Page 1 of Lost & Found

March—London-UK

London in March held an air of cautious optimism. Winter’s grasp loosened, and the promise of spring whispered through the chilly breeze. None of it mattered. I was focused on Autumn. From the passenger seat, I watched the little girl linger at the curb, scanning the street before checking her watch.

Through the binoculars, I caught the hesitation in her posture. She was waiting for someone. I frowned. My previous stakeouts confirmed she walked this route alone. Looking as if she couldn’t wait anymore, she stepped out onto the cobblestone walkway.

The girl beside me—the one we’d dubbed X—sat staring ahead. The marks of the beating she received last night were hidden by layers of clothing. Normally, she wasn’t granted the privilege of wearing so much—let alone leaving the castle. This was a treat for her. Turning my attention back to the prize at hand, I refocused.

The ten-year-old girl looked lost in her thoughts. Her thick, dark hair was tucked beneath her school beret, and her uniform, crisp and pressed, hugged her small form as she picked up speed and rushed toward her school.

“Drive,” I commanded.

X’s eyes, usually flat and dull from years of abuse, revealed a discomfort I’d not seen before. It deviated from her norm, a dissonant note in an otherwise harmonious symphony. I knew this woman as well as I knew my reflection. Instincts I honed through years of manipulation and control picked up on her unease.

“If you even think about making a move or alerting that girl, know that you will pay with more than your life. The lives of two other girls rest on your shoulders now. Are we going to have a problem?” I asked the girl driving.

“No, Sir,” she replied.

Little Isabella Caruso, the unsuspecting innocent art protégé in her cute little uniform, strolled along. I couldn’t help but marvel at the delicate interplay of destinies. We had found her on a whim.

My partner, Michael, wanted to add a violinist and had been searching for students. He’d stumbled upon an online art exhibit, which included a full interview of the winning artist. With one look at her, he quickly changed his mind. I followed the rules. So if this was the girl he wanted, this was the one he’d get.

Her talent blended fantasy and realism. There was an intricate fusion of colors and emotions she captured on canvas that was breathtaking. She took ordinary things and made them look extraordinary. Her ability to capture faces was astounding, a true testament to the brilliance that lay within her.

Even at the tender age of ten, she spoke with an eloquence and a poise beyond her years. She spoke of her art with such passion and sincerity, highlighting her connection to the world and her imagination.

I signaled X to pull alongside the girl. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I leaned out and called to her.

“Excuse me,” I said.

Autumn—as she would be forever known—looked up sharply. Her gaze met mine, and for a fleeting moment, I thought she could see right through me and beyond the façade.

“I seem to be lost. We’re new to the area,” I continued, knowing my American accent aided in my cover. I mustered a faint smile. “I’m trying to find St. Mary’s School. Do you know the way?”

The little girl’s eyes, a striking shade of blue, met mine with a hint of surprise. Her soft voice, as melodious as a songbird’s, responded.

“It’s straight ahead on the right. If you keep following this road, you can’t miss it.”

She had a genuine kindness. Her innocence was disarming, and as the conversation unfolded, I seized the opportunity to introduce the second piece of my carefully orchestrated plan.

“This is my daughter, Summer.” I gestured to the blonde girl sitting in the back. “It looks like you two might be at the same school.”

Autumn’s eyes shifted to Summer, dressed in an identical uniform down to the matching color tie, indicating the year level or grade level. I cleared my throat, and Summer looked up.

We’d given the young blonde a mild sedative this morning. She was coherent but pliable. Summer offered a weak smile, and then she did as I had previously instructed her. She held out her hand to shake Autumn’s in a greeting.

With a quick glance to ensure we were not being observed, I acted. Reaching out, I seized the startled child and pressed a rag over her mouth. She struggled, pulling away, but quickly succumbed to the chemicals.

She went limp in my arms, slumping against the car. A tiny sob came from the back seat. Tears slipped down Summer’s cheeks as I got out and secured the now relaxed form, placing the new girl next to her.

X turned in her seat, her stoic face momentarily shattered, replaced by uncharacteristic sorrow. A wave of foreboding rippled through me. Her eyes met mine with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine.

“What is it, girl?” I hissed, my voice low and dripping with an edge that she knew far too well.

The momentary lapse in her composure and the way her knuckles grasped the steering wheel told me she was ready to flee. Sensing that this new girl might be the key, I wrapped my hands around the child’s neck and squeezed.

“No, please,” X begged.

Her lips parted, and she dragged in ragged breaths. Her face contorted with a pain I’d not seen before, and that was saying a lot, as this woman had seen my worst.