Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
It took quite a while to get to their destination, but she was happy to see only two news crews on the scene.
“I’m going to let you out. Get your stuff out of the trunk, and I’ll park over there and wait for you.” He pointed up the way at the parking lot of a small strip mall within eyeshot.
“Why don’t you join me? Come and watch.”
His brow arched in confusion.
“Yeah, I want you to come and watch me. Why would you trust me to be alone at the police station anyway? Couldn’t I tell them what’s going on, and—”
“Chasity. You won’t.” He looked away from her. “I understand how your mind works, and what you want. You won’t tell, and you won’t run because you know what I’ll do.” He narrowed his gaze on her. “Besides, it might look weird if I’m with you. One of them might even recognize me since my record isn’t exactly squeaky clean, and—”
“No.” She shook her head. “Here, let me help.” She dug in her small purse and pulled out a pair of reading glasses, an eyebrow pencil, and a headscarf.
“What the hell is all of that for?”
“Just trust me.”
Five minutes later she’d drawn a fairly realistic faint mustache above his lip, wrapped his head in the scarf as if he were some biker, and placed the reading glasses on his face. He looked in his rearview mirror and burst out laughing.
“I look like some 1990s member of a rejected boyband. The Fuck Boy Pirates.” She found herself fighting the urge to laugh. “Ahoy mate… I look like a fuckin’ idiot, man. Take this shit off my face. This is insane.” But he wouldn’t stop laughing.
She smirked and shrugged. “The point is, you don’t look like yourself and that’s all that matters. Keep it all on. You’re my assistant, Tyler.” She removed her press pass and placed it around his neck.
Minutes later they were standing outside, and she’d introduced herself to several other reporters. She saw no other photojournalists, just news reporters and videographers. Her chest warmed with excitement as the front door of the precinct opened and a short, thin woman with a pierced nose appeared. Her long dark brown hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and the bags under her eyes and bruises on her arms said it all. More and more journalists and news crews began showing up, but Honey was already in the frontlines, her camera in hand.
First, the sheriff made some opening remarks about the case. The woman was surrounded by cops, as well as a man in a suit who she presumed may have been her attorney. He finished up by stating that her family had been notified, DNA swabbing had already taken place, and her identity confirmed.
The woman cleared her throat and took the microphone when the opening statements were complete. Then, the press conference began.
“My name is Jessica Turner.” She paused and tucked her hair behind her ear as an older woman with curly gray and blond hair approached her from behind to envelop her in a comforting hug. They resembled one another. Perhaps it was her mother. “I have been forced to go by the name of Danielle Gray since the age of eight. The age when I was abducted from a park in Dayton, Ohio. A man by the name of Melvin Castleway stole me from my family. Melvin Castleway took me to Indiana where I lived for several years. He then sold me to Victor Meager, who relocated me here, to Denver, Colorado. I was trafficked a number of those years. Abused. Drugged. I managed to escape six days ago. I only had on panties. A stranger stopped and helped me, covered me up, and brought me here to the police station. What kept me alive this whole time was the memory of my family, and my friends… wanting to get back to them.”
She paused to wipe away tears. The entire time, Honey was taking photos with the flash off. Quietly. Discreetly. More importantly, she was listening…
The woman continued to unravel an abbreviated version of the horrid ordeal she’d survived, and when she finished, the sheriff took the microphone and stated that there would be no questions answered at this time, considering it was an ongoing investigation. Several journalists began to shout out their questions anyway, but Honey just looked on, then waved her hand, jumping up and down.
“Sheriff Brown! Please! I have something I need to say! Jessica, it’s not a media question. I promise!”
She and the young lady made eye contact.
“Go ahead,” the Sheriff offered, though he looked guarded and ready to have her removed at the drop of a headscarf.
“Jessica, I know this is overwhelming, seeing us all here. Strangers.” Honey looked about at the now ever-growing sea of people standing around her outside. “I know you gave permission to have this press conference, according to Sheriff Brown, but I can appreciate that it’s still hard to do, regardless. There’s a lot to process. To understand. To unpack mentally and emotionally. And we’re going to respect you and give you time to do that. To heal. I do have a question, but it’s not the kind you may think I’d ask. It’s nothing about the hell you survived, or you personally. The question is, do you mind,” her voice cracked as her eyes welled with tears, “if I just hug you?”