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“Sovereign Lord,” she began, mumbling out the words. “You made heaven and earth and everything in them. You know what I face right now and how scared I am. But if there is anything you have for me to do here, then I ask that you would give me peace and boldness to proclaim your name. I pray you would bring salvation to these girls and to my captors.”
Her words echoed empty in her ears. It was an impossible prayer that ignored the truth of her circumstances. She knew what His Word said in her mind, but it wasn’t reaching her heart. No matter how much she tried to trust in Him, all she felt was despair.
* * *
It could have been minutes or days. She’d lost track of time when the door banged open and a woman, about her age, entered carrying a box. The woman was clean, and her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, but she was dressed in rags, and her cheeks were sunken.
She tossed bits of bread into the room, and they were caught up by the starving women and girls, who stuffed them into their mouths before pouncing on others who were too slow. It was only the restraints that kept them from forcing the others’ mouths open to steal any morsel they could.
When the newcomer noticed Charlotte, she took a step back, the bread poised in her hand.
“Where’d you come from?” the woman said. She had barely the hint of a Spanish accent.
“You’re American?” Charlie said, lurching forward.
The woman recoiled. “What’s it to you?”
“I’m American. I’ve been kidnapped. You have to go to the police and tell them.”
The woman’s face flattened in defiance. She looked at the waif next to Charlotte and tossed the bread between them. The waif saw it coming and shouldered into Charlotte with a greater strength than her tiny body looked like it possessed.
She grabbed the food, eyeballing Charlotte as though challenging her to protest while she stuffed the food into her mouth.
Charlotte didn’t have the stomach to eat, so it was easy to let it go, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before she fought like the rest of them.
The woman at the door turned to go.
“Wait,” Charlotte said, unsure of what to say next.
“What? I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
Charlotte spit out the first question that came to her. “What’s your name?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because…you’re American.”
“Does that give you hope?”
“A little.”
“Don’t be stupid. Hope only makes the breaking hurt more. Trust me.”
“My name’s Charlotte.”
“So?”
“Please.”
She pursed her lips, thinking. “Not that it matters, but I’m Kelly.” She left the room and slammed the door.
Charlotte’s heart was racing. Itwasstupid to hope, but the woman’s name sent a shock through her she tried to reason away.
Will had said the girl he was looking for was named Kelly and that she’d come to South America willingly. But this couldn’t be the same person. That was impossible. It would be a bitter irony to discover that, after all his years of searching, it wasn’t until after his death that Kelly was found. And Charlotte could do nothing to save her.
* * *
Light filtered brightly through the slit of a window near the ceiling. Charlotte blinked awake, but she squeezed her eyes tight at the reminder of her reality. Once the panic settled, she opened her eyes again, surveying the women. Half looked asleep. Several others picked at their nails or twisted greasy hair around a bony finger.
