1
Devin feels them before she opens her eyes.
Two men. The mass of them—one at the foot of her bed and the other standing beside her—is heavy in the night. At first, she thinks it might be a bad dream. But bad dreams don’t smell like sweat and cheap deodorant. These men are real.
It can’t be morning yet; Devin’s limbs are still weighty with sleep. She breathes deep and stays still, keeping the rise and fall of her chest steady through the fear. She needs to get out of here and her options for doing so are limited. She doesn’t know this bedroom like the last one. She doesn’t know how to slip out in an emergency. If there are places to hide, she hasn’t uncovered them.
Behind her eyelids, Devin makes a map. It’s something she should’ve done the moment CPS moved her here. There’s a window behind her, but in the six months she’s been here, she hasn’t tried opening it. She could attempt to pry it open and get out before either stranger grabs her. The bedroom door is just beyond the foot of her bed, but with strangers in the way, it’s off the table. A door to her left leads to a shared bathroom with the other kids. She could probably get there, but then what? Lead the strangers to more children?
She knew every in and out of her last foster home. Knew how to disappear in a moment’s notice. Whoever these men are, though, they’ve caught her off guard. She doesn’t know what they want. She’s unprepared and it’s her own fault. Six months of peace and she made the mistake of getting comfortable.
“Devin Green?”
This voice comes from the man at her shoulder, too loud to be discreet. Devin doesn’t open her eyes, but her breath hitches. He isn’t afraid of being caught, for some reason, which means he either thinks he can take everyone in this house, or …
She doesn’t want to think about the alternative.
“Wake up, Devin,” the man says. “Please.”
Devin opens her eyes, but the room is still black. She can’t see the men’s faces, but their silhouettes are massive. They don’t immediately reach for her—a mistake she doesn’t plan to waste.
The window will have to do.
She sucks in a breath through her nose and twists to grab the window latch behind her, fumbling to wrench it open. She pulls hard at the bottom of the window, but it doesn’t budge. A smooth stroke of paint is hardened at the crease. Painted shut.
When a hand closes around her ankle, Devin screams.
“Shh,” the voice at the foot of her bed hisses. “You’re gonna wake people up.”
Devin turns over in the stranger’s grip, pushes off the bed with what momentum she has, and plants her fist squarely to her attacker’s nose, earning a crunch. It’s not enough to take the man out, but at least it’ll buy her a second to run. The bed creaks as Devin swings her legs over the lip of the mattress. It doesn’t matter what they want; the only thing that matters is escape.
“Shit,” the man snaps. “Grab her arms.”
The one at the foot of the bed scurries to Devin’s side before she can get up, grabbing her wrist and forcing it back to the mattress. The springs screech, too noisy not to wake the others. She claws at the man’s arm with her free hand and the part of her that only knows how to survive takes over. The air is too shallow to breathe.
“Diane,” Devin cries with what breath she has. “Henry.”
A hand claps over her mouth.
Devin’s been in dozens of homes over the last few years, all with their own sketchy situations, but the Pattons were supposed to be different. They live in a quiet neighborhood, mostly populated by old people. They ask if she wants water before bed, what kind of lunch meat she wants in her sandwiches, offer to drive her to friends’ houses on the weekends so she doesn’t have to walk. Of all the places she expected to be attacked in the middle of the night, this was last on the list.
“You’re not in danger, Devin,” the man with a hand over her mouth snaps. “Please calm down.”
Devin holds still long enough for the man to remove his hand from her mouth.
Then, she screams again.
Finally, footsteps thunder down the hall. Her bedroom door opens, not in a slam but in a hush. Diane Patton, her foster mother, sweeps past the men and kneels at the side of Devin’s bed, eyes wide. Her dark hair, at one point knotted at the back of her skull, falls in wisps along her round face. Something about her expression isn’t right. She should be afraid of intruders, afraid of something happening to her or the foster child she’s only had in her care for six months. But the men seem unsurprised by her, unafraid of being caught. Like she knew they’d be here.
Devin freezes.
“Did you hurt her?” Diane snaps.
“Look at my nose,” one of the men says, voice slightly curdled by his newly clogged sinuses. “She’s the violent one.”
Diane turns back to Devin.
“Devin, please,” Diane whispers. “You’re not in danger. I promise.”
Devin bucks against the hands holding her again. The muscles in her chest, arms, legs all burn with the force of it, but the men don’t give. Behind Diane, her willowy husband, Henry, enters the room. The floorboards on the other side of the bathroom door creak. The other kids stir, but they don’t open the door. They’re listening.
They know.
Everyone knows what’s happening except Devin.
“We’re trying to help you, Devin,” Diane whispers. Her eyes are glassy. “I’m so sorry, but I know it’ll help. Please.”
“What’s happening?” Devin breathes.
Diane reaches to stroke the side of Devin’s face.
Devin bats her away and one of the men grabs her arm. They haul her to her feet and Devin can’t find the air to scream. Her head churns, trying to make sense of it. We’re trying to help you.
The men drag her out of her bedroom, into the dark hallway. One holds her against the coffee-colored hallway wall. She doesn’t take her eyes off the Pattons, waiting for them to change their minds and save her. That’s supposed to be the point of guardians, right? To guard? Devin kicks herself for believing that, even for a second. She was tricked by shiplap walls and a two-car garage when she should’ve stuck to what she knew.
One of her kidnappers turns to Henry with a hard expression. Quietly, he says, “I don’t think we’ll get her to pack for herself. I need you to gather up a few things. Underwear, toiletries, stuff like that.”
Silently, Henry obliges. He doesn’t look at her, either from shame or hatred. Maybe they do hate her. Maybe it’s because she’s spent the last few months wandering Portland in a haze. Maybe it’s because of the money missing from their piggy bank in the hallway closet. It’s probably about the fight last week. She’s been tossed out before, but she’d thought the Pattons were too passive to get rid of her this close to her eighteenth birthday, and these men certainly aren’t CPS.
Once Henry hands over a bundle of her things, the men push Devin the rest of the way down the hall and through the front door. The cold night air slaps her in the face. The streetlights buzz, ring in her ears. The black sky tilts and spins and reality sets in. She’s being abducted, right? Devin stares into every dark window that lines the street and imagines how many would stir if she screamed right now. But when she tries to muster it, she comes up empty again. It’s like a nightmare. She opens her mouth and there’s nothing.
Across the street, a tall white van waits with its door wide open, obscuring what Devin is sure is a logo. She can’t make out the shape of it. Waiting for her in the backseat is another teen; a boy in an oversized white T-shirt and a beanie. She can’t quite see his face in the dark, but the cool light from the streetlamp shines in rivulets on his cheeks. He’s been crying.
One of the two men places his hand at the top of Devin’s spine and she snaps to life, shoving him away. She might be short, but she’s been outnumbered and out-sized before. She’s taken kicks to the gut, hair pulled from her scalp, the kinds of punches that make you see stars. Before she can fight back, though, the men grab her by the elbows. They lift Devin from the pavement and throw her into the backseat of the van, slamming and locking the door behind her.
Devin gasps for air. She kicks the back of the driver’s seat with all the force she can muster, but it’s pointless.
The boy in the backseat clears his throat.
“Do something,” Devin hisses.
The boy looks at her. “Like what?”
Devin screams as loud as she can, finally finding the air to get the noise out. Instead of joining her, the boy covers his ears. Devin screams until her throat is raw. Outside the van, the men wait for her to finish.
“Are we not being kidnapped?” Devin breathes, hoarse. “Are people cool with that now?”
“Guess so,” the boy offers. His voice is hoarse, too. He gathers himself, eyes trained on the floor of the van. “I don’t think we’re being kidnapped. My dad unlocked the door for them.”
Devin looks at the boy for a long moment. Cold light flickers into the van from the streetlight outside, cutting a sharp line over his pale knuckles. His fingers twitch against his thigh. His curly hair is the color of wet sand and his face is gaunt like he hasn’t eaten in weeks.
Softer, Devin asks, “Do you know where they’re taking us?”
The boy shrugs.
“How long ago did they take you?”
“Half hour, maybe?” the boy offers. “I don’t know where we are now, but they got me from my house in Portland. Lents.”
“Still in Portland,” Devin breathes. “We’re in Eastmoreland.”
The boy nods.
Devin considers him. “What’s your name?”
“Oliver,” the boy says. “Ollie.”
“I’m Devin.”
“Devin. What are they—”
The driver’s side door of the van swings open and one of the men hoists himself inside. The cabin light finally makes the details of him clear. He’s mid-forties, white, face hard and unreadable. He’s indistinct in a way Devin imagines would make it impossible to pick him out of a lineup. His green baseball cap reads NORTHWEST TRANSPORTATION SERVICE in all caps.
“Quiet,” the other man snaps, climbing into the passenger seat. He turns around to face Devin and Ollie with furrowed brows. He’s just as indistinct as the other man save for the thick black of his eyebrows, the unnerving blue of his eyes, and the splotchy bruise just forming across the bridge of his nose. “It’s gonna be a long drive and we’re only stopping for gas. Let’s cover a few things right away and make this painless, okay?”
Ollie nods.
“What do you—” Devin starts.
“First off, we’re keeping talking to a minimum. All questions will be answered when we arrive, but until then, be quiet. If you need food or water, let us know and we’ll get you something.”
Devin looks at Ollie, but his gaze is trained out the window. He watches the dark windows with the same somber resignation Devin felt moments earlier. There are dozens of people on this street who could help them, but Devin isn’t surprised they don’t. Seventeen years of jumping from house to house teaches you that what should happen rarely ever does. Counting on someone else to help is like waiting to pay your bills until you’ve won the lottery. If you don’t figure out how to take care of yourself without it, you’ve already lost. She thought the Pattons were good ones, but they were just another lesson.
“You both understand?” Passenger Seat asks. “We’re on a tight schedule. No running, no talking, no causing a scene, okay?”
Neither of them says a word.
Passenger Seat reiterates, “Do you understand?”
Ollie nods.
Devin narrows her eyes. “Get fucked.”
Passenger Seat looks at Driver’s Seat and shrugs. He slaps the back of the driver’s seat and says, “Good enough for me. Let’s roll.”
Copyright © 2024 by Courtney Gould.
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