She grabs the jacket, drapes it around her shoulders, and grips it tight to cover her body. It’s large enough to cover her down to her knees. I slide the wallet back into my pants pocket. “Let me take that off your face.”
She shakes her head no and starts to pull off the duct tape on her own. She whimpers as it tugs and pulls at the corner of her thin lip, but she manages to get it off. The area around her mouth is blotchy, scaly. It’s been pulled from her mouth more than once.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
It takes her a moment to say, “Amanda.”
“Amanda, I’m Frank, but my friends call me Frankie or just Marr. Where do you live, Amanda?”
“Burke, Virginia.”
“That’s in Fairfax County, right?”
“Yes. My family, are they okay?” She begins to weep.
“Your family?” I ask, wondering if I somehow missed finding them when I cleared the house. “Are they here?”
She looks at me, confused now.
“No, they’re home. They’re home, aren’t they?”
“I’m sure they’re home. I need to get you out of here now. You’ll be with them soon enough.”
“No. No. I thought you were here because they’re safe. I thought you came here to get me. No, I can’t go home,” she says, tears now streaming.
“Why can’t you go home?”
“Because he said they’d kill my family if I ever went home,” she cries. “You said you are a policeman. Have you seen them, my mom…my dad?”
“I came here because of something else and found you.”
“I can’t go, then. They’ll kill them! They know where I live. They’ll kill my mom and my dad.”
“No they won’t. I’ll make sure of that. I gotta take you outta here now, all right? Trust me when I say they’re not gonna touch your family, or you. Okay?”
I can tell she’s afraid to leave and why she was cuffed in front instead of in the back. She wasn’t about to escape. Those boys knew that. They’ve had enough time to brainwash the shit out of this kid. Judging by the tracks and the bruises, I’d say a few days. That’s more than enough time for a child like this.
“They been putting that shit in your arm, or have you?” I ask, and realize afterward that I’m talking to a little girl, not the junkies or crackheads I’m used to talking to.
“He has,” she says, with a firmness that suggests anger. Her lip quivers.
And I wonder if “he” is Shiny.
“Heroin?”
“Yes, and something else once, but it kept me up for almost two days so they didn’t anymore.”
“What else they got you using?” I ask, realizing how my mind is working now.
“Just weed. I want to go now.”
“I need to know first. The stuff they shot you up with, which made you stay up for two days, do you know where they keep that?”
“I don’t know. Why are you asking me this? Please, I want my mom now.”
I’m such an asshole. Who thinks like this?
“Where do they keep their stash?”
She looks at me, eyes wide, like she remembers when I said I didn’t come here for her.
“Is it someplace in the room there?”
“I don’t know,” she says, fear in her voice now. “Please take me home.” She breaks down and sobs.
I’m kicked back to reality. Her fucking reality.
“Are you hurt anywhere? I mean, can you move?”
“I can move.”
I maneuver myself calmly toward her and offer my hand.
She accepts.
“Let’s get outta here,” I say.
I help her up, but her knees buckle after she stands.
“Button up the jacket. I’ll have to carry you.”
She does.
I grab around her with my left arm, over my jacket where it falls below her rear. I lift her, and it’s like lifting nothing at all. She wraps her frail arms around my neck. I slip the crowbar into my backpack with my free hand on the way out and shoulder the backpack. She doesn’t say a word.
I pull the living room curtain and peek out before I exit. It looks clear, so I kick away the shoe that props the door. Once outside, I try to pull it shut the best I can. With my luck, some crackhead burglar’s going to roll up on the spot and find the stash, along with who knows what else. Damn, I can’t even think about it. Here I am, cradling this little girl, who’s been through hell, and this is what I think about.
I got just enough of my own to get me through tonight at least, but I don’t like the prospect of what tomorrow might bring if I don’t get the job finished today. I got a few necessities to help me through in the event of a total crash—Valium, Klonopin, Oxy, a good amount of weed, and a lot of liquor. But I like my life on the ups, not the downs.
I walk quickly to my car and around to the rear passenger’s side. I set my backpack on the sidewalk and push the button on the key fob, unlocking the door. I gently put her in, sit her on the seat. I buckle the seat belt for her.
“This is a funny-looking car for a policeman,” she says.
“It’s a specialized car, for cops who don’t want to be made as cops,” I return with a smile.