Elijah

The drive through Seattle was tense. Ava kept squeezing my hand and tapping her foot against the limo's floor in distress. I tried to soothe her, but she was worried, like a mama bear protecting her cub, and I knew it would do no good to comfort her until this Sara girl was safe. She stared out the window at the passing buildings and homeless stragglers, wringing her hands together.
“She’s a client of mine,” Ava said as we drove. “She’s only a child, sixteen years old. I can’t let her be alone.” She sighed. “For the first time in my career, I wish the cops found her first. Then at least, she would be safe.”
“She will be,” I said and leaned over to kiss her. Then I put my lips to her hand, and she forced a smile. “We’ll find her, okay?”
She nodded, but I wasn’t sure she was entirely convinced. “Thank you for coming with me,” she said instead. “I hope you won’t think too ill of me when this night is over.”
“I hold no ill feelings,” I assured her. “Your devotion to these children has quite the opposite effect. It’s—intriguing.”
“How so?” she asked curiously.
“Well, I never had an adult care about me the way you care about them,” I said softly. I had never spoken so openly about my childhood to a stranger, let alone a girl I barely knew. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Until now.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ava said softly, squeezing my hand. “Every child deserves to feel loved. Were you very close with your parents?”
“No.” I could feel us treading on dangerous territory, getting into the deep stuff I didn’t want to hash out. Not yet anyway. Not until I knew I wouldn’t scare her away first. Thankfully, Ava seemed to sense something in me, and she didn’t push it further, and we both fell silent.
As we neared the downtown district of Seattle, I peered out the tinted windows, looking out at the motion around us. Teenagers and older guys wearing baggy pants and wife beater tank-tops hung out on each corner, smoking joints and cigarettes and drinking liquor straight from the bottles. Another street down, prostitutes dressed in flashy, provocative clothing walked the sidewalk, trying to lure strange men into their run-down complexes for a quick fuck and a drug fix. They all stared at the limo as we drove past. Some looked curious, others looked disgusted, and I was almost certain one or two people reached for their guns when they saw us—a car and strangers so out of place, they knew we must be trouble. I wanted to put my body over Ava, to draw her into me so she wouldn’t get hurt, but I knew she’d only push me away. While it was one of the things that drew me to her, it was also something that aggravated me. Her independence. Her power.
“I think this is it,” she said after another few moments as Malcolm pulled up to the curb next to a run-down building encased in darkness. She turned to look at me. “You can stay here.”
I rested my hand on her arm, shaking my head. “Nice try.” I turned back around to look at Malcolm. “Keep the doors locked until we’re back here, okay?”
“Yes, sir. Do you require my assistance as well?”
“I don’t think so,” I told him. “But I’ll call you if we do.”
I got out of the car, followed closely by Ava. Without the protection of the glass, I kept her near me, one arm around her shoulders, pulling her body into mine. Even under such tense circumstances, my fingers itched to touch her skin, kiss her, and admire the curves of her body and the scent of her perfume. But I couldn’t. Not now. I had to stay focused if it meant protecting Ava. Keeping her safe was my main priority, no matter what the cost.
As we walked towards the building, drawing stares from the hookers and pimps up and down the block, Ava pulled out her cell phone and redialed the number Sara had her called from.
“There’s no answer,” she whispered after a moment and hung up. The worry etched into her face, and my heart ached for her.
“We’ll find her,” I promised. “Just stay close to me and don’t look at anyone.”
We entered through the main doors into the ghetto complex, and the smell hit us first. It was a combination of stale booze, mildew, and dirty sex—not the appealing kind. Ava briefly put her hand over her nose, but then she shook it off, and we headed up creaky, mildew stairs to where I assumed the apartments were. A large, black male toting a bottle of whiskey and a crack pipe openly glared at us. I wondered if he was holding a gun, too.
“Hey, pretty lady,” he called to Ava and stood from the floor he’d been sitting on. “Want to go upstairs to my place? I can show you a good time.”
She was about to turn and confront him, but I pulled her forward, holding her even tighter against me, rage swelling in my chest, anger bubbling in my throat. I wanted to punch a hole in the guy, but I had to keep it together for Ava and the kid.
“Keep walking,” I said, clenching my fists to keep from wheeling on that guy and knocking him out. Once upstairs, the hallway dimmed, and the smell turned worse. We stopped at the end of the hallway, unsure of where to go next, and next to me, Ava trembled.
“I don’t know which one it is,” she said, clinging to me. “I—I don’t know what to do.” She pulled out her phone and called the number again. This time, it went straight to voicemail.
“Then we’ll go to all of them.” I wasn’t any more comfortable with the idea than she seemed to be, but I knew she wouldn’t leave without finding the kid, and I would not leave without her. So, taking a deep breath, I knocked on the first door, bracing myself, ready to protect her and myself without a moment’s hesitation.
After a few moments, a Hispanic woman with a baby on her hip answered. Her hair was greasy and unkempt, and she wore ratty sweats and only a sports bra. She glared at us, clearly offended that we’d bothered her.
“What?” she snapped.
“We’re looking for someone,” I said before Ava could speak. “A girl about sixteen. Have you seen anyone?”
“Brown hair, about this tall,” Ava added. “She’s just a kid.”
The woman glared at us as cigarette smoke billowed from her apartment. The baby began to fuss. “This whole side of the city is filled with tramps of that description,” she said. “Hookers.”
She was about to close the door, but I reached out to stop it. “You’ve seen a sixteen-year-old girl, or you haven’t,” I said. “But we know she’s nearby.”
“What are you, a cop?” The distaste in her tone was evident. When I didn’t answer, she sighed heavily, clearly displeased, but lowered her voice. “A man named Tyrese something lives down the hall. Like, six doors that way.” She pointed. “I think he’s a pimp because I see young girls in and out all night long. Check there.”
“Thank you,” Ava said, and she was pulling away from me to head that way before I could stop her. The woman rolled her eyes and closed the door. I heard her click the deadbolt and chain into place as I walked away.
“Don’t leave my side,” I told Ava, pulling her to a stop. “It’s not safe around here, okay?”
I knew she wanted to argue, but she nodded at the last minute instead. There was no time to waste with petty arguments.
“Okay.”
We continued down the hallway, where the overwhelming odor of urine, mildew, and cigarette and pot smoke smothered the air. We stopped at the sixth door, and I pushed Ava behind me to guard her against any surprises. Then I knocked hard.
At first, there was nothing. No sound, no footsteps. Ava was about to go to the next door when it finally opened a crack, and a tiny blond with dark eyes and stringy hair poked her face out.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“We’re looking for someone,” Ava said desperately, launching back to my side. “Her name is Sara. She’s sixteen, brown hair, about my height.”
“Sara?” the blond repeated. She looked strung out like she wasn’t really aware she was having this conversation. She was quiet for a moment, and just as I was about to ask her again, she spoke up. “Oh, I think I know who you’re talking about.”
“You do?” Ava asked, and I could almost feel the intense relief that bubbled over. The blonde, however, made no move to open the door for us.
“Is she here?” I asked. “Sara. Is she here?”
The girl looked over her shoulder as if scanning the room behind her and then turned back and nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she said. “But she’s asleep. Sorry.” She started to shut the door, but I put my foot out, lodging it open. The girl glared at me, her eyes narrowing. “What the fuck do you want, anyway?”
“We just want the girl.” If she wasn’t willing to take Ava seriously, it was my turn. “Hand her over, and we’ll leave.”
“She’s not an object,” Ava hissed. If the circumstances were better, I would have laughed out loud. Count on her to set me straight despite the whole situation.
“Go away,” the blonde said. “She’s not here.”
“I thought you said she was sleeping,” Ava pushed, shouldering her way forward. “If she’s here, I need to speak to her.”
“Sorry,” the girl said. Before she could try and shut the door again, I pushed my body forward, shoving the door open so we could go in. The girl was too small to fight us, and finally, she backed away, seemingly too strung out to keep fighting us. “If Tyrese comes back, you’re both fucked,” she muttered, settling back down onto the garbage-strewn floor where a needle and burned spoon sat waiting for her.
Ava followed me into the house, one hand clutched in mine, her breasts and stomach pressed against my back. We stopped and looked around, taking the scene in. The apartment was small and dark, and it stank to the high heaven of something that smelled like rotten food, dirty laundry, and sewage. Black lights glowed around us, and a ragged couch sat broken in the middle of the living room. Empty bottles of booze, cartons of cigarettes, and used needles littered the carpet.
Sitting on the couch was a man who looked so whacked out he didn’t even look in our direction, and between his knees was another young woman with black hair. She had his cock down her throat, and she didn’t seem to hear or notice us either.
“Jesus,” Ava whispered. She stopped and buried her head in my chest, struggling to gain her composure. I held her against me, wishing I could shield her from the vile scene.
“Where’s the kid?” I said to the room. “Where’s Sara?”
When no one answered, I said it louder, kneeling in front of the junkies on the floor to get their attention. I snapped my fingers in the blonde’s face, hoping to draw her temporarily back to civilization. Finally, the young girl spoke up.
“Check the bathroom.”
Ava didn’t wait for direction as she took off to the other side of the apartment, calling the girl’s name. I followed her closely, my hand always resting on some part of her body. I wanted to be a human shield, to protect her from whatever I possibly could, but I hated this situation because I couldn’t. It was unpredictable. Someone could step out with a gun, or a fist, looking for a fight. I hated the unknown.
When we arrived at what we assumed was the bathroom (the only bedroom in the house was occupied by another “couple,” neither of which was Sara), Ava pounded on the door and tried the handle. It was locked.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” she said, pressing her ear to the door. After another few shouts and knocks, I gently moved her aside, tried one more time to knock, and then took the door handle in my grip and put my weight on the door.
“We’re coming in,” I warned and slammed my body against the door once and then twice. After a few seconds, it cracked, splintered, and then flew open. I didn’t have time to stop Ava before she rushed through the door, falling to her knees in front of a young teenager lying unconscious on the floor. In one hand was an empty syringe, and a small stream of vomit leaked from the side of her mouth.
“Call an ambulance,” Ava said, placing her fingers on Sara’s neck. “Now!”
I pulled out my phone and was about to dial 911 when someone screamed at us from the living room, a warning of some kind, a tone filled with panic. The front door opened and shut, and somebody said a man’s name.
“Who the fuck is in my house?” he boomed, and I knew this was Tyrese … the pimp. Hearing the man speak, Ava’s eyes flitted from Sara and up to me, a terrified expression crossing her features.
“Oh, God,” she whimpered. I shook my head and held a finger up to my lips to shush her, suddenly wishing I had a gun.