“Ministers? Really! What do you believe?”
Mitchell obviously didn’t feel like preaching. He answered the man’s questions only briefly, not really saying anything. I glanced at the young man out of the corner of my eye. He nodded at me. “Why is she wearing a gray wig? Is that part of your religion?”
I glanced toward Mitchell, seeing the panic in his eye. “We believe many things,” he answered curtly. He was very defensive. His voice was sharp and on-edge.
The young man didn’t seem to care. He pressed a little harder. “The way she is dressed, the wig and stuff, is that part of some religious ceremony? She is so young. Is it designed to teach humility or something?”
Mitchell refused to answer. Taking me by the elbow, he edged me toward the front of the bus. The young man watched us curiously. We got off at the next stop, leaving him to stare at us through the dark windows as the bus pulled away.
Standing on the side of the road, Mitchell held my elbow in a painful grip. “Once I get you back to camp, you will never leave, Shearjashub! It is too dangerous! I will not lose you. I will not put myself in danger. I am too important to the world. You will go to the camp and stay there. That is the Lord’s desire.”
I thought back on the way the young man on the bus had looked at me, the way he had challenged Mitchell, the way he had kept his eyes on us while the bus had driven away. Mitchell had been shaken by his advances, but I would pay the price.
We waited for the next bus, then jumped on. I don’t know if Mitchell even knew where the bus was going, he just wanted to get off the street. This bus was not very crowded and no one asked us any questions. We sat alone, surrounded by looks of disgust. But that was no surprise. We were filthy and we smelled bad. I wondered if I’d ever feel clean again.
We only went a couple of miles before Mitchell forced us to get off the bus again.
We had made it beyond the point of the mountain that separates the Salt Lake Valley from Utah County. I looked at the mountains on the east, recognizing their features. We were very close to my grandparents’ house. Less than twenty miles from my home! I flashed back to summer afternoons, playing in their backyard that had been flooded by the irrigation ditch. Bobbing for apples. Playing with my cousins. It felt so good to be so close to home.
Then I thought of what Mitchell had told me: You’re going to spend the rest of your life up at the camp! My heart sank again, my stomach tying into knots.
We were standing on State Street, one of the main roads that leads downtown. Mitchell started walking without saying where he was going. Barzee and I followed as we always did. He walked into a Walmart, where he stole some new hiking boots and some other things. Our green bags were bulging with the stolen items by the time we made it to the front of the store. Mitchell paid for a few things to relieve any suspicion, then we walked toward the door. People were always looking at us. We just didn’t fit in.
Passing by the main entrance, I glanced at the wall with all of the pictures of the missing children. Am I up there? I wondered. I started walking toward the wall, scanning the photographs. Mitchell grabbed me firmly by the shoulder. A sharp pain moved up and down my arm. He squeezed tighter and leaned toward me. “You are not up there. No one remembers or cares about you anymore. You are mine. You’ll always be mine. Your previous life is over. Now, come on! Let’s go!”
He started to pull on my arm, but I pulled back, staring at the pictures of the children. I don’t know why, I just couldn’t seem to pull away. So many children. So many shattered lives. But I didn’t see my picture, which meant that Mitchell was right. Everyone had forgotten me. I was not on the missing posters anymore.
He jerked on my arm again. “Quit calling attention to yourself!”
I turned around and followed him out of the store.
We walked down State Street toward the middle of the city. We were on 106th South Street. We had a long way to go. But I knew what was going to happen. We’d take another bus downtown, then walk east, toward the university, then up the canyon toward our old camp. Then I’d be in my prison and Mitchell would be home.
I walked wearily, dragging my feet. I felt like I was walking toward a penitentiary with my personal prison guards. I had felt this way before.
We had only walked two blocks when I saw the first police car. It came up and stopped immediately beside us. Mitchell cursed. Barzee sucked in a breath of air, her throat seeming to gurgle. We kept on walking. I kept my head down.
Another police car came up and stopped beside us, then another one in front. I heard Mitchell cursing once again. “We shouldn’t have done it!” he hissed in fear. “We shouldn’t have done this.” His voice was tight with rage.