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“WAKE UP. COME ON.”
She didn’t know what time it was, day or night. She didn’t remember falling asleep on the musky couch. All she knew was she definitely wasn’t rested.
She squinted in the beam from the flashlight, too disoriented to try to create a mental image of the room. She recognized Dustin as he stood by the couch and waved the flashlight in her eyes. “We need your help.”
Kennedy had to find a toilet, and she wanted to wash some of the grime off her face. She was thirsty. He shone the beam at her, and she tried to raise both hands to her eyes before she remembered the cuff.
“You’ve got some medical training, right?” His voice was smaller now, rushed and anxious like a nervous fox.
“I’m pre-med. It’s just my first year.” Her voice was scratchy. How long had she been asleep? She tried to remember if Dustin was wearing the same flannel shirt as when he captured her, but she had been too busy getting beat up and thrown into a car to pay attention to the color and pattern.
“We need your help.” His tone was still authoritative. Demanding. But Kennedy sensed an underlying desperation.
“I have to use the bathroom.” She was pleased that her voice didn’t give out on her. She sounded put together. Confident. If only she could feel that way, too.
“We don’t have time for this,” he mumbled to himself as he pulled a key out of his pocket. “All right, I’m going to show you where the bathroom is. You try something funny, I shoot you. Got it?” He swept up part of his shirt to show Kennedy the bottom of some kind of holster. Her spine stiffened at the sight.
“Yeah, I understand.” She hoped he didn’t feel her quiver when he unclasped the handcuff. She shook out her arm, relieved to be free of her restraint. Her legs were unstable when he led her to the bathroom, a big rusty setup which was more like a huge walk-in closet that happened to contain plumbing.
“Go on.”
He stood outside, and she squatted over the rusty bowl so she didn’t have to actually touch it. She tried not to think about the sound of her pee echoing in that great big room for everyone to hear. Well, if Dustin was an experienced kidnapper, he would be used to it.
Once she was done she walked to the sink, still unsteady. The water smelled like sulfur and was so cold it stung her hands. She decided not to wash her face, but she forced herself to gag down a little sip from her palms. The icy chill sent pangs of torment shooting to the roots of her teeth. She might not get anything else all day.
Or was it still night?
“You done?” He pounded on the door, and Kennedy looked around for one more second. Sometimes in the movies, there was a small ventilation window or a pipe to climb.
Nothing.
She stepped out of the bathroom.
“We’ve got someone you need to look at.”
Dustin put his hand behind Kennedy’s back. She could smell his BO and decided he must be wearing old clothes. Her odor probably wasn’t much better. How long until she was able to take a shower? And if it was in that rotten-egg water, she’d probably pass anyway.
“She’s having some sort of asthma attack or something,” he told her. “Choking and crying up a storm.”
Kennedy wondered who he was talking about. Was this some sort of sex-slavery operation, then? Kennedy knew human trafficking was a huge problem in Asia, and her parents had even taken in a few girls who escaped from the hotel district in Yanji. But when her dad cited facts about forced prostitution in the US, she hadn’t really paid attention. Something like that could never happen to her.
Could it?
“All right,” Dustin called up the stairs. “Bring her down.”
Kennedy heard the girl’s wheezing, choking sobs even before she saw her in the poor light. She held her breath. What had they done to her?
“She won’t hold still.” Kennedy recognized the thick Boston accent of the driver. He came down the steps, struggling to carry the body that was kicking and flailing in his arms.
Kennedy’s legs felt like they were supporting twice her body weight. There was no way the child was of age. Kennedy stepped forward, afraid the girl might thrash her way right down the staircase and break her neck.
“I need to talk to my dad!” She sucked in her breath in noisy, choppy spurts.
“She’s been like this since we brought her in.” The driver stepped into the light. He was older than Kennedy expected, built like a boxer and mostly bald. He glowered at Kennedy before he set the girl down on the couch. Kennedy cringed but didn’t have time to think of all the germs and dust mites and rodents that probably made their home in its cushions.
The child covered her face with her hands and drew her knees to her chest. “I need my dad.” Fitful sobs wracked her petite body.
Kennedy sensed the men’s hopeful stares but forced them out of her mind. “It’s all right,” she whispered. “Everything is going to be ok.”
The girl kept her face buried, and her shoulders heaved. “I don’t want any more medicine.”
Kennedy shot the two men a look, but they avoided her glare. “What’s she talking about?”
“We have some pills. Doctor says it’ll make her feel calmer. Anxiety medicine.”
Kennedy didn’t bother asking what sort of doctor would prescribe pills for a kidnapped child. “How long has she been here?” She forced an air of authority into her voice and stood up straight, stretching her spine tall.
“Half an hour. Maybe more.”
“Have you had anything to eat?” she asked the child, who cringed when Kennedy touched her shoulder.
“She threw up on the way here,” the bald man grumbled. “Gonna stink up the car for weeks.”
Kennedy reached out one more time. If she could only get her to look up ... What had these men already done to her? “Here, let me feel your forehead, ok?”
The girl glanced up, and Kennedy’s breath caught somewhere in the middle of her throat. She would have recognized that face anywhere, even without the pearl earrings. Heart fluttering, she did what she could to keep her expression neutral. She gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile. The girl’s brow was damp with sweat but didn’t feel feverish. Her collarbone strained with each irregular breath.
“I need more light,” Kennedy told them.
“Plug in the lamp,” the driver told his partner and jerked his flashlight toward the wall. Pain pulsed to the back of Kennedy’s head as soon as Dustin switched the light on. She blinked. The girl’s lips were outlined in grayish blue, and her mouth hung open in an inaudible little gasp. Her chest moved as if trying to inhale, but no air went in.
How long had they said this had been going on? “Is there a shower here?” Kennedy heard the worried strain in her own voice. “Something that could make some steam?”
“What good’s that gonna do?” the driver demanded.
“It can open up all the airways. Help her breathe more evenly.” Kennedy bit her lip while the men looked at each other.
“We don’t got a water heater.”
The girl’s shoulders shuddered as her body attempted another jerky inhale. They had to do something.
“Is there a way to boil some water?”
The bald man shook his head, and the girl let out a long wheezy sob.
Kennedy reached for her clammy hand. “You can go buy a face steamer. They have them at just about any drugstore.” Her heart was thudding loudly in her chest. Would they do that much? Would these kidnappers have the decency to help a little girl from suffocating on their mildewy couch?
“Get over here.” The balding one gestured with his head, and both men moved to the base of the stairs and conferred in low whispers.
Keeping one eye on the pair, Kennedy stroked the girl’s hair and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “Is your name Jodie?”
The child bent over. The wheezing sound from her lungs made Kennedy vicariously faint-headed.
“Jodie Abernathy?” Kennedy asked again.
A single tear splashed into the girl’s lap as her lungs forced a noisy gulp of air. Her breath was as choppy as a windy lake in the fall, but she didn’t respond.
Kennedy wanted to hug her, to make her body into a shield that would ward off panic and terror. “It’s all right to be scared,” she whispered before Dustin stepped back into the light.
“Face steamer, it’s called?”
Kennedy nodded. She didn’t trust her voice. He returned to his partner.
“I think we’ve talked before.” Kennedy kept her tone soft. She was afraid that saying too much might trigger another wave of panic. “Did you make a phone call from St. Margaret’s on Sunday?”
Jodie sniffed and gave an almost imperceptible nod. A small jolt sent Kennedy’s heart galloping one more time.
She had found Rose.