Chapter 6: Rescue and Recovery

Steve’s guys dragged me inside and beat me, trying to force a confession. I kept my mouth shut, thinking only of my daughter’s little hands.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I heard voices arguing in the hall—someone yelling, “Who are you? What are you doing in my house?”

The argument grew heated, echoing off the empty walls. Then came a woman’s scream, footsteps, and a door slamming somewhere upstairs.

Half-conscious, I heard, “Police! Don’t move!”

I tried to smile, then blacked out. The last thing I saw was a cop’s boots and the sharp smell of antiseptic from the EMTs.

I woke up in the hospital, sunlight slanting through the blinds. My coworker, Ms. Taylor—the junior supervisor whose relative bought my house—was there. She had a Chick-fil-A cup on the nightstand, her nails tapping the plastic lid.

“Oh, Derek, you’re finally awake. You slept a whole day and night. You scared me!”

The smell of waffle fries made my stomach rumble.

“Tha…thank you, Ms. Taylor,” I managed, my lips cracked and swollen.

She smiled, pushing the cup toward me. “Don’t talk. Look at you—sold your house to save their daughter, and they still—”