by Joy Ohagwu
“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.
Chapter Thirteen
We love Him because He first loved us. 1 John 4:19
* * *
“Bishop! Get Henry to put water in the kettle and heat it up.” Christmas Eve was not going as Stacy planned. “Abel, get me some towels. Susie, grab a bucket and clear the table in the common room. Quick.” Grunting, Stacy and Bishop lowered the girl onto the cleared table, and she used the tablecloth to cover her, leaving her injured leg exposed.
Bishop stared at his bloodied hands then at her. “Should we call 911?”
“No. No hospitals and no police. The girl asked for that before she passed out.” Stacy accepted a towel from Abel, one of their youngest residents, a runaway whom she was still convincing to return home after confirming that the person who made him feel unsafe—the live-in nanny—was gone. He agreed to return home in about a month.
As Abel ran into Henry on his way into the common room, the older boy grunted. “Watch where you’re going, Abel.”
“You too! Don’t talk to me like that,” Abel shot back.
“Guys, cut it out. I need some help here. You both come back here.” Stacy switched on overhead lighting. Getting the girl’s layered clothing off would be a task. The boys couldn’t be here for that. But they could help roll her to her side so Stacy could extract the object stuck in her leg. She suppressed the urge to start shaking as she began to doubt her ability to take care of the girl. “The hospital seems like a good idea.”
But the girl had been adamant. She’d seen the fear in her eyes, so engaging the hospital may not be good.
What if she made a mistake?
Or hurt her more?
“I think you should call the cops if she said not to call them,” Henry said, towel in hand.
“Wait, what if she escaped from danger and needs a place to hide?” Abel folded his arms across his chest and cocked his head up. “What? Don’t look at me like that. I mean, I watched it in a movie. Maybe that’s what happened to her.”
“Henry, please go to the pharmacy across the street from the other side of the park. I know the pharmacist there. He might be our next best option. Please tell him to come with you, and that it is an emergency.” Stacy thought fast. “Bishop, go and look out in the park. Sit there like you’re taking in some fresh air and watch to see if anyone seems like they’re looking for someone.”
Grabbing a towel, she soaked it in hot water, blew it cool, and began dabbing at the area around the wound. “In the meantime, Susie and I will help her out of her clothes, clean her up, and have her ready for when the pharmacist arrives. Go.” As the boys left, leaving her and Susie alone, they began peeling the girl’s sweaty clothes off her.
Lord Jesus, please help us help her. If trouble led her here, please keep that trouble away. Stacy easily sterilized the wound on her leg around the object protruding from it, but a wound on the girl’s arm caused her heart to skip a beat. “It’s a gunshot wound.”
Susie’s face blanched, and her hands clawed at Stacy’s arm as she swayed.
“She was shot?” Susie asked. The fifteen-year-old orphan had been shot earlier in the year when she’d refused to join a gang and instead fled her foster home. “Oh no.” Her face turned white, and beads of sweat rose on her clammy-looking forehead.
She staggered, nearly falling onto the armoire behind her, but Stacy caught her and settled her on a chair. “It’s alright, sweetie. I’m sure this is hard for you. But I need you to be strong. Remember, she’s the one in bad shape. She needs our help. You can help me until the pharmacist gets here. Okay?” As Stacy prayed Susie the emotional strength, relief spurred through her when Susie rose from the chair, though gulping too.
A quick nod tumbled her curly brown hair over her shoulders. “Yes, I can help. After all, someone helped me too.”
“Catch your breath first, and when you feel strong enough, come and help me. Meanwhile, I’m going to try to see if the bullet is still in there.” Trying not to jostle the girl’s wounds, Stacy fit a gown over her, easing the way for any help she’d get. Susie joined her when Stacy struggled to get the girl onto her back. They were both breathless by the time a rap on the front door drew her attention. “Come in.”
The scuffle of feet reached her ears, but she didn’t pause until they came closer. “Hi.” She offered her best smile, glancing at her bloodied gloved hand. “I know this looks terrible.” She explained the encounter. “I wasn’t sure I was capable of helping her, but I’ve done the best I can. The children helped a lot too. However, I don’t think I can extract the object from her leg.”
The pharmacist slid on a pair of gloves and opened a medical bag. “I took a few surgical classes when I started med school before switching to pharmacy. I can help.”
Stacy stepped aside and let him work.
“How long ago did you find her?” He checked her vital signs. “She’s alive and has a strong pulse. I don’t think blood loss led to her passing out. It could be trauma or shock. I’ll see about the, uh, object. I usually don’t do this, but I’d rather help than let her die. But, if it looks bad, I have to involve the hospital.”
Stacy held pressure near the wound. “I pray it doesn’t get to that point. The person who shot her may be waiting for hospital reports to alert them.”
“Please get me some hot water.” He nodded toward the supplies she’d had the kids gather. “You already have clean towels. If you have any alcohol, please get that too. And some bandages.”
“We can do those. We’re also strangers to her situation, so we’re trying to help until we can learn more.” Stacy sent the boys for her first aid kit as well. “What can I do to help?”
The pharmacist offered his first smile before getting to work. “Take a walk. You look tense.”
Stacy exhaled. “Sorry. I had a lot to deal with before the girl collapsed into my hands. God has sure filled my hands with enough prayer points to last me a while. I’ll go get the food out of the oven and have the boys and Susie eat. They may have better appetites than I have.”
She prayed for the girl once more, asking the Lord for help and wisdom for the pharmacist. She’d rather not break her promise to the girl unless she had to.
Soon, she had the boys and Susie seated in the dining room, thankfully adjacent, not opposite to the common room. It was also closer to the kitchen. “I’m sure this wasn’t how you pictured spending Christmas Eve.” She attempted a smile but didn’t bother when it faltered. “I didn’t either.” She told them in detail about her encounter with the wounded girl at the mailbox. Then about the letter they’d received, as well as how Bishop had gotten in trouble and was
out on bail—and had received Jesus into his heart. “That’s the good news. Since the new owners insist, I should tell you all I accepted the request for us to vacate and shut down operations at the end of the next year.”
Silence met her announcement.
She forced the tears at bay. “I didn’t plan for things to end like this. But, except for Henry, the rest of you should already be gone by the end of the year. Henry, I will work with social services to place you in a good foster home.”
His shoulders fell. She drew close, squeezed those shoulders, then released him. “I can’t guarantee you’ll have it the same as here, but you can make up your mind to adjust no matter how things look, knowing it won’t last forever. I will always be there for you the best I can from a distance. Okay?”
He blew out a sigh. “I guess so. I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Her throat squeezed tight, and she pressed a hand to her heart. “I don’t see a choice, so, no, sweetie. But I trust that God is in control and He knows what He is doing.”
“Mrs. Black?” The pharmacist waved with a bloodied hand, stepping into her view alone as she was closest to the common room’s entrance.
“Okay, you all eat. I’ll be back.” She hadn’t eaten either, but no way could she get food into her belly with that bloody sight.
She reached him in a few strides. “Wow.” A piece of metal rested on some soiled towels on a chair.
“I took that out of her leg. I also disinfected the wound and bandaged it up. She may need an IV, and I’d better return to the pharmacy.” He shed the bloodied gloves. “I don’t think she’s in too bad a shape medically. However, she’ll need some weeks for recovery.” He wadded up the gloves. “I also suggest you get in touch with law enforcement as soon as you can to inform them about her in case she’s a missing person. Clearly, someone shot her. By law, all GSWs—that’s gunshot wounds—need to be reported. So we would be breaking the law to withhold such information.” He wiped his hands on a towel, cleaning up the splotches on his wrists and forearms enough to return to his store without attracting attention, then rolled back down his sleeves. “Plus, we don’t want them to find her, and, if she has living relatives, they could be worried. We need to think about them too. I think I’ve done all I can for the moment, but I’ll return to the pharmacy for the IV, antibiotics, and pain medications for when she wakes up. I’ll be back.”