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My comm. link crackles. I hear Ice call my name in warning as tires squeal, and a black sedan comes barreling around the corner from the entrance toward me. Logically, I know from experience this is all happening fast. Yet, to me, it is as if the entire thing is in slow motion.
Out of my peripheral vision, I see Jinx running toward me in an attempt to help, but I know it’s too late for me. I reach out and push him back toward the garage door, to safety, as the car slams into me. My body twists with the impact, and my back slams into the unforgiving concrete wall.
My entire body lights up in pain from head to my toe. I hear a loud whoosh, whoosh, whoosh ringing in my ears, and it takes me a second to realize it’s my frantic heartbeat. Somewhere, in the foggy recess of my mind, it’s trying to tell me that I’m in shock and trouble.
Opening my eyes, I realize I’m lying on top of the car’s hood, and I can’t feel my legs. Not good. Not fucking good at all.
My lungs start to burn like hell, and it takes me a second or two to figure out it is because I haven’t taken a breath.
Opening my mouth to breathe in, I feel like someone has poured kerosene inside my chest then thrown a match on me. Everything burns so badly until I fear trying to take another breath.
Little gray dots encroach on the edges of my vision as all of that first-aid training from the Army kicks in. I’m about to lose consciousness. I have to let Ice know there is trouble before that happens, though.
Using every last ounce of strength I have, I force myself to spit out the words that need to be said.
“I’m down.”
Then everything goes black.
~Desirae~
Arriving home, dread fills me when I find my sister isn’t there. Instinctively, I call her phone.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
“Hey, you’ve reached me, but I’m not available at the moment. Leave a message at the beep, and I’ll call ya later.”
Tears fill my eyes as my stomach twists and dread fills me.
“It’s me, Desirae,” I say when her voicemail beeps for me to leave a message. “Call me so I know you’re okay.”
I pace my home, wash the coffee mugs in the sink, and continue to worry. Suddenly, it hits me.
Since college, I have had Suzie on my cell phone plan. Our parents, one being an ex-con and the other being a complete hippie, didn’t believe in the need to spend money on communication devices to keep up with their children. Honestly, I don’t think they wanted to know anything we did or if we were safe, anyway. Their belief that the government would somehow control individuals through the tiny devices was a perfect excuse to keep them off the hook.
Going to my laptop, I fire it up and log in to my phone account. Smart phone tracking! Thank you whichever genius came up with this app.
I follow the screen to where I should hopefully find my sister. The map shows her out in the Croatan National Forest.
What the hell? My sister isn’t one for trails and hiking. She doesn’t even like the idea of the country because it has bugs. Due to that, the idea she suddenly wants to take a walk among the pine trees inhabited by black bears and saltwater estuaries that alligators live in is utterly ridiculous.
Half an hour later, I park my car then follow the screen as I make my way to the Cedar Point Tideland Trail.
We are in the off season, so there aren’t many cars in the parking area. The van with blacked out windows causes me to pause. Every other vehicle is a truck with a stainless steel dog cage in the back for their hunting dogs or pulling a trailer with ATVs. With only three trucks and the van, I can’t help the dread that washes over me that she possibly came here in that very van.
Something inside me stops me from yelling out her name. Call it instinct, women’s intuition, or the bond I have with my sister, but somehow, I keep myself focused on finding her and not simply yelling out, giving the world my location. I just quietly make my way along the trail.
Listening intently, I can hear shuffling up ahead. Slowly, I creep up, and the scene before me guts me. My mind stops as I try to take in what is in front of me.
My baby sister is naked and tied to a tree. She has blood running down her legs, and her breasts are cut so severely they are hanging at awkward angles and look like they are barely attached to her body anymore. Her face is swollen and beaten so badly she is unrecognizable. If it weren’t for the ornate, swirling, water-colored seashell tattoo on her foot, I wouldn’t have known it was her.
