Page 17

The minute the fresh air hits my face, I almost start crying. It feels so good to feel the sun against my face. I don’t know how long I had been held in that room. The suffering went on for what seemed like forever. The drugs he gave me… I don’t know how long I was out for. As the days went on, I lost hope that someone would save me. The days rolled into the nights, and at some point, I just stopped caring.
I start walking through the parking lot until I come up on a main road. I have no idea where I am or how I’m going to get back to where I call home. I obviously don’t have money, and I have no car. I don’t even own a phone. Not that I have anyone I could call.
I can’t remember my name or my birthday, let alone a phone number.
So, I do the only thing I can do. Just walk. Walk until I get somewhere. Anywhere.
When I reach a stoplight, I see that it says Charleston Boulevard on the sign. I am at the corner of Rancho and Charleston. A Chase bank sits on the corner, a gas station across from it. I would love water, but without money, I’ll have to steal it. The last thing I want to do is attract more attention to myself. So, I keep heading down Charleston until I find some shade from this heat.
There is a nice grass patch under a tree, so I take a moment to sit down, relax, and try to assess what I’m going to do. With no funds, I will have to find a place to sleep. A shelter or something.
I pick at the grass blades as the cars whizz by. The sun beats down on me, and my body feels restless. I have no idea how long the detox meds they give me will last. So when they are out of my system, I will be miserable.
I need to find some place to hole up soon.
As I sit there, a cop car slowly comes to a stop before me. I look around to see if there is any other reason they would stop, but it’s just me under the tree.
My heart starts to race a bit as I wonder if they are looking for me to try and take me back to the hospital. Slowly, I stand, getting ready for whatever is about to happen. A female officer gets out of the car, her red hair in a short pixie cut.
“Hello there, ma’am. I’m Officer Laura Doran. How are you doing today?” She rests her hand on her belt as she slowly walks up toward me.
Tears start to form in my now stinging eyes. And I’m not sure if it’s from fear or a symptom of my withdrawal that is causing them to tear up. Maybe both. My vision blurs a bit as I stare at the officer.
“Do you have any ID on you?” she asks, raising an expectant eyebrow at me.
I shake my head. I have nothing to my name, much less an ID.
“Are you homeless?” She looks me up and down, no doubt noticing the bruises on my arms.
I nod as tears fall down my cheeks. Fear. It’s definitely fear.
She frowns and then turns around to head to the back of her police car. Then she opens up the trunk and rifles through some things before returning to where I’m sitting.
Holding out her hand, she offers me a bag filled with some stuff. I cautiously take the bag from her and open it to see that there are a couple of bottles of water and some granola bars inside.
“It’s not much, but it’s something. If you would like, there is a women’s shelter down the street. I can take you there and you can have a place to sleep for a few nights. They may be able to help you get on your feet,” she offers.
“I just want to go home,” I say so softly that I’m not sure she hears me until she responds.
“Where’s home, sweetheart?” Her voice is calm. “Do you have family here in Las Vegas?”
I shake my head, biting my lip. “Back east.”
“You are on the opposite side of the country, ma’am.” She turns and looks down the road and then back at me. “Would you like me to take you to the women’s shelter?”
I slowly nod. Maybe someone there can help me get my memory back. Help me remember where I’m from.
She leads me to the back of her car, and I hesitantly start to back up. My eyes widen in fear that she is going to take me back to the hospital.
“I am just taking you down the street, okay? I swear. I’m not taking you to jail. I just can’t have you riding up front with me,” she assures me, sensing my unease.
She doesn’t seem like she’s lying about this. And she didn’t mention the hospital, she mentioned jail, so chances are she has no idea I just escaped from there. I cautiously make my way into the back of the vehicle. She helps me with the buckle and then closes the door. I start to feel a bit boxed in once the door closes, and I have to sit there and breathe to try to calm myself.
Officer Doran gets in and takes off toward the shelter she was talking about. Gripping the bag tightly, I swallow over the lump in my throat. We drive for maybe a few minutes before shepulls into a parking lot that looks like most of them around me. There’s a building that almost looks like a hospital, which makes the blood rush from my face.
“They’re really nice here,” the officer assures me. “They will get you some meals and a place to lay your head. They have counselors here you can talk to, and hopefully, they can help get you on your feet. And here,”—she hands me a card—“that is my contact information. If you need anything, please call me. Day or night. Okay?”
“Why are you helping me?” My voice wavers.