Somewhere on the AT
Tears bled down Dana Jo’s face as the monster who’d kidnapped her slammed the heavy metal door and locked her inside. The sound of the key turning screeched like nails on a chalkboard in her head, reverberating over and over and sending sharp pinpoints of pain through her skull like a thousand needles stabbing at her, piercing her behind her eyes.
The headache was so blinding nausea gripped her as whatever he’d injected her with seeped into her bloodstream. Hot bouts of bile rose to her throat, and she had to swallow hard.
She’d struggled to overcome the need for pills after her attack and finally won.
She’d done it for herself and her little girl. Lou Lou was worth it. She certainly didn’t want to get hooked on something again.
Of course, she realized he planned to kill her. But at least if she was straight, she might have the energy to fight him.
Fear for Lou Lou clawed at her. Dear God, what had he done to her daughter?
A scream burst from her, bouncing off the cold concrete walls. She searched the room, but it was dark and dusty and shedidn’t see anything she could use as a weapon. Where was she? If anyone was nearby, could they even hear her?
She screamed over and over, beating at the wall and struggling to stand up, holding on to the rough concrete, her nails breaking as she worked. If she could reach the window and look out, maybe she could figure out where she was and a way to escape. But her legs were slipping, turning to rubber beneath her and snapping like broken rubber bands, then her knees hit the floor. The room twirled into a blinding circle like the eye of a tornado, and weird creatures started flying through the air, sending her tumbling forward and face-planting on the hard cold floor.
She tried to keep her eyes open, had to figure out an escape plan, find a weapon she could use on the monster when he returned. And she knew he would. He’d kill her just like he had that girl Minnie.
Fear choked her.
Her mind swirled, the room fading and everything began to feel unreal.
Her eyes slowly drooped closed, but a sliver of the moon seeped in and for a brief second she saw a face staring at her, black eyes, black ski mask, teeth hissing as he murmured crazy words and wrapped his hands around her throat.
Time warped and she knew she was back at the hands of the man who’d attacked her and left her for dead in the woods.
If she could only get a clear picture of his face.
Now the windows were rattling, and crows pecked at the glass, dozens, no hundreds of them, trying to break inside. Black feathers floated around her face as the window cracked and the birds swarmed the room, flying in all directions, then swooping down to tap at her head with their beaks. She covered her head with her arms, but they pecked at them then at her face and blood oozed down into her eyes…
EIGHTY-FIVE
New Beginnings
With both Cord and Derrick at Midnight Ridge, Ellie drove to the adoption agency Mabel had directed her to, which was nearer Atlanta. Like many of the older houses in small towns, this area had been rezoned commercial and it was now a business. Although this house didn’t look as if it had been renovated or was welcoming. It needed paint and trim work repaired. She didn’t see a sign out front either.
Odd.
Maybe the agency worked by word of mouth and through private attorneys, keeping a low profile.
Ellie climbed out, noting the fence in front had a hole in it and the fallen leaves were piled inches deep as if no one maintained the property. The stormy sky painted the rotting wood a sinister shade of gray, and the wind hurled dry leaves onto the porch. Several torn tree limbs were scattered across the yard, some on the roof as well.
She walked closer to the porch, then spotted a wooden sign lying in the weeds. The etching was faded but it did say New Beginnings.
So she had the right place.
The house looked less than inviting for a couple or individual applying for adoption, but perhaps the practice preferred home visits instead of meeting at the office. Most social workers who worked with DFCS and adoption facilities were required to conduct home interviews and inspections, and the families endured a rigorous process, both with applications, interviews, parenting classes and referrals. Even afterward for a period of time, the adopted parent or parents underwent follow-up home visits and counseling to assist in the transition for both the child and adopted parent.
Ellie grimaced. All expectant parents should be required to undergo similar requirements and parental training. Then perhaps children wouldn’t wind up abandoned, neglected, abused or part of the system.
The stairs creaked as she climbed the small porch and knocked on the door. Glancing through the window, she didn’t see lights or signs anywhere. Instead, the interior was pitched in darkness.
Suspicions raised the hairs on the nape of her neck, and she twisted the old brass doorknob and pushed the door open. Cold, stale air rushed out, mingling with the freezing temperature of the gusty winds outside.
She placed her hand around her weapon, prepared to draw in case someone lay in wait.
Opening the door wider, she quickly surmised the room was empty. The wood floors were scarred, the air smelled musty and the room felt like an icebox, indicating a lack of heat.
