The man’s fingers stayed clenched around the girl’s wrist. Then, a loud bang outside. A police siren.
The distraction was all Tim needed. With a sharp twist, he pulled the man forward, slamming him face first against the nearest pole. The man let out a pained grunt, his grip finally loosening on the girl.
Run, Tim shouted. The little girl hesitated for half a second before bolting down the aisle, her tiny legs moving faster than he thought possible. She was free.
The bus doors burst open. A flood of uniformed officers stormed inside, weapons drawn. Tim stepped back just as the man slumped to the ground.
Dazed. A thin trail of blood trickling from his nose. It was over.
Or so he thought. Because then, in the chaos, he saw something. As the little girl stumbled toward an officer, clutching her oversized hoodie, the fabric shifted.
Just enough for Tim to get a glimpse of her stomach. And what he saw made his blood turn to ice. It wasn’t just an unusual swelling.
It was something much, much worse Tim Watson had seen horrors in his time. Crime scenes that left permanent scars in his mind. Victims whose faces haunted his dreams.
But nothing, not a single case, not a single moment in his fifteen years on the force, had prepared him for what he saw when the little girl’s hoodie shifted. Her stomach wasn’t just swollen. It was distorted.
Bulging unevenly beneath the oversized fabric, her frail frame stretched in a way that didn’t make sense. It wasn’t just malnutrition. It wasn’t just neglect.
It was something else. Something unnatural. Tim felt his heart seize in his chest.
Wait! He stepped forward. But the officers were already moving, guiding the girl toward the waiting ambulance outside. She let them lead her, not resisting, her head still down, her arms wrapped protectively around herself.
She was hiding something. Tim turned to the man now being forced to the ground, his face pressed against the dirty bus floor, his hands wrenched behind his back in cuffs. Who is she? Tim demanded, his voice sharp, urgent.
The man didn’t answer. An officer grabbed him by the back of his hoodie and yanked him up. You better start talking.
Still, the man remained silent. Tim clenched his fists. His instincts screamed at him.
This wasn’t just an abduction. This was something bigger. Something worse.
He turned back toward the girl. Stop! He called, pushing past officers. Before she goes anywhere, we need to check her.
The paramedics had already opened the ambulance doors. The girl stood still, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She might need medical attention, one of them said, reaching for her.
The moment they did, the girl panicked. She jerked back so violently she almost fell, her arms locking tighter around her stomach. Easy, sweetheart, a female paramedic said softly.
You’re safe now. The girl shook her head. Tears welled in her wide, exhausted eyes.
And then in the smallest, most fragile voice. Don’t take it. The paramedics froze.
Tim’s blood ran cold. She wasn’t talking about herself. She was talking about whatever was inside of her.
Tim took a slow step forward. His voice dropped to a whisper, gentle but firm. Sweetheart, what’s in there? The girl’s lip quivered, but she didn’t answer.
Instead, she lifted the hem of her hoodie, and the world stopped. Tim felt like the air had been sucked from his lungs. Underneath the hoodie, beneath her fragile rib cage, was a series of thick, jagged stitches running along her abdomen.
The skin was bruised and inflamed around them. The wound was fresh. Too fresh.
This child, this six-year-old girl, had been cut open. And something had been put inside her. A sickening wave of realization crashed over Tim.
This wasn’t just a kidnapping. This was trafficking. But not the kind most people thought of.
This wasn’t about her. It was about what she was carrying. Tim’s breath came in sharp, controlled bursts.
We need to get her to the hospital, now! The paramedics were already moving, gently ushering the girl into the ambulance. Tim climbed in after them. Go! He barked.
The doors slammed shut. The sirens screamed to life. And as they sped toward the hospital, one thought repeated over and over in Tim’s mind.
Who did this to her? And what the hell had they put inside her? The ambulance sped through the city, sirens wailing, the bright lights reflecting off the glass buildings as they cut through traffic. Tim sat on the bench beside the stretcher, his hands gripping the metal railing so tightly, his knuckles turned white. Across from him, the little girl lay motionless.
Her oversized hoodie now pulled up just enough to reveal the jagged, inflamed stitches crisscrossing her small belly. He couldn’t look away. It was one of the worst things he had ever seen.
The thick black thread, the angry red skin surrounding the wound. Whoever had done this to her hadn’t cared about pain, about healing, about anything other than whatever they put inside her. The paramedic, a woman named Jenna Collins, was already working, gloves snapping into place as she leaned in.
Sweetheart, can you tell me your name? She asked softly, careful not to startle the girl. Silence. Tim watched as Jenna’s fingers ghosted near the wound, careful, precise.
The girl flinched violently, curling her body away from the touch. No, she whimpered, her small voice barely audible over the rumble of the ambulance. Hey, hey, Jenna soothed.
I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise. But I need to check, okay? The girl shook her head, her breath coming in quick, sharp gasps. No, no, no, no.
Tim leaned forward, his voice was calm, steady. Sweetheart, listen to me, we have to help you, but we need to know. Did someone hurt you? Did someone tell you not to talk? The girl hesitated.
Then, in a barely there whisper, he said it will break. Jenna froze. Tim felt ice crawl down his spine.
Break? He repeated. What do you mean, sweetheart? The girl’s small fingers twitched against the fabric of the stretcher. Her eyes darted toward Jenna, then back to Tim, as if she were struggling to find the right words.
Then, finally, she whispered, Inside me. Tim’s stomach churned. His mind was already working through the possibilities.
Drugs, contraband. Human trafficking rings had been known to use children to smuggle things across borders, sometimes with fake casts, sometimes sewn into dolls, and sometimes inside their bodies. But this girl wasn’t some stranger at an airport.
She had been kidnapped. And that meant whatever was inside her wasn’t meant to be transported somewhere. It was meant to stay.
Jenna shot him a look, one that confirmed she was thinking the same thing. Tim, if she has something implanted inside her, we need an emergency scan the moment we get to the hospital. Tim nodded, his jaw tight.
How long? Three minutes. Too long. Tim turned back to the girl.
Her tiny hands were clenched into fists, her breathing shallow. She was in pain. She had been suffering for god knows how long, carrying something inside her that she knew wasn’t supposed to be there.
Sweetheart, he said gently, I know you’re scared, but I need you to tell me who did this to you. The girl’s lips trembled. Then, barely audible, my daddy.
Tim’s breath hitched. His grip on the railing tightened. The man from the bus.
The one who had refused to let her go. The one who had pulled a knife when he thought he was losing control. She had called him daddy, not just in that moment but before.
The way she flinched when he spoke. The way she didn’t resist when he grabbed her wrist. The way she never once called for help.
Because she had been conditioned not to. Because she had been raised by her own captor. The ambulance screeched into the emergency bay, the back doors bursting open as the hospital trauma team rushed forward.
Jenna jumped out first, guiding them toward the girl. Abdominal trauma, recent surgical intervention. We don’t know what’s inside.