1
Liv: 0 Years old
“Liv, get your things. Now.” Mommy’s voice is serious and almost shaky.
That’s what makes me move.
Not her words, but the way her eyes won’t stop darting toward the front door, like she’s waiting for something bad to happen.
I don’t ask questions.
I do as I’m told, grab my Little Mermaid backpack, and start stuffing things inside—Tilly, my stuffed bunny.
My pink notebook.
A pair of socks.
My hands won’t stop shaking, and I drop my socks twice before finally getting them in.
I don’t know why I feel like I have to be fast, but I do.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Someone pounds on the front door so hard that the whole house shakes .
“Leah! Open this goddamn door!”
Daddy.
Why does he sound so mad?
My stomach does that flippy thing when I get nervous.
I look at Mommy, but she doesn’t look at me.
She doesn’t even grab her coat, just mine.
Then she grabs my hand before I can even put it on.
“We have to go,” she says, yanking me toward our back door.
We run.
I want to look back, just for a second.
But I don’t.
The air outside is freezing, but I barely feel it because my heart is racing so fast.
My socks get soggy from the wet pavement as we run down the street, with my backpack bouncing against my back.
Mommy’s breathing hard and pulling me so fast that I almost trip.
I don’t know where we’re going.
I don’t know why we’re running.
But I do know that something is really, really wrong.
A car screeches to a stop in front of us.
I freeze, my stomach twisting up so bad it hurts.
“Get in!” Mommy yells.
I don’t move fast enough.
Strong arms scoop me up, tossing me into the backseat, with my backpack clutched in my arms.
Mommy jumps in next to me and slams the door shut.
The car jerks forward so fast that the tires start to make a screeching sound that hurts my ears .
“Get us out of here,” Mommy gasps, and I twist around, looking out the back window.
Daddy’s in the middle of the street watching us drive off.
I see his fists clench, and his face is red and angry.
He looks…
scary, like a shadow-monster stretching too tall under the streetlights.
I press my face to the glass, watching him get smaller and smaller until I don’t see him anymore.
What if we never see him again?
I don’t realize I’m crying until my cheeks feel cold.
I wake up in the backseat of the black car that picked us up.
It smells like old french fries, and there are a bunch of water bottles rolling around on the floor.
The car bumps a little, making them rattle.
We’re still driving, and when I look out the window, the sky is super dark, but there are a ton of stars.
It looks like someone threw sparkles everywhere.
Mommy’s in the front seat, leaning toward some guy I don’t know.
They’re whispering, and it makes me think they’re talking about something I’m not supposed to hear.
The guy has messy brown hair and a serious face, like he never laughs at jokes.
He keeps glancing at me in the mirror.
I rub my eyes.
“Where are we?”I ask.
I reach for my backpack and pull out Tilly, hugging her tight.
She always makes me feel better, ever since Mommy gave her to me for Christmas when I was five.
Her fur’s a little worn now, but I don’t care.
She still smells like home.
Mommy spins around so fast, her red hair slaps her in the face.
She blinks at me like she forgot I was here.
“We’re safe, baby,” she says, but her voice sounds weird.
She doesn’t smile.
Her eyes are all puffy and red, like she’s been crying a lot, but she’s pretending she hasn’t.
The car keeps driving, and I try to stay awake, but my eyes keep closing.
When I wake up, I’m in a living room, but it’s not mine.
It’s small and smells weird, like the cheese Mommy puts on my spaghetti.
The couch I wake up on is lumpy and itches my skin.
The whole room looks like no one’s lived here in a long time.
The walls are this weird, dirty color.
Maybe light brown and really, really gross.
Mommy starts zipping around the room, grabbing clothes and stuffing them into a bag like we’re in some kind of race.
Every tiny sound makes her jump, even the zipper on the suitcase.
She keeps rubbing her eyes and messing up her hair like she’s trying to stay awake, but she looks tired, way past bedtime tired.
I don’t think she’s slept at all.
I sit up, hugging my knees.
“Are we gonna go home soon?”
She freezes for a second before zipping up the suitcase.
“I don’t know, baby. ”
Tears sting my eyes, but I swallow them back.
I need to be Mommy’s big girl.
I push the blanket off me and shuffle to the window.
Outside, everything looks different.
No park, no big oak tree, just a bunch of old, broken buildings.
I don’t like it here.
She throws open another suitcase, clothes spilling onto the floor.
My pink shirt and matching shorts fall out by her feet.
She grabs them and shoves them into my hands.
“Put these on,” she says really fast.
I stand there, not moving.
“Mommy?”
She stops, just for a second, then kneels in front of me, brushing my red curls back and giving me a tight hug.
Her perfume usually makes me feel safe, but now it smells out of place with the musty apartment air.
“We’re gonna be okay,” she says.
But her voice sounds…
wrong.
Then…
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Mommy jumps up so fast she almost knocks me to the ground.
She goes to the door and looks through the peephole.
She sucks in a breath, like she’s about to cry, then pulls open the door.
Standing in the doorway is a man about Daddy’s age with short dark brown hair, dressed in a suit that’s all wrinkled like he slept in it.
He’s got dark circles under his eyes, but he smiles a little when he sees me.
“Mrs. Johnson,” he says.
“It’s time to go.” That’s grandpa’s last name.
Why didn’t Mommy give our last name?
Mommy grabs our suitcase and takes my hand.
I barely get my arms into my coat before we’re stepping into the hallway.
The man looks down at me.
“You can call me Phil, kiddo.”
I don’t say anything back to him.
I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.
Mommy’s hand tightens on my arm.
“If you ever need help,” she whispers, “Detective Clover will keep you safe.” Her voice sounds like it’s shaking, but I nod to her.
The days all melt into each other, like crayons left in the sun too long: new towns, new beds, new names.
The walls are different though, and the air smells strange.
And nothing ever feels like home.
Mommy says this is temporary, but I don’t know what that means anymore.
I try to do my homeschool work like she tells me, but the words blur together.
The numbers don’t make sense.
My hands keep reaching for my pencils, but my mind keeps drifting back to my old school, my old bed, and Daddy.
I miss him.
I miss my real life.
I’m picking at the leftover spaghetti on my plate, twisting the noodles around my fork but not eating them.
Mommy stands by the window, staring outside, her arms crossed tight against her chest.
She hasn’t eaten either.
When the new cell phone Detective Clover gave Mommy rings, we both freeze.
We don’t get many calls because nobody is allowed to have our number.
Mommy’s head snaps toward the sound, and her hands shake just a little as she reaches for it.
“H-hello?” She answers carefully.
I stop twirling my fork.
My stomach twists when I watch her face go pale.
She doesn’t say much, just listens, nodding every now and then.
When she finally hangs up, her hand lingers on the phone like she’s afraid to let go.
I wait with my breath caught in my throat.
When she turns to me, her face is hard to read.
Her lips press together, and her eyes flicker with something…
something I can’t name.
“Your father says it’s safe to come home.” My heart does this weird thing, like it wants to jump but doesn’t know if it should.
Home.
The word feels too big and too good to be true .
“Really?” My voice barely comes out.
Mommy hesitates, just for a second.
She bites her lip, her eyes flicking toward the window like someone might be watching.
“I think so,” she says finally.
But her voice isn’t strong.
It wobbles at the edges.
I should feel excited, but something nags at me, pulling at my insides.
That night, I sleep with my clothes on, just in case we have to wake up early.
Daddy picks us up the next day, early in the morning.
The car smells like him, coffee, and aftershave, and for a second, it almost feels normal.
He hugs me tight, too tight, lifting me off the ground like he used to when I was little.
“Missed you, Livy Bear,” he says, and his beard feels rough against my ear.
I squeeze my arms around his neck, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
“Missed you too, Daddy.”
Mommy stands back, with her arms wrapped around herself, watching us.
We don’t talk much on the drive home.
Daddy taps his fingers against the wheel, humming under his breath, but his shoulders look stiff.
He smiles back at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
Mommy keeps glancing at him, her fingers fidgeting in her lap, but she doesn’t say anything.
I watch them but don’t know what to say, so I press my forehead against the window and pretend everything is fine.
But it’s not fine because Daddy seems different.
I wake up when the car stops.
Blinking a few times, I sit up, rubbing my eyes.
It’s nighttime, but we’re home.
The porch light flickers and the old mailbox leans to the side, just like I remember.
I want to run inside, to climb into my own bed, to believe everything is back to the way it was.
But when Daddy turns off the engine, he just sits still for a moment, his fingers are gripping the wheel so hard his hands turn white.
I glance at Mommy.
Her hands are still clenched in her lap.
No one moves for what feels like forever.
Then Daddy lets out a sharp exhale and smiles at me, all big and bright.
“Welcome home, kiddo.”
Mommy gets out of the car first.
She comes to my door, takes my hand, and guides me inside.
She helps me get ready for bed, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I sleep in my own room, and I fall right to sleep.
Something wakes me before the sun.
I slide out of bed, my bare feet touching the soft carpet, and tiptoe down the hall.
I peek into Mommy and Daddy’s room, but the bed is empty.
The covers are messy, like they got up in a hurry.
My heart starts to thump harder, and that weird, twisty feeling in my stomach gets worse .
The house feels too still.
I move toward the living room, my bare feet making soft shuffling sounds on the rug.
A large shape is slouched on the couch, and my heart jumps.
“Daddy?”
He doesn’t answer right away.
He’s staring at the floor, with his hands gripping his knees so tight his knuckles are white.
I swallow, stepping closer.
“Where’s Mommy?”
Daddy lifts his head slowly, and that’s when I see his eyes are red and puffy.
He’s been crying.
My stomach twists into a tight knot.
He looks at me like he wants to say something, but the words don’t come out.
Tears fill my eyes.
“Daddy?” I call out again.
Something creaks behind me.
I spin around just as Uncle Tito steps out of the kitchen.
He’s holding a glass, the ice inside clinking softly.
His face is blank, but there’s something cold in his eyes.
Something that makes my skin prickle on my neck.
He takes a slow sip, watching me.
“Damn liabilities,” he mutters under his breath.
I turn back to Daddy, panic rising in my belly.
“Where’s Mommy?” I ask again, louder this time.
He flinches.
His hands clench into fists, his whole body tenses like he’s trying to hold himself together.
“ She’s…” His voice breaks.
He shakes his head, and I see the moment he can’t hold the truth back any longer.
His shoulders collapse, and his face crumples.
“She’s gone, Livy Bear.”
The words don’t make sense.
Gone?
Like…
gone to the store?
Gone to another safe house?
“No.” My voice feels small.
I shake my head, refusing to believe him.
Mommy wouldn’t leave me.
“No, she said we were safe. She said—”
He squeezes his eyes shut, a tear slipping down his cheek, and that’s when I know.
I feel like I’m falling, even though I’m standing still.
My vision blurs, my legs wobble, and my knees give out.
But before I can fall, rough hands yank me backward.
The grip on my arm is too tight.
Uncle Tito’s fingers dig into my skin, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out.
My arm burns, like he might rip it right off if I move too much.
Then the front door explodes.
The boom shakes the whole house, rattling the pictures on the wall, making my bones feel like they’re jumping inside me.
My head jerks up just in time to see the splinters fly, the wood bursting apart like fireworks.
Uncle Tito let’s go just before the big booms start.
It’s so loud and hurts my ears.
The ringing drowns everything out, Daddy’s voice, my own heartbeat, and the world itself.
I don’t even realize I’m backing up until I hit the couch.
Before I can move my hands over my ears, a can of smoke pours into the room.
My eyes start to burn.
I rub them with my fists, but it’s not helping.
Black shadows burst through the smoke.
Big men, dressed in all black, their faces are covered, so I can’t see what they look like.
But they are monsters that move fast with big boots that slam against the floor, shaking everything.
A hand grabs my arm, the same spot that still hurts a little from Uncle Tito.
I kick and thrash, my tiny fists pounding against something solid, then I’m lifted off the ground.
I try to reach out, stretching my fingers for something to hold onto.
“Daddy!” I shout, but I can’t even hear my own voice.
I see him crouched down behind our coffee table.
His face is pale, his eyes are wide, almost frozen in place.
His mouth moves, but I can’t hear him over all of the noise.
Another loud boom goes off right behind me.
Then everything goes black.
A bag is shoved over my head, and there’s nothing but darkness.
I scream, but the fabric muffles my voice.
I can’t breathe and I can’t see.
I try to kick and fight, but it’s useless.
Their hands are too strong.
The world flips upside down, and I’m tossed into the backseat of a car.
My head smacks against something hard, then the car jerks forward.
The doors slam—one, two, three, four—trapping me inside.
My heart pounds so fast it makes my chest hurt.
We’re moving really fast.
The car swerves, taking sharp turns that make my body slide against the seat and the hard thing next to me.
My hands try to grip the scratchy fabric beneath me, trying to stay still, but it’s no use.
The bag over my head smells weird, like old sweat and pennies.
It’s too hot, too stuffy, making my breath come out quick and shaky.
My whole body freezes when the strap slides across my chest and clicks into place.
They buckled me in.
Bad guys don’t care if kids wear seatbelts…
right?
I try to peek under the edge of the bag, moving as slow as I can.
If I can just see a little bit, maybe I’ll know where we’re going.
Or who took me.
All I catch is a sliver of a big arm with dark ink.
The tattoo stretches across tanned skin, and I squint, trying to make it out.
The scary sword shape looks familiar, like the knife from that show Mommy says I’m too young to watch .
The man clears his throat, and I snap my head forward, swallowing hard.
My fingers curl into my lap, trying to stay small and invisible.
I don’t know where we’re going.
I don’t know who they are.
I don’t know if I’ll ever see Mommy or Daddy again.
The car jerks to a stop and everything goes really quiet.
I feel cold air when the car door opens.
The seatbelt is unbuckled and rough hands pull me out of the car.
My legs feel shaky when my feet hit the ground, but before I can even stand, someone picks me up.
Everything is quiet except the sound of feet moving fast around me, like people are busy doing something, but no one speaks.
The man holding me shifts, and for a second, the bag slips just enough for me to see it’s the same man who put the seatbelt on me.
The man with the sword knife tattoo.
“This is for your own good,” he says.
He doesn’t sound cruel, but not soft like how Mommy talks to me.
Just cold.
I’m set on my feet, but my legs tremble so badly I can barely stand up straight.
I hear a knock, and then a door creaks open with a groan.
A rough hand grips my arm and pushes me inside.
The cold air from outside disappears, replaced by a smoky, damp smell that makes my nose scrunch.
The rough hand lets go of my arm, and the door clicks behind me.
Then, suddenly, the bag is yanked off my head, and I squeeze my eyes shut from the bright light.
I blink fast, my breath coming out quick and panicky.
My eyes are still trying to adjust when I see Detective Clover’s face, with his eyebrows lifted in surprise, walking toward me.
“Olivia,” he says softly.
Relief washes over me so fast, I nearly fall forward.
My legs wobble, my body frozen between wanting to run to him and wanting to curl into a ball and disappear.
I look around the room, it’s small and dirty, with just a table and a couple of chairs.
The walls are a dull, ugly gray, and the floor is scratched up and gross.
“Do you know who brought you here?” Clover asks, and I shake my head.
My throat feels too dry to speak.
His eyes flick toward the door, like he’s making sure no one else is coming.
“I want Mommy,” I cry out.
Clover kneels down in front of me, his hand resting on my shoulder, warm but heavy.
“I’m sorry, Olivia. Your mom did everything she could to protect you. Now it’s my turn.”