Page 11 of Devil's Work: Dark

She shakes her headyes. “Kaileigh,” she says. She’s so tiny and innocent. She still has that baby-soft hair the lightest shade of blonde. Someone took the time to put it in pigtails making her appear that much more innocent. I’m so angry I could spit—fire, nails, venomous words—but I won’t. She can’t think I’m angry with her and as hard as it is to get young children to understand a concept like being angryforthem, that’s exactly what I fear will happen.

Those are the first words she’s spoken since I found her in that room in the mansion.

“My name is Rae. I have a little boy just a little bit younger than you and a baby girl, too.”

“What’re their names?” she asks. Her voice is soft, hesitant, but at least she’s comfortable enough to start talking with me.

“My son’s name is Ty. My baby girl is Lacy.”

“Those are cute names.”

“Thank you. I really like the name Kaileigh.”

She smiles a halfhearted smile.

“Do you live with your mommy?” I ask.

She nods.

“Can you tell me your mommy’s name?”

“Mommy,” she answers and I sigh, chuckling at the same time.

“What do other adults call your mommy?”

“Amy.”

“Amy, good. Do you and your mommy have the same last name?” I’ve seen a lot of crime shows and once I got her speaking, it occurred to me that someone might be monitoring us. She might not be willing to give all this information to a stranger, especially to a man. Hopefully, she’ll answer for me so that even if she clams up when someone from the missing children’s unit comes in, I can help them track down her family.

She shakes her headyesagain.

“Okay, Kaileigh, what’s your last name? The police are going to need to contact your mommy, to let her know you’re okay.” I don’t know that she’s okay. Who knows if other men have already touched her.Please, Lord, don’t let anyone have touched her.

“Joswiak,” she answers.

“Your name is Kaileigh Joswiak?” I ask just to make sure. She nods. “And your mommy is Amy Joswiak?” She nods again. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

A woman from Child Welfare comes into the room with us to start the process of getting Kaileigh to hopefully bond with her instead of me. She needs to be checked out by doctors and they need to track down her mother. We’re there for hours.

Finally, I’m allowed to go. It’s hard leaving her in the custody of Child Welfare but it’s also the law. Tell that to my eyes. They want to shed tears. All crying will accomplish is making Kaileigh upset again. What a messed-up situation. My heart hurts. My head hurts. She’s in good hands now, though.These are the good guys,I remind myself. God, if they’d let me, I’d bring that little girl back to Bentley with me—I don’t need food. She could have my portions. We’d get her into therapy and she’d be safe until her mom came to get her because I’d make sure to keep her safe.

And Dela—please, please, please don’t let her have known about this horrendous shit going on at these parties. If she did, I could never forgive her.

An officer drives me back to my sister’s unit. Her car isn’t anywhere in the parking lot. She’s not home and it occurs to me that she might’ve gotten in trouble because of my actions. I hadn’t thought. I just needed to get that baby out of there.

“Don’t think you should stick around,” the officer tells me. “We’ve got your information. If we need you, we’ll be in touch.”

My bag might be inside my sister’s place, but my wallet and my keys are in the clutch she’d loaned me, still dangling around my wrist. He waits as I get into my beater and start it up.

I leave Nashville behind, trying my sister’s phone several times on the way home, but she doesn’t answer. Finally, I just leave a message. “Call me. I need to know you’re safe.”

How gross is this? When I pull into a gas station to fill up, I have to do it barefoot,alongwith walking inside to pay. Gas stations aren’t exactly known as bastions of cleanliness. And maybe because of the situation back in Nashville, but I’m very aware of the man following me in. He exited his car at the same time as me. He finished getting his gas at the same time as me. He’s basically an everyman, wearing a white Tennessee Titans T-shirt and blue jeans. His sneakers squeak on the tile floor. He’s wearing a red ballcap with a Nike swoop. I try not to act flustered. A calm head—yes, if any time calls for keeping a calm head, this might be it.

“Hey,” he says, eyeing me as I pay for my gas and drink.

I give him a tight smile and a quick nod to acknowledge him, but I don’t have it in me for niceties. He pushes his purchases onto the counter while I move away quickly, my keys out, in my hand.

Hedoesn’tfollow me and I inwardly laugh at myself, shaking my head because I’m feeling incredibly stupid. Imagine if I’d thrown a— I’m almost to my car when I’m tackled from the side by another man. It feels like I’ve been hit by a freight train. My brain is still spinning when I catch a glimpse of a car rolling up. Another man is driving. I scream and kick. I watched a video where the expert said if they lift you off the ground to lock your ankles around their shin and bend forward to throw them off balance and trip. It works. He falls forward. I scream. Another car pulls up. I come down wrong on my foot and twist the hell out of it. The men panic and release me. I leap into my car, take off, and don’t stop until I reach home.

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