The evening at the Cedar Hollow Police Department had been quiet in the way small towns often were after dark. The phones were still, the radio crackled only with routine check-ins, and the building itself seemed half asleep. Officer Nolan Mercer was finishing paperwork when the front door opened. At first, he barely looked up. Then he saw how small the person was standing there.
The girl could not have been more than seven. She stood just inside the doorway, clutching a crumpled brown paper bag to her chest as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Her hair was tangled and damp, her face pale beneath a layer of dirt. She was barefoot. Blood streaked one heel, and the other foot was swollen and red. She did not cry. She did not speak right away. She just stood there, eyes fixed on Nolan with a look that was far too old for someone her size.
When Nolan stood and approached her, he noticed her hands were shaking. The bag trembled with them.
“Can I help you?” he asked gently.
The girl nodded once. Her voice came out thin and careful, as if she were afraid it might break. “My brother’s in here,” she said, holding out the bag.
Nolan took it, already uneasy. The bag was warm. Too warm. He set it on the counter and opened it slowly. Inside were stained towels, wrapped tight around something small. When he pulled them back, his breath caught. A newborn lay inside, skin dry and drawn, lips cracked, chest barely rising. The baby made a faint sound that might have been a breath or might have been nothing at all.
“Call an ambulance,” Nolan said, his voice suddenly sharp as the room snapped awake around him.
The girl watched everything without moving. Only when Nolan turned back to her did she sway slightly, as if her body were finally remembering how tired it was.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Maisie,” she said. “Maisie Kincaid.”
