"I haven't eaten. I'm just... I have no strength," she told me in a small voice.
"Okay. Well, we can fix that!" I declared, forcing my voice to become high and chipper even as some more tears slid down my cheeks. "We'll just get you into the car, okay?" I said, pulling her along with me around the block to where I'd parked, and all but shoving her into the front seat before running around the car to climb in myself, making sure to lock the doors.
Only then did I feel like I managed to take a proper breath.
"Max?" Belle asked, looking over with hazy eyes.
"He's doing great. I have him in my bathroom. As soon as we get some food and water in you, we will see him, okay?" I asked, pulling away from the curb.
Belle's head lolled to the side, pressing up against the window as her eyes got heavy, refusing to stay open.
Heartbeat speeding up, I reached for my phone in my purse, finding McCoy's number, and calling.
"Shy?" he answered, and something about that soft concern in his voice made it feel like something inside me cracked, letting all my half-buried emotions rise up and spill out.
"They dropped her off," I told him before sniffling hard. It was hard to see through the waterfall of tears as I made my way back toward my neighborhood.
"Wait... what?"
"I was leaving work. And a car pulled up. The door opened. And they tossed her out onto the sidewalk at my feet. She's... she's not doing really well," I said, glancing over at her. "They didn't feed her. She can barely stay awake. I think I should take her to the hospital."
"I don't know, babe," McCoy said.
"She's weak," I insisted.
"Okay, okay. I know. I get it. It's just... they probably told her before they dropped her off that if she goes to the hospital or the police, they would come back and finish the job."
That was probably true.
But my heart didn't feel anything rationally. All I knew was my little sister could barely stay conscious, and I didn't know what the hell to do for her.
"Listen, babe. I will pick her up some shit to rehydrate her, okay? If when I get there, and she has some of it, and doesn't seem to be doing better, I promise we will take her somewhere. But give it a couple minutes, okay? We don't want to overreact and have you guys being targets again. Just take her home. Get her upstairs. Have her sip some water. I will be there in fifteen with that emergency rehydration crap. Okay?" he prompted when all I could do was sniffle.
"Okay," I agreed.
"She's going to be alright, Shy. She didn't survive all of that just to give up over some salt and potassium. She probably just finally feels safe, so everything is all hitting her at once. We will get her out of the woods."
"Yeah," I agreed, turning onto my street.
"Fifteen," he said, voice like a vow.
"Thank you," I said, feeling my lower lip tremble.
"Don't mention it," he said before hanging up.
Getting an only halfway conscious Belle up to my floor was no easy task, but with some grunting and cursing, I managed to do it, and dropped her down on the couch before running to fetch her some water.
"You're going to be okay. My friend is going to bring you some stuff to hydrate you. And once we get that done, we will get you some food," I told her, reaching up to pat her hair.
It was usually her most striking feature, a mass of silky, voluminous curls that framed her soft, pretty face. But days without washing and styling left it limp with dry ends and greasy roots.
She needed a bath or shower, whatever she felt up to. But not until I was sure she wasn't going to pass out and whack her head or drown in the water.
"Who?" Belle asked, slow blinking at me as I tipped the glass to her full, but very chapped lips, again.
"His name is McCoy. He and his friends have been helping me try to get you back. And look! They did it!" I said, putting that fake cheeriness back into my voice.
"You didn't tell me," she said, trying to take a greedy sip, and I felt like a monster for not letting her, but I wasn't entirely sure if it would be bad for her system to chug water after so long without.
"I didn't know him until a couple days ago," I told her.
"Is he nice?" she asked.
"He's... kind," I told her. There was a distinct difference in my mind. Anyone could be nice. Give you a smile as they walk past you starving on the street. But not everyone could be kind, the sort of person who would stop and not only get you food, but sit and eat it with you, let you talk about your life, treat you like a human being.