Blind side, p.6
Blind Side, page 6
“Next?”
“Si,” she told him. “Each time we stop, a cart is taken off and one is added on. You are the first adult lady.”
“How many times have you stopped?”
“Très,” the girl said. “Each time, a bad man takes a girl. We can hear the screams. The girl does not come back. If she comes back, she is not right in her head.”
Lizzie had heard enough. Someone was going to die. Someone was going to die a hard death by her hands. The truck was slowing. Scrambling, she made her way back to her pen, slipping inside and closing the gate. The lock wasn’t returned to her cage.
She lay on her side as if she were still unconscious when the truck came to a stop. She heard men’s voices in English and Spanish, calling for the men to move quickly. The gate rose on the back of the truck, as the beeping sound of another truck backing up reverberated in her ears. A forklift rose, reaching inside the truck to pluck out a pen, lift it, and slip it into the rear of the next truck.
Her pen was next, and it lifted and moved to the new truck. The door was down, and in seconds they were rolling again. Lizzie felt genuine fear that no one knew where she was. These people would either try to make her den mother to the kids or she would be sold as well. She was too old to be of any real value to them, which made her close her eyes and listen.
This truck was not as large as the last. It only held the two pens and the roads were not unimproved but solid, as in hardball. They were in a city or at least coming upon a residential or metropolitan area. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she tried to check her watch.
“He’s going to think I stood him up,” she said, noticing the time. “I’m getting there to you, Doc. I’m getting there to you.”
The truck came to stop. The sound of a large metal door, possibly in a warehouse, rose and the truck rolled forward. She had no way to tell where she was, in what city, since she had no idea how long she’d been out. Around her neck, she wore the citron necklace given to her years prior by Brody Johnson, the man the Technicians called Mr. Yield. She unclipped the clasp, removing it from her neck. She passed it to the teen girl.
“Put this in your pocket or your panties and always keep it with you. Don’t let this get away from you,” she told the girl. “I’ll take Miguelito with me and come back for you. I can find you if you keep the necklace. Understand?”
“I understand,” the girl said, slipping it inside of the small bra.
The back door of the truck rolled up as a forklift moved to remove the pen she resided in, plucking it from the back of the truck and setting it on a cold concrete floor. Lizzie lay on her side, her eyes cracked. She nearly gave herself away when she spotted a familiar face.
Beauty Kurtzwilde was in the background. An envelope was passed to her as the man looked at the cage. Lizzie strained her ears to hear what was being said, and whatever it was, she didn’t like the expression on Beauty’s face. The man was buying only her, not the children. She was being sold to the man by Beauty.
Voices called out commands. Men scurried about the warehouse. A few eyed the teen girls in the cages as buyers in suits came through the doors of the warehouse, taking seats and waiting for the merchandise to be presented for sale. Her cage was opened, and a hand, inked with a deadly viper into his flesh, reached inside to grab her leg. Lizzie reached for the boy, grabbing him as she was pulled out of the cage. Barefoot, she kicked hard, hitting the henchman in his nether region, causing him to buckle. The boy tucked under her arm like a forty-pound football, she ran for the open door.
“Get that bitch!” Beauty called out. “Don’t let her get away.”
Pain hit her low in the belly as she ran at full steam into a smaller man, nearly knocking him to the ground. Too late, she realized he held a knife in his hand which pierced her side. Lizzie stumbled, her knees folding, and she was on her feet, running full speed and seeing a man climbing from a vehicle. As fast as her legs could carry her, she yanked him from the car, tossed the kid inside, and climbed behind the wheel. She kept her head down as she drove blindly, the pain in her stomach nearly buckling her.
“Gotta get somewhere safe. Gotta get you somewhere safe,” she mumbled, heading towards the bright lights.
It was a truck stop, and she was in Kentucky. She was only minutes from Slow’s house, but she couldn’t run the risk of having the men follow her to his home. Lizzie made way for the truck stop. She rode around back, finding a dumpster.
“Come on kid, climb in,” she said, holding her gut. The pain was reaching a critical level and she didn’t have a lot of time.
It took all her strength to lift the lid and help the kid inside. “Stay down. I’ll send help to get you.”
She drove the vehicle to the front of the truck stop, parked it, and entered the building clutching her waist. Lizzie sauntered through the front door and went out the back. Barely able to walk, she arrived at the dumpster where she’d hidden the kid. Her legs gave way, and she wasn’t able to climb inside with him. She leaned against the green metal and closed her eyes.
Of all the things in the world to come to her mind, she thought of little Karli Hoyt. They would no longer have book club. She was a creepy kid but cool. She was the last person Lizzie would have thought of before she died. Suddenly, the small face flashed in front of her, and clearly, she heard the child say, “Show me where you are.”
Lizzie looked at the dumpster, then the signage of the truck stop. Her eyes went to the exit sign right off the interstate as she blinked several times. She gave a weak smile to the vision of the girl.
Karli spoke softly, “Help is on the way.”
Lizzie touched the dumpster, tapping on it twice. A small tap came in response. “I hope you got that, kiddo. Make sure he checks the dumpster,” she said, wincing from the agony of the bullet wound as well as the stabbing and blacked-out.
It didn’t matter if what Lizzie saw was real. What she saw was enough to give her hope. Exit’s daughter said help was on the way. For now, it was enough to keep her holding on for her and the boy. She simply had to work on not dying before the cavalry arrived.
Chapter Six- Perimeter
She mumbled in her sleep. Lizzie spoke of the Women of Light, the lives she’d saved, and the life that she lost, mainly speaking of herself. Dr. Elden Thomas kept watch, checking for fever, and at one point, began a conversation with the lady he’d wanted to have since the day he met her.
“Well, Elizabeth, I started my medical career in private practice,” he told her. “After a couple of years of paying ridiculous fees for malpractice insurance, I gave it up and joined Doctors Without Borders.”
There was movement in her legs when he spoke with her. He touched her forehead, checking for fever and knowing, in a bit he needed to wake her to make her try the soup that wasn’t half bad. It wasn’t half good either, but he planned to take over the cooking to ensure she would be strong enough for her battle ahead.
“So, I see you know about that organization,” he said as she kicked the covers off to expose a long slender leg.
The Doctor pushed the leg under the covers, covering it again and offering a bit of caution. “I need you to sweat, my lovely lady,” he said.
The one-sided conversation continued, “I worked with them for years, but in Kosovo and other areas, I became sick of seeing so much death. I’d been away from the U.S. too long to jump back into practice or even to be at a hospital. You see the smell of disinfectant laced with a swish of human waste gives me the hives.”
He watched her face as she smiled a little.
“Ah, so you are awake and listening to me,” he said, patting her hand. “Good, I hope I don’t bore you too much, but if this is our first date, I want to get all the background stuff out the way.”
Lizzie cracked her eyes. “This date is terrible,” she said.
“Darling, what do want a man to do? I mean, it’s not every day a man gets to sew up his date after pulling a bullet out of her belly. We’re not going to even discuss what was on the knife the man stuck you with,” he told her. “I’ve had to give you a round of antivenom, along with antibiotics, and in a minute, I’m ordering the soup course, and that man can’t cook worth a shit, which is more than likely what’s going to happen when you eat that soup.”
She laughed a little, wincing at the pain. In a whisper, she responded, “He truly can’t cook. He tries. I don’t want his soup.”
“Right now, it’s all we have,” he told her. “Later, when I’m confident you’re out of the woods, I’ll go to the store and get clothes for the boy and food to help you heal.”
“You don’t have to stay,” she told him.
He was still holding her hand. “What if I told you I wanted to stay at your side, not just through this, but through whatever your plans are for the boy? Your friend in there wanted to bathe the child with dish detergent and bleach, a toxic combination. He shouldn’t be allowed around children.”
Her forehead crinkled. “Stop making me laugh, it hurts.”
“Sorry, but you’re going to need more than a sense of humor to get you through the next week, Elizabeth. It’s going to be rough,” he told her.
“Hump,” she said. “Ms. Hump is how you should address me.”
“I will not,” he said. “I don’t give a shit about Ms. Hump, Slow, or any other traffic sign. I care about Elizabeth and I need her to fight. Fight to live, fight to give that boy whatever you promised him, and fight for me.”
Her lips were dry as she tried to reason with a man, who was doing his best to give her reason to fight to live. Curiosity more than anything, prompted her next question, “For you? What is your skin in the game?”
This was his moment to be as honest as his soul would allow. This was his chance to throw his hat in the ring and tell her his intentions. She might shoot him down, but he had to take his shot.
“I saw you with Exit’s daughter,” he said softly. “I’ve seen you with the boy, even when you thought no one was looking.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” She tried turning to her good side and struggled, and he lent her a helping hand.
“It means that inside of the femme fatale is still a woman capable of loving deeply,” he said. “I want to be the man you love with everything you have. In return, I’m going to give back to you all the love in me as we grow old together.”
“Bullshit,” she said, wincing from the exertion. “You want what’s between my legs.”
“What good is that going to do me if you’re dead and necrosis sets in from the knife you got stuck with, Elizabeth? I’m asking you to fight for your life so we can have one together,” The Doctor told her.
“You don’t even know me.”
“Give me a chance to learn; what I have seen when you thought no one was looking was the real you,” he said. “I know what I see. I like what I see. I want to love what I see. Let down the gate and allow me entrance.”
“Gate. Legs. Heart. All are closed. Go away; we don’t want any of what you’re selling,” she told him.
“You love someone else? The man in the other room?”
“He’s my friend,” she said softly.
“And I am your hope. Hold onto me, Elizabeth. Grab ahold for dear life and don’t let me go,” he said, squeezing her hand.
“Stop it,” she said as tears burned in her eyes. “I’m damaged on so many levels. Who would want to love me? Who would want to bring me home to meet their mother? I’m rotted from the inside out. Please, just let me die.”
“I can’t,” he told her. “Letting you die would damage that child and more than likely kill me and the man in the other room. I’m offering you love, Elizabeth. No strings. No conditions. It is not dependent upon what’s between your legs. Open your heart and try to let me in. I will not hurt you.”
“Elden, I can’t,” she told him. “I’ve been Ms. Hump too long to be anything other than a weapon. I can’t give you the life you want with children. I’m so broken that God saw fit to allow those horrible men in my younger years to take away my ability to procreate.”
“And Miguelito? God saw fit to give you another child to raise and protect. God saw fit to make you into a weapon to rescue other children who were being harmed,” The Doctor said. “Maybe, He saw fit to take away the ability to have your own so you could be His weapon. You could be His Michael to save the babies others have thrown or given away. Maybe, my dearest Elizabeth, he brought me here to Louisville to save you and tell you these things.”
Wet spots appeared softly on the pillowcase, indicating droplets of salty ideas were dripping from her eyes. The tears she never cried, the emotions she never shared, and the hopes of one day belonging to someone again, made her let go. Her body began to shake from the force of her crying.
Elden Thomas did what he’d wanted to do since Slow brought her into the cabin. He climbed into bed beside her, cradling the woman in his arms. The tears she never wanted to let go were now running down her face and she had no shame. In his arms, she felt a peace she’d craved for years. Perhaps it was time to give it all up, to let it all go, and take a cue from Wrong Way to take a seat.
“I’ve got you, Elizabeth,” The Doctor said. “Use my strength; hold onto me and I promise to not let go.”
She slept for nearly an hour before hunger woke her. The Doctor made her sit up and brought her to the table. He, Slow, and the boy watched her try to get down the soup. She nibbled on the cheesy bread and ladled in three solid spoonsful of soup before frowning at Slow, letting him know the soup was horrendous.
“You have to get well first before you criticize my cooking,” Slow said, taking a pause. “I placed the calls you wanted.”
Lizzie looked up from the bowl of horrible to stare him in the eyes. She wanted answers from him. She wanted honest answers.
“All should arrive before the sunrise,” he told her.
“Good enough. Elden, can you help me back to bed?” she asked, trying to stand too soon. The pain made her sit down.
The Doctor rose, lifting her into his arms and carrying her back to the bed. “Thank you both,” she said to the men.
She reached her hand out for the boy, who took it and followed them to the bedroom. Lizzie was tired and needed to rest. When she woke, she would be prepared to deal with the Archangel, Slow, and the man who had broken her heart, Mr. Yield.
ELIZABETH PERKINS KNEW what it felt like to love. She loved Brody Johnson with every fiber of her being, but the things he wanted in life, she couldn’t give him. The man wanted a family, and she didn’t have the ability to give him sons.
Brody had a nice home near a college campus where he taught classes and shaped young minds. He led expeditions into dark caves to seek buried pieces of history. He was an educated man who held numerous degrees and spoke several languages.
She seduced men for money and then killed them. On occasion, if the seduction was going extremely well and the mark was well endowed, she’d take a ride on the baloney pony before taking their life. In her mind, she was unclean and not fit for a man like Brody.
“Lizzie, I can’t go back to the University,” he had told her one evening over dinner. “My face is too distracting for the kids. They are letting me go.”
He didn’t come out and blame her, but it was the way he looked at her that made her know. The ugly scar on his face made him lose his job. She’d given him the scar. In his mind, she was the reason he had lost his profession.
“Brody, there are other universities hungry for a man of your knowledge and skills,” she said, rubbing her hands up and down his arms.
He looked at her in disgust. “I’m not some mark that you can flatter until my shit gets hard. Lizzie, everything I’ve worked for is gone.”
“Aren’t you tenured?”
“I was up for it, but there is a morality clause,” he told her. “This knife wound and loss of vision didn’t come from an everyday accident. The wound looks nefarious because the way I got it was nefarious.”
“Brody, I’m sorry this is happening to you,” she said, stepping back, ready for the ugly words to come out of his mouth. She was prepared for him to cut her down, call her a whore, and tell her he no longer wanted her in his life. All of this she’d heard before.
Instead, he did worse. Brody said nothing but packed a bag and walked out the door. An hour later, he sent her a text message that said he needed some time. Lizzie didn’t respond because she knew a brushoff when she heard one. She too packed a bag and departed for San Francisco, a trip that changed her life.
A simple job for a collector of small toys turned into a hunt for the children of a corporate raider who had raided the wrong corporation. In retaliation, his children were taken from his yacht in Panama. The father contacted the Women of Light for help, who in turn reached out to Lizzie Perkins.
“For a fee,” she told the women.
“A fee you shall have,” came the response as she headed into Panama. It took two days to find the children, and she encountered a husband-and-wife team named Saxton and Odessa Blakemore. She’d look them up later after she rescued the kids and a white liger.
“Collectors are sick people,” she said, watching the Blakemores drive off, not knowing the crossbred animal of a lion and a tiger was in the back of the truck.
Returning the children to their father gave her hope. The man genuinely loved his children, and she came to terms with never having that in her life. Lizzie shifted her focus to having a nice home to come to at the end of a job, moving from San Francisco to West Virginia, and buying a parcel of land with a cabin that overlooked the lake.
The mortgage was higher than it needed to be, making her take on more jobs to pay off the place where she rested her head. More jobs meant more men; more men meant more opportunities to get hurt. Lizzie became selective about the jobs, but every now and then, a job came along where no one went home okay in the head. It had been that way for five solid years.
