by Ragan, T. R.
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No way. By that time I knew my mom would freak out if I brought up anything about that day.”
“It sounds like repressed memories.”
“That’s exactly what the psychiatrist said.”
“So you did tell someone?”
Paige swatted at a fly. “Just a psychiatrist I saw on and off after it happened. My parents couldn’t afford it, so I stopped going.”
Sawyer couldn’t help but worry about the girl. The divorce. Her mother always hovering and frightened. That couldn’t be good for Paige. “So this person—”
“Psychiatrist.”
“So this psychiatrist thought you might be experiencing repressed memories?”
“Yes. She said the brain sometimes hides things to keep the bad memories away, and that’s why, little by little, new details like the sweater could sneak up on me over the years. And she was right.”
Sawyer had a million questions, but she didn’t want to overwhelm the girl. “Do you mind telling me from the beginning what happened that day?”
Paige looked at the clock on the wall. “I’ll have to talk fast.”
Sawyer nodded. Waited.
“It was early in the morning. My bus arrived at 8:05, so it had to be around 7:55 a.m. Like I said, I was excited about taking the test, eager to get to school. My bus stop is only two and a half blocks from my house. When I saw the woman with a sling on her arm, she was standing at the back of a big white car—”
“Do you know what kind of car? Ford? GMC?”
“No, but I saw two number sevens and the letter L on the license plate. It was parked next to the sidewalk, and the woman stood at the back. Right as I passed by, she moaned as if she were in pain. That’s when a package dropped to the ground. I was close enough to the bus stop to see a group of kids still waiting, so I decided to help the woman.”
Sawyer nodded as she took notes.
“Because I had my eyes on the bus stop, I didn’t really get a good look at the woman’s face in that moment. I just walked right over to where she stood and then bent down to pick up the package. And that’s when I saw it.”
“Saw what?”
“Something in her hand—the one in the sling. It was a syringe with a needle that doctors use to give shots, and she was about to poke me in the arm with it, so I twisted around and swatted it away. But that made me lose my balance, and I fell to the ground. I tried to crawl away, but she grabbed hold of my ankle and held tight, so I used my other foot to kick her.”
“And then you ran?”
“I was on the ground and felt trapped, which is why I scrambled underneath her SUV. With my backpack strapped to my back it was a tight squeeze. When I looked back at her, she was reaching for me. ‘Stop!’ she said. ‘Come back here!’ She called me by someone else’s name, Holly or Molly. I’m not sure which. I hurried out the other side as fast as possible. Once I was on my feet again, I ran, and I never looked back.”
“Where did you go?”
“I know it sounds stupid, but I went to the bus stop. It was closer than home.”
“Not stupid at all.”
“A couple of parents were standing there with the other kids. I was crying by then. I had scrapes on my face and hands. By the time I took one of the parents to the spot where it had happened, the woman with the needle was already gone.”
“I know you and your parents went to the police and filled out a report.”
“That’s right,” Paige said. “Mom didn’t like the way we were treated. She thought the police didn’t do enough. It got worse a few days later when one of Mom’s good friends asked her if maybe I made up the story to get attention.” Paige exhaled. “I wish I’d never said anything to anyone.”
“But you’re talking to me now.”
Paige perked up a little, her expression quickly changing from sad to determined. “Because it did happen,” she said. “And I want to help find the girl who disappeared the other day.” She grew quiet for a moment. “It’s true what Mom said: every time a young girl goes missing, somebody knocks at our door. My mom tells them—reporters, detectives, whoever—to go away.”
“Does that happen often?”
Another shrug. “Often enough,” Paige said. “Even when a young girl disappears in another state, I spend weeks thinking about the missing girl, obsessing about where she is and what she’s doing. I also see the woman’s face as she shouts at me to come back, and I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of her taking me home with her. The woman who tried to grab me was crazy.”
“Besides the obvious, why do you say that?”
“She had big, I mean huge, marble, glossy-brown eyes. The kind of scary eyes that look right through you and make it seem as if they know what you’re thinking. She had a long, thin face with pointy cheekbones and chin. Her hair, a dull grayish-blonde, hadn’t been combed, and her lips were pale and cracked.”
“I thought you hadn’t seen her face.”
“After that girl was taken—”
“Riley Addison?”
“Yes. Riley Addison. I saw the news right before bed last night, and when I was trying to sleep, bam!”—Paige put her hands to both sides of her head and gestured outward as if there was an explosion—“when I was under her car, crawling away, I looked back, and there she was on hands and knees. Our gazes locked. That’s when I saw her face and those big, scary eyes.”
“That must have been frightening.”
“I’m fine,” she said unconvincingly as she pushed herself to her feet.
“You didn’t tell your mom?”
“Nope. I should go now.”
Sawyer stood too. “Thanks for your help, Paige. If you remember anything else, will you call me?”
“Sure. I have your number.” Before she left, she turned back to Sawyer and said, “I do have a question for you.”
“What is it?”
“I’ve been keeping track of girls who have gone missing in and around Sacramento. If I text the names to you, can you tell me if any of them were ever found?”
“Send me the names. I’ll do what I can.”
“Okay,” Paige said before heading for the exit.
“Goodbye, Paige,” Sawyer said.
Paige seemed much older than her age. Like Paige’s mother probably did every chance she got, Sawyer kept her eyes on Paige as she climbed into her car, kept watching until she drove away.
As Sawyer gathered her things, she found herself once again looking at her notes:
Cora O’Neal: disappeared five years ago—Elk Grove
Carly Butler: disappeared three years ago—Sacramento
Paige Owens: near abduction five years ago—Carmichael, escaped
Danielle Woods: listed as a runaway four years ago—Sacramento
Riley Addison: disappeared one day ago—Sacramento
Cora and Carly had both received media attention, but neither had been found.
Paige Owens’s mother had kept the media at bay. And Danielle Woods was thought to be a runaway. What if she wasn’t a runaway? If Paige had disappeared five years ago, and Danielle Woods had been abducted, that would mean there could possibly have been five abductions in five years.
Could it be that young girls were being plucked right off the streets, never to be seen again, and nobody cared? The idea of it caused the fine hairs at the back of Sawyer’s neck to stand on end.
Palmer was right. Where was the media uproar?
Was anyone searching for them? Could Riley Addison’s case be connected to the others somehow?
And who the hell was the woman in the red sweater?
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Crew sat inside the 2012 Ford Econoline that Bug had purchased the year before just for this occasion. They were parked at the farthest corner of the parking lot at Green Meadows High School. Everyone had on their black wigs. They would wait to put on their masks.
Psycho had volunteered to drive and was positioned behind
the wheel, slumped back into the seat to stay hidden.
Malice occupied the passenger seat, and Bug and Lily were in the very back of the vehicle, hunched on the floor. The back seats had been removed to make room for the football players. Tasers would be used to subdue the men so that they could bind their arms and legs with heavy-duty zip ties. Their faces would be covered with burlap bags so they could breathe but couldn’t see.
Having graduated from Green Meadows High, Bug had received an invite along with an itinerary of the night’s events. Cocktails would be flowing freely from the moment a guest walked into the high school gym. Dinner was scheduled for 7:00 p.m. There would be dancing and plenty of room to mingle. Awards would be given throughout the night to the people who’d traveled the farthest, had the most kids, had the most unusual career, et cetera.
Psycho tapped her fingers against the steering wheel. “I thought Cleo said she would be here.”
“Something came up,” Bug replied. “She had to cancel.”
Lily snorted. “What happened to ‘all for one and one for all’?”
“It’s probably for the best,” Malice said. “There isn’t enough room for everyone as it is.”
“It’s ten o’clock,” Psycho said. “Time to send the first text.”
“Are you sure it’s going to look as if the text is from his friend?” Lily asked.
“Positive. All I needed was Tony Bryant’s mobile number, address, and date of birth to get the carrier to ‘port out’ his number to my burner.” Bug let out an audible breath. “Is everyone ready?”
They all answered in the affirmative.
Bug read the text: Surprise! I made it, after all. Remember what we used to do before class? I scored some quality shit. I’m in a van at the far end of the parking lot. Back doors are open.
“Okay,” Bug said. “The text has been sent.”
The next few minutes were spent in the quiet. Malice felt the beat of her heart pick up its pace.
“I hated high school,” Lily blurted, nerves seemingly getting the best of her. “Mean girls and bullies,” she went on. “Shitty teachers who didn’t want to be there any more than the students did. I wouldn’t go back and do it over for all the money in the world.”
“Not me,” Psycho said. “High school was everything. I was young and happy. I had friends and hope for the world. I would definitely go back in time and do it again, but I’d be ready for any piece of shit who ever tried to touch me,” she said in a voice that sent shivers down Malice’s spine. “I would carry a switchblade, and after college I would start a program to teach women how to defend themselves.”
Malice smiled. She liked the idea. A year ago, when they formed The Crew, Malice wished she hadn’t been so blinded by anger and bitterness. Because maybe then she would have suggested they form a group to coach and train young girls on how to protect themselves from predators. Give them a fighting chance.
Lily pointed at a shadow in the dark. “Look over there! Is that him?”
The back cargo doors were partially open.
Everyone wore black from head to toe. The van was parked where there were no cameras or streetlights. Whoever was approaching would not see them until it was too late.
“QB didn’t text me back,” Bug said. “Maybe he knows something is up.”
Psycho’s seat was pushed back as far as it would go. She put on her black cap and mask.
Malice kept her eye on the shadow coming their way. He passed by the last parking lot light with its high-intensity discharge, and for her that’s when things got real.
Earlier Bug had turned off the switch near the ceiling, mounted behind the driver’s door. She’d also removed the bulb from the rear light to keep the interior dark when the back doors opened.
Quietly, Malice slipped out of the van, leaving the passenger door partially open.
“Why is he stopping?” Lily asked.
There was a spark and then a small flame as the man lit a cigarette.
A collective sigh of relief sounded inside the van.
Malice put on her mask and made sure her legs and feet were hidden behind the van’s back tires as he continued toward them. If he walked up to the driver’s window, the plan was for her to step toward the cargo doors and call his name to get him to come to the back.
She could hear his every footfall against the pavement. She swallowed as she willed herself to stay calm. Everything would be okay. The man was a rapist. Time didn’t heal all wounds.
“Hey, Tony,” he called. “Are you there?”
He was walking toward the back of the van.
So far, so good. QB thought his friend Tony had sent the text. He’d fallen for the ploy, just as Bug had fallen for his ten years ago.
He was close now. Malice could see the smoke from his cigarette rise into the night and disappear. She didn’t move a muscle. She just waited. They all did.
“What the hell are you doing?” QB asked. He opened one side of the cargo doors, laughing now.
Lily lunged first. And then Bug.
Malice heard the buzz of the electrodes being fired as he was hit multiple times with a Taser. He cursed, grunted. His cigarette dropped to the pavement. They were on him fast, pulling him inside the van. No time was wasted. They all knew what to do. His ankles and wrists were zip-tied. Psycho leaned over the front seat, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and helped pull him closer to the front. His legs were stiff and straight, his muscles contracting as his body seized.
“How many times was he tased?” Malice asked, worried that they might have gone too far.
“Don’t worry,” Bug said through gritted teeth as she worked. “He’s fine.”
Once he was bound, they rolled him to the front, pushed him against the back of the driver and passenger seat, and zip-tied him to the metal frame underneath so he would have no way of escaping. Bug fastened duct tape over his mouth to keep him quiet, then covered his face with a burlap bag.
“Okay,” Bug said. “I’m sending another text.”
Malice inhaled. Cleo had been right to worry about attempting to abduct three grown men at one time. Adrenaline pumped wildly through her veins. QB groaned and tried to jerk his hands free from the metal bars beneath the seats as they waited. His name was Myles Davenport, but calling him “QB” made him less human and the shit going down less real.
From behind the van Malice kept her gaze focused on the path QB had taken a few minutes before. The cargo door was still ajar. So was the passenger door. When the grunts and groans coming from QB got louder, she poked her head inside the van. “Someone needs to quiet him.”
“He has tape over his mouth,” Lily said. “There’s not much else we can do.”
Psycho pulled a handkerchief along with a small plastic bottle from her sweatshirt pocket. She doused the cloth with liquid, put the bottle away, then twisted her body around and clamped the cloth over the front of the burlap bag where QB’s mouth and nose would be.
Silence followed.
“What did you do?” Lily asked.
Psycho shoved the handkerchief into her pocket. “Chloroform. You’re welcome.”
“Damn it!” Bug said, her gaze fixated on people coming their way.
Three human forms walked under the parking lot light.
Bug whistled through her teeth. “WR must have shown DL and his wife the text.”
“We’re fucked,” Lily said.
“There’s no way we can get all three of them at once,” Psycho said. “Besides, the woman had nothing to do with any of this. QB is going to have to be enough for tonight.” She started the engine.
Malice looked at Psycho. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? Get in!”
Malice jumped inside, shut the door, and buckled up.
“We’re not leaving!” Bug shouted.
The van lurched backward. The cargo doors swung open.
Malice kept her gaze on the three people approaching. The two men broke apart, ea
ch taking a different route. What were they doing?
Bug cried out for Psycho to stop, while Lily struggled to pull the cargo doors closed.
Malice knew Psycho well enough to sense that she’d made up her mind. She was getting out of here.
Psycho pressed her foot hard on the gas pedal. Tires screeched. The van lurched forward and up and over a cement curb. The undercarriage squealed as it scraped against cement. She wrenched the wheel to the left, almost hit a parked car.
As she picked up speed, one of the men jumped in front of the van and held his hands up. Malice raised her arms to cover her face. Psycho slammed on the brakes, shoved the stick into Reverse, and backed up, tires smoking before they all felt a bump.
Wondering if they had hit another curb, Malice looked over her shoulder just as Lily shut the back doors before the van shot forward again and headed to the right, clipping the back of a Jeep before leaving the parking lot.
“You hit someone,” Lily said, her voice shaking.
“It was a Jeep,” Psycho said, leaning forward, eyes on the road ahead of her.
“No,” Bug agreed. “It was a person. I saw him. I think it was DL.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Psycho said. “I didn’t hit anyone.”
“You fucking ran into the man because you don’t know how to stick to a plan,” Bug shouted, arms flailing. “You never stick to the plan. You just do whatever the fuck you want. As soon as you volunteered to drive, I knew it was a mistake.”
“You’re the one who had grandiose ideas of capturing the whole football team in one fell swoop,” Psycho shot back. “An idiot move if ever there was one.”
“Stop,” Malice said, her stomach queasy, her mind jumbled. “Yelling at each other isn’t going to help. We need to get to where we’re going and then finish this.”
“You’re right,” Lily said. “We all need to cool down, regroup. We’ll figure this out.”
Nothing was ever going to be okay, Malice thought as an uncomfortable quiet fell over them. She’d vowed to see this whole bloody mess to the end. And yet too often she found herself wondering if that were possible.