“What is it?” I still sound out of breath, but my head’s clearing.
He doesn’t blink as he stares at something in front of us just outside the big glass doors. “Shit,” he mutters.
If I wasn’t staring at his collar, I probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it. “I didn’t think priests were allowed to cuss.”
“We’re not, but I’m new.” His forehead folds into creases as his stare turns into a glare. “I’m still learning.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” When he doesn’t respond, I look to see what’s gotten his attention. When I do, I feel like I’m stuck in that elevator again. Times ten. “Shit.” I don’t mutter it.
“There’s got to be another way out of here. I’ll pull the truck around and meet you there.” Torrin can’t stop glaring at the army of reporters waiting just outside the doors, surrounding his truck. I don’t realize I’m backing up until he looks back at me. “Wait here. They can’t come inside. I’ll figure something out.”
He starts marching toward the reception desk, but before he can get there, I grab his arm.
“No. Let’s go through the front door.” A few of the reporters have clearly noticed me now. Camera lights flash, and the buzzing herd turns into a crazed mass. “I want to get this over with.”
I don’t let go of Torrin’s arm. It’s the same one I practically clawed to shreds last night, but he doesn’t wince or pull away. “You don’t have to do this, Jade. Make the vultures wait. Make them wait until they move on to the next story.”
I swallow and find myself sliding behind Torrin, using him as a shield against the relentless flashes breaking through the glass. “They won’t move on. I know that. You know that.”
When he clenches his jaw, it pops. “Give it some time.”
I shake my head. “I just want to get this all over with. The sooner they can get their photos, their headlines, the sooner this will pass. I don’t want to delay the inevitable. I want it over with.”
Torrin watches me for a minute. He watches another minute more. “You’re sure?”
Of course I’m not, but I’m not sure of much anymore. “I’m sure.”
He sucks in a breath like he’s preparing to make a deep dive. “Here, put this on.” He holds out his raincoat and waits.
“Why?”
“Just . . .” When his eyes lower to my neck, to the stained collar of my sweater, I know why. “Don’t give them anything more than you’re ready to talk about.”
I nod, and he steps behind me and slides the jacket up my arms and over my shoulders. He even slides the hood over my head before zipping the coat up to my chin.
He lowers his face to mine and smiles. “There. Now you’re ready to weather the storm.”
I smile back, but I’m a ball of nerves. Get this over with. Move on. When I move toward the front door, Torrin rushes up to my side. Everyone in the lobby is still looking at me, but this time it’s because they know who I am now. That girl. The one who’d been kidnapped from one of the safest blocks in the country ten years ago.
That girl.
I can almost feel those words cycling through the consciousness of everyone staring at me. That’s how people will know me now. As That Girl.
It makes my feet move faster until I’m practically charging through the sliding glass doors. Torrin’s truck is only a few meters away, but getting to it is like trying to move through a pool of cement.
Cameras are thrown in my face. Microphones are thrust to my mouth. What feels like hundreds of people close in around me, corralling me, trapping me. In my rush to get outside, Torrin has fallen a few steps behind. Now that we’ve hit the wall of reporters, it’s next to impossible to move.
Lights flash in my face. Questions fire at me one after another.
“Jade, how are you?” I hear that question at least a dozen times. “Anything you’d like to say to the world?”
I don’t answer. I just tuck my head down and try to keep moving forward. It’s impossible though. They’re too strong, and I’m too weak. I can’t break free.
“Anything you wish you could say to Earl Rae Jackson if he were alive today?” another reporter shouts, lashing another microphone in my face.
The flashes are relentless. I’m trying not to look at them, but they’re blinding me. I can’t see. I can’t move. I can’t talk. I’ve felt helpless like this before, but never when I haven’t been attached to a short length of chain.
“Is it true he kept you chained up in his house for ten years?” a male reporter crows above the rest of them, getting his microphone so close to me it actually bounces off my nose.
I cry out a little. Not because it hurt but because it surprised me.
That’s when I hear a loud growl behind me, and I start to feel space opening up around me. Someone comes up behind me, drapes their arms over my head, and guides me through the ocean of reporters.
“I’ve got you,” Torrin says, steering me through them like he’s a sharp knife slicing through ribbon.