Dark Intentions - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,27

financial aid option, and an extension."

I looked into it a little bit, about what it would take to become an escort, and I still can't believe that those words are going through my mind.

Unfortunately, ever since Allison and I texted two days ago, I'm no closer in finding out exactly how to do it safely, of course not legally, but in a way that wouldn't get me murdered.

As a journalist, I did an investigative assignment where I interviewed streetwalkers. Many of them suffered from drug addiction and were doing it mainly to stay high, but there were some that were a little bit more enterprising. They were saving money to start a new life. They came from bad circumstances, lots of abuse, and this was the way out.

In one case I had a long talk over coffee in a small diner with a fifteen-year-old who was sold by her mother to a pimp when she was four.

That was the only life she’d ever known, but she started reading books on her phone and she discovered that there was something else that she could do with her life.

She was saving up money and getting through the hard days without drugs all in an effort to start a new life.

Streetwalkers are of course very different from upscale escorts. I do a quick search on Google on my phone and find a few escort companies that are hiring.

Still, I hesitate.

The money isn't anywhere near enough, and to tell you the truth, I'm afraid. Who wouldn't be?

I have never been part of that life. Going to bars, picking up guys, and even meeting a stranger at Redemption is nothing like this.

This requires performance. This requires me to be at someone else's beck and call, rather than my own.

And at most, it will be five hundred dollars, maybe a thousand, both a very long distance away from seventy-five thousand.

I take a deep breath and dial the number for the Danick Clinic. After going through almost the entire menu, I am finally put through to an operator, a real live person.

The wind dies down and I huddle next to a wall to make sure that she can hear me as clearly as possible.

"Ma'am, I'm calling to talk to someone about my mother's case,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady even though I feel my eyes filling up with tears. “I'm in the process of coming up with the money. Her doctors have recommended her for it and she has been approved.”

I should probably be doing this in the car, or at least in a building, but I sometimes find it easier to make unpleasant calls while on a walk or occupying myself with something else so I can take my mind off the task at hand.

"What is your account number?” the woman asks. Her voice is quick and short but not entirely discourteous. I pull a paper out of my pocket and read it slowly. It's more than twelve numbers long.

“I was just wondering if there's a grant, or maybe some sort of financial aid that I can apply for,” I ask and hold my breath.

“Elizabeth Archer," she says. "Is that your mother's name?"

“Uh-huh,” I mumble.

“It seems like the whole bill has already been paid,” she says.

"What do you mean?” I ask after a moment of stunned silence.

"You paid the whole amount. There's no balance due. $250,000 was transferred, and we will be sending out the information about where to stay and all of the procedures very soon.”

I clear my throat, still not fully understanding or trusting that I have heard what she just said.

"Wait. I'm sorry. Did you say that the full amount for the treatment was already paid?"

"That's what I see here."

“Uh-huh.” I nod, wondering if it's some sort of glitch and I should just go ahead and pretend that I'm aware of it.

But my curiosity gets the best of me.

"Does it say who paid it?" I ask.

"No, it doesn't. Anonymous. But I guess it was paid by one of the feelers that you put out. You know, GoFundMe or local news. It is not that uncommon to receive these kinds of donations from wealthy individuals.”

I stand here in stunned silence.

“I actually have a number of people on the line, so do you have any other questions?" she asks, rushing me off.

”No, not at all."

"Okay. Check your email and all the information will be there soon."

Before I can say goodbye, she hangs up.

I stare at my phone and a breeze picks up,