At BAYLORD’S
MALL, uniformed men unloaded crates. With her birding equipment Layla heard everything.
An
undercover ICE vehicle pulled up.
“We’re not
operational. No meds,” Doyle waved her on. Doyle and Chance were the initial
skeleton crew.
“Get
operational. We got a John Doe and a tender
one named Velveeta. We have a sting
to get back to muy pronto,” Officers Monica White and Doris Warwell were impersonating
mothers who needed babysitters.
“Velveeta?”
Doyle snickered.
“Doris enjoys
making up names for the detainees, what can I say?” Officer White chuckled.
Chance slammed
the baby on the stainless-steel table where the grocery store butchers used to prepare
meat. He hosed off the baby with ice cold water. Her strong cry altered into a
broken bleating sound. He threw her into the freezer and went back to the loading
dock.
Layla shuddered
from the horror. She reasoned it was only going to get harder to escape with
each passing moment. She crawled on her belly, inching towards the fire escape
then realized she had forgotten something. Before she could turn off her phone,
her Eric Clapton “LAYLA” ringtone echoed through the atrium.
~ the end ~
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