Armoured Attraction

A leisurely walk along the beach in the evening was a chance for many people to ponder the meaning of life. Not for Vanessa Epperson. She rarely had time to walk along the beach at all anymore, much less waste that valuable time pondering.

She was way too busy to ponder. But, ahh, how she loved the feel of the sand on her toes.

She should have as much time as anyone to walk along the beach: her career as a social worker for a private organization—The Bridgespan Team—was technically nine to five, Monday through Friday. But in reality it rarely worked out that way. A call from a woman needing housing immediately because she’d finally gotten the courage to leave her abusive husband didn’t always come during normal business hours. Nor did a call from someone who had his first critical job interview in weeks and needed a ride at 7:00 a.m. because his car had broken down.

Both of those scenarios had happened to Vanessa in the past forty-eight hours.

Her coworkers told her she got too involved, that she needed to keep more of a professional distance between herself and her clients. Vanessa just shrugged her colleagues off. Sometimes people needed help beyond what was required from the job. When she could help, she did. Because there were far too many times when there was just nothing she could do.

If they knew about it, she guessed most people would say she could dip into the five million dollars her parents had made readily available to her. But Vanessa couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t do that. She didn’t plan to ever touch that money.

She pushed all thoughts of her family away as she walked along the sands of the Roanoke Sound of the Outer Banks of North Carolina. She wouldn’t let them intrude on her rare moments of solitude and quiet.

But this sand—this particular sand—in her toes renewed her. Helped her to remember that everything would be okay. Helped her to clear her mind and leave the problems she couldn’t solve somewhere else for a little while.

It was the beginning of October. The sun had set a few minutes ago, casting the beach in a purple hue. It was empty. With summer gone, most of the tourists had long since left the Outer Banks; they would’ve been on the ocean side anyway, rather than the more boring sound side. Most locals weren’t out, either, having made their way to their homes or wherever they spent their evenings. Everyone was settling in.

Vanessa would need to do the same soon, too. Tomorrow’s alarm at five thirty in the morning would come all too soon. She needed her sleep to fortify her for whatever the day would bring.

But since the beach was so quiet, the sand so nice and cool in her toes, the breeze so gentle in the ever-darkening sky, she decided to keep walking. She would just walk up to the beached log she could barely make out a couple hundred feet ahead, then turn around and go back to her car.

As with her family, she would categorically not think about other times she had walked along this very beach and whom she had walked along with. Thinking about it never led to anything but sadness anyway. Vanessa refused to be sad all the time. Life was too short.

Before she knew it she had made it to the log and was about to turn to walk back—until the log groaned and began to move.

Vanessa shrieked before she could help herself and jumped back. It was a person.

She looked around for any other people—aware after the past few years at her job that danger could be found in the most innocent-looking places—and grabbed her pepper spray from her bag. A gun would’ve been better—she was licensed to carry a concealed weapon in North Carolina—but hers was back at her car.

The log moaned again.

Vanessa worked her way closer, cautiously, running scenarios in her head. It could be a drunk person who had passed out on the beach. Didn’t usually happen here, but it was possible. It could be someone who had fallen asleep.

It could be someone waiting to ambush her, although a mugging on the beach in October at this time of night was not very likely. Still, Vanessa kept her pepper spray close.

“Excuse me, are you okay?” When there was no answer she took a step closer. “Hello?”

Maybe it was someone hurt. She didn’t let her guard down, but walked a few steps closer. Now she could see more of the person’s shape.

If this person meant Vanessa harm, he or she must have a weapon. Now that Vanessa could see more clearly, she realized how small the person really was. Couldn’t be much taller than Vanessa’s own five feet two inches.

“Are you okay? Hello?”

Vanessa walked the rest of the way to the form. It was a female. She was lying unconscious on her stomach, long brown hair strung down her back, wet and full of sand and seaweed.

Vanessa reached down and pressed gently on the woman’s shoulder. Her skin was icy to the touch.

Whoever this was needed help.

“Hello? Can you wake up?”

She could possibly have a head or spinal injury. Vanessa didn’t want to move her. She cursed the fact that her cell phone was back in her car, although even if it was here, she probably wouldn’t get a signal.

Vanessa rubbed up and down on the woman’s arm. “Hello? Can you hear me?”

Vanessa jumped back when the woman suddenly scurried away from Vanessa’s touch, chest heaving, breaths sawing in and out. She put an arm out in front of her in a defensive posture.

Not a woman. A girl. A teenager. Maybe fourteen or fifteen years old.

Vanessa’s heart broke. She knew what that arm held out meant: abuse.

At least there didn’t seem to be any spinal injury to worry about.

“Hi, I’m Vanessa.” She spoke very slowly, softly. “Are you okay? How can I help you?”

Vanessa made no move to get any closer to the girl, not wanting to scare her further.

The girl shook her head, not saying anything.

Vanessa realized the girl was wearing a dark T-shirt that was ripped and falling off her body. She didn’t seem to have anything on under it. Vanessa began to unbutton the lightweight jacket she was wearing.

“I’m just going to take off my jacket. You might feel a little better if you have on more clothes.”

Vanessa worked it the rest of the way off then stretched out her arm and dropped it. It landed close enough for the girl to grab, but not so close that it would touch her if she didn’t want it.

“Is there anyone I can call for you? Parents? Friend? Boyfriend?”

Vanessa was relieved when the girl reached for the jacket, but she didn’t answer any of her questions.

“Can you at least tell me your name?”

The girl looked up at her, big brown eyes seeming to swallow her entire face.

“Ka-Karine,” she finally whispered. “My name is Karine.”

Her English was broken at best, heavily accented—sounding Eastern European. That was probably why she hadn’t answered Vanessa’s other questions. She didn’t know enough English to understand what Vanessa was saying.

And unless she had family visiting here, she was also a long way from home.

“Hi, Karine,” Vanessa said gently, slowing her speech significantly to see if it would help the girl understand any better. “Can you tell me how you got here?”

“Boat,” Karine whispered.

“You were traveling on a boat? With your family? Was there an accident?”

Karine began to cry. “No. Men took us. Put us on boat for many days.”

“Someone kidnapped you? From here in the Outer Banks?”