“Erica Essig?” One of the cops stopped in front of Meredith, the toe of his shiny black shoe anchoring her hula hoop to the ground.
Meredith shook her head. Erica stepped off the Pogo Ball.
Rebecca knew she should say something. She should go get her grandparents. But her feet felt glued to the porch steps.
“Miss Janice!” Sara spun and pounded twice on the front door. “Miss Janice, the police are here!”
Across the street, the little dryad’s mother stepped onto her front porch, drawn by Sara’s shouting.
“Erica Essig?” The first two cops headed up the driveway to the left of Grandpa Frank’s car. Both men’s hands hovered over the service pistols in holsters on their belts, as if they expected trouble. From a six-year-old.
Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
The edges of Rebecca’s vision lost focus, until she could see nothing but her sister. “Erica!” she called, but her voice carried little sound. The front door squealed open behind her and Grandma Janice hurried down the steps, gripping the flaking railing.
“We’re going to need you to come with us.” The first policeman pulled a set of handcuffs from his belt. Erica looked up at him with long, dark hair half-covering her face, her tiny hands at her sides.
“Wait! What are you doing? She’s just a child!” Grandma Janice rushed across the small lawn and down the driveway, her knees cracking audibly.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to stand back.” One of the cops from the second car came forward, arms extended at his sides, as if he were a human guardrail. “You girls, too.” He tossed his head at Meredith and Sara, directing them toward the porch.
“Frank!” Grandma Janice shouted. “Get out here! Call a lawyer!”
Frank appeared in the doorway with his cane. “What’s going on out here?”
“Sir, we’re going to have to take your granddaughter down to the station.”
“Why?” Grandma Janice demanded. “Do you have a warrant?”
“No, ma’am, right now she’s not under arrest. She’s being taken into custody as a ward of the federal government.”
“What does that mean?” Rebecca asked her grandfather softly, from where they both still stood on the porch.
“A ward of the...” Grandma Janice frowned. “The government is taking custody of my granddaughter? On what grounds?” She turned to glance at Rebecca, but the police seemed uninterested in the teenager. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Ma’am, you’re to direct all questions to the FBI.” The first officer reached for little Erica, who stared up at him with an oddly curious expression. But no sign of fear. She made no attempt to resist as he turned her by both shoulders, then had to kneel to cuff her small wrists behind her back.
“Are those really necessary?” Grandma Janice gestured boldly to the cuffs, but her voice shook. “This is ridiculous. Frank, call our lawyer!” Grandpa Frank shuffled back into the house, and his wife followed her youngest granddaughter as Erica was led to the back of the first police car, in handcuffs. “Don’t worry, honey. They’re going to take good care of you. And Grandpa Frank and I will come get you just as soon as we get this sorted out.”
Erica said nothing as the policeman helped her into the back of the car. He closed the door, then all four cops got back into their vehicles.
As both cars pulled away from the curb, Rebecca watched from the porch, stunned while Erica smiled at her from the rear window of the first car.
She never saw her little sister again.
Delilah
In my life before captivity, I’d owned a car. I’d held a job and had an apartment of my own. For fun, I’d read novels and streamed movies and TV on my tablet. I’d had little interest in current events, and even less interest in history.
Back when I’d had unlimited access to information, I’d had little use for it.
But in captivity, I’d learned that information is power, and that one of the best ways to break a new captive is to strip her of that power. To keep her ignorant of where she is and why. Of when her next meal or shower will come. Of what day of the week it is, and what she’ll be expected to endure before that day is over.
Since our escape, I’d become a voracious and unapologetic consumer of the news. I lived for the days when we’d venture into the local town from whatever hideout we were currently occupying. I scanned storefronts for a free Wi-Fi notice like a desert wanderer watching the horizon for signs of water. And when I found it, I gorged.
Today was no exception, despite the actual reason for our visit to the University of Maryland.
“What are you doing?” Gallagher leaned over the driver’s seat armrest to peer at my phone.
