Page 40 of Silent Prey

“Where’s your apartment?” she asked.

“I’m not going back there,” Star said.

“No, but I am. Where is it?”

Star seemed to consider Sheila's words for a moment. "Why?" she finally said, her tone both weary and wary.

"Because this ends tonight," Sheila declared with a determination that surprised even herself. "I don't care what it takes."

Star was silent for so long that Sheila thought the girl wouldn't answer. Then, with a sigh, Star finally said, "Oakwood Apartments. It's on 7th and Main."

Sheila nodded. “Alright, come on.”

Star’s eyes widened with fear. “I told you, I’m not going back there!”

“You can stay in the car. But I’m not going to leave you to just wander around like this. I’ll go talk to your dad, and then afterward we’ll figure out a plan for where you can stay the rest of the night. Okay?”

Star bit her lip, looking unsure. Sheila reached out and gently squeezed her shoulder. “Star…I should have been there for you earlier. I’m really sorry. Let me fix this.”

For a long moment, Star simply stared at her. Then she seemed to deflate, her defiant posture crumbling as the exhaustion and hurt settled on her young face. She nodded once, wordlessly conceding.

"Okay," she finally muttered, her voice barely audible.

Feeling a surge of protective determination, Sheila put an arm around Star and guided her towards the car parked haphazardly in the street.

Oakwood Apartments was just a few blocks away. As they drove, the streets descended into a dense, inky darkness, the only light coming from the occasional flickering streetlamp. The area was known for its high crime rate and rundown buildings, and Oakwood Apartments was no exception. The three-story building was dingy and poorly lit, with peeling paint and cracked windows.

Sheila parked the car across the street. "Stay here," she said to Star as she opened her door. "Lock the doors."

Without giving Star a chance to protest, Sheila closed her door and crossed the shadow-streaked asphalt. The door that led to the stairwell was propped open, a brick set against it to prevent it from closing. With one last glance back at the car where Star sat hunched in the passenger seat, Sheila took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The hallway was quiet, and the dim overhead lighting cast long, warped shadows along the filthy carpet. The smell of mold and decay hung heavy in the air, making her stomach churn with a mixture of disgust and apprehension. Sheila climbed the stairs two at a time until she reached the third floor. The number 305 was etched onto a metal plate on the door at the end of the corridor.

Sheila knocked lightly, her heart pounding in her chest. There was no response. She knocked again, louder this time. The silence of the hallway seemed to mock her. She banged on the door one more time, her patience waning.

Just as she was debating what to do next, she heard a shuffling sound inside. The door creaked open slightly, and a man peered out. He was disheveled, with a thin face shadowed by stubble and a wild mop of hair. His eyes flickered with surprise before narrowing suspiciously.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice gruff and slurred.

"Sheila Stone," she said, flashing her badge briefly. "Coldwater County Sheriff's Department. I need to speak with you about your daughter."

The man's eyes widened briefly, but then a sneer twisted his features. "What's she done now?" he growled.

"She's not in trouble," Sheila said evenly, though her grip tightened on her badge. "But I'm afraid you are."

Before he could respond, she pushed the door open wider and stepped inside the dingy apartment. The smell of stale beer and dirty laundry was potent, making her nostrils flare in disgust.

"I didn't invite you in," the man slurred, pulling himself up to his full height, which was still a couple of inches shorter than Sheila's. His eyes, bloodshot and baggy, held a glint of animosity. But behind all that, Sheila saw a flicker of fear.

"You don't have to," she said coolly. "I have enough grounds to come in for a welfare check."

The man scowled but didn't argue. He tottered back, mumbling to himself. The apartment was a cesspit; empty beer bottles cluttered the coffee table, old pizza boxes littered the floor, and cockroaches scrambled over rotting scraps of food that had been left out.

“I know what you did to Star,” Sheila said. “What you’ve been doing to Star.”

His eyes turned hard, his mouth twisting into an ugly sneer. "She's my kid. I discipline her how I see fit."

"You don't discipline her," Sheila answered, the anger in her voice like a whip in the filthy room. "You abuse her. And it ends tonight."

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