But I couldn’t just walk back into the apartment or show up at work. I had been gone for so long, probably reported missing at some point, but by whom I didn’t know. I didn’t even have keys or any identification at all.
A woman jostled me, shooting back a dirty look before she resumed her path and her phone conversation. I looked down at myself, wondering what she thought of me. I wore another light dress from Sam’s endless arsenal, this one a light pink with white piping around the edges. It had felt feminine when I put it on. Now its bare arms and short hem felt perverse, like I was on display as some sex object.
Ironic, considering.
I rubbed my hands along my arms, trying to ward off the chills. It didn’t matter what I looked like because no one was really looking. I could fade away, and no one would notice. No one would care. Faced with such cold indifference, the cruel attention of the men who had hurt me took on a softer light.
Lifting my hand, I hailed a cab. The dark-skinned man behind the wheel leered at the scoop of my neckline. “Where to, miss?”
“The nearest police station, please.”
His eyes widened for a second of concern, before his lids lowered to complacency once again. It only took a few minutes and a couple of turns before we pulled up at a run-down looking building. Precinct 45, it said.
The little monitor was blank. “How much do I owe you?” I asked.
“It’s on the house,” he said gruffly, not turning around.
Embarrassed by his help, by my obvious need of it, I murmured my thanks and left the cab. For endless minutes, I stood outside the police station, deliberating. Did I have to go inside? There was nowhere else to go. And what would I tell them? I had nothing to offer but the truth.
A man stopped in front of me, wearing a rumpled suit and holding a steaming cup of coffee. I didn’t have time to be afraid, because his posture was clearly so reluctant, as if he hoped I would walk away before he had to intervene. I looked up into his hard face and kind eyes and burst into tears, overwhelmed by the growing certainty that this was my life now and that it would always be this lonely.
He ushered me inside the station and into a small room with a table and a few chairs. His name was Detective Hines, he said, but he would find someone who could take my statement. Probably someone female, I understood.
“No, please.” I didn’t want to face the knowing in another woman’s eyes. The sympathy laced with relief that it wasn’t her who had been hurt that way.
Though it was clear he’d rather be anywhere but here, he agreed. Notepad in hand, he began asking questions. The first few were straightforward: my name, my age, what I remembered of my life. The before was implied.
There was a gap in my memory then, around the time it happened. Not just in the immediate moment when I was taken, but in those weeks, months, who knew how long? It was like squinting into a muddy whirlpool—it made me dizzy to even try.
Talking about my time in captivity was harder. My memory there was spotty as well, but I remembered more than enough details to get the point across. Detective Hines was thin-lipped through my more graphic descriptions but all business, without any of the pity that would have made me fall apart all over again.
I described the day when everything had changed. They were moving us. It was clearly sudden, not well planned. We were outside, naked but not chained. In the mayhem, another man came and told us to follow him. I didn’t recognize him, but we were like sheep—we all would have jumped off a cliff just to obey. People were shouting; I was so scared. I hid in a bush, cowering, waiting for someone to find me and punish me. When no one did, I gained enough awareness to realize this was my chance. I ran.
“I just… kept running, until I reached a town and they gave me these clothes and helped me find a plane that would bring me back.” I spread my hands, pretending they didn’t shake, wishing I could look at him while I lied. “So that’s what happened.”
He had stopped writing during the last, and when I dared to glance up, his expression made it clear that he knew it was bullshit. His voice was even. “That was a pretty lucky break, then.”
“Yes.” My eyes fell shut, then I looked at him directly. “What happened to me was horrible, but I can honestly say I was lucky after that.”
He tapped the pen to the notepad, clearly considering. He nodded, as if he’d made a decision. “All right. If that’s what happened, all right. I’ll need to look into this of course, but without any specifics about where you were, I doubt we’ll find much. Still, we’ll definitely investigate your case. That might be the best clue we have to finding them…and helping those other women.”