Page 22 of Backwater Justice
“Didn’t you have a phone? Surely all people your age have phones.”
Vanessa thought again. “We decided we would unplug for the afternoon.”
“Why didn’t they come looking for you?”
Vanessa let out a little chuckle. “I don’t know, but they’re gonna hear it from me when I see them.” She was beginning to get comfortable with her story.
“By the way, I’m Gloria. This is my hubby, Fred. You’ve already met Hardy.”
“Thank you, Gloria. Thank you, Fred. And thank you, Hardy. I could have been lost forever.” Vanessa sat up straight. “Could I please use your bathroom?”
“Of course, dear. Straight down the hall. Fred will get the truck ready.”
Vanessa was shocked at her reflection in the mirror. She was almost unrecognizable. The ham and cheese sandwiches might have contained a lot of fat and carbs, but she had definitely lost weight. She looked scrawny. And dirty. She’d tried to wash her hair during her captivity, but cheap soap and no conditioner gave her head a matted look. She was surely a hot mess. She splashed more water on her face and dried it with toilet paper. She didn’t want to get any more blood on these nice people’s towels.
When she returned to the living room, Gloria was waiting with Hardy. “Come on, dear. Let’s get you fixed up.” The passenger door of the vehicle was open. Vanessa stepped in and buckled up. She had a flashback of her last encounter in a stranger’s vehicle. She started to tremble. Fred patted her arm gently. “You’re gonna be alright.”
Fred tried a little small talk. “You from around here?” Vanessa answered with monosyllabic words.
“No.”
“Visiting friends?”
“Yes.”
Fred decided some music might be helpful and turned on the radio. “Got any favorites?”
“Not really.”
“Okay. How about some oldies?”
For Fred,oldiesmeant songs like “The Tide Is High” by Blondie and “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell. Vanessa wasn’t particularly a fan of either, but it was better than trying to have a conversation with someone she really didn’t want to talk to.
When they arrived at the hospital emergency entrance, Fred got out and began to walk over to the passenger door. Vanessa noticed a sticker on the driver’s side window. Even though it was facing out, she could see the large S.E.I. letters. She panicked. Before Fred could reach the door handle, Vanessa flung the door open, hitting Fred in the face.
“What the—?” Fred was stunned.
Vanessa shot out of the truck like a bullet, ran into the emergency room, and hid behind a curtain. A nurse ran after her as Fred stomped into the area. Vanessa put her fingers to her lips, begging the nurse not to say anything. By the looks of her, Vanessa could have been the victim of assault. In many ways, she was. The nurse mouthed the words “Stay here” and went out to the waiting area, where Fred stood, flummoxed.
“Where’d she go?”
“Who?” the nurse asked.
“The girl. Biddie.”
“Biddie who?” the nurse asked.
The man shrugged.
“Are you a relative?”
“No. My wife found her in the woods.”
The nurse thought that was a very unlikely story. “And what is your name, sir?”
“Fred. Fred Sorenson.”
“Okay, Mr. Sorenson. If we find this girl, Biddie, we will give you a call. In the meantime, why don’t you fill out the form at the nurse’s station?”