The Sleeping Girls

by James Hunt

  “During your counseling sessions, do you remember a young girl by the name of Katy Matthews?” Susan asked though she didn’t expect the man to answer, at least not with the answer that she wanted to hear. But to her surprise, he did.

  “I do,” Foster said. “Lovely girl, great parents too. I spent a lot of time with them, talking to them about how they could help Katy when she finished the programs here.” He nodded and then looked down at his hands, twisting his fingertips. “When they came back to tell me she’d taken off again, I told them that I’d get in touch with them if I saw her or she came back in.” He lifted his face, looking to Susan again. “I never did see her though. It’s a shame.”

  “What’s a shame?” Susan asked.

  “She’s dead,” Foster answered, looking at Susan as if the answer was clear as day.

  “And who told you that information, Mr. Foster?” Susan asked.

  “I mean, I assumed that’s why you’re here,” Foster answered. “A cop doesn’t come down here unless they’ve been able to track a crime or a body back to our shelter.”

  “And does that happen often?” Susan gestured to the pamphlets. “Or can I just look up those stats in the brochure?”

  The dig was meant to sting him, and she was glad to see that it elicited a reaction. Vanity was the easiest way to pressure someone into giving you what you wanted, and it was the quickest way to see into someone’s true self. You attacked their person or something associated with their person, and you’d find out real quick how they would react.

  “As I’ve said before, I am very proud of the work we do here,” Foster said. “Is there something specific that I can help you with? Because I have other things that need to be done.”

  “I’d like to see a list of all your employees, volunteers, and college interns,” Susan said. “Their schedules and contact information too.”

  “I can assure you, Officer, that my staff and volunteers are thoroughly screened,” Foster said. “I don’t think that any of them would be capable of murder.”

  “I actually wasn’t thinking that,” Susan said. “But I appreciate the tip.” She stood. “I’d also like to take a look around, talk with any of the residents that are willing to speak with me.”

  Foster remained seated, drumming his fingers on the desk. He glowered at her, and she knew that while he might have built a career out of helping people, the man wasn’t used to taking orders. “Of course. That will give me time to provide you those names.”

  “Thanks.” Susan walked to the door and stepped out into the hallway, feeling Foster’s eyes boring into the back of her skull, and she shut the door behind her. “Prick.”

  Susan walked the last few feet to the end of the hall, which curved to the left, and it looked like it connected to the other hallway that she passed. Susan followed the path and found three large rooms on the back end, two of which were locked, but the last door was open, and Susan heard a voice drifting from inside. A woman’s voice.

  “You have to look at yourself every day,” she said. “Even when you don’t want to. Even when you want to bury your mind under a mountain of blow, or heroin, or whatever you can find in the medicine cabinet. You have to look, because every single one of us is an addict, and addicts don’t like to face the hard choices. And the hardest choice for us is to stop.”

  Susan stopped in the doorway, peered inside, and saw nine people gathered around in a circle of chairs. The woman speaking was on the far side, facing the entryway, and was addressing the folks that surrounded her.

  “And it’s okay to not want to look,” she said. “But it’s not okay to not do it. Remember that. Remember that it’s okay to feel ugly because most of us are ugly at some point in time. We just need to remember that we’re stronger than looking away.” She paused for effect, letting her final bits of wisdom sink in, and then she clapped her hands. “That’s it for today, guys. Thank you to everyone who shared. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  A slow procession began of the folks leaving, a few of them tossing glares to Susan on their way past, but she also received a few smiles, most of them from the male persuasion. Susan waited until the room emptied and then entered as the woman started collecting the chairs.

  “They make you put all those back yourself?” Susan asked.

  “Comes with the territory.” She kept working, not looking over at Susan as she stacked the first chairs on top of one another.

  “Are you Monica Willet?”

  “Glad to see those billboards are working.” Monica finally looked up from stacking the chairs and flashed a smile. “And they didn’t even get my good side.” She laughed, snorting at her own joke, but then her eyes fell to the badge that hung around Susan’s neck, and the laughter disappeared. “What happened?”

  It seemed that cops only brought bad news when they came around. “I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

  Monica sighed and then picked up two chairs from the pile. “Might as well be comfortable while we chat.”

  Once the chairs were set up, the pair sat down, and Monica grabbed a cup of coffee, offering one to Susan while she was up.

  “No thanks,” Susan said. “I’ve already got the caffeine jitters.”

  “I hear that,” Monica said, dumping a packet of sugar into her cup.

  Susan’s shakes weren’t from the caffeine. The withdrawals were starting to hit. She wasn’t sure how much longer she was going to last until she was able to get another bump, but she hoped the omission would buy her some time.

  “Did you ever work with a girl by the name of Katy Matthews?” Susan asked after Monica sat down. “She would have been a patient here six months ago.”

  With the cup to her lips, Monica frowned and then shook her head. “No, I don’t remember her. Do you have a picture?”

  The Polaroids were still Susan’s jacket pocket, but she knew that wasn’t what Monica had meant.

  “No,” Susan answered. “The victim was a young girl, late teens, pretty.”

  Monica scoffed, shaking her head. “You just named our biggest clientele. The city is overrun with girls who have run away from home and got caught up with some bad folks. They come in here looking for a way out, and then a few days later they’re gone. Crawling back to the abusers who put them on the streets and work them for money. It’s sad, really. Very sad.”

  “You get a lot of young girls here? Underage girls?” Susan asked.

  Monica nodded and slumped lower in her chair. “More than I want to see. But I’m sure you’ve seen what it’s like out there.”

  “More than you know,” Susan said, then gestured to the scars she saw on Monica’s arm, the same kind of scars that dotted the inside of Susan's jacket. “How long have you been clean?”

  Monica lifted her arm, taking a look at the scars as she rotated her arm. “Lucky thirteen.” She dropped the arm and then sipped the coffee, grimacing as she put the cup down. “Damn thing isn’t even warm anymore.”

  “Do you like working here?” Susan asked.

  “I like the work, doesn’t matter where I do it, so long as I’m helping to get people clean.”

  “What about Shawn Foster. Do you like working with him?”

  Monica smirked and then crossed her arms. “The golden boy. I’ll say that he has done a lot of good for this place. Helped us get more funding, updated facilities. But I’m sure you’ve read the pamphlet.”

  “Do you have a problem with Mr. Foster?”

  Monica shrugged. “He comes off as a nice guy, but I think from a counselor standpoint, he gets a little too involved with some of our patients. He doesn’t always need to be involved the way he does with some folks.”

  “You’re talking about the young girls that come through,” Susan said.

  Monica shrugged. “Look, I’ve never seen him do anything inappropriate, and no complaints have ever been made, but…” She looked past Susan and at the door, making sure the coast was clear. “I was here late one night when he first took o
ver. I still had the key to the main office that has access to files. It was late, and I didn’t think he’d still be in there, so I used my key to unlock the door. When I opened it he was inside, zipping up his pants and closing a file on his desk. He was flushed, a little sweaty.”

  “You think he was masturbating?” Susan asked. “Whose file was it?”

  “I don’t know,” Monica answered. “He put it away before I could get a look, and then walked out of the office embarrassed. We never talked about it, and after that, he changed the locks, and I didn’t get a new key.”

  “Did you report him?” Susan asked.

  “For what?” Monica scrunched her face up. “For me thinking he was masturbating to a picture of one of our patients? I didn’t have any proof other than what I thought he was doing, and I liked working here, and I wasn’t in the mood to stir trouble up with the new boss. And like I said, I’ve never seen him do anything inappropriate to patients or staff.”

  “Is the other full-time employee here today? Kevin?”

  “No, he’s off, but he’ll be in tomorrow. He works Friday through Sunday, and I work Monday through Thursday.”

  “You guys always have the same shift?”

  “Ever since he started working here. He said he likes working the weekend, but I think Marsh does it just because he only has to work three days. He doesn’t have kids or a family or anything.”

  “You have kids?” Susan asked.

  Monica smiled. “Six and four. Best things I ever did besides get sober.”

  Susan had never considered herself to be a mother, but somehow, sitting there next to a woman who had come from life as hard as anything that Susan had seen or experience in her own life, she thought that maybe… one day.

  “I appreciate your time,” Susan said.

  “Of course,” Monica said. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help with the girl.”

  Susan walked back into the hallway and finished following the U-shaped pattern of the living quarters, which dumped her back into the lobby. A few more people entered through the door. It was a young man and an older woman. Looked like mother and son.

  The mother carried a bag and then dropped it into a bin before she walked away. The boy then hugged the mother, and the pair walked away.

  Susan moved over to inspect the bin and saw that it was a drop-off area for drugs, paraphernalia, and prescription bottles.

  “Find anything helpful?”

  Susan turned around, finding Shawn Foster standing smugly with a folder in his hand. “Is that the list?”

  “Yes.” Foster extended the file for her to take but kept his hold on it when she tried to pull it away. “You know, all walks of life come through our doors. Anyone can fall victim to addiction.” He leaned closer. “Even the ones who are supposed to protect us.”

  Susan yanked the folder harder out of his grip, and Foster leaned back, still sporting that smug smile, which drove her mad. “And some people think that they can hide behind good deeds, but they can’t hide in that world forever.”

  Susan headed toward the door, and then glanced down at the list on her way out, trying to figure out who she needed to talk to next.

  Before she had a chance to request another Uber, her phone rang. It was Allie. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Listen, I know that you were asking last night if there was anything weird going on, and I heard about something that went down last night over in Box Town,” Allie said.

  Susan perked up. “What happened?”

  13

  I watched her through the small window. She had woken a little while ago, and she had started screaming. She screamed so loud and so hard that her face turned a bright red, and then she cried and curled up into a small ball on the cot and lay very still.

  The window was unique because it allowed me to see them without them seeing me. The girl came up to the window when she was screaming, pounding her fists against the door, begging to be let out, begging to be set free. Their faces were so close together, only separated by inches.

  Katy had done that too, and I had never felt closer to anything in those few moments. Because I could see what they could not. They needed help. It was nice to watch the girls, to see how much pain they were in. It was a reminder of just how important this kind of work was. It was the reason I risked so much.

  This girl was far more dramatic than Katy was, but I didn’t mind. Each rescued addict was different, each of them with their own nightmares that they were trying to escape from. But her pain and fear wouldn’t last much longer. I could see the path to her freedom, and now that she had finally settled down, it was time to give her a choice.

  I unlocked the door and opened it slowly, peeking inside. Ginny quickly sat upright, retreating to the corner of the room and curling herself up into a ball.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  I shut the door behind me, walking to her slowly.

  Ginny trembled like a beaten dog, those once-piercing blue eyes now faded and wide with fear. It was time to return the glint in her eyes or let it be gone forever.

  “You’ve been running for a long time,” I said, stopping in the middle of the room, not wanting to crowd her. She was a different flower than Katy. “But you don’t have to run any longer.”

  Ginny stared at me for a long time, and then glanced to the door, then around the room. Her eyes twitched so quickly I wondered if she could even see anything in the place at all.

  “Am I some kind of prisoner?” Ginny asked.

  I smiled, shaking my head. “No.” I knelt, my knee popping as I lowered myself so I could speak to her at eye level. “You don’t remember that little girl you used to be, do you?”

  Ginny frowned, still trying to scoot back even farther, though the wall wouldn’t let her do it. “What are you talking about? What kind of sick freak are you?”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “No, no, no. You don’t understand. I’m trying to help you remember. I want you to remember.” I gestured to the small room. “That way you don’t have to stay here anymore. Don’t you want to leave? Don’t you want to go home?”

  Ginny was quiet for a moment, and then she nodded.

  “I know the pain inside of you. It’s like the pain inside of me. It controls us, tells us to do bad things, to harm ourselves. But it’s a pain that every single person has inside of him. The pain is different for each person, but we all have it. The only difference between the other people in this world and us is they have figured out how to deal with their pain in a healthy, acceptable way. Make sense?”

  Ginny slowly lowered her defensive stance, but she remained in the corner, not willing to get any closer to me. “Is this some kind of rehab place? Did I—” She swallowed. “Did someone bring me here?”

  I paused, not wanting to lie to her, but I wanted her to see, to understand that I was here to help and that all of this was good. “Yes. Your parents brought you here.”

  Ginny frowned, staring at the floor. “My parents?” She whispered, and then looked at me again. “My parents found me?”

  “They miss you, Ginny,” I said. “They want you to come home. They’ve been worried about you. They don’t want you to keep hurting yourself like this.”

  Tears formed in Ginny’s eyes and her lower lip quivered. “I don’t know how to stop.”

  I smiled, nodding. “I know. But I can help you.” I reached into my pocket, and she startled. “No, it’s okay. It’s nothing that can hurt you. Not if you don’t want it to.” I removed the drug, along with the tubing and needle, and placed them on the floor between us. “This has been the cause of your trouble for so long. It’s been the reason why you’ve struggled to find any peace in the world.”

  Ginny stared at the drugs, her eyes dilated, and she suddenly stopped shaking, becoming eerily still.

  “I know that what you want more than anything is to be a good daughter,” I said. “I know that you want to go home and be with the family that you left b
ehind. But the only way you can get home is to give this up.” I gestured to the drugs. “Because this is the enemy. This is a bad thing. Not you, and not me.”

  Ginny couldn’t take her eyes off the kit on the floor. She was transfixed, and I knew that this was the only way.

  I stood, leaving the kit on the ground, and returned to the door.

  “Wait, what are you doing?”

  I stopped at the door then turned around, grabbing the handle. “You have to make a choice, Ginny. You can either give up the drugs and return to your life, or you can let it destroy you. But it has to be your choice. It is the only way for you to truly be free.”

  I opened the door and closed it, locking it behind me. I stared back through the one-way glass and watched Ginny, hoping that she would make the right choice, hoping that she would be able to give up her addiction.

  It would be a difficult journey for her, one that was painful to watch. But like her, I needed to atone for my vices, and watching her suffer was my penance. Because while I wanted nothing more than to return her home to her family alive, it wasn’t my choice to make. It was hers. All I could do was sit and watch.

  14

  The moment Allie told Susan that a girl had been taken from Box Town, Susan called Palmer to let him know. When he didn’t answer, Susan left a voicemail.

  “It’s Susan,” she said. “I just got a tip about a possible abduction of a girl over in Box Town by the docks. I don’t have a name yet, but the description I received puts the victim as female and late teens, early twenties. I’m heading over there to check it out now.”

  Susan hung up and then requested an Uber, angry that she didn’t have her own car. She flashed her badge to the driver when they arrived and instructed him to speed.

  Thankfully the driver was good, and Susan tossed a twenty in the cup holder for his trouble after they arrived at the docks. “Appreciate it.”

  The chill coming off of the bay sent a shiver down Susan’s back, and she buttoned up her coat, concealing the badge around her neck.