Page 6 of Pretty Stolen Dolls

I got away.

I freaking got away. My mind screams at me in hysterics, but no sound leaves my lips.

And I’m going to get her back.

Willing myself to keep going, I take off again, faster this time.

A loud sob escapes as realization courses through me. We’re finally free. As soon as I find help, they’ll take that psycho to prison and we’ll go back home to Momma and Daddy. I’m still holding on to darkened, fading images of my parents in my mind when I bolt from the edge of the woods. A hundred yards ahead is a road. Headlights from about a half-mile away are heading right in my direction. Elation echoes through my bones as I stretch them wide to signal the car coming.

“Help!” I screech and power forward.

The vehicle seems to be going slow enough, surely I can wave it down and be rescued.

“Help!” My voice is hoarse, but my legs keep moving.

When the vehicle starts to slow, I start crying so hard, I’m blinded. It doesn’t stop my journey, though. I run, waving my arms wildly, until my bloody, cut-up feet slap the warm pavement.

“Help!”

The screeching of tires signifies the driver saw me. They’ll stop for me and save me. They’ll help me—

Thud.

Metal slams into me from the side with the force of a speeding train. Bones crack and pop in my body like a symphony of hollow drums. I don’t know which way is up until my head slams painfully against the pavement with a crack that resonates inside my skull.

Then, I’m staring up.

Bright stars glitter in the sky as something warm pulsates from the side of my head, soaking the pavement beneath me. I haven’t seen the sky in four years. It’s bewitching, beautiful, and sparse.

I try to speak when an older woman with greying hair shouts for me to hold on.

But I can’t hold on.

The stars dim, the sky darkening and filling the void around me.

Her features fade.

And darkness steals me this time.

Hang in there, Macy. I’m coming back for you.

Eight years later…

“JADE, IS EVERYTHING OKAY?YOUdon’t look like you’re eating.”

Lifting my eyes to my mother’s worried, searching ones, I smile and spoon in a mouthful of red velvet cake she bought with our coffees. We’ve made ourselves comfortable in a small diner in town. The bright red leather booth seats are peeling at the seams, but the food is good and the coffee is even better.

“I’m fine, Mom, and weigh more than I ever have.”

It was true. I had to use a coat hanger to hook the buttonhole and stretch it to meet the button on my favorite jeans this morning.

“You should come home for a cooked meal. Your father would love to see you.” The smile she offers crinkles her eyes.

Picking up the mug of coffee and letting the heat soak into my palms through the cup, I inhale the steam billowing from the top. “I will soon. I promise. Things are just really busy at work.”

She stirs a spoon around her cup absentmindedly. “You worked so hard to make detective and then they threw you straight into the deep end and haven’t let you up to take a breath.”

It’s weird that she still wants to talk about this. She knows how much I wanted this job and how hard I had to work to get it. I missed four years of education being locked away from the world. I had to do night classes, summer school, and study twice as hard as everyone else. “I like working,” I tell her, my voice rising a few octaves. “If I don’t keep busy, I go back there in my mind and I…”

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