Sitting down in one of my dining chairs, I write a quick note telling her that Morgan has once again disappeared and that I probably won’t be able to visit for awhile, but will send a letter when I can. I know my mom will be concerned about Morgan, but she will say what she always says: This is your life, so you have to make your own decisions. Shoving the letter into an envelope, I place it in my purse so I can mail it tomorrow. I get up and go to the kitchen, pulling out a pot to boil water.
I was raised in a small community outside of Phoenix, where they didn’t believe in the government or in most modern amenities. When I was ten, my parents offered me the opportunity to join public school and I accepted. That was when I figured out how different we were from everyone, and how much my parents had prevented me from learning. My first year of public school was really difficult, and I ended up being held back a year so that I could catch up with everyone else. After that first year, I excelled, and by graduation, I was top of my class.
I don’t regret how I grew up, but I still resent my parents for not being parents. Most of my major life decisions were ones I made for myself, even before I should have been allowed to, and if there was ever a problem, I knew I would have to find a solution on my own without the help of the two people who should have been there to guide me.
Shaking the depressing thoughts about my parents out of my head, I toss some angel hair pasta in the boiling water and pull down a bowl from my cabinet then go to the fridge to grab the butter and a bottle of orange juice. Once the pasta is soft, I strain it and put it in the bowl along with some butter, salt, and pepper then pour myself a cup of orange juice, taking both to the living room.
*
LOOKING FROM THE door to the clock on the cable box, the bright red numbers read 11:36. Looking at the door again, I feel my eyebrows pull tight as the door handle jiggles like it did moments ago. Getting off the couch, where I planted myself a few hours ago to watch TV, I walk slowly to the door, feeling something strange slide down my spine as I get up on my tiptoes and press my hand to the wood to look through the peephole. The porch light is off, but the light from the streetlamp near my building has cast a glow around two men on the other side of the door.
Backing away slowly, my heart pounds so hard in my chest that the sound of my blood pumping fills my ears. Moving as quickly and as silently as I can down the hall to my bedroom, I shut my door, whimpering when I realize there is no lock. Scurrying around the bed, I grab my phone off the charger then run to the bathroom in the hall, knowing there’s a lock on that door and if someone breaks in, he will have to break down that door, which will give me a few more seconds. Getting into the tub and pulling the curtain around me, I fumble with the phone as I dial and place it to my ear.
“911, what’s your emergency?” the dispatcher answers as I hear footsteps sound somewhere in the apartment.
“I’m at 267 Hemming Way, apartment 17. Someone is in my apartment,” I whisper then scream as the bathroom door crashes open and the shower curtain is shoved aside.
“Help!” I shout as hands grab me by my hair, pulling me up from the tub. Dropping the phone, I fight back, elbowing the guy in the stomach, then turn and bring my hand down hard on his shoulder, which causes him to drop to the ground instantly.
Click, click.
My body freezes and fear rushes over me as I look up, coming face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. Raising my hands in front of me, I’m not prepared for the blow to my stomach that has me doubling over, gasping for air.
“You fucking cunt,” the guy I took down moments ago says, backhanding me so hard I hit the wall. Wrapping his hands around my hair, he drags me stumbling out of the bathroom, down the hall behind him to the living room, where he shoves me to my knees.
“Where is your sister?” the man holding the gun roars, smacking me with the butt of his weapon across my face so hard that my head flies to the side and I taste blood in my mouth.
“I don’t know,” I tell him, lifting my eyes and trying to focus on his face.
“Don’t lie, bitch,” he says, pressing the gun into my forehead.
“I don’t know,” I whimper in fear as the guy behind me uses my ponytail to pull me up off the floor.
“Your cunt sister stole ten grand from me,” the one holding the gun says as his face comes close to mine…so close I can smell the scent of mint on his breath.
“I can give you the money,” I sob as I feel my hair being ripped out of my scalp when I’m jerked back and forth.
“Do you really think it’s that fucking simple?” he asks, wrapping his hand around my throat. “No one fucking takes from me. No one!” he snarls, squeezing my throat tighter as stars blur my vision.
“Cops,” the guy behind me says as the sound of sirens off in the distance gets louder.
“Tell your sister I’m coming for her.”
Falling to my knees, I gasp for air then roll into a ball as his booted foot connects with my side. Watching them run out of my apartment. I don’t know how long I lay there but I eventually pull up enough energy to get to my feet and stumble toward the door.
“Freeze.”
My head lifts and I swallow as tears stream out of my eyes, seeing two uniformed police officers standing at the top landing in front of my apartment. “They’re gone,” I croak through the soreness of my throat, leaning into the door.
“You know which way they went?” one of the officers questions while taking a step toward me.
“No,” I say then shake my head when the words aren’t loud enough to be heard.
“I’ll stay with her. You go and check around and let me know if you find anything,” the cop before me says, putting his gun away as the other takes off back down the stairs. “Come on, honey,” he instructs gently as he takes my arm. He leads me over to my couch, where he helps me sit before getting down in front of me and pushing my hair away from my face. “You got some ice?”
“Peas,” I murmur, watching him get up and go to the kitchen, coming back a few seconds later with a bag of frozen peas in his hand. Taking it from him, I press it to my throat then to my face, blinking rapidly, trying to control the tears I feel filling my eyes.
“Would you like to call someone?”
How pathetic is it that my answer was, “Not really”? But that was the truth, wasn’t it? I have no one, no one I can depend on, no one I can count on when I need anything. My parents don’t even have a telephone I can call them on if there’s an emergency. Like now, I think bitterly. Then, my sister, seeing how she’s the reason I was in this mess. I knew that even if I were able to get ahold of her she wouldn’t be able to help me. Hell, she would probably run away when she found out the guys she stole from were looking for her. Wyatt is out of the question, since I broke up with him yesterday after realizing it was pointless to be in a relationship with someone who lives hundreds of miles away. My mind flashes to Sven, but I don’t want him to worry…or at least that’s what I’m telling myself right now. “No, I don’t want to call anyone.”
“I’m gonna call an ambulance and have them come look you over.”
“That’s not necessary,” I whisper through the soreness of my throat.
“Honey, I’d really like to make sure you don’t have a concussion.”