I’ve given up trying to find the source of the blood that blooms across her chest but am fairly confident that she isn’t bleeding anymore. Instead I focus on keeping her eyes open and on me. Violet’s skin is a scary shade of white and she seems to be floating in and out of consciousness. She isn’t going to pass out—it’s not that—but every few moments a light seems to go out behind her eyes and she disappears into some unknown, private place.

“Violet, honey,” I say, shaking her lightly. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. Can you tell me where it hurts?” No response. “Stay awake. Keep looking at me.” Her dark lashes flutter, casting fanlike shadows across her cheeks. I smooth her hair away from her forehead and tell the officer to drive faster. My mind is swirling with questions. Who could have done this? What kind of sick monster would attack two innocent girls? The injuries on Cora are horrific. Has she made it to the emergency room already? Is she still alive? I think of her parents and wonder if they have been called. Another girl, Jordyn Petit, was supposed to be at the overnight, too. Where was she? Was she attacked, as well?

The air is filled with the earthy, rich scent of newly tilled fields. The once hard-packed ground now loosened and velvety to the touch. So different than the red soil back home. We are approaching the city of Grayling and the officer merges onto Highway 218 and vehicles move swiftly to the right so we can pass. Signs for the University of Grayling Hospitals and Clinics let us know that we are getting close. Traffic thickens the closer we get to the hospital and despite the sirens it feels like an eternity for vehicles to get out of our way.

Finally, we pass by a handful of restaurants, the university softball fields and a number of university buildings. We arrive at the newly constructed children’s hospital, a beautiful structure built of steel and glass that rises high above the others. The officer bypasses the main doors and drives directly to the emergency entrance. “They are expecting us,” he says, pulling to an abrupt stop.

Three hospital workers converge upon us and Violet is carefully but firmly taken from my grasp and laid out on a stretcher. The officer reaches for my arm and Violet is whisked inside without me. “My name is Keith Grady and I’ll be right in. Keep trying to see if she can tell you anything, anything at all about what happened.”

I nod and rush through the doors, looking left and right for any sign as to where they have taken my daughter. She’s gone. “Are you the mother?” A heavyset woman rises from behind a counter.