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Authors: Emme Rollins
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Sabrina’s. There’s a key hidden in one of those fake rock things next to the porch.”
He waited, rolling his eyes, presumably while Sarah talked.
“Just do it. I’ll call you when we have her.”
I gave Rob my phone and asked him to navigate. The app didn’t give us an exact address, just a pulsing blue dot on Palmer Street. That was where Katie was—or at least, that’s where her phone was. I knew my way around Detroit well enough to follow Rob’s directions. I knew Palmer Street too. My mom had taught history at Wayne State for years and Palmer was a sort of back way to get to I-94. I’d gone this way hundreds of times while I was getting my teaching degree. It was an easy shortcut.
But I’d never really paid as close attention to it as I was now.
Much of it was just vacant lots, lots of brush. Some of the houses were lived in, gated, even nice. Detroit was such a strange mix of old, beautiful homes and empty ghost houses.
“Slow down.” Rob watched the phone, pointing at the stop sign. “It should be in this next block.”
I rolled slowly through the intersection, past an old hardware store with no windows, a gate on the door. It was tagged with graffiti and had fire damage, the roof blackened and caving in. Please don’t let it be here, I thought, glancing over at Rob.
“Up on the left.” He pointed and I drove past a huge pile of old tires on the right side of the road, thrown aside like rubber donuts, stopping in front of a vacant home, the windows empty, dark eyes.
“Here?” There was an old white and tan Dodge Caravan parked alongside the house, indicating it might not be as unoccupied as it appeared.
“Stay here.” Rob checked the gun in its holster, opening the passenger door.
Stay here? Was he kidding? Katie was in there somewhere. I wasn’t staying in the damned car. I shoved the driver’s side door open and followed him, ignoring the glare he gave me as he went up the steps.
We didn’t knock. The door was falling off its hinges and practically open anyway. Rob’s hand stayed on the butt of the gun as we moved through the living room, littered with trash—beer cans, fast food wrappers, and definitely old needles—all scattered around an old, stained twin mattress. But there was no one there.
“Katie!” I called, ignoring Rob’s look of warning over his shoulder.
I heard something over our heads and glanced up at the ceiling.
“Wait!” Rob called but I was already heading for the staircase. There was a hole straight down through the middle of them and I stepped around it, looking down as I passed, straight into the darkness of a basement or crawl space under the house.
“Damn it, Sabrina,” Rob hissed as we reached the top of the stairs. “Let me go f—”
A low moan reached my ears and I launched down the hall, following the sound. Rob was right, I knew I should be cautious, but I was sure it was Katie. And I was right.
“Oh Katie,” I breathed, kneeling next to the filthy mattress she was drooling on.
She moaned softly when I touched her shoulder, brushing honey hair away from her face, but she didn’t open her eyes. Rob moved around the room, opening a door—a bathroom—looking for more people, but she was alone.
“Stay with her, I’ll be right back.”
He didn’t have to say it. I wasn’t leaving her.
“Katie, Katie,” I murmured, turning her from her side to her back. Her eyelids fluttered but that was all. There was n o doubt she’d been shooting up and it wasn’t the first time. She had track marks up and down her arms. I was kneeling next to a spoon, a needle, a lighter, a big rubber band. But who had brought her here? Her car, according to Sarah, was in the Wayne State University parking structure.
“Can you hear me?” I spoke loudly, hoping she might stir, my fingers finding the pulse at her neck. It was slow but steady. “We’re going to take you home, Katie.”
She moaned, her head moving side to side, but any words she tried
He waited, rolling his eyes, presumably while Sarah talked.
“Just do it. I’ll call you when we have her.”
I gave Rob my phone and asked him to navigate. The app didn’t give us an exact address, just a pulsing blue dot on Palmer Street. That was where Katie was—or at least, that’s where her phone was. I knew my way around Detroit well enough to follow Rob’s directions. I knew Palmer Street too. My mom had taught history at Wayne State for years and Palmer was a sort of back way to get to I-94. I’d gone this way hundreds of times while I was getting my teaching degree. It was an easy shortcut.
But I’d never really paid as close attention to it as I was now.
Much of it was just vacant lots, lots of brush. Some of the houses were lived in, gated, even nice. Detroit was such a strange mix of old, beautiful homes and empty ghost houses.
“Slow down.” Rob watched the phone, pointing at the stop sign. “It should be in this next block.”
I rolled slowly through the intersection, past an old hardware store with no windows, a gate on the door. It was tagged with graffiti and had fire damage, the roof blackened and caving in. Please don’t let it be here, I thought, glancing over at Rob.
“Up on the left.” He pointed and I drove past a huge pile of old tires on the right side of the road, thrown aside like rubber donuts, stopping in front of a vacant home, the windows empty, dark eyes.
“Here?” There was an old white and tan Dodge Caravan parked alongside the house, indicating it might not be as unoccupied as it appeared.
“Stay here.” Rob checked the gun in its holster, opening the passenger door.
Stay here? Was he kidding? Katie was in there somewhere. I wasn’t staying in the damned car. I shoved the driver’s side door open and followed him, ignoring the glare he gave me as he went up the steps.
We didn’t knock. The door was falling off its hinges and practically open anyway. Rob’s hand stayed on the butt of the gun as we moved through the living room, littered with trash—beer cans, fast food wrappers, and definitely old needles—all scattered around an old, stained twin mattress. But there was no one there.
“Katie!” I called, ignoring Rob’s look of warning over his shoulder.
I heard something over our heads and glanced up at the ceiling.
“Wait!” Rob called but I was already heading for the staircase. There was a hole straight down through the middle of them and I stepped around it, looking down as I passed, straight into the darkness of a basement or crawl space under the house.
“Damn it, Sabrina,” Rob hissed as we reached the top of the stairs. “Let me go f—”
A low moan reached my ears and I launched down the hall, following the sound. Rob was right, I knew I should be cautious, but I was sure it was Katie. And I was right.
“Oh Katie,” I breathed, kneeling next to the filthy mattress she was drooling on.
She moaned softly when I touched her shoulder, brushing honey hair away from her face, but she didn’t open her eyes. Rob moved around the room, opening a door—a bathroom—looking for more people, but she was alone.
“Stay with her, I’ll be right back.”
He didn’t have to say it. I wasn’t leaving her.
“Katie, Katie,” I murmured, turning her from her side to her back. Her eyelids fluttered but that was all. There was n o doubt she’d been shooting up and it wasn’t the first time. She had track marks up and down her arms. I was kneeling next to a spoon, a needle, a lighter, a big rubber band. But who had brought her here? Her car, according to Sarah, was in the Wayne State University parking structure.
“Can you hear me?” I spoke loudly, hoping she might stir, my fingers finding the pulse at her neck. It was slow but steady. “We’re going to take you home, Katie.”
She moaned, her head moving side to side, but any words she tried
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