Chapter 5 #2
A moment of silence passes amongst everyone, tension tightening in the space between us. I feel Alex’s eyes burning into me.
“Look,” he exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “We deal with this all the time. People get spooked, make something out of nothing-”
“Those aren’t ‘nothing’,” I say, nodding towards her arms. “That’s a grip pattern.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, burrowing them between her front side and her legs to keep them out of view.
He scoffs. “Or she grabbed onto something when she fell.”
Is he dense? My blood starts to boil. “She has symmetrical bruising on both arms. Explain that.” I shouldn’t be doing this in front of the patient but I’m much more inclined to seem unprofessional in front of her than to let him try to brush this off or to blame her.
“Coincidence.”
“She’s exhibiting signs of acute stress response, hypervigilance, refusal to identify herself-”
“And none of that proves anything,” he cuts in. “We can’t act on ‘gut feelings’.”
My patience wears out. Scott sees it at the same moment that Alex takes a step forward, putting himself between the officer and me. It’s unnecessary though because Scott’s got me by the shoulders and he’s steering me away.
I slip out of his grasp, stepping back towards the officer and leaning around Alex’s shoulder to continue. “She’s scared,” I seethe.
Alex casts a glance at me over his shoulder, wordlessly telling me to back off.
“So are a lot of people around here,” he replies before I can listen to Alex’s silent demand. “Doesn’t mean they’re being trafficked.”
The world comes to a screeching halt, the word hanging there. By the way his eyes go wide, and Alex’s hand grips the front of his uniform with a sudden movement, I’m certain that he didn’t mean to say it.
But it’s too late now.
My stomach drops.
“What?” I ask, my voice sounding hollow.
Alex lets out a heavy sigh, dropping his hand from the officer’s uniform.
He stiffens. “I didn’t-”
“You did,” Alex grits out.
A heavy silence passes over us all only being broken by quiet sobs behind me. Scott moves closer to the woman, moving cautiously in my peripheral as he sits down with her, quietly comforting her. Thankfully, she lets him.
The officer looks away first. “Just finish your report,” he mutters, turning to join the other officers in the alleyway.
I don’t argue, not out loud anyway. Because fuck that guy. I won’t let it go though because he definitely wasn’t supposed to say that. I could hear it in Alex’s voice.
Trafficking.
I knew the neighborhood was bad, but has that really been going on here? Human trafficking… in my own neighborhood?
I turn back to the woman, kneeling down in front of her again. Hoping to do damage control for what had just been said in front of her.
And what I’d just said in front of her.
“If you start to feel worse, or if you need help, any help, you can go to the hospital,” I tell her. “You don’t have to explain everything right away. Just… get somewhere safe.”
Her eyes meet mine again. This time, there’s something different in them. Something akin to hope and recognition.
She gives me a tiny nod. Then she stands and moves quickly toward the opposite end of the street.
No name, no statement. Just gone. I shouldn’t have let her go but I had no justifiably legal reason to keep her. I watch her until she disappears around the corner causing my chest to tighten.
“Liv,” Scott calls to me. “We gotta clear.”
“Yeah,” I respond robotically, packing up the bag. But my mind isn’t on the supplies inside it. It’s on the bruises, the way she looked over her shoulder, the way she asked if he’d come back for her.
Who is he? And where was he going to take her?
My kitchen’s quiet. My whole apartment is. That brings me comfort. But so is the street outside my apartment. That doesn’t bring me comfort.
There may not be a shooting or an otherwise obvious police presence, but I still don’t like the quiet out there anymore. Because now I wonder what the silence holds. What the shadows hold. What’s kept in the darkest parts of my neighborhood… and the people that frequent it.
Pip’s sleeping soundly beside me on the couch, curled up against my thigh while I stare at a blank notebook page on my coffee table.
I’ve been contemplating it for a while when I finally grab it. My pen hovers over the page for a second before I start writing.
I don’t often catalog my calls but all evening, I’ve been thinking about it.
Because I need somewhere to put the thoughts bouncing around in my head besides work files and call logs kept in our internal system.
Date. Time. Location.
Female. Early-twenties. No ID provided.
Superficial injuries inconsistent with reported mechanism.
Grip marks: bilateral. Upper forearms.
Hypervigilant behavior. Refusal to identify self.
Possible trafficking indicators.
I pause.
Similar presentation to case three weeks ago.
My pen presses hard enough into the paper to indent it. Because I know what this looks like and what it feels like.
I want someone to connect the dots, but will they? Will Alex and Mason know about the case weeks ago? Will the woman today even be included as a possibility since she didn’t give a statement and technically didn’t even confirm whether it was an attempted kidnapping… trafficking… something?
I close the notebook slowly, fingers lingering on the cover as it rests on my lap. Then I gently move it back to the coffee table, careful not to wake Pip.
Across the room, my phone sits on the kitchen counter, dark and silent. Pip shifts in his sleep, rolling onto his back.
But my thoughts drift to a man in a button-up shirt with something heavier hidden underneath it, to the way he watches everything, and to the way he said, “be careful.”
My teeth clench. If something is happening here, if there’s a pattern, then he might already know. No, probably knows. And in that case, why hasn’t he said anything?
The idea sits with me long after I turn off the lights and head to bed. And for the first time in a long time, I double-check that my apartment door is locked, then prop up a barstool in front of it.
Just in case.