Brock sighed irritably. “As an Article 5, Ms. Miller’s mere existence is enough to sentence the birth mother. Why the trial? Highly unusual for the offense.”
I forced myself to breathe. Why
“All I have is the summons and order to transport,” Chase answered, his voice bland.
No one moved or spoke for a full minute. The only sound I heard was my heavy pulse, throbbing in my ears.
“Very well,” said Brock reluctantly. “But I’m only approving one overnight pass on account of Ms. Miller’s inability to stay where she belongs.”
For the first time Chase’s eyes floated over me. I still wasn’t looking at him, but I felt his impartial stare. I straightened, trying not to show I was afraid. I needed to maintain a cool head from this point forward.
“Is that why she’s here?” he asked, voice flat. “Her ‘inability to stay where she belongs’? I’m sure the Board will be interested.”
A ghost of a smirk passed over Randolph’s face. “More like an inability to keep her legs closed,” he said under his breath.
My teeth clenched. I remembered the way he’d grabbed me outside, ready to share in Sean’s supposed fun, right before he planned on shooting me. Again, a hot, misdirected shame filled my gut, as though I were dirty and tainted. I hated him.
“Don’t be crass,” Brock snapped. “There is at least
She grabbed a pen from Randolph and scribbled her signature on the bottom of the summons.
“Sergeant, I’m assuming you’re new to this line of work, since I haven’t seen you before, so I’ll make this clear,” she directed to Chase. “These girls are federal property and under my authority, even when temporarily removed from campus. Therefore, you must abide by my treatment recommendations, do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Chase answered respectfully.
“Observed one-to-one contact at all times. No release from restraints except during restroom breaks. No extra rations, and do
“We’ll continue this
We would not. I knew that much. I wasn’t coming back.
In a hurry, I was ushered outside and back up the stairs to the main hall. My stomach was pinching uncomfortably, but not from hunger. Soon I was standing beside a navy blue MM van with Chase and Randolph.
The morning was dreary and still. The snow had stopped, but the freeze still scraped my cheeks and iced my throat as I gulped down breath after breath.
Chase opened the door but blocked my entry, first removing a double circle of thin green plastic from his pocket. A zip tie.
“Hands,” he ordered, holding the restraints out expectantly. I’d known this had been coming, but I still felt a wave of claustrophobia staring down at the cuffs. They immobilized my arms. I wouldn’t be able to run, defend myself, or even go to the bathroom unless Chase released me. I was, for all general purposes, trapped. But I needed to be trapped in order to achieve freedom. The process seemed too twisted to be real.
I balled my hands into fists to prevent the soldiers from seeing them shake. Chase’s eyes paused on the thin, criss-crossed welts that were now turning white in my exertion to hold still.
“Make sure they’re nice and tight,” Randolph said. I bit my lower lip hard to keep quiet.
Chase snorted, snatched my forearms, and jerked me closer so he didn’t have to reach. My breath caught—I had never known his touch to be harsh—and I looked deliberately away. But as he secured the loops, Chase did something unexpected. Subtly, he slipped his first two fingers within the tie beneath my wrist, where my pulse beat like the wings of a hummingbird, while simultaneously tightening the strap with his other hand. The space didn’t allow me to get out, but it impeded the tie from cutting off my circulation.
I felt a flutter of anger, deep in my stomach. He couldn’t think this made up for everything he had done. But before I had too much time to think about it, he’d shoved me roughly up the two steps into the van’s front seat, purposefully blocking Randolph’s view of my noncompliant restraints.
A moment later the door was slammed shut, Chase was in the driver’s seat, and the key brought the ignition to life.
MY fingers wove together on my lap, as they could do little else within the restraints. We pulled down the lane, passing the dorms on my right and the cafeteria below on my left. The van picked up speed, leaving the last of the main campus buildings.
“It’s her, isn’t it? My mother. Is she okay?”
A dark expression spread across his face. “Quiet. We’re coming to the gate.”
I glared at him. No one was listening now, why couldn’t he talk to me?
We slowed as the road turned to gravel, and a small check station came into view. It was a single brick cottage, nestled right against the side of the road. Beyond it, I saw the high steel fence, latched by a security gate. Its sinister embrace stretched into the woods around us.
Almost there. Almost free.
Chase slowed the van to a halt and rolled down the driver’s side window. A guard leaned out the porthole on his elbows, scowling when he saw me. He disappeared for a moment and returned with a clipboard.
“Get the papers signed?” he asked Chase, flipping through the pages. He had a bald spot right on the top of his head. His name badge said BROADBENT.
My spine straightened. I recognized his name from my phone call in the infirmary. I looked ahead at the closed gate in front of the van as Chase handed Broadbent my summons. He scribbled something on the clipboard.
“Walters!” he called outside the station. “Sweep the van so they can get moving when I’m done. Damn, you’ll be driving straight through, huh?”
“I guess so. Your headmistress didn’t approve more than one night,” said Chase. I remained silent.
Walters, clearly a merit-badge winner, opened my door and reached his hands beneath the seat. I tried to remain calm. He slammed my door and jerked open the slider, checking the empty body of the car.
“All clear,” shouted Walters. He closed the trunk.
“Good luck with that,” Broadbent said to Chase, nodding my way.
I nearly jumped out of my skin at the blaring buzzer that unlatched the front gate. With a lurch, it swung open.
Chase pressed the gas. And the Girls’ Reformatory and Rehabilitation Center of West Virginia faded behind us.
I WAS out. Away from the shack and from Brock, from the terrifying guards and the Statute classes. Everything within me wanted to push Chase aside and slam my foot down on the accelerator, but I knew that couldn’t happen.
I was out. But not free.
I glanced over to the driver. His face was set, like it had been in front of my mother’s house. This was not the Chase I’d pictured in the woods, in those seconds before I’d thought Randolph would pull the trigger. This was the soldier, and I was still very much imprisoned. Unconsciously, my wrists jerked against the restraints, making my still-sore hands even more sensitive.
We left the winding road outside the facility and joined the highway. The area was clean here. No stalled cars, no giant potholes in the asphalt. It was obviously a heavily traveled military route: The MM only paid for maintenance on the roads they used most.
As we continued, the frequency of military vehicles increased. A blue van sped past, then several more cruisers, then a bus filled with frightened new residents who had no idea what awaited them. Each sighting made my stomach lurch. If I had escaped last night, there would’ve been no way I could have snuck by all these soldiers.
