False Hope

I sit in my closet, my phone in my hands, dialing 911. Downstairs, I hear glasses breaking, tables and chairs being thrown and smashed against the wall, the man who broke into our home screaming. 

“911, what’s your emergency?” I hear from my phone.

“Hello? Please send help! Someone’s broken into my house. They’re downstairs destroying stuff, and I think he’s looking for me.” I whisper as loud as I dare into the phone. 

“Okay ma’am, what’s your address? We’re sending units over right now.” The woman responded. 

“Yes, I’m at 52 Chestnut Lane in Oakland. Please hurry!”

“Can you please repeat that ma’am?”

“What? I just told you! 52 Chestnut Lane, Oakland, California. Please hurry!” I’m practically screaming into the phone.

“Ma’am, you’re cutting–” The phone screen shuts off. 

Damn it! I knew I should have charged it. Please tell me she heard me.

Without thinking, I throw the phone against the wall, making a loud THUD. Just then, the smashing downstairs stops, and I hear him chuckle to himself. Then he starts walking to the stairs. 

God, please hurry!

He’s on the second floor now, bashing through the crude barricade I managed to set up. I hear the doors near the top of the stairs breaking, him bashing through them with ease as he searches for me. 

Farther and farther down the hallway, each door breaking under his immense strength and weight. I’m going to die, I think to myself, knowing what’s to come. 

He arrives at my door, and I brace myself for the door breaking, him rushing my closet, grabbing me and hurting me and, and, nothing. He doesn’t go through my door, or the next door. He just, leaves. After a minute, nothing. Then two, then five, then 10, still nothing. 

Finally, I hear the sirens approaching, getting closer till they’re right outside my house, but I don’t move. I don’t know if he’s out there still, just waiting for me to leave. Only after I hear a cop's voice do I start to move. 

“Hello? Oakland Police, make yourself known!”

“Yes! I’m up here!” I call out, still not leaving my room.

I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, to my door, the knob rattling. I unlock the door, and a hulking brute of an officer stands before me. 

“Are you hurt? Is there anyone else in the house ma’am?” he asks in a soothing yet firm tone. 

“No, it’s just me. My parents are out for the weekend and my sister’s at a friend's house,” I respond in a voice that’s barely a whisper. “I’m fine, just shaken up a bit.”

“Ok, let’s get you out of here. More units are coming by, I was just close by when we got the call in. Come on.”

The officer escorts me to his car, which seems to look just like any ordinary citizen. Unmarked, I think, but something feels off about it. I get in, pushing aside that feeling, and wait till more cars arrive. Except, no one else comes. Five minutes later and nothing. 

“Shouldn’t someone else be coming?” I ask.

“Huh, they should be here by now,” he responds without looking back. “I’ll just drive you to the station so we can get your statement, ok?” 

I give a nod of approval and he shifts gears, putting the car into motion. A short while after we start driving, the radio sputters to life. 

“10-15 we have the suspect apprehended on that 603 at Chestnut Lane, over.” 

“10-4,” the officer responded. “Standby, taking the caller of that 603 into the station for a statement, over.”

“Roger that, over and out.”

“Alright, don’t worry. I let them know you’re coming in and we’ll make sure everything’s comfortable for you, okay? We do need your parents number though so we can contact them and let them know what’s going on.” We had parked by now, a couple blocks down from where my house was. 

“Here, my phone,” I said, giving it to the officer. “Oh wait, it’s dead, sorry.” 

“All good, we can charge it when we get there.”

We were moving again, heading towards the city, when we suddenly took a turn and started down the road towards the woods. 

“Um, I think we’re going the wrong way.” I said.

“No, we’re not. We’re going exactly where we need to be.”

“What do you mean by that?” I’m sweating now, nervous as to what’s happening. 

“You’ll find out soon enough.” was his only response. He drove us deep into the woods, past all signs of civilization, towards a cabin in the middle of nowhere. It was then that I realized that he was the man who broke into my home, that he only stopped at my door so he could lure me out into this feeling of false hope. 

It’s been 3 years now, and in the cabin I have been ever since. I write this so that someday, someone, anyone, can know the truth. So that I don’t die in vain at the hands of a psychopath who posed as an officer coming to help and kidnapped me from my own home without me knowing it. Please, tell my story, let it live on. Let people know tha

*THIS LETTER WAS FOUND ON OCTOBER 24, 2015 IN A REMOTE CABIN NEAR OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA, UNFINISHED. THE PERSON SUSPECTED OF WRITING THIS, 17-YEAR-OLD BECKY FINCH, HAD DISAPPEARED 7 YEARS PRIOR. HER WHEREABOUTS ARE STILL UNKNOWN*