceries—peanut butter, bread, microwavable food along with necessary toiletries. Then I went back outside and took the cardboard box out of the passenger seat of the car I had purchased that afternoon.
I wasn’t squandering the cash that Ayanna had given me. But I would use it strategically. I had paid five hundred for the 1996 Datsun with a rusted undercarriage and a malfunctioning muffler. It was highly unlikely the car would ever pass state inspection, but I had thirty days before the inspection would be due. Hopefully I wouldn’t need the vehicle that long. In the end it was far cheaper than renting.
I had made the decision to stay in this hotel, despite the apparent presence of drug dealers and God only knew who else. It seemed possible that if Brenna was to be found in Portland, it might be in this neighborhood. Back in the room, I set the cardboard box down and lifted the lid.
Inside was a flyer. Under the bold headline, HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL? were side by side pictures of Brenna: one taken on her sixteenth birthday, hours before she disappeared, the other a mug shot from three weeks ago. I was still devastated by the contrast between the two photos.
But I also had new information. If pictures of her were being published in ads on the web, they might show the distinctive tattoo on her neck, or the cigarette scar on her collarbone.
I wanted a drink very badly. On the way back to the motel, I had pulled into the parking lot of a liquor store and sat there. Four, maybe five minutes. I didn’t get out of the car. Finally, I backed out and drove away.
Leaving that parking lot was one of the hardest things I’d ever done.
The clock on the microwave said 7:15. Time to call. It would be 9:15 in Alabama.
I dialed Cole’s number and waited through three rings. Finally he picked up. “Erin? Hey, give me a second, I’m just leaving the restaurant.”
He must have held the phone at his side because it sounded like he was at the bottom of a well as he gave instructions to someone to make sure the underside of something called the “dish pit” was scrubbed clean. Then, a moment later, he was back on the line.
“Sorry about that. So … tell me what happened. Did you learn anything?”
I hardly knew where to begin. I started to tell the story of my morning—the waitress in the diner who thought she might have seen someone who looked like Brenna. I’d gone back to the diner in the afternoon, but the waitress was gone until tomorrow morning. The visit to the Police Department and my disastrous interaction with Sergeant Mackey. I almost didn’t repeat the contemptuous words he had used. I raised my daughter better than that. But I was still so hurt and outraged by those words I had to say something.
“I can’t fucking believe he said that to you. Jesus Christ. Does he think she voluntarily got kidnapped?” His voice cracked as he said the words, a level of emotion I hadn’t heard from Cole in a long time.
“I did like the detective who has been assigned the case now, though. She’s young but seems to know a lot, and she’s on the sex trafficking task force here. We’re meeting for breakfast in the morning. I … I think she’s going to help.”
There was silence on the other end of the line for several seconds, then Cole asked, “Did you see a mug shot?” He sounded incredibly hesitant as he asked the question.
Tears started to run down my face. Damn it! I answered in a low, quiet voice. “She’s been through hell. She … she has a cigarette burn scar on her collarbone. And the tattoo on her neck … and wrinkles around her eyes. She looks a lot older, Cole. Like … thirty? But she was here. She was here.”
At the other end of three thousand miles of wires, Cole sniffed. He inhaled like he was going to say something, stopped and hesitated for a few seconds, then spoke in a rough, emotion-laden tone. “I was afraid our daughter was dead.”
After he said the words, Cole let out a deep cry of pain like I had never heard from him before. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I ever thought that.”
His statement was layers upon layers of pain and regret and fear, and the raw torment in his voice made me sob.
“Now is our chance,” I spoke through the tears. “We might find her. We might bring her home.”
Neither of us spoke for a very long time. But we didn’t hang up. I could hear him breathing on the line as he drove … home? That awful place in Alabama didn’t resemble a home in any meaningful way.
And maybe that was my fault. Maybe it could be home.
“How’s Sam?” The question came out in an awkward whisper.
Cole took a deep breath, and the change in subject seemed to give him a chance to collect himself. Jesus, I thought. In twenty years of marriage I had never seen my husband cry. The sound confused me, it made me want to run to him and comfort him, no matter how badly he had hurt me in the past.
“To be honest, I’m a little worried about him. He got in a fight at school today.”
“Sam?” As if there were another child we could be talking about. But when did Sam ever get in fights? “What happened?”
“He wouldn’t tell me anything. He got really defensive when I asked him and basically begged me to butt out.” Now that sounded like the Sam I knew.
“Was he hurt?”
“Swollen nose and the beginning of a black eye. I think he’ll have a pretty good shiner, but no permanent damage.”
I sighed. “Do you think we should talk to the school?”
“His counselor, maybe. He likes her.” Cole’s response was interesting. I didn’t know Sam’s counselor, nor did I know that he liked her. I couldn’t think of a time in our marriage ever when Cole had known more about the kids than I did. A flash of shame swept through me. I thought back to the past few months. I’d gotten worse and worse, hadn’t I? I’d been drinking too much. I’d hardly spent any time with Sam. What the hell was wrong with me?
“Maybe you should try that. Let me know what she says?”
“I will. Call me tomorrow after your breakfast?”
I didn’t know how to feel. Not because there was anything shocking about his request … it made sense. There was something else going on here.
“Okay. Can I talk to Sam? Are you home?”
“Yeah, hold on a minute. I’m still in the driveway.”
I waited as he got out of the car and into the house.
I heard Cole knocking, then he said, “Sam? It’s your mom on the phone.”
Silence.
A moment later Cole was back on the line. “He’s fast asleep. You want me to have him call you after school tomorrow?”
I felt a pang of disappointment b
ut pushed it back. Sam needed his sleep.
“Yeah. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
“Erin…”
“Yeah?”
I heard nothing but breathing at the other end of the line for several seconds. Then he said, “Good night.”
A flash of anger swept through me, irrational I knew, but there all the same. What was I supposed to do with his behavior? Did he think a couple of phone calls was suddenly going to change his years of destruction in our marriage?
“Good night.” My response did not have the same warm tone as his. I didn’t wait for a response, disconnecting the call. Then my eyes shifted to my bag in the corner of the room, where my aging laptop was tucked away. For all I knew, she was being sold on the Internet right now. Right here in Portland.
I stood up and almost stumbled to the corner of the room, scrambling to get my laptop out of the bag. Once opened, I began my search. I started with Backpage, because that’s where most of the ads in the country were posted. But there were other sites I would check too, and there were probably local discussion boards. Over the years I’d searched through so many layers of filth and muck that I was almost numb to it.
Or at least the wine helped me feel like I was numb.
My mouse hovered over the link Escorts and body rubs for several seconds, then I clicked. The ads immediately filled my screen, most of them with photos of young women. Would I find her in here?
The language turned my stomach. I began my search. It was immediately overwhelming. More than a hundred ads were listed in the previous two hours alone. Girls and women of all shapes and sizes. The same kinds of ads as always.
** BBW Busty Girl for You $60 **
** Sugar and Strawberry Here For Your Needs * Double Your Pleasure *
** New in Town * College Girl * 18 * Two Nights Only * 180 **
I hated this. I scanned through the photos, getting angrier and angrier. Then I slammed my laptop shut.
Nineteen
Brenna
The night of my sixteenth birthday wasn’t the worst night of my life, not by a long shot. But it sent me spinning in that direction. That night was right before the dividing line in my life, the moment before I fell off a precipice that led me straight into hell on Earth.
But I didn’t know that yet. I didn’t know I was sliding down to the edge. Instead of scrabbling for purchase, reaching out for help from Sam or Mom and Dad, I turned toward the abyss and leapt.
I drove that night to the address in Leesburg Rick had texted me. Leesburg seemed to be a nothing of a town, just an extension of the vast suburbs that surrounded Washington, DC where I had grown up. The drive out Route 7 seemed to take forever as I passed mini-mansion developments, strip malls, and industrial parks. I would have never made it at all had I not had the GPS on my phone, which unerringly gave me directions to the end of my childhood.
The parking lot was empty, except for a gleaming black convertible Mustang at the far end. My headlights swept across the parking lot, illuminating little other than faded painted lines and garbage here and there. Rick and Nialla were sitting on the hood of the Mustang. Rick was holding a glass bottle in his hand.
I parked my car and got out. Nialla waved, although she looked as grim as ever, and Rick said, “Hey, Brenna. How’s it going?”
I didn’t expect to respond the way I did. I wasn’t going to say anything about Chase. I was going to show some bravado; I was going to have fun with my friends and forget all about him. But instead, my chin quivered, and I said, “Chase broke up with me.”
Nialla’s eyes flashed in dismay. Rick’s expression didn’t change, but he slid over, away from Nialla and patted his hand on the hood of the car in between them. “Oh, that sucks. Come tell us about it.”
I sat on the hood of the car in between them. I was intensely aware of Rick’s thigh touching mine. In halting fits and starts I began to tell them the story of how I met Chase, fell in love with him, and ended up there with them that night. I felt like I talked for a hundred years. Midway through my story, Rick handed me the bottle. I took a too-large drink of it then gasped and sputtered. “What is that?”
“Jack Daniels,” he said. “You gotta take it slow, don’t swig it. Just a small swallow at a time.”
I tried again, this time just taking the barest sip. It tasted awful but made my throat warm as it went down.
“So that’s the story. I’m such an idiot. I can’t believe he dumped me on my birthday.”
Rick shook his head. “If you ask me, he’s a fucking idiot. I’d make love to you in a heartbeat. You’re seriously pretty.”
I shivered, feeling a warm rush through my body that wasn’t from the whiskey. Rick’s frank attention made me nervous, but I was also flattered. No one had ever paid that kind of attention to me before, and sometimes Chase, with his reluctance to even make out, much less kiss, made me feel utterly undesirable.
Rick began to ply me with questions. He asked about Sam and my parents, and I found myself telling him about Dad’s affair and my anger with both of my parents. I was sick of hearing them fight all the time, and their marital troubles meant that they basically just ignored me and Sam. Sometimes I wanted to stand in between them and their television and scream, “I’m here!” Or go live with Grandpa, where at least I could go out to the garden and get away from everything.
Rick murmured sympathetically, while Nialla sat there silently. I kept wondering what the deal was with her. Was she Rick’s girlfriend? If so, how did she feel about him complimenting me the way he had? Surely it made her jealous? I didn’t get it. I checked the time and was dismayed to see it was nearly three a.m.
“Oh no, I’ve got to go.”
I felt an almost electric tension split the air. “Wait just a second, I’ve got something for you,” Rick said.
He dropped down from the hood of the Mustang and walked around and opened up the car door. He started to rummage inside for something.
I felt Nialla tense beside me. She leaned close. She met my eyes, spoke in a perfectly calm tone, as quiet as a whisper. “Run now while you still have a chance. Go.”
I stared at her in shock. She was jealous.
I was still staring at her when Rick reappeared. He had a box in one hand, about the size of the palm of his hand. In his right hand was the bottle.
“Here, the Jack is almost gone. You drink the last of it.”
I turned away from Nialla and took the bottle, which had only a splash left at the bottom. I looked Rick in the eye with what I thought was a mature, flirting glance, and tossed the Jack Daniels back, the liquid scorching my throat as it went down.
I coughed again but not as much as before.
So what if she was jealous? What kind of a relationship did they have anyway?
“Here. Open it.” He grinned.
I took the tiny box from him. It was wrapped in silver wrapping paper. My heart started to thump. As I tore it open, he said, “Happy birthday!”
I gasped when I saw what was inside. A jewelry box. I opened it up and was stunned to see a delicate pearl bracelet. In the moonlight, the pearls were luminous.
I was starting to feel very woozy. “Oh my God, is that for me?”
“Sure is,” he said. I barely remember him placing it on my wrist, because I felt like I needed to curl up on the ground and go to sleep. I didn’t know why I was so tired. I just knew I so badly wanted to take a nap.
I barely felt his hands as they shoved into my pockets, as he took out my phone and keys. My eyes were half closed when I heard my phone hit the ground with a loud crack. Had he broken it? Why?
I was too tired to care.
I stumbled as he pushed me into the back seat of the Mustang and lay me down on my side.
“Just go to sleep. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Brenna
I woke up with a throbbing headache. My face felt rough, where my cheek had been resting on thick carpet. It was dark, but a thin sliver of light underneath a door
illuminated the room I was in.
Not a room. A closet. I was in a walk-in closet. A shelf ran along one wall above me. The light under the door was faint, but clear. I swallowed, fear suddenly gripping me. Where was I? I could only barely remember last night. I’d gone and met Nialla and Rick after Chase broke up with me? I remembered talking with them but not much else.
I slowly sat up, groaning. I needed to pee. I needed to get out of this closet. What was happening to me?
I stood, panic surging me into full wakefulness.
I turned the knob, but the door didn’t budge. “Hello?” I cried out. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
I turned the knob again, desperately. It turned freely. But the door wouldn’t budge.
“Hello? Hello?”
As I shouted the words, the headache, starting somewhere in the center-left of my forehead, turned sharp. I winced but banged on the door with my fists anyway. “Come on, guys, this isn’t funny.”
There was no response. I was becoming afraid. I had to go to the bathroom, and no one was answering the door, and I couldn’t get out. For just a second, a series of possible nightmarish scenarios ran through my mind. Rick was a serial killer or a perv or … what?
I couldn’t catch my breath. Because I didn’t really know anything at all about Rick or Nialla. I didn’t know where they came from, or why they had been hanging around, or … anything at all. I thought of every warning I’d ever been given in my life, about every time my parents said to be careful, or Make sure you check in and let us know where you are, or Don’t talk to strangers. I remembered Grandpa saying It’s a dangerous world out there. Stay close to your family.
How could I have been so stupid?
Tears ran down my face. I called out again. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
I banged on the door with my fists. I was starting to panic, and my pleas for help were getting higher and higher pitched. Finally, I began to scream. I screamed as loud as I could, calling for somebody, anybody to help me.
When the door opened, it happened so fast that I didn’t have time to react before a man’s fist hit me in the right eye. Instantly everything went white and I fell to the ground. I cried out, “Stop!” But by the time I finished the word the man who had hit me was kneeling on my back, his knee crushing my spine.
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