Chapter 2

The screaming from the other end of the phone was colder than the winter wind howling down my collar. Holding the cheap prepaid flip phone Grandma Claire had left me, I stood frozen on the pavement.

The car window rolled down, and a man leaned out with a warm, friendly smile.

"Hey kiddo, I have a ton of plastic bottles and cans at my place. Do you want to come over and take them?"

My swollen, tear-filled eyes instantly lit up.

Bottles meant cash. And cash meant I could save Buster!

His voice was so gentle. He didn't sound annoyed like John, and he wasn't screaming like Helen.

I stared at him blankly. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a bill, and waved it.

It was a brand-new, green hundred-dollar bill.

I had never seen that much money in my life.

The face of Benjamin Franklin on the bill seemed to be smiling at me under the streetlights.

I hesitated, used all my strength to drag Buster to the grass by the curb, and whispered to him.

"Buster, wait for me. I'll be right back to save you."

I sniffled, a tiny spark of hope returning to my eyes.

I walked toward the minivan.

It was dark inside, smelling of something strange and chemical.

The driver, Greg, glanced at me through the rearview mirror, still smiling. "Don't be scared, sweetheart. I'm taking you to get those bottles."

He handed me a bottle of water and a wrapped sandwich.

I couldn't bring myself to eat it. I tightly clenched the hundred-dollar bill and the sandwich in my hand.

In my head, I did the math over and over. A hundred dollars. That was enough for my school supplies, and enough to take Buster to the vet.

And Greg had more bottles at his place. That meant even more money.

As I thought about it, the fear began to fade.

But the car kept driving. The streetlights grew sparse, and eventually, we plunged into total darkness.

The familiar streets vanished, replaced by empty, desolate fields and dark, towering woods.

I asked softly, "Mr. Greg, are we almost there?"

The man driving didn't turn around. He just gave a cold grunt.

The warmth in his voice was completely gone.

Fear gripped my chest.

I wanted to go home. I wanted Helen.

"Mr. Greg, I want to go home..."

My voice trembled, thick with tears.

"Shut up!" he suddenly roared, making me flinch. "Make another sound and I’ll throw you out moving!"

I didn't dare speak again. I curled into the corner of the seat, clutching the crumpled hundred-dollar bill like it was my final lifeline.

I don't know how much time passed before the van finally stopped.

The door was violently slid open. A stench of mold and urine hit me, making me cough instantly.

A much larger man, Marcus, dragged me out of the van and shoved me into a pitch-black room.

It was freezing. In the dim light filtering through the door, I thought I saw a few other kids my age huddled in the corners.

I tripped and fell hard onto the cold concrete floor. The sandwich rolled away, but I kept the hundred-dollar bill squeezed in my fist.

The man who dragged me in clicked on a flashlight, blinding me.

He pinched my chin, forcing my mouth open to inspect my teeth, then hoisted me up by my collar like a wet rag.

"This one's no good," Marcus said, touching the red birthmark behind my right ear. He turned to Greg. "She's got a mark. We can't sell her whole. The buyers won't take marked kids for adoption."

Greg walked over, shining his flashlight up and down my body. He shrugged carelessly. "Doesn't matter. Her parts are fine. Look at her chest. Her heart and lungs must be in great shape. She's young and fresh."

Parts?

What did that mean?

I didn't understand, but the dark, damp room filled me with dread.

The truth finally hit me. The bottles were just a lie to get me into the van.

A suffocating terror wrapped around me like a heavy net.

Marcus walked toward me, holding a syringe.

Looking at the cold, gleaming needle, I thought of Buster in the pool of blood one last time. I thought of Helen screaming at me on the phone.

Despair washed over me.

Buster was probably already dead anyway...

Just like Grandma Claire. Once they are gone, they don't come back.

Even if I sold all the bottles in the world, I couldn't have saved him.

When the needle pierced my skin, I didn't cry. I didn't even fight.

My mind drifted into a vast, endless darkness.

Maybe, starting now, I wouldn't be a drag anymore...

John, Helen... could you love me now?