“I’m going to go in and check on her, talk to her, and then I’ll see about getting you in to see her for a few minutes. Is that all right?”
Shawn No Last Name, because he steadfastly refused to give her one, glanced around at his friends, and once they nodded their consent, he said, “All right.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Now did you bring some clothes like I asked?”
“Yeah.” Shawn turned, and the goth chick with diamond studs for dimples handed him a black book bag, another staple of a runaway’s uniform. He handed the bag to Castillo.
“Thanks.”
He nodded. “Just . . .” He hesitated. “Just tell her that we’re out here. Okay?”
“Of course.”
“I mean—it’s important for her to know that we never gave up looking for her.” He swiped at his raccoon eyes and struggled to pull it together.
Castillo smiled again, stretched out her hand to touch his shoulder, but the kid flinched and moved back. His reaction surprised her. Had he been abused in the past too? Her gaze darted to the others. Had they? The thread bonding the group slowly materialized before her eyes.
“I’ll be back,” the lieutenant said.
Three doors down from the waiting room, she rapped on a closed hospital room door and then stuck her head inside before receiving an invitation to enter. “May I come in?”
An older African American gentleman with a head full of salt-and-pepper hair swiveled in her direction. “Sure. Come on in.” He pushed up his thick, black-rimmed glasses, and looked relieved that she’d arrived. One glance over to his new patient hinted that the young girl wasn’t cooperating. If she was anything like her friend Shawn, Castillo sympathized. He wasn’t too big on providing personal information either.
Perched on the edge of the examination table, dressed in an open-back hospital gown, was one of Avery’s last living survivors, Bree No Last Name.
“How’s it going?” Castillo asked, attempting eye contact and failing.
The doctor sighed and then answered for his mute patient. “All right—considering. She’s definitely a fighter. With the right care, I have no doubts that she’ll pull through all of this—in time.”
Castillo smiled at his words—but Bree didn’t.
“Do you mind if I have a few words alone with her?” the lieutenant asked. “I just need to give her this and ask her a few questions.”
The doctor hesitated. “Sure. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Lieutenant Castillo nodded, but kept her gaze locked on Bree while the doctor exited.
The young girl lifted her guarded gaze to Castillo’s, though she kept her face expressionless.
Castillo’s smile grew heavy. “Hello. Do you remember me? I’m Gizella Castillo. We met—I mean, I know that a lot has happened in the last few hours. You may not . . .” At the girl’s blank expression, Castillo stopped and searched for another way to engage. “Your friends brought you a change of clothes.” She stepped toward Bree with the book bag outstretched.
A light lit within the girl’s dark eyes. “Shawn? He’s here?” The girl’s deep, raspy voice surprised the lieutenant. She sounded older than her estimated fifteen years.
“Yeah.” Castillo nodded and pushed up a smile. “He wanted me to tell you that they never gave up looking for you. And it’s true. He and his friends were a godsend on this case. They worked the streets better than anyone on my team.”
The corners of Bree’s lips lifted, completely transforming her stony face into one of beauty. Bree No Last Name will be a knockout when she’s older. Her mental state will likely be up in the air, Castillo thought. Bree took the book bag from Castillo’s hand.
“Do you mind answering a few questions for me?” Castillo asked.
The girl’s smile fell.
“I know that this is hard for you—but it’s very important.”
“Why? He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“Avery? Yes. But—”
“Isn’t that house of horrors enough evidence of what kind of a sick fuck he was?”
“It goes a long way in proving that. Yes.”
“Then I fail to see what else I can possibly add.”
Castillo took a deep breath and countered, “You can tell me about you. What’s your full name? How old are you? How did you get in Craig Avery’s clutches?”
The teenager’s gaze dropped and skittered away.
“Why don’t you want to tell me who you are?” Castillo challenged. “Do you have a record or something?”
Silence.
“Are you—and your friends—runaways? You still running away from something?”
Castillo knew she’d hit a nerve when the teenager’s jawline clenched and hardened. “Surely . . . whatever you’re running from isn’t any worse than what you just went through. Your parents have to be worried sick.”
“You don’t know shit about me—about my parents, and frankly it’s none of your goddamned business,” the teenager snapped.
“Piss and vinegar,” Castillo noted, eyeballing the girl and struggling to come up with another way to reach her. A rap on the door interrupted her.
Shawn poked his head inside. “Doctor said that it was all right for us to come in for a few minutes.”
Bree lit up and jumped off the exam table. “Shawn!”
Shawn rushed in and zoomed past the lieutenant to embrace his friend. The moment he did, the tough girl act collapsed and she broke down crying.
“I’ll just give you guys a few minutes alone,” Castillo said.
The friends either didn’t hear or purposely ignored her. She supposed that it didn’t really matter. She backpedaled out of the room until she bumped into a couple of the other teenagers.
“Sorry. Excuse me.”
They poured in and rushed to embrace Bree back into their eclectic group. There were plenty of tears to go around. Castillo, generally a tough cookie herself, felt her eyes moisten. After completing her escape, Castillo went in search of Bree’s attending doctor. She’d hoped to get a brief rundown of Bree’s injuries. Unable to spot him in the hallway, she instead checked on the other two girls that had been found in Avery’s homemade dungeon.
Tomi Lehane, a seventeen-year old girl who had gone missing after partying at a teen hotspot one night, broke down into tears of gratitude the moment the lieutenant entered the room. She had no trouble or hesitancy in describing the hell she’d endured with Avery. His sick fetishes and his often fatal cruelty. Tomi had been with Avery the longest and had feared, before Castillo’s team showed up, that her days were numbered. Eventually, Castillo’s line of questioning worked its way to Bree. That was the first time that Tomi drew a blank.
“You know. Black girl. Tall, long-hair—”
“Oh. Her.” Tomi licked her lips. “There’s not much to tell about her. She’d only been there I guess for like five—maybe six months? I don’t know. It was hard keeping up with time. But she’s . . . a strange one. She rarely ever spoke—which got under Avery’s skin.”
“What do you mean?”
Tomi shrugged. “I mean no matter what Avery did to her, he couldn’t break her. She never begged, she never screamed. Shalisa, the other girl, and I had often whispered between ourselves that . . .”
Lieutenant Castillo cocked her head. “That what?”
“That something just wasn’t right with her. You know . . . mentally.”
“How do you mean?”
Tomi shrugged. “I don’t know. It was like she was there physically but not mentally. Avery could do almost anything and she never gave in—except for one night. I definitely heard sniffling—crying. Real soft like. But it was just the one time. Like I said, Shalisa and I thought it was strange—but it wasn’t long before we were jealous.”
“Jealous?” Castillo asked.
“Yeah. The ability to mentally check out like that? I would have given anything to be able to do that.”
Castillo nodded and then thanked Tomi for her time.
Shalisa Young pretty much told the same story. Craig Avery had grabbed her out of the parking lot of a busy shopping center in broad daylight. Her memory of the initial incident was fuzzy. She was sure that Avery had snuck up behind her and placed something over her mouth and nose to knock her out. The next thing that she remembered was waking inside that basement.
“Shalisa!” A frantic woman raced through the door.
“Momma!” Shalisa hopped off the examination table, and mother and child ran toward each other, full throttle.
“My baby!”
Their bodies crashed in the center of the room, and then their arms wrapped tight around each other before the real waterworks flowed.
Lieutenant Castillo made her exit.
Upon returning to the hallway, Castillo caught a glimpse of the attending doctor back at the nurses’ station.
“Doctor!” She rushed forward.
“Lieutenant,” he greeted her. “What can I do for you?”
“I want to talk to you about the survivors—about their status.”
“Health-wise?” He lifted a brow. “Their medical records are private. You know that.”
“Of course but—”
“But I can tell you that each of the girls will physically pull through. A lot of cuts and bruises, but nothing life threatening.”
“And mentally?”
“Likely a lot of counseling will be needed—probably for a long time.”
Castillo nodded, but she had more questions about one girl in particular. “About Bree . . . did you ever get a last name out of her?”
The doctor heaved a long, frustrated sigh. “I didn’t get anything out of her. Bree, huh? That’s more than I got. We marked her down as Jane Doe.”
“She didn’t speak to you?”
“Not a peep. She barely made a sound during the entire examination.”
“Huh. I guess I got lucky there for a few minutes.”
“I’d say. I’m concerned about her the most. Not just mentally but . . .” His voice trailed off before he looked around and then pulled her aside. “How long was she with this maniac, do you know?”
“About six months.”
The doctor shook his head.
“Why?”
“She has a lot of old scars. A lot of old fractures and breaks. Bones that hadn’t healed properly.”
“So she has been abused long before now?”
“We’re talking about years,” he said, looking over the top of his glasses.
Lieutenant Castillo nodded while more pieces of the puzzle came together, but the number of pieces quadrupled.
“I guess I better go back in there and give this another shot.”
“Good luck,” the doctor said. “I have a feeling that you’re going to need it.”
“Thanks.” She drew a deep breath and marched back toward the mysterious Bree’s room. After her customary quick rap on the door, she entered without invitation—but this time, the examination room was empty. Bree and her band of misfits were long gone.
6
Six years later
Just do it. Jump.
Abrianna pulled her gaze from the September blood moon glowing over the city of Washington, D.C. and allowed it to drift to the streets below. The vertigo was instant. She wobbled on her feet and inched closer to the edge. It was cold for this time of year. The angry wind whipped the hem of her short dress. The temptation to step off and fly down into sweet oblivion was not new. In fact, it came every year at this time. Could she do it tonight? Or would she punk out like she always did? Her curiosity about whether she’d feel anything when she hit concrete was disturbing and morbid—morbid because the hope was that she would.
She desperately needed to feel something. Something real. Old voices that she’d spent years running away from became a crescendo inside and punched through the thick, drug-induced fog in her head, rattling every brain cell until a sob bubbled up in her throat and tears splashed her face.
The vertigo worsened, and another inch of the building’s ledge disappeared. Through her silver pumps, she felt one toe cross over the line to freedom. The rest of her body clung to life. If she could just tilt forward, she could . . .
“Bree!”
Gasping, Abrianna startled. One silver pump caught. Her ankle twisted beneath her, and her balance disappeared.
She fell. At last: freedom.
The drop was shortened by a sudden painful grip on her right arm.
“I got you,” Shawn cried.
She looked up, without relief or gratitude, at her savior.
Shawn, her best friend, wasn’t a big guy. He wasn’t particularly strong either. But he was determined, grunting and struggling to hold on to her. “Give me your other hand!”
Shaking her head, Abrianna willed him to let her go, but she couldn’t push the words out her mouth.
“Give. Me. Your. Hand!” Veins bulged along the sides of his red face, while fear brightened his blue eyes. “Please,” he added, eyes pleading.
I’m being a selfish bitch again.
It was his fear that Abrianna responded to. The thought of hurting him moved her more than the impending harm to herself. That was her Kryptonite. She couldn’t stand the idea of hurting others, especially the few that she called friends. At last, she gave him her other hand.
The next minute was pure agony—for both of them. The rough stone building did a number on her thighs and legs, and Shawn almost dropped her three times. When she was finally up on the roof, they collapsed, huffing and chugging in huge gulps of air. After several seconds, Shawn sat up and looked her over.
“What the fuck, Bree?”
With no answer, Abrianna turned away, where the wind transformed her tears into icicles.
“Every fucking year,” Shawn complained, frustrated. “I thought things were getting better?”
Silence.
“Is it the buzzing?” he inquired.
Abrianna groaned. She didn’t like talking about the constant buzzing inside her head. A buzzing that had lingered since the night she’d been led out of that maniac’s basement. She didn’t like talking about any of the changes in her body from Avery’s drug cocktails.
“Maybe . . . we should really look into getting you some help,” he suggested gently. “Professionally, I mean—”
“I wasn’t going to jump,” she lied. “You startled me.”
“You shitting me?” Shawn asked, incredulous. “You blaming me now?”
“No.” Her gaze dropped to the asphalt roof.
Shawn backhanded his own tears and smudged his mascara-coated lashes. He’s too pretty to be a boy, and too loyal for his own damn good. “They say it gets better. We’ll get through this together—like always.” His pink lips curled into a smile as he swung his arm around her shoulders. “You believe that, don’t you?”
“You know damn well that I don’t believe shit that nobody tells me.” She smiled.
He chuckled, mainly to lighten the mood. “Seriously. Are you good?”
She nodded, though they knew she was still lying.
“Are you still saving money to leave me?” he asked.
“Yeah, but I keep telling you that you can come with me.”
He shook his head.
“Aren’t you sick of D.C.?”
“No. Not really. It’s home.”
“I’ve never felt like I’ve ever had a real home. But I’d love to find one in some place like the French Riviera.”
“Then you better start taking French lessons, too,” he joked.
The roof’s door exploded open, and their motley crew of friends stumbled out, giggling and laughing.
“There’s the birthday girl.” Draya pointed. “Bree!”
One look and Abrianna knew that Draya was as high as she was—only happy.
“What are you guys doing up here? The party is downstairs!” Draya staggered over, grinning as wide as a Cheshire cat, and she didn’t spill a drop from her red cup. Then sh
e forced Shawn and Abrianna apart by throwing her arms around them for the hundredth bear hug of the night. “Oh, my best friend is finally twenty-one. No more fake IDs. You’re legal now. You’re a grown woman,” Draya bragged.
Abrianna carved out a big smile, but struggled to absorb her girl’s happy vibes.
Draya slurred, “How does it feel?”
“Good,” Abrianna said, wanting her girl to ease up on her neck. “I can’t breathe, Draya.”
“Oops.” She stumbled backwards, still smiling, eyes twinkling. “Come on, girl. Tamera’s late ass has finally showed up with that damn lopsided cake. Everybody is waiting on you.” Draya looped her arm through Abrianna’s and tugged.
Abrianna stepped on a hard pebble and jerked back. “Ouch! Wait.”
“Hey! Where the hell is your other shoe?” Julian’s loud ass gestured his plastic cup toward her feet and splashed his drink all over Abrianna’s leg.
“Damn it, Jules!”
“My bad.” Giggling, he threw his arms around her too. “But a little vodka has never hurt nobody.”
They pulled her forward. Abrianna hobbled until she was given enough room to pull off her other pump. As they stumbled down the stairs, their laughter amplified.
Submitting to the moment, Abrianna laughed along with everyone else. They heard the music from Abrianna’s apartment long before they arrived on her floor. And as they approached, bursts of laughter and raucous chatter told her just how much fun the guests were still having without her.
“We found the birthday girl,” Draya shouted, shoving the door open.
The crowd cheered, tossed confetti, and blew party whistles and kazoos loud enough to wake the dead.
Abrianna struck a pose and threw up her arms as an invitation to celebrate her presence. Feeding her ego, the cheers and applause continued until the crowd broke out into an off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.”
The crowd parted as Tamera, holding a not-quite-square-shaped sheet cake with burning candles and the number twenty-one in the center, waltzed down the center toward the birthday girl.
Abrianna’s tears were automatic—despite the fact that it wasn’t really her birthday. It was her deceased brother’s that she’d claimed as her own.
Conspiracy Page 4