Free Locked (The Heaven's Gate Trilogy) by C.B. Day Page A

all about it at church
last Sunday.”
    She was moving too fast
for me and I blurted out the first thing that popped into my head. 
    “You go to church?”
    She drew herself up in
her seat, staring coldly at me.  “Don’t you judge me by how I look, little
miss.  I happen to be a PK.”
    “PK?” I was bewildered.
    “Preacher’s kid,” she
said smugly.  “We’re expected to rebel,” she pronounced, gesturing elaborately
around her clothes and face.  “But in the end, we all come around.  Or so I’ve
been told,” she smirked.  “And I’m no dummy, either. I’m making a 4.0.  You
could do a lot worse than to have me as your research partner.”  She crossed
her arms, dark tattoos peeking out from under her cuffs, and wiggled her foot
impatiently. 
    I nibbled the eraser on
the tip of my pencil, reappraising the situation.
    “What about this topic,”
I said lamely, pointing to Recycling .  “Or this one?”
    She snorted again. 
“Really? You want to write about video games and Facebook?”  She started
gathering up her things.  “You and everyone else in here, probably.  If you
want to make a difference in something real, research these kids.  It’s my one
condition for being your partner.”
    She was standing now,
looming over me with one hand on her hip.  I had the sinking feeling of being
bulldozed.  Somewhere deep inside me something was shifting.  Old fears – fears
I didn’t even know I had – were coming to the surface.  Could I face my own
history and all these feelings that I might not be able to keep locked away?
    You’ll regret it , a little voice said.
    “I don’t think I have any
choice,” I muttered, looking up from my chair feeling all the world like a
child being browbeaten by a baby sitter.
    She beamed at me.  “I
knew you’d do it.  Why don’t we meet after school to work out our research
plan?”
    *****
    Tabitha turned out to be
right – the topic was fascinating, and Atlanta really did have a problem.  I
tried to block out my unease by focusing on the facts.
    “Look at this,” I said,
pointing out the results of my latest web search.  “This article says the
Georgia Bureau of Investigation has started making more human trafficking raids
than raids on marijuana or cocaine shipments.”
    “Hmmm,” she mumbled,
reading over my shoulder.  In the quiet of the Media Center she had slipped on
a pair of thick cat’s eye glasses, giving her an odd, middle-aged-lady look. 
“Only thing outpacing it is meth lab raids.”
    She shoved a piece of
paper at me.  “Here’s the list of organizations I was able to find.  They’re
all downtown.  Do you think your parents will let you go?”
    “To do what?” I said,
swiveling in my chair to face her, unsure of where the conversation was headed.
    “To meet some of the
girls,” she said, never skipping a beat.  “We’ll be sure to get an ‘A’ if we do
original research and not just regurgitate all this stuff on the Internet.”
    I paused.  I was sure my
mother wouldn’t care, would probably in fact encourage me to go.  But I wasn’t
sure I could do it.  Even though I couldn’t remember it, my own abduction had
shaped my life so much.  The idea of talking to someone who had experienced it
too – and so recently – made me think twice.
    Tabitha’s eyebrow arched
above the rim of her glasses – a skeptical look I was beginning to recognize.
    “You can’t possibly be
scared of going to talk to them,” she demanded, hands on hips.
    “No!” I protested,
perhaps a little too strongly.
    “Then it’s settled,” she
said smugly.  “I’ll call around and see what we can set up.”  She stared down
at her boots, reaching down to rub out an imaginary scuff while she tried to hide
her self-satisfied smile.  “You just clear it with your parents, I’ll take care
of the rest.”
    “Do you always get your
way?”  I asked, somewhat in awe.
    “Only when I’m right,”
she smiled with a wink,