Page 8 of A Captive Situation

“It’s a whole thing with the family. His mom and my mom are distant. I don’t like it. I came here to start fixing it. I wanted to meet him.”

“Do you have a phone number? Could you call him and see if he wanted to meet that way?”

I frowned. “My mom never gave me his number. My aunts would. Aunt Clara knows people online.”

“Knows people online?” The cop wasn’t looking impressed with me, pressing his mouth in a tight line. “Ma’am, at this point, I think you need to get going. Find another way to reach out to your cousin. I’m sure there’s a way.”

I shook my head, so much else spiraling inside of me, all of it going down the drain. “There’s no way. He doesn’t want me.” It was the pattern in my life.

Beck didn’t want me.

“Ma’am?”

He wanted someone else.

I said, “He married someone else. He didn’t want me anymore.”

“Your cousin?” The cop’s voice sharpened.

I shook my head, tears pricking at my eyes. God. All of it was blending inside of me.

Beck tossed me to the side. Like garbage. I was trash.

“Ma’am, you either need to leave or I will be removing you myself. It’s better for you if you leave of your own accord. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

Tears began falling down my cheeks.

He was going to marry someone else, and I was being questioned on the streets across the country, eating a sub that was so cold by now. I was tempted to give it to the rat that was hanging out a few steps away. Him and his buddies were moving around, doing their thing, but the one kept watching me. He knew what was up. He could tell. I was a prime target.

“Miss, are you going to leave or not?” The cop was getting impatient.

Leave? I shook my head. I couldn’t leave New York City.

“You’re not going to leave?”

“I have no place to go,” I mumbled, looking down. More tears were falling, but I wasn’t feeling them. I wasn’t tasting them either.

I couldn’t go back to Montana.

I had things to do here.

Tourist things. I still needed to go to Times Square. Ellis Island too.

I failed at even being a tourist. I’d meant to get a fanny pack on Canal Street, but I never went there. I never got a fanny pack. That was Tourist 101, right?

All the spiraling inside of me took me over.

I was openly sobbing.

I meant to regroup.

I had not regrouped.

“Okay. Miss, you’ve given me no other option. I’m going to take you in for your safety.” A hand touched my wrist and I was jerked backward.

I cried out. My sandwich fell to the sidewalk.

The cop yanked my other arm behind me, and cold metal was slapped around my wrists at the same time I heard the click. “Miss, you are being detained for now.”

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