Chapter 1: Stolen

So there I was. Strapped to the back of the chair rocking and shaking myself to attempt to be set free to save my baby.

Not long before this happened, I happened to come home after buying her baby food for the first time because her liking in my milk was starting to fade and soon she would turn her head in disgust. I thought this was rather strange because she’s only a month old but after all, she’s my child. I stopped breast feeding when I was only two and a half months old, so that explained most parts.

I was expecting to come home to the smell of my freshly baked cookies that had secret chocolate chips hidden within the warm luscious batter and the sound of The Ready Set booming through the house because my oldest daughter loved them. I even started to like them. I expected my phone to ring and to shout to Desa to open the garage door for her father because he didn’t have a garage opener for himself and for my husband to come in with a great smile on his face telling me he sold a great amount of cars today. I expected everyone to help me with dinner while my baby, Zinc, was sitting on the couch perfectly happy while she cooed and stuck her hand in her mouth.

That was exactly what I was expecting.

Though it didn’t happen.

Instead when I walked though the door with Zinc in my arm a man was standing in my kitchen eating my cookies that I worked so hard on while making Zinc laugh by burning myself a couple times.

My baby was odd though I loved her.

I could place her anywhere in the house and she wouldn’t get herself into trouble. She would just sit there like a lost puppy waiting for attention from a stranger that happened to walk by and pick her up.

One time while I was washing her up in the sink, I had the scissors on the counter and it slipped into the sink splashing water on my hand to inform me that a dangerous sharp metal object had slipped into the baby zone. Though when I expected for her to pick it up and put it in her mouth, she only sat there staring into the foggy water that held the remains of milk that crusted on her stomach and lips. She stared at it with wide eyes as if she was going through a dark tunnel in the car. When I finally took it out and set it far away from the sink, she went back to splashing and giggling.

I had a strange daughter, though it brought out the special sides in her. She had special qualities to herself and they only showed more through out the three months I had her in my arms loving her unconditionally.

When she first learned to walk, she never fell down once, she hardly ever cried unless she needed her bottle. Other times when she was tired of needed her dipper changed; she would crawl to me and scrunch her nose.

I have a special baby. Though I couldn’t keep her to experience these wonderful treasures she held in her brain and heart, I still loved her with all I had.

The man who stood in my kitchen had a sparkle in his eyes and was well over his fifties. His expression looked like he meant no harm and he was a single passerby that just decided to lift the garage door and slip through the door that led to the house that was evidently unlocked. Though even though he looked nice, I had reasons to think otherwise. He was a stranger and what if he was a murderer that just pops into peoples houses when they’re gone.

I heard a muffled cry out for help making me look behind me to see my oldest daughter, Desa, bonded with tape strapped to my rocking chair that I would rock Zinc in to put her to sleep.

She had a single cut jean leg tied to her mouth with duck tape stuck to her skin to help keep the pant leg to her mouth. The anxiety in her thirteen-year old eyes was heart breaking as sweat ran down the side of her face eventually soaking into the damned denim.

I held Zinc tight and turned to the kitchen where the old wrinkled faced American was previously at, but somehow escaped through nothing.

I looked down to find Zinc wasn’t in my arms anymore.

I looked around anxious to find my three month-old baby and found her…in the hands of the old American guy next to my bonded daughter.

Fear and angst swept over me making my words teeter as they came out.

“Give me back my baby…now.”

“Why? I’m not going to hurt her.”

“Give me back my daughter now!”

“Zincamine Dasani Jordan Forkler is it?”

“I said giver her back now God D****t! What part of a mother yelling for her child don’t you understand?”

“She’s a quiet one.” he said looking down upon my darling baby who didn’t cry, scream, or wiggle her way out of his hairy slightly muscular arms. It didn’t even sound like he was listening to the tone of my voice anymore. It felt like I was Charlie Brown’s parents. “Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.” Would all he could hear that would enter through one ear and fall out the other.

He set her on the arm of the couch making me expect her fall to be her death. She did not fall, move, or twitch. She was like a porcelain doll that blinked and made little whining noises every other minuet.

The man started walking toward me with a smile that was hidden in his straight serious lips. He forced me back with no limbs, but with his eyes that held no glint of innocence. I was backing away from the home phone giving me a gut feeling that this was only going to get worse if I didn’t call 911.

The fury flew into my fists causing my brain to get disconnected from my logic thought and made my fist fly into his face. As he was thrown back, I watched Zinc laugh her cutesy baby laugh making her teeter and totter back and forth until she lost balance and fell backward. I lunged forward onto the couch and looked over the chair of the couch having my long dark brown hair fall in my face leaving my vision blinded by the glossy long hair. I tucked my hair behind my ear only to find Zinc sitting up looking up at me dreamily with her blue eyes wide and sparkling with suspicion.

I smiled in relief, but smiled too soon.

I was pulled back off the couch and dragged onto the dining room chair with stress running through my white blood cells telling them that they would need to make more of them to heal the injury in my heart.

He ran around me with duck tape as I lost strength and hope for my baby that I worked so hard for before, during, and after she was born. Nine months and five and a half weeks I carried her, but when she went past the due date, I had to get sea section just to delivery a small pre mature-looking baby. I was so happy she was alive and that I could eat French fries again, but was mostly happy that she was healthy which was a miracle for me to have a late baby that looked pre-matured.

I looked at my knees and whispered, “Please, don’t hurt her. Don’t take her away. Please.”

I looked up to see my baby in his arms quiet and looking confused as if she had saw a purple striped zebra.

The man took out a needle unknown if it was sterilized or not holding a clear liquid that glistened in the sunlight abnormally. Her veins were soon the welcoming comity for the small needle. His thumb pressed down on the top having the liquid pour into her that does God knows what.

“What are you doing!? Don’t touch her! Get away from her!” I wiggled and squirmed in my chair with tears streaming down my face in replacement of her tears that she did not cry when the needle was yanked out.

“Sorry, but I have a tight schedule so I gotta jam.” he said and headed towards the front door with my baby. “No! Give her back! Please! Don’t take her away from me!” my screams for my daughter didn’t reach him because he was already out the front door.

I cried and screamed and pleaded but nothing seemed to work. It was hopeless. She was gone.

What would my husband think?