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“I will let you leave when it’s time,” he said calmly. “For now, I’ve brought a playmate for you.”
The guard cracked the door open just a few inches, his hand sliding inside the small cell. In it was something dark. When he opened his hand, the object scurried toward her. A rat. It was a rat. Her heart started racing, a moment of panic filling her body.
No, she thought. No. That’s what he wants. He wants me to panic. He wants me to scream. It’s just one rat. I’ve had hamsters and gerbils. They’re not much different. She stood quickly, watching as the rat ran around the small space. She could feel him watching her.
Allowing her hair to fall over her face, she looked out of the corner of her eye and saw the camera he held to the screen at the door. He was filming her. Alright, she thought. Film me.
Kneeling on the hard concrete, she held out her hand.
“Hello, there,” she said to the rat. The rodent stopped, almost staring up at her, then slowly walked toward her hand. She held him, softly petting his back.
It’s just a hamster. It’s just a hamster. It’s just a hamster.
She repeated the phrase over and over again in her head, all the while keeping the little guy safe in her hands. At the door, Christina could hear the man’s sound of disgust and frustration and smiled inwardly, knowing that this wasn’t what he’d expected.
“We’re going to be great friends,” she said calmly.
“Give the rat back,” said the guard.
“No.” She stood defiantly, holding the rodent close to her chest. “I think I’ll keep him for company.”
“Give. The. Rat. Back.”
“No.” The guard flung the door open, coming straight for her. As he got closer, she tossed the rat at the man’s face as he screamed, swiping at it.
“Don’t kill him!” said the man at the door. Christina kicked the guard’s shin, then reached down to grab the rodent once again, holding him close.
“You little bitch!” growled the guard going toward her.
“No! Don’t hurt her,” said the other man. “She did well. Let’s see where this goes.” The guard could only nod, clearly doing whatever the older man said to do.
“I won’t forget this.” Christina only smiled, lifting her chin in defiance.
“Neither will I.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Mr. and Mrs. Russell?” asked Whiskey, standing at the door of a large colonial-style home. It was well-maintained, beautiful yardwork, rocking chairs on the front porch. There were two relatively new vehicles in the driveway and a missing sign with their daughter’s face on it by the mailbox.
“Yes? Listen, if you’re with the press, we can’t talk about this,” said the man.
“No. That’s not it at all. May we speak with you?” asked Nine. The man opened the door, nodding, watching carefully as the two men squeezed through his front door.
“Please have a seat,” said Mrs. Russell. “Can I get you some water, tea, maybe a cup of coffee?”
“Coffee would be wonderful,” said Whiskey. “Black.”
“Same. Thank you,” said Nine. Mrs. Russell scurried toward the kitchen, and the men turned to her husband. “Sir, we were approached by some young men who met your daughter and her friends during a cross-country meet. They were concerned when they found out that she was missing and asked us to help.”
“Are you private investigators?” he asked.
“Not exactly, but we do help to find people on occasion.”
The man stared at the other man, looking as if they were sitting on doll furniture in his living room. He suspected that they were some sort of private investigators, but not the usual kind.
“Alright. The police aren’t getting anywhere, and we don’t know what to do,” he said. Mrs. Russell set down a tray of piping hot coffee mugs, and all three of the men took one with a smile.
“Were you aware that your daughter had gotten a tattoo?” asked Whiskey.
