A mute, foundling girl hides from her pursuers with the help of a reluctant recluse. The two of them have nothing in common except deep emotional scars. Who is she? How did she end up unconscious and scantily clothed on Evan's isolated property? Why...
I left my forklift sitting in place and bolted from the warehouse without clocking out. Good luck was with me as I tore up the roads from work to home. I managed to avoid crashing and encountered no police. It frustrated me having to slow down while driving up the dirt lane to my cabin, but I knew if I hit a pothole the wrong way, I'd likely bust a shock absorber.
Sophie wouldn't cry wolf, so I knew her urgent text meant something serious happened. That, and the dozen follow up text messages I sent that went unanswered. My mind conjured the worst. Why hadn't I taken it more seriously the threat posed by a stranger who had been nosing around the cabin the day before? I hated myself now for leaving her alone.
Skidding to stop in front of the cabin, I jumped out and yelled, "Sophie?"
Nothing seemed amiss on the outside. Nothing disturbed.
I wish I could've found the same upon entering my home. The inside of the cabin was very disturbed. The sofa's end table lay on its side, the drawer's contents scattered across the floor, my iPad screen cracked. The shower curtain had been ripped from the rod and lay half in and half out of the bathroom.
"Sophie?" I shouted again, already knowing I was wasting my breath. From what I could piece together, Sophie had seen someone, sent me the urgent text, and then tried hiding in the tub with the shower curtain pulled. She had been snatched. Whoever did it tried forcing her outside. She resisted by grabbing the shower curtain while they tugged, pulling her and the curtain from the bathroom.
If I had to guess, Sophie took hold of the end table drawer and pulled it free, probably intending to use it as a weapon to bash her attacker over the head.
"Good girl," I mumbled. She had tried her best, but against a larger, stronger man or more than one man, she had no chance.
"Damn it," I shouted and punched the wall.
If only she hadn't been so secretive, maybe I'd know what I was up against. If only she had showed me her journal.
The thought spurred me to action. I dashed into the bedroom and tore open the top dresser drawer. She kept the notebook beneath her socks and underwear. "Forgive me for breaking my promise to not peek," I said to nobody in a release of nervous tension. "Under the circumstances, I don't think you'll mind."
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I skimmed through her text. I knew I'd have to go back and read slower to digest the terrible details more clearly. There wasn't time. My hands started trembling with anger as I read her third journal entry.
When done I needed a minute to center myself. Closing my eyes, I took a few deep breaths. When I opened my eyes, I knew exactly what I had to do.
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