My foot caught on a root. I hit the ground hard, shoulder-first. Pain burst white behind my eyes. My teeth clicked together, and I tasted blood. A sound escaped me — too soft to be a scream, too sharp to be a breath.
“Careful now,” he said, soft and smiling.“Wouldn’t want to ruin that skin before I even have a taste of it.”
I shoved myself forward, wild, desperate, moving on instinct alone. My lungs burned. My throat felt raw, scraped clean by fear.
A hand closed around my ankle.
His grip was hot, rough. Certain.
I kicked back, hard. My heel hit something solid. He grunted but didn’t let go. I clawed the dirt, dragging myself a few inches. His fingers only dug deeper.
Ahead, the fence glimmered — rusted barbed wire, the kind that cuts everything it touches. Freedom or pain. I didn’t care. Anything was better than him.
He yanked me back.
“No,” I gasped, voice breaking.“No, no?—”
My heel slammed into him again. There was a grunt, followed by a curse.
“I’ve got you, little mouse,” he hissed.
I kicked again — not smart or strategic — animal. Wild. My heel caught bone. His grip slipped.
I shoved myself under the lowest wire, barbs tearing at me. My shirt caught; my skin tore. Then I was through. Burning needles pierced the skin on my leg.
The field fell away behind me, black and endless. I didn’t lookback. I ran. Barefoot. Bleeding. Labored breaths ripping through my chest. The night swallowed everything except my fear.
By the time I reached the farmhouse, the world tilted sideways. The fields swayed. The stars ran together like ink in water. My lungs burned. My throat tasted like metal.
The porch light glowed ahead of me — warm and steady, spilling onto the steps. Holy. Safe. A promise.
I lifted my hand to knock. Once. Twice. The sound barely kissed the wood before my knees buckled and the whole world collapsed into black.
When I came back, the light was harsh and humming. The room smelled like disinfectant and plastic. A monitor beeped beside me. A blanket weighed heavy on my legs.
They told me I’d lost too much blood. That I was lucky.
Lucky.
The word turned sour in my mouth.
Because the bed next to mine was empty. And luck doesn’t explain an empty bed.
Two days later, they found her by the river.
They didn’t say much at first — just the river. As if water could swallow a person whole and keep their story secret.
I remember the officer’s face. He didn’t look at me when he said her name. He used words that didn’t fit the girl who held my hand. Words like remains. Identification. Condition of discovery.
My parents’sobs crashed into the walls.
I stood there, numb, trying to understand how someone could be gone in past tense.
When they let me see her, she didn’t look like Missy.
Her hair was tangled with river mud.
Her lips were drained of color.
