Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Winona Bishop
Mourn — Sentenced
Loud, quick breaths echo from the other side. Legs shuffling… maybe trying to escape?
“Hello, is anyone there?” I try again. My voice is soft yet resonant. With each call that comes in, we have forty-five seconds to gather enough information and send help accordingly. “What’s the location of the emergency?”
Another long pause follows.
A door clicks in the background, and the sharp sound of crushed cans echoes from downstairs—a throaty roar of an engine passing by fades after a few seconds.
They must be outside.
I try to trace the call through cell towers in the area while focusing on the noise and gathering bits of information that suggest any sign of distress.
“I l-live in 12 C-Coven Street.” The breathy voice of a little girl trembles and breaks with fear as she sniffs almost soundlessly. “I’m s-scared. These men are looking for me.”
My fingers quickly move across the keyboard, recording everything she tells me. “Help is on the way. I’m here with you. I’m Winona. What is your name?” I signal my supervisor to tune in.
A small gasp escapes before she says, “Mattie.”
“Mattie, are you injured? Did they harm you?” My heart hammers in my chest, but I remain calm and collected.
“No, I’m outside,” she whispers, gulping hard. “I’m hiding in the backyard.”
There have been a dozen reports of home invasions, including the abduction of two six-year-olds in that area recently, which the police don’t seem to investigate enough.
“Mattie, what’s your hair color and what are you wearing?”
“Hmm... It’s brown, and I have pigtails. I wear a pink sweater, pink rain boots, and black pants.”
“Good. How old are you, Mattie?”
“Nine.”
Every piece of information can help the police find her when they arrive. “Can you tell me what happened?” I chew on my bottom lip.
“Three men broke into the house. They keep shouting. I think they are looking for me. They said, ‘Find the girl.’ I don’t know who they are.”
“You don’t recognize their voices? Or their faces?”
“No.”
“Mattie, do you have siblings?”
“No.”
“Is a family member there with you?”
“No, Mom is at work, and she leaves me alone in the house until Grandma returns from her drawing class.”
My supervisor stands beside my chair, dialing the phone to my right.
Her husband is a police sergeant who works in that area and is on call.
Any assistance can make a difference in an active abduction.
Once children are taken, the window to find a missing child is extremely narrow.
We all know that every second is crucial.
“Mattie, I know you’re here. Your mom sent us to get you,” a rough voice says from the other side of the line, sounding like a heavy smoker.
His harsh footsteps down a set of stairs end with a booming sound once he hits that smashed can I heard earlier.
“Hey, little girl, come here. I’m not going to hurt you. We’ll have a nice chat.”
He knows her name and possibly that she stays alone during those hours.
He is getting closer, and Mattie’s breathing quickens.
Saying the words I’m about to say fills me with guilt, anxiety, and dread. “Mattie, I will send everyone to look for you. The moment they grab you, I need you to yell their descriptions. Everything you see.”
“Winona, he’s coming.”
“Mattie.”
Mattie’s screeching scream hits me like a bullet to the chest, and she yells, “Face tattoos, blonde hair, officer uniform.”
The line disconnects.
Paralyzed in my seat, I blink back tears.
“You did everything you could for her,” says my supervisor, “Officers and SWAT teams are on their way. They will do everything to find her. The police have already sent an Amber Alert and called her mother.”
I sniffle, and tears fall down my face.
I followed every guideline I was taught, and it wasn’t enough to rescue her. She might have found a way out if I had urged her to flee. Maybe she had a chance.
I know it’s not my fault, but it hurts.
There’s nothing I could have done from an office miles away. I’m the last voice she heard. What if I’m the last voice she hears?
What if they kill her or force her to do something she doesn’t want to do?
I can’t shake the mortifying feeling that tightens in my throat. Overwhelmed, my heart is breaking all over again. The noise in the office rings in my ears, and my head feels like it’s in a vice-like grip.
“I need a break,” I say, my voice cracking like my shattered heart.
“Of course.”
I rush to the bathroom at the end of the hallway and slam the stall door shut.
I swallow the breath that trembles in my chest.
I miss him.
I can’t do this without him.
Reeve made everything better. From the moment he gave in, I wanted to tear my heart out of my chest and fuse it with his because it belonged to him. My heart was his, not just a part of it—every inch screamed his name.
I pull his knife out of my pocket and flick it open before my body drops onto the toilet seat. I clutch the blade tightly until it dents my skin while I sob into my other palm.
I can’t do this anymore.
Tears slide down my cheeks, and beads of blood cover the blade.
Reeve is gone.
I tighten my grip around the blade, and it cuts deeper.
Innocent people get hurt every day.
The battle is everlasting.
I don’t want to be here.
I’m tired.
I’m so tired.
All I want is to evaporate.
My hand squeezes the blade, and blood dots the floor.
I’m not happy. I struggle every day to get out of bed. I’ve always felt like I don’t belong here—like I’m an alien who accidentally landed here and was forced to stay when I only wanted to go back home.
Reeve was my home; now, I have nothing.
Everyone feels like a stranger.
Every place I go feels foreign.
This job is hard enough already, and after I lost Reeve, it became impossible.
He was the shoulder I cried on after tough calls that dismantled me internally.
He was the balance in my life. When everything else was terrible, excruciating, impossible, or smothering, he was my refuge.
My escape. Reeve was my sanity. He was the one person I could talk to.
Now, I feel so empty. I’m forced to navigate reality and memories, and I’m supposed to be a lifeline for others because that’s my job.
I’m not.
I’m toxic.
Toxic toward myself.
I break myself apart and force my hands to shred the tiny pieces that’re left, thirsting for pain, chasing a ghost, hiding in a house with too many memories.
I hate it.
I hate myself.
Why do I keep doing this to myself?
All my life, that darkness ruled my life and stormed everything else. For a moment, I touched the light and felt what it was like to see a beautiful sunrise, until it was taken away from me.
I snap back to reality and take a deep breath into my lungs.
I remember that call like it was yesterday. It was my breaking point, and after that, I quit my job.
A while later, authorities found a truck filled with kids on an abandoned property. All of them, including Mattie, were rescued and returned home safely.
I remember her interview from a few months later. She said a guy showed up and promised they would return home. She described him as The Dark Knight. It made me smile for the first time in months.
And for some reason, that’s how I knew he was still alive.
He had to be Reeve.
But he didn’t come back.