Found

Found
The air was thick with the scent of iron and rain when the search team finally stumbled into the clearing. Flashlights cut through the darkness, beams flickering over broken branches and muddied ground until one of the officers gasped.

“Over here!”

Two others rushed toward the voice, their boots squelching in the wet soil. There, half-buried beneath torn leaves and soaked earth, lay Mandy. Her once-blonde hair was matted with blood, her hospital gown clinging to her body like a second skin. She wasn’t moving.

For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Then the lead officer knelt, fingers trembling as he pressed two fingers to her neck.

“…She’s alive,” he breathed. “Pulse is weak—but she’s still breathing.”

The others sprang into motion. A radio crackled as someone called for an ambulance. “Female victim located—severe trauma, unconscious but stable vitals—request immediate evac.”

Rain began to fall harder, washing streaks of red down her arm. As they lifted her onto a stretcher, a faint, broken sound escaped her lips—a whisper lost between breaths.

“…Tara…”

The rescuers exchanged uneasy looks, but none dared to ask. They covered her with a blanket, shielding her from the downpour as sirens wailed in the distance, drawing closer.

As the ambulance doors shut, one of the officers looked back at the spot where she’d been found—where the soil was dark and disturbed, as if something, or someone, had been dragged through.

Whatever had happened to Mandy, it wasn’t over.

And whoever did this wasn’t done yet.

The call came just after midnight.

Mr. and Mrs. Vale were sitting in their dimly lit living room—her mother clutching a mug she hadn’t sipped from in hours, her father pacing the floor, the carpet worn from his restless steps—when the phone rang.

Mrs. Vale nearly dropped the cup as she lunged for it. “Hello? Please—tell me you found her.”

On the other end, a calm but weary voice answered, “Mrs. Vale… this is Detective Harris. We located your daughter.”

Her heart stopped. “Mandy?”

“She’s alive,” he said quickly. “Unconscious, but breathing. She’s been taken to St. Claire’s General Hospital. The paramedics say she suffered multiple injuries, but she’s stable for now.”

For a moment, there was only silence—and then a soft, broken sob. “Oh my God… thank you. Thank you.”

Mr. Vale took the phone from her trembling hands, his voice rough. “Detective, what happened to her? Who did this?”

“We’re still investigating,” Harris replied. “But I advise you to come to the hospital right away. There are… things you’ll want to hear directly.”

The line went dead.

Mrs. vale  grabbed her coat, tears streaming down her face as she whispered, “She’s alive, David. Our baby’s alive.”

He held her close for just a second before they both rushed for the door, headlights flashing in the rain as they drove toward the hospital—hearts pounding with hope and dread in equal measure.

The moment the call came, Mr. and Mrs. Vale didn’t waste a second. Mandy was alive. Barely breathing—but alive. They sped through the wet, empty streets, headlights cutting through the misty darkness.

Halfway across the bridge, a car swerved in front of them and screeched to a stop. Before Mr. Vale could react, three masked men jumped out, guns glinting under the dim streetlights.

“Get out of the car!” one barked.

Mrs. Vale’s trembling hands clutched her purse, her heart pounding in her throat. “Please, we don’t have time, our daughter—”

“Didn’t ask for your story,” the man snapped, yanking open the door. They pulled Mr. Vale out roughly, tossing him against the hood. The thieves snatched wallets, jewelry, and even Mrs. Vale’s wedding ring. One kicked open the glove compartment, grabbing the envelope that held Mandy’s hospital documents.

When they were done, they vanished into the night as swiftly as they came, leaving the shaken couple by the roadside, soaked and terrified.

Mr. Vale gritted his teeth, blood running down his temple. “We’re not stopping,” he muttered, climbing back into the car. “Not until we get to Mandy.”

The engine roared to life, tires screeching as they sped off again—hearts pounding, hands trembling.

The Vales stumbled into the hospital, breathless and shaken. The night still clung to them—the smell of burnt rubber, gunpowder, and fear. Mrs. Vale’s purse hung half-torn from her arm, her lip bleeding from where she’d bitten it during the attack.

“We were robbed,” she gasped out to the nurse at the reception desk. “Please… our daughter—Mandy Vale. We were told she’s here.”

The nurse’s expression softened with sympathy but stayed guarded. “Yes, ma’am. She’s in intensive care. She was found unconscious on the outskirts of town. The man who brought her in didn’t leave a name.”

Mr. Vale froze. “What man?”

But before the nurse could answer, a doctor appeared and motioned them down a narrow corridor. The rhythmic echo of their footsteps filled the hall, mingling with the low hum of hospital lights.

When they entered the room, Mrs. Vale’s heart nearly stopped. Mandy lay on the bed, pale and frail, her wrist bandaged, machines surrounding her like cold sentinels. Tubes ran into her arms, and her chest rose and fell in shallow, uncertain breaths.

Mrs. Vale pressed a trembling hand against the glass. “She looks… so small.”

Mr. Vale’s fists tightened. “Whoever did this will pay. I swear it.”

Then, just as he spoke, Mrs. Vale stiffened. Down the hall, a shadow lingered—a tall figure in a dark coat, standing too still, watching them.

“Did you see that?” she whispered, clutching her husband’s arm.

But when Mr. Vale turned, the corridor was empty again. Only the flicker of a faulty light bulb remained—blinking like a warning.