Stolen Girl by Sarah A. Denzil

Author:Sarah A. Denzil [Denzil, Sarah A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-08-22T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

EMMA

A lump rises from my belly to my heart, clotted and thick, hot and all-encompassing. My eyes fill with tears. The boy on the bike pedals away from the car, and, as I see the blurry shape of him leaving, I realise what he said. The lady asked me to give you this.

I drop the envelope and the lock of hair into the seat and leap out of the car. ‘Wait,’ I shout. ‘Wait! Stop!’

The boy, halfway down the street, presses his feet against the pavement and stops his bike. He waits for me to catch up, expression wary.

‘How old was the lady who gave you this letter?’

‘Like, your age, I guess.’

My breath catches.

I pull up a photo on my phone. ‘Is this her?’

He frowns at the picture. ‘I don’t know, she had a hat.’

It has to be Amy. ‘What did she say?’

‘That you were friends and were playing a game or something. I dunno . . . I just delivered the note like she asked.’

Without another word, I turn away from the boy and start running up the road. I run around the corner, down the next road and then back. I do the same on the other side, snaking around side streets. How did she leave so quickly? I press my hands into my eyes and let out a scream of frustration. Fuck you, Amy.

On the way back to the car, the pleasant lady who answered my questions comes out of the house to check I’m OK. I tell her that I am, and then I get into the car, jamming the heel of my hand against the ignition. The brakes screech as I set off, and the boy on the bike stares with his jaw dropped open.

For the next ten or fifteen minutes I drive around searching the roads. The white envelope sits on the passenger seat, the lock of hair on top. I long to press it to my skin.

But it’s not good enough. It’s not my Ginny.

After twenty minutes I have to admit to myself that she’s long gone. I know that Amy has a car because I heard her drive away after she delivered the first letter. I’d be better off going home and figuring out what to do next. I need to read the contents of this new letter. I leave, knowing I was within a few feet of my daughter.

I press the envelope to my chest, take a moment to breathe and then climb out of the car. How long was I at Amy’s? An hour, two? I check my phone, it’s 12:45. Everything is going so fast. It wasn’t long ago that I was cutting off my hair and nailing it to a tree. Now I have a lock of Gina’s hair in return. That’s Amy telling me she’s received my offering.

As soon as I’m in the kitchen I slide down to my knees and remain there as I lift the hair out of the envelope, dragging it against my cheek, feeling the softness.

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