For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life. John 3:16
The prick of a needle stung Julia’s arm as she was waking up, and she winced. It had been a few rough nights sleeping alone. Having the other girls around her had made the situation bearable. Now with her stuck in a new room alone, sleep had been scarce. She hadn’t even known she’d fallen asleep until this…rude awakening. Hands jerked her upright as she rubbed sleep from her eyes, trying to adjust to the intense light filling the room.
“Get up and sit on the chair.” The man hauled her up.
A chair, already fitted with ropes—probably to restrain her—waited in the center of the room. When she shifted back, he raised a gun. “You want to move those feet.”
So she approached the chair and sat in it as it creaked. Dried blood smeared the edge where she gripped it to get more comfortable. She jerked her hand away as the door opened. “What are you going to do to me?”
“I see you haven’t secured her yet. Hurry up. I need an answer soon.” The man’s rough voice grated on her eardrums.
“Please, I don’t know anything. I’m just a schoolgirl.”
The man who’d pulled her up didn’t say a word. He worked the restraints quickly, his red sweater blurring in her vision.
“You’ve done this before. Did you kill the person? Are you going to kill me? I don’t want to die. Please.” Her throat closed, and her words came out slightly above a whisper. “What information can I give you? I don’t know anything!” Strong ropes whipped around her hand, and the pain of their cinch silenced her.
“You better don’t speak.” The man looped the last knot. “Until you’re asked to.” Another tight cinch, and she winced and bit her upper lip. “Or else, it could end badly fast. Got it?” Straightening, he bored his eyes into hers.
Julia got the message. The other man was their boss and disliked pleas. If she pleaded, he’d kill her faster. He had no mercy. So she pleaded to God inside her heart. God, please have mercy on me. Please rescue me. In Jesus’ name.
She’d heard her mom pray, so she knew the words. But she couldn’t fathom their full meaning or power. She simply knew her mom knew her God, and if she did, then Julia would call on Him, peradventure, He’d hear and answer her.
“Tell me what you said to the police.” The man’s imposing stature filled the room, or was it the threat of him? He jingled a bunch of keys, making her wonder whether the key to free her from this room was among them, dropped them into his pocket, and set a dark look on her. “Now.”
“I don’t know anything. I promise. I really don’t. I went to see my uncle.” If recounting that story would put her uncle and her mom in danger, she wouldn’t do it. “Please let me go.”
He glanced at his watch and pressed his lips tightly. “I shouldn’t have wasted time coming here.” He spun to the man who had restrained her, and they exchanged a knowing glance before the man strode out of the room.
The red-sweater man gave her an indecipherable look, then drew close. Without warning, as he leaned close like he would loosen her straps, a needle pierced her arm. “It’s a pity. What a waste.”
“What…” Dizziness cut off her words, and she gripped the sides of the chair she’d released before and wouldn’t have touched again. Hating to be making contact with dried blood, she blinked hard and tried to stay awake. Whatever they hit her system with, she would fight it. Fight it to gain freedom and to flee this captivity. She scratched her nails on the wood, getting some underneath her fingernails.
He loosened the ropes, lifted her off the chair, and hauled her over his shoulder. He pushed the door open. It thudded shut behind him. Then keys jingled when he spun toward the hallway. She hung limply as the floor tiles like fluorescent lights waved past, and he carried her through what might’ve been a hallway. Soon the floor turned dark, then concrete, and the stench of garbage hit her nostrils when he pushed a door open.
Her head swam more, but she blinked harder, pinching the inside of her palm, telling herself to stay awake. “What—” Her speech slurred.
Another pair of feet was there, and she saw the black garbage bag in the other man’s hand, the gun he held, and the protective gear he was clad in. That ran her blood cold.
“You want to kill me.” She kicked with all her strength, but her feet only flailed.
“Be quiet,” the man ordered before setting her on the ground. The narrow backyard fencing was up to eight feet and revealed the street afar off through its cracks. But surely, no one could see her or hear her weak voice.
“Please, I beg you. Don’t kill me.” Tears sprang down her cheeks as her body yielded more to whatever they injected her with.
The other man went inside, leaving her alone with the sweater man. He laid her on the ground and began clothing himself in protective gear.
“I am my mom’s only child. I’m all she’s got.”
His fingers paused long enough on the zipper before they resumed their zipping.
“Jesus! Please save me. I don’t want to die.” She prayed aloud, surprised to hear her voice stronger. Another wave of the drug in her system had her vision blurring.
She fought to breathe as her breath came in gasps. The man had finished zipping up and slid on large blue gloves. The other man hadn’t returned. If she would plead for her life, this was her best chance. “Sir, today is my birthday. Please don’t kill me.”
His hands stopped this time, long enough for her to know her words had made an impact.
“My mom is a Christian.” Julia struggled for breath but fought the wave of nausea. “She raised me all on her own, with little help.”
Another wave of dizziness, and she pinched her palm harder, sure now that it could be bleeding. Stay awake, girl. “She would die if I die.”
Choking on saliva, she gulped it down. If only she could get the last words out! Inhaling deeply, she blinked harder and pushed through a closing throat. “If you kill me, you killed two people, not one. But if you let me go, God will bless you.” Out of words of plea, out of breath, and unable to speak anymore, she gasped and waited.
So did he.
His Adam’s apple bobbed.
He darted his gaze back to the door.
Daunted by the prospect of dying, she prayed in her heart harder than she had in words.
Light filled her vision.
A man with shining hair came out of nowhere she could see and reached out to her, and she took his held-out Hand. He seemed to be standing above the situation, unbothered.
His authentic smile calmed her and wiped the blurriness of her vision. The power of His touch traveled like a volt of electricity through her to her neck, and before long, the swelling of her throat stopped as He let her hand go. She inhaled and exhaled freely again. “Run,” He said. “Run,” He said again. Then He vanished.
“You are one difficult girl!” The captor walked back to the door. He shut it and returned to where she lay. His lips formed a thin line. “I don’t know why I’m doing this. I’m going to let you go, but it could get us killed. I will do it on two conditions. One—you never go home or else they’ll know you’re not dead. Two—you must never mention me, got it?”
Julia, still trying to understand what had happened moments earlier, simply nodded.
“Good.” The man took her hand and lifted her to her feet. Surprise lit his eyes that she could stand.
She couldn’t explain about the Man who had touched her hand and healed her. She knew he hadn’t seen the Man, and explaining would waste time. He also may not believe her, but she knew what she had seen. She knew He had to be Jesus.
Jesus was real.
He’d heard her prayer.
He’d come for her.
Choking on gratitude, willing to live, and trying not to alarm her captor, she shivered, and the multiplicity of emotions pulsing through her led a tear to drop. “Thank you very much. Really, I thank you.”
The man wrapped the garbage bag around her and pressed a hand tightly on her lips. Before she could ask, he clamped his hand harder on her lips to silence her. “Don’t scream.” He took out his gun, pulled the trigger, and shot her arm.
Pain raged through her upper body, and her fingernails dug into his arm. She must’ve dug deep enough because her fingernails had blood in them when she let him go. Blood dripped down her injured arm—clearly a flesh wound—and he dabbed it with a cloth. He soaked up what he might’ve considered sufficient and placed it on top of the garbage bag. Then he pulled out another piece of cloth, tied her arm with it, and walked over to use a set of keys and unlock the small gate. She spun when the doorknob of the house rattled with a jerk. She gasped, sure the other man had returned.
The captor rushed her forward, through the gate. “Hurry! Go. And don’t look back.” She had barely gotten through, and he had just closed it when the other door swooshed open.
She hid against the gate pillar and held her breath as her blood dripped down and she wedged the dropping flow with her other hand.
“You already finished with it?” the other man said. “That was fast. You cleaned up good too. Just a few drops on the ground. The boss said we have to schedule a transport right now for the other two girls, maybe to Mexico. Two girls came in now, and he thinks there’s an undercover agent for the cops among them, so we take care of them just like this one.” In hiding, Julia gulped at his words. “I will bring them down,” he concluded.
A shudder ran through her at his ease with murder.
Her captor cleared his throat loudly. “Wait, let me dispose of the body. Then we can do the others. Those clothes she came with? Tie them in a bag. They’re too good to throw away. Let’s take them along in the transport to Mexico. Good?”
“Whatever. I’ll be upstairs.” The other man exited, and Julia didn’t move. The door creaked open, then clicked shut. Exhaling, she swiped at the blood still going down her arm. She wiped the bloody hand on the hem of her thin sweater.
The captor’s voice filled her ear. “I bought you some time. Go. Now.”
Julia didn’t look. She didn’t want to remember the face of the man who would’ve been the last she’d see alive. She didn’t want to memorialize his features. No. Not when the brilliance of the Man she’d seen still shone brightly in her memory—as did His command. “I will.”
She moved away. Took one step. Then another. And a third. And it hit her.
She was free.
Free to live.
Free indeed.
The reality of her deliverance thudded in her heart. Did she really get so close to death—and miraculously live—because of Jesus?
Run—His command twice given—wove through her senses and lifted her feet to a jog, then pedaled her legs into a run. The house at the dead end of the closed street gave way to a fork in the road. One led right, the other led left. At the intersection, hearing no chase, Julia tugged at the garbage bag and shook it off her. The symbol of death it represented for her gave way. She couldn’t run and hold it over herself. Shedding it, she knew she was more exposed now. She ran rightward, sticking close to the shade of trees. In these wee morning hours, she didn’t see anyone, and she was grateful. Clothes stuck out of a large garbage can further up the street, so she pushed it open and found a pair of slacks and torn tees. She took them out, dusted them of food debris, and slid the tee over her frame. After tying the slacks on her waist, she dug again. A gallon of milk with some left over, which looked good enough, met her fingers, its chill letting her know it hadn’t been trashed long.
After filling her belly with the cool contents and praying it wasn’t bad enough, she tucked the jug back into the trash. Then a dog barked.
Its bark wasn’t loud enough to warrant anyone’s attention—unless it was someone who didn’t want any attention.
She turned. A small boy with his dog on a leash stood there staring at her. Crust around his eyes suggested he’d just woken up.
“Henry? Where is that boy?” a female voice said from inside the house, and the curtains danced.
Run.
The boy’s gaze pinned on her, so she smiled to ease his concern. Her steps away felt heavy, but she pressed forward while fighting the worry that he’d scream. Soon, she turned a corner, and the boy faded from her vision. She picked up the pace, running, even as her belly growled. She had to keep going along and leave this area however she could. Ducking her face away from the few vehicles starting to roll through the street, she didn’t want to flag any of them down, nor did she try to enter any of the houses to ask for help. If her captors felt comfortable here, she shouldn’t.
She’d likely run at least seven miles when the sun heated up the skyline hours later. The bleeding on her arm had stopped, and the large tee hid it from sight. She’d tossed the cloth that had wrapped the wound, using the slacks she’d picked up to tie it afresh. Though thick, it was soaking up fast.
Her lips cracked. Her throat felt dry enough that breathing hurt. Her chest felt heavy, probably a side effect of what they’d injected her with. She wasn’t sure. Her head throbbed, and her legs wobbled.
Her feet had blistered, and she lost feeling in her toes even though some warmth had chased the chill away. Beneath the tee, the sweater stuck to her body like wet glue. Since she couldn’t shed the layers without exposing the wound, she trudged on as her run slowed to a jog.
As she shielded her face from the sight of traffic, tears stung her eyes. It was Christmastime. Music sailed into her ears from one house, laughter from another. She wrapped her sweater tighter despite its wetness, as a chill swept through her.
Christmas decorations blinked on in some homes she passed by. She wasn’t sure when it would be Christmas Day, but she hadn’t been sure when she’d quoted that today was her birthday. She only thought so.
She’d based her estimation on how many times they were fed and on the assumption that the first day of her captivity had been the same day she was taken. But she had no proof. Still grateful to be safe, she dodged public view and stares by sticking close to tree lines and avoiding any bus stops. “Jesus, thank You, Sir, for saving my life. I could never repay You. Please help me. I’m hungry, thirsty, and tired. I can hardly feel my feet. And I don’t know where I’m going.” Crossing the street, she spotted a park and headed to it. The street signs were a different color from the ones in her state. Did that mean she was not within state lines? Probably.
She hadn’t traveled out of her state before and couldn’t tell where she was. She didn’t care. Whatever took her farther away from a hostile environment was welcome.
Reaching the park minutes later, she drew close to an empty bench. Every part of her body screamed for her to sit. She wished to sit. But she heard the Word again.
Run.
She gripped the back of the bench and leaned over. Tears flowed freely. This time, she didn’t care if anyone saw her. “God, I’m tired of running. But if You insist, please tell me where to run to.” She swiped the tears away, stifled the gulping breaths, and the aroma of food sailed into her nostrils. Instinctively, she moved away from the bench.
A bungalow with the insignia New Creations nestled in along the edge of the park. The scent must come from it.
Walking, more like limping, to it, she studied it more thoroughly. A sign posted right outside the steps with, “At-Risk Youth Center” was imprinted below the New Creations bold signage.
The aroma of food grew stronger, assaulting her senses and leading her dry mouth to water as much as it could. But could she go in? She hugged her arms around herself, unsure.
Was this where God was leading her to?
Should she enter?
How safe was it?
Darting a glance both ways as the aroma grew stronger, she turned away and gave herself a mental shake.
They probably weren’t accepting guests. It wasn’t a hotel. A private property was the last place she should go to. Midstep, she paused.
Where else would she go?
New Creation sounded Christian. Wouldn’t she be welcome?
She hadn’t been a Christian.
Was she one now?
How could she be sure?
Her belly growled again. She started to turn when something hit her. Julia tumbled and landed on her back. Something pierced her leg. “No!” Pain trailed it. A man appeared, and she panicked.
“Go. Please.” She inched off the ground, limping to stand, and leaned on the sturdy New Creations mailbox stand. “I’m fine.” As she said the words, she knew she wasn’t. Blood flowed down her leg.
“I’m so sorry. My bike went out of control, and I didn’t see you.” He held his hands, palms up as he pleaded, leaving the bike wheels turning.
Julia was more worried about him noticing the bloodied cloth on her arm and getting suspicious. “I will be fine, okay. Please go.”
He eyed her. “You need an ambulance.” His fingers scrambled through his back pockets.
“You don’t have to call them. I’m going to be fine if you leave.” Her head swam a bit, but she was undaunted. She would not let this man stay. “Go.”
His fingers stilled. “Here is my card. Call me if you need anything.” He pulled out a card and tucked it inside her elbow.
No sooner had he left than the door of New Creations creaked open. “I’ll be back in a minute for that cup of cocoa.” An elderly lady walked out, holding an envelope puffy enough to be a Christmas card.
Leaning on the mailbox, Julia could not escape her as the lady strode toward her. Their gazes met. Then the lady’s gaze ran over her. “Lord, have mercy. What happened to you, young lady?”
Julia’s head swam again, and she gripped the mailbox post with desperate fingers. But her body—tired, weak, and still losing blood—could hang on no longer. “Please don’t call the cops. Don’t take me to the hospital.”
The lady broke her fall and collected her weak body on its way to the ground. “You’re safe now. You will be okay.”
Julia had to get a promise. For her mom’s sake. For her uncle’s sake. “Please don’t…”
“Hush, child.” The lady’s voice came over her softly like a warm blanket. It sounded like her mom, even though it wasn’t. There had to be a mother nature in this woman. “I won’t call them. I’ll take care of you. Bishop! Come on out here quick.”
Those words ushered Julia into oblivion as her body went limp.