by C C Roth
“Yes, that’s Noah. You know him?”
She nodded, a strand of silky hair falling over an angelic face. “He played with me and told me stories when the bad people took me.”
“He was there? At the lab where I found you?”
Another nod.
“Where is he now? What happened to him?”
“He left. The men took him to the train. It’s good that he left, I didn’t want him to get sick like the others.”
If this girl was right then wherever he was, Noah still needed help. I looked over at Mike who had passed out three feet away and knew I wouldn’t be anywhere near him if Frank and Ellen hadn’t helped me. I owed them and there was no other way to look at it. Newfound adrenaline pummeled through the walls of my desperation for more sleep and started my synapses firing. Noah was out there somewhere and could still be alive. If I could find him, I could bring him back to Frank and Ellen. They could be a family again. And just like that I had a new direction, a new purpose. Before I could think my body was heading to the door so I could make my way back up to the engineer’s cab. If the train had taken Noah away, then Mr. Chey would know where. And I was betting I could convince him to tell me.
The End
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Journal Entry
September 13, 2017
I’m scared for my baby and I don’t know what to do. I’ve done my research, I’ve asked questions of all the right people, and Jack and I have a plan. But what if our plan isn’t enough? I’m scared for her and sometimes I find myself wondering if I should be scared of her too. Her school counselor called to talk with me about her behavior and I wish I could say I didn’t see it coming. Somehow the confirmation of my suspicions isn’t a comfort. I’ve made an appointment with a Psychotherapist to have her evaluated but I just don’t think I can bring myself to follow through. She’s still so young, only 11. I’ve recognized the signs for a while and I’m terrified if we’re not careful she might spiral out of control. I’ve always seen this part of her, even when she was younger I knew. Her tantrums, the way she never wanted to be touched, how she could lie so easily and so convincingly from such a young age. I saw it but I didn’t want to. Is there anything more painful than looking at your baby and seeing nothing but this flaw, this error that shouldn’t be there? I’m thankful that until recently she hasn’t seemed to notice that there is much wrong with the way she acts most of the time. She thinks it’s funny and Jackson is no help in that department, always trying to laugh it off. With any luck her teenage years won’t exacerbate things but one of the therapists I spoke with has concerns and wants her in treatment on a regular basis. Maybe that would be for the best, but I just don’t see how keeping her separated and telling her she’s different will help her fit in or live a normal life at all. Won’t that just push her further away from the norm or even give her an excuse to behave badly? Jackson and I have been arguing about it for weeks and we’re still undecided. We haven’t talked to her yet about starting therapy. I always have the answers but this time I am just lost. How do you tell your baby that she might be innately the same as a serial killer? I just don’t think I have it in me. Maybe we can help her on our own. Maybe we can show her the way without her knowing. She’s been pushing me away almost her whole life, but I just don’t see how pushing her into programs, medication, and support groups full of crazy people is going to help her. She’s not like that, she can’t be. Different, yes, but dangerous? I just don’t know. I am lost.
About The Author
C. C. Roth
C.C. Roth fell in love with writing at an early age, spending hours lost in broody poetry collections and oversized mystery novels. She writes in the genres of YA dystopian, suspenseful romance, and all things dark and thrilling. When she is not writing you can find her buying books she has no time to read and playing with her adorable children and loveable pups.
Thank You
I hope you enjoyed Book One of The Samantha Sharp Chronicles.
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