“Home.” It sounded more like a breath, and once the single syllable was out, tears began to roll down her cheeks. She gripped the doll, like I was going to yank it from her. “You’re really going to t-take me home?” Spit pooled on her lips as the tears fell faster.
“Yes.”
“Oh God. Oh God.” She put her hands over her face, the doll now lying across her legs. “It’s o-over. Dear God, it’s over-r.”
I made sure to make plenty of noise as I came closer.
In situations where victims were held in captivity, it couldn’t be determined how they were going to react to anything; what trauma they had faced could cause them to process everything differently. It was important she knew my location at all times; surprising her in any capacity would be extremely detrimental.
“Kerry,” I said, kneeling a few feet away, “once we get you outside, we’re immediately going to take you to the hospital and get you the medical care you need.” Her fingers dropped from her face as I added, “We’ll call your mom on the way and make sure she meets us there, okay?”
She nodded. Slow at first and then harder. “My mom-m.” More tears dripped. “I miss-s her so-o much.”
“You’re going to see her really soon.”
Her head dropped, shoulders sagging, hands holding the doll so tightly. “I’m free.” Her voice was still no louder than a murmur.
“The man who was keeping you down here—Ronald Little—he’s now in custody, and he’ll never be able to hurt you again.”
Long, dirty pieces of hair stuck to her face. “Lock him up.”
I was getting the sense that she couldn’t physically speak any louder or she’d been trained not to.
She held the doll to her chin, adding, “And throw away the fucking key.”
“An ambulance just arrived,” a team member said in my earpiece. “They’ve been briefed, and they’re on standby to take Mills to the hospital.”
I looked around again, seeing that there was absolutely nothing down here aside from a book and a bucket. With the stench of urine so strong in the air, I knew exactly what that bucket had been used for.
My heart broke for this innocent girl.
“Would you like to get out of here now?” When she nodded, I held out my hands to show her I had nothing in them. “I would like to carry you if that’s all right?” Before she could respond, I continued, “I will not hurt you, Kerry. Neither will Rivera. We just want to help you, and we’re asking you to trust us. Can you do that?”
Her response was delayed. “Yes-s.”
She wasn’t sobbing, like when a victim was pulled from a car wreck and the person they loved was sitting dead next to them. These tears were like a sickness that she was finally healing from.
The feeling looked far deeper than relief.
“I’m going to lift you up,” I said.
When she gave me the approval, I gradually closed the gap between us. With no space left, I very gently slid my arm under her legs and another behind her back, holding her against me as I stood.
She felt weightless.
The smell of the basement permeated from the filthy clothes she wore.
“Once I get you outside and into the ambulance, the paramedics are going to drive you to the hospital.”
I wanted her to know each step, and I repeated them, so she felt comfortable. In this scenario, there was no such thing as too much communication. The last thing I wanted was to cause more anxiety than what she was already feeling.
I moved only a few inches and asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yes-s.” Her arm wrapped around my neck, the doll resting against her stomach—an accessory she wasn’t ready to part with.
Rivera led us to the bottom of the stairs, and just as I was about to start climbing, her fingers bit down on my shoulder, stopping me from moving any farther. Her face leaned into my ear, lips pressed close to it.
She whispered.
And the words that I registered sent a chill through my entire fucking body.
Fifty-Eight
Before
Ashe
The sound of the phone, ringing only a few inches from where I sat, caused me to jump at my desk. I had been so focused that I had to pull myself out of my Pathology textbook to hold the phone to my face and say, “Hello?”
“Is this Ashe?”
The voice on the other end gripped me, instant memories flashing through my mind, like a movie reel was playing in my head.
The same thing happened whenever I reached out to her, but in the three months since I’d left for med school, this was the first time she had ever called me.
“Yes, it’s me. Hi, Gran.”
“It’s good to hear your voice,” she said. “How’s school?”
In some ways, the days had crawled by, and every one felt like a year. In other ways, I couldn’t distinguish one from the next. If I had thought premed was difficult, nothing I’d ever done compared to this.
I lived and breathed medicine.
And I didn’t even have a second to contemplate if it was still something I loved.
But without this program, I would have been on Dylan’s couch, drunk, swallowed in a depression over Pearl. Even though I felt her absence every second, that dark, miserably intoxicated place wasn’t where I needed to stay. I could miss her and long for her return while not drinking myself to death.
“It’s … daunting.” I closed the book I’d been reading and dropped the highlighter from my hand, standing from my chair to pace my small bedroom. “How are you, Gran? How’s everything going at the nursing home?”
I tried my hardest to call her once a week, but there were instances when a few had passed before I phoned her. This was one of those times. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to. I just returned from the library so late every night, and I knew she would be sleeping if I reached out. The next morning, I’d tell myself I’d try harder, and the same thing would happen all over again.
Groundhog Day.
That was med school.
“Things aren’t going so well, I’m afraid. That’s why I’m calling.”
I paused in front of my window. “What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been having these episodes where I get light-headed and fall, and it’s been happening quite often.” She cleared her throat, her voice already quite raspy today. “They put me in the hospital.”
My heart was breaking.
For her, for this situation.
For the fact that she had no one but me, and I was all the way in Baltimore.
“You’re there now?”
“Yes.”
I ran my hand through my hair, the throbbing in my chest not lightening one bit. “Gran, what can I do? I want to help.”
“You sweet, sweet boy, there’s nothing you can do. I’m reaching out because I haven’t been home in over a week, and I was worried that if you called to give me news about Pearl, you wouldn’t be able to reach me.”
I held my forehead, hoping the pressure would make the hurting stop. “I call the detective every couple of days, Gran. He still has no news for us.”
“I was scared you were going to say that.”