Rene Gutteridge - Listen

Damien jumped out of the car and opened Kay’s door, pulling her out. “Come on!”

He held her hand as they hurried toward the large crowd. Eight police cars were parked nearby, their blue and red lights silently strobing.

Damien pushed his way through the crowd, trying to get to the front. Whatever was happening, it was going down fast.

Captain Grayson shouted through a megaphone, “Come out with your hands up!”

Kay gripped Damien’s arm. “Don’t let anything happen to him!”

“I know,” Damien said, pulling her through the tight crowd. He had to shove a few people out of the way just to get through. He bumped into a large shoulder.

“Damien,” the man said.

Damien looked over at him. Bruce, from work. “Sorry. I need to get by.”

Bruce nodded, then pointed to the warehouse. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“Why?” Heads were still in the way to a clear view of what was going on. He let go of Kay’s hand and used both hands to part a way for himself. He emerged from the sea of people being held back by police tape and noticed first Grayson and his team of cops with their guns drawn. Four had SWAT team jackets on, the only ones in their town. Damien had once written an editorial raising the question, Do we need SWAT? And then reversing the dilemma: Don’t we need more?

“Come out now!” Grayson hollered.

Damien glanced toward the factory, searching frantically for Hunter. He prayed Hunter would come out, give himself up. And not do something stupid like come out with a gun. Where in the world would he get a gun? From Frank?

He wanted to make it over to Grayson, tell him it was Hunter and to not shoot. But he was squeezed between people and police tape and police officers, all trying to control the crowds.

A few people down, on the left, was Reverend Caldwell, his Bible clasped in his arm.

Kay came up behind him and gasped, just as Damien noticed what everyone was staring and pointing at. His gaze stopped on the spray paint across the large brick wall of the factory. Expansive purple and green letters glowed against the light. They might as well have been written in blood.

Jenna Underwood is a virgin.

A list of words went on with such vulgarity that Damien’s stomach turned over.

Kay gripped his arm, crying. “That’s what this has been all about? That Jenna’s a virgin? They’re crucifying her for being a virgin?” She covered her mouth. “And this whole time I thought… she wasn’t.”

“Stay here,” Damien commanded, then shoved past the police tape.

The nearby officer caught him with a strong arm and his stick. “Get back!”

Damien tugged against his strength. “That’s my daughter! Jenna! Where is she?”

The officer let go of him but grabbed his shirt. “Sir, calm down. We don’t know what’s going on yet. Nobody has come out, but we saw movement inside just moments ago.”

“That’s my daughter,” Damien repeated, staring again at the crude words spray-painted around her name.

“Sir, have you seen your daughter today?”

“Not since she left for school.”

Grayson suddenly noticed him. No words needed to be exchanged. They instantly understood each other. Grayson issued a signal with his hand, and the men in bulletproof vests and helmets began inching forward, their automatic weapons poised to strike.

Damien found himself unable to watch. He turned his head, scanning the crowd for Jenna, hoping she was not inside. Then he saw him.

Hunter.

He stood on the other side of the large crowd, pushed against the police tape, bundled up in a hat and coat and gloves, watching with a somber expression. There was too much chaos to call out to him, and he was too far away anyway. Police movement kept impairing Damien’s view. He was even afraid to blink for fear he would lose sight of his son.

“Stop right there!”

Damien’s attention jerked toward the warehouse. He tore away from the officer’s grip but stayed next to him, watching, with the rest of the crowd, as two shadowy figures emerged from the gaping hole that was once a large door to the factory. Their silhouettes were created by the car lights shining in through the broken windows at the back of the warehouse.

Their hands were raised over their skinny bodies, and soon they stepped into the light provided by the police and the other nearby cars.

“Is one of those your daughter?” the officer asked.

Damien shook his head. He recognized one as a cheerleader. He thought her name was Madison. The other girl didn’t look familiar.

“Get down on your knees!” Grayson shouted at them through the megaphone.

They both dropped quickly, keeping their hands up. A group of police rushed toward them.

Damien tried to find Hunter. He still stood in the crowd, watching. Was he wrong? Were these two girls responsible for the Web site? Or was something else going on?

“Damien! Where’s Jenna?” Kay cried from the front of the crowd.

Damien intended to find out. Without any more hesitation, he bolted for the factory. He heard Grayson shouting at him, but he didn’t stop. What were they going to do? shoot him?

He stumbled over the gravel, barely keeping his balance, twisting his right ankle. Pain shot up his leg, but he didn’t slow down.

“Underwood, get out of the way!” Grayson yelled.

But Damien ran right up to the girls, who were still on their knees, their hands raised, their bodies shaking in the cold. Both grew even more fearful as Damien approached.

The girl on the right, with her pink-streaked ponytail and overdone makeup, boasted a dark purple bruise on the side of her face, which bled into a greenish yellow toward her mouth. The other girl didn’t look much better. Her bottom lip was split open. Dried blood trickled down her chin.

Suddenly Damien was shoved out of the way, thrown to the ground by one of the SWAT guys. Grayson stood over him.

“Where’s my daughter?” Damien called out to the two girls, who’d been yanked to their feet and were now being frisked. “Where’s Jenna?”

Neither answered. One glared at him as if he’d spit at her.

Damien turned his focus toward the factory.

A hand grabbed his shoulder. “Damien, don’t. We haven’t secured the building. We don’t know who or what else is in there.”

“I can’t stay here, Lou, and wonder-”

Both men saw it at the same time. A crackling, breaking sound, then a flash of orange.

“Fire!”

“It’s not safe,” Grayson said. “We don’t even know if she’s in there!”

Damien took one more look at the girls’ bruised and bloodied faces. “She’s in there.” He ran through the open factory door. Thick, black smoke climbed the walls, blocking the car lights that had once streamed through the open windows.

Grayson came up beside him, covering his mouth with his jacket.

“She could be anywhere,” Damien said. He didn’t have one clue which way to go. Above him, fire danced across the beams. They ducked against loud popping.

“Jenna! Jenna!” Damien choked on the thick smoke. He wrapped his arm across his mouth and tried to look for any movement or hear any sound besides the strange and low groan of the fire.

“Dad!” Her voice was distant, muddled.

“This way!” Damien shouted to Grayson. They made their way along a wall where a tiny sliver of light led the way. Deep against the shadows of the far corner of the building, Damien saw movement. “Jenna!”

“Dad, over here!”

Flames roared nearby. The heat, though a few feet away, seemed to scorch his face. Damien made it to Jenna, who was huddled in the corner. He pulled her to her feet. “Are you okay?”

She nodded and cried, pointing to a boarded-up window. “I tried to get out this way, but I can’t get the wood off the window!”