“I am. I can see it. There are streetlights. If I go where it’s light and they come, they’ll see me.”
“Just keep talking. Keep your phone on, Elizabeth. We’re using your signal to find you.”
“I see an address. I see the numbers.” She read them off.
“The police are on their way. Help is coming, Elizabeth. Are you hurt?”
“No. No, I ran. I was outside when they came in. I was on the terrace. They didn’t know. They didn’t see me. He shot them. He shot them. He killed Julie.”
“I’m sorry. Where did this happen?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t get the address. It was on Lake Shore Drive. We shouldn’t have gone there. We shouldn’t have gone to that house. Julie’s dead.”
“Who is Julie, Elizabeth?”
“Ju—Julie Masters. My friend Julie. A car’s coming. I have to hide.”
“It’s the patrol car. It’s help.”
“Are you sure?” Panic crushed her chest, shut off her air. “Are you sure?”
“They’re on the radio right now, approaching the address. I’m going to tell them to turn on the bubble light. You’ll see it.”
“Yes. Yes. Oh, God. I see it.” She stumbled forward, into the light. “Thank you.”
“You’re safe now, Elizabeth.”
They wanted to take her to the hospital, but when she grew only more anxious, they took her to the station. She huddled under the blanket one of the officers wrapped around her shoulders, and continued to shiver in the back of the patrol car.
They took her to a room with a table and chairs. One of the officers stayed with her while the other went to get her coffee.
“Tell me what happened.”
He’d given her his name, she remembered. Officer Blakley. He had a stern face and tired eyes, but he’d given her a blanket.
“We went to the club. Julie and I, we went to the club.”
“Julie Masters.”
“Yes.”
“What club?”
“Warehouse 12. I…” She had to tell the truth. No more lies. “I made fake IDs for us.”
His face barely registered surprise as he wrote in his little book. “How old are you?”
“Sixteen. I’ll be seventeen in September.”
“Sixteen,” he repeated, studying her, voice and eyes flat. “Where are your parents?”
“It’s just my mother. She’s out of town at a medical convention.”
“She’ll need to be notified.”
Elizabeth only shut her eyes. “Yes. She’s Dr.Susan L. Fitch. She’s registered at the Westin Peachtree Plaza hotel, in Atlanta.”
“All right. And you forged identification to gain entrance to Warehouse 12.”
