by Amanda Tru
“She’s coming after you,” Josh breathed quickly. “She’s crazy. That’s what happened to…”
“I need you to stop talking right this instant and step slowly away from the patient.”
Grace was standing in the doorway, her gun drawn. She stood poised, staring at Josh without blinking.
He took a step back from Cosette’s bed, raising his hands. “It’s okay.” He spoke slowly, as if talking to a young child. “I’m not here to do anything wrong. I came to give Cosette a warning. She doesn’t know…”
“Sir, I’m going to ask you to put your hands behind your back.”
“Wait, what?” Josh glanced at Cosette, his eyes full of betrayal.
“Hands behind your back,” Grace repeated in her no-nonsense voice. “You’re under arrest.”
“Wait, what?” Josh’s eyes were even wider. Cosette had to look away.
Grace cuffed his wrists, spoke into her radio, and set a firm hand on Josh’s shoulder. Cosette stared at his back as the detective led him out of her hospital room. She held her breath, waiting for something. A sign, a glance over his shoulder. An explanation, an apology, something to help her piece together what was going on. This isn’t what you think it is. I’ll explain everything soon. I promise.
But Josh didn’t say anything. He didn’t look back. Didn’t turn his head.
And a few seconds later, Detective Grace led him out of sight.
Mom hadn’t stopped talking since Cosette called her in tears and explained what had happened.
“They took him away,” she sobbed. “In handcuffs, like he was some kind of criminal. They just took him away.”
“Don’t worry,” Mom gushed. “I know this is hard to hear, but that man wasn’t who you thought he was. This is all for the best, honey. Your father and I are on our way back to the hospital right now. We should have never left. I just assumed that detective would stay in the room with you. I should have been more forward with her. Told her that you weren’t to be left unsupervised under any circumstances. When I think about what could have happened, what that man might have done to you…”
Cosette heard her father’s muffled voice coming through on the other end of the line. Mom paused for only a minute and then continued. “All right, your father wants me to help him navigate right now, so I need to hang up. But we’re only ten minutes away from you. That’s without having to find a place to park, though, so best to say fifteen or twenty minutes just to be safe. But we’re going to be there real soon, and I picked up everything I could think of from Walmart, so we have snacks, and I got you a few books and magazines, and I found a nice journal too. I know you’re not into that kind of stuff, but I read this article once about trauma survivors and how writing for five minutes a day can… All right, well, your father wants me to go now. I think he’s gotten us lost. I’m going to hang up, but we’ll be there real soon. And remember, Detective Grace wouldn’t have arrested that man if she wasn’t certain he was guilty. And one more thing, baby. This wasn’t your fault. Okay? I just want you to rest easy now and work on getting yourself well enough to come back home and put this entire ordeal behind you.”
Cosette didn’t ask if by home Mom meant LA or Iowa, and she didn’t bother to ask. The entire past two days had felt like a terrible nightmare. The only difference was that with nightmares, you could wake up and break free from the terror.
This was real. As hard as it was to imagine, everything that had happened to her, everything that had led to this moment where Josh was arrested, and Cosette was here in this hospital bed healing from multiple stab wounds — it had really happened. There was no waking up safe and unharmed in a warm, cozy bed. No sharing and laughing about this crazy dream of hers the next time she talked with her long-distance boyfriend.
There was no boyfriend. No cause for laughter. No reprieve from her pain and fear.
This wasn’t your fault. Nice words coming from Mom, the one person who’d warned Cosette more than anyone else against flying out to Alaska in the first place.
This wasn’t your fault.
Cosette was stupid for having trusted someone so blindly. She’d felt so grown-up, so mature flying to Anchorage on her own to meet a man she’d fallen in love with. She’d been so certain she knew him, so certain there wasn’t a single secret the two of them didn’t share.
This wasn’t your fault. It was the kind of thing her mom was supposed to say, but Cosette knew it wasn’t true. The only thing she could hope for now was to learn from her mistake, to heal quickly like her mom talked about, and to go home so she could put this entire chapter of her life out of her mind for good.
Cosette had never been considered much of a prayer warrior. She tended to leave that side of things up to her mom and instead focused on living her life as best she could. But now, alone in this bed, still holding the receiver of the hospital phone in her hand, she tried to tell God everything that was on her heart. How confused she felt to be so alone. How betrayed she felt by Josh. If God was with her like Mom always claimed, if he was always looking out for her safety, why had any of this happened to her in the first place?
Cosette was exhausted from all the questions, from the stress of the past two days. When she landed in Anchorage yesterday, she’d been so excited to finally meet her boyfriend. Now she realized she didn’t even know who he was. Regardless of Mom’s opinion on the matter, Cosette knew she was lucky to be alive.
She’d be even luckier once she got to the point where her wounds had healed, and she could finally start to move on.
Cosette was about to doze off when a tall man walked into her room, his hospital name tag swinging from the breast pocket of his impeccably bleached white coat.
“How are you feeling?” There was an infusion of familiar jocularity in his voice, and Cosette tried to remember if he’d made his rounds to her bedside before.
“Pretty tired,” she admitted.
He gave her a compassionate smile. “I figured. Heard you didn’t sleep too well last night. This will help with that.” He reached over and injected a small vial into her IV bag. A few seconds later, warmth seemed to surge and pulse through Cosette’s whole body.
“You keeping track of this snowstorm outside?” the doctor asked with a dramatic shake of his head. “Pretty insane. Power’s out all over. Thank God for the hospital generator, right?” He leaned over and rapped Cosette’s bedside table, giving her a broad smile. “All righty, well, it’s time for us to scan that bump on the back of your head. How’s it feeling?” he asked, snapping a glove onto one hand.
“It’s okay. It’s mostly my side that hurts.” Cosette’s voice came out raspy and hoarse. “I have a little bit of a dry throat too.”
The doctor gave a knowing nod. “That’s probably from the meds. But hey, better a little dry mouth than crippling pain, right? How would you rate your pain level right now on a scale of one to five?”
Cosette thought. “Three and a half?”
He smiled. “Good. That’s great.”
Cosette wasn’t sure what was so great about it but didn’t argue. He had a point. She’d be a lot worse off if it weren’t for the medicine.
“All righty.” The doctor grinned down at her. “Biggest question right now is if we’re going to wheel you in a chair or on a gurney to get to the scanning room. Do you have a preference?”
A minute later, the doctor had gently helped her into a wheelchair and was pushing her down the hall. “Busy day here today,” he remarked as they turned a corner. “Had a pretty bad pile up on the highway. That’s what happens when we get snowfall like this.”
Cosette hoped her parents were still safe. How long had it been since she talked to her mom? She tried to remember what time it had been, but she was so tired her brain could hardly focus on anything. The tile patterns on the hospital floor zoomed in and out of focus. It felt as if the doctor was racing her down the hallway at top speed. What was the rush? She’d gone this long without anyone being too worried abou
t her head. He turned her down another hallway with dim lighting and exposed wires on the ceiling. Nobody else was around. Was this some sort of shortcut?
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“We’ll be there in just a minute,” he assured her. “How’re you feeling?”
“Tired,” she answered.
He cleared his throat. “Well, feel free to take a little snooze if you need one. Seems like there’s always a wait for the X-ray machines no matter how far you reserve them in advance.”
“I thought we were getting a scan.” The words sounded right in Cosette’s head, but when she heard the garbled mess, she spoke she couldn’t make sense of any of it.
The doctor’s voice behind her sounded pleased. “Don’t worry about it,” he said in a soothing, sing-songy voice. “Everything’s under control. We’re going to take good care of you here. I promise.”
Cosette woke up in a seated position. Where was she?
She blinked her eyes open but still couldn’t see anything. Something was covering her face, her eyes. What was it?
“You know those drugs’ll wear off any minute,” a voice whispered.
Cosette held her breath. Who was that talking?
“Nah, the stuff I gave her should buy us at least another hour or two of time,” a man responded.
Cosette tried hard not to move. Tried to control her breathing. She strained her ears so she could listen to the two people speaking. She felt like both their voices were familiar, but where had she heard them before?
“It’s not going to be pretty,” the woman was saying. What wasn’t going to be pretty? What was she talking about?
And why was Cosette here? Something sharp dug into her wrists, and Cosette realized she was bound to the handles of her wheelchair. It was a good thing she felt so groggy and weak, or else she would have given herself away by straining against the cuffs. She couldn’t let the two of them know she was awake. The longer she could pretend to be asleep, the more time she could buy herself to figure out what was going on.
“I thought I told you to leave him alone,” the man said. It was the doctor. The doctor who was taking Cosette for a scan. At least, that’s what he’d claimed to be and where he’d claimed to be taking her. Where were they now? Were they still in the hospital? Or had he drugged her and driven her somewhere remote? How long had she been unconscious? Her parents must be frantic by now…
Cosette couldn’t hear the woman’s response, but it obviously wasn’t what the so-called doctor wanted to hear.
“I don’t care how much you wanted him for yourself,” he snapped. “You shouldn’t have gotten involved again. Now, who’s left to clean up your mess, huh? Me, always me. It’s getting old, Missy.”
Missy. The girl from the airport. What did she have to do with all of this? How was she involved?
And where was Josh? Had Detective Grace taken him to the police station? Was he going to be charged with yet another crime he didn’t commit?
Cosette had to remind herself to keep her breathing slow and controlled. She couldn’t let these two know she was conscious.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Missy whined, her voice still subdued. If her kidnappers were so concerned about staying quiet, did that mean there were people around? That had to be a good sign, right? If Cosette could just be patient, wait for the right opportunity, she could call for help. Or, maybe once she regained her strength, she could find a way to escape.
Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? It was the Bible verse Mom always loved to quote. The one that spoke about God’s constant protection.
Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. God knew where Cosette was, even if she didn’t. God knew why Missy and this pretend doctor had abducted her even if Cosette herself was clueless.
Even more importantly, God knew how Cosette could get out of the mess she was in. She had to trust that he’d help her do it.
And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.
She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on the promise of the Scripture. If God loved her so much more than the sparrows, if he took the time to count every single hair on Cosette’s head, he wouldn’t abandon her to die here, right? If God wanted her to die, she could have crashed on the flight or gotten into an accident on the snowy Alaskan highway. If God didn’t want her to survive, he would have let her bleed to death after whoever attacked her and stabbed her outside that gas station.
She gritted her teeth, begging the words in the verses to be true. You don’t want to take me home yet, do you, God? I’m not ready.
Cosette had never been a fan of what her pastor liked to call “foxhole-prayers,” the promises you make God when you’re certain you’re about to die, the bargains you try to make with the Almighty in order to convince God to spare your life. Apparently, foxhole prayers were the only kind of plea for help her mind could come up with as she sat chained to a wheelchair in the dark.
Imagine what I can do for you if you let me out of here, she begged. I’ll tell more people about you. I’ll read my Bible every single day like Mom taught me. No more skipping out on nights when I’m too tired.
I’m so sorry for all the things I didn’t do before, all the ways I wasn’t good enough. Please just save me, and I’ll do better. I promise.
She felt no better after she prayed. Most likely, if God did get her out of here, there’d be a few weeks of change, a period of profuse gratitude. But then she’d forget the intensity of her fear, the fervor of her promise. She’d start backsliding all over again. And then what would it take for her to get back on track? Another abduction?
No, she couldn’t force God to help her because of the good things she’d promise to do. He knew even better than she did that she’d eventually fail. She couldn’t appeal to her own wise choices or righteous commitments to ensure her deliverance.
And so instead, she appealed to his grace.
Lord, I know I don’t deserve you to come and rescue me. I know I don’t deserve any of the good things you bring into my life. You and I both know I’m far from a perfect Christian, and as hard as I want to promise to do better if you get me out of here alive, I know I can’t make any positive changes in my life unless you, yourself, help me.
I can’t do this on my own, Lord. I’m trapped here, I’m stuck, I’m terrified. They’ve given me some kind of medicine, so I don’t think I could escape even if I wasn’t tied up. You’re the only one who can help me get out of here, Lord. Not because I’ll automatically turn into a perfect Christian if you do, but because you’re kind and compassionate and because I need you now more than ever before.
A sense of safety, of warm relief, rushed over Cosette’s soul for a fraction of a heartbeat but died in an instant when Cosette heard Missy’s whining voice.
“All right, Daddy. If we’re gonna kill her, can we just do it and get it over with?”
You are worth more than many sparrows.
You are worth more than many sparrows.
You are worth more than many sparrows.
Cosette’s heart was racing so quickly, her body surging with so much adrenaline that she couldn’t even remember any of the other words to the Bible passage.
You are worth more than many sparrows.
She had to trust that God had heard her prayers and that he had some way to get her out of this. Otherwise, she was as good as dead already.
She hoped whatever Missy and the man she called Daddy had planned would be quick. Mercifully painless, if such a death even existed.
While Missy and her father spoke in hushed voices, Cosette strained to listen in, to try to catch anything that might help her know what to expect. Anything that might help her find a way to save herself.
“I want to be the one this time,” Missy complained. “You didn’t let me do the waitress, and it’s not fair.”
“I’m the one to do it,” her father snapped, “becaus
e I remember what a mess you made of that Dawn girl and how much work it took to keep your name out of the press and off the police’s radar.”
“That was forever ago. I’m changed now. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Sure. Which explains why you stalked a girl from down south and attacked her in a parking lot. What do you think? That I have access to every single security camera in the state of Alaska? This is exactly the kind of publicity I don’t need, little girl, especially not when we’ve got an election year coming up.”
“That’s all you think about, isn’t it? You and your stupid elections.”
Missy’s dad raised his voice. Cosette wondered if they’d get angry enough that they’d start to yell at each other. Maybe someone would overhear the commotion and come to investigate. Or perhaps while they were distracted, fighting with one another, Cosette could find a way to escape. The handcuffs chafed her wrists, but she thought maybe if she strained hard, she could reach the wheels. And then what? Try to wheel herself out of here an inch at a time with two murderous criminals chasing her down?
You are worth more than many sparrows, she reminded herself. You are worth more than many sparrows, and God’s not going to let you die here.
She wasn’t sure if it was actually true or not, but she had to believe it or her entire brain might start shutting itself down already, a kind of preemptive way to avoid the dread and uncertainty confronting her.
No, she couldn’t give up yet. She had to stay sharp. Focused. Ready to exploit any opportunity that came up to escape. If these two kept fighting, then maybe, just maybe…
“You shut that ugly mouth of yours up.”
Cosette winced at the sound of a harsh slap. Missy let out a grunt, and Cosette held her breath, surprised that Missy and her father couldn’t hear her heart beating so rapidly on the other side of the room.
“I’ve given up everything for you,” Missy’s father hissed. “I’ve lied for you, I’ve covered up for you. For years now, that’s all I’ve been doing. I tried to get you help. I tried to cure you of whatever sick and twisted thing you’ve got going on in that demented brain of yours, and I put my entire career on the line to protect you when you went and killed that boy’s girlfriend…”