Sarayah P.O.V. July 5, 2016
The next thing I knew, I was being shaken awake. I looked up into a pair of green eyes. I started a bit before realizing where I was. The events of last night flooded my memory. I was in jail. Actual jail. I had slept on the floor of a jail cell. I had the back pain to prove it. I rubbed my back wearily. I was still so tired.
"Hey hon, it's time to go." It was the nice guard from last night.
"It's morning already?" I asked, confused.
"No, but someone's here to pick you up. I guess your mama woke up, lucky you."
A wave of relief washed over me. I was getting out. My mama was here. Everything was fine. Well, I was definitely gonna get an ass whooping for the ages, but I wouldn't be in jail.
I smiled, getting up. "Thank you..." I read her name tag. "...Officer Garron."
She smiled and nodded. "You're welcome, Sarayah. Now stay out of trouble. I don't wanna see you back here."
I nodded enthusiastically. "Don't worry, I'm never coming back here. My mama will make sure of that. I'll be lucky if I survive the night. Pray for me."
She chuckled and handed me off to another guard. He smiled at her, a little too friendly to be innocent, and she blushed. I looked him over. Tall, muscular, chocolatey brown skin. I looked at his name tag. Officer Jones.
"Okay, Officer Jones. I see you." I mumbled under my breath.
He took over, leading me down a series of hallways. I walked with a bounce in my step, ready to taste freedom. He stopped suddenly in front of a door. I scrunched up my face. Why wasn't he leading me to the front of the building?
He opened the door, revealing a white woman in a crisp, grey pantsuit standing by a steel table. Her mousy brown hair fell limply around her shoulders. She was anxiously shifting from foot to foot. When she heard the door open, she looked over at us and smiled nervously.
"Hi, you must be...Sarayah." She said, holding her hand out for me to shake.
Creepy. I ignored her and turned back towards Officer Jones.
"Where's my mama?"
He shrugged. "Do I look like I know your mama? This woman bailed you out."
I frowned. Well fuck you too, Officer Jones.
"Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but you really just gon' leave me with a whole ass stranger?"
He shrugged. The woman must not have gotten the hint that I was not interested in what she had to say because she walked up to us, hand still extended as if now, suddenly, I would want a handshake. Please. I don't know you, pantsuit. If there was one thing Mama taught me, it was beware of friendly people in suits. Nothing good would come from talking to them. She was probably just trying to get me to snitch or something. Or maybe she was one of them child protective people who would take me away from my mama and put me with a bunch of randos. Either way, whatever she was selling I was not buying.
Sensing my animosity, she lowered her hand. Finally. "Right. I'm sure this is all very confusing for you. Maybe you should sit down." She gestured to a chair.
I studied her skeptically. Maybe I could get some answers out of her. "Who are you, and where is my mama?" I demanded, my southern accent taking full force.
She cleared her throat and sat down. She waited patiently until I sat down. I glared at her from across the table. Something wasn't right. I could feel it in my bones.
"Your mother is on her way."
I sagged with relief. Thank God. If they were bringing my mama, then this woman definitely wasn't child protective services. So, I could rule out being taken away. She didn't seem like a cop though. Too twitchy and nervous. So, she probably didn't want me to snitch. I was at a loss. I had no idea who she was.
"Okay, so why are you here?" I asked, still confused. "And why am I in this interrogation room? Are you recording me? Am I in trouble or something?"
She shook her head. "No, you're not in trouble, and I'm not recording you. There's no one behind that glass. It's just the two of us. All I want to do is talk."
I furrowed my eyebrows. "Talk about what? If I'm really not in trouble, then why are you here? Did my mama send you to pick me up or something, and if so, why? Because I've never seen you before. Who are you? How do you know my mama? You work with her? Is she not here because she couldn't miss her shift? Is that why you're here?"
"You have a lot of questions." She remarked.
"Because you have no answers," I snapped, annoyed.
She pursed her lips, as if wondering how much she should tell me. After an internal debate, she stuck her hand into her pocket and pulled out a card.
"My name is Isobel Hewitt. I'm a private investigator, and I've spent the past 11 years searching for you."
I narrowed my eyes, ignoring the card. So, she was some type of cop. I immediately regretted speaking to her.
"I don't know anything about anything." I mumbled, sitting back.
She chuckled slightly, shaking her head. "You don't know how true that is."
I frowned, folding my arms protectively across my chest. She sighed.
"I don't know how to say this gently," she murmured. "Maybe it would be best for you to see it for yourself."
I watched her closely as she picked up her briefcase from the floor and lay it down on the table. She snapped the latch open and pulled out a folder. She slid it over to me. I looked at it for a few seconds before opening it. Inside was a copy of a birth certificate.
"August Marigold Knowles. Born December 20th, 2000." I stopped reading, uninterested. "Who the hell is she, and why should I care?"
"You should care because she's you."
I blinked a few times, surprised by her answer. I suppose I should have expected it. Why else would a private investigator be looking for me? I still couldn't believe it though.
"Bullshit." I said, pushing it back towards her. "My name is Sarayah Elizabeth Thompson. I was born July 4th, 2000. Sorry, must be hard since you've been searching for 11 years and all, but you got the wrong girl. Good luck finding her though."
I started to get up, but she placed a picture on the table. I paused despite myself. It looked...familiar. I leaned in closer. It looked like...
I picked it up slowly, hand shaking. The kid looked to be around four years old. She had huge curly brown hair, freckles, and bright hazel eyes. She was grinning at the camera, dimples prominently on display, squeezing a stuffed animal in her pudgy little arms. I had never seen a picture of myself before the age of seven, but this was undoubtedly me. I slowly sat back down, clutching the photograph in my hands.
"I was hired by your mother to find you after you were kidnapped 11 years ago. There weren't many witnesses, but I managed to track down someone who saw you get picked up by a woman who I later identified as Patricia Roberts."
I wanted to tell her I had no idea who that was, but the words got stuck in my throat. She pulled out another piece of paper and handed it to me. It was a sketch of Mama. It wasn't a very good one. Her face was twisted in a snarl, morphing her features. Nearly everything looked wrong except the eyes. They stared back at me now, a brown so dark it was almost black. I shivered. Those eyes didn't belong in that face. She looked so...evil.
"All we had to go off of were descriptions. There weren't many people who knew her, and there were no pictures. As it turns out, it's because 'Patricia Roberts', at least the one we were looking for, doesn't exist. It was a fake name. It explains why you don't recognize it. She probably dropped it the moment she picked you up. We still don't know her real name, but you probably know her as Alison Thompson."
My vision blurred. This could not be happening to me. This was too crazy. I had to get back home.
"No," I whispered.
She nodded sympathetically. "For the past 11 years I've been monitoring police stations and hospitals for admittance of suspicious persons, namely people with suspected fake identities, or missing documents."
My breath came out in short gasps. I bounced my leg, trying unsuccessfully to calm myself.
"I'm sure this is all very hard to hear, but the good news is your real mom is on the way. She's going to take you out of here, and you can put this all behind you."
It felt like someone was squeezing my heart. This was too much. Too much.
"I'm really sorry you have to go through this, August."
She reached across the table to touch my arm, but I pulled away. My heart was pounding. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. It was deafening. I suddenly stood up, knocking the chair backwards.
"NO!" I screamed.
"August–" She started, but I wasn't having any of her bullshit.
"MY NAME IS SARAYAH!" I yelled in her face.
Officer Jones burst through the door, but the woman, Isobel, held up a hand to stop him.
"I'll give you some time to process this. It's a lot to take in. I'll be back to check in on you."
I shook my head, tears streaming down my cheeks.
"No amount of time is gonna make me believe you!" I screamed, but in my heart, I knew the truth.
My 'mama' had kidnapped me. It explained everything. The lack of pictures from when I was younger. The secretiveness. The isolation. The paranoia. And I knew. I always knew something wasn't right.
I thought back to yesterday, her words floating through my head of their own accord.
You have no idea what I've had to go through to have you, and I pray you never do.
I thought she was talking about regular struggles. Money, family problems maybe. She'd always been vague about my early years, so she was right. I didn't know what she'd been through. But in that moment, staring at the truth, I finally did.