10:05 P.M.
Holding a tray of donuts and baked goods, Miranda slunk down a back hall of the compound’s main house, her footfalls carrying her toward the voices coming from a corner room.
Deep voice: “I want snipers on the roofs here, here...and here.”
A pot of coffee in one hand and a folded towel between her other hand and the bottom of the hot container, Chrissy walked beside her friend.
Approaching the room, Miranda slowed.
Deep voice: “Once the shooting begins...”
Chrissy: “What are we—”
Miranda lifted a hand. “Sh.”
“...the people will come pouring out of the doors. At that time, after a five-count, I want the snipers to open fire on them. Then...”
Miranda sidestepped right to peek through the twelve-inch crack between the door and the jamb. She saw Hendricks and six other men standing around a table in the darkened room, a gooseneck table lamp shining down on a large sheet of paper.
“...teams one and two will catch them in a crossfire. Teams three and four will then breach the building at these access points,” Hendricks pointed at the paper, “here and here...and plant charges at the load bearing beams we’ve already talked about. Once that’s completed...”
Miranda swayed to get a better look inside the room.
“...those teams will need to haul as—” looking up and spotting one of his men motioning, Hendricks turned his head in the same direction.
Miranda locked eyes with Hendricks. Her skin breaking out in a cold sweat, she averted her gaze then glimpsed her friend. The two slipped into the room. “I—we were...we were told you might be hungry. We were told to bring you,” she raised the plate of goodies a little higher, “these.”
Hendricks rolled up the paper, slid a rubber band over one end, and tucked the three-foot tube into a tall cabinet housing rifles, magazines, and ammunition before locking the cabinet, facing the newcomers, and gesturing. “Put it over there.”
The girls placed the refreshments on a side table and made a beeline for the open door.
All the men, except Hendricks, swarmed around the food.
“Wait.”
The men spied their boss, saw him staring at the teens, and went back to filling their hands.
“I said wait.”
Miranda and Chrissy stopped, their bodies going rigid.
Hendricks strolled toward them.
The girls exchanged nervous glances and turned around.
He stopped a foot away from Chrissy, gave her an exaggerated once-over, and brushed her cheek with the back of his right hand.
She flinched, turned her head an inch, and looked down.
He smiled at her. “I’d like to see you.”
She closed her eyes.
“Tonight.” He spied his watch. “Come to my room in an hour.” He glanced at her dirtied clothing. “That should give you time to get cleaned up...and put on something nicer.”
The sixteen-year-old stood frozen to the floor, her knees growing weak.
Hendricks laid his palm on her hip. “Go. I’ll see you in,” he held up an index finger, “one hour.”
Miranda pulled on Chrissy’s arm, and the teens hurried out of the room.
After watching them leave, he spun on his heels and marched toward the huddled men. “You,” he let out a vulgar term, “had best left something for me.”
*******
FORTY MINUTES LATER...
Miranda knocked on the door to her housemate’s bedroom. “Chrissy? You okay in there? It’s almost time.” She put her left ear to the door and waited a beat. “I’m coming in.” She pushed open the barrier and stuck her head inside the room.
Sitting on the floor, her back to the wall across from the door, her knees to her chest, a whimpering Chrissy handled a stiletto knife in her right hand while eyeballing her left wrist. She shook her head and blubbered out her words. “I can’t...I can’t go back there. I...”
Miranda slithered around the door and took two steps toward her friend, her open hand leading the way. “Take it easy, Chrissy.” She ogled the weapon. How did she find my knife?
“...I won’t go back to him.”
“Just,” Miranda pumped the hand and stole two more paces, “please don’t do this.”
“You don’t understand.” Chrissy sniveled. “He did things to—” she shut her eyes and hung her head. “I’m...I’m not going back there...even if I have to,” she righted her head and zeroed in on the inner portion of her left wrist.
“Chrissy, stop!” Miranda sneaked to within a quick leap of the other teen, to within diving range of the blade. “You can’t let them win. If you do this, they win, and you lose.”
“I don’t care. Don’t you see? I’ve already lost.” Chrissy placed a flat hand over her heart. “I’ve lost me. That monster took me.”
“No.” Miranda thrust out her finger. “You haven’t lost. Not yet, you haven’t.” She went to both knees. “And what he took from you,” she shook her head, “is not what makes you, you.”
A tense moment passed as one adolescent toyed with a lethal weapon while a second youth looked on.
Miranda moved closer. Her knees butted up against the other girl’s toes. “Do you remember what I told you when you first showed up here?”
Chrissy looked at her questioner.
Seeing her friend’s watery eyes for the first time since entering the room, Miranda took that as a good sign. “I was straight with you. I told you this place was going to try to strip you of everything. You remember that?”
Chrissy nodded.
“Do you remember what else I said to you?” The fifteen-year-old negotiator pressed on. “I said you can’t let them take what’s,” she tapped her head, “in here,” before moving fingers to her chest, “and in here.” A beat. “What he stole from you is on the outside, Chrissy.”
Chrissy swiped at the moisture covering her cheeks, her mind recalling the conversation from a week ago. Remember the ones who love you the most and cling to the hope that they’ll one day find you. Tears will only weaken you. Mourn on the inside, but don’t ever let them see you crying.
Her eyes now watering, too, Miranda sniffled, leaned forward on her knees, “Trust me,” and stretched out her left hand. “You are so much more than that...on the inside. Don’t,” she pinched the razor-sharp blade and tugged a bit, “let him...”
Chrissy relaxed her grip.
“...rob you of,” Miranda claimed the knife, “that, too.” She folded the switchblade in half, pivoted, and sat on the disturbed girl’s starboard side.
Neither female said a word for a full minute.
“What am I going to do?” Chrissy’s shoulders trembled, and the tears flowed again. “I can’t,” she drew in a sharp breath, “I can’t...”
Miranda hugged the crying kid.
“...go back th—”
“I know. I know.” She rubbed her left hand up and down Chrissy’s left arm several times while her mind raced to come up with a solution.
Thirty seconds passed.
“And,” Miranda stared at the floor, at nothing in particular, “I think...I just may have an idea.” A beat. “You’re having your period.”
Chrissy lifted her head and frowned. “That’s not for another week or so.”
“Well, guess what?” Miranda faced her friend. “It came early this month.”
Chrissy caught on. “Do you think that’ll work?”
Miranda hiked her brows and lifted a shoulder before picking up her knife and standing. “I’ll go deliver the news to Hendricks, myself. I think I can sell it to him.” She turned to go but stopped when something snatched her hand. She cast a backward glance.
Chrissy let a faint smile come and go. “Thank you.”
After pursing her lips and nodding, “I’ll be back soon,” Miranda strode out of the room.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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