30. Sadie
Thirty
Sadie
The rope seems to have gotten tighter. I’m not sure how that’s possible, I’ve been trying to get out of them for twenty minutes. Every small movement I’ve been doing is making it tighter, but I know it’ll loosen. Come on, I've seen this in films and TV shows a million times. It has to work.
My shoulders burn, my wrists are raw, the skin scratched and stinging where the rope bites the deepest. My bare feet are so cold I've stopped feeling them, the concrete floor is pulling the warmth out of me degree by degree.
If they don’t kill me, then I might die from the cold.
I breathe through my nose and count my breaths the way I count bars of music.
One. Two. Three.
Miles told me he'd find me.
Whatever happens, I promise I will find you. Just have faith.
He said it, and I know he meant it. He's alive, he has to be alive. I don't let the alternative form a complete thought, because if I do, I’ll lose hope, and I told him I’d have faith in him.
He's alive and he's coming for me, and I need to still be here when he does, because he found something that was important. He was happy he finally found it. So, I’m going to assume he knows where I am.
I test the rope again. It’s still too tight.
I yell in frustration. The bare bulb buzzes above me, casting its flat yellow light, which might give me a headache soon.
The camera in the corner watches with its small red eye.
I've been looking at that red eye since they locked the door, I’ve been thinking about what Miles said, about feeds and systems and access that shouldn't exist, but does because he built it that way.
He'll find the feed. If anyone in the world can find a camera signal in a warehouse in a city he doesn't have an address for, it's Miles Crawford.
I just need to give him something to find.
I look directly at the camera. "My name is Sadie Elliot," I say.
My voice comes out steadier than I expect.
"I'm at…" I stop. I don't know where I am.
I counted turns in the van, but I don't know this city well enough to translate that into a location.
"I don't know the address. The building is a warehouse, it’s industrial, has high ceilings, and there's a broken window up high on the north side, I can hear air coming through it.
" I pause. "There's a red light on a camera in the upper right corner of the room I'm in.
If you can see this, you already know that.
" I look at it for another second. "Come and get me," I say. Then, quieter, "Please."
***
I hear the girl's voice again, she’s crying, but I don’t know where it’s coming from. Maybe it’s the room next to mine or even in this room somewhere.
"Hello?" My voice comes out low, and careful. I don't know who's listening outside the door, which is now stupid, considering I just spoke to the camera. "Can you hear me?"
There’s silence. Then I hear it, a faint, muffled, "Yes.” It’s a woman's voice. She sounds hoarse like she’s been crying for a long time.
"Are you hurt?" I ask.
There’s a pause. "Not…, not badly. They don't… They don't hurt us if we cooperate," she says through tears.
"How long have you been here?" I ask.
Another pause, but it’s longer this time. "I don't know." Her voice drops. "I stopped counting."
My stomach turns over. "What's your name?" I ask.
"Renee," she says finally. "Renee Park."
I know that name, I just don’t know how I know it. Think Sadie, how do you know this name?
Renee Park. Oh my God, she’s a girl Miles is looking for. Nashville. She’s a nursing student, and she was last seen leaving a restaurant shift. She’s the girl whose disappearance brought the case to Miles’ desk in the first place.
I remember seeing her name of the computer, one of a few names, but hers was one hundred percent on it.
She's here.
"Renee." I keep my voice steady. "My name is Sadie. I'm… I know people who have been looking for you."
"What?"
"I know people who have been trying to find you for months." I press closer to the wall, ignoring the ache in my shoulders. "You're going to be okay. I promise you… there are people who know about this place, who are coming…"
"Don't." Her voice breaks. "Please don't say that. I’ve started to lose hope.”
"These people are different," I say. "Trust me."
There’s silence and then I hear her voice trembling. "How do you know?" she asks.
I stay quiet for a moment, because a part of me needs her to know there are people looking for us. But what if Miles didn’t make it, I don’t know how long I’ll be here for.
"Because the person looking for you doesn’t stop," I say. "That's just… that's how he is."
There’s another long silence, then a whisper. "Okay."
One word, she’s exhausted and choosing to believe me because the alternative is something I don’t want to think about.
"Okay," I whisper back.
***
I’m getting tired, my arms are hurting, my legs are getting so weak now to stand on them. My eyes are getting heavy, and I don’t know how long I’ve been here for. The door opens, hitting the wall behind it with a loud bang, and the noise wakes me up fully.
A man walks through. He’s not one of the ones from earlier this evening, he’s different, and he’s older. He looks like he’s in charge, there’s a lot of bad energy coming off him.
He looks at me, and takes his time about it, his eyes move over me slowly, deliberately, and my stomach turns. I want to be sick as he licks his lips then, smiles.
I hold his gaze. I try not to show fear, I don’t look away, and I don’t flinch. Every part of me that has stood on a competition beam, held my landing, and kept my face neutral while everything underneath it screamed, I use that training right now. I need to focus and I need to be strong.
He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his expensive cologne and cigarette smoke. These men got rich from doing sick things.
He reaches out and grips my chin, forcing my face up so I have to keep looking at him.
His fingers are rough, they feel like sandpaper against my skin.
He tilts my head slightly, examining the bruise already forming on my cheek from the earlier slap.
His touch is possessive, clinical, and meant to remind me that I have no control here. That’s something I already knew.
I feel sick, my pulse is hammering in my throat, but I keep my face still. He’s trying to break me, and I won’t give him that.
He says something in a different language. Not to me, to someone I can’t see in the hallway behind him. Then he looks at me again.
“You’re not afraid,” he says, his English is accented, almost mild.
“I am afraid,” I answer. The words come out before I can stop them. “I’m just not letting you see it.”
He studies me for a long moment, then his hand drops from my face. He glances at the camera in the corner, then back at me. His hand is playing with the hem of Miles t-shirt.
“Someone will come for you,” he says. He knows someone is in his system, and he knows who it is, he’s attacked Miles twice now.
“Yes,” I say. My voice is steadier than I feel. “They will.”
His hand moves under the t-shirt, and I try to move away from him, but I can’t. His hand moves up slowly, and I lift my leg, kicking him hard, which only makes him laugh.
“I think I might have some fun with you first.” Then he turns and walks out. The door locks behind him with a heavy, final sound.
Just have faith.
I close my eyes.
He’s coming.
I know he’s coming.