It was at this moment that I decided that no matter what happened, I was going to find a way to survive. The conviction was crystal clear. I would do whatever it took to live. No matter what it took, no matter what I had to do, I was going to survive.
And then I thought of something else.
It was desperate, I know that—sometimes I laugh about it now—but it shows how frantic I was to think of some kind of plan.
I pictured my horrible captor. I thought of his long beard and salt-and-pepper hair. He had to be at least as old as my father. The woman looked as old as he.
Which meant I could outlive them.
The thought was like a lightning bolt inside my mind.
It might be twenty years, or maybe thirty, but one day they were going to die.
And when they did, I would be free of them. And I could go back to my life.
12.
Without Me
About the same time that I came to the determination that I was going to fight to survive, my parents were being interrogated by the local police.
Their morning had been nearly as terrifying as mine. After being woken by my younger sister with the simple words “Elizabeth is gone,” they had frantically searched through the house. Not finding me, but seeing the open kitchen window and the cut in the screen, my father had called 911.
Their ordeal had begun.
After calling the police, my parents started calling other members of our family, friends, neighbors, people in our church, anyone who might help them. It was a series of very difficult calls to make, full of the most desperate words a parent may ever have to utter. “My daughter has been taken! We need your help!”
The police arrived at 4:13. Our neighbors and close friends were right behind, some of them arriving by 4:15. News of my abduction quickly spread throughout our neighborhood. It was panic and chaos, with people starting to jam into our house. The police made the mistake of not declaring our home a crime scene and closing off the premises, thereby contaminating any evidence that might have been left behind. Shortly after arriving, the police separated my parents, keeping them from talking to each other. They took Mary Katherine up to the second floor, making her repeat her story again and again. Not wanting her memory to be tainted by other sources, they kept her isolated and alone. It bothered my parents a great deal that she had been cut off from our family. After my mother had insisted, they finally allowed my grandmother to sit with my sister through the questioning.
Meanwhile, my dad continued calling family and friends, asking for their help. All of them were willing. But what were they to do? No one really knew. For hours, there was no direction on how to proceed, no real movement toward organizing a search, notifying the media, putting out any kind of alert. At one point, my dad called our neighbors across the road who had young daughters, warning them that they might be in danger and to check on them too. He thought maybe someone had taken me for ransom and that he might have taken other children too.
Eventually there were so many people coming to volunteer that the police forbade any more of them from entering our house. Finally, the police secured the scene.
By six o’clock, small groups of volunteers were canvassing the neighborhood, knocking on doors, talking to neighbors, explaining what had happened, asking if any of them had seen or heard anything. Apparently, no one had.
My mother was in shock. Someone offered her some kind of sedative, but she pushed it away.
By six-thirty, my parents and older brothers were taken to the police station for questioning. Mary Katherine was taken to the Children’s Justice Center. My parents and my brothers, who were twelve and sixteen years old at the time, had to travel to the police station in separate cars. All of them were suspects. As were my uncles and other members of my family. Everyone was guilty until they could prove that they were not involved.
Separated and alone, their reactions caught on video and observed by who knew how many people, my parents and older brothers were interrogated. “What kind of girl is Elizabeth? Is she promiscuous? Into drugs? The occult? How does she do in school? What about your friends? What about a boyfriend? Does she sneak out at night? Did you kill Elizabeth? Do you know who did? Did one of your friends kill her?”