Fleeting Moments(28)

I went back to work a week after he left, and slowly but surely, my life seems to be getting back into routine. My parents visit often, Mom baking way too much and stocking my fridge and freezer full of food that a small army couldn’t get through in a year. I let her do it, though, because she’s worried about me, and I understand that. I’m worried about me. But I’m putting one foot in front of the other and powering through each day.

Okay, it’s more like dragging through, but whatever.

I haven’t tried to contact Heath, partly because I need distance to try and figure myself out, and partly because I’m still sore about the way he left. Did I push myself onto him? Does he see me as a little unstable as well? All of those thoughts repeat over and over in my head, questions I can’t get answers to. Maybe I don’t even want those answers.

Today is the first day I’ve ventured out of the house on my own, aside going to work. I’d decided to buy some new clothes, hoping it’d make me feel better. Instead, I’ve walked around the mall for two hours, staring vacantly at store windows. I move past people without even noticing them. I’m just not with it. I wonder if I’ll ever be with it again.

And just like every other moment, that changes in an instant.

Moments are funny like that—they hit you when you least expect them, when you’re at your most venerable and unprepared. It’s as if they know they’re sent to test you.

I’m walking along, then I’m not. Because a few feet in front of me stands the young girl I saw the night I found where the cult was hiding out. She stands in the middle of the mall, staring straight ahead, her eyes occasionally darting around. She looks lost, maybe a little confused, but she’s alone and I act before I think. I just move, quickly, shoving people out of my way.

She’s already turned before I reach her, and her eyes fall on me. She doesn’t recognize me, obviously, but she does look afraid. I’m charging at her, full throttle. I force myself to slow down and place a gentle smile on my face, carefully approaching her. She’s so beautiful, the kind of pretty that takes your breath away. She’s definitely no older than twelve, maybe thirteen if she’s lucky, and that thought makes me sick to my stomach.

“Hi there,” I say softly when I stop in front of her.

She stares up at me with crystal blue eyes and that dark hair that flows around her body. She’s wearing a simple blouse and a long skirt that touches the ground. Beneath the blouse, she has on a long white shirt. Basically all her skin, except that of her hands and face, is covered. She looks scared, weary, and definitely confused.

“My name is Lucy. I know you don’t know who I am, but I know who you are.”

Her lips part slightly.

“I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”

Her eyes flash, and she looks around nervously again.

“Is someone looking for you?” I prompt carefully.

Her eyes dart back to mine, and she looks so afraid. “I don’t know you,” she says softly. “Please go away.”

“I know you don’t know me, but I know you. I’ve seen you before. I know . . . I know what’s happening to you.”

Her eyes get big, like saucers, and she stumbles backwards a few steps.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” I say carefully. “I just want to help. You don’t deserve what’s happening to you in there. I can help . . .”

Her bottom lip trembles.

“What’s your name?” I ask, extending my hand.

“H-H-H-Hayley.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Hayley.”

She rubs her upper arms, fidgeting nervously.

“Are you lost?”

“No,” she whispers. “I ran away.”

“Do you need me to help you get somewhere?”

She shakes her head. “They’ll be here any second; I can’t run. I can never get far enough.”

“Hayley,” I say, stepping closer. “You can. I can help you. The police can help you. What they’re doing is wrong, and—”

“No.” she cries, eyes darting around the crowded mall. “No police. No. He says no police.”

“Who says that?” I whisper, trying not to freak her out more than I already have.

“I can’t talk anymore,” she says, her voice so soft I barely hear it.

“Let me get you out of this, Hayley. Please. I can help you.”

“Nobody can help me.”

“Hayley!”

The cool bark of a voice has me turning and staring at the man striding towards us. He wears a white button-up shirt with a pair of black slacks. His hair is graying, and I recognize him as the man Hayley was handed to when I watched whatever sick ritual they had going that night. He’s older than I’d thought, and my blood runs cold.

“It’s time to go,” he says, stepping up next to her, keeping his eyes on me.

My skin prickles. He makes me feel sick with just one look.

“I was just l-l-lost and asked this nice lady for help,” Hayley whispers, keeping her face to the floor.

“Then thank you for helping her,” the man says, holding my glare.

“You won’t get away with this,” I spit.

He keeps his cool demeanor. “I’m not sure what you’re speaking of, but thank you for helping out my daughter here.”