by Joy Ohagwu
Had she really come this close to getting kidnapped—again? The first time had taken more than one decade to overcome the trauma.
Life in captivity was nothing she wished to experience again. Once was enough. Pain sliced through her arm, and she saw a gash on her upper arm.
Red splotches dotted her shirt. Huh. They might spot her by the color of her shirt. So, she quickened her pace while she pulled her shirt over her head, leaving only the breezy black camisole she wore underneath.
Good thing she’d worn a wig. She pulled off the wig, curved it inward, and rolled it into a ball. Drawing close to a stall trash can—and making sure nobody watched—she aimed and tossed the wig and her shirt inside.
The sun hit her scalp between the neat cornrow braids she’d done her natural hair into, and heat pricked her skin there. “I’ll need a cool swim.” But not today. Few knew she was a swimmer and a runner. Both advantageous in risky situations. A number of smaller skills lent themselves to squelching boredom, but she reserved those to a need-to-know basis. She also avoided heights when she could. But no one outside her family knew that, so she’d never had to worry.
Stumbling past more stalls and reaching the safety of the valley, less cluttered and quieter than the hilltop, she couldn’t see her driver where he was supposed to be seated. Worry creased her brow. Then she exhaled. There he was—strolling beside a mobile accessories shop nearby.
Should she approach him and try a quick escape or would that put him—and his new family—in danger?
Was she still unsafe? If so, how much danger was she in now?
Since the men hadn’t anticipated her escape, she couldn’t assume she’d be completely danger-free.
But, when she paused and took cover behind a large food stall, she peered upward and didn’t see any of the men following. Her shoulders eased, and her heart lessened its hard pounding. She pressed her hands on her knees while she caught her breath.
An idea popped into her mind, and she groaned. “What a reckless idea.”
But she’d come here for proof on how the girls went missing.
Then she’d almost gotten taken herself.
Now, what would she do with that experience to help find the girls?
Across the way, a motel’s light flickered. Asia peered, but with the way the words were written, she couldn’t tell if it said Dave’s or Dane’s. She pulled out her phone, called her driver, and waited until he picked up. Meanwhile, she scanned her surroundings and stayed alert. “Hey, Hugo. I think you should go home. I’ll book a room in the hotel across the road. I want to check this place out a bit more.”
This. Was. Ridiculous. But her gut had never been wrong.
A slight pause trailed her words. “Are you sure? I mean, it’s getting dark soon, ma’am.” Her driver’s worries weren’t unfounded.
Her gaze drifted to the motel’s flickering light again, and she gulped. This was either the dumbest idea or the bravest thing she’d ever done. “Yes, I have a motel to check in to, don’t I? I’ll book the room, then text you my reservation details. Make sure you provide that to the police officer coming and please have him come and meet with me there as soon as possible like we’d discussed before my arrival.”
He should’ve come to the posh hotel she’d originally planned to go to, but she saw no need to explain things until they spoke face to face.
“Tell him I said he should come armed.” She paused, chewed on her bottom lip, and sighed. “And probably with backup if he can. It’s very important. Please come bright and early so I’ll be able to meet with any eyewitnesses, if possible, before I leave.” Otherwise, she’d cancel some, or if she insisted on meeting with enough of them, she may not make her flight later this week. “Good night.”
Another pause by Hugo was followed by a huff. “I hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t agree with you, for the record. But I’ll do as you say. Be careful out here and good night, ma’am.”
The call clicked off.
Chapter Four
For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says The LORD, thoughts of peace and not evil, to give you a future and a hope. Jeremiah 29:11
* * *
Stacy Black stared at the bold Notice To Vacate heading on the letter she held with whitened knuckles, and the sheet trembled in her hand. “No.” She uttered the word to reject the reality before her. But the words didn’t fade. Black print on white paper confirmed it. They had one year to shut down and three days to accept to vacate, or they’d be forced out earlier.
After thirty years of putting down roots here with her late husband, building up troubled youth, transforming many of them into responsible citizens, some even working in law enforcement, and this was how the community would thank them?
Calmly, she stood from the oak desk her husband had used so often since they opened New Creations—an At-Risk Youth Empowerment Center—and lifted the receiver off the desk phone, the last working land phone in the facility. Dialing the number on the letter, she waited until someone from the municipality picked up. “May I speak with the person in charge?”
“May I ask who is calling, please?” a sweet female voice said.
“Mrs. Black.”
“From where?”
“New Creations by Seagulls Park.”
Brief silence trailed her introduction. “She’ll be with you momentarily.”
Stacy checked the name again. When she’d read Riley, she assumed it would be a man.
Another female voice took the call. “Mrs. Black?”
“Yes. Are you the person in charge?”
“That would be correct. How may I help you?”
Tapping a finger against one key-point sentence then another, Stacy summarized the letter. Her nailbed pressed against her dark skin as she used her finger to underline the worst part. “I’m assuming this letter was sent in error. We have built up this community for over twenty-five years. My late husband, Pastor Black, was a respected member of this town. We’ve raised responsible adults from troubled teens and worked to provide support to the firefighters and helped out during storms. You can’t really mean to shut us down?”
A slow exhale followed, and something clinked in the background. “Ma’am, I’m sorry to inform you the letter is correct.”
Stacy pressed her fingers to her thudding heart during the woman’s slight pause.
“The park has been sold, and the new owner does not appreciate having the center on their property. So we request you take the next year to close or relocate. We are truly sorry for this inconvenience. And we thank you for your service as one of our community’s supportive social organizations.”
“One of?” Stacy tried to hold her anger. “Maybe I missed the news. Tell me, is there another organization working in these downtrodden communities for at-risk, eh? If there were, I’d gladly shut these doors and vacation in Hawaii!” She thought again. Huh. Actually, she might not do it gladly if she had to.
“I’m sure you’re angry. I do understand.” Her voice, so crisp and formal, ground on Stacy’s nerves. “I’m sorry the decision has already been made. We expect your cooperation.”
“Our cooperation?” Stacy wanted to scream. If her husband was alive, he’d know what to do. She’d promised him she’d take care of these kids, and she was doing it to the best of her ability for these past three years on her own. Seeking funding was challenging enough. How would she tell these children she could no longer help them?
Where would she move to? This late in her life was too late for her to start learning a new job. Her passion was helping troubled youth gain godly direction, guiding them into how to channel their gifts into profitable futures not to waste it on bursts of criminal or troublesome activity that truncated their futures.
She and her husband celebrated when one of their kids turned a corner and became a serious professional. The past few years, she celebrated alone. Granted, shepherding the youth alone had been a tough enough task. But the reward of praying thro
ugh—and working through someone else’s issues to see God transform them into a new creation—was something irreplaceable. “I can hardly believe that, for money, you’d discard so easily our organization that has statistically been shown to reduce crime rates in this neighborhood.”
“If you consider that your building is old, in need of renovation, and doesn’t help the park’s financial value, you may understand the reasoning for their objection.” Her voice perked up even more. Was that a requirement these days for professional expertise? Being cold and impersonal? Stacy held back an internal sigh. Compassion would be a better skill to possess.
“Financial value?” Financial value. Financial value. Financial value. The words burned her ears, scorched her heart, and unleashed her response. “Is that the only thing that matters? Yes, it could use a fresh coat of paint, but that hardly qualifies it to be shut down. If you wanted a new look, we could’ve scrambled to get it done.”
“It’s too late for that now. I apologize.” Crisp and impersonal once more.
She apologized, and what would Stacy do? What about her kids? Their futures? “An apology is not enough. You are closing a center for help for teenagers who are at risk, including at risk for suicide.” Faces of these youths—these people, these souls—flashed through her head as she fisted a wad of her sweater in her hand. “Ma’am, do you want their death on your conscience?”
A sharp inhale whistled through the line. “Mrs. Black, I think you’re crossing the line.” There was some reaction after all.
“You crossed it first! I simply jumped and followed suit.”
“We are sorry for the inconvenience to you, and we have to conclude the conversation. You and your organization have our best wishes. Is there anything else I can do for you?” The impersonality returned with added measure.
“You didn’t do anything for me, ma’am. You did it against me.”
“Please respond within three days as the letter indicated. Apologies again for any inconvenience. I’m sure the kids will be fine. You have a good rest of your day. Bye.” The click of the phone reached her ears.
A hand rested on her shoulder and caused her to turn. “Bishop, are you okay?”
The teen—who came into the Center with anger issues—frowned. “I should be asking you that.”
Stacy sighed. “How much did you hear?”
He shifted to her side, his bulky green sweatshirt sliding sideways and his blond hair tousled. “I heard most of what you said. They’re asking us to move?”
“No, son.” She exhaled long, wondering how he’d take it. Then she realized he’d heard enough to surmise. “They’re shutting us down.”
His face darkened, and his gray gaze settled on her. “Over what? What rule did we break?”
“None. Our building is old. They think it ruins the park’s beauty. And the new owners want us gone.”
“That’s unfair!” He snatched the letter from her without asking and, after reading, glanced at her. “We’re going to fight this, right? I mean, there must be a lawyer who can do something.”
“We’d have to pay them. I’m not sure we can deal with that. It’s a distraction. I need to speak with Mr. Davids and see how we can handle it.” She laid a hand on the boy’s arm. “I can assure you one year is enough time for us to find you somewhere to stay. You won’t be back on the streets, God willing.”
His face blotched a bright shade of red. Was his hand trembling, or was the heater blowing the sheet of paper? Before she could figure it out, he announced, “I’ve got to go.” He tossed the letter onto the desk.
“Be back before dark,” she shouted at his disappearing back.
He paused at the door. “I will, if it means I don’t need to be the person to recite First Corinthians Thirteen tonight.”
“I may decide that you will, even if you get back early.” She wagged a finger.
He groaned, and the door shut behind him.
The hotel room smelled unused as Asia entered, slid the rolling luggage to a stop, and thanked her room service personnel. As soon as the door clicked shut, she sank onto the bed. What led her to check into this hotel in the valley whose hills she’d nearly been kidnapped from? Whatever had induced her escaped her now.
But, if she had found a trafficking ring—and lived to tell about it—this was a big deal. She rubbed the prickled-up hair on the back of her neck. Being in their crosshairs was anything but comforting. But surely, she could tread carefully and find out how those girls were taken. And perhaps, how to locate them.
She checked on her arm, lifting it to the light. The wound had stopped bleeding, and blood had congealed over it. After unzipping the top of her luggage, she pulled out an alcohol prep pad and wiped it off, sucking in air at the sting. Two more cleaning swabs left it looking disinfected and clean enough.
Then she covered it with a bandage, mulling over her decision to stay here and choosing to accept it. She searched the drawers for something to tie her arm with. Finding nothing, she used a bigger waterproof bandage, then pulled out a travel towel from the zipped cap of her luggage and stepped into the shower. A cold shower would help her cool off from the heat. And then, she’d be ready when the police officer arrived.
When she finished her shower and checked the window and her room’s door for anything unusual, contented she hadn’t been followed or spotted, she unlocked her door. Food trays clinked as a hotel employee served a nearby room. As she ducked her head back in, but not before he rolled the cart in her direction, she turned the Do Not Disturb notice on her door outward, shut the door so he wouldn’t get a good look at her, then pushed the table against the door. Peering again through the peephole, she exhaled when the employee’s feet disappeared close to the elevator. She waited until the elevator chimed twice, signaling his exit, before she dared relax.
Then she clicked the lock on her door, eyed the bed, and debated whether to sleep on it or in the bathroom. She often chose one or the other depending on how safe she felt on the job. Right now, she’d chance sleeping on the bed with the hope that, if someone came to the door, she’d hear something before they gained entry. With the bed tucked off to the side, not in direct view from the door, an intruder would have to open it wide to see anyone on it. So she prayed in her heart for God to keep her safe.
As was her custom, she texted her sister, June, her location each night when she was working out of town, just in case.
As though on cue, June called, and when Asia picked up on the first ring, June, nearly four years her senior and very much a homebody, spoke first. “Hey, Asia. Glad you made it there alright.”
Asia plopped onto the bed, the stuffy bedspread wrinkling up beneath her. “I’m happy to hear your voice but not so happy with the tiredness echoing in it. Are you sure you’re sleeping? You promised to try and sleep more.” She winced. She should’ve asked Latricia to swing by and check on their sister. Latricia, the more levelheaded and youngest of their trio, was very versatile and wouldn’t have considered a quick trip to the family farm hard. Huh. Come to think of it, Latricia hadn’t replied to the text message she’d sent a couple of days before leaving the country.
June—and their aunt serving more as an administrative overseer—managed the Powers Honey Farm inherited from their parents and, as far as Asia was concerned, were working nearly too hard.
A sigh met her ears and some ringing in the background. Maybe a phone? At this time? “Asia dear, I’m sorry.”
“Any progress with hiring some staff to help you? We discussed that.” Pressing her lips tight, she tried not to sound scolding. But how could she help it? Her sister needed someone to take care of her if she refused to do it herself. Asia traced a seam on the bedspread. Some of the stitches were loose. Latricia would need to sit down with her and discuss how to get June and their aunt help, send said help to the farm, and see if June accepted them or sent them away. But that was a last resort. June didn’t like spending money either and might consider paying someone for her sake a
waste.
“I’ve thought about it, but haven’t had the time. I live here. So bringing in someone new would be a meticulous process. I won’t let just anyone in here for safety reasons.”
Safety-wise, that made sense. Although Asia couldn’t discount that June was super private and would rarely allow anyone close. She teased one loose thread between her fingers. “I get it. But that doesn’t mean every person is a criminal. Background checks and references are for that sort of thing. If you hire someone, you can have Latricia come over for a couple of hours while they work so they know you are not alone.”
Aunt Ruth lived there in a cottage set apart from the main farmhouse with a narrow footpath connecting them. She’d moved there after their parents died and had become like an alternate parent to them, keeping her hens while June tended the honey farm. Theirs had always been a family within farming communities—local, cherished, and closely connected to the people they served.
Was it a good idea for June to continue living on the farm since they had all moved on in life? A little guilt over leaving the entire farm to her had twisted Asia’s gut, but other concerns, like finding missing persons, occupied her time. Plus, June loved the farm, Aunt Ruth still lived there, and getting June out of there would surely be like peeling a leopard’s skin off it. Asia wasn’t sure whether missing their parents, her love of the honey farm business, or her care of Aunt Ruth, kept June at home. But she seemed content there.
“Fine,” June grunted. “I know you go through that in your line of work, but it’s not usual for me. Matter of fact, just thinking about having a stranger around here is exhausting.”
“I have you figured out pretty good. I knew you’d say that. Prove me wrong once in a while, June.” Asia chuckled, let the thread go, and flopped backward on the bed, letting her head rest for a moment. “Since you’re skeptical about it, why don’t Latricia and I settle it for you when I return? We might even hire two people so, after a six-month trial, you get to keep one and let the other one go.”
