Page 42 of Little Puppet

He said I’ll soon be transported home, and my mom is thrilled to have found me.

Once my belly is full, I can barely keep my eyes open. It’s as if all the adrenaline left me once I knew I was safe, and now I’m in the aftermath stage of recovery, feeling as though I’m hungover.

A fear hangover.

I lay my head on the table and drift off until Detective Anderson comes for me a while later.

I’m put into the back seat of a cop car, assured that it’s only because they have no other vehicles to take me to my mom’s house, and I lay down and close my eyes again, completely exhausted.

When I’m jolted awake only moments later, I hear the detective speaking to someone, but his voice is muffled.

“She’s a little worn out, but we can help you get her inside,” he says, and I try to sit up against the haze of exhaustion.

What the hell is the matter with you? Wake up. You’re home.

But the voice that skims across my skin leaves an ache when the backdoor opens.

“Thank you, Detective. I do appreciate your fine police work. And my truck?”

“It’ll be towed here before dark. Make sure you keep a tighter leash on your belongings, Dr. Mordova. I’d hate to do this again,” Detective Anderson says.

“What? Wait… no! You were supposed to take me home?!” I try to kick, but I’m too uncoordinated.

I feel as if I’ve been drugged.

My mind fumbles as I try to get away from Cain, who reaches in and grabs my ankles, tugging me out of the car and onto the cold ground.

“I’ll be much more careful with her from here on out, Detective. The mom?” Cain says.

The detective sighs. “We’ll handle it.”

“See that you do. How is your daughter, by the way? Nellie, is it?” Cain asks the man, and even I see the fear dancing in the Detective’s eyes.

“She’s responding to treatment very well. Thank you for asking,” he replies.

I might be drugged, but even I know Cain doesn’t care about this man’s daughter. It was a reminder of what’s at stake if the good detective doesn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Have a good night, Dr. Mordova.”

“You too, Detective. Drive safe.”

Cain hefts me over his shoulders, and I don’t fight or give him hell.

Defeat curls through me as whatever drugs the detectives had snuck into my food cause me to float in a thick, clotted smog. I’m a prisoner once again.

One with no one around to help me.

I’m astonished that the place I thought was going to be my saving grace brought me back to my killer.

I’m resigned to the idea at this point.

Cain Mordova, M.D., is going to kill me.

Then, he will go back to his life as if nothing happened.

As if I never existed.

That’s the saddest part.

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