Chapter 7
Mom paced the living room like a caged animal, her heels stabbing the floor with every step.
"How?" she kept repeating. "How did he get the key? How did he know the code?"
Grandma ended her call, her expression dark. "I've alerted everyone in our network within a hundred-mile radius. If he's still on the roads, they'll find him."
Mom turned on me. Her eyes were wild, and something in them shifted — realization creeping in like poison.
She grabbed my collar and yanked me off the floor. "You. You were here the whole time. You unlocked him, didn't you?"
I dangled in her grip, legs kicking. "Mommy, no! I didn't! I was playing! I don't even know where the key is!"
Mom studied my face, searching for the lie. I made myself cry harder, snot running down my chin, looking every bit the helpless five-year-old.
Grandma pulled Mom back. "Vivian, she's five. She can barely reach the doorknob, let alone the padlock. He must have picked it. He's had months to figure it out."
Mom dropped me. I crumpled to the floor, gasping.
"Fine," Mom hissed. "But when I get him back, I'm taking his hands. Both of them. Let's see him pick a lock then."
I curled into a ball on the floor and stayed silent, counting the minutes in my head. Every minute that passed was another mile between Dad and this house of horrors.
...
Hours passed. Evening came. Grandma's phone rang.
She answered it, listened, and her face twisted. She hung up and looked at Mom.
"He ditched the car at a rest stop forty miles out. After that, no one's seen him."
Mom screamed and threw a vase against the wall. Glass exploded across the floor, showering me where I huddled.
"Find him!" Mom shrieked. "I don't care what it costs!"
Grandma made more calls. The network of corruption stretched far — dirty cops, private investigators, people who owed favors. But Dad had vanished.
I pressed my face into my rabbit and smiled where no one could see.
*He made it. He actually made it.*
...
Two days later, Saturday arrived. The buyer came for me.
He was a tall man with a thin smile and dead eyes. He looked me over like merchandise in a shop, tilting my chin up to examine my face, checking my limp.
"Hmm, the leg is worse than you described," he said to Grandma. "I'll offer one-fifty instead."
Grandma waved her hand dismissively. "Fine. Take her."
Mom didn't even come downstairs to say goodbye.
As the man led me toward his car, I looked back at the estate — the prison where Dad had suffered for six years. I felt nothing but calm.
This was my plan all along.
Getting sold meant leaving the estate. Leaving the estate meant being somewhere traceable. And I had made sure of one thing before today: I had written the buyer's name and description in my last note to Marcus.
Marcus had that information. His federal friend had that information.
I was bait. And I was okay with that.
The car pulled away from the gate, and the estate shrank in the rearview mirror. I hugged my rabbit to my chest, feeling the small piece of paper I'd sewn into its ear — every name, every crime, every detail I remembered from two lifetimes.
If they found me, they'd find the evidence. And if they found the evidence, they'd bring down everything.
...
The buyer drove for hours. I sat silently in the backseat, watching the landscape change from familiar countryside to unfamiliar roads.
He spoke to me once. "You're a quiet one. Good. The quiet ones last longer."
I said nothing. I just held my rabbit and waited.
"How?" she kept repeating. "How did he get the key? How did he know the code?"
Grandma ended her call, her expression dark. "I've alerted everyone in our network within a hundred-mile radius. If he's still on the roads, they'll find him."
Mom turned on me. Her eyes were wild, and something in them shifted — realization creeping in like poison.
She grabbed my collar and yanked me off the floor. "You. You were here the whole time. You unlocked him, didn't you?"
I dangled in her grip, legs kicking. "Mommy, no! I didn't! I was playing! I don't even know where the key is!"
Mom studied my face, searching for the lie. I made myself cry harder, snot running down my chin, looking every bit the helpless five-year-old.
Grandma pulled Mom back. "Vivian, she's five. She can barely reach the doorknob, let alone the padlock. He must have picked it. He's had months to figure it out."
Mom dropped me. I crumpled to the floor, gasping.
"Fine," Mom hissed. "But when I get him back, I'm taking his hands. Both of them. Let's see him pick a lock then."
I curled into a ball on the floor and stayed silent, counting the minutes in my head. Every minute that passed was another mile between Dad and this house of horrors.
...
Hours passed. Evening came. Grandma's phone rang.
She answered it, listened, and her face twisted. She hung up and looked at Mom.
"He ditched the car at a rest stop forty miles out. After that, no one's seen him."
Mom screamed and threw a vase against the wall. Glass exploded across the floor, showering me where I huddled.
"Find him!" Mom shrieked. "I don't care what it costs!"
Grandma made more calls. The network of corruption stretched far — dirty cops, private investigators, people who owed favors. But Dad had vanished.
I pressed my face into my rabbit and smiled where no one could see.
*He made it. He actually made it.*
...
Two days later, Saturday arrived. The buyer came for me.
He was a tall man with a thin smile and dead eyes. He looked me over like merchandise in a shop, tilting my chin up to examine my face, checking my limp.
"Hmm, the leg is worse than you described," he said to Grandma. "I'll offer one-fifty instead."
Grandma waved her hand dismissively. "Fine. Take her."
Mom didn't even come downstairs to say goodbye.
As the man led me toward his car, I looked back at the estate — the prison where Dad had suffered for six years. I felt nothing but calm.
This was my plan all along.
Getting sold meant leaving the estate. Leaving the estate meant being somewhere traceable. And I had made sure of one thing before today: I had written the buyer's name and description in my last note to Marcus.
Marcus had that information. His federal friend had that information.
I was bait. And I was okay with that.
The car pulled away from the gate, and the estate shrank in the rearview mirror. I hugged my rabbit to my chest, feeling the small piece of paper I'd sewn into its ear — every name, every crime, every detail I remembered from two lifetimes.
If they found me, they'd find the evidence. And if they found the evidence, they'd bring down everything.
...
The buyer drove for hours. I sat silently in the backseat, watching the landscape change from familiar countryside to unfamiliar roads.
He spoke to me once. "You're a quiet one. Good. The quiet ones last longer."
I said nothing. I just held my rabbit and waited.