Page 2 of Dirty Looks

She watched curiously as they approached the gate, but there was no guard stationed there like usual. A button was pushed and the iron gates slid open, and the Range Rover rolled through smoothly. She rubbed her hands together nervously. She’d never been taken on an errand before, and the sky was getting darker.

“Here we are.”

The Range Rover pulled up next to another car similar to the one they were in, but she couldn’t see the driver. The windows were too black. She heard muted conversation, and then the back door opened and there was a man standing there, and a sigh of relief went through her.

“Hey,” she started to say, but then a hand came over her mouth and darkness covered her eyes. She tried to struggle and scream. Her foot connected with something solid, and she thought she heard a grunt, but she didn’t have on her shoes and kicking hurt her toes. It was getting hard to breathe and she clawed out wildly as panic and the instinct to survive took over.

“Ouch, you little brat,” the man said, and he punched her in the stomach hard enough that she couldn’t draw in a breath.

She couldn’t breathe or scream and there was nothing but darkness all around her. Her arms were yanked roughly behind her back and something was pulled tightly against her wrists so she couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight.

She whimpered as she was dropped onto the hard ground. She tried to get her legs under her. To run. But the man grabbed her by the hair and dragged her. And then he slipped something cold and hard around her neck and pulled hard.

“Careful. She’s already got a buyer. And he’ll be pissed if she’s too roughed up when he gets her.”

“Yeah, I got it,” the man said. “Just like last time. Get in the car and shut up, brat.”

He picked her up and tossed her into the back seat, but she barely felt the pain in her shoulder as she landed on the seat. It was easier to succumb to the dark.

When she woke again she didn’t know where she was or how long she’d been gone. It was still so dark. And cold. But at least there was nothing over her eyes, and she was able to breathe a little easier.

She curled up on her side, a whimper escaping as her battered body protested movement. The man who dressed like her daddy was a very bad man. He looked like he should have been nice, but his face had been like a monster, contorted and evil. Her clothes were gone. And flashes of the bad man hitting her and touching her all over flashed in her mind. She couldn’t get it out of her mind. He’d hurt her so bad, forced himself inside of her so she thought her body would tear in two.

Grandma would notice she was gone. And Molly. They’d come find her. And her daddy would hurt the bad man. He would probably punch him in the face. Thoughts of her daddy hurting the bad man helped clear some of the horrors from her mind.

She needed to think. She needed to be like one of the girl spies in the books she liked to read. What would a girl spy do? Try to escape? Try to find someone to help? Try to remember every little detail for the police?

First she needed to figure out where she was. Maybe there was a phone or a neighbor. Wherever she was, it smelled funny, and it made her nose burn when she breathed in deep. But at least her eyes were adjusting to the dark.

There was a dollhouse in the corner and stuffed animals on the floor. Somehow it seemed worse that she was in another little girl’s bedroom. She hadn’t remembered being brought here. She only remembered waking up when the man was on top of her. Tears pricked her eyes but she refused to let them fall. She hadn’t cried. Not when all the bad things were happening to her. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to cry again.

She could hear voices somewhere in the house. No, not voices. A television. She gingerly crawled off the bed, unable to control the whimpers that escaped, and she went to the window to look out. She peeked through the frilly curtains and opened the blinds, but it was dark outside. There wasn’t even a streetlight. Only the moon that was half hidden behind a cloud.

Her body shuddered with cold, and she was starting to feel sick to her stomach again. Just like she’d felt after Junie’s birthday party. She’d thrown up cake everywhere. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed it down. She couldn’t be sick now. He’d hear her and he might do bad things to her again. No matter what, she couldn’t let him do the bad things to her again.

With that determination in mind she went to the closet, looking for her clothes. Or any clothes. But the closets were empty. Her breaths were coming faster and faster and she stumbled on her way to the door to see if there was a lock. There wasn’t. He’d be able to walk in anytime he wanted and hurt her again.

Soft mewling sounds came from her throat as the panic began to overwhelm her. She frantically searched the room looking for anything that might protect her. That’s when she saw the white wooden chair in front of the vanity table.

She dragged it across the carpet, too weak to pick it up, and she put it under the knob. The sounds coming from her mouth were almost animalistic as she realized she was trapped inside the room.

She pressed her ear to the door, trying to listen, trying to hear if the bad man was coming for her again, but her heart was pounding too loudly in her ears.

A phone rang, a loud shrill sound that cut through the sounds of the television, and she almost screamed in response. She clamped her hand over her mouth. The sounds from the television disappeared and she heard the man’s voice. Sheknewthe man’s voice. She’d never forget the words he’d said as he was hurting her, telling her what a pretty girl she was as he held his hand over her mouth to muffle her screams.

He was talking louder now, mad, and she ran back to the window, pulling aside the curtains and moving the blinds. If she could just get the window to open.

Her fingers fumbled twice with the latch, but she finally got it. And she pushed with all her might until the window rose with a whoosh. His voice was getting louder now. And then the knob rattled and the door banged against the chair.

She couldn’t stifle her shriek of fear. The cold night air blasted her in the face and the holly bush scratched the side of her cheek as she climbed out the window and started to run. She didn’t know where she was running. She just knew he was behind her and if she stopped running he would catch her. And she could never let him catch her. Not again.

Running was her only hope.

CHAPTER ONE

I once read somewherethat life was a series of lessons that had to be lived to be understood. Over the last thirty-something years, I’ve lived a lot of lessons. It was the understanding I had trouble grasping. Because under no circumstances could anyone explain to me why I was standing over the body of a young girl—an innocent life taken violently and needlessly.

My name is J.J. Graves, and…for the first time in as long as I could remember, I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to stand for the dead. My chest was tight—it was a struggle to draw in a breath—and my eyes burned, though I wasn’t sure I was capable of tears.

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