Free The Shadow by Kelly Green Page B

managed to get the sweatshirt off a s they were tugging at it and cursing at me, and then I hopped, not dove, out of the van.
    I landed on my feet on the dimly lit, suburban street, then winced at the pain in my heels and fell to my knees. The man in the shorts with the Boston terrier ran over, as did several of his neighbors and their children, who’d been playing an evening game of badminton on a front lawn.
    I watched the van screech away. I squinted to see the license plate number, but someone had taken off the license plate. Blood was hurtling through my veins so fast that it felt like I was still lunging out of the van.
    The man in the shorts reached down and helped me up by the elbow. “Geez, Louise!” he yelled in my ear. “Are you okay?”
    I was surrounded by nice moms and dads. “Do you need a ride somewhere? Where do you live? What’s your name?” they asked.
    A chorus of questions rang in my ears, but I knew the answer to none of them. “She’s got a head injury,” said the Boston terrier man. “She can’t talk.”
    “I can talk fine ,” I managed.
    A police siren blared from up the street and the car came to a halt right next to me. Two officers stepped out of the squad car and approached me from either side. Police officers always seem tall, even if they’re short, and they always seem rough, even if they’re gentle.
    “What’s your name?” Male Officer demanded.
    “Where do you live?” Female Officer barked.
    I had no idea. I surveyed the scene around me—the concerned faces of concerned citizens staring at me a little too intently, the sticky tape residue on my wrists, the flashing of the red police light slapping me across the cheek over and over again. The police siren sang out in a low moan, heralding my mysterious arrival into this quiet, cricket-filled night. I crashed into this neighborhood like a meteor from somewhere else in the galaxy, but I had no idea where I belonged in it. It was all too much.
    “This your wallet?” the police asked, snapping me out of my reverie. The woman officer was holding up a zipper wallet of quilted green leather. I didn’t know if it was my wallet or not, but it had been in my pocket, so I figured chances were good that it was, and I nodded.
    The officer unzipped the wallet and took out what appeared to be my driver’s license. “Let’s get you home.”
     
     
    Female Officer stopped the squad car in front of a nice brick house on a different, dimly lit, winding suburban street, and Male Officer escorted me from the car to the front door.
    Before we could get to the door, a short man wearing a green sweater and glasses—a fatherish sort of man—bounded out of the door and threw his arms around me and kissed my head over and over, like a very tender woodpecker. “Thank God you’re back, honey bunny,” he said. Tears were dripping from his swollen red eyelids. Whoever this man was, he obviously loved me very much, but I was ashamed to say that I had no idea who he was.
    If you’ve ever had amnesia, you’ll know that this is the strangest and loneliest part: people will hug you close and thank God that you’re alright and tell you that they love you, and you feel nothing for them in return, because they are strangers. You aren’t glad to see them, because there’s nothing to be glad about. You are simply lost.
    “Where’s your little brother?” Father-Man asked frantically. “Is Paul with you? Did he get away too?”
    My mouth hung open. Apparently my escape hadn’t been successful after all, as I’d left my sibling with the masked kidnappers. In my haste to figure out who I was and why I was in the back of a van, I hadn’t thought to check the back seat for little brothers.
    Female Officer interjected. “Paul is still missing,” she said to Father-Man, then she turned to me. “What do you remember about the abduction?”
    I laughed a little bit, a curt little “Ha!” which made Father-Man frown. I’d been abducted? I had a