Brandy in Chains
Missing Brandy is the second book in the Fina Fitzgibbons mystery series. It’s the story of a missing teen, Brandy Liam. In the prologue, we learn she’s been kidnapped.
Brandy is one of my favorite characters, maybe because she tells it like it is or maybe it’s because she’s not perfect, or maybe it’s because she never, ever gives up.
Here’s an excerpt from her book:
A door opens. Rough hands untie my feet.
“Bathroom’s in here.”
The man, the nice one, pulls me up by my shoulders, and his fingers dig into my arms. “You’re hurting me, you buzzard.”
“Sorry. Stand still until you get your balance.”
I wait in the dark for my insides to stop spinning.
“Now go this way.”
He pushes me to the wall.
“Feel the wall with your shoulder.”
I lean on the wall to stop my head from splitting open. I step and slide, bend over. I’m going to pee before I get there, I know I am.
“Toilet’s through this door, this way. Wait until I open it. I want you to remember how well we treat you. I’m not getting back at you. I like you. This is none of your doing.”
Whatever. The door slams shut, and I feel the barf bowl with my legs. It’s cold and it smells, not as bad as me, though. The smell is like the boy’s john, old pee. Got to get this rope off my wrists. Got to, or I’ll have another accident. I can hardly pull my pants down. Swell. My head’s going to crack open before then. Where am I? I’ve got a test at ten thirty, and I can’t see anything.
“I can’t see,” I yell out to him. “Please, I won’t leave you, but I’ll get sick if I can’t see. I’ll have another accident, I know I will.”
“Sit down on the seat.”
“Untie my hands, I’ll pay you. I’ve got twenty dollars in my pocket.”
“I don’t want your money.”
The man opens the door and fumbles at my wrists.
“Your hands are free for now. But don’t take the tape off your eyes. I’ll know if you do, and you won’t like what I’ll do to you.”
The door shuts again.
Hands and arms free. Stiff. The man’s pretty dumb—he fell for it. Don’t forget to wash and flush, I can hear Mom telling me.
I bump my head a couple of times, but I make it out of there. I hold my hands out, stretch my fingers, and stumble to the bed.
“Dream on if you think she’s going to pay you to get me back,” I yell into the dark. “Moths fly out of her wallet.” That’s one of Dad’s lines. I can see him grinning.
“I’ll have to tape your mouth, too, if you don’t stop talking.” Ω