“So, you were never sexually abused by the Sinister Minister?”
I shook my head.
“But the other kids were?”
“I didn’t know there were other kids,” I answered. “I mean, I’d heard of others, but I never saw them.”
“Jame Blackwood kidnapped over eighty-five children during his career and either sold them, abused them, or killed them all under the guise that he was just working his ministry. You never saw any of that?” Dave stared at me skeptically.
“I didn’t say that. I said I didn’t see the other kids.”
“So, you were abused.”
My stomach tightened, and I lowered my head to stare at my lap. “I was.”
“Was it sexual in nature?”
“I don’t think so,” I answered honestly. “He never touched me. Nor did anyone, you know, like that.”
“What other forms of abuse did he use?”
I steeled myself. This wasn’t the first time I’d been forced to tell my story. Why was it so hard? “I want another answer.”
“Go ahead.”
“Where are they from?”
“You were kidnapped from Sherwood, Ohio. Your parents were born and raised there.”
I took a sip of water and nodded. Shelley Vale, Michigan, was above Ohio. He hadn’t had to travel too far to take me.
“I was starved a lot. That was their most common punishment other than being locked in the room. That was a given. Most of the time, I didn’t bathe or change my clothes. I was only given new ones when I grew too much for them to fit.”
“What did they feed you?”
“Sandwiches. Sometimes fruit. Apples were common. Boiled eggs or something warm like oatmeal, too, during the winter.”
“How did you know it was winter down in the basement?”
“They’d tell us.” I nodded solemnly. “We would get cold and shiver and then eventually they’d give us a blanket and warn us that it’d be taken come summer.”
“You’re sayingwea lot. Was there someone else in the room?”
My eyes twitched, but I forced them not to look at Constantine and give it away.
“Sometimes. My turn. Do I have any siblings?”
“Unfortunately, no. You are the only child of the Rosales’s.”
I wasn’t sure if I was happy or sad about that.
“Can you tell me anything about the children you shared a room with?” he asked.
“No,” I replied firmly. “That’s not my story to tell.”
Dave was clearly irritated by my response, but that didn’t deter him. We kept going for another hour, back and forth until finally, he said he was done for today.
“Do you have any more questions before I email this file to you?” he asked me.
