On September 28, Maggie’s fifteenth birthday, she finally faced her past head on. She started the day with her normal routine. She left the house of whores, stopped at Juju’s for breakfast, and then walked to the library when it opened, so she could read for an hour.
For weeks leading up to that day, she contemplated going through old newspapers from the day she was taken. As much as she wanted to read about her own disappearance, she feared reliving the months that immediately followed her kidnapping. She worried that perhaps her parents had never looked for her, even though she knew that wouldn’t be true. But after the things she’d done and all the time that had passed, she seriously doubted they could accept her back as the young woman she’d become.
On this morning, her birthday, she finally decided she’d take the plunge. As she looked through the local newspapers from August 3 of that year, she found nothing. Then it dawned on her that the story would have been published the day after she was taken. She pulled the local paper from August 4. On the front page, she looked into the eyes of the eleven-year-old girl she vaguely remembered. The young girl looked so happy. Maggie remembered the family party where the picture had been taken a month before her disappearance. But now, four years later, she barely recognized herself.
She stared at the photo of Maggie Clarke, wishing she could go back in time and take back all she’d lost. The girl looked so sweet and innocent. Maggie knew the picture showed a girl who was carefree and in love with her life. Then she shifted her eyes to the story, and the headline practically slapped her in the face. It read:
GIRL, 11, KIDNAPPED FROM PLYMOUTH MEETING MALL
Eleven-year-old Maggie Clarke disappeared on August 3 from the Plymouth Meeting Mall. The young girl was on her way to get a slice of pizza, her mother told reporters. “She was only gone for a couple of minutes. I don’t know where she is. If anyone knows where our Maggie is, please call the police.” Lorraine Clarke, the girl’s mother, sobbed when interviewed outside her home early the next morning. Maggie Clarke is five feet tall and weighs eighty-two pounds. She has black hair and blue eyes. She was wearing denim jeans and a pale pink blouse at the time of her disappearance. She was last seen inside the food court at the Plymouth Meeting Mall. Anyone who has information should call the Plymouth Township Police Department.
Maggie hadn’t noticed the stream of tears running down her face. She felt as though she was a third party to the information as she tried to absorb the article about herself. Maggie continued searching through other papers. Her picture had been plastered all over the front pages. Her mother and father were interviewed several times. Maggie didn’t remember her parents looking as old as they did in the photos. The most troubling realization was that Maggie no longer felt attached or connected to them. Her heart broke as she stared mournfully at the two people who were once her parents: they were now strangers.
Maggie found articles written about her every few days for three weeks following her disappearance. She was saddened that each time an article appeared, it was hidden a little deeper in the paper. Finally, her disappearance was nothing more than a brief update that simply said that the search parties had ceased until more evidence turned up. She read all of the articles twice. The one common thread, aside from her parents, was a Detective Rae Harker. Judging from the picture in the paper, he looked like a large man—someone criminals wouldn’t want to mess with—and Maggie wondered how long he looked for her and how much he knew about her.
Looking back, Maggie felt downright stupid. She had lost her life trying to impress a bunch of snot-nosed classmates who excluded her from their lame little group. She would give anything to reverse time. The gnawing grip of regret settled into her bones, and a veil of darkness fell over her.
Maggie quickly left the library. By the time she found Juju in an alley off Kensington Avenue, she was practically hysterical. Her sobs came in loud, gut-wrenching waves. Juju was alarmed, thinking that something horrible had happened to Seth.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Juju asked.
“My mom and dad looked for me, Juju. They looked for me and never found me. I should have never left my mom. I should have stayed with her and my brother at the mall,” she sobbed.
Juju didn’t know how to respond. Then it came to her. “That means they still want you. Right?”
“No! Why would anyone want me? Look at me. Look at what I’ve become!” she yelled, gesturing to her short shorts and the low, plunging neckline of her shirt that revealed her boobs.
“You didn’t become a hooker, Maggie. They made you one. This isn’t your fault, and I’m sure if you called them, they would want you to come home.”
“Did you forget what they did to Cali because she was going to call my parents? They drowned her to death. They put her in a cage and drowned her. Rock would kill them or me. He would tell John William or Myles, and they would destroy my entire family,” she wailed.
Juju understood the evil Rock was capable of when someone stole a twenty-dollar bag of dope. She considered Maggie’s fear and realized that her friend was probably right. She’d watched Rock slice a man’s thumb off for stealing from him.
“I think you’re right, Maggie. I know you love your family, and Rock can be ruthless. For now, you need to go on living. But someday, I bet anything you’ll be home with your family again,” Juju offered.
“I wish I could believe you. I hope you’re right, Juju.”
As the girls parted, Maggie headed toward the center of Kensington in her Daisy Dukes and a padded bra. She looked down at the four-inch heals she was wearing. The faux leather was worn and chipped, the sides of the shoes were cracking, and all of it repulsed her.