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  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, dead or alive, are a figment of the author’s imagination and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s mind's eye and are not to be interpreted as real.

  Copyright © 2014 Leddy Harper

  All rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.

  Edited by Switzer Edits

  Formatted by Switzer Edits

  Cover Design by The Final Wrap

  Dedication

  This is for Granddad. Thanks for listening.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter one

  Chapter two

  Chapter three

  Chapter four

  Chapter five

  Chapter six

  Chapter seven

  Chapter eight

  Chapter nine

  Chapter ten

  Chapter eleven

  Chapter twelve

  Chapter thirteen

  Chapter fourteen

  Chapter fifteen

  Chapter sixteen

  Chapter seventeen

  Chapter eighteen

  Chapter nineteen

  Chapter twenty

  Chapter twenty-one

  Chapter twenty-two

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  The winding two-lane highway was deserted at that time of night. It was just me and the stupid cop behind me. His lights were nearly blinding me in my review mirror. Red and blue. I could feel panic creep in as I pulled onto the right shoulder, hoping he’d pass on his way to something more important.

  He didn’t. He pulled over behind me. Panic flooded my senses as I rolled my window down, going through all the things I could’ve been doing wrong. I wasn’t speeding, my lights were on, I wasn’t weaving or passing improperly–there were no cars to even pass.

  The officer walked up to my window with his hand on his belt. For a second, I thought he was going to pull his gun out. Instead, he pulled out his long flashlight and shone it onto my lap, where my hands were twisting together.

  “License and registration please, ma’am.”

  How in the hell would I get out of this? I had no license—never had one—and the car was registered under someone else’s name. I reached into the glove box and pulled out the registration, hoping he would forget all about my license.

  “You’re license, too, please.” Of course, he wouldn’t forget that.

  “I’m sorry, officer, but I left home without it. I was just running up to the gas station for some headache medicine. I wasn’t even thinking when I left.” I wasn’t exactly lying; I was going to need something for the headache his blinding lights were giving me.

  He crouched down far enough to see into the car; it was the first time I got a good look at his face. He was an older man, probably in his late forties, with graying hair. His face was cleanly shaven, and he had green eyes that looked so familiar, but it was hard to see in the dark.

  The beam from the flashlight hit my face and I moved my hand to shield my eyes. I was waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, shining his light on me and, from what I could assume, staring at me.

  This was not what I needed. An old man wanting to use his powers of the law to get what he wanted. I wasn’t going to do that. He could throw me in jail for all I cared, I wasn’t going to suck or spread anything for this pervert.

  “Excuse me, officer, but is there some reason you’re doing that?” I wanted the light out of my eyes, off of my face. My sudden headache was intensifying and my panic levels were reaching an all time high.

  He lowered the beam back to my lap. I wasn’t sure what was worse, him gawking over my face or my vagina. At least I wasn’t being blinded anymore.

  “What’s your name, little girl?” I was expecting him to sound perverse, but he didn’t. He sounded concerned, almost like he was talking to a child. I guess compared to him, an eighteen year old would be a child. But I had been through far too many things to be seen as one.

  I knew not to give my real name; Billy had told me time and time again. “Tiffany.” I had the name picked out since I was fifteen. Since Billy had come and saved me. I hadn’t had to use it yet. But I said it with such certainty that my real name very well could have been Tiffany, not Kendall.

  “Your full name please.”

  I probably should have already come up with one of those. I used to have one picked out, but as I got older, I didn’t like it anymore and just never found a new one.

  “Stark.” I remember berating myself for saying that. I had looked up at the sky and saw the stars, and Stark was the name I was able to come up with. I was sure he’d know that I was lying, my voice wasn’t nearly as confident as it was when I said my first name—or as I should say, my make believe first name.

  “Give me a minute, if you will.” He vanished behind the car. I could still hear him though; he was far enough away that I couldn’t make out his words but could hear the depth of his voice.

  He wasn’t gone long. He came back to ask more questions. My middle name, my birthday, where I was from. Each answer I gave him, he’d respond to the radio on his shoulder and a crackling voice would sound back something inaudible to me.

  “Ma’am, you are not showing up in the DMV records for this entire state. This car is not registered to you, and you have no way to prove your identity. I’m going to need to take you with me. Please open the door and step out with your hands up.” His hand was back on his belt, this time I knew it was over his weapon.

  “I’m sorry, officer, but you have yet to tell me why you pulled me over.”

  “Your tag light is out. Now please, remove yourself from the vehicle.”

  My tag light. My life crumbled to insignificant pieces because of a fucking tag light that costs a whopping five dollars.

  I watched as the second hand ticked on the black and white clock hanging from the boring white wall. I had maybe another thirty more seconds before I would be called back. I didn’t want to be called back; I wanted to stay where I was. No, that was a lie. I didn’t want to be anywhere near there. I wanted to be home. My home, not the new one I was being forced to live in. I wanted to be home with Billy. In the security of his arms, not the cold arms of these people that claim they know what’s good for me. They don’t know shit.

  “Miss Tucker.” And there it was, my name being called out. I still wasn’t used to it, never would be. I tried to hide the irritated look on my face to please the people around me as I got up and walked into her office. I waited until the door was closed before repeating the same thing I had two days before at my last appointment.

  “My last name is not Tucker, it’s Carrington. Please don’t call me by that name.”

  “Would you just prefer me to call you by your first name then? Danielle?”

  The irritation running through my veins was making my skin crawl. I scratched my forearm vigorously, trying to rid the feeling from my body. I hated that feeling. The feeling of being so pissed off but unable to do anything about it. Billy was the only person that could calm me down after an episode like this.

  “My name isn’t Danielle either. It’s Kendall. Kendall Carrington. I told you on Tuesday, please don’t make me repeat myself again next week.” I wanted to break something, or punch something. But instead, I sat in the oversized brown chair and twisted my hands in my lap.

  “I understand, sweetheart, but—”

  I didn’t let her finish. My rage was nearly boiling over like a pot
of noodles that was filled too high with water. “DO NOT CALL ME THAT! I am not your child, we are not friends, I am NOT your sweetheart. You are being paid to psychoanalyze me, and that’s it. Call me Kendall. Any other name and I will sit here in silence.”

  I had been expecting more of a reaction from her, but I didn’t get one. Instead, she pulled her long blond hair and twisted it behind her head, sticking a pencil in to keep it back and out of her face. She didn’t look scared; she looked like she had heard this before. She probably had. It was her profession.

  Her large brown eyes bore into mine; not with pity, not with respect, but with an understanding that I could not comprehend. She stayed silent, licking her dry, pouty lips every few seconds, waiting for me to say or do something.

  Once she was certain I was over my tirade, she began.

  “I will call you Kendall if you allow a discussion about your name.”

  I huffed out a deep breath. “There’s no negotiating. You either call me by my name or you don’t. I’ve already told you that if you don’t, I won’t be discussing anything.”

  She put down her pen and a legal pad that had her name ‘Joanne Montage’ stenciled on the top in cursive. Her elbows were resting on her knees as she leaned forward; I’m sure it was something she learned in school to show a sense of concern. It didn’t do it for me. I was over this whole psychologist thing, had been over it since the idea was brought up two weeks ago.

  “I know you’ve only been home for a month now, and it all seems a little overwhelming.”

  “This isn’t my home. I’m not home. I’m living with strangers that don’t know me but pretend they do because we share the same blood. I’m living in a house that I have no memory of with people shoving pictures in my face thinking it’d make me feel better. It doesn’t. None of this makes me feel better. You don’t, these so called family members don’t, the house doesn’t. I just want to go home, to my home, my real home; that would make me feel better. I’m eighteen; I don’t understand how you people can keep me here.”

  “This is why we should discuss these things. You are not eighteen; you’re still seventeen. You won’t be eighteen for six more months. It is not advisable for you to go back to that environment. Have you ever heard of Stockholm syndrome?”

  And there was the voice of sympathy that I hated so much. I had gotten nothing but sympathy since I was dragged to this god-awful town; it was in the way they looked at me, in the way they talked to me, even in their unwanted hugs. I didn’t want it, any of it. I just wanted to be left alone until I reached the eighteenth birthday that they all claim hadn’t come yet, even though I specifically remember Billy bringing me home my favorite chocolate cake to celebrate it.

  “Of course, I’ve heard of it. You people throw it around like it’s the fucking common cold. I don’t have it. Billy didn’t abduct me, so your argument is mute. Not to mention, I was never abused.”

  “When did you graduate high school?” I had no idea why she was asking me that.

  I answered anyway, “I didn’t. I studied at home.”

  “Why didn’t you go to school?”

  “John didn’t think it was important. He said there were too many horrible people out there that could take advantage of a girl like me, so he had me learn at home instead.”

  “And John, he was the one who raised you, correct?”

  This was pointless and a waste of money. We had gone over this two days earlier. I hadn’t said much, but still, it was information she already knew. “For the most part, yes.” I figured I’d better answer her stupid questions if I didn’t want to be asked again the next week.

  “Did John ever let you out of the house you lived in with him?”

  “Of course. I wasn’t tied down or locked in a room. I was allowed out.”

  “Where were some of the places you’d go?”

  “We had a really big backyard with a lake behind it. I went out there most every day.”

  She picked her notepad back up. “Where were some of the other places?”

  I started to think about it. Had John ever taken me to the store, or gas station, or even to the doctor’s office? I knew he didn’t as I was getting older, but I couldn’t remember if he did or not while I was still small. I couldn’t remember any instances at least.

  “I mainly just wanted to swim in the lake. I didn’t care to go anywhere.” I didn’t want to admit to her that I hadn’t gone anywhere. That John hadn’t allowed me out of the house or away from the property. It would only make her feel as though she was right about him, about me, and she wasn’t.

  “What about friends? Why don’t you tell me about some of the friends you had growing up?” She had stopped writing to look up at me. I knew she was catching on to my avoidance. She wasn’t an idiot. There was a reason she had so many framed degrees, certificates, and awards on her wall.

  I stalled, looking around the room. How could I possibly explain that I didn’t have any?

  “John played a lot with me; so did Billy. Other than that, I was content being alone.”

  “What kinds of things did you do with John and Billy?”

  “Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, Candyland. We played cards and video games.”

  “And Billy is five years older than you?” I nodded; she already had that information. Once again, she was asking me repetitive questions and it was beginning to irritate me. “Did he have friends that he hung out with? Did he ever get bored playing games with you and John?”

  I hadn’t thought about that time of my life in so long. It felt kind of like I was digging through a vault in order to find those memories. I started talking without thinking too much of what I was saying. The words just came out as the memories flooded my head.

  “Billy had friends, not too many though. They went to school together and sometimes came to the house, but I wasn’t allowed to hang out with them. John didn’t like it when they came over. He always said that there are too many risks with them coming over. I didn’t understand it for the longest time until he explained that he’d seen too many times on the news about little girls being taken advantage of by kids Billy’s age.”

  “Did you feel protected by John and Billy?”

  “John always made me feel safe. Once I knew why he didn’t want me to go out and go to school, I understood, and that made me feel even more protected and safe. Billy made me feel safe, but in a different way, I guess.”

  “In what kind of way?”

  I tried to find the right way to explain it. “John made me feel safe like any parent would. And Billy, I guess he was like a typical older brother. He came to my defense when I needed it, but he wasn’t always there. He didn’t show too much concern with me until I was older.”

  “You call John by his first name; did you always know he wasn’t your dad?”

  I nodded, but she motioned for me to elaborate. I didn’t know why, it’s not like she didn’t already know all of this. These were things that I had to talk about at the police station; she had the reports, she knew what was in them.

  “I was never under the impression of anything different. He was always ‘John’ to me. I remember when I was younger, maybe six, I questioned why Billy called him dad but I didn’t. It was the first time he explained to me where I came from.”

  “And what did he tell you?”

  “That my mother and him had started dating when I was younger, but she left when I was four, leaving me with him. He wasn’t my dad, but he took care of me like one. So it didn’t matter to me what I called him. My mother didn’t want me; he said he never knew who my father was since he met my mom after I was born, so he and Billy were the only family I had.”

  “How would you describe yourself as being when you were that age?”

  “Happy.” That was an easy answer, I always remembered being happy, until I was fifteen. That’s when my life had changed for the first time. It made me hate change, and the change that was forced upon me a month earlier just furthered that feeling
.

  Joanne, or Dr. Montage—whatever I’m supposed to call her—placed her paper and pen down again. And again, she moved closer to me. I didn’t care who taught that to her, it made me feel uncomfortable. They were wrong, it doesn’t feel calming or consoling or caring; it was creepy and domineering.

  “You may not have been physically tied up or locked in a room, but you were still confined to the property. You didn’t have any friends aside from your captors; you didn’t go to school, you weren’t able to be a normal little girl. You were lied to, and kept from your family—your real family. That is abuse. They may not have hit you, or touched you, or made you feel abused, but nonetheless, you were.”

  I felt my anxiety creep back in. I wanted Billy, I wanted him to hold me and calm me down. I didn’t know if I could do it on my own. “Are we done here? I don’t care to sit here and listen to your psychobabble anymore. I wasn’t abused. End of story.”

  She looked at her watch; I knew my hour wasn’t up yet, not even close to it.

  “Let’s discuss your family.”

  “Let’s not. It seems your definition of my family is not the same as mine.”

  “I’m talking about the people that have been here, looking for you for the last fourteen years. The ones that have never given up hope on finding you. Those people are your family. Those are the ones that carry unconditional love in their hearts for you.”

  “John took care of me. He put food on my table for fourteen years, not those people. He kept clothes on my back the whole time, not those people. He loved me; I know he did.”

  “Dan—Kendall, he abducted you.” And there was the bluntness that she tried so hard to hide. At least she caught herself before calling me by the name I refused to answer to.

  “I’m done talking.” And I was. I sat on the chair for the remainder of the hour without speaking. She tried to talk to me, but I didn’t engage in her conversation. Once she realized that I wasn’t going to participate, she decided to inform me of some things.

  She assumed things about John and Billy, assumed things about the relationship I had with them. I blocked it out because I knew none of it was true. She wasn’t there, I was. I knew who they really were and what my relationship with them was. I just wasn’t sure what my relationship with Billy was anymore since I was dragged away. Those people wouldn’t let me talk to him.