Fighting My Way Out

Safe and Sound?

"And then I woke up here," I say, motioning to the hospital room, hooked up to monitors and I.V. bags, bandaged.

The officers who found me in the office had taken me to the hospital in someplace called Ashton; I don't even know what state I'm in. All I know is I'm finally safe and out of harm's way.

"But you never caught those people's names? At the mansion?" asks Trooper number one, still slightly unsympathetic to my pain.

I shake my head. "No, but I can tell you what they looked like, I saw them up close."

Trooper number two tells the other to get a sketch artist in here at once, before I lose key details of my captors.

"Who were those people?" I ask, my voice embarrassingly small.

"We think they're a part of a nationwide human trafficking ring. The couple in the mansion were most likely the sellers, the ones who clean you up and dress you nice for buyers. The Wrights, or whatever they're real names are, were probably just the kidnappers, the ones who do all the dirty work for little credit but a stable income."

Trooper number one looks impressed. "You did an incredibly brave thing escaping them and defending yourself. We'll be able to catch them with all the information you've given us."

Another officer enters the room, looking frazzled and distressed. He whispers urgently into Trooper number one's ear, who then looks aggravated. He whispers back something about not losing someone, and I have to know.

"What's happened?"

The officer looks at me with a sad smile. "It would seem the mansion you were being kept in has been abandoned. All prisoners have been moved, and the people who held you may be in the wind."

The floor seems to have dropped out from under me. They're still out there, roaming the world, free to continue their business, to keep using young men and women as slaves. They can still find me.

Troper number two seems to notice my distress, trying to look reassuring.

"But don't worry, they won't come after you anymore. No offense, but the injuries you sustained severely marred your skin; they won't be interested in trying to sell you to anyone."

This gives me little comfort, but I try to let it calm me as best it can.

"When the sketch artist gets here, we'll continue our talk," says Trooper number one, the other leaving the room. "Until then, get some rest."

Then he leaves the room and I can relax into my bed. Although the gouges on my back don't allow me to relax completely, despite the pain medication. I turn on the TV, reaching for some snacks as my appetite slowly returns. On the screen is a news channel, and on it shows the house of my fake birth parents and all the memories of what happened there come rushing back. The chain to the wall, my broken hand, the brick I left laying on the living room floor.

"Breaking news as reporters are on the scene of a gruesome double homicide at the residence of Tom and Allison Jenkins. At this time, investigators are examining a possible murder weapon left at the scene. More to come later in the hour as this developing story continues to unfold."