Chapter 8

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MY HEAD FELT LIKE it was stuck under a truck tire. I rubbed my eyes and felt something sticky—blood. I looked around to find myself back in my apartment and in my own bed.

I sat up—too fast. The room swam as I steadied myself and then stumbled to the door. My apartment looked the same as I had left it. My purse was on the table and my phone and keys were laid out neatly in front of it. I cursed.

It was 8:13 at night, two hours after I’d left the courthouse. Which meant wherever they had taken me had to be close.

I fumbled for my phone, hands shaking. There were six missed calls—one from Joshua, two from Dan, one from Angela, and two from my best friend, Mandy. The screen was still on my disconnected call to 9-1-1. I pushed redial.

“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?” a male voice answered.

“I’d like to report a kidnapping—” My voice broke as what had happened to me sank in. Tears came to my eyes and my throat clenched. I swallowed down the rising panic attack.

After giving him a few details in a hoarse voice and getting a promise that a detective was headed my way, I hung up.

Glancing around the room, I saw that all my blinds were open. I rushed to each window, eyes wide in panic, yanking the blinds shut. By the time each one was closed, tears poured down my face and I curled up in the corner and gave in to my frustration.

Sobs tore at my chest. This wasn’t just about the fear I felt clawing at me—it was about mourning the loss of my safety, the belief that nothing like this would ever happen to me.

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