My chest tightened as the page opened, but I forced myself to keep looking. The site wasn't identical to other ones I'd seen, but it was close. Whoever had designed this site had used a similar format to the sites I'd found my videos on years ago.
Bile rose in my throat and I choked it back. How had that happened? The people who'd been arrested in connection with my case had all been arrested. It had been less than ten years. None of them should've been out yet.
Unless they'd cut a deal.
I looked at my screen. I'd told myself I wouldn't do it. I'd put all of that behind me. I didn't want to know anything else about my past.
But I had to know.
I'd told Lily that I hadn't wanted to know the specifics of what happened with my mom and the others. I'd just been grateful that I hadn't needed to testify again and that I could put things behind me.
Now, however, I wished I would've asked. I could've kept an eye on things, prevented more kids from being hurt...
I shook my head. No, I couldn't think like that. I didn't even know if my hunch was right.
I pulled up the FBI server and typed in my password. I knew the name of one of the men who'd been arrested. He'd been my mother's boyfriend slash pimp slash drug dealer at the time. And, of course, I knew her name. Both the one she used in public as well as the one she use in 'business’. But, if I was honest, I didn't actually know if either of those names were real. Aliases were common in the business and I wasn't even sure if my mother had ever given me her real name. Even the name on my birth certificate might've been fake. I was pretty sure the doctor's name was.
I'd erased my name from pretty much all government systems, but I hadn't erased the files. I couldn't risk anyone getting out because their criminal files couldn't be found. I'd also tagged the files so I could find them easily if I needed to. I took another slow breath and then typed in the commands.
A few moments later, a rectangular box popped up on my screen.
Access Denied.
I frowned. My file was closed? I tried again and got the same result.
I tried using the name of the man who'd been living with us when I'd been rescued. His file came up and was short. He'd died in prison two months into his fifteen year sentence. Child molesters weren't exactly popular in prison. Or, rather, they were, but not in a good way.
There was a link from his account to one under my mother's name or at least the alias she'd used. I clicked it and it pulled up a small file that stated my mother had also died in prison. I wasn't surprised that I didn't feel anything about her being dead. I'd never given her life a second thought after I'd been taken away.
What I did find weird was the file itself. It didn't look right. As someone who'd spent a decent amount of time inside various government systems, I knew what I was talking about. The file was too clean, too succinct. I knew it wasn't a good idea, but I had to dig deeper. Something was wrong here and I had a very bad feeling about what it was.
I leaned forward, my other work forgotten. I followed the trail, digging through various files. It was buried deep. Whoever had done this had done it well. They were good. Just not as good as me.
One little problem.
It was above my security clearance. Access Denied.
I could hack it, I knew. Hack my file and my mom's file. I had absolutely no doubt that I could do it. The question was, should I do it? I could do it without being detected, but the chances of me not having any questions was slim. If I had questions, I'd have to go to Agent Matthews, and he'd want to know how I'd found whatever it was that I was going to find. I seriously doubted my newfound bosses would be pleased with my snooping.
If this had just been a one-off job, I might've considered saying the hell with it, but this was going to be long-term. At least, that was the way I was forcing myself to look at it. I was helping people, using my talents for good. And I didn't want to lose that.
My only option was to ask Agent Matthews about what the files said. I doubted he'd tell me, not even if I told him what I suspected. And I wasn't even sure what I suspected, not really. It was just this feeling, really, a feeling that I'd stumbled on something big...and bad.
Chapter 13
My mother was still alive.
She smiled down at me, her face unchanged by the years. Her eyes were cold, like pools of cloudy ice. I remembered that cold, remembered it well enough that I felt the child inside me for the first time in a long time. She was shivering, whimpering, curled up in a ball and begging not to be hurt. I wanted to protect that little girl, but I couldn't move.
“There you are,” Mom said. “Hiding from me were you? I think you'll need to be punished for that.”
“I'm not a child anymore!” The words would've sounded more convincing if my voice hadn't been shaking.
“Doesn't matter,” she said. “I can find a use for you.” She looked behind her and I could see shapes behind her. “You remember them don't you? Remember all of them? What they did to you?” She smiled. “Are you ready to be hunted again?”
I woke with a cry trapped in my throat, my heart racing. I ran my hands over my face and through my hair. I didn't have to reach over to turn on the light. I'd left it on every night since I'd found the files. I'd known the nightmares would come, and I hadn't been wrong. Every night since, I'd hadn't gotten more than an hour or so of sleep before I'd wake up, terrified. Some were real memories. Times when I'd tried turning to my mother when I was being raped, only to see her looking bored or worse, laughing. Once or twice, I'd seen her with one of her 'boyfriends’, fucking in the corner while I was laying there, crying. Those memories were bad, but the nightmares that weren't real were worse. In some, I'd never been rescued. The last few years had just been a dream and I was still in that hell, being used and abused in even more vile ways. In other nightmares, she'd come back to claim me, telling me that she owned me. No one would rescue me this time.
There was nothing I could do about the dreams. They came when they came and I'd wake up eventually. Once awake, I could only wait for the panic to pass, my body to relax again and I'd try to sleep, knowing that I'd be woken in a few hours in much the same manner.
It was Saturday night, or early Sunday morning, I wasn't sure which, and I hadn't had a decent night's sleep all week. Even a liberal amount of make-up couldn't hide the deep purple half-circles under my eyes. The fact that my skin was naturally pale just made it worse. I didn't care though. No one was seeing me. I hadn't left the apartment all week. That might have been a problem if I'd been eating normally since I would've run out of food quite a bit ago. I hadn't been eating much though and it was starting to show.
I'd always had an athletic build, with a bit of curves, but I could tell I'd lost some of the softness to my body. My clothes felt like they were hanging on me and every time I stood, I got dizzy. I knew it wasn't healthy, but every time I tried to eat, I could barely choke anything down. What I did manage to get down never wanted to stay. My stomach would flip and churn, threatening to empty.
Of course, it wasn't only the dreams. Work was a problem too. Not the job itself. My programs were working exactly the way they were supposed to and the people at the FBI were thrilled with the results. According to Agent Matthews, the information I'd already provided had gone into two cases that were being prosecuted right now. There were at least three other open cases, as well as two new ones opening up. I'd also managed to use my image finder program for four different kids at varying ages. Every picture or video file of them had been tagged and hidden.
I'd done good work and I knew it.
I'd also spent a good deal of time struggling with flashbacks.
They weren't the same as my nightmares. Those were sometimes based on reality, but they always had a surreal quality to them. Time moved differently, disjointed, sometimes skipping from one place to another. A lot of times I even knew that I was dreaming. It didn't always make it better or easier, but most of the time, it was there, even if only subconsciously. And I always woke up.
The flashbacks were like my panic attacks, happening when I was awake. There was no strange, surreal nature to them. They were more than memories too, images flashing in front of my eyes. It was more like I was there, reliving the moment. I was that little girl again. I felt the pain, the humiliation, all in real time. The biggest difference was that I couldn't wake up. Like my panic attacks, all I could do was ride them out.
Sometimes it was the look on a victim's face, sometimes it was whatever activity was being shown in the picture. Either way, the flashback would hit me and I’d be out for a while. When I’d come to, my hands would be shaking and the metallic taste of fear would be in my throat, but I'd push through. I couldn't let anyone know how much this job was affecting me. I couldn't risk them trying to send me to some shrink who'd tell me to stop what I was doing. Dr. MacLeod might've seen the good in it, but I knew she'd take the flashbacks as signs that I needed to take it slow. I didn't want to ease into it. I needed it. All of it. As bad as this was, it left me little time to think about anything else. And thinking about anything else was the last thing I wanted to do.
I was hovering at the edge of that pit, had been ever since Dr. MacLeod had helped me climb out. I'd stayed there though, never venturing far from it. The darkness had its claws in me and it didn't want to let go. I felt like I was treading water, barely keeping my head above the waves. I'd get pulled down and wonder if this was the last time, if I'd be able to get free again. I knew, eventually, I'd get too tired and it'd just be easier to give up. Knowing that I was helping people was the only thing that kept me going.
I stared up at the ceiling and tried to think of something else. It was too early for me to get up and try and start work. I needed to try to get back to sleep, but I wasn't sure that would be possible if I kept going over the past in my head. Even if I did manage it, I was sure my thoughts wouldn’t lead to any sort of good dream. At the moment, I was willing to settle for no dreams at all, mostly because I wasn't sure what would even constitute a good dream anymore. Anything I dreamed that could be considered good immediately became painful when I woke up and remembered the truth. Better to think of something safe.
I was going to ask permission to repaint the apartment, I decided. If I went with neutral colors, maybe a nice eggshell with smoky gray trim, I didn't think the landlord would mind. I had no doubt that he was just as eager to move past what had happened here as I was. He was already having a hard enough time keeping tenants as they put together the news story about Christophe and my apartment.
I pulled back from that train of thought. Back to the apartment. Painting would give me a chance to thoroughly clean things. I knew a cleaning crew had been through, but I knew I'd feel better if I did it myself. I could take it room by room. Clean, get rid of any junk I didn't need, paint, maybe even rearrange furniture. I'd kept things in the same place since I'd moved in, enjoying the luxury of stability, but now I was thinking that maybe I should try a different arrangement. If nothing else, it might help me not to see...the past whenever I walked out of my bedroom.
Maybe I'd even do some redecorating all the way around. New curtains. New linens. I was far from rich, but I was thrifty. I was sure I could manage it within a decent budget. And it wasn't like I needed to do it all at once either. I could spread things out over several months. I wasn't going anywhere soon. I'd told my landlord that I wasn’t sure if I'd want to stay after my lease was up, but I was starting to lean towards doing just that. I'd take it one month at a time, I thought. I was pretty sure I could get my landlord to agree to that. It wouldn't be easy for him to find someone else to take my apartment if word got out. Not putting me under a long term lease would at least guarantee him a tenant for a while.
I'd need to go shopping for clothes too, I reluctantly admitted. Even though I was working from home, Agent Matthews had made it clear that there would be times when I'd be expected to come into the Denver office for debriefings and meetings. I'd need to have a few more proper business outfits if that was going to be the case. Winter shoes especially.
As I'd hoped, the monotony of my thoughts began to lull me to sleep and I felt a wave of relief as I finally slipped under.
“You didn't think I'd forgotten you, did you?”
I froze at the sound of his voice. It was like every part of me had turned to ice. My heart, my blood, my muscles. I wanted to run, but I couldn't even blink or turn. Not that I wanted to turn. If I did, I knew I'd see him and if I saw him, it would be real and not just a nightmare. It wasn't the most logical of reasoning, but it was all I had at the moment.
“You should've known I would come back for you. We belong together, after all. I'm your Prince Charming.”
“Prince Charming doesn't exist.” I forced the words from between clenched teeth. “There's no such thing as true love and the only fairytales that ever come true are the violent ones.”
“We belong together,” he repeated.
A hand touched my shoulder, slid down my arm, and I realized that I was naked. I wanted to slap the hand away, but I still couldn't move. He cupped my breast, squeezing it, fingers playing with my nipple.
“Don't,” I protested, but my voice sounded weak.
“No one's going to save you this time, my little Snow White.” His breath was hot against my ear.
“Rylan,” I whimpered.
“He's not here. He left you, remember? He didn't want you anymore.”
“No!” I sat up, the echo of the word still ringing in my ears. I hoped I hadn't woken anyone else up by shouting, but that wasn't the thought at the forefront of my mind.
I reached over into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a butcher knife, clutching it against me. I'd been sleeping with it nearby ever since I'd come back. If Christophe tried to finish what he'd started before, he was in for a rude awakening. I didn't need anyone to save me. I could save myself.